Chapter 44: Worlds Apart Part 2

Was that when she’d overheard it?

All these years, Xie Yingnian had grown used to Shi Cainran bossing her around—no sisterly respect, not even basic courtesy.

She knew her own behavior qualified as the meek submissiveness her friends called out. Zhou Chun despaired over it too: Shi Cainran was her Achilles’ heel.

That weakness wasn’t innate. It was an interloper that had usurped the nest, brazenly invading as a parasite, greedily sucking nutrients from her blood and gnawing at her flesh and bone.

It wasn’t enough for her to become a walking corpse. It was as if something was determined to hollow out her body entirely.

In the eyes of others, the older woman was the passive party. But only Xie Yingnian knew the truth: she had always held the upper hand from start to finish. The sacrifices were negligible—who cared about gains and losses, right and wrong, when dealing with a madwoman?

That thread she had bet everything on was enough to keep her tethered, even if it left her bloodied and battered, her bones gaunt from the relentless gale.

Xie Yingnian’s withdrawal had shown early signs: following Weibo updates, cooperating with the official announcements from the other side’s team. Her calm facade was just a continuation of her old “good big sister” persona. Ever since her first episode, she had worked tirelessly to craft a positive public image. And it paid off—thanks to the unwitting role she had built as the reliable older sibling, no one saw her as unstable. No one was on guard against her. No one even thought to fight back.

“If you’re talking about her using some rough methods now and then, then yeah, I like that,” Zhong Jia replied, her words drawing an amused, helpless smile. Shi Cainran noticed how Xie Yingnian’s gaze softened like water at the sight of her, the eyes above her mask crinkling even deeper.

Zhong Jia was utterly straightforward, especially about sex. Her body’s reactions were honest, too—otherwise, that night under Xie Yingnian’s “tutelage,” she wouldn’t have etched those biology lessons so deeply into her memory: seventy percent of the human body is water.

As filming ramped up, Zhong Jia’s fame skyrocketed. Shi Cainran had checked her wiki page; the associated figures listed Qiao Yingqiu first, Xie Yingnian second, and only then Zhong Kefei.

Anyone who didn’t know better might think Qiao Yingqiu and Xie Yingnian had given birth to her.

But anyone who took a good look at her features wouldn’t have trouble guessing her parents.

Shi Cainran couldn’t help thinking: other than her face, where did she take after them? Qiao Yingqiu had the temperament of a wild rose—delicate like a greenhouse flower, all bark and no bite despite her haughty airs. She was a paper tiger, folding the moment she met someone with a sharp tongue like a machine gun. And Xie Yingnian, her supposed first love who was a full generation older, wouldn’t even let the woman hold her own umbrella.

Yet this one in front of her could talk a blue streak.

“If you’re talking about stuff that’s even wilder than I can imagine, then I haven’t experienced it yet. Talk is cheap—I can’t just take your word for it.” Zhong Jia was thinking of the ailing Xie Yingnian and itching to leave. “Besides, why should I abandon her just because she’s sick?”

She remembered waiting in bed, tormented and helpless, her head foggy, her body burning like it was trapped in a furnace. Opening her eyes to endless darkness, too weak to reach the light switch even if she propped herself up…

She never wanted to feel that agony again.

And she wanted to spare Xie Yingnian the same.

“If she’s really sick, I’ll take care of her. Family history or not, it doesn’t matter. Way down the line, we couldn’t have kids together anyway.”

Xie Yingnian chuckled hoarsely. “Thinking that far ahead already?”

The woman in the black suit pants—her legs slim and straight—stepped forward. Shi Cainran, as if seeing her for the first time, called out in a saccharine voice, “Sis.”

She meant it as a claim to unrivaled intimacy, but her rival’s attention was fixed entirely on Xie Yingnian. Zhong Jia’s chattiness evaporated in an instant. She stammered for a while, then remembered this woman had overheard more than just that line. Her face flushed crimson.

“I-I didn’t… cough… how are you awake already? Didn’t that medicine make you super sleepy? Feeling better?”

Xie Yingnian gave Shi Cainran a perfunctory nod, acknowledging her wheedling tone all too dismissively.

The coldness was so unfamiliar that Shi Cainran stood frozen for a long moment. When she looked again, Xie Yingnian’s gaze had shifted back to its familiar warmth—tender and intent, like spring water. Anyone caught in it for a few seconds would melt.

But it wasn’t directed at her anymore.

When had it started?

The air hung heavy with moisture, the breeze against her cheeks damp. The sky in the distance was smeared with leaden gray, rain threatening at any moment.

Shi Cainran struggled to pin down her feelings. Amid the dream of a clean break—no strings attached—something else tangled in, fine threads weaving a dense knot in her mind.

Only the pride nurtured from a lifetime of indulgence, praise, and flattery held her face together, not a hint of negativity leaking through.

Shi Cainran stood alone on the sidelines, watching the lovers’ intimate exchange with cold detachment.

“Huh, you’re still following that? I’m not well, zonked out on meds—planning to take advantage?” Xie Yingnian laughed lightly, turning away to cough. Zhong Jia leaned in, but she stepped back, her tone turning serious. “Don’t come too close. I’ve got a cold.”

It had to be said: some people got even more alluring when sick. Xie Yingnian’s cough brought a faint red to the corners of her eyes, her lids half-lowered, vulnerability softening every feature. Even her pallor stirred indecent thoughts, a heat that itched deep inside.

“I fed you all the porridge,” Zhong Jia said, unable to look away. She stared openly instead. “If it was contagious, it’d have happened already. I’ve got a strong constitution.”

Xie Yingnian smiled. “Thanks for taking care of me, Teacher Zhong. So… hug?”

Filming had entered post-production. Nong Siqing reshot a few earlier scenes; immersion took time, and Zhong Jia’s improvements were obvious, exposing flaws in previously approved footage.

Ruan Ting and Kong Can’s intimate bathroom scene at the hospital needed redoing, luckily with the set still intact. Involving transitions, the coordinator planned it for wrap day.

It started as Gong Wenyin’s teasing nickname—Teacher Zhong—among friends, a joke to fluster the shy girl. But after spending time together, the crew shed their initial biases. Hearing rumors of her antique upbringing that screamed “Qing Dynasty relic,” and learning her parents were absent, they grew sympathetic instead.

With her hair tucked behind her ear, Zhong Jia held Xie Yingnian close, murmuring softly, “Can you not call me that? It’s embarrassing.”

Xie Yingnian feigned surprise. “You get embarrassed?”

Her foot was stepped on—lightly, no real force. Then came Shi Cainran’s “Sis” in her ear again. Xie Yingnian clasped Zhong Jia’s dangling hand, not letting go until the woman’s breathing evened out, prepared for her brief departure. Only then did she whisper, “Wait for me back there. I won’t keep you long.”

Zhong Jia caught the deeper meaning. They did have issues to hash out properly.

Her gaze lingered on Shi Cainran’s face, uneasy, but she couldn’t wedge into a sisters’ standoff—not without legitimacy.

She nodded obediently and turned away, not going far. She slid into the business van parked at the roadside, tempted to peer out the window. With 20/20 vision, she could even read lips.

Never mind…

Even the closest bonds felt creepy under constant scrutiny.

Zhong Jia tamped down the urge and idly fired up a game of Fight the Landlord.

“Not too busy these days? Making a special trip—what’s up?”

Xie Yingnian’s voice had a cool edge, her depth conveyed through those piercing eyes. Shi Cainran had recently dug up news on her birth father—a sensational case. The arrest photo had his face mosaiced, so she’d scoured ancient forums for the full story.

A literary-looking man with refined poise and soulful eyes, calmly describing his dismemberment techniques in court, exuding a chilling, misplaced tenderness.

“Yeah, here’s the key.” Shi Cainran handed it over.

Xie Yingnian had bought that pricey Shangjing Gardens apartment with her first big earnings, meant for her and her sister to share. The next day, her key didn’t work. She wasn’t surprised—she’d seen it coming. So she stuck to her rental.

The place had sat empty since last week. Taking the first step took guts, and Shi Cainran knew she couldn’t thrive like Xie Yingnian.

But she’d kept the key in her bag, never intending to return it. Now it was an excuse—she needed face, didn’t want to lose utterly after coming all this way for nothing.

Flights, transfers, transfers again—not exactly comfy.

For what? I can’t say. Can’t admit it’s just to see you.

Xie Yingnian took it. “Alright, head back soon.”

Her mask hid most of her face, but from Shi Cainran’s angle, the elegant curve of her nose and the sharp line of her jaw stood out.

It was rare to see Xie Yingnian like this.

In her memories, Xie Yingnian doted on her endlessly—no scolding, no anger. Possessing her sister’s body, she’d never returned the warmth, yet basked in unique treatment beyond what “others” got—gazes meant only for her.

The rift hit hard now, like moonlight: illusory glow, cold to the touch.

She watched Xie Yingnian’s back recede, a sudden hate rising—not the cataclysmic rage of family ruin, but regret, the secret thread woven throughout.

She hated how Xie Yingnian had indulged her superiority for so long, right up to this moment’s view from below. Only now did Shi Cainran realize: from this angle, Xie Yingnian was most captivating. Worlds apart, yet the moonlight poured down unremarkably.

Shi Cainran opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “Sis,” screamed for twenty years, stuck sour in her throat. On that narrow path between rundown shops, she carved herself into a wilted flower.