Chapter 51: Finding Fulfillment

Jiang Nai was surprised by the outcome as well.

He had made his name by launching singers, earning him a stellar reputation. But then came the year Zhuang Yue stepped back from the public eye. Pirated digital tracks flooded the market, official albums gathered dust, and the music industry hit rock bottom. Veteran singers scraped by on annual tours, while those at the grassroots level—untested songs and unproven dreams—had no fertile ground in which to take root.

More and more people pivoted their careers, flocking to the booming film and television scene.

His longtime diva collaborator got married, had a child, and retired from singing. Jiang Nai tried managing an actor next, but it was a poor fit. He fell short of his own high standards and felt he was holding her back, so he smoothly handed her off to a manager who specialized in movies and TV.

He spent two years dodging work and vacationing abroad. When he finally returned home, a friend inexplicably set him up with Shi Cainran.

They met once at a music restaurant, and he came away with a favorable impression. She was strikingly beautiful, though her features carried that classic “vicious side character” vibe. But she wasn’t pursuing acting, so a lack of broad appeal didn’t matter. Her bold, glamorous looks were perfect for evoking certain musical moods.

He reviewed her earlier tracks as an online singer, and from a professional standpoint, they cleared the bar with room to spare—especially impressive without any real team behind her.

“Looking forward to a great partnership, Miss Shi,” Jiang Nai said. He was confident he could guide her to stardom. He knew the industry had changed in recent years; trends had shifted operations dramatically. Sometimes, marketing trumped raw talent.

That was why, on the new single’s release day, he urged Shi Cainran to go public with her connection to Xie Yingnian. Why not ride the coattails of such a massive star? As expected, backend charts showed a sharp spike in clicks and downloads, all thanks to the buzz.

Jiang Nai had planned to milk it further—hype up their “sisterly bond” before the show taping. But she brushed him off with a curt “There’s nothing there to hype.”

What? Hadn’t he heard Xie Yingnian treated her well?

He caught her sour expression and swallowed the question.

Fine, whatever.

Hype wasn’t essential anyway. Jiang Nai still believed in Shi Cainran. She had a string of earworm pop hits so ubiquitous even schoolkids could hum them along. That fanbase was her ace in the hole. The show’s format didn’t treat mentors’ scores as gospel; the judges included plenty of everyday music enthusiasts.

Most music variety shows zeroed in on vocal prowess, but “I Can Do Anything” showcased all-around talent. Jiang Nai knew Shi Cainran’s voice was a gift from the gods, though her fundamentals were merely adequate. She wasn’t a total blank slate—her singing carried an academic polish, just not the orthodox kind.

He had spotted her music college diploma as a fake from a mile away—a convincing forgery, but fake nonetheless. In response, he crafted a brutal, custom training regimen for the artist who clearly didn’t trust him.

Instrumentals, songwriting, fixing that slippery delivery…

Jiang Nai figured he had all the pieces in place; she just needed to top the first competitive round. The production team would edit her heavily for drama, guaranteeing her debut would land with a bang.

He hadn’t accounted for the winds shifting—blowing straight toward Zhong Jia, whom he had dismissed entirely.

As Zhuang Yue’s melody filled the air, Jiang Nai’s heart skipped while he tapped out replies on his phone. He was stunned by the audacious rearrangement: a completely fresh style that sparked a magical synergy with the original, drawing listeners in to sing along. The girl effortlessly ignited the crowd with her strumming and vocals.

Damn… what mind game was Shi Heng playing? Had Zhong Jia stayed solo without releasing a single just to fly under the radar?

Even people with perfect hearing might not match that pitch control. Was her partial deafness real or an act?

The scores dropped, and thunderous applause erupted amid nonstop cheers. Even Jiang Nai had to concede it was richly deserved. Waves of praise washed over Zhong Jia, who stood beneath the lights, catching her breath.

She twirled the microphone twice, her gaze drifting toward the guest seats—a fleeting pause, as if confirming one person’s presence.

A subtle smile tugged at Xie Yingnian’s lips. She was certain that in their brief eye contact, Zhong Jia had caught her approval.

Zhong Jia took praise from others in stride, but that smile threw her off. She rubbed her nose self-consciously, eyes darting away, refusing to glance their way again. Gone was the poised, commanding presence the audience had just called “alpha” onstage.

During the Q&A, her smile was impossible to suppress, her eyes sparkling.

It reminded Xie Yingnian… of the kiss scene from the movie’s opening day shoot.

Zhong Jia’s emotions were entirely at her mercy.

Zhong Jia played it cool onstage, as if results didn’t matter and the stage was all that counted.

It shattered everyone’s preconceptions. They finally saw how different she was from Qiao Yingqiu—though her smile carried the same perfect sweetness.

From the mentors’ table, Zhuang Yue smiled and said, “Congratulations.”

“Did Teacher Zhuang like my arrangement?” Zhong Jia asked bluntly.

Ding Zhi chuckled beside her. “This kid’s got no stage fright.” Zhuang Yue nodded. “To pull that off in such a short time? Impressive.”

“Not really,” Zhong Jia replied. She hadn’t calculated the most advantageous answer; she was just honest, bracing for Shi Heng’s scolding later. “I’ve tried reworking a bunch of your songs. This one too.”

Zhuang Yue looked mildly surprised, though she supposed after years in seclusion, this enduring admiration left her feeling unworthy.

Xie Yingnian had little experience handling these situations and didn’t want to dissect her own reaction to Zhong Jia baring her heart to someone else. Of course, she recognized the cold, narrowed-eyed stare she fixed on Zhong Jia: jealousy, plain and simple.

Normal people aired it out or played coy couple games, but Xie Yingnian’s genetic wiring slammed that door shut.

Instead, she quietly looked away and pulled up her phone calendar. The designer’s promised completion date was just around the corner.

In response to Zhuang Yue, Zhong Jia said, “No issue at all. I love investing in the things I like—even if there’s no payoff, it feels meaningful.”

The woman in the guest seats, frequently caught by the cameras, looked up at the girl she hadn’t seen in over two months.

Zhong Jia’s eyes were crystal clear, her words so resolute no one could doubt them. Yet Xie Yingnian zeroed in on the screen’s close-up of her face. She looked noticeably thinner, faint veins tracing the slender back of the hand gripping the microphone.

During therapy, Ni Qian had said: Before the worst happens, stay optimistic. What if you actually meet someone like that?

Craving love, intimacy, selfless devotion—no regrets, endless hope despite the pain. As if hardwired for self-sacrifice.

Xie Yingnian propped her head on one hand, her large hoop earring brushing her cheek. She didn’t mind the rare flicker of emotion crossing her face on the monitor. She thought: The missing piece that perfectly fits my gap… it seems to have been found.

The show was pre-recorded, halting for every hiccup, dragging on slowly. Zhong Jia stashed her guitar backstage, sent that text to Xie Yingnian, then returned to the studio as background filler.

The rating seats formed a pyramid, with Zhong Jia at the peak. Shi Cainran shared her tier—red for Zhuang Yue’s team, blue for Ding Zhi’s. The golden crown had shifted to Zhong Jia’s spot with the score update.

The taping was more than halfway done, but the rest held no surprises. The producers’ key focuses were just three contestants; two had performed, leaving only Zhao Qingjia. She was an atmospheric ballad specialist, killer on slow jams, but her blind pick was an uptempo dance track—total mismatch, nowhere near top scores.

A little past two in the morning, it finally wrapped. Everyone’s faces lit up with the joy of clocking out.

The backless seats were brutal; Zhong Jia’s waist ached. When the camera panned to her, her posture was relaxed—legs apart in a way that felt natural, not crude. Her straight hair fell like a curtain, the crisp white suit sharpening her already striking features. She had that “top” vibe straight out of the music academy’s notorious dyke forum.

Pu Chu, a fellow first-year music major, glanced back up at her. Zhong Jia seemed worlds apart from the hot-tempered motormouth Chen Kuang—steadier, chatty only when it fit, waxing poetic about music onstage but quiet off it.

If she really was a top, she’d be gentle with a girlfriend, right?

The thought crossed Pu Chu’s mind just as another figure entered her view.

Shi Cainran wore a black halter dress, its thin straps tying behind her neck, a matching rose pinned to her right hand. She clicked over in sky-high heels and stopped before Zhong Jia, letting out a derisive huff. “So the He Family—oh, right, your father—funded this show.”

The contestants cleared out slower than judges and guests. Zhong Jia reached back to rub her neck with a twist, her joints popping audibly. Recording was a grind; if Zhong Kefei actually gave a damn, he could’ve just cut a check.

She had no clue what that deadbeat nepotism king wanted. It had been ages since that bizarre phone call, with no further drama.

Zhong Jia glanced toward Xie Yingnian’s seat. Empty—probably swept out with the crowd.

The two of them had reached a consensus on WeChat about meeting up. Xie Yingnian sent over the location: her personal lounge.

“My father?” Zhong Jia stood up and smiled at Shi Cainran. “Doesn’t that make him related to you too?”

Shi Cainran didn’t catch on right away. She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You called me sister-in-law last time we met. Not this time?”

“You…”

Shi Cainran was blocking the aisle. Zhong Jia had landed that jab and had no interest in wasting more words on her, so she simply stepped over the seat and hopped down from the stage. Her departing figure was utterly dashing.

Pu Chu propped her chin on her hand as she watched, offering a very cool assessment of her not-so-familiar classmate from the same year.

Shi Cainran’s chest heaved with fury. She ignored Jiang Nai’s repeated calls and opened her email instead. She copied the address from her memo and pasted it into the recipient field, then began composing her message…

After the delay, most people had already cleared out. The hallway lights on the lounge floor flicked on one by one as she walked. Zhong Jia lowered her head and sent a message to her manager, telling him to take A Cha and head out first. She would make her own way back later.

As she walked, her gaze scanned the labels on the doors. When she found Xie Yingnian’s room, she curled her fingers to knock—but the person who had been waiting inside flung open the door and yanked her in.

Zhong Jia stumbled on her feet. An unyielding grip on her shoulders shoved her back against the door. In the next second, she heard the lock click.

She tilted her head up, looped her arms around Xie Yingnian’s neck, and kissed the corner of her lips. She asked knowingly, “Miss me, ex-girlfriend?”

If her question back then had carried anxiety and anticipation over how the other woman might respond, now she already had her answer deep in her heart. She hadn’t been wrong to go to Wonderful Cloud Temple. The clues she had painstakingly pursued had finally led somewhere.

Xie Yingnian’s hands fastened around Zhong Jia’s waist and pulled her away from the hard, cold door. With her other hand, she cradled the back of Zhong Jia’s head, guarding against any injury from the deep kiss to come—one that might even steal her breath away.

Her fingers curled inward slightly, threading through the gaps in Zhong Jia’s hair to confirm that this woman was firmly under her control.

The reply to meet up had come sooner than expected, granting her wish far more easily than anticipated. Xie Yingnian had thought everything would proceed as planned, but in this moment, she realized she had lost control herself.

She couldn’t wait to claim what was hers. The person who had made her suffer deserved to taste that same discomfort. Only then would it be true reciprocity.

“Remember what I taught you?” Xie Yingnian released Zhong Jia’s lips but pinched her chin.

There were so many memories, yet from the oppressive gesture, Zhong Jia caught a trace of familiarity. She recalled that night in Chongxiang, out in the suburbs, in the car. Her voice tightened instinctively as she met the other woman’s inscrutable gaze. “…Feel your affection.”

In this context, she parted her lips again. Her voice came out hoarse amid the charged, tense air. “Feel you… mmph…”

The “missing me” she hadn’t managed to say was sealed away by Xie Yingnian’s lips. She caught Zhong Jia’s flailing hand midair and gripped it tight, pinning it above her head.

As the kiss wandered, the back of Zhong Jia’s hand brushed something cold. She heard Xie Yingnian command her in an indisputable tone, “Don’t move. Hold me tight.”