Chapter 56: You’re Very Important

The video from “Three Days Two Nights” dropped that morning, and the gossip-hungry crowd ate it up first thing on Monday. Public opinion bubbled for a few hours before some busybody unearthed archived screenshots from a long-deleted forum post about the movie wrap party. What might have passed as just close friends or besties suddenly looked like a desperate cover-up.

In an era of legal same-sex marriage—regardless of how things played out in real life—netizens were generally pretty open-minded. The few skeptical voices only harped on the slightly taboo vibe between the two women involved, but the shippers spun it into delicious pseudo-stepmom fanfic.

Celebrity status had a way of eroding everyone’s boundaries, and the comments overflowed with cheeky jokes like “Those two beauties from Three Days Two Nights have some serious stamina,” complete with dog-head emojis.

Xie Yingnian’s curt Weibo response turned the rumor into confirmed romance—a level of openness she’d never afforded anyone before, underscoring her current girlfriend’s special place in her life.

From paparazzi leak to official coming out, it all happened in under a day. The plans Shi Heng had meticulously prepared went entirely unused. The synchronized blessings from marketing accounts and the tidal wave of bots were clearly beyond Fangtang Entertainment’s reach.

Shi Heng couldn’t help but marvel at it. A star of her caliber could vanish for years, and her status would still hold rock-solid. Money flowed like water, and everyone from on-set extras to behind-the-scenes power players gave her face.

When would his own little artist hit the big time, letting him kick back and rake in the cash?

Whatever the case, the fallout for Zhong Jia had been kept to a bare minimum. But it came with skyrocketing attention for the Music Variety Show. The program was blowing up, Zhong Jia’s popularity soaring right alongside it. Her loss in the previous episode had fans crying foul over biased judging, their flame wars nearly burying the official promo posts on Weibo.

With great hype came great pressure. Zhong Jia threw herself into practice even harder. Her throat inflammation from overusing her voice hadn’t fully cleared up, but she dove into the rehearsal room whenever she had a spare moment.

“Because it’s a duet. If I don’t go, how’s Pu Chu supposed to practice on her own?”

The room’s air conditioning had just shut off as Pu Chu slung her electric bass over her shoulder and closed the door. She heard the girl walking half a step ahead of her chuckle. “Teacher Xie, are you jealous?”

The tightly shut door trapped the delicious chill behind them. The hallway carried the full weight of summer—stifling air from the windows offered no relief whatsoever.

Yet Zhong Jia’s laughter somehow chased away the muggy heat, leaving the air feeling cooler. Pu Chu paused mid-step, her gaze landing on the girl’s ochre jacket. Only then did it hit her: the AC in the room had been perfect for Zhong Jia, not her.

She’d heard whispers about Zhong Jia back at school, but spending time together had driven the point home. She really was an exceptional person.

Warmer than a spring breeze, with an extra dose of sunshine—she could make even the toughest collaborations fly by.

It was the night before recording, and once again, the clock had crept deep into the wee hours.

The production team was burning the midnight oil in misery until Zhong Jia quietly pulled the lead aside. “We’ve got enough footage. Don’t stick around just to keep us company. If there’s an inspection, shoot us a WeChat, and you can swing back.”

Which left just the two of them at this hour. Everything was hushed and still, save for the faint murmur of a woman’s voice drifting from Pu Chu’s phone.

Pu Chu’s feelings toward Zhong Jia were nothing but pure admiration and curiosity—nothing romantic. But she’d been force-fed plenty of PDA lately, and her ears had perked up at Xie Yingnian’s response about jealousy.

In the limited bandwidth of Pu Chu’s gossip memory, this film industry veteran always came off as detached from worldly desires. Her relationships seemed like box-ticking exercises on a life checklist. Everyone but Qiao Yingqiu had been rumored as media buys.

So what about this time? Who made the first move? Or was it just an exposure?

Zhong Jia was mulling it over herself.

She’d always figured going public or not was no big deal. But erring on the side of caution, she and Xie Yingnian had kept their underground romance under careful wraps. Xie, the seasoned pro, had schooled her on spotting paparazzi tails and shaking them off…

A great teacher—if only her “lessons” weren’t quite so unorthodox.

Truth be told, Zhong Jia relished helping Xie Yingnian unleash her inner self. In those moments of blankness and dizziness, she drew closer to the real Xie Yingnian—the wicked one who let actions speak louder than words, whose endless bag of teasing tricks only she had witnessed.

A heart so petty it could hold just one person.

In Xie Yingnian’s slightly narrowed eyes, Zhong Jia saw her own reflection, brimming in that beautiful, slender vessel like it might spill over. The gaze felt like a searing, invisible brand, marking her for life.

She swallowed hard. “…”

“What was that?” Xie Yingnian paused her lecture on gauging camera angles by light spots, though her hands never stopped moving.

The words from before came out mumbled and fragmented. With sweat-dampened hair at her temples, the girl propped herself up in a panic, grasping that slender yet strong wrist. Before she could get the words out, her own motion unwittingly drove her deeper into familiar territory.

Zhong Jia shuddered all over and collapsed onto Xie Yingnian’s shoulder.

The soft timbre by her ear rose and fell, as if crushed under pressure.

Xie Yingnian turned her head to brush a kiss against her lips—quick and light, leaving room to savor her hard-won prize. She even closed her eyes, focusing solely on that one channel of sensation.

Only when the other woman struggled to rein in her trailing moan between clenched teeth did Xie Yingnian open her eyes again. In a perfectly even tone, she said, “My hand’s about to snap. Still not satisfied?”

As the involuntary spasms ebbed, Zhong Jia sank her teeth into Xie Yingnian’s right shoulder. The muffled grunt of pain finally let her vent a little. She glared like she was settling scores, but her reddened eyes only amplified her pitiful vulnerability. Even her voice was hoarse from a full night of “lessons.” “Who’s the one who’s not satisfied?”

“Mm? Listen for yourself.” Xie Yingnian wrapped an arm around her waist, letting her actions pose the question.

The wet, telling sounds that followed made the one forced to answer herself want to bite her own tongue in frustration.

“You… you…”

She “you”ed for what felt like forever, accomplishing nothing but painting her eyes with even more color. It did zilch to change the fact that Xie Yingnian had her utterly at her mercy. She’d come prepared, knowing full well Xie Yingnian’s two-faced nature, that there’d be no turning back, that one more round would drag her deeper into the mire. And yet she refused the safe escape route.

She couldn’t leave. She loved her too much.

“What did you just say?” Xie Yingnian kissed the tears at the corner of Zhong Jia’s eye—likely just a physiological response—and asked once more.

Zhong Jia released her grip on the wrist and slid her arms around Xie Yingnian’s waist from behind, hugging tight. “After the recording’s done, can I take some leave to keep you company?”

The woman in the half-open bathrobe went blank for a moment. Xie Yingnian spent a full minute processing it—someone could endure a night of rough treatment and still read her cryptic emotions correctly.

Interpreting her near-venting possession as jealousy and dissatisfaction. This genius who fit her so perfectly was right there in front of her.

Their jewelry lay removed on the white bedside cabinet. The wall lamp’s yellow glow brought the necklace—hiding her despicable means—into view. Xie Yingnian paused for a long beat before silently looking away.

“No classes?” It took her ages to steady her voice.

Zhong Jia shook her head. “It’s around National Day. I can take a few days off—string together ten days or half a month.”

Xie Yingnian raised an eyebrow. “Don’t want your scholarship anymore?”

“I do!” Zhong Jia’s eyes lit up, only to dim again as she leaned in to huff resentfully against her ear. “But I’m out of money.”

Thanks to Zhong Jia, Xie Yingnian had gained fresh insight into her own body’s sensitivities. She shrank back from the tickle before gently stroking the girl’s slim back. “Mm. Squeezed dry by your creditor.”

Zhong Jia: “…”

Her ears burned for no reason she could name. Xie Yingnian shot her a puzzled look. “Don’t overthink it. Literal meaning.”

The second half was much gentler, proving that “squeezed dry” really did stay at the literal level Xie Yingnian meant.

The only downside? That bed was ruined for sleeping.

Xie Yingnian knelt on one leg atop the mattress and scooped up the limp girl. Zhong Jia murmured, “Your stamina’s insane.”

“I promised Teacher Zhong I’d stay in shape.” Xie Yingnian delivered the line with perfect seriousness.

Memories flooded back, and in scenes like this, Zhong Jia kept realizing just how much trouble she stirred up for herself. She was about to do a full post-mortem—to figure out fixes before her next willing dive into the fire—when that silver chain caught her eye.

Her arm dangled limply, too weak to loop around Xie Yingnian’s neck. Instead, she traced a light line across the glimpse of pale waist and abdomen. “The necklace.”

“Tomorrow.”

“You told me to wear it every moment.” Zhong Jia coughed a few times. “It’s important.”

Xie Yingnian glanced at the central AC display on the wall, quickened her pace to the sofa, and gently laid down the girl whose body seemed to weaken by the day. She tucked a thin blanket around her snugly, then cranked up the temperature.

She didn’t turn around. Time to head back to the bedroom, clean up the mess, and swap in fresh sheets.

“Remember to wear the prayer beads. The necklace… isn’t as important as you.” Xie Yingnian stood in that hazy corner, her back to Zhong Jia. She rarely voiced affection, so the words carried a similar weight.

She was voicing her needs. She needs me. Zhong Jia thought. Turns out, I’m really that important to her.

From that day forward, Xie Yingnian cut off the surveillance. She tried letting her sense of security take root in Zhong Jia instead of sprawling unchecked through cold machinery.

She even cut back on the meds Ni Qian had prescribed. After all, the real cure was right in front of her.

It wasn’t long after midnight when Xie Yingnian, riding in a car off the airport expressway, heard Zhong Jia’s words and suddenly regretted not insisting that she wear the necklace.

“What?”

“Zhong Kefei specially sent someone to invite me out for a late-night snack,” Zhong Jia said. “Don’t come over.”

Several upscale sedans were parked outside the recording studio. The man in the lead, impeccably dressed in a suit, bowed respectfully and addressed her as Miss Zhong.

Pu Chu was utterly stunned by the scene—it was straight out of a TV drama. It took her quite a while to remember that Zhong Jia had a biological father who had married into a wealthy family only to turn the tables and become its master.

“Tiantian, this…” Though frightened, Pu Chu stepped forward and gave her a questioning look.

Zhong Jia simply smiled at her. “It’s fine. You go on ahead.”