Chapter 39 Part 2

[My accompanying President Shi on the yacht today was mainly to thank you for thoughtfully considering my entry into the Provincial Drama Troupe and eliminating my worries. If what President Shi needs is overnight company, that’s a different price. As acquaintances, let’s be clear: my overnight service is 100,000 yuan per night. Does President Shi confirm?]

[Additionally, President Shi is upright and fearless of the dark, but I’m afraid of it. If we do it, it has to be with the lights on. If President Shi can accept these two conditions, I can stay on the yacht overnight tonight. Special service, mutual benefit—President Shi can start whenever you want.]

“Xiao Mo, please don’t do this, okay?” Shi Youwan reached out to pull Chi Yumo, but she sidestepped.

In her agitation, Chi Yumo’s Pheromones also leaked out.

Realizing she might truly be entering her Susceptible Period again, the irritated Chi Yumo signed with hand gestures: [What is President Shi thinking?]

The still-weak S-Grade Omega’s hands and legs went soft from the S+ Grade Alpha’s Pheromones, and the lotus scent uncontrollably intensified, expressing welcome and infatuation toward the coconut fragrance.

Shi Youwan couldn’t understand Chi Yumo’s hand signs, but she could read her expression.

On that face that had shed its youthful innocence, a sinister fog clung to her exquisite features, every part proclaiming disgust and disdain toward her.

Did Xiao Mo hate her this much already?

Xiao Mo would never soften toward her again.

Unable to bear Shi Youwan’s teary gaze and afraid of losing control due to the Pheromones, Chi Yumo turned and headed out while her mind was still clear.

But after just a few steps, she heard a heavy thud from behind—a sound like something substantial hitting the floor.

She halted. After some mental struggle, she finally turned back. Sure enough, the frail Shi Youwan had collapsed to the ground, propping herself up with both hands, pitifully biting her lower lip as she looked at her.

That scene stabbed pain into Chi Yumo’s eyes and heart.

Shi Youwan, why did you have to be like this? If you’d been this honest a year ago, openly saying you “cared about me” and “couldn’t bear to part with me,” how would things have come to this?

But now was now, and the past was the past.

What Shi Youwan offered was no longer what she wanted.

She walked back to the bedside, bent down, and scooped the soft-skinned, fragile-bodied Shi Youwan into her arms horizontally.

“Xiao Mo, you still like me, right?”

Falling into the warm embrace, Shi Youwan forgot her physical pain and clung tightly to Chi Yumo’s neck like grasping a lifeline, her lips pressing forward.

“Keep liking me, okay? I don’t want any other happiness or destination. Xiao Mo, for the past three years, I’ve always… only liked you, and only you.”

Hot tears dripped one by one onto Chi Yumo’s skin. She held Shi Youwan, stunned at the bedside.

Shi Youwan cried.

Time seemed to freeze.

The emotions Chi Yumo had buried deep in her heart were awakened by Shi Youwan’s confession.

Some past events had become unrecognizable, some feelings had long blurred from their original form, but that unforgettable longing, lurking near her heart, turned into tides crashing against the rocks of her soul once stirred, surging with waves.

Shi Youwan pecked kisses like a bird at her neck and ear, brewing a thousand words in her heart that finally became one sentence: “Xiao Mo, I love you.”

The confession, like sleep-talk, was a warm spring breeze stirring long-still waves in Chi Yumo’s sea of emotions; like a gentle evening glow intruding into her long-sealed heart.

In this moment, her skin burned from Shi Youwan’s hot tears and kisses, and her heartbeat finally synced with Shi Youwan’s.

This moment would be forever engraved in the memory of her remaining life.

“Xiao Mo.”

Shi Youwan’s kisses reached Chi Yumo’s chin, hoping for a kiss back from the Alpha.

But Chi Yumo responded to nothing, merely sitting coldly on the bed, adjusting her position, and releasing her hands to set her down.

She used some force to pry off the arms circled around her neck, pulled the blanket to cover Shi Youwan’s body without an outer shirt, moved the water cup away, and left the room without a word.

If she didn’t leave now, she would surrender completely.

She had once gone mad with love for Shi Youwan regardless of everything, but every midnight dream of that figure brought uncontrollable pain and desolation, leaving her without courage to take even one step toward her.

Not every love could reach fulfillment and eternity; perhaps regret was the destined ending for her and Shi Youwan.

The person abandoned on the bed suppressed for a moment before bursting, her trembling shoulders uncontrollable as she bowed forward, knees bent, her blocked nose conveying clear grief.

Her five viscera and six bowels ached indescribably, as if crushing all her organs inch by inch.

Chi Yumo outside the door heard everything.

But she did not turn back.

Because approaching someone should be slow, to see clearly; leaving someone should be fast, to avoid reluctance.

She had approached Shi Youwan too quickly.

That led to not seeing many things clearly before blindly committing body and soul, resulting in damage to both.

So leaving Shi Youwan had to be quick, to avoid falling again, hurting again.

In the living room, Chi Yumo showed the typed words on the tablet to Qiao Ke sitting at the dining table: [President Shi seems seriously ill. Please take care of her, Assistant Qiao.]

“Seriously ill?”

Qiao Ke shot up upon reading it. After smelling the lotus and coconut Pheromones on Chi Yumo, her face changed dramatically.

Just from associations with previous times, she could foresee President Shi’s current “predicament.”

But what could she say?

Chi Yumo was Mo Yu now, Shen Muxi’s person, not their Miss Mo anymore. She had no obligation to “comfort” President Shi. Since reuniting, it had always been President Shi’s one-sided efforts to make amends.

President Shi should also make amends.

Qiao Ke quickly went down to the lower deck and pushed the door open.

Shi Youwan lay sideways facing away from the door. Hearing it open, her first thought was that it was Chi Yumo, but then she heard Qiao Ke’s concerned voice.

“President Shi, all the dishes are served. Miss Mo will eat if she’s hungry. How are you?”

The drawer Chi Yumo had pulled open was still ajar. Qiao Ke glanced at the items inside and quietly closed it.

Was Chi Yumo angry because of these?

The Pheromones in the room were fading, and Shi Youwan’s heat had just passed not long ago, so Qiao Ke didn’t ask if she needed an Inhibitor.

“Have them speed up returning the boat to shore. Xiao Mo knows this is Yin Man’s yacht; she’s unhappy.”

Shi Youwan pulled the blanket tighter around herself, still facing the wall as she hoarsely said, “My body was too uncomfortable to go up and eat with Xiao Mo. Go accompany her instead. Don’t make things difficult for her.”

Qiao Ke replied, “Got it.”

But in her heart, she thought: Could Chi Yumo be… jealous?

If it was jealousy, then there might still be a chance to salvage things. Qiao Ke sighed, took the tablet from the table, and left.

At the spiral staircase entrance, she saw Chi Yumo sitting dazedly in the sofa corner, staring out the window at the vast ocean, an empty Inhibitor tube by her leg.

She looked as if her body and heart were wrapped in a solidified atmosphere.

Then, Qiao Ke saw her slowly exhale deeply, as if releasing years of pressure and melancholy, evoking pity.

Tracing back to the root, Chi Yumo was the original victim.

The walls President Shi was hitting and the bitterness she was tasting now—Chi Yumo had hit and tasted them too, hadn’t she?

Qiao Ke sat on the side facing Chi Yumo, softening her tone as much as possible: “This sea trip was because President Shi heard from Miss Shen that you like watching the sea, so she specially borrowed the yacht from Miss Yin. Who knew it would backfire.”

Chi Yumo still gazed out the window, body unmoving, but a trace of confusion showed in her distant eyes.

Just minutes ago, when injecting that Inhibitor, it was the first time since recovering her memory that she imagined: if she hadn’t recovered it, would she have surrendered to Shi Youwan’s “I love you” and returned to the gentle land called “Shi Youwan”?

She had asked Shi Youwan what she really wanted.

Actually, she was also asking herself what to do.

Her heart held too many unsolvable questions, tangled threads with no starting point.

Perhaps when she found her mother, or when Shi Youwan found a new love, she could truly free herself from this sea of gloom.

Yet undeniably, she was jealous of Yin Man.

Jealous that Yin Man had been seen as Shi Youwan’s “fiancée” in others’ eyes, jealous that Yin Man, as an Alpha, had been part of Shi Youwan’s life for over a decade—a jealousy from a year ago that persisted now.

If not for jealousy, why had she been so angry after “overhearing” Yin Man and Shi Youwan’s phone call?

Angry enough to speak harshly to Shi Youwan.

Her chest felt suffocatingly stuffy, so she simply stood and walked out to the deck.

Qiao Ke followed with the tablet: “Sorry, I misspoke. I won’t mention her.”

She held the tablet with the video in front of Chi Yumo: “Your graduation performance video—there are two versions on the tablet. One is your school’s official release, and one is what I recorded on my phone.”

Staring at the all-too-familiar set on the screen, Chi Yumo’s unfocused gaze gradually refocused.

“Xiao Mo, in that year you vanished without a trace, President Shi watched this video almost every day. The one she watched most was this phone-recorded version. Because in this version’s footage, you were the absolute female lead.”

The official version balanced all actors, mostly wide shots and close-ups, with few individual close-ups.

But when Qiao Ke filmed, whenever Chi Yumo was on stage, her camera followed her.

Though the mobile version’s overall quality and clarity were inferior to the official, nearly every frame centered on Chi Yumo, with many close-ups.

At that moment, Chi Yumo suddenly turned, bypassed Qiao Ke, and returned to the living room, sitting at the dining table.

She had examined each dish on the table while Qiao Ke was below tending to Shi Youwan—all were dishes she had eaten with Shi Youwan at the Old Mansion.

Dishes she liked.

She hadn’t said, but Shi Youwan had noticed.

Qiao Ke came over too, touching a few main dishes’ plates to check the temperature.

“Still hot. President Shi isn’t feeling well and couldn’t join you. These should all be your favorites. Eat slowly. If you need anything food-related, press this call bell; someone from the kitchen will come.”

She pointed to a small round disc-shaped electronic device on the table. “I’ll go have them turn back now. Enjoy your meal, Miss Mo.”

The spacious living room left Chi Yumo alone.

She picked up her chopsticks, stared for a long time, then clamped a small piece of steamed fish into her mouth.

But before she could chew even a single bite, teardrops the size of pearls spilled out one after another, worthless as they were.

——I want Sister to guess what kind of fish this steamed fish is tonight? No peeking.

——My eyes are covered by your hands. I can’t peek.

——Then I won’t cover them anymore, but you can’t open your eyes. I’ll pick a piece of fish and feed it to you.

——Okay, I won’t open them.

——Can Sister tell what kind of fish it is?

——It’s… cuttlefish.

——Cuttlefish? Sister, how could steamed fish be cuttlefish? I ate some too. It doesn’t have that fishy sea taste.

——Just teasing you. It’s perch, right?

——Yes, it’s perch. Sister is amazing. She knows everything.

——I also know that you bought this fish.

——Oh? So Aunt Han must have tipped you off ahead of time? You cheated and even laughed at me on purpose.

——It wasn’t a tip-off, and it wasn’t to laugh at you. They only ever buy sturgeon or shad for steamed fish. When you made me guess, I figured it had to be either mandarin fish or perch. I’d heard Qiao Ke mention before that she doesn’t know how to cook, but she does know how to prepare fish—steamed fish specifically—and perch and mandarin fish are the two kinds she buys most often. Guessing perch was just good luck on my part, not because I’m amazing.

——Luck is part of skill too. Anyway, in my heart, Sister is the most amazing. So, Sister, compared to sturgeon and shad, do you think perch tastes bad?

——No, it’s not bad. The texture is great, and I like it too.

Today’s steamed perch was made the same way. Steamed perch had been Grandma’s go-to dish for her every weekend while she was alive.

Grandma often said that eating fish was good for the body—fish meat was high in protein and low in fat, with nutrients that were easily absorbed, helping to boost the body’s immunity and resistance.

It was unfilial to admit, but Grandma had always been the one cooking for her, and honestly, Grandma’s cooking skills weren’t anything to write home about.

After starting high school, she began learning how to cook online. One day, when Grandma had gone out to pick up the kids, she beat her to the kitchen and made a meal for Grandma. Though Grandma praised it as delicious, she forbade her from entering the kitchen again, telling her to focus all her energy on her studies.

She said the three years of high school were a crucial time that could change one’s life—especially for kids from ordinary families like theirs. First, they had to get into a good university to have a real shot at a bright future.

Jinhuai Drama Academy was a good university. The Jinhuai Provincial Drama Troupe, the Capital Drama Theater—they were good prospects too. But she had let Grandma down, and let herself down.

After Grandma passed away, even though weekends were no longer fixed times anymore, she still made a point of eating steamed perch once a week.

Following Grandma’s recipe, to remember her with.

But… it had been so long, so very long, since she’d last eaten this dish.

She missed Grandma and Dad in heaven, and Mom, who had vanished without a trace. And she missed that gentle paradise she could dream of, but could never return to.