Chapter 21

Young and hot-blooded, Le Yiqiu sat awkwardly on the sofa, clutching her nose.

She had just been captivated by Lin Xianing’s thigh when her nose started bleeding without warning—talk about embarrassing.

After tending to her nosebleed, she settled on the sofa, feigning innocence.

It was as if her thoughts had been perfectly pure, and the nosebleed was simply from dry weather making her “overheated.”

But “overheated” here was a far cry from actual inflammation, and Le Yiqiu’s denial didn’t fool Lin Xianing.

The living room fell quiet. Le Yiqiu felt too awkward to speak, while Lin Xianing bustled about, heaven knew what she was doing.

After about ten minutes, Lin Xianing headed into the adjacent room.

It looked like she was making the bed. Le Yiqiu frowned in confusion. Weren’t they supposed to share a room?

She couldn’t figure out what Lin Xianing was up to. Their clothes were in her room, so Le Yiqiu had assumed they’d sleep together, yet here was Lin Xianing preparing a new room.

Lin Xianing emerged and glanced at her. “Where’s my pillow?”

“Huh?” What pillow?

Only then did Lin Xianing remember her amnesia. “When we lived together before, we kept our clothes and everything in the master bedroom to make it look like we had a loving relationship.

“But at night, I’d sleep in the guest room. I have my own separate bedding.”

Pretending to be affectionate made sense—she was direct about it. After all, with family on both sides, surprise visits could happen anytime.

“Let me think,” Le Yiqiu responded with a nod.

Guest room bedding? She recalled it then. “It’s on top of the master bedroom closet. I stored the spare bedding up there. Not sure if your set’s still there.”

“I’ll get it down. You catch it from below.”

Eager for a chance to help, she didn’t just sit idly anymore.

Sure, separate rooms dashed her faint hopes from earlier, but it also brought a sigh of relief.

She wasn’t ready yet. Their marriage was fake anyway—it could be ignored entirely.

Outwardly enthusiastic, she still had that ingrained shyness and slow warmth. It was just selective, double standards and all.

Of course, things were different with Lin Xianing.

In the bedroom, Le Yiqiu pulled down the foldable ladder from the closet, climbed up, and hauled down the bedding.

There was quite a bit stored away. Lin Xianing found her own set and left, while Le Yiqiu stuffed the rest back in.

She trailed after Lin Xianing but didn’t dare enter the room fully, just poking her head in. “Need any help?”

“Hold the corner of the duvet cover for me.”

Lin Xianing, always on the go, had assistants handling such things. She’d never done it herself and struggled after shaking out the cover.

Le Yiqiu’s offer was perfect, and she accepted gladly.

She wouldn’t have finished anytime soon otherwise.

Le Yiqiu stepped in, grabbed the duvet cover, and had Lin Xianing shift aside. In a few quick moves, the bedding was neatly fitted.

Lin Xianing blinked. “???”

The contrast was stark—she was hopelessly clumsy.

Le Yiqiu took it in stride. Her grandmother had helped her as a child, but after her grandma passed, with parents who were as good as absent, she’d learned to fend for herself early on. Simple chores like these were second nature.

She even handled laundry, cooking, and basic repairs.

With Lin Xianing’s bed made, Le Yiqiu stepped out.

As she moved to close the door, something occurred to her. “What do you want for dinner?”

They hadn’t eaten yet. Exhaustion had dulled her hunger, but skipping dinner before crashing would leave their stomachs aching by morning.

“Order takeout?” Lin Xianing never cooked. Even on rare days off at home, it was delivery for her.

“There’s eggs and noodles in the fridge. How about simple egg noodles? I think there’s ham too—just something casual?”

Without waiting for an answer, Le Yiqiu headed to the kitchen.

The eggs were from before the shoot. She checked the ham’s date—still good—and opted for tossed noodles.

The fridge was too bare for soup noodles, which might taste bland anyway. Tossed would do, even if dry noodles weren’t ideal for it. It’d have to suffice for now.

She pan-fried the eggs and ham first, then boiled the noodles.

While they cooked, she prepped the seasonings, spreading them evenly in a bowl. Once the noodles were done, she drained them in, tossed thoroughly, and topped with the fried eggs and ham.

She carried the steaming bowl to the dining table.

Lin Xianing lounged on the sofa, eyes half-closed, looking utterly spent.

Le Yiqiu’s heart ached a little. She approached softly. “Eat first, then head to bed.”

Her grandmother had once taken her to Film and TV City for fun. Le Yiqiu tried acting, and her clip ended up five minutes long in the final cut.

Not just a corpse role—it had plot and lines. After half a day, she pocketed over a thousand bucks.

From then on, she figured acting was easy money, no real challenge.

A scout later approached her to sign, but she turned it down, bored by the idea.

In truth, the director, Zhao Menggang, was a colleague of her grandmother’s from the old factory. They’d been close—he’d even pursued her grandma. He went to college, joined a film studio, then quit to go independent, directing hit TV dramas.

Out of all those kids, he picked her and paid well. As Zhao Menggang put it, it was just pocket money for a little one.

Back then, acting meant reciting a few lines for big cash.

After a month on set, Le Yiqiu learned the truth: beneath the glamour, actors slaved away. For every star, countless struggled in obscurity, just scraping by like any job.

They chased dreams too, of course.

Acting knew no seasons—plot demanded it, day or night, human or ghost, plunging into icy waters on freezing days.

The difference? Stardom meant money despite the toil, trading privacy for fame that everyone scrambled for.

That was actors, anyway. The industry had idols and such too, who might act but weren’t true thespians.

Lin Xianing was an exceptional actress—skilled and dedicated.

On set, that kid kept flubbing takes. Anyone else would’ve snapped, but she stayed patient, no extra words.

It was an action scene: Lin Xianing’s lead chased the kid down a few-hundred-meter alley, running it over twenty times. Her fitness saved her.

Afterward, pale-faced, she rested in her van for ages before emerging.

No time for full meals—just sips of water, fearing she’d hurl mid-run.

Skipping dinner now? She’d barely eaten all day. Her sensitive stomach might flare up.

Le Yiqiu had noticed during lunch visits: Lin Xianing’s meals were always soft, bland foods.

Not just dieting—same menu every time screamed stomach issues.

She couldn’t let Lin Xianing sleep hungry. Le Yiqiu patted her shoulder. “Lin Xianing?”

At Le Yiqiu’s voice, Lin Xianing slowly opened her eyes.

They sat together at the table. Lin Xianing stared at the bowl, lost in thought.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten Le Yiqiu’s cooking.

That first year of their sham marriage, whenever she said she was coming home, the table overflowed with dishes. Her stomach never ached then.

When did it change? Le Yiqiu stopped cooking, even for herself.

The sunny girl who exercised daily and whipped up meals turned into a takeout-loving homebody who lounged if she could.

Those memories haunted Lin Xianing, details fuzzy but the heartache sharp.

Too much had happened then—suffocatingly so. She pushed it away, unwilling to dwell or speak of it.