The topics linking Le Yiqiu and Lin Xianing didn’t linger on the hot search for long. Lin Xianing’s company must have stepped in to handle it.
No sooner had one wave subsided than another rose. Ordinary people could scarcely withstand the onslaught of public opinion.
Le Yiqiu had lost ten years of her memories. Even if she was far more mature than her peers, her inner age was only eighteen.
A student fresh out of the college entrance exams, suddenly vilified by thousands online and denounced by tens of thousands—anyone would buckle under that pressure.
Previously, when the internet had targeted Le Yiqiu, she hadn’t felt much about it. She hadn’t experienced those online events firsthand, so it didn’t seem like they were talking about her.
But this time, everything they were saying stemmed from events she had lived through.
She couldn’t help wondering if joining the crew to learn on the job had been a mistake.
She hadn’t wanted to pick another production, but Zheng Zhi’s crew was her only option. After all, she was the author and screenwriter of Born Bad Seed.
It made no sense to ignore such a prime opportunity, go through auditions instead, and risk no crew wanting her anyway.
Besides, she didn’t even have a script ready to pitch right now.
She admitted that when she learned the female lead in her crew was Lin Xianing, her heart had fluttered with secret delight. Who wouldn’t want to see their crush every day?
She just hadn’t anticipated that her presence would bring trouble to Lin Xianing.
After mulling it over, she called Zheng Zhi and told him she was leaving the crew.
Zheng Zhi sounded puzzled. “Why not just tell everyone you’re Yiyi?”
The creative process of her twenty-eight-year-old self had nothing to do with her eighteen-year-old self.
She knew next to nothing about the works she’d produced in those lost ten years; she couldn’t even explain them properly. Claiming the Yiyi name would only invite skepticism—and possibly worse fallout.
She simply told Zheng Zhi, “I want to develop under different aliases, explore new fields, and test the infinite possibilities of the unknown.”
The answer sounded a bit like humblebragging, but it did explain why she hadn’t become a director and had chosen to be an author instead—then pivoted from author to screenwriter.
Now she wanted to make movies too. Was this some new breakthrough?
Zheng Zhi couldn’t figure it out. He’d only asked offhand. With filming underway, Le Yiqiu had already told him to contact her anytime about script issues.
With that assurance, her presence on set wasn’t all that crucial.
They couldn’t use her identity for promotion anyway, so whether she was there or not hardly mattered.
…
Early the next morning, Le Yiqiu—now quit from the crew—lay in bed listening to Lin Xianing get up and head out.
She heard Lin Xianing pause outside her door for a moment before leaving without a word.
Lately, the two of them had been living separate lives under the same roof.
Le Yiqiu found her car—a modest runabout. She’d gotten her license over the summer vacation and was technically a newbie driver, but her twenty-eight-year-old soul came with a decade of experience.
Newbie drivers had no real issues, but first times on the road always brought some nerves.
After this period of practice, her skills had sharpened, and the anxiety had long faded.
Her e-bike had arrived by delivery too. Depending on the weather and her mood, she’d ride that or drive.
Lin Xianing always had a nanny van picking her up, so they never traveled together.
At first, the crew had been curious about it. Once they learned the two lived together, there was some gossip, but nothing malicious spread.
People loved to gossip, and once rumors started twisting an event, controlling the narrative was impossible.
Some folks could spin tales out of thin air, facts be damned.
Just like that midnight surge on the hot search—the online mob hurling abuse knew nothing.
Le Yiqiu stepped out of her room. The house was empty except for her. Even when Lin Xianing was home, they each kept to their own tasks and rarely spoke.
Lin Xianing had scripts to study, and after a grueling day of filming, she crashed straight into bed. Le Yiqiu wouldn’t disturb her or insist on company for whatever.
Sharing a roof hadn’t advanced their relationship much; if anything, they were growing more distant.
Le Yiqiu reflected on herself, wondering where she’d gone wrong.
Maybe neither of them was at fault. Maybe they were just holding back. She was holding back—sparing Lin Xianing, exhausted from a full day of shooting, any extra burden, shielding her from the online noise.
Truth be told, internet chatter was easy to silence: just deliver results that spoke for themselves.
Le Yiqiu harbored a stubborn resolve. Who were those people to badmouth her like that?
Whatever was between her and Lin Xianing was their business alone. No one had the right to meddle, yet meddlers abounded.
A tender sprout, just pushing through the soil, nearly crushed by a storm—and the storm showed no signs of letting up.
Le Yiqiu curled up on the sofa, eyes closed for a long while, her mind replaying recent events like a film reel.
About ten minutes passed—so long she seemed on the verge of sleep—before she slowly opened her eyes.
Now, they burned with determination.
When you liked someone, you liked them. You wanted to be together, consequences be damned. You wanted to hold them close.
She liked Lin Xianing—truly, vividly. Outside voices would only spur her to grow stronger, to stand shoulder to shoulder with her.
With that clarity, Le Yiqiu grabbed her car keys and sportswear, heading out to play ball. Just as she reached the door, it flew open.
“Chen Tao?” Why was Chen Tao rushing over at this hour?
Lin Xianing was filming action scenes today; she needed her assistant nearby. How could Chen Tao leave her alone on set? Le Yiqiu frowned.
Chen Tao, panting hard, caught her breath before saying, “The boss had an accident. She’s at the hospital. I came for a change of clothes.”
“Which hospital?”
“Jianglin First Hospital.”
Le Yiqiu tossed her gear aside and bolted out.
Jianglin First Hospital—full name, Jianglin University School of Medicine Affiliated First Hospital—was one of the city’s top-tier facilities, well-renowned.
She knew exactly where it was. Ignoring Chen Tao’s calls from behind, she raced to the underground garage, jumped in her car, and sped to the hospital.
Upon arrival, she froze.
She had no idea what had happened to Lin Xianing. But since Chen Tao mentioned clean clothes, it had to be the inpatient ward.
She headed to the inpatient building and approached the front desk, where two nurses were chattering excitedly.
“Is it Lin Xianing?”
“The real deal. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, like a celestial fairy. Her looks are killer.”
Hearing that, Le Yiqiu knew Lin Xianing was there. Steadying her breath, she stepped up. “Hello. Which room is Lin Xianing in?”
Lin Xianing’s name was the talk of the hospital. At the sound of it, both nurses snapped to attention.
A big star admitted? Naturally, they perked up.
They lit up at the sight of Le Yiqiu, then squinted in recognition. “You’re…?”
“A friend of Lin Xianing’s.”
No sooner had Le Yiqiu spoken than one nurse shot to her feet. “Le Yiqiu?”
The nurse cleared her throat to cover her excitement. “Miss Lin is in Room 1206. Go right up.”
“Thanks.” Le Yiqiu thanked them and turned to leave.
As she did, their thrilled voices followed.
“Le Yiqiu? She’s Lin Xianing’s wife? She’s stunning.”
“Yeah, so sweet and pretty. No wonder Lin Xianing likes her. Who wouldn’t fall head over heels?”
“If I had the money, I’d keep a pretty, obedient little sister like that at home too.”
“Keep dreaming. But seriously, they make such a perfect pair…”
Hearing the last line, Le Yiqiu smiled faintly. Her face really did have that disarming charm.
But they were right—she and Lin Xianing were a perfect match.
Whatever Lin Xianing had posted, whether genuine affection to back her up or savvy PR, the feeling warmed her all the same.
