Chapter 24 Part 2

With amnesia, Le Yiqiu knew nothing.

Ten years back, she hadn’t even known Lin Xianing. The reason was probably simple: she hadn’t wanted to leave her own home.

Who would uproot for a total stranger? Eighteen-year-old Le Yiqiu hadn’t signed any contract.

To this Le Yiqiu, they were mere acquaintances of a few months—bound hastily by a pretend marriage.

Le Yiqiu… The eighteen-year-old had been a sunny girl. The twenty-eight-year-old was profoundly withdrawn and melancholic.

The gulf between them was vast. Lin Xianing realized she knew far less about Le Yiqiu than she’d assumed.

Her family most of all: beyond a rocky parental relationship, details escaped her.

They knew so little of each other—not partners, but near-strangers sharing names.

It was a sham marriage, after all. No need for deeper intel.

Lin Xianing sneered inwardly. That’s what she’d told herself then. For years, she’d feigned disinterest in Le Yiqiu’s life.

She never pried; Le Yiqiu never volunteered. They’d muddled through to the present.

They were on the verge of divorce, after which they’d have no further contact—but Le Yiqiu had lost her memory.

That was why their marriage had dragged on until now. There were no real feelings between them, right?

Or were there? Le Yiqiu had talked about pursuing her, after all. Lin Xianing let out a self-mocking chuckle in her heart.

Lin Xianing was about to brush it off and drop the subject when Le Yiqiu, who had been lost in thought for a long while, finally spoke.

“Because…” Le Yiqiu racked her brain for a way to explain why she didn’t want to move out.

Lifting her gaze, she caught sight of Lin Xianing with her eyes downcast, her mood visibly low.

Was it her own refusal that had upset Lin Xianing?

Without a second’s hesitation, Le Yiqiu laid bare her true feelings. “If I leave, there’ll be no one to keep Grandma company.”

After Grandma passed, Le Yiqiu never truly felt like she’d left. The entire house was filled with traces of the life she’d lived.

Right after losing her memory, Le Yiqiu had discovered the place had been fully renovated—and she’d actually been angry at herself for it.

Even if the house had become unlivable, she hadn’t wanted to alter the layout or decor of the rooms. They were proof of Grandma’s existence.

But not only had the house been redone—every trace of Grandma had vanished completely.

As Le Yiqiu sifted through the old things in the storage room, searching for memories of those lost ten years, she was also hunting for Grandma’s belongings. There was nothing left—not a single item.

She couldn’t believe she’d thrown them all away. How could she bear to?

With the house renovated and Grandma’s things gone, even living there offered no sense of her presence anymore.

Yet Le Yiqiu still clung to a faint hope. What if?

In her heart, Grandma was her only family. When Grandma died, her world had collapsed.

The little old lady who’d always stood behind her, backing her up, was forever trapped in that one summer.

Le Yiqiu would never forget it: still in school, she’d been rushed to the hospital by a neighbor and found Grandma lying on her deathbed, barely breathing.

She’d had a premonition, her legs nearly giving way beneath her.

Books say birth, old age, sickness, and death are the natural order of things—but feelings don’t follow rules.

Other people’s births, illnesses, and deaths had nothing to do with her. But the woman on that bed was the emotional anchor of her entire world.

Her parents? Le Yiqiu sneered inwardly. As her mother’s daughter, she’d been nowhere to be found during the hospitalization. Le Yiqiu wanted nothing to do with them anymore.

That day, Grandma had gripped her hand and said, “After Grandma dies, I won’t go to heaven. I’ll stay with my little Qiuqiu.”

“Your dad and mom just don’t know how to be parents. They still love you, though.”

“Qiuqiu, after I’m gone, you have to take good care of yourself, all alone.”

“If one day you meet someone you want to spend your life with—no matter if you have kids later or not—”

“I hope you learn to love yourself more than anyone else, even more than that person. Even if it’s your child or the one you share your life with.”

Grandma’s frail hand had suddenly tightened on hers, then gone limp. In that instant, Le Yiqiu knew she’d never hear her voice again.

On the day they buried Grandma’s ashes, the sky hung gray and heavy, a light drizzle falling. It wasn’t much, but if you lingered outside long enough, your clothes would still soak through.

Le Yiqiu had cradled the urn—something her mother should have done, but Le Yiqiu wouldn’t allow it.

What right did someone have to touch Grandma’s ashes if they couldn’t even be found when their own mother was in the hospital?

She vaguely remembered someone holding an umbrella over her that day. She’d been too busy sobbing with her head down to look up.

When the rain stopped and the person walked away, Le Yiqiu chased after their retreating figure with her eyes. All she saw was a girl in a white tracksuit and ponytail, wearing white sneakers.

From then on, Le Yiqiu had started favoring tracksuits herself—clean and crisp. It had earned her a swarm of admirers.

Le Yiqiu had no idea why twenty-eight-year-old her had rejected Lin Xianing. She only knew that her reason for not wanting to leave home now stemmed from Grandma’s words.

Grandma would be with her. She’d be waiting at home. Le Yiqiu wasn’t truly alone.

Even though she knew full well that when people die, it’s like a lamp extinguishing, she still believed Grandma was there.

What if she moved and Grandma couldn’t find her?

Her longing melted like ice meeting fire, pooling as water in her heart. A thin mist gathered in Le Yiqiu’s eyes. She took a deep breath and looked up, unwilling to let the tears fall.

Perhaps Le Yiqiu’s gaze held too much sorrow. Lin Xianing turned her head away, unable to bear looking anymore.

If she kept staring, she might end up pulling the woman into her arms.

Lin Xianing only knew Le Yiqiu’s grandma had passed. Of course she didn’t need “company”—what Le Yiqiu meant wasn’t companionship, but an emotional lifeline.

It suddenly hit her: at their wedding, Le Yiqiu’s household registry had listed only herself, despite having living parents. The invitations to them had seemed almost indifferent, like take it or leave it.

They’d come in the end, and Le Yiqiu had been politely distant, offering only brief introductions.

Back then, Lin Xianing had figured it was just a sham marriage, so Le Yiqiu didn’t care about parading her in front of her folks—a quick formality would do. But now, she realized it ran deeper.

Lin Xianing feigned casualness. “We’ve been married all these years, and I’ve only met your parents at the wedding.”

Le Yiqiu frowned at the sudden mention of her parents, then smoothed her expression. Her reaction had been too sharp—Lin Xianing didn’t know the truth and wasn’t prying on purpose.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Since losing her memory, Le Yiqiu had only heard a couple of mentions from Luo Luo. Who knew where they were or what they were doing? Her WeChat and call logs showed they hadn’t been in touch for ages.

Lin Xianing tilted her head, getting the picture. Le Yiqiu’s relationship with her parents must be terrible, judging by that attitude.

She studied Le Yiqiu, who was gazing out the window. Thinking of Grandma had plunged her into melancholy, but she was used to it.

Ever since Grandma’s death, recalling her always soured Le Yiqiu’s mood. Today was better, though.

Maybe because someone was with her? Le Yiqiu glanced at Lin Xianing.

People sometimes craved solitude yet hated being alone.

Especially in depressive spells—if someone was just there, even silent, it lifted the spirits.

And this someone made her heart race.

Le Yiqiu shook off the sadness weighing on her. It had been years; some people and things were best kept buried. One had to move forward.

She banished the stray thoughts from her mind and smiled. “I’ll drop you home this afternoon, then head back to pack.”

“Mm…” Lin Xianing discreetly flexed her leg. It felt okay—not too bad. “Let’s just go to your place.”

Moving back and forth was a hassle. She’d only wanted to go home out of spite toward herself.

Today called for wire work, some demanding moves, but she’d zoned out and taken a spill.

Her mind had been full of Le Yiqiu. She’d learned that morning on set that Le Yiqiu had quit her job shadowing the screenwriter.

Post-amnesia, Le Yiqiu was mentally eighteen. A normal eighteen-year-old would’ve cracked under the online backlash by now.

Was Le Yiqiu angry? Hurt by the comments? Lin Xianing’s thoughts had been a mess during filming, leading to her mishap.

She lifted her eyes to Le Yiqiu, who sat primly by the bed, and asked softly, “Why aren’t you going to the set anymore?”

“Huh?” Le Yiqiu blinked, puzzled by the sudden change of heart—heading to her place after all. At the question, she batted her eyes. “My exam results were good. Mostly, I need hands-on practice now.”

Zheng Zhi had highly praised the footage she’d shot, confirming her technical know-how was intact.

What she needed most was a script to film as her debut work.

Lin Xianing chose her words carefully. “Have you thought about what might happen if your new project doesn’t measure up to Solitary City?”

For Le Yiqiu, this wouldn’t be a debut—it’d be a comeback.

It had to outshine a typical first effort and top Solitary City to boot.

Solitary City had stellar reviews, even from critics. Crafting something better wouldn’t be easy.

And Le Yiqiu wasn’t just any director—she was Lin Xianing’s wife.

Other directors bombing a follow-up got flak for a dull film wasting time and money. Unless they were huge names, no one cared who they were.

Le Yiqiu was different. She and Lin Xianing were linked. The media wouldn’t ignore it.

The moment her film hit screens, willing or not, their marriage would be dissected and amplified.

That’s the price of stardom—not just your moves under the microscope, but everyone around you too.

Le Yiqiu’s project wasn’t just personal; it’d ripple outward.

She might not grasp what releasing it entailed, but a sharp agent like Zhao Ruo saw right through.

Before coming to the hospital, Zhao Ruo had cornered Lin Xianing. “I hear Le Yiqiu joined the crew to learn directing?”

“If her next work flops compared to Solitary City, better not to make it.”

“You two aren’t divorced yet—you’re tied together. Her failure hits her and you.”

“For directors, a flop’s normal. Everyone has bombs; no one’s always a box-office king.”

“But Le Yiqiu’s name is bound to you, the reigning Film Queen and top star. It’s different.”

“Think of your career stans. The malicious gossips. All those waiting to drag you off your pedestal and trash you.”

“You’ve weathered scandals for over a decade, but Le Yiqiu? Can she handle the hate?”

The hate for Le Yiqiu never stopped—mostly claims she didn’t deserve Lin Xianing.