Chapter 43 Part 2

She was still wonderful, but Lin Xianing hated seeing the sunny, laughing girl under the light suddenly turn gloomy.

Lin Xianing desperately wanted to know what had caused Le Yiqiu’s drastic shift.

But their relationship was too awkward. Close? They had a contractual marriage, not a true partnership.

Some questions weren’t hers to ask, and Le Yiqiu wouldn’t volunteer them either. An intangible, invisible air wall always stood between them.

That morning, Le Yiqiu chatted with Lin Xianing for a long time. Through their conversation, she gained some understanding of herself at twenty-eight years old.

Whether it was Lin Xianing or Luo Luo, or others who knew her well, like her teacher and his wife—in all their eyes, Le Yiqiu had changed around 2019 from an outgoing, sunny girl into a reclusive, gloomy shut-in who refused to leave the house.

During that period, she had been filming Solitary City. Tu Sheng said she had gotten too deep into the role, trapping herself inside the movie.

It was like an actor who couldn’t break character, but Le Yiqiu felt it wasn’t that simple.

After talking with Lin Xianing, Le Yiqiu began actively seeking out her past.

She had considered seeing a doctor, but there was no reliable one available at the moment. If word of her amnesia got out, it would spark another wave of negative publicity.

Even though she hadn’t chosen to lose her memory, netizens wouldn’t care about the truth—they’d spin endless rumors regardless.

More importantly, seeing a doctor would reveal too many details. Without a trustworthy physician, she had no choice but to rely on herself to recover her memories for now.

Even if she found a doctor, they could only offer supportive treatments, with no guarantee of how long it would take—if it worked at all.

Her amnesia was a thorn lodged between her and Lin Xianing, liable to flare up at any moment.

Facing it head-on was the only approach she could think of.

Le Yiqiu could tell that the old Lin Xianing had liked her, or at least felt strongly for her.

When Lin Xianing spoke of her past self, her eyes lit up.

What else could put that light in someone’s eyes if not affection?

For some reason, Le Yiqiu felt a twinge of jealousy. Even though it was the same person, Lin Xianing had never looked at her—the current her—with that gaze.

She thought it through clearly: even if searching for her memories didn’t restore them, she would at least gain some insight into her former life.

Truth be told, she hadn’t figured out what to do if her memories returned—or if she forgot everything from this time instead.

She just felt this was the right path, so she took it.

That morning, as they lay in bed talking for what felt like hours, Le Yiqiu finally made up her mind.

“I’ll actively search for my lost memories,” she said. “If I still haven’t recovered them after a year, will you be with me then?”

If a full year of effort yielded nothing, she figured recovery might be impossible.

Lin Xianing understood her intent and nodded in agreement. A year seemed like plenty of time.

Even if Le Yiqiu couldn’t regain her memories, this at least gave them a chance to flirt openly.

With the one-year deadline set, neither of them needed to pull away prematurely.

The one thing Le Yiqiu still wondered was whether Lin Xianing had agreed because she preferred the old her.

Then again, she mused, what did it matter? It was still her.

Even if it was just self-consolation, it eased her heart considerably.

…

Time passed steadily, and as the New Year approached, both Lin Xianing and Le Yiqiu had to return to the Lin Family home.

It was then that Le Yiqiu realized she was essentially the family son-in-law.

In the days leading up to the holiday, amid her studies, she would grab her camera and wander Jianglin City’s streets and spots, snapping plenty of striking photos.

Beyond that, she delved into her memories. The few people who knew of her amnesia recounted everything from the past decade that involved her.

She pieced together a timeline of the major events in her life.

In the second half of 2013, she enrolled at Han-Tang Drama Academy. In 2015, while shooting Me and My Walls, Tu Sheng took notice of her and accepted her as his closed-door disciple.

In 2016, she prepared for grad school exams; she started her master’s in 2017 and joined Tu Sheng’s crew as an assistant that fall, where she met Lin Xianing, the lead actress.

They married in 2018. Around 2019, while filming and releasing Solitary City, her personality changed drastically.

From then on, she stayed home every day. Tu Sheng assumed she was pondering her next film—directors often spent three to five years, even a decade, preparing a single project. That was normal.

Whenever she visited Tu Sheng’s home for professional check-ins, she always showed progress.

He would tell her, “No rush. Wait until the script is fully mature before committing to production.”

“You don’t have to write it all yourself—consider others’ scripts too. You’re a director; you don’t need to bury yourself solely in writing.”

Luo Luo attributed her personality shift to marriage. In Luo Luo’s view, marriage was the graveyard of love; stepping into it inevitably brought problems.

Luo Luo’s words were both amusing and insightful. “If you’re not married, you can date whenever you want and break up when you don’t. Marriage is different—it’s two families colliding. Caught in the middle, how could you not have issues?”

“Especially with that mess in the Lin Family. You haven’t even memorized everyone yet, have you? They pull surprise attacks and set traps left and right. If I were you, I wouldn’t last a day.”

“Don’t say your sister didn’t warn you: marriage requires caution. Anyway, I’m never getting married.”

Luo Luo meant that at least half the blame lay with the Lin Family—they showed up unannounced and schemed constantly.

Solitary City had nearly failed to release because the Lin Family meddled behind the scenes.

Le Yiqiu latched onto that key detail: Solitary City almost didn’t premiere, and the Lin Family was involved.

Oh, right—Luo Luo mentioned something else: Le Yiqiu had crafted the script for Solitary City by compiling information on numerous female celebrities.

From birth, women faced potential dangers and discrimination.

It only worsened in the workplace, where expectations for women were brutally harsh—especially in entertainment.

Beauty was their shortcut to success, but it could also destroy them.

Of course, it all came down to personal choice: standing firm on one’s principles amid temptations and threats.

Companies controlled artists; fans tried to control idols. With the internet’s rise, endless online rumors proliferated—truth irrelevant, as people vented frustrations through abuse…

Public figures enjoyed certain privileges but endured inhuman pressure.

There were always trade-offs: what you gained, you lost in equal measure.

But baseless rumors and manufactured scandals? Few could withstand them.

The public elevated you to great heights, then trapped you with lies and hurled you down with vitriol.

Having endured cyberbullying herself, Le Yiqiu felt it deeply. What had she done? Nothing—no improper statements—yet the entire internet turned on her.

Was she wronged? Of course.

Rage, repression—what right did they have? Seeing so many attacking her filled Le Yiqiu with a storm of discontent.

She couldn’t comprehend it. Even her marriage was fair game—what had she done wrong? She had simply married Lin Xianing.

Online trolls spewed vitriol without reason or regard for who you were.

No entertainer escaped the hate; many like Le Yiqiu had been fully canceled by the internet.

Even today’s top idols had all faced it.

But she was a screenwriter and director—she didn’t need the fame or traffic to survive.

That period still affected her mood somewhat.

If months of backlash broke her, how much worse must it have been for her pre-amnesia self, enduring years of it?

Her hard-won Solitary City got targeted and nearly shelved.

Then her home—the one place that reminded her of her grandmother—was renovated beyond recognition.

That house had been her recharge station, revitalizing her when exhaustion set in. Now it was gone.

That year seemed packed with incidents, too many to sum up briefly.

Could a string of blows like that have changed her? Le Yiqiu wasn’t sure.

Of her decade, Lin Xianing knew the most.

Beyond the public knowledge, Lin Xianing stuck to facts: when events occurred, without emotion or judgment.

Yet Le Yiqiu sensed Lin Xianing was holding back—things too awkward or sensitive to share.

Lin Xianing explained the reason for their marriage.

It aligned with what Le Yiqiu had guessed, though Lin Xianing filled in the details.

That year, a major crisis hit the Lin Family: Grandma Lin passed away. She had been the previous family head.

During New Year gatherings, with hundreds of relatives present for ancestral rites and sundry activities, everything Lin Family-related needed disclosing—since they hadn’t divorced.

As Lin Xianing recounted the Lin Family’s recent history in a subdued tone, Le Yiqiu’s mind mapped out a vast web of relations. Such a family existed only in novels.

In Lin Xianing’s great-grandfather’s generation, Grandma Lin was the only child. The rigid clan pushed for adopting a boy, but Great-Grandpa Lin overruled them and found her a husband instead.

Grandma Lin, then in university, had met Grandpa Lin; they were dating when family upheaval forced an early wedding.

Had Great-Grandpa Lin foreseen Grandpa Lin’s later betrayals, he never would have rushed it.

Grandma Lin was a formidable career woman, especially after Grandpa Lin’s infidelity made her see men for what they were. She focused on her work.

By then, their four children were born. Grandma Lin toiled relentlessly to manage the Lin Family while bearing four kids. No matter their wealth, the physical toll was inevitable.

Grandpa Lin had started cheating from the first child onward, but he hid it well—Grandma Lin never suspected.

When she discovered it, she found him repulsive and demanded divorce. But after fifteen years, he had entrenched himself and refused.

As Grandma Lin took over as family head, internal strife erupted, draining the family’s vitality and leaving it vulnerable.

So she shelved the divorce and gradually stripped Grandpa Lin of power.

Once she sidelined him and prepared to divorce, her health failed fatally.

In her final moments, Grandma Lin announced her will, bequeathing a massive inheritance to her favored granddaughter, Lin Xianing.

It dwarfed what any child or third-generation relative received—beyond the main estate.

These were Grandma Lin’s personal empire, fought for outside ancestral holdings; she left it all to Lin Xianing.

Young Lin Xianing inheriting such wealth naturally bred envy.

The other branches contested the will’s fine print, withholding it on a pretext: she’d get it after marriage.

By normal channels, who knew when that would be—meanwhile, the fortune would be siphoned away.

Delaying meant she’d lack the power to fight later.

The Lin Family’s ruthless members—those who devoured without trace—were beyond her then.

They shoved “elite” suitors her way; she wanted none.

At the time, Le Yiqiu and Lin Xianing were in the same crew. One day, they wrapped early, and Lin Xianing joined a group outing.

They hit a sports center, everyone pursuing their interests.