Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 13

The rain was light.

An Chixu tilted the umbrella slightly, lifting her gaze to the overcast sky.

Oppressive clouds weighed down on her shoulders, their heaviness making it difficult to lift her head.

She took a step forward, and a footstep sounded behind her.

Yan Ciwei was wearing waterproof boots today, tightly encasing her calves despite the heat.

The crisp sound of her boots crunching through the muddy ground echoed clearly.

Perhaps the bells An Chixu had once given her were still tied to the boots.

In her late teens, An Chixu had possessed a unique and self-absorbed aesthetic sense. Ignoring how noisy the bells were, she had stubbornly insisted on decorating their shoes to match.

They were both headstrong runaways, but the difference lay in Yan Ciwei’s ability to return home whenever she pleased, while An Chixu had yet to find a place she truly belonged.

An Chixu lowered the umbrella, watching the rain stream down like a curtain before her. She didn’t turn around.

Silently enduring Yan Ciwei’s transgression, she walked on, listening to each step behind her.

Yan Ciwei moved slowly. The absence of raindrops striking the umbrella meant the reckless Little President Yan was once again letting herself get soaked in the warm rain.

An Chixu suppressed the urge to offer Yan Ciwei the umbrella, regulating her breathing until it became even.

Gradually, she grew accustomed to the presence behind her.

The crisp rhythm of her footsteps, accompanied by the delicate jingle of bells, followed An Chixu like a ghostly tune.

In the rain-soaked world, only the two of them remained.

An Chixu walked ahead, holding up an old black umbrella that sliced through the misty curtain of rain.

Yan Ciwei followed behind, her face shadowed and gloomy. Though drenched to the bone, her eyes remained fixed on the strands of An Chixu’s hair that danced with each step.

An Chixu chose the subway.

She could have taken a taxi—Yan Ciwei had paid for today’s date, and the saved fare would come in handy now.

Yet she still walked into the bustling crowd.

Whether it was tacit consent, a test, or anticipation… An Chixu couldn’t say.

Yan Ciwei’s footsteps didn’t fade away.

Instead, they grew unnervingly distinct, standing out sharply even amidst the throng of commuters.

An Chixu could pinpoint Yan Ciwei’s location with unnerving accuracy: directly behind her, no more than three meters away.

This is madness.

An Chixu tried to ignore it, even plugging her unusually sensitive ears with headphones after passing through security.

Once inside the subway car, she was swallowed by the cacophony, finding a moment of respite.

But she knew, just three meters away, the person she didn’t want to see was standing there.

Her crimson mole pointed in An Chixu’s direction.

Head tilted, eyes fixed on her without wavering.

The crowded subway car seemed to vanish, leaving only their reflections in the window.

An Chixu sat with her head bowed, listening to the music Yan Ciwei had once played for her.

Yan Ciwei turned her head slightly, her gaze fixed solely on An Chixu.

During the twenty-minute ride, passengers came and went in waves.

Yan Ciwei maintained a precise three-meter distance from An Chixu, her gaze centered directly on An Chixu’s temple.

Until her gaze gained weight, like the alert red light of a gun sight, burning so intensely that An Chixu had to seek cover.

But the crowded car left her nowhere to move.

Yan Ciwei was too tall, her custom-made heels adding another three centimeters, allowing her to look down on An Chixu from afar.

I’m about to be hit, An Chixu thought, closing her eyes in dread.

The announcement chimed:

Arriving at the station.

An Chixu exhaled and stepped off the train.

Though she couldn’t hear footsteps, she could feel Yan Ciwei’s gaze.

She had been stared at for so many years; she should be used to it by now.

Yet the soul-chilling gaze, mixed with the warm rain, pierced An Chixu’s back, still causing a needle-like pain.

The subway station was a ten-minute walk from her apartment building. An Chixu’s heart rate gradually quickened.

When she could barely breathe, she stopped.

She was at the entrance of her building, the same spot where Yan Ciwei had dropped her off last time.

This was where they had to part ways.

…A cold, chilling gaze drew closer.

An Chixu hadn’t turned around yet, but she could feel Yan Ciwei pressing against her back, like a malevolent spirit locking onto her soul.

One breath in, one breath out.

Yan Ciwei stole away her human warmth, leaving behind the icy chill of a ghost.

Goosebumps prickled across An Chixu’s skin. Yan Ciwei was even more terrifying than before.

She turned around, only to find Yan Ciwei still standing outside the apartment building.

The three-meter distance served as an invisible boundary, one she hadn’t crossed.

An Chixu met Yan Ciwei’s gaze, noticing the crimson glint deep within her eyes.

She looks even more like a ghost now, An Chixu thought, momentarily lost in thought.

She blinked, her meaning clear:

This is far enough. You don’t need to escort me any further.

Yan Ciwei undoubtedly understood her unspoken message.

They were the two people in the world who knew each other best, their communication often transcending words or touch.

Yan Ciwei stared at her, her gaze heavy with a mix of intense loss, love, and hatred.

Goodbye.

A raindrop clung to An Chixu’s eyelashes before trickling into her eye.

Yet Yan Ciwei took a step forward.

Then another. The three-meter distance continued to shrink.

An Chixu froze slightly.

She realized Yan Ciwei’s footsteps were almost silent, even fainter than the pattering raindrops. The bell ornaments, now waterlogged and rusted, no longer resonated with the bells on her shoes as they once had.

An Chixu lowered her gaze.

Yan Ciwei was already beside her, taking the umbrella that had been hanging limply at her side. Without a word, she closed it for her.

The two entered the elevator together.

An Chixu tilted her head back, watching the numbers flicker upward. Their crimson glow reminded her of the mole on Yan Ciwei’s face.

Yan Ciwei stood beside her, having neatly rolled up the wet umbrella and placed it in a plastic bag.

The rustling sound filled the elevator, intensifying the muggy heat of the sudden summer downpour.

As An Chixu approached her apartment door, Yan Ciwei remained close behind.

Finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You should go home now,” she said, her second sentence to Yan Ciwei that day.

Yan Ciwei leaned slightly forward, handing An Chixu the bagged umbrella. Her eyes held a complex mix of affection and detachment. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out in the rain.”

Their gazes met. An Chixu noticed Yan Ciwei’s soaked hair and shirt.

The hem of her skirt clung to her legs, a disheveled state that somehow retained a trace of elegance.

“You’ll need my care if you get sick,” Yan Ciwei said, her only reason for following An Chixu.

Yet she herself was drenched in the rain.

“I’m perfectly fine on my own,” An Chixu replied. At twenty-five, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

“…Why won’t you accept my butterfly?” Yan Ciwei abruptly changed the subject.

An Chixu fell silent.

They were no longer the inseparable lovers they once were, not even close friends who shared everything.

How could she accept this proof of Yan Ciwei’s obsessive love?

“I miss you terribly,” Yan Ciwei persisted, her voice unwavering.

An Chixu’s slightly hunched posture tensed involuntarily, her hand gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly her nails dug into her palm.

An Chixu sighed. “I know.”

She had long known how desperately Yan Ciwei missed her.

It was like this relentless downpour. After one soaking, another would inevitably follow.

“Then accept it,” Yan Ciwei said, extending her hand, palm concealing the hastily folded butterfly.

Not a single drop of rain had touched it. Yan Ciwei was drenched to the bone, yet she had shielded the butterfly in her palm.

“Tuantuan, you promised me…” Yan Ciwei’s voice trembled slightly, a thin mist—whether rain or tears—swirling in her eyes, the shimmering light so piercing it tugged at An Chixu’s heart.

An Chixu couldn’t bear to see her like this.

Yan Ciwei slowly withdrew her hand and opened her palm.

Yan Ciwei pinched the butterfly’s wings and placed it in An Chixu’s palm.

Yan Ciwei’s hand closed around An Chixu’s.

Their fingers intertwined.

The familiar coolness flowed from Yan Ciwei’s hand into An Chixu’s heart.

Anticipating this touch, An Chixu gradually relaxed her grip, letting Yan Ciwei hold her hand.

Then she lifted her lowered head and looked at Yan Ciwei.

How intimately familiar were the lines on Yan Ciwei’s palm.

An Chixu had lost herself countless times in those delicate ridges and valleys.

The corridor fell silent, the dim light casting ink-like shadows across their bodies.

An Chixu could still hear Yan Ciwei’s breathing and the rain outside.

She closed her eyes, gathering the words she needed to say.

Their intertwined hands suddenly parted.

Yan Ciwei withdrew her hand, taking the butterfly she had folded for An Chixu with her.

She forced a sudden, awkward smile.

Strands of wet hair clung to her face, partially obscuring the crimson birthmark, while her eyes shone with a vivid light.

Unhurried, unhurried, truly elegant.

“Thank you, Tuantuan.” One touch was enough.

Letting go of her longing, Yan Ciwei tucked the butterfly into her palm, bowed to An Chixu, and turned to leave.

She dissolved into the misty rain, vanishing from An Chixu’s sight in an instant.

As if she had never been there at all.

A raindrop trickled down An Chixu’s stray hair and landed on the tip of her nose. Only then did she realize how soaked she was.

An Chixu slowly retrieved her keys and opened the door.

Even the sound of the door closing was muted, almost silent.

The next morning, An Chixu woke up burning with fever, her bones aching.

She had indeed caught a fever.

Yan Ciwei knew her better than she knew herself. How had she sensed An Chixu would fall ill?

An Chixu struggled to sit up, found her usual fever reducer, and swallowed it with trembling hands.

She touched her forehead—just a mild fever. She could still manage. Dragging her sick body, she went to work.

Throughout the day, An Chixu didn’t see Yan Ciwei again.

Yet Yan Ciwei, like the abnormal heat on her forehead, flowed through An Chixu’s veins.

She was always there.

An Chixu returned home early, clutching her throbbing head. She lacked the strength to cook, and even walking to boil water felt impossible.

She collapsed by the bed, propping herself up on the floor as sweat dripped onto the ground like a sudden downpour.

An Chixu pulled out her phone.

She typed the most familiar number—the only one she had memorized, yet rarely dialed.

Since tenth grade, An Chixu had no friends.

Classmates she got along with always drifted away after a few months.

Even now, she still had only that one person.

Her friend, her sister, her guardian.

Her lover, Yan Ciwei.

An Chixu couldn’t bring herself to make the call.

The phone slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. As she collapsed, she saw the number on the screen, but lacked the strength to press the dial button.