Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 20

Four years ago, An Chixu had just graduated from university.

Throughout her college years, she had been busy dating Yan Ciwei. At the time, pursuing postgraduate studies wasn’t considered essential.

An Chixu believed her bachelor’s degree was sufficient. She didn’t have grand ambitions; she simply wanted a job that could support her, preferably something easygoing, so she could help alleviate some of Yan Ciwei’s burdens.

During graduation season, Yan Ciwei met An Chixu’s mother twice. An Chixu never learned the specifics of their conversations.

Yan Ciwei rarely spoke about her family. An Chixu had learned during their freshman year that Yan Ciwei’s mother had never cared for her. Throughout her life, Yan Ciwei had received only material support, with no emotional warmth or affection.

How similar we are, An Chixu thought. At that time, she was convinced that Yan Ciwei was the love of her life, the person she would spend forever with. They were kindred spirits, perfectly compatible.

After graduation, An Chixu didn’t give much thought to her next steps.

Yan Ciwei would take care of everything.

This was An Chixu’s mindset until early May.

The shift occurred in mid-May.

“Mommy… Mother?” An Chixu answered an unfamiliar call.

The voice on the other end was familiar, yet different from what she remembered.

It carried a hoarse weariness, sounding like someone past middle age, their vitality slowly fading.

Throughout her four years of university, An Chixu had only received living expenses from her parents during her freshman year. After that, she would only receive red envelopes from her mother and stepmother during the Lunar New Year—usually on the third or fourth day of the holiday. On the first day of the New Year and New Year’s Eve, such important occasions, both women were reunited with their new families, barely remembering An Chixu.

At other times, An Chixu had never contacted them even once.

“Chixu, is that you?” Her mother sounded so much older. She couldn’t even be sure the person on the phone was An Chixu.

“It’s me, Mother. Is there something you need?” An Chixu walked alone across the campus, waiting for her family to finish their graduation defenses.

It seemed Yan Ciwei’s mother had come to see her today as well.

An Chixu’s mind drifted slightly. The emotional impact her own mother had on her was far less than that of Yan Ciwei’s mother.

An Chixu desperately wanted to know what they had discussed.

Was it related to their family businesses? What would Yan Ciwei’s future hold? Would there be a place for her in it?

Many couples break up after graduation. Even some of An Chixu’s casual acquaintances were facing relationship troubles, mostly due to long-distance relationships.

Would that happen to them too?

No.

An Chixu clenched her fist, stopping her aimless pacing.

Yan Ciwei loves me so much. How could she ever abandon me?

Her breath fogged her vision.

The sky was overcast, threatening rain.

She had brought a red umbrella specifically to pick up Yan Ciwei after her thesis defense and walk her home.

The voice on the phone was muffled, as murky as the gloomy sky.

An Chixu caught only fragments of the conversation, her mind wandering three times between sentences.

“Nothing important, just suddenly thought of you and wanted to call to check in.”

Her mother sounded slightly embarrassed, as if she didn’t quite believe her own words.

“How have you been lately? Are you… short on money?”

An Chixu gazed at the sky, stepping under the eaves of the building and leaning against its weathered wall.

The cracked paint crumbled as she pressed against it, a few flakes falling to the ground.

The teaching building was eerily silent. The sound of the paint peeling off was louder than An Chixu’s reply, drowning out her mother’s voice.

“I’m doing fine. I don’t lack for money,” An Chixu said, her lashes drooping.

When she had been short on money, Yan Ciwei had taken her in.

Now she lacked nothing, least of all a mother who hadn’t thought of her once in four years.

“So… what year are you in now? Third year? You’ll be looking for internships next year, right?” Her mother couldn’t even remember An Chixu’s age.

Even though An Chixu was the daughter she had carried for ten months, personally given birth to, and raised carefully for five or six years.

At least, in the years before her mother lost her job, the family had lived a stable and happy life.

Perhaps to her mother, those events were so long past that they had become old scars. Unless touched, she wouldn’t even notice the layer of brown scab still there.

Now, even a gentle touch brought no pain.

Unless she tried to tear the scab off.

“I’ve already graduated,” An Chixu said, unsure how to address her mother.

In most families, the woman who gave birth to you is called “Mother,” and her partner, regardless of bl00d relation, is called “Mom.” For a more intimate tone, even grown children might call their mother “Mommy.”

But An Chixu couldn’t bring herself to use any of those terms.

Her mother was too distant and formal. It was rare for her to show such concern.

Mommy, on the other hand, was too affectionate. They hadn’t been this close in at least seven years.

By her calculations, her half-sister, born to the same mother but a different father, must be five years old by now.

A silence hung in the air.

No sound came through the phone.

An Chixu thought she might have heard faint breathing, but she couldn’t tell if it was hers or the woman who had once shared her bl00d through the umbilical cord.

She simply closed her eyes.

The early summer breeze, quiet and restrained, brushed gently against her ankles, carrying the scent of rain.

Gradually, the voices from the classroom building drifted down, drowning out her thoughts.

Her mind drifted blank. She should have hung up long ago.

Instead, she held the phone, letting sweat glue the screen to her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” An Chixu heard her mother’s apology after a long silence.

An Chixu opened her eyes.

A sudden drizzle blurred the gray landscape outside the classroom building.

“What?” She seemed to hear only the sound of rain.

“Chixu, Mommy apologizes. I’m so sorry.” Her mother’s voice grew increasingly weary, fading into the distance.

As if washed clean by the rain, it thinned into a pale gray cloud in the sky.

“I didn’t give you enough love or care when you were little. I never knew when you were sick and always blamed you for being shy and withdrawn… Chixu, am I a terrible mother?” Her mother let out a faint, almost imperceptible laugh.

She was mocking herself.

An Chixu couldn’t answer her question.

Was her mother a bad person?

The ten-year-old An Chixu would have hesitated before writing “No,” then secretly glanced up, hoping for a hint of tenderness in response, even if it was just a bowl of spoiled beef stew with potatoes.

The sixteen-year-old An Chixu would have written a venomous “Yes” without hesitation. She had fled to Yan Ciwei’s home, embraced her new mother, and no longer needed anyone else’s validation.

Now, An Chixu was nearly twenty-two.

She was beginning to understand what it took to maintain a family.

Love was important, but material security was even more crucial.

She was also slowly processing her childhood and her family’s circumstances.

She vaguely remembered that the year her parents’ arguments erupted, their family was desperately poor.

That year, young An Chixu was growing rapidly but never had enough to eat. Her T-shirts were too short, forcing her to tuck her skirts up to cover her exposed midriff.

She also vaguely remembered the content of her parents’ arguments—trivial daily matters. Until they finally crossed the line and made irreversible mistakes.

Now, at twenty-two, when An Chixu heard this question again, she could no longer simply write “Yes” or “No.”

Did this answer even matter to her?

She had waited sixteen years for an apology—nearly the length of her entire life. How much from before the age of six could truly remain as memory?

In An Chixu’s clearest memories, her mother was absent.

Therefore, she didn’t need her mother’s apology.

“It’s alright,” An Chixu murmured, listening to the rain and her mother’s repeated apologies, gently interrupting.

A sob came through the rain-soaked line.

Her mother seemed to be crying.

How strange. She hadn’t shed a single tear herself.

Perhaps her tears had dried up at sixteen.

“How could this happen… Baby, Mommy wants to apologize. At least, at least tell me your current contact information. I want to know how you’re doing,” her mother pleaded earnestly.

After hanging up, An Chixu still sent her current account details.

She received a friend request. The profile picture showed a little sister she’d never met before.

The five-year-old girl had a round, chubby face, rosy cheeks, and dark, grape-like eyes. She looked happy and healthy.

The little girl’s features bore a faint resemblance to An Chixu’s. Perhaps An Chixu had looked just as innocent and carefree at five.

This was the sister she’d never known—the child her mother had conceived during An Chixu’s first year of high school.

Her mother’s carefully nurtured new daughter.

She had a blissful childhood, well-fitting clothes, and balanced meals.

There were no endless arguments, no petty squabbles that could ruin her appetite.

A drop of water landed on An Chixu’s phone screen, blurring the photo.

Then another drop, and another.

Drip, drip, drip—the rain seemed to be tapping “Accept” for her.

This sudden downpour is really heavy, An Chixu thought.

Good thing I brought a big umbrella. Yan Ciwei and I can huddle together and walk home all sticky and close.

“Tuantuan! Why are you crying?” At that moment, An Chixu’s favorite voice rushed down the stairs.

A pair of hands brushed across her cheeks.

Crying?

An Chixu stared blankly down. The phone screen had gone dark. She saw only a blur, then blinked, and her own tear-streaked face appeared on the screen.

“What’s wrong, Tuantuan? Do you miss me?” Yan Ciwei took An Chixu’s hand firmly, slipped her phone into her own pocket, and kissed the corner of An Chixu’s eye, tasting each surging tear.

“It’s nothing…” Her heart ached, a sour tug in her chest, her lungs and throat burning.

“…I miss you. I miss you so much.” An Chixu squeezed out more tears, burrowing into Yan Ciwei’s arms, the red umbrella falling to the floor.

In truth, the rain was light, barely drifting into the classroom.

“I miss you too, my sweet Tuantuan.” Yan Ciwei held An Chixu tightly, cupping the back of her head, listening to her sobs against her chest.

Her eyes were the same color as a rainy day.

An Chixu’s sobs gradually subsided. The hand clutching Yan Ciwei’s lapels went limp, and she instead wrapped her arms around Yan Ciwei’s waist.

“You’ve really settled for a girlfriend like this?” another voice called out from behind Yan Ciwei.

An Chixu flinched in shock, and Yan Ciwei’s arms tightened around her until she could barely breathe.

Yan Ciwei seemed to turn her head slightly, but she remained silent.

In those few seconds, An Chixu felt like she was suffocating from her racing heartbeat.

Finally, Yan Ciwei released her.

An Chixu glanced sideways at the speaker.

It was the first time she had seen Yan Ciwei’s mother. Her silhouette resembled Yan Ciwei’s.

Is she… dissatisfied with me?

“Let’s go home,” Yan Ciwei said, showing no intention of following her mother or introducing An Chixu.

She acted as if nothing had happened, picking up An Chixu’s fallen umbrella, opening it, and holding it firmly to keep her dry.

An Chixu gripped Yan Ciwei’s sleeve tightly as they walked home.

After that day, An Chixu began receiving daily messages from her mother.

Their first exchange was a bank transfer from her mother—a large sum of money, like compensation.

An Chixu refused it. In response, her mother sent even more messages, filled with inquiries and concern.

Her mother asked about An Chixu’s major, her grades, and the friends she had made.

It was like having a real mother.

An Chixu answered as best she could, sometimes letting days pass because she didn’t want to see that profile picture.

Then her mother would call.

An Chixu always went to the balcony to answer, turning her back to Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei sat in the living room, her gaze fixed on An Chixu from where she couldn’t be seen.

“Busy,” An Chixu said tersely.

She was preparing for her thesis defense and job interviews.

She hadn’t decided on a company yet, so she was sending out applications randomly.

Yan Ciwei was always there, helping her revise her resume, filter job postings, and submit applications.

That was her real mommy.

“Oh, right, senior year is so busy… What are you planning to do after graduation, sweetie?”

An Chixu didn’t understand what a normal mother would want to hear when asking such a question.

Perhaps normal mothers wouldn’t even ask. They would already know their daughter’s plans.

“I might stay here,” An Chixu said, leaning against the railing and watching how the plum rain season transformed the mold in the corner.

“S City is so competitive, isn’t it? Must be hard to find a job.”

“Not necessarily…” An Chixu hadn’t started her job search in earnest yet.

Partly out of laziness, and partly because Yan Ciwei had told her not to rush.

Perhaps Yan Ciwei had some plans in mind. An Chixu was even more naive than she had been at five years old.

“Would you consider coming back? I’m here too, and I can help you out. Your sister… she wants to meet you. I’ve always told her about you, about your childhood… I just couldn’t find a way to contact you before.” It was the first time her mother had ever extended an invitation to An Chixu.

“I’ll see how things go,” An Chixu replied, not refusing outright.

She had never been good at saying no, and deep down, she might have genuinely been tempted by the suggestion.

Although her four years in S City had been enjoyable, it wasn’t the familiar hometown she knew.

If she could return, An Chixu would feel more at ease.

The lower cost of living would also make it easier to achieve her goals.

Yan Ciwei had lived in her hometown before, so it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

“Then, darling, send me your resume. I’ll ask around and see if I can get you an interview.” Her mother sounded genuinely pleased.

An Chixu hung up, inhaling the musty, rusty scent of the railing. The air still carried the earthy, fishy smell of rain-soaked soil.

She really wasn’t used to S City’s climate, especially during the annual plum rain season.

Everything molded so easily. She had to take extra care of the dolls Yan Ciwei had given her; they’d mold if she wasn’t careful, and she’d cried to Yan Ciwei about it several times.

Yan Ciwei had replaced them with several more.

“Finished?” Yan Ciwei appeared behind her on time, silent as a shadow, and wrapped her arms around An Chixu’s back.

“Mm-hmm.” An Chixu turned around without hesitation and nestled into Yan Ciwei’s embrace.

If everything in S City was prone to mold, only Yan Ciwei and their love remained dry and pure.

“Was that your mother? What did she say?” Yan Ciwei carried her little Tuantuan home.

An Chixu didn’t notice the fleeting darkness in Yan Ciwei’s eyes.

“About work… She said my sister wants to meet me.” An Chixu pressed closer to Yan Ciwei, spreading her fingers.

“She must be around five years old. I’ve never met her, and she’s never met me either.” Yet for some reason, hearing the words “she wants to meet you” still stirred a flutter in An Chixu’s heart.

It hurts so much.

“There’s no need to go back,” Yan Ciwei said, her voice muffled with suppressed emotion. After a long moment, she finally grasped An Chixu’s outstretched hand.

“Hmm?” An Chixu, lost in her gloomy pain, slowly lifted her head.

“You don’t know her, and she doesn’t know you. A child that young can only repeat what her parents have taught her,” Yan Ciwei said, her voice flat. She had no trust in An Chixu’s mother.

She had investigated the woman.

An Yusheng, recently divorced for the second time, was in poor health, having visited the hospital over a dozen times in the past two months.

The exact nature of her illness remained unknown, but Yan Ciwei suspected her motives were far from pure, given her attempt to lure An Chixu back.

“So… my mother actually wants to see me?” An Chixu somehow misinterpreted Yan Ciwei’s meaning.

“…She definitely has ulterior motives,” Yan Ciwei said, biting her lip to maintain her composure in front of An Chixu.

An Chixu remained silent.

Two days later, when she received her mother’s interview recommendation, An Chixu finally realized:

She wanted to go back.

“Are you really going back?” Yan Ciwei asked, gently unpacking An Chixu’s suitcase that she had brought back from her hometown.

Yan Ciwei had only packed about three days’ worth of clothes for An Chixu.

She didn’t want An Chixu to stay too long.

“Yeah, I should go check on her. She’s been saying all those things…” For days, An Chixu’s mother had been sending her messages, inviting her back with a hint of pleading.

“I’ve even arranged interviews. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

An Chixu wasn’t naive. She had long suspected her mother had ulterior motives.

Yet she still wanted to go back.

“I’ll come back right after you finish up with graduation stuff. Then we can go on our graduation trip together,” An Chixu said, hugging Yan Ciwei and kissing her ear to reassure her.

Yan Ciwei remained silent.

Four years of dating, seven years of companionship.

This was the first time they had ever been apart.

And it was all because of someone who had once treated An Chixu so poorly.

Yan Ciwei was in no mood for pleasantries. That night, she clung to An Chixu, demanding her again and again until dawn.

Then, as An Chixu lay exhausted and fast asleep, Yan Ciwei quietly canceled her alarm.

“Oh no, oh no…” An Chixu woke up on time the next morning, but when she checked the clock, she nearly cried.

She rushed to wash up, moving quietly so as not to disturb Yan Ciwei. After their passionate night, Yan Ciwei must be even more exhausted than she was.

As An Chixu washed up, Yan Ciwei embraced her from behind.

“You don’t need to go,” Yan Ciwei murmured, pressing her cheek against An Chixu’s shoulder, eyes still closed.

An Chixu paused mid-brush.

“There’s a mudslide today. The high-speed rail is suspended,” Yan Ciwei said, showing An Chixu the latest news on her phone.

“Ah…” An Chixu spat out her mouthwash, accidentally swallowing a mouthful. The minty flavor burned her throat.

“Stay here… help me revise my thesis, okay?” Yan Ciwei kissed An Chixu’s ear, just like when they were packing up last night.

“But the interview…” The interview was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Even if An Chixu didn’t go to work, she should still attend the interview.

Her mother had arranged it through connections. Out of both obligation and genuine interest, she needed to at least check it out.

Yan Ciwei nipped at An Chixu’s earlobe.

For the first time, An Chixu failed to assert her own will.

Yan Ciwei pinned her down, showering her with kisses—hot, clinging kisses as intense as the downpour that triggered the mudslide.

An Chixu relented. She told her mother she couldn’t make it due to the weather and wouldn’t attend the interview.

After all, Yan Ciwei was here.

“Good girl, Tuantuan… I’ll reward you.” As An Chixu texted her mother, Yan Ciwei gently took her hand, her fingers sliding in and out.

“Sister, I… I’m still texting…” An Chixu hesitated, unsure whether to use voice messages or type with one hand.

Her ears flushed crimson. This was the first time Yan Ciwei had sat on her like this.

“It’s okay, just use voice messages. I want you to hold me,” Yan Ciwei murmured, nuzzling into An Chixu’s embrace.

“Tuantuan… don’t you like it?” Her voice, soft as silk, tugged at An Chixu’s heart.

An Chixu released her phone, set it aside, and switched to voice messages.

She held Yan Ciwei close, slowly savoring this reward.

Her mother answered the call almost immediately.

“Baby, are you on the high-speed train yet?” Her mother clearly hadn’t heard about the mudslide.

“The train won’t run today, maybe not even for the next few days… I won’t be able to make the interview…” An Chixu’s voice trembled.

Yan Ciwei was right by her ear, kissing her neck, completely unconcerned about the phone call. She made no attempt to muffle her moans, her passion more unrestrained than ever before.

As always, Yan Ciwei was the one stimulating An Chixu’s senses, guiding her to take the next step.

“But darling, that’s a wonderful job!” Her mother’s voice carried a hint of anxiety. “And if you come back, I can take care of you…”

An Chixu was nearly dazed by Yan Ciwei’s kisses.

She managed to stammer out a vague sentence.

“What was that?” Her mother leaned closer, her voice sharper. “Darling, is someone there with you?”

Yan Ciwei was about to speak when An Chixu urgently kissed her again.

The phone slipped from An Chixu’s hand and clattered to the floor.

“Darling? Chixu?” Her mother’s voice drifted up from the ground, even more indistinct than the sensation of Yan Ciwei’s fingertips on her skin.

An Chixu closed her eyes, her body trembling violently. Yan Ciwei sat astride her, her hips rising and falling, guiding her movements.

Two days later, An Chixu prepared for her online interview, reviewing her resume and potential questions.

Yan Ciwei sat beside her, editing her thesis. The two women were pressed close together.

Five minutes before the interview was scheduled to begin, the apartment lost power. The computer froze, the Wi-Fi disappeared, and the entire building plunged into darkness.

“…Guess we’ll have to try using my phone’s data,” Yan Ciwei said, suppressing a smile. She lit candles for An Chixu and opened her phone’s interface.

The data connection was sluggish, and the interviewer’s words came through in choppy bursts.

An Chixu struggled to understand and her replies were equally fragmented.

After the interview, An Chixu sighed. Fortunately, she hadn’t been counting on this job.

Two days later, her mother called with good news, urging An Chixu to come home.

An Chixu postponed the trip.

Yan Ciwei had secured her an interview at a company that was better than any in her hometown and more aligned with An Chixu’s aspirations.

The headquarters were in Four-Nine City, but the S City branch was also substantial. It was an entertainment company.

At the time, An Chixu didn’t think much of it and simply began preparing.

It wasn’t until half an hour before her first day at the company that the realization hit her.

Yan Ciwei’s family owned an entertainment company. She was the daughter of the chairman of a long-established media conglomerate, a fact An Chixu was aware of.

“Sister… is this your company?” An Chixu asked nervously, fidgeting with her hands in the car. She was beginning to realize that Yan Ciwei didn’t want her to return to their hometown for work.

“We’re going for an interview,” Yan Ciwei replied, avoiding a direct answer. She fastened An Chixu’s seatbelt and started the car.

The weather was gloomy, and visibility was poor throughout the drive.

An Chixu sat in the passenger seat, gripping the seatbelt. When she heard Yan Ciwei’s words, she turned her head, only to meet Yan Ciwei’s cold gaze.

Yan Ciwei focused intently on driving, her expression devoid of warmth. Her sharp features, paired with the crimson mole beneath her eye, gave her a somewhat intimidating appearance.

An Chixu stared at her for a long moment, transfixed.

It wasn’t until the red mole seemed to spin and imprint itself painfully into her mind that she finally closed her eyes.

As if she had finally glimpsed Yan Ciwei’s true nature.

Upon arriving at the company, Yan Ciwei parked with practiced ease. When she turned to look at An Chixu, the movement seemed to slow down, frame by frame.

Each frame revealed the gradual transformation of Yan Ciwei’s expression, allowing An Chixu to witness the entire process of her changing face.

In the blink of an eye, the cold Yan Ciwei vanished, replaced by the familiar sister and loving family she knew.

“Let’s go, Tuantuan. I’ll take you up,” Yan Ciwei said, taking the bag from An Chixu’s hand and unbuckling her seatbelt.

She walked around to An Chixu’s side and reached out to help her out of the car.

No words were needed. These actions spoke volumes.

This was Yan Ciwei’s family’s company.

Yan Ciwei had arranged for her to enter through the back door.

Yan Ciwei wanted her to stay in S City, perhaps even return to Four-Nine City with her.

Anything but go back to that underdeveloped hometown.

An Chixu hadn’t exerted herself, yet her heart raced as if she had uncovered a shocking secret.

The parking lot was too dark. When An Chixu looked at Yan Ciwei, she couldn’t make out her backlit expression, only the red mole beneath her eye.

An Chixu tentatively reached out, her hand hovering just an inch away.

Yan Ciwei grasped her hand and guided her out of the car.

An Chixu lowered her head. She didn’t even have time to hesitate.

Yan Ciwei had already escorted her to the interview room and opened the door for her.

Another candidate was already being interviewed. No one had expected Yan Ciwei to personally escort someone here.

One interviewer reacted the most, nearly spilling tea all over the table. The poor applicant, thinking it was some kind of stress test, sweated profusely but dared not show any reaction.

An Chixu observed everything.

A dull ache settled in her chest.

She prided herself on not being a good person—neither kind nor virtuous. She could accept Yan Ciwei using underhanded methods to get rid of people, making her an accomplice.

But seeing Yan Ciwei openly clearing the path for her triggered a nauseous, visceral reaction, much like when she’d heard her parents arguing as a child.

Was it because she found this morally reprehensible? Yet Yan Ciwei was doing it all for her. How hypocritical would she be to quarrel with Yan Ciwei over this?

An Chixu covered her mouth, her bones feeling like they were melting, and she slid downward.

Yan Ciwei held her so tightly that she couldn’t even fall to the ground.

“P-please wait outside for fifteen minutes,” the eldest interviewer finally stammered, ushering the intruding young lady and her entourage out of the room.

“Don’t worry. Everything will go smoothly,” Yan Ciwei said, guiding An Chixu out of the office.

She settled An Chixu onto a waiting chair like a doll, then pulled out the handkerchief An Chixu had given her and gently wiped the sweat from her forehead.

Yan Ciwei was packaging her masterpiece—the lover she had meticulously cultivated.

An Chixu stood frozen, helplessly waiting for Yan Ciwei to finish, unable to even blink. She had truly become Yan Ciwei’s prized sculpture.

Only when Yan Ciwei pressed a forbidden kiss to the tip of her nose could An Chixu move again.

“I’ll be waiting for you right here,” Yan Ciwei said after the kiss, stroking An Chixu’s hair as she guided her into the interview room.

An Chixu’s grip on her clothes tightened until her palms nearly bled. She felt her phone vibrate and glanced at it before the door closed.

It was a message from her mother.

That single glance shattered An Chixu’s composure.

She couldn’t utter a word. During the ten-minute interview, she spent eleven minutes crying, unable to even finish her self-introduction.

As An Chixu walked out of the interview room, her mother’s words still echoed in her mind:

Baby, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been a terrible mother, but I just miss you so much. I’m afraid I’ll never see you again… Mommy has cancer—thyroid cancer. I’m going into surgery soon. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.

“Tuantuan?” Yan Ciwei was still waiting by the door, pacing restlessly, surprised by how quickly An Chixu had finished.

Her face was still wet with tears, just like the day her mother had come to watch her thesis defense.

“Tuantuan, what’s wrong? Did they give you a hard time?” That shouldn’t be possible. Yan Ciwei had personally brought An Chixu here—how dare they?

An Chixu stared blankly, managing only one word:

“I’m sorry…”

An Chixu had been hired by the Rian Group.

It was the biggest joke imaginable.

She received the news just as her mother called.

Assuming the surgery had gone well, she answered immediately, not even pausing for self-deprecation.

But when she answered, a little girl’s frantic cries and screams burst through the line.

“Sister, Sister, Sister, please save my Mommy! Save her! Please…”

The child’s garbled grammar, combined with her near-screaming voice, slammed into An Chixu’s mind like a thunderclap.

It felt as if bl00d had been violently splashed over her head, scalding her with a jolt of heat before leaving her shivering with cold.

Her phone clattered to the floor.

“Mommy—save her, Sister—” The child’s voice still pierced through the screen, burrowing into An Chixu’s mind.

After a moment of trembling, she suddenly wrapped her arms around herself, digging her nails into her skin.

Something had happened to her mother.

And it was her fault.

In a daze, a strong voice yanked her back to reality, pulling her from the chaos.

“Tuantuan, Tuantuan.”

An Chixu opened her eyes, her vision blurred with tears. She gasped for breath, blinking away the wetness, and saw Yan Ciwei’s slightly furrowed brow.

“Sister…” Her sister had come.

To rescue her, to help her.

Yet for the first time, An Chixu felt utterly insecure.

Yan Ciwei clearly didn’t want her to return. Would she grant her request?

“Sister, Weiwei… My mother… she’s had an accident,” An Chixu said, still clutching Yan Ciwei’s hand.

“I want to go back and see her… Can I go back and see her?” She shook Yan Ciwei’s arm, her tear-stained eyes seeming to weep bl00d.

Yan Ciwei seemed half a head taller now, looking down at An Chixu, who was half-kneeling on the ground. Her peach-blossom eyes had lost their usual warmth.

Gone was the autumn lake, gone was the affection.

Only cold frost remained.

“No, Tuantuan,” Yan Ciwei said, reaching down to lift An Chixu into her arms.

The words were colder than her gaze.

“Why can’t I go?”

“She treated you so badly, Tuantuan. Have you forgotten? When she called you back for Chinese New Year, it was just to argue with that man. She didn’t even notice when you were sick. She never attended your parent-teacher conferences, and when she occasionally asked about your grades, she always said you weren’t studying hard enough.”

“But she’s my mother. She apologized, and now she’s sick. Can’t I even go see her? I just want to know if she’s okay.”

“And what happens after you see her? She’ll want you to take care of her because she’s sick and because she apologized. A mother who hasn’t cared for you since you were six will suddenly expect you to care for her. Tell me, would you refuse? Then she’ll want you to take care of your sister—a sister you’ve never met, who’s lived a better life than you, who hasn’t experienced any of these traumas. Would you be willing? Would you do it?”

“…How do you know she’ll ask me for all that? She, she said she just wanted to see me, afraid she might never get another chance.”

“Why do you think she suddenly came looking for you? If she hadn’t gotten sick, would she even remember you? While you were hiding from the rain at my house, she was fooling around with someone else. When you cried about having no home and collapsed on the floor, she was carrying her new daughter. When you were devastated by your poor exam results, she had just given birth to her youngest daughter and was cradling her in the hospital, smiling with radiant happiness… Her seven years of happiness had nothing to do with you, while all your suffering during those seven years was because of her! I… you, do you think I stopped you for no reason?”

“Enough! Enough, enough… enough…”

“You can’t go back. You can’t see her. She’s perfectly fine. A five-year-old called you because her mother wouldn’t wake up from anesthesia, and you rushed back in a panic? Did you even consider what they might do to you?”

“Stop talking…”

“I won’t stop. An Chixu, look at me. You… you should at least think of me. I’m the one who truly loves you, the one who wants what’s best for you, who doesn’t want you to suffer needlessly. Tuantuan, please, just look at me.”

“……”

“Tuantuan, do you not love me anymore?”

“So I can’t leave your side, is that it?”

“No, no! I just don’t want you to suffer, really, Tuantuan… Tuantuan… Please, come back…”

Yan Ciwei hugged An Chixu tightly again.

In the airport.

An Chixu, clutching the plane ticket for a flight departing in half an hour, finally let go.

The crumpled ticket fell to the ground, where Yan Ciwei stepped on it, dirtying it beyond use.

“Please…” Yan Ciwei had never begged her before.

An Chixu felt a pain she couldn’t articulate, a sharp ache in her heart that made her want to vomit, yet the sourness of it held her back.

“Come back, Tuantuan. Come back to me. Don’t leave me.” Yan Ciwei took her hand, interlacing their fingers, and wrapped her arms around An Chixu’s waist.

“Let’s go, Tuantuan. Let’s go home.” She had won.

An Chixu abandoned her plans to visit her mother back home.

Her high-speed rail ticket, her job interview, her plane ticket…

All discarded by Yan Ciwei.

Now that Yan Ciwei had relented and wanted to take her home, she agreed.

At twenty-two, An Chixu failed to recognize Yan Ciwei’s apparent surrender as a veiled attempt at control.

No one would admit to their controlling tendencies, least of all Yan Ciwei, a proud and self-possessed young woman who would never acknowledge such an ugly truth.

By twenty-five, An Chixu no longer needed a quarrel to make her decision.

“You should leave,” she said, offering no further explanation.

Not even an extra glance or gesture.

Yan Ciwei froze in place.

She had so much she wanted to say.

An Chixu can’t even take care of herself. How could she possibly care for a cat?

Besides, those things were all scattered haphazardly. I just wanted to help organize them.

She looked up, meeting An Chixu’s gaze in the doorway.

Her eyes had returned to their hollow emptiness.

A silent, colorless void, a deathly black devoid of light.

A palpable darkness that pierced Yan Ciwei’s heart.

Suddenly, Yan Ciwei understood.

An Chixu no longer wanted her.

The limited-time fantasy had ended. She had once again committed an unforgivable act.

And so, An Chixu was abandoning her again.

“Tuan, Tuantuan…” Yan Ciwei’s lips trembled as she spoke, afraid to offer any explanation. She only wanted An Chixu to turn back.

“Tuantuan, I, I…” She saw An Chixu move.

The cat room had a large, high window, sealed shut and without curtains.

The rain outside the window cast a dull, yellowish-brown light, the murky sky forming a heavy, oppressive net.

This light illuminated half of An Chixu’s body in stark white, the other half in deep shadow.

She took a step toward Yan Ciwei.

Just one step, and Yan Ciwei suddenly heard the rain outside the window.

A scene from four years ago replayed in her mind.

Once again, she had lost something of An Chixu’s, foolishly trying to confine a wild cat within her palm.

But An Chixu was no longer the docile, compromising girl she used to be.

She had developed sharp edges, becoming someone Yan Ciwei no longer recognized.

The last time Yan Ciwei had felt this way was when An Chixu had made breakfast.

Her heart had raced with panic when she realized the pampered kitten she had kept in her palm could cook.

Yan Ciwei clenched her fist, desperate to force everything back on track.

But An Chixu simply opened the door.

“But Tuantuan, I love you…” Yan Ciwei pleaded, her voice trembling.

An Chixu offered only one word:

“I’m sorry.”

The wind outside rushed in.

Rainwater, carrying the earthy stench of mud, splashed across Yan Ciwei’s face, instantly sobering her, then drowning her again.

Yan Ciwei couldn’t remember how she left.

The next thing she knew, she was standing in the rain.

She tilted her head back, letting the rain fall heedlessly into her eyes.

The cold, stinging water seemed to seep into her very bones, leaving her aching and raw.

The Character Design Planning Department was about to elect a new team leader.

The entire department consisted of junior staff; otherwise, they wouldn’t have taken on a girl group with such poor team cohesion. Apart from Pei Luochen, the center member, the rest were clearly considered expendable by the company.

Everyone speculated about who would be parachuted in as the new leader.

Ideally, they hoped for someone who would bring a new, lucrative project—something with real financial rewards—so they wouldn’t have to keep designing characters for a group of girls the company refused to invest in.

The girls were pitiful, but the department staff, earning just 6,000 yuan a month in S City while working overtime every night, felt even more sorry for themselves.

That afternoon, Yan Ciwei, the department’s direct supervisor, announced the new team leader.

No one could have predicted it.

It was An Chixu.