Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 24

Apart from Yan Ciwei’s gaze, An Chixu had also grown accustomed to her constant presence.

During the first semester of their freshman year, the two weren’t yet dating. In An Chixu’s current understanding, it should have been considered the “ambiguous” phase.

Though they lived together, they weren’t as inseparable as they would become later in their relationship.

This was especially true since they hadn’t managed to enroll in all the same classes, and Yan Ciwei also had Student Council duties.

Their daily routine typically involved having breakfast together, walking to school, and Yan Ciwei dropping An Chixu off at her classroom.

Back then, An Chixu still held a naive enthusiasm for university life, unlike her later, more withdrawn self. She had even made a few friends in her classes.

[ Weiwei, we’re waiting for you at Cafeteria Two~ When are you coming? ] An Chixu would text her friends after class, and they’d walk together.

“You two aren’t dating yet? No way!” Her friend leaned dramatically over An Chixu’s shoulder to read the message.

“Ugh, I told you, it’s not like that…” An Chixu’s hand trembled, nearly dropping her phone.

“Don’t you like her? Aren’t you two living together?” Her friend, ever the gossip, squinted inquisitively.

“I-I don’t… no…” An Chixu could only deny it, her face flushing crimson. Her entire body began to heat up, and even in the early autumn chill, a thin sheen of sweat broke out on her skin, as if she’d just finished exercising.

“If you don’t like her, why are you living together? Then… she must like you, right?” Her friend didn’t believe a word An Chixu said, her eyes brimming with teasing amusement and her tone mischievous.

“How would I know…?” An Chixu was far more clueless about Yan Ciwei’s feelings than her own.

Her friend’s question flustered her completely. For a moment, she gripped the hem of her skirt tightly, unable to utter another word. She lowered her head, staring at her feet, where a sticker Yan Ciwei had personally helped her apply—a souvenir from their shopping trip—still clung.

“Tuantuan.” Yan Ciwei never disappointed her. The familiar voice drew closer, preceded by the scent of geraniums.

An Chixu jerked her head up, a few beads of sweat scattering behind her.

Yan Ciwei’s eyes softened as they caught the glint of sweat on An Chixu’s face.

She switched to her special smile reserved for An Chixu, walked intimately and familiarly to her side, and took her wrist.

Quietly, she pried open An Chixu’s clenched hand and intertwined their fingers where no one could see.

The red marks from An Chixu’s clenched fist slowly faded. After a brief surge, An Chixu’s heartbeat gradually slowed.

The air filled with the rose-like fragrance of geranium.

An Chixu found her anchor, subtly excused herself from her friends, and moved behind Yan Ciwei.

“Wow, you’re really eager to pick up your girlfriend,” her friend teased, watching their interaction. She didn’t believe for a second that there was nothing between them and even winked at Yan Ciwei.

She didn’t know Yan Ciwei well. Back then, Yan Ciwei wasn’t yet a campus celebrity; no one had dug into her background or knew about her high school achievements.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have dared to tease Yan Ciwei so brazenly about An Chixu.

Yan Ciwei drew An Chixu closer into her embrace, turned her head to look at An Chixu’s friend, and offered her a smile.

Just as her friend was about to reply, a bone-chilling dread crawled up her spine. It was the primal fear of an animal being targeted by its predator, leaving her limbs weak and her mind blank, unable to think of an escape.

In the blink of an eye, Yan Ciwei had already turned away, the terror vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

Her friend touched her arm, now covered in goosebumps, confirming that the fear had been no illusion.

During the meal, An Chixu sat between the two women. Her friend had gathered some gossip to share with An Chixu, but each time she turned her head, she saw Yan Ciwei tilting her head, gently placing food on An Chixu’s plate.

It looked like a mother caring for her daughter.

Or like a predator’s final tenderness before executing its prey.

In that fleeting moment of confusion, her friend couldn’t discern which role Yan Ciwei was playing.

At that moment, Yan Ciwei glanced up, her eyes flashing with a warning as she met her friend’s gaze.

Swallowing hard, her friend dared not disturb the pair again. She silently shifted to the side, lowering her head to eat.

Even as they ate, An Chixu could be heard softly recounting her day to Yan Ciwei, detailing even the most trivial events, like the teacher adjusting her glasses three times during class.

How strange, her friend thought inwardly.

After finishing her meal, An Chixu wanted to wait for Yan Ciwei, but Yan Ciwei told her to go ahead.

Two weeks later, An Chixu stopped spending time with her friend.

During Yan Ciwei’s absences, An Chixu reverted to being alone, often carrying her bag as she walked through campus.

She was the kind of girl with an almost nonexistent presence, her footsteps barely audible, her movements gentle as a falling autumn leaf. Even when she drifted to the ground, no one noticed, and she might even be unconsciously stepped on.

An Chixu had become practically invisible, with Yan Ciwei as her sole focus of attention.

Yan Ciwei always found her.

When An Chixu was changing classrooms after class, Yan Ciwei would suddenly appear halfway there and take her bag.

When An Chixu went to the library to wait for Yan Ciwei to finish Student Council work, Yan Ciwei arrived an hour early and gently patted An Chixu’s back in a corner.

Even when Yan Ciwei’s evening class hadn’t ended yet, after a busy day, she would come to An Chixu’s classroom, casually sit beside her, and stay for half the class, as if auditing.

It seemed that wherever An Chixu was, Yan Ciwei could find her.

At the time, An Chixu was content with this special connection.

She didn’t need to cry out or wander aimlessly.

If she stood still, Yan Ciwei would come to her.

Take her hand, pull her close.

Yan Ciwei would always find her, again and again.

And then they would stay together forever.

After they separated, Yan Ciwei deliberately avoided An Chixu, walking straight past her without a backward glance. Not even a strand of hair lingered in the breeze as she drifted away.

The scent of geranium had vanished.

The faint fragrance that remained was Jasmine Snow Bud.

An Chixu stood frozen, eventually lowering her head.

Just like she had at sixteen, eighteen, and twenty, she gazed down at her shoes.

This was once her most familiar perspective, one she hadn’t seen in years.

An Chixu, long unaccustomed to the dizziness of looking down, stumbled twice, her neck aching.

She forced herself to lift her head.

All she saw was Yan Ciwei’s retreating figure.

Yan Ciwei was walking away, toward Pei Luochen, who was also scheduled to film today.

Pei Luochen again. The last time An Chixu visited Yan Ciwei’s office, she had seen this woman there too.

There must be something unusual between them.

But An Chixu and Yan Ciwei no longer shared every detail of their lives.

An Chixu gathered the emotions that had fallen onto her shoes, turned, and led He Yuyan into the makeup room.

As the door closed, Yan Ciwei finally couldn’t resist looking back. She glanced down the crowded corridor, her lashes fluttering slowly.

The person she wanted to see had left with resolute finality, not even glancing back at her.

Did he truly not care about her?

Yan Ciwei’s peach blossom eyes turned cold, the piercing chill startling Pei Luochen beside her.

“Cousin… you promised I could participate in this show’s filming.” Pei Luochen was still under house arrest and shouldn’t have been allowed to attend the variety show.

Only Yan Ciwei could lift her confinement, and it was only with Yan Ciwei’s approval that she had managed to enter the studio today.

“…Keep spreading rumors, and you’ll be blacklisted,” Yan Ciwei snapped, her words a blatant threat.

Pei Luochen shrank back, her neck tensing.

While Yan Ciwei was lost in thought, Pei Luochen followed her gaze.

She spotted the person they had encountered last time—Shen Jibai, the image strategist. Their relationship with Yan Ciwei seemed… complicated.

If things were as she suspected… then having this person as her own image strategist would be ideal.

As for Shen Jibai? She wasn’t worthy.

Pei Luochen seamlessly concealed her thoughts, adopting a harmless smile as she prepared for the upcoming activities.

An Chixu and He Yuyan stayed at the recording studio all afternoon, observing the filming process.

Watching a celebrity on a variety show is the quickest way to gauge their true personality.

The set revealed both the persona crafted by the previous strategist and Yang Xu’s genuine character.

An Chixu meticulously took notes, documenting Yang Xu’s habits and mannerisms.

He Yuyan, meanwhile, felt somewhat lost. Her skills weren’t particularly strong; she had previously secured a few projects by flattering Tang Shu, maintaining a mediocre but stable position. Unlike An Chixu, who had immediately been recognized for her talent, she struggled to adapt to this new role.

Fortunately, as the assistant persona strategist—not the lead writer—she didn’t bear the full weight of responsibility. That burden fell squarely on An Chixu’s shoulders.

“Thank you for your hard work,” Yang Xu’s manager said, handing An Chixu and He Yuyan drinks as the filming wrapped up.

“You too. Recording these shows must be exhausting,” An Chixu replied politely.

“If you’re free later, would you like to discuss the upcoming arrangements in detail?” Beyond observing the artist, An Chixu had come today to negotiate with Yang Xu and her manager.

“Sure! I’ve already booked a dinner spot for Xiaoxu tonight. If you don’t mind joining us, we can talk then.”

After finalizing the arrangements, An Chixu and He Yuyan squeezed into the artist’s car.

As they left the variety show recording venue, An Chixu glanced back.

She gazed at the dimly lit backstage corridor, the glaring white lights, and the staff members laughing and shouting. The car’s acceleration gradually blurred her vision, dissolving the scene into indistinct patches of color.

“Sister An, what are you looking at?” After spending the afternoon together, He Yuyan had already started calling An Chixu “Sister An.”

An Chixu snapped out of her reverie. “Nothing. Let’s go over our notes.”

“I heard you’re the newly appointed team leader?” Yang Xu asked casually, her demeanor surprisingly down-to-earth for a star of her status.

An Chixu observed Yang Xu’s posture and knew this wasn’t her most relaxed state; she was still maintaining a degree of social formality.

“Yes, I’m the new team leader. Our previous leader just resigned,” An Chixu replied carefully, choosing her words deliberately.

With Shen Jibai, she could be much more casual. Jibai was a relatively unknown rookie, and An Chixu only needed to treat her like a friend to get a sense of her personality.

But Yang Xu had just starred in a hit drama and had a solid track record of previous works. As a highly active second-tier celebrity, she had a complex fan base.

An Chixu was destined to never treat Yang Xu as a friend, so she could only try to extract information as subtly as possible.

“My character designer just resigned too,” Yang Xu said, her expression unreadable as she gazed at An Chixu. A faint, insincere smile played at the corners of her lips.

“Job turnover is indeed frequent in this industry. I have Sister Lin’s notes,” An Chixu replied, playing along with the atmosphere Yang Xu had created.

“You’re very young.”

“I’ve managed about three people so far.”

After a few more exchanges, Yang Xu lost interest in conversation, and the car fell silent.

“Our artists need to use the VIP entrance. Please enter through the front door first. The private room is number 203,” the manager said as they arrived at the restaurant, ushering An Chixu and He Yuyan out first.

An Chixu understood immediately. Yang Xu likely had something to discuss privately with her manager, and it probably concerned them.

She’s probably not impressed with my resume.

In the “Personality” section of her notes, An Chixu added: Reserved and calculating, but adheres to basic social norms. Won’t show her true intentions openly, but will use her status to create obstacles.

She wasn’t intimidated. Meanwhile, He Yuyan was already panicking, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead as she glanced at An Chixu in a panic.

“Don’t worry,” An Chixu reassured He Yuyan. “We’re just having a normal work interaction. If she’s dissatisfied, she can request our replacement from higher-ups. We just need to secure this project… there’s a huge bonus at stake.” As they spoke, they arrived at private room 203.

Out of courtesy, An Chixu knocked before pushing the door open.

She never expected to find three people already seated inside.

One of them was Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei sat in the central seat, positioned directly across from An Chixu.

The other two turned to stare at the “intruding” An Chixu, but Yan Ciwei remained with her head bowed, leisurely sipping tea like a leopard undisturbed by its prey.

An Chixu stared at Yan Ciwei, but Yan Ciwei never looked up.

A wave of dizziness surged through An Chixu’s lowered head, flooding her mind.

An Chixu was a tepid, reserved, and invisible woman.

Yan Ciwei had been her sole object of observation.

From the moment Yan Ciwei ceased observing her, An Chixu reverted to chaos.

She became a hollow, unremarkable, and unnoticed wisp of gas.

And then, she vanished.