Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 36

The September sun beat down with oppressive heat.

Before the National Day holiday during her sophomore year, An Chixu signed up for the program planning team.

It was likely her first close encounter with the planning profession, and she never imagined she would later pursue such a career path.

Her reason for volunteering was simple: to spend more time with Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei was a Student Council officer responsible for coordinating events large and small. This year happened to be their class’s turn to handle the bulk of the work, preparing for the election of the next Student Council president.

Yan Ciwei already considered the presidency within her grasp and had been working tirelessly on program arrangements, often leaving early and returning late.

Although An Chixu could visit her on-site, just as she had during their freshman year—bringing lunchboxes and drinks, sitting by the sidelines with her tablet, waiting for Yan Ciwei to take a break and come over for a quick kiss or to hold her hand—

Yan Ciwei was a natural at romance. Every time they held hands, she would give An Chixu a paper butterfly, which unfolded to reveal a pre-written message.

The one that left the deepest impression on An Chixu was from the sunset of October 31st last year.

The next day was her birthday, but Yan Ciwei was too busy to clear her schedule. She could only postpone her miscellaneous tasks for the day. Yan Ciwei promised that they would be together from evening onward.

On the evening of October 31st, Yan Ciwei rushed over to give An Chixu the paper butterfly before hurrying into the conference room.

An Chixu sat in the corridor, gazing at the sky as she waited, clutching the butterfly. The twilight sky seemed to have transformed into the butterfly’s crimson hue.

It had rained the day before, and today had been overcast all day, with no sunset in sight. An Chixu was merely experiencing an illusion.

She set her milk tea aside and carefully unfolded the butterfly in her palm.

There was only one sentence written inside:

Look out the window.

An Chixu refolded the butterfly, forgetting her milk tea, and dashed to the end of the corridor, pressing her face against the glass.

She saw that the daytime clouds had gradually dispersed, revealing a clear blue sky tinged with pristine, colorful clouds.

The orange-red sunset hadn’t fully dipped below the horizon yet, its edges still tinged with vibrant purplish-red.

Half the sky remained gray, like yin and yang, bisecting the twilight.

The moment An Chixu saw it, she raised her phone, wanting to capture this moment for Yan Ciwei.

This is Yan Ciwei’s gift to me, An Chixu thought quietly.

About ten minutes later, the freshly washed white clouds truly drifted toward the setting sun, willingly staining themselves with color and donning new robes.

A pair of arms wrapped around An Chixu from behind.

“How is it, Tuantuan?” Yan Ciwei had slipped out of the meeting room and even brought An Chixu’s forgotten milk tea.

“Weiwei! I—I recorded a video for you!” An Chixu had been saying the sunset was missing something.

Enveloped in Yan Ciwei’s embrace, her heart burned as fiercely as the sunset clouds.

“No rush, we can watch it tonight,” Yan Ciwei said, pressing An Chixu’s hand downward.

Her breath, warm and distinct, brushed against An Chixu’s ear, tangling in her hair.

“I’ve already seen it in your eyes,” Yan Ciwei murmured, her gaze locking onto An Chixu’s.

Through her, she saw the gray-brown world, the golden sunset, and her own dark silhouette.

An Chixu would remember those words for a long time.

She had applied to be a planner, hoping to watch more sunsets with Yan Ciwei. She never expected to be selected.

Even though she was only planning one segment of the program, An Chixu had to be on-site to oversee its execution.

Yan Ciwei was coordinating the overall operation, so An Chixu could stay by her side until needed.

It felt like they were working together as a team.

The little cat preened with pride over her five minutes of success, her fluffy tail held high.

Yan Ciwei stroked her raised tail, her gaze shifting slightly.

Two days later, An Chixu overheard rumors circulating.

People were saying she’d gotten the planning role only because Yan Ciwei had pulled strings for her.

After all, no one had seen An Chixu’s proposal or heard about any special talents she possessed.

No one knew An Chixu; their impression of her was limited to her being Yan Ciwei’s girlfriend.

Yan Ciwei, a campus celebrity, was a strong candidate for the next Student Council president and the heiress of a wealthy family.

No one would criticize her for helping An Chixu.

All eyes turned to An Chixu.

Some claimed she had pressured Yan Ciwei into using her influence.

Others said An Chixu was using Yan Ciwei as a stepping stone.

Some said An Chixu was desperate for fame and would likely break up with Yan Ciwei to become a blogger.

An Chixu rarely communicated with others, and she had been struggling to assign tasks to the program members these past few days.

The rumors finally reached her ears.

An Chixu genuinely didn’t know if her selection for the program had anything to do with Yan Ciwei.

At the time, she had been more concerned about the latter.

After all, it was just a program. She didn’t need the practical experience, as it wasn’t directly related to her major. Whether the program succeeded or failed wouldn’t directly benefit her personally.

Ultimately, she just wanted to spend more time with Yan Ciwei.

“Sister, what do you think?” An Chixu asked Yan Ciwei, sharing her concerns.

She was tempted to quit.

She didn’t want Yan Ciwei to misunderstand. She genuinely loved her and wasn’t using her as a stepping stone.

It was dusk again. The sky wasn’t clear, only a hazy blend of yellow and red painted across the distant, thick clouds.

Yan Ciwei held An Chixu’s hand with one arm while carrying their belongings with the other. The two were so close, even closer than the sunset’s glow to the sun.

The rustling of sycamore leaves in the gentle breeze marked the arrival of autumn. The campus was now bathed in autumnal hues, filling the horizon with vibrant colors.

The autumn sun wasn’t as harsh, and the breeze was just right.

In such weather, An Chixu could lean against Yan Ciwei without feeling burdened.

Yan Ciwei didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she released An Chixu’s hand and pulled her into a warm embrace.

An Chixu naturally wrapped her arms around Yan Ciwei’s waist, her hand curling softly like a tail.

“Why should you care about what others think?” They walked for a long time, circling the lake and crossing the main road at the entrance, before Yan Ciwei finally answered An Chixu.

“You have me, and that’s all that matters.” Yan Ciwei tilted her head, a smile playing on her lips, carefully concealing the tenderness in her eyes within the shadows.

“Tuantuan, I can help you deal with those disobedient people. I can make them shut up.”

Yan Ciwei’s hand, which was carrying their bags, accidentally brushed against An Chixu’s fingertips.

With a soft click, their palms and backs of their hands pressed together.

Yan Ciwei gripped An Chixu’s hand.

“But right now, Tuantuan, school’s out. It’s time to go home.” Yan Ciwei didn’t want them discussing unpleasant things during their private time.

Yan Ciwei had mentioned this before.

An Chixu patted her own mouth. “Okay, Sister. I saw a cute hairpin today and wanted to buy it for you…”

They walked out of the campus, heading towards their shared home.

By then, An Chixu had already decided how she would resolve the situation.

The following afternoon, Yan Ciwei received notification that An Chixu had withdrawn from her position on the program planning team.

That night, Yan Ciwei rewarded her with a playful romp that left An Chixu utterly exhausted.

Though called a reward, it left An Chixu’s arms aching, her body feeling like it had been taken apart, and several red marks from playful bites that lingered for five days.

The day the red marks faded, the rumors about An Chixu vanished completely.

Yan Ciwei gently pushed open the glass door of the sunroom, taking no further steps inside.

The newborn sunlight fell perfectly on An Chixu’s eyelashes, painting the dark lashes gold and making her gray-brown eyes appear even clearer.

This only accentuated the sorrow in her eyes, tinged with a painful melancholy.

She seemed to be staring directly at Medusa, the cat wand in her hand serving as a pillar supporting a petrified statue.

Yan Ciwei was also momentarily stunned.

Only when the sunlight shifted did she slowly approach An Chixu and sit beside her.

An Chixu snapped out of her daze and put down the cat wand.

She didn’t move away, but she was no longer the same as before, no longer taking the initiative to close the gap between them.

A single step’s distance. Yan Ciwei couldn’t quite grasp the feeling, so she took the initiative herself, wrapping her arms around An Chixu’s back.

An Chixu seemed to have just been released from petrification, still stiff and unyielding.

Her gaze remained fixed on Orange’s eyes. The cat, likely intimidated by Yan Ciwei’s dark aura, kept its distance, curled up tightly on the cat tree, its blue eyes wide with alertness.

Those azure eyes remained clear, pure, and glistening with moisture.

Orange let out a tentative meow.

Finally, An Chixu moved. She turned her head to look at Yan Ciwei, meeting her equally teary-eyed peach blossom gaze. A sharp pang shot through her chest.

She finally understood: the person whose eyes most resembled Orange’s bright, feline gaze wasn’t Pei Luochen.

It was Yan Ciwei.

When sunlight streamed into Yan Ciwei’s peach blossom eyes, they became as clear as washed glass from certain angles, reflecting the blue of the sky.

They were identical to Orange’s round, blue cat eyes.

So, I’ve raised another Yan Ciwei.

And she’s already been taken away by Yan Ciwei.

An Chixu closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

A sudden warmth drew near, and An Chixu froze, unmoving.

Yan Ciwei merely blew a cat hair off her face. Whether it was due to her fastidiousness or something else, she didn’t kiss her.

Yet Yan Ciwei remained assertive, hooking her arm around An Chixu’s shoulder and pulling her down.

Together, they leaned back against the cushions, tumbling into each other’s arms.

An Chixu lowered her lashes and tentatively wrapped her arms around Yan Ciwei.

“My… my mother used to love spending time in the sunroom of the old mansion too,” Yan Ciwei blurted out, her words carrying the weight of countless memories.

“The one in Four-Nine City, you know.” They had originally planned to go to Four-Nine City together.

An Chixu had initially applied for a junior assistant position at Rian Group’s headquarters.

Yan Ciwei pressed her lips together anxiously.

An Chixu tugged lightly at her collar and chuckled softly, her tone ambiguous. “You rarely mention your family or personal matters.”

A single sentence choked Yan Ciwei’s heart, leaving a bitter ache.

An Chixu had grown into a fully fledged rebellious daughter, capable of inflicting the deepest pain on her mother with a casual remark.

Yan Ciwei’s breath caught in her throat.

She had deliberately avoided mentioning their breakup after their reunion, forcing herself not to dwell on An Chixu’s cold detachment.

Yet the image of that wedding dress resurfaced before her eyes.

Despite careful preservation, the fabric was worn, threads frayed, and creases visible.

But the color remained as vivid as ever—as red as her eyes, her mole, her bl00d.

She recalled the night An Chixu left. The blizzard raged so fiercely that she collapsed to the ground, her vision blurring.

How much it hurt.

Yan Ciwei closed her eyes, slowly purging the resentment.

She… didn’t hate An Chixu.

How could she hate An Chixu? She was the little kitten she had raised herself, who had merely nipped her twice.

She would still love her, forgive her, and support her.

“The old mansion also has a sunroom,” Yan Ciwei said, her voice calm and devoid of bitterness. “It’s much larger than this one. They say my mother designed it herself, and it’s filled with things she loved.”

She remained as gentle and composed as ever, radiating an effortless elegance.

An Chixu listened quietly in her arms.

Yan Ciwei’s composure faltered slightly; the embrace wasn’t quite as tight as usual.

“When I was little, my mother often sat in the sunroom, probably right around here, knitting. Unused balls of yarn hung high up like festive lanterns. I was only allowed to play with her for half an hour after finishing my studies—not a second more.”

“She didn’t have many toys for me, but apart from that time with her, I had to spend the rest of my day on lessons set by my other mother. I cherished those thirty minutes. My mother would try her best to find books for me to read and teach me how to knit.”

As Yan Ciwei spoke, the distance between her and An Chixu widened slightly.

She sat up straight, and An Chixu sat beside her, listening with unexpected intensity.

Yan Ciwei found herself sharing more than she intended.

She spoke of the stories her mother had told her and the paintings they had admired together.

She explained why she had learned to knit scarves, recalling how she had thought of her mother’s sorrowful eyes when she gave An Chixu that gift years ago.

She recounted the afternoon she had invited her mother outside to chase butterflies, only to see her mother remain seated as if her legs were paralyzed, smiling wistfully as she watched her go. In the end, she had stayed out too long and was punished by her other mother.

An Chixu sighed audibly.

The sound was deliberate. An Chixu rarely made such mistakes; she clearly had something she wanted to say.

“So, she was confined to such a small room,” An Chixu said, her mood darkening.

She had initially believed Yan Ciwei’s obsession stemmed from a lack of love.

Now it seemed there was also a hereditary component.

Human nature is difficult to change, and she was no exception.

Was there any possibility of them… getting back together?

“Like a pet,” An Chixu murmured, gazing at Orange.

In those eyes, so similar to Yan Ciwei’s, she seemed to see Yan Ciwei’s mother.

Perhaps these blue eyes resembled Yan Ciwei’s mother even more.

“How could that be?” Yan Ciwei instinctively retorted, but the words caught in her throat.

Only the cold wind rushed into her mouth, whistling against her palate.

How could her mother have locked up Yan Ciwei’s mother and kept her like a pet?

She remembered her mother loving Yan Ciwei’s mother deeply.

So deeply that she could ignore her own daughter.

Yet Yan Ciwei couldn’t bring herself to say that her mother wasn’t capable of such cruelty.

At that moment, An Chixu suddenly moved closer.

She knelt before Yan Ciwei, lowering herself.

Taking Yan Ciwei’s hand, as Yan Ciwei had once done, she pressed it against her cheek and gently rubbed.

“Sister, I don’t hate you.”

“I don’t hate you for hurting me so carelessly, nor for distancing yourself to protect me.”

Whether it was about Orange or their recent separation,

or the earlier stalking and breaking into her home,

An Chixu held no resentment toward Yan Ciwei.

“So… can I have Orange back? I’ll only keep him for two months.”

Yan Ciwei blinked, her eyes dry.

She remembered that she too had considered locking An Chixu up.

In this very sunroom.