Adopting Myself from the Young Heiress - Chapter 8

The rainy season was always this annoying.

The sound of drizzling rain instantly drowned out An Chixu’s hearing.

She felt like she was drowning, but she no longer struggled. Her clear eyes watched the bubbles rise and fall endlessly as she sank deeper and deeper, until only a sliver of light remained in her vision.

Yan Ciwei never avoided eye contact.

From the moment they met, Yan Ciwei had always looked at her like this.

Back in school, Yan Ciwei would sit behind An Chixu in class, counting every strand of her hair.

She would secretly braid her hair, write on her back…

The top three student in their grade had committed every mischief imaginable on An Chixu.

From then on, An Chixu never forgot Yan Ciwei’s gaze.

Always direct, always complex.

It held more than just affection.

An Chixu lowered her eyes, glancing again at the IV drip on Yan Ciwei’s hand.

She really did have a fever.

She shouldn’t have gotten out of the car, shouldn’t have brought her an umbrella, shouldn’t have gotten soaked in the rain.

An Chixu had countless “shouldn’ts” she wanted to say to Yan Ciwei, but in the end, she said nothing.

The rain grew heavier, haphazardly driving away the fans who had come to attend the event.

Shen Jibai was a born unlucky person, always missing out on good fortune.

An Chixu was powerless to help. She couldn’t control the Heavenly Mother’s fickle moods.

Nothing could stop the longing.

An Chixu gave up.

“Jibai, are you ready?” She walked to her designated position.

She needed to help Shen Jibai rehearse her performance for later.

“Sister An,” Shen Jibai said, her excitement evident. Her face seemed brighter than before.

“I’m a little nervous. This is my first time participating in such an event alone—well, technically with two people.” At just sixteen, she still struggled to hide her emotions.

When she was happy, her eyes glowed like amber.

An Chixu couldn’t help but notice.

But Shen Jibai was too young, and their relationship was too complicated.

She couldn’t be the bad adult who shattered the illusion, nor could she give Shen Jibai the love she craved. All she could do was wait for the young girl’s infatuation to fade.

“Do you have any specific instructions for me?” Shen Jibai asked, her understanding of her assigned persona still limited to the company’s directives.

An Chixu had prepared a detailed plan.

At the event, Shen Jibai was supposed to say certain things to maintain her rebellious, cool-kid image—the persona that fans believed represented the version of themselves they couldn’t be.

Every detail of the event had been meticulously planned. Even the fans who led the cheers and asked questions were actors hired by the company.

Real fans were too unpredictable. The company’s rigid executives loathed this lack of control.

An Chixu met Shen Jibai’s rainbow-hued gaze, and her hand froze mid-reach for the proposal.

The company’s arrangements were unreasonable.

An Chixu had known this for a long time.

Some people adapted perfectly to playing their assigned roles, like Pei Luochen, who was completely different on and off stage. She wore her aloof and icy persona like a mask, never letting it affect her true, casual, and flirtatious nature.

Others allowed their roles to become part of themselves. Zhou Yanxi, who played a shy and gentle character, had, over time, become that timid and pitiful figure in real life as well.

But Shen Jibai was different.

Shen Jibai wasn’t a good actress. She was enthusiastic and hardworking, but she couldn’t grasp the essence of her roles, simply following the written instructions An Chixu provided.

So, was it necessary to follow the company’s arrangements?

An Chixu glanced to her right. In the shadows, the familiar silhouette of Yan Ciwei was barely visible, a sliver of light catching her, holding her.

It felt like the subtle guidance and control Yan Ciwei always exerted.

…And like encouragement.

An Chixu withdrew her hand.

“Shen Jibai,” she said, placing her hand on the young woman’s shoulder.

No one had ever said these words to her before. The person she loved most had eroded her courage and sense of self.

Ten years later, this was the only way she could remind her past self.

“Just be yourself,” she told Shen Jibai, the only persona she left her with this time.

Shen Jibai looked up in astonishment, her mouth agape.

“Do what you want to do. Say what you want to say. Haven’t you always wanted to thank those fans who come to see you every time? You even wrote them back. Go tell them what you really think.”

An Chixu’s expression was completely different as she spoke these words.

Shen Jibai stared at An Chixu, feeling the aura around her expand slightly, so dazzling she almost couldn’t look directly at her.

“But, but Sister An,” Shen Jibai said, averting her gaze and instinctively defending her old habits. “What if I fail? What if they don’t like me this way?”

An Chixu couldn’t guarantee anything. An idol’s “being yourself” was fundamentally different from her own.

As a twenty-five-year-old adult, An Chixu could handle a professional setback. But could sixteen-year-old Shen Jibai withstand the backlash from deviating from her established persona?

“Then… this is the backup plan,” An Chixu said, pulling out the prepared script.

No one can completely escape their past in a single step, not even twenty-five-year-old An Chixu.

Placing her ideals on her younger sister was still too heavy a burden.

Her self-rescue shouldn’t involve others.

An Chixu said nothing more.

Shen Jibai went to the side to memorize her script, struggling painfully.

The character she was playing was so different from her true self that she had long been dissatisfied with it.

When the previous character planner was in charge, Shen Jibai had to spend several times more time than her teammates studying the character, rehearsing, and it severely impacted her practice of her craft. Her singing and dancing skills declined, and her popularity plummeted even further.

That’s why the previous planner was transferred. After An Chixu took over, Shen Jibai’s life improved considerably.

Only An Chixu took the time to get to know her, understand her habits and preferences, and construct her mask based on her true self.

Yet, even through this pain, Shen Jibai never considered abandoning her persona and revealing her true self.

What happened next had nothing to do with An Chixu.

She turned her head to look for Yan Ciwei, only to realize that the gaze that had been fixed on her had vanished without her noticing.

Gone?

An Chixu frowned slightly, but within a breath, she dismissed the thought.

She’d rather see what Shen Jibai would choose.

“Who does she think she is? Are you even close to her? Can’t you see she likes you?”

An Chixu had simply wanted to use the restroom when she overheard the familiar voice.

It sounded strangely bitter. The Yan Ciwei she remembered had always been confident, radiating a controlled arrogance balanced by refreshing humility.

Having not heard this tone in so long, An Chixu felt long-buried memories stirring.

Her breath caught for a moment, but without dwelling on it, she walked toward the corner where Yan Ciwei was standing.

“You haven’t left yet?” An Chixu’s voice was as calm as ever, as if she were completely unaware of having caught Yan Ciwei badmouthing her behind her back.

Yan Ciwei, caught red-handed, blushed crimson, her ears turning as red as a sweet guava.

She bit her lip, and a single tear inexplicably welled in the corner of her eye.

She quickly hid something behind her back.

Drawn by the movement, An Chixu noticed a wad of cotton stuffing—it seemed to be a torn-up cloth doll.

Was Yan Ciwei… venting her anger by stabbing a doll of An Chixu?

Unsure how to react to Yan Ciwei’s strange behavior, An Chixu simply ignored it.

Yan Ciwei recovered quickly. In an instant, she wiped away the teary haze in her eyes and reverted to the familiar demeanor An Chixu knew so well.

“Tuantuan, were you looking for me?” Only then did An Chixu notice Yan Ciwei’s voice was slightly hoarse.

She still had a fever patch on her forehead and an IV drip in her arm.

Coming to such a crowded place while running a fever… A flicker of emotion flashed in An Chixu’s eyes.

“I was looking for you,” An Chixu said, shaking her head. She pulled out a mask from her pocket and handed it to Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei instinctively took it, then immediately regretted it.

What a perfect opportunity! I should have lowered my head and let An Chixu put the mask on for me.

“Will you still be here later?” An Chixu asked, watching Yan Ciwei put on the mask.

The stuffed doll Yan Ciwei had been hiding had vanished.

All that remained of Yan Ciwei was her feverish fragility, the mist in her eyes refusing to dissipate, her breath coming in shallow, cough-tinged gasps.

“Where would you like me to be?” Yan Ciwei’s voice sounded muffled through the mask, as if a thick fog separated them. An Chixu could barely make out her face.

Was that familiar face still wearing that loving smile?

Did Yan Ciwei feel no pang of longing, no ache of separation?

An Chixu averted her gaze.

“You… here is fine,” she said, though she had originally intended to let Yan Ciwei decide.

I’ve unconsciously handed the decision-making power back to her again. An Chixu frowned slightly, her brow furrowing beautifully.

“Wait for me for fifteen minutes,” An Chixu said before leaving without explaining where she was going.

Yan Ciwei silently watched An Chixu depart, her heartstrings trembling at the sight of her alluring back.

Only An Chixu can treat me like this—abandoning me or falling silent.

And I find sweetness in this pain.

An Chixu had truly returned.

Carrying medicine and a thermos, she approached Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei sat as still as a well-behaved doll for the entire twelve minutes, her lashes lowered, still wet with tears. A faint blush lingered on her cheeks, half-hidden by her mask.

When she saw An Chixu approaching, she lifted her gaze, her eyes as lovely as flower petals.

“Tuantuan,” Yan Ciwei murmured, unable to suppress her joy.

She seemed like a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old girl again, her invisible fluffy tail wagging with delight at the sight of her beloved.

An Chixu handed the medicine to Yan Ciwei and unscrewed the thermos lid.

Inside was a bowl of warm ginger sugar water.

Yan Ciwei couldn’t fathom how An Chixu had prepared all this in such a short time.

This was the best thing that had happened to her recently. Yan Ciwei deliberately slowed her blinking, trying to stretch out their time together.

“Drink some,” An Chixu said, holding the thermos to Yan Ciwei’s lips.

Yan Ciwei lowered her mask and ducked her head. “I want Tuantuan to feed me.”

She was truly shameless.

An Chixu understood her well and chuckled softly.

“Yan Ciwei,” she said, refraining from any intimate gestures. The thermos settled firmly into Yan Ciwei’s palm.

“I feel responsible for you being this sick,” An Chixu said, but it wasn’t an invitation to reconcile.

A hint of amusement flickered in An Chixu’s eyes.

Yan Ciwei stared blankly for a long moment before realizing it wasn’t joy or affection.

It was mockery.

She slowly swallowed the ginger-sweetened water. Though the sweetness was her favorite, the ginger’s sharp, pungent heat burned through her, making her flush.

“You wanted me to hate you,” An Chixu murmured after a long silence, leaning closer.

Yan Ciwei’s mind began to buzz with dread.

She wanted to stop An Chixu, but she was powerless.

“I tried, but I couldn’t,” An Chixu said, her gaze meeting Yan Ciwei’s.

There was no hatred in her eyes. No resentment for Yan Ciwei’s inability to give her pleasure.

But there was no love either.

The sixteen-year-old An Chixu had long been buried by time.

They shouldn’t have any connection anymore.

Yan Ciwei’s eyes trembled like an earthquake.

Her heart was collapsing, tears threatening to erupt like a tsunami.

Yet on her face, only her teeth quivered slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Hate me, An Chixu. Hurt me, sting me, curse me, hit me.

She begged An Chixu…

Yan Ciwei could only mumble, biting her lip until it bled.

An Chixu saw everything, her heart heavy with guilt, and reached out to touch Yan Ciwei.

Reluctant to become entangled again, she merely brushed the back of Yan Ciwei’s hand.

“Then come back and love me,” Yan Ciwei blurted out, desperately trying to grasp An Chixu’s hand.

“I need you, Tuantuan, I…” Yan Ciwei met An Chixu’s gaze.

The gentle but firm rejection extinguished Yan Ciwei’s hopes.

They stared at each other for so long that the ginger-sugar soup in the thermos lid went completely cold.

Finally, before Yan Ciwei could shed a tear, An Chixu averted her eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” An Chixu said, turning to leave.

She didn’t look back, just like that night in the sudden rain.

Parting was also a sudden downpour. Yan Ciwei couldn’t stop it.

As her beloved’s figure vanished into the bustling crowd, Yan Ciwei bit her lip until it bled, tears washing away the bl00d.

She tore off her mask, wanting to discard it but unable to part with it. She carefully folded it and tucked it into her pocket.

Yan Ciwei ripped out the IV line from her arm.

The pain brought her back to herself.

Her steadily rising fever made her heart race.

The bowl of ginger soup had turned her bl00d into molten lava, scalding her from within.

Yan Ciwei slid weakly to the floor, burying her face to hide the teardrops the size of peas and the mess beneath her.

She couldn’t tell anyone.

During these two days apart, these two days of fever, her emotions had nearly shattered.

Every day, she watched videos of that online friend interacting intimately with their cat. She pretended it was An Chixu, offering perfunctory replies while her heart twisted with madness, the air thick with jealousy.

Her emotions only worsened her cold.

In her moments of deepest longing for An Chixu, she could only rely on her own touch and imagination.

The fever refused to break.

Her heart, too, was burning.

It felt like a flood had surged between her skirt.

Edited

Yan Ciwei: Tuantuan, what did you give me to drink? I’m so hot.

An Chixu: Ginger soup.

Yan Ciwei: …I put aphrodisiacs in it myself.

An Chixu: ?

Yan Ciwei: I have a fever… and I’m horny. [Pleading] Help me.

An Chixu: [Eye roll]

Disclaimer: There are no early romance plots here. Shen Jibai’s feelings for An Chixu are merely a young girl’s admiration for an older woman, not true love. An Chixu has no feelings for Shen Jibai beyond that of a work partner, seeing her like a younger sister. Nothing romantic will happen between them.

See you on Saturday! I need to rest on Friday to prepare for exams.