After Breaking the Ice-Beauty's Heart - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Song Yuli Didn’t Stay for Her

Zhou Nianzhi didn’t hesitate much when she decided to set up a street stall. Honestly, the idea of making five figures a week was very tempting. Besides, she had done the math—low costs, not much difficulty, simple and easy to start.

So, even though she had been frustrated during the day by not finding a suitable temp job, that night she was up late searching for possible street vending locations nearby. Looking back to her high school days, she used to feel sorry for the street vendors struggling outside the school gate.

That was until she once accidentally ran into a blinding luxury car and saw with her own eyes how a vendor, who had made quite a bit of money that day, walked straight into a lavish high-end residential complex.

She had been so naïve back then. Now she finally understood who should really be pitied.

At that time, she was dragging her exhausted body after a long day of work, nearly pulling her own legs forward. She had to rest after every few steps.

When she got back to her home, which couldn’t even support an air conditioner, she lay on a bamboo mat, listening to the squeaky fan struggling to keep spinning, ready to give up at any moment. Even the mosquitoes in that room would curse at her before buzzing by her ear, and she didn’t even have the strength to lift her hand to swat them. She just let them curse and bite her.

Forget it. She was generous. No need to argue with mosquitoes. Sleep. Sleep would take her away from the buzzing. In dreams, there were no mosquitoes, just icy popsicles and early clock-outs.

And maybe her mom would get better.

The next morning, Zhou Nianzhi saw that Sheng Ning was still sleeping soundly, so she didn’t wake her. She quietly left, asked the nurse about Sheng Ning’s condition, then went back to check on her mother—still peacefully asleep, like a child who wouldn’t even take off her hat while sleeping.

Zhou Nianzhi used the money she had saved over the past few days to pay off the hospital bills, clearing their debt and making sure Sheng Ning had access to the medication she needed. She also transferred extra money to the caretaker, telling her to take good care of her mom.

Walking home alone, Zhou Nianzhi checked her account balance with trembling fingers.

Altogether, she only had a few hundred yuan left. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and stopped overthinking. She decided to cut into her own food budget and placed orders for the supplies she needed to start vending.

Less food meant losing weight anyway. Zhou Nianzhi tried to comfort herself. She remembered how Song Yuli avoided soda because she was trying to lose weight—though she was already so slim…

But whatever. Who was she to comment on Song Yuli’s choices?

As she walked past the residential area, she saw a group of brightly colored-haired teens—girls and boys—chatting animatedly, everyone trying to get a word in.

So much energy. Ah, to be young.

Their volume rose as their excitement peaked, and a few words drifted into Zhou Nianzhi’s ears.

“Dude! Last night, Da Hu and I saw someone just sitting there—scared the hell out of us!” said a red-haired boy, hooking his arm around a friend’s shoulder and nodding toward a corner.

A purple-haired girl joined in, “Ahhh! I thought I was imagining things too! I felt a chill behind me, turned around, and—gahh! There was someone there!”

She screamed a few more times, clearly reliving the scare.

“No way! You guys are making this up, right? Don’t mess with me—” said a blue-haired boy, his voice full of shock and fear.

Da Hu, the blonde, couldn’t hold back: “I saw it with my own eyes! I wasn’t even drunk—just came back late and ran into them!”

“Damn!” they all gasped in unison.

It was a beautiful, rainbow-colored collective exclamation.

Zhou Nianzhi listened to their chaotic story, half laughing, but still feeling a chill creep down her back. She looked up at the glaring sun, and somehow felt uneasy—even in broad daylight.

On the way home, she kept muttering to herself: They were seeing things. Just kids exaggerating. Who sits out alone in the middle of the night? Even homeless folks wouldn’t just sit there catching cold.

Still worried, she stepped into the elevator, thinking of their words. She was alone. The elevator panel numbers blinked steadily upward.

A lot of horror shows used elevators for their creepy scenes, didn’t they?

Her heart pounded along with the ascending numbers.

Finally, she reached her floor.

Ding—

The elevator doors opened slowly.

A person stood right outside.

Before she could make out the face, she instinctively stepped back.

“You’re not coming out?” came Song Yuli’s voice.

Zhou Nianzhi sighed in relief and gave an awkward laugh, stepping out of the elevator. Song Yuli went in.

As they passed each other, Zhou Nianzhi caught a glimpse—Song Yuli had makeup on, and her already beautiful features looked even more refined. A gentle fragrance surrounded her—not too strong, not cloying, just a soft scent.

Zhou Nianzhi paused in her steps, hesitated, and turned her head just before the elevator doors closed. Their eyes met.

Beneath the flawless makeup, Zhou Nianzhi saw exhaustion.

Why did her eyes look so tired?

Was she sick?

She opened her mouth but said nothing.

The doors closed.

The elevator descended floor by floor.

Song Yuli hadn’t stayed for her either.

But why should she?

Zhou Nianzhi shook her head, turned around, and continued walking. Once home, she showered, then turned on her increasingly laggy computer and started taking freelance video editing jobs online.

Even if she couldn’t find a part-time gig offline, she wouldn’t let herself be idle. Honestly, she couldn’t even remember what rest felt like anymore. When she was younger, she had boundless energy—goofing off all day, pulling all-nighters playing games, still bouncing around full of life the next day like rest wasn’t a thing.

Not anymore. Now, sitting too long made her neck hurt, standing too long made her back ache, and walking a little made her legs sore. After some editing, Zhou Nianzhi rubbed the back of her neck, tilting her head side to side. The harsh sunlight outside beamed through the window, making her already dry eyes sting.

She let out a long sigh, like a deflated balloon.

Sometimes she wondered why her life was so hard. She was only 24. Weren’t rom-com heroines always around that age? Why did her life turn out like this?

The ache in her neck returned.

Still, Zhou Nianzhi forced herself to keep working. The colorful editing software on her screen reminded her of the rainbow-haired teens at the apartment entrance, whose biggest problems were what to eat tonight, where to hang out after dinner, and what color to dye their hair next.

She wanted to dye her hair too.

But more than that, she wanted her mom’s hair to grow back.

Zhou Nianzhi closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly opened them to a renewed world. She raised her hand, opened her palm, catching the light heaven poured on her, grabbing onto the hope life still had to offer.

Time to get back to work.

Even with bad equipment, after toiling away all day for a single video, she earned 70 yuan! Zhou Nianzhi smiled at the not-so-impressive amount, grabbed her phone, and ran downstairs to buy pork ribs and corn to make soup for her mom.

“Auntie, can it be a little cheaper? I come here all the time—” she said sweetly, voice dripping like honey. “Thank you, Auntie! You’re the best—wishing you booming business!”

As a kid, she never understood why her mom haggled at the market. She used to get so embarrassed she’d hide her face in her collar. Her mom would laugh and say she was still young and shy, then buy her a popsicle to cheer her up.

Zhou Nianzhi opened the fridge, shoved the leftover ribs and corn inside, then dug out long-expired seasonings. Every time she used them, she worried they were past their date.

She cleaned the ribs, rinsed them under warm water. The gushing sound brought back memories—her mom cooking in the kitchen while she watched cartoons in the living room. The cartoon characters were off on magical adventures, and her mom was in her own kitchen world, stirring pots and pans. The sound of water connected their worlds, flowing together.

Zhou Nianzhi wiped sweat from her forehead.

She chopped the veggies and dumped everything into the pot. Red dates landed beside corn, like little suns.

That made her laugh. Her metaphors were getting worse, like her childhood drawing skills. Her suns had always looked like the same template every kid used, just a bit more abstract. But it didn’t matter—her classmates might laugh, but her mom always praised her. She’d sniffle and hand over her drawing, and her mom would say, “Who says it’s bad? It really looks like tomato and egg!”

She added enough water, lit the stove, and let the soup simmer. She cleaned the kitchen, wiped the counters, set a timer on her phone, and waited beside the pot. As the steam slowly rose and the smell drifted to her nose, she felt proud. Her cooking skills were improving—maybe next time she’d make tomato and egg for her mom.

She checked the calendar app to count the days until rent and utilities were due again, then opened her shopping app to see when the supplies for her stall would arrive. Her heart thudded as she stared at the “in transit” status. What if I lose money? But then she shrugged—if she did, she’d just resell everything second-hand. After all, half the things in her apartment were second-hand or worse.

The timer beeped. The soup was done.

Zhou Nianzhi took a sip—delicious. She filled a lunchbox with ribs, corn, and dates, stuffing it full. The last bits stuck to the bottom of the pot—she scooped those out for herself. That was her lunch.

She placed her hand on her stomach. She didn’t feel bitter. Like Song Yuli said—she was just dieting.