After Marrying the Aloof Beauty, I Totally Fell for Her - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Really Want to See An Ning

The girl had just finished a match. Sweat still clung to her hair and clothes, and now she was curled up in a ball, crying hard. She looked truly pitiful.

Even though An Ning had intended to keep her distance, seeing her like this made it hard to stay cold-hearted. She pulled some tissues from her locker and walked over to hand them to the girl.

“Don’t be too upset. There are always wins and losses in a match—what matters is doing your best.”

Jing Tong looked up, her eyes red like a rabbit’s. She hesitantly took the tissues and said in a small voice, “Sorry… I’ve caused you trouble…”

Actually, I’m the one who’s caused you trouble.

An Ning knew deep down that if it weren’t for her, Jing Tong wouldn’t have been ridiculed by Hong Tianjiao. Guilt crept in.

Originally, she had planned to just go along with what the coach said and play casually. But now, it seemed she should at least try to win the exhibition match… or at the very least, not lose too badly.

“How about this—you go get some good rest today. Tomorrow, let’s meet at the gym and practice doubles. I’ll ask a teammate to help as a sparring partner.” An Ning subconsciously reached out to pat Jing Tong on the shoulder, but halfway through, she pulled her hand back and simply encouraged her with a gentle tone to head home early.

Jing Tong saw her hesitation. Her eyes dimmed slightly, and after sniffing, she thanked her and got up to leave.

The next afternoon, An Ning brought along Chen Ying and another teammate who was skilled in women’s doubles to help train her and Jing Tong.

Calling it “training” might be a stretch. In truth, it was three singles players getting roasted by the only actual doubles player.

It was impossible to build real chemistry for doubles play in such a short time. After a full afternoon of drills and corrections, An Ning finally managed to shake her habit of trying to take on two opponents by herself and stopped running all over the court.

Jing Tong, however, remained hesitant and unsure—her serve and return were significantly worse than her singles play.

The others didn’t notice much and assumed it was just rookie performance, but An Ning had seen Jing Tong’s match yesterday and knew this wasn’t her true ability.

She didn’t overthink it. After practice, while the four of them rested courtside, An Ning asked directly:

“You always hesitate when receiving. Is there a problem?”

Jing Tong flinched inside and looked at An Ning.

The young player had already removed her headband. Her sweaty bangs were scattered messily across her full forehead. Her face was round and her eyes wide, giving her a childish look that didn’t match her age. Her soft brown fawn eyes showed no extra emotion, only simple confusion.

Being looked at with such pure and innocent eyes made Jing Tong feel a twinge of guilt—for her own selfish thoughts.

After a brief pause, she told the truth.

“I’m afraid I’ll mess up and hold you back. If we lose again… that person will definitely mock you…”

An Ning hadn’t expected that. She hadn’t thought that far herself. She was briefly speechless before offering comfort.

“Uh… don’t stress too much. We’ll try to win, but if we lose, it’s no big deal. I don’t really care…”

“You should care more,” Chen Ying cut in, handing each of them a drink like a wise older sister. She patted Jing Tong on the shoulder, “Girl, forget about whatever happened before. Just focus on this match. Since it’s a competition, of course winning is what matters. Don’t be like this one here—so zen it’s like she’s not even a real athlete.” She pointed at An Ning. “You know what our coach said about her? ‘She’s doing her best out there… but it doesn’t seem like she actually wants to win.’” She even imitated the coach’s tone.

Jing Tong couldn’t help but burst into laughter. An Ning gently kicked Chen Ying and laughed along.

“Hey classmates, can I take a photo?” A boy in charge of post-match logistics approached, holding a camera. “We’re doing a piece for the official account to promote the Feiyu Cup.”

“Photograph these two,” Chen Ying and the other teammate quickly got up, leaving An Ning and Jing Tong behind. “These two are last year’s champion and this year’s runner-up. They’re even playing in the exhibition match in a few days.”

“Ah, even better. Ladies, give me a smile.” The boy was thrilled and raised his camera.

An Ning reflexively smiled as asked. The boy snapped the photo, thanked them, and left satisfied. The four of them, now tired, called it a day.

That night, the coach forwarded the public article to the team’s group chat. Judging by the title, it was the same one the boy had mentioned. An Ning casually reposted it to her Moments, then went to bed.

Late at night, in a bright, spacious art studio, Mu Yan sat in front of a blank canvas, staring at the scraps of failed sketches filling the trash can. She felt like throwing up.

Still not working.

Her slender, well-proportioned fingers raked through her hair in frustration.

Maybe I really can’t draw anymore.

“Can’t draw? Then go die!”

She looked at the empty canvas and remembered her mother pulling her hair, slamming her head into the drawing board.

The headache and helplessness came rushing back, transcending time.

Nightmares from childhood lingered—even now, when she was an adult with fame and recognition.

After all, no matter how much science or morality a person uses to decorate themselves, they’re still animals at their core.

And animals… can be trained.

Back when she needed love the most, everything else was stripped away, and only painting remained.

A person slowly turns into a tool—like a mouse on a spinning wheel, running until it dies.

A tool that can no longer perform its function and gain a sense of achievement falls into despair.

It’s a kind of pain no normal child would understand—but perhaps exactly the result her mother wanted.

Seems like her training was pretty effective.

She reached out and gently touched the utility knife on the easel.

The cold blade pricked her palm. As she pushed it out, the sharp click-click sound echoed. The metal pressed against the skin of her arm.

The sensation and psychological overload confused her memory. It felt like she was back in that old house, as if—

An Ning was about to knock on that closed door.

A girl’s youthful face flashed before her eyes.

“Mu Yan, look at me. Look at me.”

That stern tone didn’t match the childlike face—but it had been her only sense of security.

“If you can’t draw, it’s okay. Don’t force yourself.”

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

She thought of the knife An Ning had once taken from her.

Even now, even if they’d forgotten everything, she still didn’t want her to get hurt.

So how could she… fall so far again?

Bang!

The utility knife hit the wooden floor, leaving a shallow dent. Mu Yan clutched her head, brows furrowed, muttering to herself: “No… I can’t…”

To be precise, if it hadn’t been for An Ning, her mother’s training might have worked completely.

As her emotions slowly calmed, she suddenly felt a strong urge—

She really wanted to see An Ning.

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was 3 a.m. Picking up her phone, she opened WeChat.

Just before tapping An Ning’s chat, she noticed a red dot on the Discover tab.

She had muted everyone else’s Moments except for An Ning.

She opened it—and sure enough, the top post was from An Ning, who used a lemon as her avatar.

“Take a look inside the Yun City Sports Institute’s Feiyu Cup”

It was a promotional article about the badminton tournament. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with An Ning.

Mu Yan scrolled absentmindedly until she stopped on the last photo.

It showed two girls in athletic gear, around the same age. One had an adorably round face.

They were probably just done playing, sitting on a bench smiling brightly at the camera.

Same age, same vitality. Sitting so close… they looked like a good match.

Mu Yan stared at the screen for a long time, then gave a cold snort and tossed her phone aside.

The next morning, An Ning grabbed her phone to silence her alarm—only to see two messages from 4 a.m.

Who’s still up that late?

She opened WeChat, curious—and her eyes widened. Sleep vanished in an instant.

MY: The article “Take a Look Inside the Yun City Sports Institute’s Feiyu Cup.”

MY: I’m coming to watch the exhibition match on the 15th.