After the Breakup, the Seductive Beauty-Type Omega Became Obsessed - Chapter 41
Chapter 41
“Tian Tian, of course I like you.”
“……” Situ Yujia looked up at her in astonishment.
Why would Wen Mingzhi ask such a question? It must be Fei Xing’en and Xu Baiqiu talking behind her back—those two were gossiping again.
Situ Yujia couldn’t help frowning slightly. After a moment of hesitation, she answered, “Yes…”
“Mm, thank you,” Wen Mingzhi responded calmly. Her long, narrow phoenix eyes were completely unreadable.
Situ Yujia’s heart tightened at those words.
“I don’t like you.” Wen Mingzhi continued, her cold tone as sharp as a blade.
The words stabbed right into Situ Yujia’s heart. She lowered her eyes, her hands clenched tightly.
She had known all along. That’s why she was willing to stay by Wen Mingzhi’s side, just as a friend.
Without even lifting her head, Wen Mingzhi gracefully poured herself a cup of tea.
“Mingzhi… it’s okay,” Situ Yujia murmured, head bowed in dejection.
“Situ, don’t come to me again in the future,” Wen Mingzhi said coolly.
“Mingzhi, why? Is it because of Zhou Tian?” Situ Yujia asked in disbelief.
“No. We’re just no longer friends.” Wen Mingzhi took a sip of tea, her expression blank as she looked at her.
“Mingzhi!” Situ Yujia cried out, staring at her in shock and confusion.
“Just because of Zhou Tian? After all these years of friendship?” she argued.
“Situ.” Wen Mingzhi glanced at her, her eyes narrowing with a chilling authority.
Situ Yujia immediately fell silent.
“…Fine, fine.” Situ Yujia reluctantly nodded, then stood up. She shot a glare at Fei Xing’en and Xu Baiqiu, then cast one last wistful look at Wen Mingzhi before turning and walking away.
Wen Mingzhi’s attitude left no room for compromise.
“Mingzhi, are you really never going to be friends with Situ Yujia again?” Fei Xing’en asked.
Wen Mingzhi said nothing.
Xu Baiqiu said plainly, “That’s for the best.”
“You always think everything’s fine,” Fei Xing’en rolled her eyes at her, grumbling.
Wen Mingzhi remained her usual cold and elegant self, gently blowing on her tea.
“Mingzhi, what about Zhou Tian?” Fei Xing’en’s eyes lit up as she asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” Wen Mingzhi replied coolly, her brows slightly furrowed.
“What? She didn’t come find you? Ask for help? Or thank you for helping her?…” Fei Xing’en fired off a series of questions.
Wen Mingzhi’s expression tightened, the corners of her lips slowly drooping, coldness spreading in her eyes.
Her heart sank further and further—Zhou Tian hadn’t contacted her at all. In fact, she even suspected that Wen Mingzhi was the one who leaked the scandal and tried to ruin her.
At that thought, Wen Mingzhi’s face darkened. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles, a constant, fine pain that made her chest tighten.
“It’s fine, Mingzhi. Zhou Tian is probably just panicking right now,” Fei Xing’en offered, seeing Wen Mingzhi’s grim expression.
…
Meanwhile, at home, Zhou Tian and Xia Ruo were lounging on the couch, watching a popular drama, snacking and sipping juice—completely at ease.
Since someone had already handled the scandal online, they didn’t have to worry. With the weight lifted, they naturally decided to celebrate a little.
“I’m telling you, Wen Mingzhi really is a curse. First Lü Ningyue, now Situ Yujia—who hasn’t hurt you because of her?” Xia Ruo complained.
“Yeah… but Lü Ningyue was already that kind of person… it wasn’t exactly because of Wen Mingzhi, right?” Zhou Tian replied thoughtfully.
“Hey! Tian Tian, are you defending Wen Mingzhi?” Xia Ruo glared at her.
“Just being objective… Xia-jie, anyway, things are resolved now. Looks like I can finally release a song.”
“In a little while. What did Teacher Xi Yiyun and Wen Qingying say?”
“Not sure. It all depends on Teacher Xi Yiyun now.” They had discussed it earlier and agreed that she would handle all future planning.
“That’s good. She’s amazing and very influential in the music industry.”
“Yeah, I didn’t expect this mess to happen right now. It dragged them into it too.” Zhou Tian frowned.
“Nothing we can do… we’ll just be more careful going forward.”
“Mm. Teacher Bai Qianxue even made a post to argue with the haters for me.” Zhou Tian smiled at the thought.
“Classic Bai Qianxue. She was totally going toe-to-toe with the haters—so fierce.” Xia Ruo sighed admiringly.
“Right.” Zhou Tian nodded, smiling.
The two chatted about everything—except Wen Mingzhi.
“…”
Wen Mingzhi waited several days, but still heard nothing from Zhou Tian.
They had clearly agreed on two days. How many had passed now?
Frustrated and angry, a storm of dark emotion brewed behind her eyes. She immediately called Zhou Tian.
Fortunately, because of the whole scandal mess, Zhou Tian had removed her from the block list—just in case they needed to contact her.
Seeing the familiar number, Zhou Tian hesitated, but picked up.
“Tian Tian.”
“President Wen, is there something you need?” she asked politely, her tone distant.
“Tian Tian, have you made up your mind?” Wen Mingzhi’s voice was gentle, a rare smile on her lips, her cold demeanor softened.
“What about you? Have you made up your mind?” Zhou Tian asked seriously, brows furrowed.
“Tian Tian, of course I have. When are you coming back?” Wen Mingzhi chuckled lightly.
“President Wen, that’s not what I mean. Do you really want to be with me?” Zhou Tian asked solemnly.
“Of course, Tian Tian. We’re permanently marked. Of course we should be together.”
“President Wen, again, that’s not what I mean… Do you like me?” Zhou Tian’s frown deepened. All of Wen Mingzhi’s answers skirted the surface—always falling back on the permanent marking. It felt like things had spiraled out of control and they were just being pushed along with no real choice.
Like they were forced to be together.
When Wen Mingzhi didn’t answer right away, Zhou Tian pressed, “President Wen, do you even know what it means to like someone?”
“Tian Tian, of course I like you.”
“But… Wen Mingzhi, are you sure?” Zhou Tian asked, her expression full of doubt.
“I’m sure, Tian Tian. I like you.” Her voice was clear and gentle, soft and sincere.
But Zhou Tian frowned deeply, her round peach blossom eyes full of conflict and sorrow.
“……” She didn’t believe her. What Wen Mingzhi called “liking” — was it real? Or was it just the fondness one had for a pet? Either way, Zhou Tian no longer cared.
But judging by Wen Mingzhi’s words, it was clear she had no intention of removing the mark.
“Tian Tian?” Wen Mingzhi’s voice came through, tinged with a rare hint of pleading.
“President Wen, we can’t go back to how things were.” Zhou Tian replied coldly.
Everything in the past—gone like smoke. Zhou Tian had already moved on. The current mess forced her to look back, but no matter how far back she looked, she couldn’t walk that path again.
Whether or not Wen Mingzhi liked her, there would be no future between them. Wen Mingzhi had too much, wanted too much—but no one could have it all.
Zhou Tian’s heartless words struck Wen Mingzhi like a death sentence. Zhou Tian was so cold, so stubborn.
Wen Mingzhi’s smile faded, her long, narrow phoenix eyes rising slowly, now fierce and icy, a maelstrom of dark emotion swirling inside them—like an abyss consuming her sanity.
“Tian Tian, we can have a tomorrow.” A bitter smile touched Wen Mingzhi’s lips.
“……” Zhou Tian’s face scrunched up. Why was Wen Mingzhi so stubborn? Why couldn’t she let go?
That kind of humble pleading—from Wen Mingzhi, no less—made Zhou Tian wonder if she’d heard wrong. Was Wen Mingzhi really saying anything just to get her back?
“President Wen, don’t say things like that. I don’t deserve it.” Zhou Tian looked out the window. The black sky loomed like a curtain, the crescent moon hidden behind clouds, not a star in sight. Endless darkness swallowed all light.
It pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Tian Tian, you do deserve it,” Wen Mingzhi said firmly, cold tone brimming with certainty.
Zhou Tian took a deep breath. This conversation was going nowhere. There was nothing more to say.
“President Wen, let’s leave it at that. If you’re affected by the marking during heat, you can come find me.” With that, Zhou Tian ended the call.
Wen Mingzhi’s brows furrowed tightly. What was that supposed to mean!?
“Zhou Tian, can’t you come back?” she asked, her tone increasingly cold. Even through the phone, Zhou Tian could feel the forceful pressure behind her words.
“President Wen, there’s no need for that. We’re all busy.” Zhou Tian rejected her without hesitation.
“Zhou Tian!” Wen Mingzhi growled in a low voice, her brows clouded with frustration.
“If that’s all, I’m hanging up.” Zhou Tian ended the call decisively.
Her frown deepened, thoughts churning behind her eyes.
On the other side, in Wen Mingzhi’s luxurious Cangyu Villa, her flawless face twisted with a dark expression. Her long phoenix eyes drooped, filled with fierce, murderous cold.
Zhou Tian really was something. Even after a permanent mark, she was still like this!
For the first time, Wen Mingzhi realized just how stubborn and heartless she was.
Her hands clenched so tightly that the bandage on her palm burst open, bl00d seeping out, staining her fair skin—it was a startling sight.
“President Wen,” Assistant Chen quickly brought over the first aid kit.
The wound reopened, bl00d dripping down her fingers, one drop after another.
“President Wen, you really shouldn’t be moving your hand too much,” Assistant Chen reminded.
Wen Mingzhi turned and sat down on the sofa, holding out her slender hand, now stained with bl00d, her sharp phoenix eyes gleaming crimson with suppressed fury.
“…”
Outside the café, a familiar figure was standing silently.
Wen Mingzhi had been there for a while, watching them through the glass window.
Her tall figure was wrapped in a tailored black coat, her long hair tied behind her head in a clean ponytail. Those sharp and cold phoenix eyes—usually full of indifference—now revealed a rare hint of restraint and hidden frustration.
She hadn’t planned on coming.
Originally, she had just instructed her assistant to keep tabs on Zhou Tian’s schedule, making sure nothing would go wrong, nothing would bother her.
But the moment she saw Zhou Tian and Liang Xirui together in the same frame—laughing, talking closely—something snapped inside her.
Before she knew it, she was already here.
Yet now, standing outside the café, she couldn’t bring herself to go in.
What was she going to say?
Tell Zhou Tian that she liked her?
Tell her not to laugh so happily with others?
Tell her… not to like someone else?
Wen Mingzhi gritted her teeth. Her heart was filled with chaotic thoughts. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the pain and stifling tightness spreading from within.
From inside, Zhou Tian still hadn’t noticed her presence. She was holding her coffee cup, laughing lightly at something Liang Xirui had said.
Wen Mingzhi’s fingers tightened into a fist, her nails digging into her palm.
She suddenly realized: she might really lose Zhou Tian.
She had always thought that no matter how far Zhou Tian ran, she’d eventually come back—because they had marked each other. Because they were meant to be together.
But Zhou Tian was slowly growing further and further away.
She didn’t need her.
She was happy even without her.
This realization made Wen Mingzhi almost breathless.
The pain surged like a tide.
And it was at this moment—Zhou Tian finally turned her head, as if sensing something.
Across the glass window, their eyes met.
Wen Mingzhi stood still.
Zhou Tian froze for a moment, then visibly frowned.
She clearly hadn’t expected to see Wen Mingzhi here.
She didn’t get up, didn’t greet her.
Instead, she turned back toward the others and said something, then lowered her head again, pretending like she hadn’t seen her.
That subtle rejection was like a slap across Wen Mingzhi’s face.
Her expression remained blank, but the pain in her eyes deepened.
After standing there for a few seconds, she turned and walked away.
She didn’t go in.
Didn’t cause a scene.
Didn’t say a word.
But deep inside, something collapsed completely.
“……”
“Was that Wen Mingzhi just now?” Liang Xirui finally noticed the shadowy figure disappearing by the window.
“Ah?” Zhou Tian looked up again, only to see nothing but an empty sidewalk.
“Was it?” Liang Xirui was puzzled.
Zhou Tian shook her head. “Don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t.”
But the heaviness in her heart betrayed her own words.
If it had been anyone else, she might’ve believed it was a coincidence.
But Wen Mingzhi… She had never been someone who appeared by accident.
“湉湉, are you okay?” Wen Qingying looked at her with concern.
“I’m fine,” Zhou Tian smiled faintly. “Just remembered something.”
She took another sip of her coffee, trying to mask the sour taste rising in her throat.
That night, she went home alone.
The sky was overcast. The city lights were blurred behind a thin veil of fog.
Zhou Tian stood by her window, looking out into the hazy darkness. The reflection in the glass showed a girl with tired eyes and a forced smile.
She thought of Wen Mingzhi again.
Her heart still wavered.
She didn’t know when it started, but whenever she thought of that person, the taste in her chest was no longer just resentment and irritation—but also something unspoken, deep, and hard to name.
She closed her eyes.
Even if Wen Mingzhi loved her.
So what?
They could never go back.
Not anymore.
The next day, the overcast sky brought a drizzling rain.
Zhou Tian arrived at the office earlier than usual. She had been tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep, her mind plagued by one image after another of that fleeting glance through the café window.
She hadn’t told anyone about it. Not even Liang Xirui, who had walked her home last night.
She didn’t want to talk about Wen Mingzhi.
Didn’t want to explain why her mood had suddenly shifted, why she had grown quiet, why she seemed to retreat back into her guarded self again.
She just wanted to move on.
But moving on was easier said than done.
Especially when, the moment she entered the studio, she saw a bouquet of white tulips placed neatly on her desk.
A familiar handwriting was on the note attached:
Zhou Tian,
Congratulations on the successful exhibition. You did very well.
Her heart clenched.
The handwriting was neat and sharp, just like the person behind it—restrained, composed, and always leaving just enough space to breathe.
Just enough space to hurt.
She stared at the note for a long time, then picked it up and crumpled it in her hand.
“Who sent the flowers?” someone behind her asked casually. It was Xu Xiaoran, carrying a cup of coffee.
Zhou Tian quickly loosened her hand and forced a smile. “A client. Just congratulating me on the exhibition.”
Xu Xiaoran nodded and said nothing, but gave her a long, searching glance.
Zhou Tian took the bouquet and walked toward the breakroom. She placed the tulips gently into the sink, then turned on the tap.
Cold water gushed out, soaking the petals until they drooped.
She didn’t cry.
But she couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling.
She remembered a time, long ago, when Wen Mingzhi used to give her flowers, too. Back then, she would beam with joy and run to show them off to her colleagues. She’d even take pictures and post them to her Moments with a cheesy caption like:
My CEO sent me flowers again.
Now, the same tulips sat limp and silent in the sink.
The note was already soggy, its ink bleeding.
Everything felt so far away.
She turned off the tap, dried her hands, and walked back out like nothing had happened.
That afternoon, the weather suddenly cleared.
The sun broke through the clouds just as she received a call from a gallery director wanting to schedule a follow-up collaboration. Work always had a way of grounding her—Zhou Tian responded quickly and professionally, her tone calm and composed.
But as she ended the call, her phone buzzed again.
This time, it was a message from an unknown number.
Can we talk? —Wen Mingzhi
Zhou Tian stared at the screen.
She didn’t reply.
A few seconds later, another message came through.
Just once. I’ll be outside your studio at 5 p.m. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave immediately.
Zhou Tian put her phone down.
She didn’t touch it for the rest of the afternoon.
The clock ticked on.
Her coworkers gradually left for the day, one by one.
When the clock hit 5:00, Zhou Tian remained at her desk, unmoving.
5:10…
5:15…
She finally stood up and walked slowly to the window.
Down on the street, Wen Mingzhi was standing by the lamppost across the road, holding a black umbrella.
She didn’t move.
Just waited.
Zhou Tian pressed her hand against the window glass. Her lips tightened.
For a long time, she simply stood there, watching.
Then finally, she turned away.
She walked toward the elevator without looking back.
Outside, Wen Mingzhi’s phone buzzed with a single message:
Okay. Let’s talk.
She looked down at the message, then finally let out a slow breath and started walking forward.
Zhou Tian stepped out of the building and into the soft golden light of the sunset. The rain had stopped, but the ground was still wet, glistening with reflections of neon signs and streetlamps beginning to flicker on.
Wen Mingzhi stood across the street, her black umbrella now closed, her figure calm and still.
Zhou Tian didn’t rush.
She walked slowly toward her, stopping about a meter away.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The air between them was thick with memories—some too sharp, some too sweet, and some that still hadn’t faded despite all this time.
“You haven’t changed,” Zhou Tian finally said.
Wen Mingzhi’s eyes met hers. “You have.”
Zhou Tian smiled faintly, but there was no joy in it. “Isn’t that what you wanted back then? For me to grow up? To be independent, decisive, and stop clinging to you?”
Wen Mingzhi lowered her gaze. “No. I just wanted you to be yourself.”
Zhou Tian’s smile vanished. She looked away and took a breath.
“Why are you here, Wen Mingzhi?”
“I saw your exhibition.” Her voice was low and even. “I didn’t expect to. I was just passing by. But I saw your name, saw your painting… and I couldn’t not go in.”
Zhou Tian said nothing.
“I thought I had let go,” Wen Mingzhi continued, voice softer now. “I thought time and distance would fix everything. But when I saw you again, I realized… some things don’t fade. They just wait.”
Zhou Tian’s fingers clenched around her coat.
“You chose to walk away,” she said. “You made that decision for both of us.”
“I know,” Wen Mingzhi said.
“You said you didn’t want to delay my future, that you didn’t want me to sacrifice anything for you. But did you ever ask what I wanted?”
Wen Mingzhi looked at her, eyes dark and steady. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“You weren’t.”
Silence.
The city’s noise pulsed gently around them—car horns in the distance, footsteps, laughter from a nearby noodle stall.
“I’m not here to ask for anything,” Wen Mingzhi said finally. “Not forgiveness. Not a second chance.”
Zhou Tian turned to look at her.
“Then why?”
“I just wanted you to know that I still think about you. That I was proud of you when I saw your name up there. That even if I’m no longer part of your life, I… I’m still rooting for you.”
Zhou Tian blinked quickly, fighting the sting in her eyes.
She looked up at the sky, at the streaks of fading light in the clouds.
“So this is goodbye, then?”
Wen Mingzhi hesitated.
Then she nodded.
“Yes. If that’s what you want.”
Zhou Tian gave a long, deep sigh, then stepped forward.
She reached out and straightened the collar of Wen Mingzhi’s coat, her touch light and careful, almost ceremonial.
“Take care of yourself,” she said.
Wen Mingzhi looked down at her.
“You too.”
And just like that, she turned and walked away.
Zhou Tian didn’t watch her go.
She stood under the dim glow of the streetlamp, eyes closed, the weight in her chest finally shifting—not gone, but no longer suffocating.
When she opened her eyes again, the night had fully fallen.
She walked home alone.
But this time, her steps were steady.