I Became the Female Lead’s Current Obsession - Chapter 15

When she returned, the Jiang household was still asleep. Hou Xue quickened her pace.

The rain hadn’t stopped.

Her shirt, as always, was buttoned to the very top, but the cold wind still found its way beneath her clothes.

She was too thin. Even though the shirt fit her size, it hung loosely on her frame, barely clinging to her. On most days, her bone structure held it up enough to seem passable. But in the relentless wind, her figure was fully outlined.

Her whole body was ice cold, yet her mind was exceptionally clear.

She hadn’t felt this cold in a long time—not since she left that house.

Her footsteps on the stairs were featherlight, as if stepping on clouds. She felt dazed. In the bathroom, scalding water poured from the showerhead, hissing into steam as it met her chilled skin.

Her dreams, as always, were a hollow blur. But for the first time, in the ebb and flow of her fragmented soul, she felt a faint warmth flowing from her palm—origin unknown—making time feel less dry, less desolate.
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Jiang Qing had slept well. Even though the rain grew heavier through the night, it hadn’t disturbed the Second Miss’s quality rest.

She stretched lazily that morning, feeling refreshed, eager to start a brand-new day.

What awaited her, however, was a Hou Xue who was clearly not herself.

“What’s wrong…” Jiang Qing stepped forward with concern, placing her left hand on Hou Xue’s forehead and her right on her own. The temperature difference was shocking. “You’re burning up!”

Her forehead was scorching, mixed with a thin layer of cold sweat, pressing damp against Jiang Qing’s palm.

The fork in Hou Xue’s trembling hand clattered slightly. The familiar touch on her forehead finally made her realize who she had dreamed of last night.

She looked up and saw her stepsister’s rosy lips slightly parted, seemingly murmuring something to her.

How could she notice so quickly? Did she care… that much?

Jiang Qing had beautiful lips, the kind that naturally curled into a smile.

When she smiled, it was disarming. Despite her sharp, striking features, her smile softened everything—like a cat retracting its claws, revealing only soft, warm paws, seeking affection.

“Was it from standing in the rain yesterday? But it was only for a moment… I shouldn’t have let you wear so little…” Jiang Qing was still talking, but Hou Xue, flushed all over, could barely make out her words.

She wondered: Jiang Qing was always so kind to her—so if she kissed those lips right now, would she get a response?

No. Of course not.

No matter how gentle someone may be, no one would tolerate being coveted in that way.

“I’m fine,” Hou Xue said, pushing Jiang Qing away. “We’re going to be late.”

Her mind, fever-fogged, was swimming with unruly thoughts—wild, improper impulses she had to suppress. She could no longer touch the person in front of her.

Something within her was clawing to get out. She knew what it was—but she couldn’t allow it to take root. She only wanted to crush it, bury it.

Jiang Qing looked stunned by the sudden push. She stood silent for a long while before sitting back down, her gaze never leaving Hou Xue.

She looked at her—her drooping eyelids, the hands that could no longer hold the utensils steady, her mask finally dropped, exposing a fragile soul on the brink of collapse.

She hadn’t realized Hou Xue’s body was so weak.

In the original story, there were hardly any scenes of Hou Xue being sick. Now that she thought about it, perhaps only once—when she had been drenched in rain during a project and returned home with a fever after securing the deal.

The apartment was large, but lifeless. Hou Xue left no trace of living behind. Without anyone to trust, even when sick, she had to endure alone.

Hou Xue once said she was afraid of the cold.

Jiang Qing suddenly lost her appetite. She put down her fork and knife, her voice steady but casual. “You’re not going to school today.”
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Hou Xue was forcibly tucked into bed. Her body was so weak that even her resistance seemed like feigned coyness.

The thought startled Jiang Qing. Maybe she, too, was starting to lose her mind.

This was Jiang Qing’s first time inside Hou Xue’s room. When she had first arrived, she had only peeked in from the door. Back then, Hou Xue had been guarded, refusing to let her enter.

The room was exactly as Jiang Qing imagined—spotless and orderly, as if bound by strict rules. Every object was precisely in place, not a single item misplaced.

It was suffocatingly meticulous, almost oppressive.

Jiang Qing pulled a chair to Hou Xue’s bedside and sat, feeling vaguely guilty—like she was disturbing a piece of finely crafted art.

“Why are you hiding under the covers?” She tugged at the blanket. When Hou Xue didn’t respond, she softened her voice, coaxing like a parent, “Come on, sweetheart. You’ll suffocate.”

“I’m hot,” Hou Xue finally whispered, “But I’m still cold.”

Jiang Qing blinked and took the thermometer from the maid. “Bring an extra blanket,” she told her, without pausing her movements.

She pulled out Hou Xue’s hand and pressed the thermometer to her wrist.

39.5°C.

Jiang Qing touched Hou Xue’s forehead—alarming heat.

“With this kind of fever, you still wanted to go to school? You were freezing yesterday but dressed so lightly?” Jiang Qing was exasperated. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became—and filled with regret.

Fever was cruel. And Hou Xue’s temperature was nearing 40°C. Her mind was likely delirious by now.

“I’m sorry,” Hou Xue murmured, eyes dazed. “I can take care of myself. You should go to class.”

“I’m not in the mood for class,” Jiang Qing replied. “If you could take care of yourself, you wouldn’t be lying here like this.”

Hou Xue said nothing more.

There was nothing left to argue. Truthfully, she wanted Jiang Qing to stay—but it was a shameful desire, one she didn’t even dare entertain.

No one had ever treated her this kindly before.

Her own parents were enemies. Hou Xue was just the proof of their union, never the recipient of their love.

They both resented her.

Cao Fenlan hated that Hou Xue’s arrival couldn’t save a crumbling marriage. Hou Jingjun loathed her as just another mouth to feed.

Even when sick, the thought that crossed her mind was—If I died, maybe that would be okay.

Her head throbbed violently. Her entire body was burning—as if someone had lit a fire inside her.

But her heart felt hollow.

Empty.

What was even fueling the fire?

Her thoughts scattered into meaningless tangents.

She remembered a house she once lived in as a child—and the only toy she ever had: a little white cat.

It looked a lot like the one Jiang Qing had given her—black eyes, white fur—but it was poorly made and quickly turned dirty.

Hou Xue shut her eyes and thought for a long time. She finally remembered: it was a birthday gift from Cao Fenlan when she turned six.

“Xiao Xue, look! It’s a cute little white kitten.”

Cao Fenlan had smiled at her, though her face was already fading in memory.

She used to sleep quickly when hugging the kitten—but was always awakened by Hou Jingjun’s late-night return.

Jiang Qing was adjusting the blanket when she asked gently, “Is this thickness warm enough?”

Hou Xue shook her head.

Her skin was beginning to ache—maybe she really was burning.

That house had been damp and cold, devoid of any warmth.

At some point, Cao Fenlan had stopped hugging her. That was when she started fearing the cold.

The wind that blew through the cracks in the window would pierce into the bone, leaving her trembling uncontrollably.

Hou Jingjun never feared the cold. He often didn’t return on winter nights.

“Alcohol keeps the cold away.”

Hou Xue had drunk alcohol once—forced by Hou Jingjun.

“That damned woman won’t let me drink. You try it—see if it’s any good!”

The wine was sweet. Warm, too. But it hurt her stomach. Scraped her throat like swallowing fire.

“Is it good?”

“It’s good.”

That was the first time Cao Fenlan hit her—her face swollen from being slapped by Hou Jingjun.

“Ungrateful thing. Just like him. A little drunkard!”

The little white cat got dirty. Cao Fenlan stomped on it.

Hou Xue hurt, but she didn’t cry. She just started dry heaving, trying to vomit it all out.

But Cao Fenlan no longer looked at her. She started crying instead.

Loudly.

Hou Xue remembered seeing a face twisted in agony.

Then Cao Fenlan started laughing, lips stretching wide while her brows remained furrowed.

From that day, Hou Xue knew—Cao Fenlan was sick.

Maybe she knew her dreams had shattered beyond repair.

Still, Cao Fenlan remained beautiful. Like a painting—but one twisted, deranged.

“If I die one day, it’ll be your fault.”

“You’ll die horribly—just like Hou Jingjun…”

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“You need to take your medicine,” Jiang Qing’s voice murmured beside Hou Xue’s searing cheek. Her fingers brushed softly, worried. “Wake up, okay?”

Hou Xue opened her eyes.

She had been half-dreaming.

“Medicine…” Her voice came out cracked and hoarse. “Give it to me.” A hand reached out from beneath the covers.

Jiang Qing placed the medicine in her palm. “It’ll make you sleepy, so you can rest. I’ll bring you ginger soup later.”

Hou Xue nodded heavily, sat up a bit, and swallowed the pills with water. Then, she began to lie back down.

But Jiang Qing stopped her. “Drink this glass of water first.”

Obediently, Hou Xue finished it, then sank back into the bed.

When curled up in the blanket, she looked small—like a little white dumpling, the kind that made you instinctively want to protect it.

And Jiang Qing was that person. Her heart ached terribly. She would rather take on the fever herself.

“Is my brown sugar ginger soup ready yet?” Jiang Qing’s voice rang out, impatient now.

“Almost, Miss Jiang,” the maids straightened up and replied.

“I’m going to check the soup,” Jiang Qing whispered by Hou Xue’s ear. “I’ll be right back.”

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The dream continued.

Long, dry, endless.

Hou Xue had never dreamed of the past before. She didn’t see the point of such memory-laden dreams.

Nothing would change. Hou Xue didn’t indulge in delusions of rewriting history.

She just watched.

Watched herself live through it again.

Cao Fenlan was leaving.

She was fleeing that small, cigarette-and-liquor-stained apartment. Escaping Hou Jingjun’s control and violence.

And taking along the daughter she didn’t love.

“Xiao Xue, do you want to come with Mommy?”