I Don’t Want to Be the Heroine Anymore - Chapter 22

In the dimly lit room, the rhythmic beeping of the electrocardiogram steadily pulsed, its electronic tones a reassuring reminder that the person resting on the bed still had a regular heartbeat.

A nanny bent down to peer under the bed, spotting a tuft of orange fur. She crouched lower and reached out to grab the plump, soft little rump.

“Meow—”

With a plaintive cry from its orange owner, the nanny dragged the chubby cat out from under the bed.

“Why do you keep sneaking under the young miss’s bed?” The nanny sighed, brushing the dust off the orange tabby’s fur.

The cat’s white whiskers twitched as it endured the nanny’s vigorous patting like a rag, letting out another disgruntled meow.

Just then, the unlatched door creaked open. The nanny turned to look, and the orange cat in her arms seized the moment to leap onto the bed, perching by the pillow to lick its paws.

“What’s going on?” The woman who entered had a gentle demeanor and wore simple attire, her long black hair loosely tied into a low ponytail. She glanced at the nanny and asked, “It’s so late—has something happened to Xiao Yun?”

The nanny quickly replied, “No, Madam. It’s just Guazi sneaking in again. I was trying to take her back.”

The woman’s gaze shifted to the orange shadow on the bed. “She was raised by Xiao Yun since she was a kitten. It’s only natural they’re close. If she wants to keep Xiao Yun company, don’t keep dragging her away.”

“Understood, Madam.”

The woman stepped closer to the bed, and the nanny dutifully brought over a chair.

Sitting down, the woman reached out to stroke the cheek of the person lying there.

Perhaps from being tucked in bed for so long, the sleeper’s skin was warm and smooth, a sign of good health.

But that was only physical health. She had been lying here for five years now.

“Xiao Yun,” the woman sighed. “The new treatment is progressing smoothly. Your mother doesn’t care about the cost—I’ll spend whatever it takes if it means you’ll wake up.”

She continued to gently caress the sleeper’s cheek with maternal tenderness. Meanwhile, the orange cat by the pillow yawned widely before curling up beside her and dozing off.

————

Time ticked by, minute by minute.

Mang Ke huddled in the corner of her rented apartment, clutching her phone. She stared at the transaction record on the screen—the string of zeros was so long she couldn’t even count them all. The balance displayed a “1” followed by at least four or five zeros.

One hundred million.

Mang Ke had always thought of that sum as just two abstract digits.

She never imagined it would one day appear so brazenly in her bank account.

Earning a hundred million in a month—wealth exchanged for the span of a single book. Mang Ke didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad. The money felt tainted, like she hadn’t rightfully earned it.

Burying her face in her knees, Mang Ke exhaled deeply.

For some reason, even though less than twelve hours had passed since she woke up, the image of Xun Fangyun in her mind was already fading. She could barely remember what she looked like anymore.

This wouldn’t do. If this continued, she’d forget her entirely.

After a long moment of thought, Mang Ke finally pushed herself up from the floor. She turned on the light, found some paper and a pen, and began to write.

The pencil tip rubbed back and forth on the paper, leaving graphite marks of varying depth.

Mang Ke wasn’t particularly skilled at drawing, yet tonight for some reason, her strokes flowed exceptionally smooth. With just a few movements, she’d outlined the likeness of a young woman on the paper.

For a full hour, Mang Ke had been diligently drawing, trying her best to transfer her memories of Xun Fangyun from her mind onto the paper.

Finally, Mang Ke held up the sheet—a portrait now complete.

Black hair cascaded down the back as Xun Fangyun gazed calmly at her from the paper, her expression neutral yet seemingly on the verge of speaking, as if words were unnecessary.

The woman on paper, bright-eyed with pearly white teeth.

The woman outside the paper, uncertain what emotions to feel toward her.

Or perhaps, toward it.

Only when the door was knocked did Mang Ke snap out of her daze.

Knock knock knock—

A voice called from outside: “Xiao Ke, are you home? I brought some late-night snacks for you!”

From the voice, Mang Ke recognized her good friend Si Nan standing outside.

Si Nan was a few years older. The two had been neighbors originally, but later Si Nan went to study medicine while Mang Ke, lacking both the academic prowess and financial means, had to settle for an ordinary college before entering the workforce.

Thus, though Si Nan was older, she’d been a corporate drone for less time than Mang Ke and was currently still a medical intern.

Mang Ke recalled how Si Nan had called that afternoon to invite her out for dinner, only to be refused. She’d probably come over out of concern.

Knock knock knock—

“Xiao Ke, are you home? I can see your lights on—are you avoiding me?”

Mang Ke rubbed her neck, stuffed the portrait into a folder which she then placed in a drawer, before finally going to open the door.

Seeing the door open, Si Nan broke into a cheerful expression: “There you are, my dear sister! What were you hiding in there that you wouldn’t let me see?”

Mang Ke stepped aside to let her in: “I wasn’t hiding anything. I just wasn’t feeling well.”

Si Nan entered carrying takeout, setting it on the table as she said: “You haven’t contacted me for a month—did something happen?”

Mang Ke stood by the door with her hands behind her back, unsure how to explain.

Fortunately, Si Nan wasn’t the type to pry. Both had their own lives and colleagues now—they weren’t at that age anymore where they’d stick together every single day.

Sitting on a chair looking at Mang Ke, Si Nan sighed: “Come eat. I think you’ve lost weight over this past month.”

Only when she smelled the food did Mang Ke realize she hadn’t eaten since waking up, and suddenly felt quite hungry.

The two sat at the dining table where Si Nan had brought shredded chicken noodles and barbecue skewers—both Mang Ke’s favorites.

Si Nan used chopsticks to place some meat into Mang Ke’s noodles, smiling: “Eat more. I think you look better with some weight on you.”

Mang Ke nodded absently and lowered her head to eat.

“My parents asked about you the other day—wondering why you hadn’t been around. They’re really concerned, so don’t go ignoring me for a whole month next time, okay?”

“Mm.”

“Also, this apartment of yours is really too shabby. You should move to a better place—a few hundred more in rent would be worth the comfort.”

“Okay.”

“Speaking of which,” Si Nan said between bites of her late-night snack as she chatted with Mang Ke, “I’ll be responsible for taking care of a patient during this period. I’ll come twice a week, and it’s very close to your place, so I can visit you often too.”

Mang Ke looked up at her and asked, “A patient?”

“Yes, a vegetative patient,” Si Nan explained to Mang Ke. “It’s been five or six years since the accident. I heard the family is quite wealthy and has spent a lot of money on the girl’s treatment.”

“…”

Mang Ke didn’t know much about Si Nan’s hospital work, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for that person.

After all, being trapped in a world you can’t escape from must be agonizing.