The Cold Queen is My Exclusive Little Snack - Chapter 31

The nanny van was a bit too conspicuous, so Zuo Xingning had Lizi return to the hotel first. Relying on her “obscurity,” she put on a mask and hailed a taxi on the street.

The drive to the cake shop went smoothly, and she successfully picked up the cake.

But that was the only part that went smoothly.

Later that night, or rather, in the dead of night—11:40 PM—Zuo Xingning couldn’t understand why so many people and cars were blocking the only road leading to the hotel.

Clinging to the car window, she wished she could sprout wings and fly away.

The driver, however, remained relaxed, chatting with a smile, “Worried about missing the fireworks? Don’t worry, the show will last at least an hour. You’ll definitely see them.”

“Fireworks?” Zuo Xingning asked, confused. “Why fireworks? It’s not a holiday or anything.”

She glanced at the crowd gathering outside the window. “Are they all here for the fireworks?”

“Yep,” the driver replied, surprised she didn’t know. He gestured casually. “See that mall over there? It’s their tenth anniversary this year. They’ve been hyping it up all week, and they announced a fireworks show at midnight in the park.”

“The hotel you’re going to happens to have the best view of the fireworks show. Seeing you with the cake, I thought you were planning to watch the fireworks with friends while enjoying it. How romantic!”

Zuo Xingning tugged at the corner of her mouth, saying nothing.

She didn’t care about fireworks while eating cake; all that mattered was seeing Chu Shiyin before midnight.

Checking the time, she realized there were less than twenty minutes left. If she ran…

“Driver,” Zuo Xingning picked up the cake box, “just drop me off here.”

The crowd was too dense to ride a shared bike, forcing Zuo Xingning to run. But she had to protect the cake in her arms from being crushed, slowing her down.

Fourteen minutes left.

The crowd finally thinned out a bit, but the road remained blocked, and there were no shared bikes in sight.

After a quick glance around, Zuo Xingning continued running.

Ten minutes left, six hundred meters to go.

Running so fast, a metallic sweetness rose in her throat, but she couldn’t afford to care. Her eyes were fixed on the hotel at the end of the road.

Seven minutes left.

The cake was ruined.

A corner of the sidewalk brick had jutted up, tripping Zuo Xingning and sending her tumbling forward.

Before falling, she had instinctively clutched the cake to her chest, trying to protect it. But it was still smashed, the cream smeared messily across the transparent lid, its original shape unrecognizable.

Zuo Xingning limped to her feet and picked up her phone.

The illuminated screen remained on the navigation page, the tempered glass shattered into a spiderweb pattern, slicing the route to her destination into jagged fragments like an impassable chasm.

Five minutes left. One hundred meters to go.

Clutching the cake box, Zuo Xingning limped into a narrow alleyway.

Too late.

Too late.

I’m too late…

Tears splattered on the screen, magnifying the remaining sliver of green line until it seemed impossible to cross in a lifetime.

Wiping her face, Zuo Xingning exited the navigation app and opened WeChat. She typed a message in as lighthearted a tone as she could muster:

Happy Birthday, Jiejie~~

Ahhh, I still couldn’t make it! The filming wrapped up too late /crying face

Two notification pings echoed from the alley entrance.

She didn’t notice.

November 22nd.

This day carries many meanings: Xiao Xue, the Minor Snow solar term; the transition between Scorpio and Sagittarius.

For Chu Shiyin, it held another significance—her birthday.

A day easily forgotten. For a long, long time, the numbers 1122 were nothing more than a segment of her identity card number.

She never liked this day. Not since childhood.

It represented winter.

Winter meant icy water, hands and feet that never warmed, festering frostbite sores, and endless, unbearable days and nights.

“Birthday” was an even stranger concept.

But… when she was younger, Chu Shiyin had actually liked this day.

She would get a bowl of noodles with two eggs.

She ate it for three years. Beyond that, she couldn’t remember if the bowl had existed before. What she knew for sure was that after she turned nine, it was gone.

Her mother died, having committed suicide by drinking pesticide—a common, unremarkable occurrence.

With her mother gone, Chu Shiyin was left with a younger brother. The villagers pitied them.

At first, Chu Shiyin thought they were pitying her for the increased beatings she would endure. Only after hearing it repeatedly did she realize they were blaming her mother for leaving “so rashly,” for not living on for her children’s sake.

How absurd.

Of course, nine-year-old Chu Shiyin didn’t yet know what “absurd” meant.

She just felt like crying.

That evening, Chu Shiyin used the meager earnings from helping classmates copy homework to buy paper money at the village store. She burned it at her mother’s grave.

Before coming, Chu Shiyin had worried she might not find her mother.

There were other unmarked graves nearby, and she had only visited once before. But thankfully, she found it.

Her mother had been small and frail in life, and her grave was just as small.

Next spring, when the grass grew tall, it would cover her completely. She would sleep undisturbed among the blades, basking in the sun.

How wonderful.

After burning the paper money, Chu Shiyin murmured to herself for a while. It didn’t feel like long, but the sky was already darkening.

She hurried home in a panic. She hadn’t started dinner yet and needed to finish before the drunken man returned.

But it was too late. She ran too slowly, and the moon rose too quickly.

The man sat on the doorstep, surprisingly sober, his palm-sized hand hanging limp.

His wife’s death seemed to have awakened his meager conscience, or perhaps something else.

Perhaps he had finally noticed that the daughter he had never truly seen was starting to grow up.

Astonishing beauty lay hidden within her frail, shrinking frame. Neglected for a few years, she would become another high-quality bl00d bag.

The man’s expression softened as he asked where she had been. Upon hearing her answer, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

In small communities, gossip spread like wildfire. His wife’s suicide had cost him considerable face, yet he ultimately said nothing.

The child was young; in a few years, she would forget her incompetent mother entirely.

He patted her head, pleased to see her flinch but not dare to pull away.

The rumbling of hunger suddenly echoed from her stomach. Ya’er blushed, and the man chuckled, plucking a persimmon from the tree outside the house in a few swift motions.

“Ya’er,” he said, handing her the fruit, round and glowing like a crimson lantern. “Today is Xiao Xue, your birthday.”

Of course, it was likely just an ordinary persimmon, but the mention of “birthday” transformed it into a gift.

Ya’er never got to taste her birthday present.

Seeing her cradle it so carefully, the boy—who shared his father’s bl00d—mistook it for a priceless treasure.

When he snatched it away and discovered it was merely a common persimmon, half-eaten by birds, he lost interest.

With a careless flick, he hurled the fruit across the courtyard, where it splattered into mush.

Unable to sleep, Chu Shiyin switched on the bedside lamp and leaned against the headboard, massaging her temples.

A month ago, following Lin Fei’s advice, she had completely stopped taking her medication.

Since stopping, the heavy, corroded feeling in her brain had finally lifted, and her memory had improved. However, there was a downside: she found herself constantly reliving past memories.

Chu Shiyin pressed her hand to her chest. Her heart was racing, contracting sharply every few moments with a needle-like pain.

She picked up her phone and glanced at the time: 11:33 PM.

It was late. Her routine was usually strict; without work, she would have been asleep hours ago.

But she couldn’t sleep.

Chu Shiyin unlocked her phone. Today was her birthday. From morning till night, she had received countless “Happy Birthday” messages, and her fans had even organized a large-screen tribute.

These were things the old Chu Shiyin would never have dared to dream of. Even if she had received them, her first thought would have been: When will I lose it all?

When will it end?

Even now, she would unconsciously ponder this question, shackling herself with the worst-case scenario.

There was only one thing she couldn’t predict, didn’t dare to imagine.

The last message from her pinned WeChat contact remained at 3 PM. Clicking into the chat, she found no “Happy Birthday” messages.

Was this why she couldn’t sleep?

Chu Shiyin frowned and walked to the window.

Outside, the city was bustling. She’d heard from theater staff that a fireworks display would begin at midnight, and nearby hotels were fully booked as people scrambled for the best views.

Uninterested in fireworks, Chu Shiyin changed into outdoor clothes and decided to go for a walk.

It might sound narcissistic, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that…

Some little fool would come rushing over, regardless of the distance, just to celebrate her birthday with her.

It was quite a ways, so she should probably go pick her up.

The crowd was dense, and Chu Shiyin inevitably got recognized by fans. After taking photos with them, the clock ticked closer to midnight.

No new messages arrived on her phone. Chu Shiyin stood before the hotel entrance, watching people stream in and out, none pausing for her.

She rubbed her fingers together and checked the navigation app on her phone, tracing the route from the film set to the hotel. The final stretch was entirely red.

Traffic jam. Zuo Xingning was probably still on her way.

A little late was fine; she didn’t mind.

Chu Shiyin tugged her collar up, stowed her phone, and began walking aimlessly.

She couldn’t sleep anyway, so a stroll would do her good.

Ten meters, thirty meters… With less than five minutes until midnight, Chu Shiyin caught sight of a figure running toward her.

Instinct recognized her before her eyes could.

A faint smile curved her lips beneath her mask. Chu Shiyin wanted to get a better look, but suddenly a crowd surged from the side, pushing her back several steps. By the time she regained her footing, the figure had vanished.

Panic surged through her. Chu Shiyin hurried forward, her suede ankle boots clicking sharply against the pavement.

Zuo Xingning wasn’t there.

Chu Shiyin scanned the surroundings, her heart skipping a beat.

Among the bustling crowd, not a single face was familiar.

She had misread the situation, or perhaps… it was all a hallucination.

Zuo Xingning hadn’t come, and might never come.

She was being delusional.

A buzzing filled her ears. Chu Shiyin heard passersby discussing the fireworks for tonight, but soon all sound faded away, leaving only the ringing in her ears, growing louder and louder until the scene before her began to blur and shake.

The past she had abandoned clung to her like a bone-deep infection, binding her hands and feet, trapping her in a glass dome and plunging her into water.

Her heart pounded frantically, as if desperate to tear through her chest and leap out to gasp for fresh air.

A numbness spread through her mind. After a moment, she heard an eerily calm voice say, “It doesn’t matter.”

Yes, it didn’t matter. Even the disappointment didn’t matter.

…None of it mattered. There wouldn’t be a next time.

Her suede ankle boots turned, retracing her steps.

One step, two steps…

As she passed a dark alleyway, she suddenly stopped.

A breeze stirred within the alley.

The wind carried a faint sob, shattering the glass dome.

In an instant, the ringing vanished, and the scene before her sharpened into focus.

She had found Zuo Xingning.

Zuo Xingning pressed the power button on her phone, snuffing out the screen, and sniffled.

Thank goodness, she thought, thank goodness I managed to keep my composure for once and didn’t tell Chu Shiyin in advance. I even reminded Lizi to say I was still working if Chu Shiyin asked.

Otherwise, the disappointment after having her hopes raised would have been unbearable.

Just like how she felt now.

If she hadn’t fallen, the cake wouldn’t have been ruined, and she would have made it on time. She knew she would have.

Zuo Xingning slumped against the wall, curling into a ball.

The ground was icy cold, and her palms throbbed.

She didn’t need to look to know her palms were scraped raw, gritty with sand, and would sting fiercely when her tears touched them.

She deserved this.

She had been too greedy.

Insisting on personally delivering the cake like a “divine intervention,” when she was nothing more than a lowly foot soldier.

If she had thought this through, she could have had the bakery deliver the cake directly.

Chu Shiyin could have enjoyed it earlier, and the birthday wishes would have been successfully delivered.

Instead, she had ended up with nothing.

The wind gusted, blowing stray strands of hair into her eyes. Zuo Xingning blinked, brushed them aside, and opened her eyes to find a pair of suede ankle boots standing before her.

Upwind, she detected no trace of the Strange Fragrance, yet her heart jolted.

Tears blurred her vision as she numbly followed the moving figure. She watched as slender hands tore open the cake’s accessory box and opened it.

With a snap, a match flared to life, its tiny orange flame illuminating the darkness.

The star-shaped sparkler candles were lit, crackling and fizzing in a miniature fireworks display.

Just for the two of them.

“One minute left.”

“Can I hear you say ‘Happy Birthday’?”