The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 35

Chapter 35

 

“Xu Weishuang, stay by my side.”

 

Yan Muyu hadn’t expected such a reaction from Xu Weishuang. Aside from the times when she’d pushed her too far in bed, Xu Weishuang rarely lost composure like this.

 

It made Yan Muyu’s breath catch, and her gaze instantly darkened.

 

Xu Weishuang’s intense reaction made Yan Muyu realize—she had gambled wrong with her words.

 

It had been a long time since Yan Muyu had felt this kind of desperation, urgently trying to find a solution, but her brain seemed to crash. Her thoughts couldn’t form a coherent line.

 

She stepped closer to Xu Weishuang, but even after closing the distance, she had no idea what to say. Xu Weishuang’s terrified eyes stabbed into her heart like blades.

 

Yan Muyu had been subtly manipulating Xu Weishuang recently, luring her into her trap bit by bit.

 

She made Xu Weishuang increasingly dependent on her, slowly drawing her into emotional confusion until she fell completely.

 

At that point, no matter what feelings Xu Weishuang had, she wouldn’t be able to leave.

 

But Xu Weishuang’s sudden decisiveness today had shattered Yan Muyu’s plans. At first, she had thought Xu was simply emotionally unstable because of her mother’s death anniversary—acting out of grief, and thus she’d confessed her love on purpose, hoping to make her even more confused.

 

She had expected rejection, withdrawal, or confusion.

 

But never fear.

 

What had happened to Xu Weishuang today?

 

Yan Muyu clenched her fingers, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn’t afford to say the wrong thing now.

 

She softened her demeanor, made herself look harmless—anything to avoid threatening Xu Weishuang further, to help her relax.

 

She was always good at this—pretending to be what others wanted. All the unfit, unnecessary emotions she buried deep inside, letting no one see.

 

Why fear her?

 

Yan Muyu forced herself to think through every possibility but didn’t dare say a word aloud.

 

“Xu Weishuang…” she whispered instinctively, even calling her name became cautious and gentle.

 

Her breath slowed, tear streaks still lingered on her face—remnants of earlier.

 

She had never shown this kind of expression before Xu Weishuang. She hoped Xu would pity her instead of reacting with full-blown alertness.

 

She couldn’t accept this.

 

She closed her eyes but still couldn’t understand what was happening. A sob pressed in her throat, yet she stubbornly shook her head.

 

“Let’s talk later, okay?” She couldn’t find a solution, so she forcibly ended the confrontation between them.

 

Xu Weishuang stared at her. Perhaps realizing her own emotions weren’t stable either, she took another step back—putting more distance between them.

 

Her movements stung in Yan Muyu’s eyes. Her breathing stuttered for a moment, but she quickly composed herself. She blinked her slightly red eyes and regained her usual calm.

 

She was used to this—used to repression. Her heart, her mind, constantly being torn apart. But Yan Muyu lived with this feeling every moment.

 

She was used to the pain. The silent screams in her chest—she could bury them.

 

But Xu Weishuang was watching her now. She caught a glimpse of that suppressed emotion, of pain not completely hidden.

 

Xu Weishuang fell silent too. The only sound left in the room was their breathing.

 

“I have something to do. I’ll go now. Get some rest.” Yan Muyu finally left those words behind.

 

She said it as if she couldn’t bear the suffocating silence. She turned to leave, not even able to maintain her usual soft smile.

 

Xu Weishuang had returned to her cold, emotionless state. As Yan Muyu left the room, she caught Xu’s indifferent gaze from the corner of her eye.

 

In the past, her gaze, though cold, was always clear. But now, perhaps it was the dim lighting, Xu Weishuang’s eyes looked like dead, bottomless pools—lifeless and dark.

 

Yan Muyu closed the door and completely shut herself off from Xu Weishuang.

 

She leaned against the door, exhausted. But remembering the space wasn’t private, and anyone could be watching, she forced herself to straighten up.

 

She casually wiped away her tears and put on her usual gentle expression—even though she hadn’t seen anyone in the hallway.

 

She headed to the parking garage and called her assistant, asking them to investigate Xu Weishuang’s day. The assistant was confused—why investigate her own wife?

 

But orders were orders. Plus, Xu Weishuang had been photographed today. It wasn’t hard to dig into.

 

The photo from the airport only revealed that Xu was in poor condition. Yan Muyu knew today was her mother’s death anniversary—every year, she was emotionally off during this time.

 

Yan Muyu looked at the photo, thought for a moment, then called Shi Yan and asked them to prevent anyone from using Xu’s mother’s death as tabloid fodder.

 

The assistant traced Xu’s movements from the photo’s timestamp and found out she’d visited the cemetery—and that Liu Yuebai had been there before her.

 

They couldn’t reconstruct what happened at the cemetery, but the assistant dug deeper into the relationship between Xu Weishuang and Liu Yuebai and passed everything to Yan Muyu.

 

She quickly learned the cause of Xu’s abnormal behavior.

 

Yan Muyu clearly remembered how strangely Xu reacted when she met Liu Yuebai on the show. She had assumed Liu was an ex. Never had she guessed—they were listed as sisters on the same household register.

 

It was absurd. But she couldn’t stop wondering—what exactly had happened between them?

 

Xu Weishuang never let her look into the past. But now, Yan Muyu desperately, shamelessly wanted to control everything—to find a way to keep Xu by her side.

 

She asked her assistant to dig deeper. But everything—everything between Xu Weishuang and Liu Yuebai after Liu’s mother’s accident—had been erased.

 

She couldn’t find the answers. But she knew everything stemmed from Liu Yuebai’s reappearance.

 

That woman stirred Xu’s emotions. Yan Muyu had seen Xu completely lose control in front of her.

 

That drove Yan into despair. With no solution, she didn’t even dare face Xu again.

 

She never imagined she would one day want to run away.

 

But they were still on the show together. Total avoidance was impossible. Every week, they’d still meet on set. But now, one stood on stage, the other in the mentor’s seat. On camera, they barely spoke.

 

Xu Weishuang remained cold. Yan Muyu hid it better than anyone. No one could tell they had fallen apart. In front of cameras, Yan was a pro.

 

She didn’t mind appearing affectionate on stage—even if Xu didn’t respond. She always had a way to save face.

 

She did it so well that even Xu was momentarily disoriented. But seeing Yan’s perfect, flawless smile—she knew it was only a mask.

 

In episodes 3 and 4, Xu Weishuang advanced easily. The characters she played were different each time.

 

As her reputation grew, so did her popularity. It was clear to everyone—Xu was talented, versatile. After the next episode where she’d perform with Yan Muyu, her individual spotlight would only grow.

 

She was Yan Muyu’s wife, after all.

 

Even if Yan’s fans didn’t like her, they paid attention. Xu’s strong acting won many over. When she chose to stay on Yan’s team, many even started shipping them.

 

A real married couple on screen? No other pairing could match that thrill. Fans were eagerly awaiting their next acting collaboration.

 

The fifth episode had a new format: instead of a staged skit, they would shoot a short film, especially since director Tao wasn’t going to perform himself.

 

The three actor-mentors would act alongside their chosen contestants. Tao would personally direct his team’s short film.

 

They had six days to shoot, edit, and finish the film—time was tight. And Yan Muyu, due to other events, would join late.

 

Still, she would show up. Sooner or later, the two would meet again.

 

“Sorry I’m late.” Yan Muyu rushed in, bearing gifts to apologize to staff.

 

Then hurried off for makeup. Since the short film was just one scene, the focus was entirely on the actors’ performance.

 

With extra prep time, Xu Weishuang had received the script days ago.

 

She and Yan would play a couple.

 

Xu had looked forward to acting with Yan again—but not like this.

 

Yan was still so good at pretending. In the dressing room, she greeted Xu naturally, touched her naturally, draped an arm over her shoulder—intimate and close.

 

Yan was every bit the Best Actress. But Xu couldn’t do the same. She kept a cold face, tensing whenever Yan touched her.

 

Luckily, no one found her reaction strange. Yan had enough finesse to make things look normal.

 

“Relax,” she whispered, touching Xu’s lower back—knowing this spot always relaxed her.

 

Xu pressed her lips together. She thought she’d grown used to Yan’s touch. But now, she suddenly felt resistant.

 

She knew why.

 

Xu Weishuang was afraid of this.

 

After changing costumes, they entered the studio. Yan Muyu’s expression turned serious—her typical work mode. No one was surprised.

 

Xu looked at her face, trying to get into character. But the emotions in her heart kept interfering.

 

Seeing her reminded Xu of that day in the hotel—Yan at the door, teary-eyed, her voice trembling.

 

From that moment on, Xu hadn’t had a peaceful thought.

 

Now, facing Yan again, the waves of emotion inside her surged uncontrollably.

 

She had memorized the script—but couldn’t immerse herself.

 

The director called them to prepare. Xu had no choice but to move to her mark.

 

Yan’s makeup had drastically changed. She was a professional actress—her demeanor transformed the moment she changed costume.

 

They adjusted their blocking. All that remained was the director’s call: “Action.”

 

Xu closed her eyes, struggling to suppress her restlessness.

 

Teacher Lin had warned her about relying too much on instinctual immersion. It could ruin her.

 

She had a natural gift: she could enter roles easily—too easily. But it was addictive, and dangerous.

 

Once, six years ago, she’d lost herself playing a supporting character—and used the same method to lie to herself about Liu Yuebai.

 

She knew what it could do to her. But she had no choice.

 

When she opened her eyes again, her gaze had changed.

 

Yan Muyu, standing close, immediately noticed. They were both prodigies in this industry. She smiled slightly—excited by Xu’s sudden transformation.

 

Then she dove into the role as well, becoming someone else entirely.

 

…

 

[Scene: A Short Film]

 

Ye Yu and Fang Man were a couple. They’d been together for years, happy and in love. They had just bought a house and moved in—life was perfect.

 

But fate seemed jealous of their joy.

 

Fang Man lost the use of her legs and would be disabled for life. The burden of living fell on Ye Yu.

 

“Fang-jie, we’re home,” Ye Yu said cheerfully as she pushed the wheelchair.

 

“Wait a sec, okay?” She carefully pushed Fang Man inside, doubled back to lock the door, take off her shoes, and put things away. “It’s getting chilly, even just being outside a while was freezing. Fang-jie, are you cold?”

 

Ye Yu was younger. Fang Man had always played the mature, big-sister role while Ye Yu often acted cute with her.

 

But now Fang Man remained silent, sitting in her wheelchair, emotionlessly looking around.

 

Ye Yu paused at the lack of response, but quickly smiled again and said, “Fang-jie, let’s have hot pot tonight!”

 

After she finished speaking, she didn’t wait for a response. She went straight to the wheelchair, crouched down, and began changing Fang Man’s shoes.

 

She kept smiling, but her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

 

From this angle, Sister Fang had no choice but to look at her, though she still didn’t say anything.

 

Ye Yu seemed unbothered by this silence. After changing Fang Man’s shoes, she pushed the wheelchair to the edge of the bed and, like always, lifted Fang Man onto it.

 

Ye Yu was slightly shorter than Fang Man, so carrying her was somewhat difficult. But she had done this many days now and had figured out a method.

 

Only today, she was too exhausted. As she reached the bed, her strength gave out, and the two of them collapsed onto it together.

 

Fortunately, the mattress was soft enough. Ye Yu knew Fang Man wasn’t hurt. She lay on top of her, her cheek brushing Fang Man’s chest. If she moved just a bit closer, she could hear the beating of Fang Man’s heart.

 

“Fang-jie…” Ye Yu looked up and smiled.

 

This household now depended on her. Every day was tiring—she worked hard to earn money, to smile, to make Fang Man laugh.

 

Now, lying in Fang Man’s arms, it felt like she had returned to a time when Fang Man used to protect her.

 

Ye Yu couldn’t help but snuggle closer, then gently kissed Fang Man on the lips.

 

Her lover still had the burning heat of youth, like a sun that had not yet set, radiating intense warmth.

 

But Fang Man was already a bleak, lifeless winter night. She closed her eyes, concealing her pain and collapse within the long, ambiguous kiss.

 

…

 

But Xu Weishuang suddenly broke character.

 

Their actions were deeply intimate. She kissed Yan Muyu and was supposed to be immersed in the affection of “Fang Man,” yet when Yan Muyu’s fingers touched her waist, Xu Weishuang abruptly pulled out of character.

 

This had never happened before. She trusted her talent and believed that even if she was emotionally resisting getting close to Yan Muyu, she could still act the scene well.

 

But just that kiss, just Yan Muyu unconsciously touching her sensitive waist, just that intoxicating scent on Yan Muyu’s body—

 

It all threw her off completely.

 

The moment she snapped out of the role, she couldn’t control her expression. The director and Yan Muyu both immediately noticed and called “Cut.”

 

“小许, your expression here needs to be more invested,” the director said, but didn’t press further. It was normal for actors to make occasional mistakes. After all, not everyone nailed it on the first take.

 

Moreover, in the director’s eyes, Xu Weishuang was a talented but inexperienced newcomer, acting opposite a seasoned award-winning actress like Yan Muyu. Nervousness and slip-ups were to be expected.

 

But Yan Muyu stood aside, head lowered, eyes fixed coldly on Xu Weishuang.

 

Her current aura was nothing like usual. She hadn’t fully stepped out of the role of Fang Man. Even though filming had paused, she intentionally maintained the emotional state for a quicker reentry into the scene.

 

But she wasn’t just playing a role—her presence carried an oppressive dominance that made Xu Weishuang feel suffocated.

 

Yan Muyu was highly aggressive when it came to acting—a fact Xu Weishuang had already experienced the first time they worked together.

 

But now, as that heavy atmosphere closed in around her, Xu Weishuang couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

 

Yan Muyu didn’t say a word about her slipping out of character. She just stared at Xu Weishuang with that frigid gaze—like a snake watching its prey, completely locking her in.

 

Under such a stare, Xu Weishuang felt chilled to the bone. It was as if the serpent had already coiled around her neck, its fangs embedded in her skin.

 

She found it hard to breathe. Fear crept in.

 

Xu Weishuang bit her lip and forced herself to meet Yan Muyu’s eyes. She was terrified, but there was nowhere to run.

 

Yan Muyu was someone she had to face—and this was a scene she had to perform well.

 

She forced herself to dive back in, even if it meant losing herself, even if she couldn’t climb back out.

 

Xu Weishuang nodded to the director and finally cleared her mind, fully becoming the character.

 

…

 

Ye Yu propped herself up on top of Fang Man, kissing her more deeply. It had been a while since they’d shared such intimacy, and now the kiss seemed to unlock long-buried desire. She breathed low and heavy, never feeling satisfied.

 

“Fang-jie, I want to…” Her lover’s gaze burned hot and naked, her body’s warmth steadily rising.

 

They used to be so in sync. Fang Man loved to hold Ye Yu tightly in her arms, as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

 

Ye Yu would act cute with her, tilt her head up for kisses, so free and uninhibited.

 

But not now. She was disabled. Her lower body had no sensation. The kisses Ye Yu placed on her now didn’t bring heat, only endless pain.

 

“No.” Fang Man rasped, reaching out weakly to push her off. Her movements lacked strength but were clearly resistant.

 

Ye Yu immediately stopped, then quickly sat up and apologized: “Ah… I’m sorry.”

 

Why was she apologizing?

 

Fang Man closed her eyes, hating her broken body even more—hating her helplessness in the face of everything.

 

She didn’t want to live anymore. Before the accident, she had been radiant, with a respectable job and an adorable girlfriend.

 

She had even bought a house to share with Ye Yu.

 

She…

 

Fang Man looked at Ye Yu sitting by the bed, her face pale and exhausted, still forcing a smile even while clearly heartbroken.

 

Ye Yu had been worn down to this state—all because of her, a burden.

 

“Fang-jie, I’ll go make dinner.” Ye Yu forced a weak smile and turned toward the kitchen.

 

She tried to act like it was nothing, but after being rejected like that, her heart still ached. She didn’t dare expect more from Fang Man—she could only run away and hide her tears.

 

She used to cry a lot, but now she never cried in front of Fang Man.

 

That’s life. Unfortunate people cling to life desperately. Even when they’re too tired to breathe, they can’t let themselves rest—because when tomorrow comes, the suffering is still there. It never leaves.

 

Ye Yu curled up in the kitchen, quietly sobbing. She was so, so tired. Taking care of someone who couldn’t care for themselves was unimaginably hard. But she loved Fang Man. Even if Fang Man never stood up again, she just wanted her to be happy.

 

She had used up all her strength to please her, to smile. But Fang Man only sank deeper into despair.

 

Ye Yu sniffled, wiped her tears forcefully. She felt terribly wronged but was even more afraid of being abandoned by Fang Man.

 

There was no time to be depressed. Once she calmed down, she started cooking again.

 

Her emotions always came fast—and went fast. She soon looked like her usual self.

 

Until she heard a strange noise.

 

Her heart tightened. She quickly turned off the stove and rushed out. Fang Man had difficulty moving and often bumped into things or knocked them over.

 

The sound came from the bathroom—a heavy thud.

 

Ye Yu ran over and found Fang Man half-collapsed by the sink, everything on the counter scattered on the floor.

 

Seeing Ye Yu arrive, Fang Man quickly looked up, flustered and ashamed. “I… I’m sorry…”

 

Ye Yu took a deep breath, stepped forward, crouched down, and helped lift her. “I’ll help you.”

 

Fang Man rarely moved on her own. She was terrified of troubling Ye Yu more. But she insisted on handling her own bathroom needs.

 

And yet she’d fallen. Ye Yu was filled with regret—why hadn’t she stayed nearby?

 

Her fingers went to the waistband of Fang Man’s pants, trying to help her remove them.

 

But Fang Man cried out and resisted with her entire body: “I’ll do it myself!”

 

She bit her lip, clutching Ye Yu’s hands with bloodshot eyes, refusing to let her move another inch.

 

Ye Yu froze for a second, then slowly let go. Fang Man wouldn’t even let her support her anymore. She had no choice but to take a step back.

 

Fang Man was trembling all over. Her body stiff with humiliation, she bit her lip to stop the pain from spilling out. But the world seemed determined to torment her.

 

Maybe she really was just a useless failure.

 

And then—she fell again.

 

This time, she didn’t fall. Ye Yu was right beside her and caught her steadily, holding her tightly.

 

She clung to Ye Yu, and the moment Ye Yu touched her, she thought Ye Yu was trying to help her again. She cried out in pain. This was the one thing she couldn’t accept!

 

“Don’t touch me!” Fang Man couldn’t control her sharp voice. She used all her strength to push Ye Yu away. Tears streamed down her face. “I can do it myself. I can do it myself.”

 

Ye Yu stood helplessly by, watching Fang Man use her crutch to stand up. This time she managed it—but her shaky body showed just how hard it was for her.

 

Ye Yu watched her cry while unbuttoning her pants and couldn’t hold back any longer. She rushed forward and hugged Fang Man, crying uncontrollably.

 

“Don’t be like this, Sister Fang. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know.”
What could she do to make things go back to how they were? She’d tried so hard, but life was still a complete mess.

 

Fang Man couldn’t soothe Ye Yu’s pain—her own world had already lost all hope.

 

The final shot froze on Fang Man’s lifeless, pitch-black pupils, while her lover’s cries pushed her deeper into the abyss.

 

…

 

After Xu Weishuang immersed herself into this scene, the rest of the short film’s shooting went smoothly. The director praised her performance. Since the footage had to be submitted before the program aired, the post-production would proceed without the two actresses’ involvement.

 

Yan Muyu personally thanked the crew with Xu Weishuang and then asked Xiao Shiyi to escort her away.

 

Xu Weishuang was more silent than usual. She still carried that melancholy aura unique to “Ye Yu,” clearly not yet out of character. Yan Muyu was worried.

 

But Xu Weishuang wasn’t as badly affected as Yan Muyu imagined. She followed Yan Muyu and Xiao Shiyi back to the hotel willingly.

 

This was an old film she had never seen before; she only studied it after receiving the script. Whether it was the influence of Liu Yuebai or Yan Muyu lately, Xu Weishuang kept seeing herself in the story while reading the script.

 

Actors often draw on personal experiences to deepen their performances—but Xu Weishuang’s emotional projection was not a happy one.

 

Ye Yu, desperately trying to hold onto her lover, rejected and pushed away by Fang Man, still forcing herself to smile and approach again and again.

 

Xu Weishuang disliked Ye Yu. In her, she saw her former self. But she had been even more extreme than Ye Yu, which made everything worse.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t want to be like that anymore—so even while acting, she subconsciously resisted becoming Ye Yu.

 

Back at the hotel, Xu Weishuang looked at Yan Muyu’s face and suddenly remembered the moment Yan Muyu said she loved her.

 

She’d thought about it countless times since, but remained convinced it was a lie.

 

Because, replaying the scene in her mind over and over, she remembered how even the tears at the corners of Yan Muyu’s eyes felt like part of a performance.

 

They’d never truly loved each other. Everything Yan Muyu presented was a mask she chose to wear.

 

Xu Weishuang stepped closer to Yan Muyu, drawn in by the familiar fragrance that always made her feel strangely at ease.

 

She’d always known—everything about Yan Muyu was fake. Even the intoxicating perfume was deliberate. After learning Xu Weishuang liked the scent, Yan Muyu never wore another around her again.

 

Looking back, ever since she’d brought up divorce, Yan Muyu had changed her approach. Constantly leaving her guessing, confusing her with her ever-shifting attitude.

 

Yan Muyu had never been genuine—not even that declaration of love. It was a tactic, a calculated performance.

 

“Let’s talk, Yan Muyu,” Xu Weishuang said softly.

 

She knew Yan Muyu’s need for control, but hadn’t expected it to go so far.

 

That night, clinging to her, begging under her, using even her own vulnerability as a weapon—it had gone too far.

 

Yan Muyu’s breath caught, her lowered eyes hiding her emotions.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t care about her expression anymore. No matter what mask Yan Muyu wore, her own resolve had not wavered—not once. Perhaps because of Liu Yuebai, she finally understood she couldn’t keep running.

 

She had rejected Liu Yuebai’s attempts to reconcile. She hated who she had been, and over six years had made no progress. Even Liu Yuebai had tried to heal and move on—why was she still stuck in the pain?

 

“Yan Muyu, we should end this,” she said. “You said you were drawn to me because you could be your true self with me—but look at yourself. You’ve never shown me the real you.”

 

“You’ve never loved me, Yan Muyu.” She looked straight at her now, her gaze clear for the first time.

 

Yan Muyu stood frozen, silent and still.

 

They were staying in a couple’s suite, specially booked. The cleaning staff replaced the fresh roses on the table every day. The fiery blooms symbolized lovers’ passion—but between Xu Weishuang and Yan Muyu lay only glaciers and chasms.

 

Xu Weishuang was indifferent to Yan Muyu’s lies. Their love had never burned bright.

 

Yan Muyu breathed shallowly—the sound so faint it should’ve gone unnoticed, but the room was too silent.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t know what trick Yan Muyu would use next, but she no longer cared. They both got what they wanted from this relationship—no one owed the other.

 

She took out the divorce papers she had long prepared and placed them on the table beside the bright red roses.

 

“Sign them. As we agreed.”

 

Yan Muyu finally reacted. She let out a bitter laugh, head still bowed, her voice tight with repressed emotion:
“Who are you to judge me like this?”

 

“When have you ever truly seen me?”

 

She raised her head, slowly removing her clothes as she walked toward Xu Weishuang, piece by piece.

 

“You’ve never looked at me,” she said, now fully naked before her.

 

Her body was flawless, like it had been carved by the hands of a divine creator. Her gaze was obsessive, mad—Xu Weishuang had seen that look on her before, in bed.

 

But this madness now held blades—sharp enough to hurt others and herself.

 

Yan Muyu no longer cared. Her eyes sparkled with fractured fire, burning with intensity.

 

She pressed herself close to Xu Weishuang, using that familiar forceful posture, guiding Xu Weishuang’s hand to her bare skin.

 

“This… is what I am. Can you really tell what’s real? Who are you to say which version of me is the truth?”

 

“Who are you to deny my love?” Yan Muyu’s voice cracked—Xu Weishuang had never seen her like this before.

 

She remembered the first time they met, when Yan Muyu had demanded she strip, eroding her dignity to tame her. She had never forgotten those moments—every word Yan Muyu had said, every meaning behind them.

 

So now, she couldn’t understand—Yan Muyu standing naked, head bowed, pleading:
“Xu Weishuang… stay with me.”

 

Yan Muyu didn’t cry, but Xu Weishuang could taste her sorrow and bitterness. It poured over her, nearly suffocating her.

 

She had never seen Yan Muyu in such a humiliated state.

 

Her chest tightened painfully. She couldn’t tell if this was real… or just another tactic.

 

She shook her head, refusing to see her like this.

 

Whatever Yan Muyu did now, it had nothing to do with her anymore. She had made up her mind.

 

She didn’t want Yan Muyu to become like who she herself had once been—deceiving, self-deluding, swallowing her truths just to hold on to someone.

 

Xu Weishuang had already tried that—and it never worked.

 

Six years ago, she had been just like Yan Muyu is now. She had never once asked the other person what they needed. She had never asked Liu Yuebai. And Yan Muyu had never asked her.

 

“But I don’t like it,” she said.
“I don’t like how you treated me. I don’t like pain. I’ve always hated it.”

 

Her voice was calm—but the more she spoke, the more her throat tightened, her vision blurred.

 

She cried.

 

Expressionless, she wiped the unexpected tears from her cheeks, unable to stop them:
“Yan Muyu, love or no love—it’s impossible between us. We’re both broken people. We can’t heal each other.”

 

They would either continue like the past six years—maintaining a fragile, porcelain-like relationship through mutual benefit—or they’d destroy each other like she and Liu Yuebai once had.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t want that.

 

She didn’t want her story with Yan Muyu to end that way.

 

Yan Muyu finally let go of her. She stepped back, her breathing completely unsteady.

 

She was utterly lost—more panicked than Xu Weishuang had ever seen.

 

She had imagined Xu Weishuang not loving her. She had imagined many scenarios—but not that Xu Weishuang would hate their intimacy. Hate the methods she used. Hate everything she did.

 

Did that mean Xu Weishuang had never felt joy in the past six years?

 

If Yan Muyu could’ve been calm, she would’ve realized Xu Weishuang was lying. But she wasn’t calm—and she had never imagined Xu Weishuang would lie just to get away.

 

Yan Muyu stumbled backward, her mind blank. Her chest felt hollow, like something had been ripped out, bl00d soaking her vision.

 

Her throat was crushed—she couldn’t breathe. Xu Weishuang’s cold gaze felt unreal.

 

She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t take it anymore.

 

Yan Muyu quickly grabbed her scattered clothes, dressed hastily, and fled.

 

She didn’t care how pathetic she looked, didn’t care about her ruined expression.

 

Once outside the room, she had no idea where to go. The world had no place for her.

 

She had thought Xu Weishuang’s side was that place. She had deluded herself into believing that Xu Weishuang accepted her for whoever she was—whether fake or real.

 

She didn’t need to be loved or cared for. Just accepted. Let her dominate, possess—and that would be enough.

 

But Xu Weishuang said she had always hated it. Hated the pain. Hated everything about Yan Muyu?

 

She didn’t dare think further.

 

She ran in panic to the elevator. In the reflection of the elevator doors, she caught a glimpse of her disheveled self.

 

Almost instinctively, she straightened her expression. She stared intently at her reflection, slowly becoming the perfect, gentle Yan Muyu again.

 

She noticed the red rims of her eyes and calmly wiped them away. Then she smiled at herself—warm and elegant, as always.

 

This was how she was supposed to be.

 

Yan Muyu was never allowed to be real.

 

Because her real self—no one would ever accept.

 

The elevator doors opened. Yan Muyu stepped inside, smiling, and let this narrow, confined space trap her forever.