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The standoff between the two ended temporarily in Su Ling’s favor—Qin Xiao wasn’t about to break down the door.
Su Ling, now wide awake, lay on the bed pondering the purple crystal anklet. She remembered that it had been half a year after her leg was broken, when her leg bones had mostly healed. If she wasn’t attending rehabilitation sessions, she stayed home watching TV.
It was a fantasy drama with two familiar faces—both classmates from university.
At that time, Su Ling had already dropped out of school for nearly three years. Her once-dancing legs now ached even when walking.
She stared at the screen blankly, but soon a soft smile appeared on her face—a smile filled with gentle envy.
Qin Xiao frowned, pressing his hand against his chest. Then, in a rare moment of compassion, he asked her, “Do you want to go home?”
Su Ling finally noticed him. After a brief silence, she nodded honestly.
His palm gently brushed her hair, exuding an endless tenderness and care. “Then go back.”
But by then, Ni Jiannan had already married a wealthy second-generation heir, and Ni Haoyan hadn’t yet graduated from university. Uncle Ni and Aunt Tian only saw her when they were begging Qin Xiao for help. Grandma had passed away two years prior.
Su Ling didn’t know where her home truly was.
She returned to the small village where she grew up. Several families still lived there, and upon recognizing her as the former little Su Ling, they greeted her warmly.
The house was still made of tiles, with moss creeping up the walls and a winding gravel path leading to the door. Kapok flowers bloomed, and white butterflies fluttered around.
Qin Xiao hadn’t followed her.
She felt both happy and somewhat lonely.
Slowly, she cleaned the room herself and cooked a meal using the old stove. The blankets in the cupboard were damp and smelled slightly musty. She planned to air them out once the sun rose the next morning.
That night, rain poured down, pelting the kapok tree with loud splashes. Thunder roared, lightning flashed, and wind howled amidst the storm.
Su Ling lay awake for a long time before finally getting out of bed and opening the wooden door.
The man outside froze momentarily, raindrops sliding down his forehead as his pupils darkened.
“Qin Xiao,” she called softly.
“What are you doing?”
“You said you’d let me come back, so why did you follow me?”
The man clenched his lips tightly, his gaze intense. His mind had gone haywire; the ache in his heart overrode all rational thought. As soon as she left, he regretted it.
He had watched her from afar in this desolate place all day, unable to understand what kept her here.
He initially intended to learn something—to find out what she liked so he could recreate it for her later. But by midnight, drenched in pouring rain, all he had learned was how to curse under his breath.
His expression was grim.
Having not eaten all day, enduring hours of cold wind and heavy rain, he stubbornly clung to his regret.
Su Ling knew better than to trust his words, so she hadn’t expected much in the first place. Opening the door wider, she said, “Come in.” She handed him a dry towel and reheated the leftover food from the kitchen. It consisted of wild ingredients from the backyard—plain, without oil or salt.
“It’s what I had left over,” she said, sitting down. “It’s very simple. If you can’t eat it, don’t bother.”
He laughed, unable to suppress his amusement.
He ate every last bit of her leftovers.
When Su Ling went to wash the dishes, his face twisted momentarily. “Let me do it.”
He clumsily rinsed them with well water.
The room was lit by an old candle, casting his towering shadow across the walls. He had never done chores like this before; his movements were awkward and rough.
After washing his hands, he picked her up. “Let’s go to sleep. It’s late.”
Pausing briefly, he asked, “Does your leg still hurt?”
Su Ling shook her head.
His gaze darkened. “Let me massage it for you.”
Su Ling looked at him, refusing to extend her leg or speak. Turning her back to him, she clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
He chuckled.
Her temper was quite something.
“I have something for you,” he said, pulling it out. “Apparently, it was designed by some French R… whatever.” He forgot the foreign name. “Anyway, it’s supposed to protect and bless you, bringing peace and health.”
He gripped her slender ankle and placed the anklet on her.
The coolness of the anklet startled her, and she instinctively tried to pull her foot back. But the man held her ankle firmly. She felt warmth and wetness on her instep. Su Ling’s heart sank, unwilling to witness his madness.
He chuckled softly, playing with her delicate, soft foot for a while.
Unable to tolerate it any longer, Su Ling kicked him. In the dim light, he squatted just right for her kick to land on his cheek.
She froze, fear not yet registering. The next moment, she felt his heavy breathing. He chuckled lowly, neither angry nor offended—quite the opposite.
Su Ling flushed red with anger. “….”
The world of psychopaths was beyond her comprehension.
He adored the anklet deeply. Later, when Su Ling looked it up online, she discovered its name: Aimez la vie (Beloved of This Life).
Ironically fitting, though she didn’t particularly like it.
Qin Xiao claimed it would bring safety and health. Yet, when she died, she was wearing that very anklet.
Clearly, many things in this world were lies.
Thinking of the anklet made Su Ling’s scalp tingle. In a way, it was a relic from her past life.
She wondered if Qin Xiao would still laugh or insist on putting it on her if he knew its significance.
She pondered for a moment before closing her eyes and falling asleep.
She woke before dawn, tiptoeing downstairs and quietly leaving the hotel.
The sleepy receptionist helped her check out, recalling that she had arrived with a handsome man the previous night but was now leaving alone. Instantly, the receptionist’s imagination conjured up more than thirty episodes of a dramatic, angsty romance.
The hotel wasn’t far from Uncle Ni’s neighborhood.
From a distance, she gazed at the building.
Su Ling had moved there at nine years old. During middle and high school, she mostly lived on campus, spending little actual time there.
From the moment she chose to walk out of that house, she became a complete outsider.
She pulled the key from her bag.
Ni Haoyan had secretly made her a copy, but she had never used it. At fifteen, she had been locked out by Ni Jiannan.
Ni Jiannan had smugly napped while Su Ling sat on the staircase, diligently doing her homework.
Ni Haoyan returned from playing basketball, his hair standing on end with anger.
The girl, her ponytail swaying, sat earnestly on the cold steps, writing an essay!
Ni Haoyan lifted her up. “Are you stupid? Why didn’t you call someone or scold that idiot Ni Jiannan?”
She timidly put her notebook into her bag, lips pressed tightly together in silence.
Living under someone else’s roof as an outsider, scolding Ni Jiannan was out of the question. Ni Haoyan didn’t understand the hardship, but she did all too well.
The next day, Ni Haoyan secretly used his own key to make her a copy for three yuan at a small shop.
He forbade her from losing it or returning it.
Su Ling kept it carefully, unused for four years.
She adhered to rules and cherished gratitude.
Now…
Before dawn, Su Ling walked lightly to Uncle Ni’s doorstep, crouching to slip the key through the door crack.
This was the final severance.
No more sacrifices for them. Ni Haoyan was right—though she appeared soft, deep down, she was stubbornly resolute.
Her simplicity and persistence were terrifying. When she gave, she gave everything; when she decided to leave, she cut ties cleanly.
Su Ling didn’t look back, nor did she hesitate.
Ni Haoyan hadn’t slept all night. His grandmother coughed intermittently in the next room. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured her leaving.
Early in the morning, intending to go for a run, he spotted the key placed by the door.
He yanked the door open and sprinted far in one direction, stopping only after a long while, gasping for breath, clutching the key tightly in his hand.
This was undoubtedly the best outcome.
If she stopped caring for this family, she could live like a normal girl—watch dramas, dress up, free from the burden of debts. Yet, he still felt a searing pain in his throat, making it hard to breathe.
As dawn broke, he realized he had lost her.
Cousin.
Lingling.
Su Ling had booked a flight ticket the previous night, planning to leave early in the morning.
She knew she couldn’t escape forever, but humans were strange creatures. Even without hope, they still made one last desperate attempt.
The production team had given them a two-day break, with one day remaining. Su Ling decided to return to school first.
It was summer vacation, and the campus was nearly empty.
Though she had taken leave, Su Ling had missed many classes.
Art-related courses were manageable, but literature classes posed a challenge. She could only cram extra study time to catch up.
Lingyun Road was lined with late-blooming cherry blossoms. In summer, their leaves were lush green, not yet the season for flowers.
Su Ling suddenly realized—it had been nearly six months since her rebirth.
She hadn’t broken her leg, wasn’t Qin Xiao’s lover, her grandmother was still alive, she had left Uncle Ni’s family, and Twelve Years of Dust was nearing completion.
All her small efforts had converged into a subtle yet immense force, altering the gears of fate.
Before reaching the end of Lingyun Road, she noticed a group of people filming nearby.
Z University’s scenery was picturesque—flowers blooming everywhere, trees lush and green, blending youthful vigor with artistic charm. Occasionally, film crews came to shoot movies here.
The scene ahead buzzed with activity. Su Ling paused, planning to detour around them.
A clear, slightly irritated male voice called out, “Cut!”
A man in a navy-blue shirt walked over, his face stern. An assistant handed him a bottle of mineral water, but he didn’t take it, instead gesturing for everyone to take a short break.
Clearly, he wasn’t satisfied with the lead actors’ performance.
He exuded an air of elegance and refinement, yet his behavior was rigid and strict.
Hearing his voice, Su Ling froze.
The world was small. The director was Dong Xu—the man who sat beside Qin Xiao in the private room on the second day of her rebirth.
Dong Xu was a renowned genius director who had studied abroad. At twenty-four, his debut work, Whisper , skyrocketed him to fame. In the following years, every project he touched turned to gold, earning him a significant status in the entertainment industry by the age of thirty.
Many newcomers in the industry owed their success to Dong Xu. He preferred working with fresh faces—or rather, he demanded perfection for each character, treating them as living, breathing individuals.
Su Ling’s impression of him stemmed from that private room encounter. He had remained silent for most of the evening, speaking only briefly about the script. He had criticized Su Ling’s acting as unworthy of the title of actress.
Sometimes, he socialized with B City’s elite, like Qin Xiao and Guo Mingyan, but more often, he kept to himself.
None of this was particularly memorable.
What stuck in Su Ling’s mind was that he was Zheng Xiaoya’s older brother.
It was Dong Xu’s Whisper that catapulted Zheng Xiaoya to stardom. The siblings—one an emerging queen of cinema, the other a prodigious director.
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