YJDNY - 1

In the backstage dressing room, the atmosphere was heavy and stagnant.

A group of girls, each with an attractive figure and delicate features, leaned against the edges of the makeup tables in twos and threes, watching the head coordinator lose his temper as if it were a show. Occasionally, they would lower their heads and whisper comments to one another.

In the center of the room stood two people. The coordinator had his hands on his hips, his thick black eyebrows furrowed sharply as he scolded someone.

“What were you doing just now? Were you sleepwalking? Can’t walk properly? Don’t know how to wear high heels?”

“Z House gave us such a great opportunity this time! We handed you a golden chance, and what do you do? You ruin the entire stage setup? Are you some kind of wobbly toy that can’t stay steady?”

“What am I supposed to say about you!”

His eyes were large, but his pupils were small. Combined with his thick, bushy eyebrows and round face, he looked like a long-lost twin of Crayon Shin-chan.

If she weren’t feeling so unwell, Xiang Ge might have burst out laughing.

But at the moment, all she could do was struggle to stand upright without doubling over. Her lower abdomen felt swollen and painful, sending waves of white-hot agony through her body.

Her ankle also throbbed with a fiery pain, and she gingerly rested one leg on the floor, afraid to put any weight on it.

This disheveled appearance of hers fit the current mood quite well, Xiang Ge thought hazily.

The Z House Spring/Summer Fashion Show was an event where countless people fought tooth and nail just to get a foot in the door. Normally, a small-time model like her wouldn’t have even been considered. But fate intervened when another model from her agency had to undergo emergency surgery for acute appendicitis the night before. With no other options, they called Xiang Ge in as a last-minute replacement.

And she ended up ruining everything.

Xiang Ge’s menstrual cycle had always been irregular, and when it hit, the pain was nothing short of catastrophic. To avoid interfering with work, she usually took medication in advance to delay it.

But this time, things happened too suddenly. She only received the call that morning and didn’t have time to take the pills before her period arrived.

Out of options, Xiang Ge swallowed a painkiller before rushing out the door. By the afternoon, when the medication wore off, the pain spread from her lower abdomen, radiating upward as if her brain itself was throbbing. Under the spotlight on stage, her vision began to blur, and with one misstep, she stumbled. Though she managed to catch herself before falling, she twisted her ankle in the process.

Biting back the pain, she somehow finished the second half of the runway and the closing act. By the time the show ended, her ankle was already swollen and throbbing intensely. She barely had time to sit down for two minutes in the dressing room before being summoned again to be reprimanded.

The man in front of her continued his relentless tirade, his words flowing rapidly with endless creativity. His Crayon Shin-chan-like eyebrows twitched with every movement of his lips, his face animated with exaggerated expressions.

Xiang Ge silently endured his rant for nearly ten minutes. Finally, Qiao Xin, a younger girl who was somewhat friendly with her, couldn’t hold back any longer and timidly interjected, “Li Ge, Xiang Ge isn’t feeling well today, and it seems like she sprained her ankle just now…”

As she spoke, a man walked into the room.

Broad shoulders, narrow waist, tall stature—his lips glistened as though coated with lip gloss, and he wore a bespoke suit from B House’s 70th-anniversary limited collection.

It was Fu Rongsen, the young master of tonight’s Spring/Summer Fashion Show, fondly referred to as “Little Fu.”

The coordinator beside him was still spewing venom when Fu Rongsen’s phoenix-like eyes flickered with amusement as they swept past the scene.

—And landed on her legs.

Long, straight, and porcelain-white, her legs were flawless, with elegantly curved kneecaps that caught the eye.

Lower down, however, something seemed off about one ankle—it was slightly swollen and tinged with blue, resting lightly on the carpet without bearing weight.

A single imperfection on otherwise perfect legs.

Fu Rongsen’s gaze slowly traveled upward until it finally settled on her face.

Though he had seen countless beauties—perhaps more than the number of meals he’d eaten in his life—even Fu Rongsen felt a fleeting sense of awe.

This girl was stunning.

Fu Rongsen raised an eyebrow, thinking how utterly unsympathetic this Li guy was. He took two steps forward, exuding the scent of mature masculinity, his polished leather shoes clicking softly on the carpet as he approached the center of the room and stopped.

Xiang Ge, listless, lifted her eyelids slightly and glanced at him without emotion.

Her pupils were pitch-black, her dramatic makeup lifting the outer corners of her eyes, and her long lashes curled upward in a graceful arc.

Though her gaze was cold and indifferent, Fu Rongsen felt as though she had pierced his soul with that glance.

Even more intrigued, the young master smiled, his eyes directed at the person beside him, though his words seemed meant for no one in particular: “How can we let a girl with a sprained ankle stand here for so long? A model’s legs are precious, after all.”

His voice was low, soft, and dripping with meaning, almost seductive.

This time, Xiang Ge finally lifted her eyes to meet his.

This man’s very voice oozed charm, and every ounce of his presence screamed, “I’m here with unclear intentions.” He radiated an air of flamboyance.

Xiang Ge curved her lips slightly and played along: “Then may I sit down?”

Fu Rongsen chuckled, saying nothing as he stepped aside to pull over a chair, placing it in front of her with a gesture that said, “Please.”

Without hesitation or pretense, Xiang Ge plopped down onto the chair.

With the young master himself having offered the seat, the coordinator dared not say a word, addressing him repeatedly as “Mr. Fu” while bowing and apologizing profusely as he followed him out.

Sitting to one side, Xiang Ge subtly pressed her hand against her lower abdomen. Her dark lipstick concealed her pale lips, but beads of cold sweat continued to form on her forehead.

She turned toward the nearest makeup table, leaned over, and pulled a bag closer. Fishing out her phone, she sent a message to Xia Wei, asking when she’d arrive.

Xia Wei immediately called back, the background noise filled with booming heavy metal music. Shouting into the phone, she said, “Are you done? I’m already here, waiting in the car.”

Xiang Ge wrinkled her nose in distaste, leaning back in the chair with a weary sigh: “Then come in.”

Hearing the change in her tone, Xia Wei immediately turned off the car stereo and lowered her voice to a normal level: “Are you not feeling well?”

Xiang Ge groaned weakly: “My body and mind are battered. I’m suffering deeply and want to cry.”

As she spoke, she struggled to her feet, gripping the back of the chair and picking up her bag to prepare to leave.

Menstruation was truly an evil that shouldn’t exist in this world. Why did such torment for women even exist?

After hanging up, Xiang Ge carefully shifted her weight onto one leg and made her way to the door. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, the door opened from the outside.

The man who had left earlier reappeared at the doorway, still radiating his flamboyant aura.

Xiang Ge raised an eyebrow and shifted her stance slightly.

Fu Rongsen didn’t move, feigning surprise: “Miss Xiang, are you able to walk on your own?”

Xiang Ge thought inwardly: Are you blind? Can’t you see I’ve already made it to the door?

In truth, she made no effort to hide her thoughts; her eyes conveyed everything clearly. Tilting her head slightly, she propped herself against the doorframe with one hand: “Does Mr. Fu have something else to say?”

Fu Rongsen smiled warmly and repeated: “Is it convenient for Miss Xiang to walk on her own? Perhaps I should escort you to the hospital—it’s technically a work-related injury.”

Xiang Ge found this man utterly fascinating. Only he could consider a twisted ankle a workplace injury. Leaning against the doorframe, she smiled faintly: “No need. My friend is coming to pick me up.”

With that, she nodded at him briefly, paid no attention to his reaction, straightened up, and walked out, enduring the pain.

She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Xia Wei hurried over. Xiang Ge’s strength wavered, and she stood still, waiting for her.

Seeing her from afar, Xia Wei quickened her pace. As she approached, her gaze fell upon the bruised ankle, and her brows knitted together in concern. Reaching out to support her, she asked, “My dear Miss Xiang, what happened to you? How did you end up injuring yourself further?”

Xiang Ge leaned on Xia Wei as they exited the building and got into the car. Once inside, she curled up into a ball in the passenger seat. Xia Wei handed her a thermos containing steaming hot brown sugar and ginger tea.

As Xia Wei drove toward the hospital, she glanced at the person beside her sipping the tea with a bitter expression: “Did you bring any painkillers?”

“No,” Xiang Ge replied bluntly.

Xiang Ge nodded, said nothing, and reached into the glove compartment in front of the passenger seat. She pulled out a strip of painkillers, popped one into her palm, and swallowed it with a sip of the ginger tea.

Xia Wei frowned disapprovingly: “You can’t keep relying on these.”

“It’s a special situation—an emergency.”

“What happened to your foot? Did you twist it?”

“My stomach wasn’t feeling well, and I got distracted.”

Xia Wei’s brows furrowed further: “Didn’t you bring any painkillers?”

Xiang Ge closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat, remaining silent.

After a while, she slowly opened her eyes.

“I brought some.”

“Hmm?”

“I specifically packed a strip in my bag before leaving.” She chuckled softly and closed her eyes again. “But when I placed it on the dressing table, it mysteriously disappeared. Isn’t that strange?”

Following the navigation system, Xia Wei drove directly to the nearby Second People’s Hospital. She helped Xiang Ge register and get a queue number.

Even on a weekday, the hospital was crowded. Xiang Ge took her number and waited in line for the elevator. Five consultation rooms were open simultaneously, and there were still eight or nine people ahead of her.

By then, she had finished an entire cup of brown sugar ginger tea. Her lower abdomen felt warmer, the painkiller had kicked in, and she felt somewhat revived. However, the pain in her ankle grew sharper.

After waiting for over half an hour, her number and name were finally called.

Xia Wei helped her to the last consultation room. The door was slightly ajar. Xiang Ge knocked lightly, pausing instinctively for a second after the first knock before continuing with two more taps.

After knocking, she waited a moment. From inside, a calm voice finally responded: “Come in.”

Xiang Ge pushed the door open.

Inside the consultation room, a man in a white coat sat at the desk with his back to the window. His black hair was neatly styled, and he was writing something with a pen.

Xiang Ge froze mid-step, standing still.

The man’s head was bowed. From her angle, she could only see his long lashes, the sharp curve of his nose, and the defined line of his jaw.

His voice was cool and deep as he spoke two simple words: “Name.”

From the moment she entered, he never once looked up.

Xiang Ge suddenly smiled.

Memories flooded back—many years ago, a young man with the same cold, detached voice had asked her: “Name.”

What had she said back then?

—”Your ancestor.”

Author’s Note: Zhou Xingyan: It’s bad enough that the male lead appeared before me, but why does he have so many more scenes than me?