YJDNY - 25

Xiang Ge let out a soft “Eh,” pulling the blanket down slightly, revealing just her eyes and part of her nose.

The bedroom light was off, with the curtains drawn. The only source of light came from the doorway, creating a dim silhouette of Zhou Xingyan standing against the light.

Xiang Ge hung up the phone and placed it back beside her pillow. She propped herself up on her elbows, “I can’t sleep, and you keep tempting me from outside.”

Her room wasn’t dirty, just a little messy. A few clothes were draped over the back of a small sofa, and the outfit she wore today was casually tossed onto the rug at the foot of the bed.

The shadow known as Zhou Xingyan slipped his phone into his pocket and walked in, standing by the bed. His voice was clear in the dark, “If you can’t sleep, get up and drink the rest of the brown sugar ginger water.”

“…”

Xiang Ge’s elbow collapsed, and her body went limp, sliding back under the covers like a soft rag.

She pulled the edge of the blanket over half her face, leaving only her eyes visible, sparkling brightly, “Aren’t you going to tell me a bedtime story?”

Zhou Xingyan bent down, casually picking up the dress she had thrown on the rug and placing it on the armrest of the nearby sofa before sitting down.

“How old are you?”

“A woman’s attachment to fairy tales has nothing to do with age,” Xiang Ge said. “Don’t lean back; don’t wrinkle my clothes.”

“If you’re worried about them getting wrinkled, next time put them away and hang them in the closet,” Zhou Xingyan quickly replied, as if he had been waiting for this line for a long time.

Xiang Ge found lying flat uncomfortable, so she turned over, lying on her side, resting her head on her forearm as she looked at him, “Tell me the story of The Little Mermaid.”

Zhou Xingyan’s eyebrow twitched, “Are you being childish?”

“No, not at all.”

Zhou Xingyan narrowed his eyes in warning, “If you don’t sleep, I’m leaving.”

Xiang Ge let out a soft “Oh,” “Alright, then go ahead. Don’t worry about me. Leave me alone.”

“…”

Zhou Xingyan rested his elbow on the armrest of the sofa, tilting his head.

After a long while, when Xiang Ge thought he had completely given up on talking to her, he suddenly spoke, “Mermaids live underwater; they are all sea princesses.”

Xiang Ge nearly held her breath.

The man’s voice was cold and calm, unhurried and low, “The little mermaid, the most beautiful, loves the sky and the land.”

Xiang Ge burst out laughing.

“…”

Zhou Xingyan stopped talking. After a long pause, he lowered his voice and called her name, “Xiang Ge.”

His expression couldn’t be seen in the darkness, but his voice carried a hint of frustration and restrained anger.

Xiang Ge bit the corner of the blanket, desperately trying to suppress her laughter, her body shaking under the covers. She cleared her throat and maintained a calm and nonchalant tone, “I didn’t expect Xingyan to be so childlike.”

Zhou Xingyan immediately stood up, turned around, and walked out of the bedroom. At the doorway, he turned back, his voice stiff and forced, “Sleep.”

Xiang Ge endured pain for three days.

For the first three days, she was practically half-dead each day, hunched over holding a cup, with several heat pads stuck to her lower abdomen. When the pain became unbearable, she went to the living room to search for her small medicine box, planning to take a painkiller to temporarily relieve it, but found that there were only cold medicines left inside.

Her half-box of painkillers, every single one, was gone.

It didn’t take much imagination to know who had taken them.

Xiang Ge crouched on the ground, her face contorted, tears welling up but unable to fall. She picked up her phone and sent a text message,

【I hate you.】

Zhou Xingyan replied quickly, 【Oh.】

Xiang Ge slumped back onto the couch, thinking about what else to say, when her gaze inadvertently fell on the script on the coffee table.

She paused.

She didn’t remember when she had placed the script on the coffee table.

She tossed her phone onto the adjacent sofa, reached out, and pulled the script toward her, flipping it open to a random page.

Song Zhi had called her again earlier, making his point very clear: this opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime, something akin to saving the galaxy in a past life to even have it happen to her. Transitioning into the entertainment industry and landing a lead role in a big-screen film right off the bat was almost impossible to happen twice. If she missed this chance, there wouldn’t be another.

Song Zhi was used to being the second-generation heir, and his manner of speaking never seemed to reflect his identity as Song Boss. However, this time, he was unusually serious and earnest: “Xiang Ge, let me tell you again—I’m a businessman. This isn’t a game I’m playing with you.”

“I don’t care if you want to be famous or not, but you must fulfill your obligations. If you continue with the same attitude as before, I’ll replace you.”

Xiang Ge didn’t speak.

He gave her resources, opportunities, an assistant manager, personally took her to endorsements—it wasn’t just a simple matter of “I think you look good, so I want to promote you for fun.”

All giving is tied to two words: benefit. To gain something, there must be sacrifice, and no one would endlessly indulge her or tolerate her whims.

Xiang Ge clutched the notebook in her hand, leaned back into the sofa, her hand covering her eyes, and let out a long sigh.

Who could escape forever?

Some things had to be faced.

On the second day after Xiang Ge finally ended her week-long ordeal and came back to life, she went directly to Song Zhi and accepted the movie Cocoon .

The script that had been discarded in the corner of her room was now neatly placed on the coffee table every day.

The first read-through was the hardest.

By the time she got through the first round and moved on to the second, it seemed easier than expected.

Fragments sealed away many years ago naturally pieced themselves together.

What does domestic violence destroy most deeply? Pain?

It seems to be despair.

That feeling of utter helplessness and hopelessness.

No one can help you. Calling the police doesn’t work at all. Family disputes are difficult to discern, especially in father-daughter relationships.

Han Fei once said, “A strong family has no wicked servants, and a kind mother may have spoiled children.” The Old Testament also contains statements like, “Foolishness is bound up in the heart of a child, but the rod of discipline will drive it far from him.”

Under the rod, filial sons emerge. No one finds anything wrong with it. Aside from warnings and lectures, nothing changes.

This is the most helpless part.

Xiang Ge wasn’t surprised at all that Director Bai Yuandao chose her as the female lead for this film because it was too fitting.

Experiences that were too similar sometimes made her feel as if she and Shen Jing were meant to be one person.

A week later, Zhou Xingyan had another day off and returned home after a long time.

His home was in the suburbs, far from the Second People’s Hospital, and with doctors being busy, his visits home became increasingly infrequent.

Zhou Xingyan called ahead to confirm someone would be home before returning. He arrived around ten in the morning. In front of the four-story villa, a woman in a light-colored dress was already happily waving at him from the iron gate.

The woman looked very young, with fair skin, delicate features, slender arms and legs, wearing a large straw hat and a big smile on her face.

Zhou Xingyan parked the car, and as soon as he got out, the woman ran over and hugged his waist.

Zhou Xingyan: “I’m home.”

The woman suddenly realized and pushed him away, jumping up, raising her hand, and smacking him on the forehead, “You brat! You actually came back! I thought you’d settled down somewhere else!”

Zhou Xingyan: “Work was busy.”

“Busy, busy, am I not busy? I’m swamped too!” The woman spat, “You and your dad are the same. Why don’t both of you just not come home anymore and leave me here to grow old alone!”

Zhou Xingyan didn’t speak, pushing her shoulders forward and guiding her into the house.

He pressed her onto the sofa to sit, poured a glass of water, and handed it to her. Zhou’s mother glanced at him discontentedly, took it, sipped it leisurely like tasting tea, and calmly said, “Go ahead, what’s the matter?”

Zhou Xingyan: “….”

Zhou’s mother smirked, “Don’t hold it in. I’m your mom. I know how many farts you’ll release just by seeing you raise your butt.”

“…”

Zhou Xingyan sat down opposite her, leaning into the sofa, “Nothing much. Dad mentioned you recently took on a new film?”

Zhou’s mother leaned over to pick a piece of chocolate from the coffee table, “Not really. The director is an old acquaintance. It’s a friendly appearance with just a few scenes.”

Zhou Xingyan nodded, “What’s the movie called?”

Zhou’s mother paused peeling the chocolate wrapper, looked up at her son, “Why are you suddenly so interested in the movies I take on?”

Zhou Xingyan smiled faintly, lowering his eyes indifferently, “It’s just curiosity. What kind of movie could make Su the retired actress return to acting?”

Zhou’s mother popped the peeled chocolate into her mouth, her big eyes circling around, tapping the corner of her eye without a trace of crow’s feet.

She knew her son’s personality all too well.

Regarding her work, he had never shown any interest from childhood to adulthood. He wouldn’t come back specifically to ask about this unless there was more to it than mere curiosity.

Zhou’s mother eyed him for a while, said nothing more, stood up, and went upstairs.

Not long after, she came back down, holding a book and handing it over, “Rarely does my son show concern for my work. It’s hard to explain, so read it yourself.”

Zhou Xingyan raised his hand to take it.

The white cover of the script bore a large, familiar black word.

Cocoon.

It was identical to the one he had picked up from Xiang Ge’s bedroom floor at her place. He hadn’t had time to look at it then because she called him from the bedroom.

The script had been open, and though he hadn’t read it, he had caught a glimpse of a few lines.

For some reason, those lines inexplicably lingered in his mind.

He lowered his eyes, gazing at the words on the cover, unmoving for a long while.