Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
The streetlamp above cast a faint glow, with tiny flying insects swirling around it.
Yan Man looked at him, and after a long while, she pursed her lips.
“I have something I want to say to you.”
She said: “Because of my current… work situation, I’m really busy, and I might not have any thoughts about this kind of thing for now. I don’t want to keep you hanging either, so if you—”
“I know, it’s alright,” he said. “I’m not in a rush.”
“You don’t have to give me an answer now, and you can take more time to confirm your feelings,” Ye Lin said. “Until you make a decision, we can continue to interact as friends.”
Yan Man: “Don’t you feel stifled or frustrated by this?”
“No,” he said. “Just being by your side makes me happy enough.”
Here it was again. That same directness.
After some thought, Yan Man said: “But no ordinary friend would princess-carry me like that.”
“…”
“I’ll try to control myself next time.”
She nodded, then stood up. “By the way, how much did those milk teas and snacks you bought for the crew cost? I’ll transfer the money to Bi Tan, or if you’re uncomfortable with that, the next time you come to the set, I’ll repay you equally.”
She waited for a long time, but the person in front of her didn’t respond. When she glanced over, she realized his face was obscured by shadows in the dim light, making it hard to see clearly.
But there was something faintly, faintly… hurt?
He said: “Do you really have to be so precise with me?”
“It’s not that,” she said. “If I accept your kindness without agreeing to your feelings, wouldn’t that just make me someone who takes advantage of you?”
In the case where she had clearly expressed her thoughts, whether or not to continue pursuing her was his choice; but she couldn’t comfortably enjoy everything he brought her, especially if in the end they still decided they weren’t suited for each other.
Ye Lin didn’t reply further. Instead, he drove his car over. Since she couldn’t walk back on her own and their hotel was shared, she got into the passenger seat.
After fastening her seatbelt, she said: “Then I’ll handle the crew support—”
The man kept his eyes on the road and finally answered her earlier question.
“Then let me be taken advantage of.”
“…………”
“Don’t reject my kindness,” he said.
Yan Man wanted to ask if he pursued others this way too, but after hesitating for a moment, she instead said: “Are you bound by some kind of system? Like, if you don’t love me, you’ll die, and that’s why you’re doing all this now—trying to convince yourself to love me?”
Ye Lin kept his gaze ahead, the streetlights flickering past his hair and the tip of his nose. After a few seconds of silence, he replied.
“Loving you doesn’t require convincing myself. Not loving you does.”
Yan Man: “So you’ve been reading our fanfiction and learning cheesy lines from it, huh?”
“What cheesy line?” He frowned earnestly. “Everything I’ve said is true.”
“…”
After returning to the hotel, Yan Man originally thought she’d need to think about this matter a little more. But unexpectedly, a new work schedule arrived, leaving her no room for romantic musings.
Simon: [Tomorrow morning is free, but there’s a magazine pre-shoot event in the evening, and a very important guest will be attending. After you finish shooting, don’t leave right away. I’ll see if I can arrange something, and we’ll meet them there.]
She replied with an okay, and just as she exited the chat, Yan Zong’s message came through.
[Are you resting?]
Something about the overlapping emotions felt strangely poignant. Yan Man paused before replying: [I’m done with filming. What’s up?]
The other side was typing for a long time—so long that Yan Man began to feel a vague sense of foreboding. Finally, he sent: [It’s almost the New Year. Come home for dinner?]
Yan Zong: [I’ll invite your favorite chef.]
She blinked and then replied: [No, you guys go ahead.]
Yan Zong: […It’s been so long. You haven’t come home for the New Year? No matter how big the issue is, surely it’s not more important than the New Year. At least come back for a visit. Everyone misses you.]
After thinking for a long time, Yan Man asked: [Is Dad asking you to check on me?]
The night seemed to amplify emotions, and it only took a small spark to ignite the deep-seated feelings that had been lying dormant inside her.
From this morning, when the staff handed her that cup of water, she had been trying to suppress something. Now, with this topic brought up again tonight, it felt like there was nowhere left to hide.
Come back and take a look.
Four simple words, yet they suddenly felt piercing.
She said: [Come back and look? Look at what? To see if there’s a new mistress in the house?]
Yan Zong: […Don’t say that.]
Yan Man didn’t know what he wanted to reply, but it must have been difficult to put into words. The other side typed, deleted, retyped, and deleted again. Ten minutes passed, and nothing was sent.
Finally, Yan Zong said: [I miss Mom too.]
Just five short words, but they made her eyes well up with tears.
It had been so long, and even though she had tried so hard to suppress her memories, forcing herself not to think about it, the moment she saw those words, her vision instinctively blurred.
She had to admit it—her mother had been gone for four years already.
Her argument with Yan Wendong was also because of her mother.
That little girl who cried uncontrollably under the covers felt as if she were right there yesterday. Closing her eyes, she could still vividly recall the scene—how she cried until her chest ached with sobs.
Even now, she couldn’t fully accept it. She deliberately suppressed every memory related to her mother, and whenever she felt herself starting to remember, she forced her mind onto something else. Because as soon as she remembered, she would cry.
Her mother had said she didn’t want to see her cry.
So she endured, trying to become the kind of person her mother hoped she would be—positive, optimistic, strong, and determined.
But even the strongest people have vulnerabilities.
Her mother was hers.
She still remembered filming her last project, walking back into a school campus and standing under a tree, how much, how much she wanted to return to carefree sixteen-year-old days.
Because back then, her mother was still alive.
Blinking away the tears that had welled up, she typed slowly.
Thinking about her mother made her sad, but it also softened her heart.
She said: [I miss her too.]
[Because I miss her so much, I can’t forgive.]
After a long pause, Yan Zong said: [Dad won’t bring that woman home this New Year. He knows the last time you argued about this, it got pretty bad.]
Yes, it had gotten pretty bad.
Bad enough that she had walked out without taking any luggage.
It all started because, during her graduation, Yan Wendong showed up with a woman, saying he wanted to introduce her.
If she agreed, he would then introduce the woman to her brothers.
The joy of graduation plummeted instantly. Her brain sounded an alarm.
Yan Man knew that after such a long time of not having a woman in his life, this meeting wasn’t as simple as it seemed.
She asked what the next step of this introduction would be. Yan Wendong said that if everyone could accept it, he would try to have the woman spend time with them.
The implication was clear enough. That night at the dinner table, during their standoff, she couldn’t wait to ask: If things went smoothly, would the next step be her becoming the new mistress of the household?
Yan Wendong, with his domineering personality, couldn’t tolerate her questioning tone. It felt like she was doubting his decisions, and he snapped at her, asking what kind of mood she was in and why she was acting this way.
He didn’t realize that she wasn’t throwing a tantrum. She simply couldn’t believe that all the years her mother had devoted to their family could be erased with just a snap of his fingers.
She was still mourning, but her mother’s partner was already trying to move on.
They quickly got into an argument over their differing opinions. After a few heated exchanges, she chose to leave home.
What she wanted was simple: an apology from Yan Wendong and a promise to never remarry. Otherwise, she wouldn’t return.
But after all this time, it seemed Yan Wendong stubbornly believed she was just throwing a tantrum.
A spoiled little princess, upset because life hadn’t met her idealized expectations.
Because it was just a tantrum, there was no need to address the root of the issue. All they had to do was console her, and that would be enough.
Perhaps even Yan Wendong didn’t understand what the word “mother” meant to her.
On the other side of the screen, Yan Zong continued talking to her, telling her to cheer up and promising to talk to their father.
Yan Man had never explained the full story to them. Everything they knew came from Yan Wendong, and she avoided mentioning it. From her brothers’ perspective, she understood their concerns.
Perhaps they didn’t realize that this wasn’t a problem that could be resolved with a simple conversation.
Yan Zong said: [In the end, all your brothers want is for you to be happy.]
Yan Man put down her phone without replying and opened the balcony door. To her surprise, she heard the faint melody of Edelweiss .
A snowflake drifted down, landing on the tip of her nose, as if perfectly timed.
She remembered how her mother used to sing this song over and over again when she was little because she wouldn’t fall asleep. Later, when she performed on stage for the first time, this was the song she sang.
She wasn’t sure if it was a hallucination or reality, but she couldn’t help it—she thought of her mother’s gentle face once more.
Tears came easily without needing to be forced. She cried uncontrollably, leaning against the railing, but she covered her mouth tightly, afraid to cry too loudly. She didn’t want her mother to see her like this—it would only make her worry.
But that night, she had a long dream, returning to the days when her mother was still alive.
In the dream, she truly returned to carefree sixteen-year-old days. Her mother loved her so much, cooking her favorite dishes on weekends and making soups of her own invention. No matter what happened, her mother always protected her first. With her mother around, she never had to worry about anything.
She woke up crying from the dream.
The sky was still dark. She leaned against the wall, tears streaming endlessly from her eyes. But her mother was gone now, and she was no longer the child who could trade a few tears for a handful of candy.
She remembered that June 11th was the anniversary of her mother’s passing.
It was only a few months away.
Over the years, she had deliberately avoided thinking about it. If Yan Zong hadn’t brought it up, she wouldn’t have dared to dwell on it.
It was an unhealed wound, painful even to touch.
When she left home back then, she had been in such a hurry that she didn’t take many things with her. When she lived at home, traces of her mother were everywhere. Now that she had left, she needed something to keep her company when she missed her.
Everything her mother had left behind was sealed away in a cabinet, untouched by anyone.
Overwhelmed by longing, Yan Man suddenly wanted to hold a small doll her mother had sewn, to feel her presence once more.
There was no work in the morning, so Yan Man put on her hat and mask and called a car to return home.
She had once said that unless Yan Wendong changed his decision and apologized, she would never come back. Today, she made a small exception. She wasn’t reconciling or forgiving him—she just came to retrieve her mother’s things and leave.
As she walked toward the main hall, people tried to stop her along the way. Yan Man had a vague premonition and quickened her pace, pushing open the door.
A voice—unfamiliar yet not entirely unfamiliar—came from inside: “Can I come up and take a look?”
The door slammed open, and the woman froze in surprise, standing on the stairs and looking down.
On the second floor, Yan Wendong stood, equally startled: “…Manman?”
It was as if an invisible force pinned her in place. She felt an overwhelming pressure pressing down through her chest and spine. She couldn’t move, her ears began to ring, her thoughts were severed, and she couldn’t even speak.
Her heart instantly turned cold.
Yan Wendong’s expression was complicated as he tried calling her again: “Manman?”
“Don’t call me,” she instinctively took a step back, shaking her head. “I feel sick.”
…
“It’s not what you think,” Yan Wendong said. “I just came back to get something, and she happened to be in the car with me—”
“So what? So she just walked into the house? So she can even climb these stairs? What’s next? Is she going to move into the master bedroom and become the mistress of the house?” Yan Man asked. “Is that it?”
She asked: “Is it?”
The vast house echoed with a silence so profound it felt dead.
The woman seemed surprised as well and began to explain: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know your mother used to live on the second floor. I just wanted to…”
Yan Man didn’t listen to what she was saying and didn’t care. Something caught her eye, and she moved closer to look.
On the woman’s chest was a ruby brooch.
She had seen it before—on Yan Wendong’s desk a year ago. It had been sitting right next to him. At the time, she had only glanced at it twice without giving it much thought, assuming perhaps he had bought it for her mother.
How absurd, how utterly absurd.
She didn’t dare to think too much, but she couldn’t help pointing at the brooch and asking incredulously: “You two met a year ago, didn’t you?”
She repeated it almost stubbornly.
“A year ago, you were already developing a romantic relationship.”
No one answered her, but their silence spoke volumes.
Four years already felt too short. And now, she realized, he had started even earlier—one year ahead of schedule.
Would someone buy a brooch for someone they had just met? And when exactly did it all begin?
Was everything her mother had done for this family worth it?
She struggled to control her trembling as she looked at Yan Wendong: “So, in the third year after my mother passed away, you were already planning to replace her?”
Reality hit her with the force of destruction.
Months ago, during their argument, she had naively thought this woman was just someone new he had met, someone he was considering pursuing. Only now did she realize that a year ago, he had already secretly begun his affair, hiding it from everyone.
Reality gave her no time to process, no preparation or buildup. In this moment, she shattered completely, her worldview collapsing alongside her.
“Yan Man,” Yan Wendong finally spoke. “Your mother has been gone for four years. During her life and for three years after her passing, I didn’t do anything to betray her. I understand how much you love your mother. Afterwards, when you forbade anyone from going upstairs or entering her room, I understood and agreed.”
He frowned: “But what are you doing now? Who are you accusing? Are you really demanding that I never remarry for the rest of my life?”
“Why not?” Yan Man suppressed the sob in her voice, her fingertips digging painfully into her palms. She closed her eyes, and the tears began to flow uncontrollably. “Mother devoted her entire life to you. She gave up her beloved theater, bore four children during the best years of her life, and even before she passed, she never fulfilled her dreams.”
Finally, she couldn’t hold back any longer and collapsed into sobs. “Even if you never remarried for the rest of your life, would that really be too much to ask?”
“If it were you who passed away, would she do this? If you had given your entire life to this family before leaving, she would never treat you this way.”
“What about your life? What about hers? The life that heaven took from her—who can give it back?”
“Even if you spent your whole life loving no one else and only remembering her, would that really be impossible?”
How could she accept it? A mother who had devoted nearly her entire life to this family, only to be replaced in a few short years. There would be a new mistress of the house, and slowly, when people mentioned “Mrs. Yan,” they would unconsciously think of another name. Everyone would forget her without hesitation, as if it were only natural.
And just like that, the traces of her existence would be cruelly erased by the very person who loved her most.
“She was such a gentle person. She never raised her voice, even when she was angry. She never fought for herself. If I don’t fight for her, then she’ll have nothing left…”
Yan Man closed her eyes, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. “She never wronged anyone.”
Yan Wendong: “I didn’t wrong her either.”
She spoke slowly, enunciating each word: “Forgetting her is the greatest betrayal you could commit against her.”
“I can’t control you anymore. Whatever you say goes. On the day I graduated from university, you said you wanted to introduce me to an aunt. Even though I disagreed, I couldn’t stop you. When we argued, you thought I was just throwing a tantrum. How could you ever think you were wrong? Do you really believe that mourning your late wife for three years is some great favor you’ve done her? Is that what you think?”
“She never wronged any of you. Why should she be treated like this? Just because no one stood up for her, does that mean anyone can replace her?”
Yan Man stared at the brooch on the woman’s chest and asked him: “When you gave her the brooch, did you think of Mom even for a second? For just one fleeting moment, did you think that if Mom were still here, this thing would have belonged to her?”
She wanted to know the answer, but deep down, she knew it would likely be something she couldn’t bear to hear.
Her mother’s significance to her was incomparable—something she had lived for and could never, ever compromise on.
Yan Man turned around: “You can marry anyone you want, but I will never return to this house.”
“I won’t accept any mistress other than my mother.”
She went back to her room, packed up her belongings, and took everything her mother had left behind, including a brand-new necklace.
As she left, she placed the house key on the entryway table.
Months ago, on the day of her graduation, she had thought this woman was just someone he had recently met, someone she could resist. After a big argument, she stormed out of the house. Only now did she realize that things had long surpassed what she could accept.
But it didn’t matter. Even if everyone else forgot, she would remember—forever remember—the dresses her mother loved to wear, her favorite colors, the way she smiled, her expectations for her, and her most distant dreams.
She would remember forever, without daring to forget for even a moment.
Tonight, there was still work to do, and fearing it might affect the crew, Yan Man quickly composed herself.
Fortunately, tonight’s shoot was simple—it only required filming her back. The challenge lay in entering the water, but since the pool had been heated to a constant temperature, it wouldn’t be too cold.
The temperature had plummeted tonight, and the weather was harsh—rain mixed with snow and hail pelted the roof of the pool, echoing eerily in the vast space.
Yan Man mechanically followed the team’s instructions. While waiting backstage after finishing the shoot, she suddenly realized her neck felt empty.
She quickly stood up: “Did anyone see my necklace?”
“Missing?” Simon was also surprised. “I’m sure it was there before we took photos…”
“Yes, it was there before the photos,” Yan Man immediately stood up. “It must have fallen into the pool. I need to go look for it.”
Simon hurriedly grabbed her: “Hey! Wait! The magazine’s editor is about to come out. We need to meet her. You know how hard it was to negotiate this magazine cover, and she—”
Yan Man ignored him, pulling away from his grip: “I need to go now.”
“It’s snowing so heavily outside, and you’re wearing a dress! How are you going to search?!” Simon was getting anxious. “It’s pitch dark out there. What if something happens? And they’ve already removed the canopy. Look, I’ll tell the staff to help look for it. You stay here—”
Amid the commotion, Yan Man ignored everyone and insisted on going herself. In the chaos, she broke free and ran out, only to collide face-to-face with Ye Lin in the corridor.
She looked up: “Are you here to stop me too?”
She had just heard Simon call him.
Under the dim yellow light, he shook his head and held out his palm: “The pool key.”
Ye Lin said: “I’ll help you look.”
…
She knew she must look like a madwoman tonight.
No one understood how important this necklace was, and no one could comprehend her obsession. But it didn’t matter—madness didn’t need to be understood—
Yet, here was someone who didn’t ask for reasons, unconditionally accompanying her in this nearly insane endeavor.
She didn’t dare open the drain, afraid the necklace might slip out. The light above was faint, and the shoot’s lighting equipment had already been packed away. Holding her phone’s flashlight, she painstakingly searched inch by inch in the vast pool, nearly a hundred meters wide.
The water was no longer warm—it was bone-chilling—but she no longer felt it.
Snowflakes splashed ripples in the pool, and the wind howled mercilessly, shaking the nearby trees.
She shuffled forward, her hands already frozen black.
“Is this it?” Ye Lin appeared from somewhere, the bright and intense light of the streetlamp behind him illuminating his figure. He opened his palm and held it out to her. “The necklace?”
His palm was wet, as icy cold as hers.
Perhaps the necklace had been sitting undisturbed for too long, and one of its clasps had come loose, causing it to fall without her noticing.
“Yes, yes…” She trembled as she took it, and only now did the emotions she had been holding back begin to crumble. Sobbing softly, she nodded and pressed the necklace against her heart. “Thank you… thank you…”
After a long pause, Ye Lin helped her out of the pool. Finally, Yan Man lowered her gaze and softly said: “Do you know what this is?”
…
She said, “This was a gift from my mother. My eighteenth birthday present.”
“But I wasn’t able to become the bright, passionate person she imagined. I’m so weak. After she passed, I never dared to open this necklace. If I opened it, I’d think of her…” She said, “How can I possibly accept it? Even now, just thinking of her makes me cry. I can’t bring myself to visit the places she took me…”
Ye Lin simply stood there, quietly listening to her speak.
“Do you know how much my mother loved me?” At this point, her voice softened again. “She had late-stage malignant brain cancer. By the time it was discovered, it was already untreatable. The doctors said she had at most a month left. But, but…”
She gave a faint smile: “But to avoid affecting me, she endured the pain for half a year, waiting until after my college entrance exam to let go. But why… why didn’t she hold on just a little longer? Just one more month, and it would have been my birthday. She could have handed me this necklace herself. Why did she have to be so cruel?”
Her voice quivered with tears. “Maybe because… holding on was just too painful.”
“It’s better that she’s gone. That’s how I comfort myself. At least she’s not suffering anymore; she’s gone to a better place. I didn’t dare celebrate my coming-of-age ceremony. I wanted my life to forever stay at sixteen, the day she hadn’t been diagnosed yet,” Yan Man’s voice trembled. “She was so good… why did the world treat her like this?”
“That week felt endless to me. I finally had to accept it.”
“From then on… there was no more mother to love me.”
Her tears fell one by one, each drop seeming to carry enormous weight, shattering piece by piece in his heart.
“That’s why my family has always treated me better. Because of my mother’s illness… there’s a chance it could be hereditary. I was born with low immunity, and they feared I might get sick too.” Her voice seemed to drift far away. “But I wished they would treat me like an ordinary person, and that my mother could still be alive and healthy. No one would try to fill the void of her love. We would be so ordinary, but so happy.”
She suddenly said: “Do you know why I entered this industry?”
“Because before she had us, my mother was an amazing stage actress.”
She tilted her head upward: “Because my mother was a star, I wanted to become someone closer to the stars.”
Drenched in the rain, she was escorted back to the hotel by Ye Lin.
It seemed he had already arranged everything backstage, but she was too exhausted to ask further. Lying in bed, she clutched the small doll tightly and was pulled into a dream by fatigue.
A knock sounded at the door—gentle taps, not the doorbell.
Ye Lin furrowed his brow slightly, stood up, and opened the door.
The man outside was momentarily startled upon seeing him. After half a second, he introduced himself: “Hello, I’m Yan Han, Yan Man’s older brother. Is she…?”
“She’s already asleep.”
Ye Lin said: “If there’s anything, you can tell me.”
Google Sites
Report abuse