Chapter 55: Clarification (Part 7)

That day, Ye Lin had a very long dream.

In the dream, scenes from his life over the years flashed by like a revolving lantern.

The woman who gave birth to him was named Xu Mengyun. From childhood to adulthood, the most common thing he heard others say about her was how beautiful and alluring she was. She took pride in her looks, using them as her weapon to climb the social ladder and marry into the prestigious Ye family of the region.

At that time, Ye Shengrong had just divorced his first wife, and Xu Mengyun naturally became the second Mrs. Ye. Soon after, she gave birth to Ye Lin.

Xu Mengyun often stroked his head and told him to be obedient and work hard. “You have two older brothers,” she would say. “If you don’t work hard, you won’t get your share of the inheritance.”

As a child, he didn’t understand what inheritance meant, but under pressure, he was forced to learn more than others. The house was large, but it was also empty. Xu Mengyun wouldn’t let him indulge in play for long. After only a short while, she would scold him and force him back to his desk.

He had no friends because Xu Mengyun said that those destined for greatness didn’t need them.

It was probably then that he developed his cold and detached nature. He had no one to talk to. Above him were walls filled with study schedules, and behind him stood Xu Mengyun, holding a ruler to supervise his studies. For many nights, he dreamed of being a bird flying out of a window, only to crash heavily to the ground because he didn’t know how to fly.

Often, he woke up drenched in cold sweat.

But no matter how well he performed or how many trophies he brought home, it couldn’t change Ye Shengrong’s nature.

Xu Mengyun watched her husband grow increasingly distant, his visits home dwindling from once a month to once every few months. Scandals followed him, and there were even women bold enough to show up at their door.

The story mirrored that of the previous wife. Xu Mengyun feared that she too would be cast out once her charm faded, losing the luxurious life she so desired.

She couldn’t accept it, so she began coming up with excuses to make Ye Shengrong return home. At first, she told him to come see Ye Lin’s awards. But as time went on, these excuses became useless. She resorted to lying, hoping to grab Ye Shengrong’s attention.

She claimed Ye Lin had fallen down the stairs and was badly injured—how could a father not come home to see his son?

She said Ye Lin had been scalded and cried terribly, attempting to stir Ye Shengrong’s conscience with pity.

Ye Shengrong grew increasingly disgusted and began exposing her lies, demanding to see where Ye Lin was injured.

And so, the nightmare of his childhood began.

Under immense psychological pressure, Xu Mengyun descended into madness. She started resorting to extreme measures. All she wanted was for Ye Shengrong to come home. If her husband returned, everything could still be salvaged—at least the appearance of peace could be maintained.

She began using belts, hot water, sharp nails—anything that could leave marks and blood on him became her weapon of abuse.

At first, she would tell him to endure the pain, saying that if he did, his father would come back and their cold, empty home would have hope again.

But over time, her behavior grew increasingly deranged. She began blaming him—blaming him for not being as eloquent or charming as his older brothers, blaming him for his silence and inability to please his father, blaming him for pushing her to this point.

She pinned all her hopes on him, making him responsible for her happiness while offloading all her burdens onto him.

All her frustrations and disappointments were vented on him.

The worst incident left a ten-centimeter scar on his wrist where a major artery had been cut.

He thought that as he grew older and escaped that suffocating house—which could hardly be called a home—the scars would fade. But they didn’t.

They remained etched into his body like an indelible mark, forever reminding him of his exploited childhood—a wound that haunted his nightmares and lingered through his life.

That’s why he never wore short sleeves.

No matter how hot the weather, he always wore shirts that covered his wrists, hiding the scars from his unhealed childhood beneath layers of fabric.

His academic performance had always been excellent. After escaping that suffocating, terrifying home, he finally felt a rare sense of warmth. His high school homeroom teacher, advanced in age, treated him like a son, often inviting him to dinner and even buying him a new down jacket in winter.

It was the cheapest coat he’d ever received, yet it was warmer than any other he’d owned.

The teacher’s child was wayward and unfilial. Back then, Ye Lin even thought that if no one took care of the teacher’s family in the future, he could step in.

The seventeen-year-old boy didn’t know that fate was lurking in the shadows, preparing to strike him again.

Until the day his guaranteed university admission spot was taken away. That day, he clearly heard the sound of the world collapsing around him.

It rained heavily, thunder rolling in waves. Standing outside the teacher’s office, he felt a continuous buzzing in his ears. The spot itself wasn’t important to him. What mattered was that, once again, he had been used as a tool.

The teacher hadn’t cared for him out of genuine affection—it was all a ploy to secure the guaranteed admission spot for his own child. The teacher cried and begged him: “You’re still young and incredibly smart. You’ll have many more opportunities in the future. You can get into your dream university on your own. But this might be my child’s last chance. Can you, for the sake of how I’ve treated you in the past, let this go?”

He didn’t ask for the full story. Absurdly, he thought: So many parents are willing to commit grave sins for their children. Why does it feel like his parents never loved him at all?

He didn’t expose the truth, but the school eventually found out. After the teacher was fired, the school offered to return the spot to him. But he declined, choosing instead to take the college entrance exam.

That year, he was seen as a genius, skipping a grade and scoring far above the admission cutoff to attend one of the top universities in the country. But on the day he reported to university, standing amidst the bustling crowd, he clearly understood that he had lost the ability to connect with the world.

He stopped trusting anyone.

Yet even so, the world wasn’t done with him.

He vividly remembered signing with his first agency and filming his debut movie. The company poured all its resources into promoting him, and his conversion rate skyrocketed to astonishing levels, surpassing even the company’s expectations. They had promoted male artists before, but at most, they reached quasi-top-tier status. Never had someone risen so quickly to the pinnacle.

Then… the female artists the company truly intended to promote, those who would stop at nothing to succeed, began clinging to him, relentlessly creating scandals to leech off his fame.

This was the fastest way to rise to stardom. The cost? Sacrificing him.

—This was the third time he had been exploited.

He paid an exorbitant breach-of-contract fee, founded his own company, severed all ties with his family, and stopped expecting anything from the world. Every three months, he cleaned up the search terms related to炒作 (sensationalism). By then, he was already exhausted.

In the dream, the bird that flew out of the window finally took flight, only to disappear into a dark, dense jungle.

Until he met Yan Man.

At first, he thought she was no different from the others—just another carefree princess playing games in the mortal world. What did she want from him by getting close?

Until he overheard her talking to a friend on the phone, saying something about pursuing him and then… he didn’t catch the rest. Probably something about riding the wave of popularity or wanting something from him.

It was no surprise. His entire life seemed destined to be exploited—by his family, his education, his career. At every critical turning point, he had been used. Exhausted, he chose to wear a mask, erasing all emotions, and began observing others’ lives and feelings coldly while discarding his own.

Such a terrible life—no one would want to relive it repeatedly.

And so, his acting improved. Within the limited range of emotions he allowed himself, he poured in the myriad facets of human experience, choosing to discard himself.

V for Vendetta said it best: Wear a mask for too long, and you forget what it feels like to take it off.

He placed himself in another chaotic world, concealing his emotions and becoming accustomed to any disguise, until no one could sense him anymore. No one knew what he was thinking or what emotions he harbored—not even himself.

It was as if by discarding his emotions and accepting that he was a tool devoid of feelings, he could avoid being hurt when exploited again.

After being numb for so long, warming up would take time.

Until he noticed a ray of light seeping through the cracks and gradually filling the entire room. His emotions began to be influenced by her, reopening wounds long buried, and his life seemed to awaken anew.

He started having thoughts and ideas, finding meaning in continuing to live.

It was only then that he realized—perhaps what he had overheard during that phone call was just a misunderstanding.

Many times, he even wished she had ulterior motives for approaching him. That way, he would at least know what she desired, and he could package the few things he possessed into a gift to present to her, just to see her smile—even if it were feigned love.

Suddenly, he remembered their first meeting.

It was her audition, not far from where he stood. A young girl held an oil-paper umbrella filled with flower petals, slowly opening it toward the camera. The umbrella suddenly popped open, scattering petals everywhere. She stood amidst the petal rain, stunned for a moment before breaking into laughter.

The character he was portraying was suffocating, struggling in the darkness, his heartbeat racing unrealistically fast.

At that moment, his body’s self-preservation mechanism sounded an alarm once again, forbidding him from liking or trusting anyone. It told him: this was just the misattribution of arousal caused by the “bridges of danger” effect; the rapid heartbeat was a physiological response to his struggle, not attraction to her.

Only now did he finally admit—he had fallen for her at first sight.

If he hadn’t liked her, he wouldn’t have agreed to those additional intimate scenes. If he hadn’t liked her, he wouldn’t have let her linger around him for so long, wouldn’t have indulged… her repeated advances.

But it was too late.

It felt like it was already… too late.

They say people replicate the way they were loved to express affection to their partners.

But what if… they were never loved?

Because he had never been loved, he didn’t even know how to love someone.

In truth, she was the most rational one.

She decided she needed to like someone, so she chose him.

When she decided she no longer needed to like him, she let go.

She wasn’t someone who couldn’t live without him.

That was all just talk.

The one who couldn’t live without her… was him.

He slept deeply within the dream, then woke up from it.

His fingertips twitched, clutching something soft and warm, though he wasn’t sure what it was.

Ye Lin opened his eyes and saw a slender fingertip. His heart skipped a beat as he followed the line of her finger upward.

Yan Man had been looking at the small brown teddy bear in her hand when she sensed something and looked up, locking eyes with him.

She froze for a few seconds: “You’re awake?”

Then, flustered, she tried to stand up, but her fingers were tightly gripped by him and wouldn’t let go.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh, his lips pale: “Am I dreaming… or am I awake?”

Yan Man gasped: “You’re in the hospital. Let me call the doctor. Are you okay? Is there any place that hurts especially?”

“I heard Bi Tan say you injured…”

“Don’t call.”

She froze.

“Don’t call the doctor,” he said.

Cold light spilled down from above.

“Then…?” She licked her lips. “Should I call Bi Tan?”

“No one,” he replied. “I have something to say to you.”

Yan Man pursed her lips and asked softly: “What is it?”

He shifted to reach for the bag beside him, but the movement tugged at his wound, causing him to groan in pain. Yan Man quickly handed him the bag, then suddenly remembered something: “You really went back just to get the teddy bear?”

“What did you need that for?” She couldn’t help scolding him. “It’s just a souvenir bought randomly at the film city—it’s not special. If it got lost, you could just buy another one—”

“It’s special,” he interrupted. “At least to me, it’s very special.”

Her throat tightened.

Ye Lin: “If I don’t get another chance in the future, this might be the only thing you ever gave me.”

“So, it’s very important to me.”

She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, as if something had sealed her throat. An aching sensation rose from her heart, spreading and softening her chest.

He took the teddy bear, carefully checked its condition, then placed it back in the bag.

Her heart thudded heavily.

Uncontrollable emotions spread through her.

From another compartment of the bag, he pulled out something thin.

“I got you a protective charm. They say it’s very effective. When you get home, just put it in your drawer.”

“I hope that in the future… you’ll be safe and sound, always healthy.”

He reached out, unfolded her palm, and placed the charm inside. Then he smiled faintly: “Of course, I’m being selfish here—I didn’t pray for your romantic luck. You can think of this as my selfishness.”

Closing her palm, he was about to say more when suddenly, her hand reached behind his neck, pulling him closer. A soft kiss brushed against his pale lips.

The scent of white tea lingered in the air.

At such close proximity, his Adam’s apple subtly bobbed. “What… does this mean?”

Yan Man blinked, as if snapping out of a daze.

“I forgot,” she said. “Why did I kiss you again?”