IMH - 18

The final rehearsal before the official show was scheduled for dusk.

As the sunlight began to fade, the city’s usual clamor softened into a mirage-like illusion. An Gu had deliberately chosen this time, with the audience facing the stage lights while the remnants of the sunset and the shimmering cityscape stretched behind them.

The atmosphere was impeccable. They had even calculated the exact timing of the sunset.

By the time Yu Qian made her entrance, the autumn sun would be slipping below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness, only for the stage lights to converge on her.

The rehearsal mirrored the actual show in every way. Yu Qian wore full makeup, styled hair, and even completed her temporary nail art.

At the start, she lay nestled amidst intertwined ribbons of deep green and brown. The set resembled a nest, and under the makeup artist’s deliberate touch, Yu Qian appeared almost sickly pale against her radiant skin.

Her outfit was heavy, layered like fallen leaves. Her initial steps onto the runway lacked any sense of confidence, appearing hesitant and subdued.

When the background music began, snippets of everyday prejudices against women flooded the venue’s spherical dome screen:

“Typical—big boobs, no brains.”

“Women are always like this: long hair, short见识.”

“Classic nerd look, haha.”

“Why does a girl need such a high degree? Better to marry well.”

“Why go to a big city? Just find a job near home.”

“Look at how little she’s wearing—it’s her own fault if she gets harassed.”

“Smoking? A woman who smokes is definitely trash.”

“What job? Women should handle housework and raise kids.”

“So many boyfriends—she’s definitely not a virgin.”

“You’re too sensitive, always looking for trouble where there isn’t any.”

...

The overlapping voices created a cacophony akin to a bustling marketplace—or an endless curse.

As these 2-3 second clips concluded, Yu Qian began tearing off the heavy fabric draped over her body, shedding layers like casting off a burden. Each dull-colored piece was flung away with force, her arms resembling wings preparing for flight, her steps growing increasingly resolute.

With each discarded piece of fabric, a corresponding fragment on the spherical screen shattered.

Too many people had experienced these prejudices. Countless women endured such biases daily.

What was most tragic was that these prejudices didn’t sound unfamiliar—they seemed eerily commonplace, as if everyone had heard or even lived through them at some point.

Sun Yue, overwhelmed by the emotions stirred, quietly reached into her bag for tissues.

Several female staff members behind her began to cry.

Sun Yue, standing near Cheng Xiaonan, tried to maintain a professional demeanor to avoid embarrassing “Eleven.” As she wiped her tears, she stole a glance at her boss.

Through her blurry vision, she noticed Cheng Xiaonan wasn’t looking her way. Once her tears were wiped away, she glanced again—and was startled by the intensity of his expression.

Cheng Xiaonan’s gaze was unwaveringly fixed on Yu Qian, filled with reverence, concern, solemnity, and countless other emotions she couldn’t decipher.

He could sense the emotional fluctuations around him, but his eyes were solely focused on Yu Qian.

He cared about whether, beneath her proud and cold exterior, there might have been even a fraction of vulnerability.

There must have been.

Cheng Xiaonan thought, how could there not be?

She must have experienced moments of heart-wrenching sadness—but concealed them behind her calm facade, unwilling to reveal them easily.

Many years ago, during the days after Yu Qian left for abroad, Cheng Xiaonan wandered around in a daze. He hadn’t realized Stanford wasn’t in Germany, nor understood why she left so abruptly—or why she blocked him entirely.

It was spring, and the school organized a sports meet. The playground buzzed with referee whistles, starting gunshots, and cheers.

But Cheng Xiaonan couldn’t muster happiness, not even a forced smile. He felt as though Yu Qian had taken something from him when she left—his soul, or perhaps his love.

He assumed he’d never hear from her again until he unexpectedly learned about her from Old Cheng.

At the time, Old Cheng had a girlfriend Cheng Xiaonan disliked. Occasionally, the woman visited their home.

Old Cheng changed girlfriends frequently, and Cheng Xiaonan usually ignored them. But one day, when he bumped into her at the door, a photo slipped out of her wallet.

Without much thought, he picked it up to return it—and froze upon seeing it.

The photo featured a young girl, smiling brightly as she held a drink. Though he’d never seen Yu Qian smile so radiantly, Cheng Xiaonan immediately recognized her.

Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to learn about Yu Qian from one of his father’s potential partners.

After Yu Qian left, Cheng Xiaonan began to truly understand her.

He researched her past, uncovering details about her life.

He discovered the high school she attended before transferring, where online forums dedicated over a thousand posts to her—all negative.

He learned about her transfer to the affiliated high school.

A few years earlier, she had briefly studied there, but even that period hadn’t brought her joy...

Later, Cheng Xiaonan voluntarily repeated a grade and devoted himself to relentless studying. His grades weren’t terrible—he simply hadn’t bothered to try.

But the gap was still significant. With Old Cheng’s help, he hired private tutors for one-on-one lessons after school.

Those days were grueling—waking at 4 AM and sleeping at 1 AM.

Old Cheng wasn’t sympathetic like other parents; instead, he pushed Cheng Xiaonan further.

Once, due to exhaustion, Cheng Xiaonan collapsed at school and was sent home for an IV drip. The doctor advised rest and balance.

But Old Cheng shook his head, sighing: “Back in the day, the Red Army marched 25,000 li without the luxury of IV drips. Kids today are spoiled.”

Still a teenager, Cheng Xiaonan opened his mouth to retort.

But Old Cheng tossed a stack of magazines at him: “I don’t think you should rest. The girl you’re chasing is strong and accomplished. Rest more, and you’ll never catch up.”

In those foreign magazines, Yu Qian proudly displayed her curves, seemingly addressing those ignorant and malicious speculations with a defiant message:

“I will remain beautiful no matter what. Your filthy words mean nothing to me.”

Cheng Xiaonan, still connected to the IV, took a deep breath and called out, “Dad.”

“What? Feeling she’s too accomplished to pursue?”

“... Bring me my workbook. I’ll do some problems.”

After enduring those days, Cheng Xiaonan graduated university with dual degrees and, with Old Cheng’s assistance, co-founded “Eleven” with Shen Shen.

Thankfully, everything had come together just in time.

Cheng Xiaonan gazed intently—

Yu Qian had ascended to the top of the spiral staircase, shedding all the heavy, imprisoning fabrics. Only a lightweight black dress remained.

At the apex stood the entrance to a cylindrical transparent pool. She dove into the clear water like a graceful fish.

The dress material, designed by An Gu, reacted to water—darkening into blue hues that floated like mist. The patterned spots expanded underwater, blossoming into flowers.

The petals were full, resembling peonies.

Cheng Xiaonan hadn’t known Yu Qian could dive. In the pool, she moved like a mermaid, descending swiftly.

Since it was a rehearsal, the venue was filled with staff and representatives from various collaborating companies.

Each person’s focus differed—some monitored their responsibilities, others assessed the overall effect, and some marveled at the model’s beauty.

Only Cheng Xiaonan kept his gaze locked on Yu Qian’s face.

Perhaps irritated by the water, Yu Qian’s eyes reddened slightly. To Cheng Xiaonan, it looked as though she had suppressed emotions for a long time, finally releasing them quietly underwater.

For a fleeting moment, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if a steel nail had pierced it.

Yu Qian submerged herself amidst floating petals. There were other exits underwater. Before leaving, she turned back as An Gu requested, flashing a smile at the audience and tossing compressed flower petals that bloomed underwater.

In the background music, a specially invited voice actor read something aloud. After the successful rehearsal, the staff erupted in excited cheers—but Cheng Xiaonan didn’t pay attention.

Beside him, assistant Sun Yue turned, alarmed to see Cheng Xiaonan clutching his chest. “President Cheng, is your heart bothering you? Should I call a doctor?”

“No.” Cheng Xiaonan lowered his hand, walking toward the backstage. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and dialed Old Cheng.

The other end was even noisier. After a few seconds, his father spoke: “Hey, calling me just as I’m returning? Are you coming to pick me up? If so, I’ll wait at the airport.”

“The driver?”

“What driver? I’m waiting for my son.”

“I’m busy. Call a car yourself.”

“What are you always busy with? No time to pick up your own dad?”

Old Cheng sounded displeased, possibly feigning pitifulness, coughing dramatically into the phone, “Cough, cough! I caught a chill abroad—I’m exhausted…”

Cheng Xiaonan unbuttoned two shirt buttons, exasperated: “Dad, stop coughing. Your guilt trip won’t work. I can’t make it today—my future daughter-in-law is rehearsing. I need to keep an eye on her.”

“Who?”

Old Cheng paused for two seconds, then laughed, “Oh, that girl’s back in the country? So she’s really joined your company? When can I meet her?”

“… Still early.”

“How is it early? She just returned this month?”

“… No, last month.”

Massaging his temples, Cheng Xiaonan sighed, “We haven’t spoken much. She seems to not remember me.”

Old Cheng stopped coughing, laughing gleefully as he mocked his son:

“She’s been back for a month already, and you’ve barely spoken to her—you’re hopeless.

How could she not remember you? My genes aren’t bad—I gave you good looks. You’re not exactly featureless. How could she forget you?”

Cheng Xiaonan didn’t get angry, calmly interrupting his father’s teasing: “Old Cheng, do you remember Huang Meng?”

“Of course. One of my ex-girlfriends, right? Gentle personality, sang Peking opera. We broke up 8 or 9 years ago. Why bring her up now?”

“What about Tang Fang?”

“That woman from the police station? I told you we never dated—just had dinner a few times. She was too tough, maybe from interrogating suspects. Eating across from her felt like being scrutinized—it didn’t sit well…”

“Zhao Yiyi.”

“She’s been abroad for years, married into Malaysia, and seems to be doing well.”

“Qu Liwen?”

“You dare mention her? Didn’t you threaten to cut ties with me if I pursued her? It’s been 7 or 8 years, and you never managed to win over her daughter. What a pity—Ms. Qu knew a lot about watches. We chatted quite well.”

Cheng Xiaonan suddenly smiled: “All those ex-girlfriends from years ago—you still remember them?”

“People I’ve dated aren’t so easy to forget. Your old man isn’t senile yet!”

Cheng Xiaonan chuckled softly: “Got it. I’m hanging up.”

Indeed, people you’ve spent time with aren’t easily forgotten.

Could Yu Qian truly not remember him?

Cheng Xiaonan refused to believe it.

With both hands in his pants pockets, Cheng Xiaonan strolled slowly toward the backstage through the crowd.

An Gu was ecstatic, shouting that tomorrow’s show would undoubtedly be a success.

None of that mattered.

Right now, Cheng Xiaonan only wanted to find Yu Qian. Regardless of why she left back then, he just wanted to ask her—could she truly not remember him?

Entering backstage, Yu Qian had already dried herself off, draped in a silk robe, heading toward the temporary makeup area.

She held a towel, wiping water from her hair. The silk robe slipped slightly, exposing half her shoulder.

Cheng Xiaonan stood behind her for two seconds, then suddenly stepped forward, seemingly casually stepping on the trailing edge of the robe.

Yu Qian, swaying gracefully in her robe, suddenly felt it snagged from behind.

She turned, meeting Cheng Xiaonan’s gaze.

He stood amidst the bustling crowd, two shirt buttons undone, pointing to his face: “Sister, think carefully—do you really not remember me?”

Calling someone “sister” carries a bit of plodding from the capital's dialect - just like it used to.

Unsure what trick this younger brother had in mind, Yu Qian instinctively wanted to avoid his intense gaze.

She couldn’t admit remembering him.

Admitting it would invite more questions.

But how could she explain those things?

Lowering her lashes slightly, Yu Qian leaned closer to Cheng Xiaonan amid the noise.

Smiling seductively yet sincerely, she pointed to her temple with the towel, casually lying: “I was in a car accident a few years ago.”