Chapter 74
Yan Nanjue said nothing. Her gaze fell slightly, landing on Bai Wan’s tightly pursed lips, which had turned pale. She spaced out for a second or two.
“Let go. I have things to discuss with the director.”
Bai Wan seemed to realize only then that she was gripping Yan Nanjue’s hand. Her eyes held a momentary daze before she complied and released her hold. Her fingertips curled; her palm was slick with a thin, damp sweat—perhaps from the relief of a narrow escape, or perhaps from some other hidden emotion.
Yan Nanjue headed toward the director’s office, the “clack-clack” of her high heels crisp and loud, sounding like rhythmic strikes against a listener’s heart.
The original host loved high heels—specifically the unhurried, heavy echo they made against the floor. She enjoyed the sound, and even more, the way people’s faces changed when they heard it; it was the ultimate amplifier for her oppressive aura.
Suddenly, the sound of something hitting the floor came from behind. Lin Furuo turned around, her pupils expanding. “President Yan! Madam has fainted.”
Yan Nanjue’s footsteps halted. She looked back.
The rhythm of the heels became urgent. The bodyguards stationed at the ward helped the CEO’s wife up and carried her inside.
A doctor rushed over, performing an examination with an air of immense gravity. Only after finishing did they breathe a sigh of relief, explaining that Bai Wan had been under extreme psychological pressure and chronic sleep deprivation. Her tightly wound nerves had suddenly snapped upon relaxing, causing the collapse. With a good sleep and some adjustment, she would be fine.
Ultimately, she just needed peace of mind.
As the doctor spoke, she stole a glance at the Alpha’s cold face. The hospital gossip mill was already churning—the love-hate saga of President Yan and her wife was a classic “Overbearing CEO falls for Little White Flower” plot straight out of a novel.
An IV was once again inserted into the back of Bai Wan’s hand.
Her thin frame sank into the bedding. Her face held a rare serenity; her habitually furrowed brows smoothed out in sleep. Her fingertips curled slightly, resting loosely on the quilt, the blue veins at her wrist vivid against her pale skin.
Yan Nanjue’s gaze moved up from the wrist to her face. Bai Qingzhi’s matter was settled; she had escaped the original ending. Bai Wan should finally be able to sleep peacefully. Yan Nanjue thought idly that since the team-building trip, Bai Wan probably hadn’t had a single night of good rest.
“Don’t wake her,” she instructed the staff.
Lin Furuo nodded, then lowered her voice. “You arranged the surgery long ago. Why say those things to Madam? You made her worry for so long… and even harbor a grudge against you.”
Lin Furuo saw clearly what others did not. After that overseas call, Yan Nanjue had decided to rush home without hesitation. Long before Bai Qingzhi’s relapse—back when the children were first moved to the villa—Yan Nanjue had already consulted multiple renowned pediatric heart specialists.
She had prepared everything early on. The President was clearly soft-hearted, yet she insisted on forcing the Madam to sign that contract. Why be so stubborn?
The room fell silent. Lin Furuo knew there would be no answer. Sure enough, Yan Nanjue swept a cold gaze over her. “That is not for you to ask.”
“I overstepped,” Lin Furuo replied.
Leaving the ward, Yan Nanjue went to the director’s office. By the time they finished, it was very late; the inpatient department entrance was empty.
Inside the car, Yan Nanjue propped her head on one hand, her other hand tapping a rhythm-less beat with her fingertips. “Has her resignation been processed?”
“It’s done. The approval will go through tomorrow. That close colleague of Madam’s will likely come to ask her about it once she hears.”
“Let her. Don’t worry about it.”
“Understood.” Lin Furuo looked at Yan Nanjue through the rearview mirror and asked a vital question: “Does the company need to know about Madam’s identity?”
The question stumped Yan Nanjue. In the original book, everyone in the company knew. The original host did that intentionally to isolate Bai Wan—placing her in a glass dome and forbidding anyone from getting close. Consequently, An Yimeng never appeared in the original story; Bai Wan was always alone.
If she didn’t reveal the identity, it didn’t quite fit her persona. But if she did, Bai Wan would surely loathe her for it. The tapping stopped. Yan Nanjue was in a bind. She couldn’t afford another spike in the Blackening Value.
Lin Furuo, ever the perceptive assistant, read her body language. “I asked Madam in advance. She said she doesn’t care, as she won’t be returning to the company anyway.”
Yan Nanjue’s eyes lit up. That made things much easier. “No need for a grand announcement. Just let them know who she is.”
“Understood. Shall we go to the apartment or the villa?”
“The apartment.”
Late at night.
The hospital corridors were empty. Inside the ward, there was only the sound of shallow breathing. After an unknown amount of time, the person on the bed opened her eyes—they were sharp and clear.
Bai Wan (Rebirth) sat up.
Feeling a faint tug on her hand, she glanced at the IV tube, pulled the needle out casually, and got out of bed. Her gaze fell through the darkness onto a glowing clock. It was 4:00 AM.
What is the date?
Pain blossomed on her hand as warm liquid flowed to her fingertips. She grabbed some tissues to wipe the blood and searched the room, eventually finding her phone on the water bar. It had no password; a swipe unlocked it.
The date displayed was August 3rd.
The glow of the screen reflected in her amber eyes, making them look like gemstone-clear jewels resting on white silk—so beautiful it was breathtaking. Seeing the date, her pupils expanded.
This was past the time of Bai Qingzhi’s relapse… even past her death anniversary. Why was she in the hospital? Was her sister alive or dead? Had her current self seen “those words” yet? Could she… still do nothing?
Memory fragments flickered—belonging to this body, to her current self. Bai Wan’s head throbbed. She clutched her temples, piecing together the broken memories. They were enough to tell her the situation.
Silence reigned for a long time. Then, the door opened.
Bai Wan walked to the ICU. Through the heavy door and glass, she saw the person sleeping peacefully—it was the sister she hadn’t seen in years. Her life hadn’t ended. She had survived.
Bai Wan stared for a long time until her legs went numb. A long buzzing sound echoed in her ears as human emotions, long lost, returned to her body. How long had it been? The last time she felt an emotion this intense, it was hatred. Pure, devastating hatred.
How fair heaven is, she thought. She felt Yan Nanjue had died too soon, so heaven gave her another chance. It brought her back to the beginning, giving her every opportunity for revenge. It only remained to see if she could seize it.
“Miss Bai? Are you here to see Qingzhi? she’s sleeping,” a patrolling nurse said warmly. “You’re staying at the hospital tonight, right? We’ll notify you the moment she wakes.”
“I want to see her,” Bai Wan said, her eyes fixed on the nurse. “Now.”
Recognizing the woman’s identity, the nurse helped her into sterile clothing. Seeing the dried blood on her hand, the nurse gasped but stopped herself upon seeing Bai Wan’s abnormally obsessive expression. She simply cleaned the blood and let her into the ICU.
The silence inside was deeper, broken only by the rhythmic “beep” of the monitors—a sound that usually felt like a death knell. Bai Wan reached out, her finger stopping just before touching Bai Qingzhi. She paused in the air for a long time before finally letting it rest.
Only then did it feel real. The child who had lain in an urn for so many years was alive. Fresh from surgery, covered in tubes, but breathing. This was what her death looked like, but it was also her rebirth.
Bai Wan closed her eyes. Feeling the breath so close, she opened them again and loosely held her sister’s hand. She smiled. It wasn’t a cold or mocking smile, but a simple, ordinary one. A faint light of joy entered her eyes.
She stroked her sister’s hair, her lips moving silently as if telling a sweet fairy tale. Then, the smile sank away, hardening into a murderous aura.
“It’s okay… Sister promises you. This time, someone else will die a miserable death.”
Leaving the ICU, she washed her hands meticulously with disinfectant. As the water flowed, her mood improved. For a second, she imagined her hands were covered in a crimson liquid that could never be washed away, but she didn’t care.
The nurse escorted her back to the ward. Seeing the discarded needle and blood on the floor, the nurse gently urged, “Miss Bai, you still have two bottles of medicine left. I’ll have a colleague re-insert the IV. The night is still long; try to sleep.”
Bai Wan nodded politely. “Thank you for the trouble. I had a nightmare and felt unsettled. I couldn’t rest without seeing her.”
The nurse, feeling empathetic, lost any lingering annoyance. Besides, this Omega was so beautiful and had such a clear, pleasant voice.
“By the way,” Bai Wan called out as the nurse was leaving after resetting the IV. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately. I can’t fall asleep without sleeping pills. Please bring me a few boxes. I believe Miss Lin Furuo gave instructions to satisfy any reasonable requests? This shouldn’t be difficult for you.”
She specified a particular brand by name. The nurse nodded. “The pharmacy is closed now, but I’ll bring them in the morning.”
Once the door closed, Bai Wan’s face went expressionless. She opened the phone, the light highlighting her coldness. The chat history with that “dead Alpha” was sparse. She scrolled through, her gaze becoming increasingly vicious, a heavy, violent aura surrounding her like ink.
If this is also a rebirth, why is Yan Nanjue different?
She only appeared when the “current” self fell into a deep stupor. There was no fixed time or pattern. But Yan Nanjue… she seemed to have been “awake” this whole time. Bai Wan closed her eyes as memories flashed. She couldn’t access everything, only parts. The “current” Bai Wan seemed unaware of her existence. Did her own appearance cause a lapse in the other’s memory?
She studied the memories. This time, she hadn’t followed the notes—she hadn’t gone to the orphanage for her things, nor had she stayed away from Yan Nanjue. The “current” self knew nothing.
As for Yan Nanjue… what was that lunatic planning? She had avoided the pits she fell into last time, and her treatment of Bai Wan had changed, yet she made the same choices regarding the contract and the “White Moonlight.”
What is she doing? If Bai Wan were her, she would have pulled out the weeds by the roots. Keeping a time bomb like her around—changing small things while letting the big events follow the old trajectory—was simply seeking death.
Or was this face really that enticing? Was she planning to use her second life to fully domesticate her into a perfect substitute?
Bai Wan narrowed her eyes at Yan Nanjue’s profile picture—a snowy field. She exited to the home screen, scrolling through apps until she found the voice recorder. She knew her own habits; she recorded calls automatically.
She listened to file after file. When she reached a call from a few months ago, her gaze sharpened. She had tried to run earlier in this life. She heard Yan Nanjue’s voice—superior, deep, clear, with a faint electronic distortion.
“…Why isn’t your phone picking up?”
“Where have you gone? I told you not to go anywhere without my permission.”
“Mrs. Yan, I want to see you downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes.”
“Mrs. Yan, final warning.”
She finished the logs. Meaningless. She tapped the empty screen, accidentally opening the photo gallery. She was about to exit when a photo caught her eye.
It was a photo of her and Yan Nanjue. In what looked like a hotel room, Yan Nanjue’s hair was messy, her face flushed, and her eyes dazed. She was hugging Bai Wan’s neck and shoulder from the side, looking confusedly at the camera with her chin on Bai Wan’s shoulder. Bai Wan was holding the phone with a cold expression, her brow slightly furrowed by the sudden intrusion.
In the dim light, they looked as if they were kissing. Or had just finished.
Ha.
Bai Wan raised an eyebrow. She had found something meaningful. She stared at the photo, her gaze murderous. If a subordinate were present, they would know someone was about to suffer.
Yan Nanjue arrived at the hospital the next day. Bai Wan wasn’t in her room; a nurse said she was visiting the ICU. Yan Nanjue headed there.
Lin Furuo was stopped by a nurse who whispered about the previous night. “Miss Bai woke up in the night, pulled her IV, and went to the ICU. She asked for sleeping pills, saying she couldn’t sleep. She asked for quite a lot… Assistant Lin, what should we do?”
“Give them to her,” Lin Furuo said. “She won’t do anything foolish.”
Outside the ICU, Yan Nanjue stood by the door. Bai Wan was talking to Bai Qingzhi, who was whining. “It hurts, Sister. It hurts even when I move a little.”
“Endure it. This is the path to recovery.”
“Sister, you lied to me,” the girl whispered. “You promised I’d see Sister Yan after the surgery. She didn’t come, and the first person I saw wasn’t you, it was the nurse.”
“I’m sorry,” Bai Wan said to the second half.
“Did you forget to tell her? She said she’d come see me.”
Bai Wan looked at her. “Your Sister Yan…” she said softly, “doesn’t come to places like this.”
Before she finished, Bai Qingzhi’s eyes lit up. She waved at the door with a slight flick of her wrist. “Sister Yan!”
The heavy door opened. Footsteps approached. Bai Wan didn’t turn around until the person was beside her. She glanced sideways at the Alpha, her face cold behind her sterile mask.
Quite the actor, she thought.
Bai Qingzhi chirped happily, talking about what she wanted to do and worrying about her brother. Before Bai Wan could speak, a familiar, muffled voice came from behind.
“Soon,” Yan Nanjue said. “Xinzhi said he drew pictures for you and left a set of art supplies. He also said he’s far ahead of you in his books; he’ll have finished them all by the time you’re back.”
“Brother is bad! He’s studying behind my back!”
A hand reached past Bai Wan’s vision and stroked Bai Qingzhi’s head. Bai Wan looked up and swept a glance at the “pretentious” Alpha.
She had been wrong before. Yan Nanjue’s acting was superb. Facing the person she personally killed in the last life, she could remain so unfazed, even touching her head. Aren’t you afraid of feeling the cold of a corpse?
Leaving the ward, Bai Wan slowly removed her gloves. “The Director is old. I heard she was sick recently. I want to go back and see her.” She meant the director of the orphanage.
Bai Wan had been at the orphanage until she was twelve. Most couples adopted younger children who didn’t remember their past. Bai Wan had been adopted once before, but returned within two months. No one wanted her until the Bai couple chose her.
Yan Nanjue, washing her hands, turned around. “Fine. I’ll pick a time.”
Bai Wan paused. Yan Nanjue wanted to go too? Why? “It’s not appropriate for you to go.”
Yan Nanjue swept a cold gaze over her, stepped close, and pinched her chin with damp fingers, forcing her to look up. “I am your wife, Mrs. Yan. Where do you think it’s ‘inappropriate’ for me to go with you?”
“You just promised to be obedient, yet in a few days, you’ve thrown those words to the dogs?”
Bai Wan met her gaze directly. “I haven’t forgotten. Go if you want. President Yan can go anywhere.”
Her tone was flat, but Yan Nanjue felt an odd chill. Being stared at by those amber eyes felt like being watched by a large predator. The feeling was vaguely familiar. Yan Nanjue spaced out for a second. “Stop being so sarcastic.” She let go and dried her fingers. “I’ll tell you when. Until then, you aren’t allowed anywhere but here and home.”
Suddenly, her wrist was caught. She turned to meet Bai Wan’s eyes—clear and cold like a crescent moon.
“I’m going today.”
Bai Wan knew she had to do this before her “other self” woke up. Her rebirth was both a blessing and a curse; everyone was alive, but she was still a powerless orphan restricted by others.
Yan Nanjue’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her caught arm. Bai Wan’s grip tightened.
“Are you begging me?” Yan Nanjue asked.
“Yes,” Bai Wan looked at her. Her eyes were like an abyss. “I’m begging you. I’ll go this once, then I’ll stay home obediently and do whatever you ask.”
Liar. The Alpha in front of her wouldn’t live that long.
Yan Nanjue was secretly surprised. She hadn’t expected Bai Wan to beg for the old director’s sake. data-index-in-node="99">Is it just me, or has she been begging more often lately? Was it this much in the original book?
【System: Go ahead. There aren’t any meetings today.】
“Fine. If I go, I can watch her and see the orphanage. It plays a role later in the book anyway.”
Yan Nanjue agreed. “Since Mrs. Yan has lowered her posture, it seems you care for this director deeply. Lin Furuo, get the car.”
“Let’s go with Mrs. Yan.”
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