After Rebirth, My Ex-Girlfriend Became Obsessive - Chapter 22
“Lin Duxi, what are you doing?” An Yu’s cool voice sounded from behind, startling Lin Duxi abruptly.
She quickly exited the phone app interface and turned to face An Yu, her expression unchanged, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “A-Yu, where did you go? I was so sad when I woke up and didn’t see you.”
Lin Duxi lowered her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering faintly like a kitten who had suffered some grievous injustice.
An Yu was momentarily thrown off by her words and wounded expression, forgetting what she had meant to ask. “I woke up early and went to make breakfast,” she replied, her tone slightly unnatural as she recalled the events of the morning.
By the time An Yu finished speaking, Lin Duxi had already stepped close to her, her clear eyes fixed intently on An Yu, filled with nothing but pure, unadulterated affection.
An Yu met her gaze and was burned by the sincerity of her love. She couldn’t help but turn her head away, avoiding her eyes. “I came to call you for breakfast. It’s ready-let’s go downstairs.” The tips of her ears burned under Lin Duxi’s gaze, and she couldn’t understand what Lin Duxi was up to so early in the morning.
“Okay, whatever A-Yu says.” Lin Duxi seemed to have no will of her own, obediently agreeing to whatever An Yu suggested.
Her words were like a bewitching incantation, murmured in a tone so tender it could have melted the 18-year-old An Yu into a daze. Even now, An Yu couldn’t withstand such ambiguous words. The dream from last night resurfaced in her mind, snapping her back to her senses. To interrupt Lin Duxi’s actions, she casually handed over what she was holding.
“Before breakfast, drink this first.”
Lin Duxi accepted the cup with exaggerated care, as if afraid it might shatter, and examined it curiously. “This is…?”
“Honey water. It helps with the headache from drinking.” An Yu deliberately kept her tone casual. “You had a headache last night. This will make you feel better.” After saying this, she turned to leave, but at the doorway, she suddenly remembered the strange expression she had seen on Lin Duxi’s face earlier.
“What happened just now?” she asked curiously.
Lin Duxi stared at the cup, her pupils dark and unfathomable. Hearing An Yu’s question, she snapped out of her thoughts and took a small sip. It was sweet and sour-just like A-Yu.
“A-Yu wants to know?” Lin Duxi looked up at her, her entire demeanor shifting into something entirely different from before, exuding a dangerous aura. Her beautiful, pitch-black eyes were like the deep sea, calm on the surface but churning with undercurrents beneath, rippling with layers of turbulence.
“If A-Yu wants to know anything, I’ll tell you everything. As long as I know, I’ll answer truthfully.” Including all of me-I’ll hold nothing back, as long as you want to know.
She cupped An Yu’s cheek with one hand, her gaze filled with longing and intoxication. But An Yu had already lost the desire to ask further.
“No need. If you say it like that, I’ll feel too much pressure.” She dodged Lin Duxi’s intimate gesture, frowned, and turned to leave, closing the door behind her and shutting Lin Duxi’s ambiguous atmosphere inside the bedroom.
Lin Duxi ignored her departure and turned her attention back to the warm cup of honey water, smiling to herself as if she had received an unexpected gift.
A-Yu really did care about her. Her A-Yu really was paying attention to her.
A storm of emotions churned in her heart. An Yu would never know just how much she had to restrain herself from kissing her.
Just revealing a fraction of her love had already scared An Yu away. Lin Duxi chuckled softly. If A-Yu knew the truest desires in her heart, what kind of expression would she make? She was a little curious.
After all, she really, really liked A-Yu.
“Tsundere,” Lin Duxi murmured under her breath, though it was unclear who she was referring to.
She took out her phone again and looked at the fan art, increasingly convinced it was An Yu’s work. As she studied the image, something suddenly dawned on her, and her eyes widened in realization.
The red rope in the picture looked exactly like the red ribbon she had tied around the biscuit box she once gave An Yu. Both ribbons were used to tie something-only the objects were different.
Lin Duxi’s cheeks flushed pink. She gently bit the edge of the glass cup, then nibbled her lip, unable to suppress her smile.
A-Yu, you’re so perverted.
Breakfast was actually quite simple-just ordinary bread, eggs, and porridge. But because it was made by An Yu, Lin Duxi savored every bite as if she were dining at a high-end restaurant.
An Yu could only try her best not to look at her, lest her composure crack-or worse, lest she remember the events of her dream.
Xie An’an finished her porridge, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and sighed contentedly. “Teacher An, I think tonight’s dinner is already guaranteed to be delicious.”
An Yu smiled but said nothing.
Lin Duxi, however, secretly glanced around, sparing a few dissatisfied looks at the four freeloaders at the table.
She admitted she was selfish. She didn’t want anyone but herself to taste the food An Yu made. She was already trying very hard to suppress this feeling.
Lin Duxi took a big gulp of porridge.
After breakfast, the group split up and headed to the first location of the day’s filming.
When the car arrived at the lakeside, the moment they stepped out, it felt as if they had been transported into an ancient world.
[This place is so beautiful.]
[It’s perfect for a period romance. I feel like if I stay here, I’ll immediately meet the love of my life. Ah, heaven, give me a sister!]
[So we’re at the lake… are we going boating?]
Qiao Qingzhou watched the live-stream viewer count skyrocket the moment the broadcast started and felt his motivation for the day surge.
“Hello, everyone! Welcome to the lakeside. This lake is one of the city’s landmarks, renowned for its stunning scenery. This morning, you can relax a little-just a simple boat ride to enjoy the view.”
[Actually, this is just an excuse to let the audience ship the couples, right? Director Qiao, you know what you’re doing.]
[Slowing down the pace now. Let me see my CP!]
[Did the couple I ship sleep together last night? I heard the rooms were shared. Casting a spell to make my CP share a room!]
An Yu wasn’t particularly interested in the boat ride. Compared to sitting idly and staring at the scenery, she was more concerned about what to cook for dinner that evening.
But when she saw the eager look in Lin Duxi’s eyes-those clear, bright pupils tentatively glancing at her-for some reason, she was reminded of the radiant girl from years past. And so, she let Lin Duxi pull her along to choose a boat that suited her tastes.
After putting on their life jackets, the six of them boarded the boats in pairs according to their team assignments. Lin Duxi stepped onto the boat first. The doorway was narrow, and Lin Duxi didn’t notice the low beam above. Out of instinctive courtesy, An Yu reached out to shield her head from bumping into it. The next second, she felt the weight of a blatantly mischievous gaze from behind.
An Yu calmly averted her eyes and boarded the boat as if nothing had happened. After sitting down, she glanced back discreetly-sure enough, it was Pei Lu’s boat.
An Yu rolled her eyes internally.
The boat started moving, gliding slowly across the lake. The wooden vessel and the ancient-style architecture around them created an immersive feeling, as if they had truly traveled back in time.
In the distance, the morning mist still lingered over the lake, adding a layer of mystique.
An Yu leaned against the railing, bored as she gazed into the distance. Beside her, however, Lin Duxi was in high spirits, her usually cool eyes sparkling with excitement, making her already striking features even more captivating. An Yu couldn’t help but sneak a few more glances at her.
Then, Lin Duxi suddenly spoke, her eyes fixed on something in the distance.
“A-Yu, look at those buildings over there.”
An Yu, thinking she had been caught staring, quickly shifted her gaze to follow Lin Duxi’s line of sight. Sure enough, she saw a cluster of ancient-style structures. She studied them carefully before replying, “That’s Hengdian. What about it?”
Lin Duxi shook her head, then spoke in a reminiscent tone, as if chatting casually with a friend. “I remember my first historical drama was filmed there. I remember it very clearly. Back then, during a wire-fu fight scene, the equipment malfunctioned, and I got a gash over ten centimeters long on my back.”
She held out her hands to illustrate the length, then smiled faintly.
An Yu frowned slightly and looked at her. Actors getting injured on set was common, and Lin Duxi wasn’t the type to openly share her pain.
So if she was deliberately bringing up her past injuries, it was probably to make An Yu feel sorry for her.
An Yu’s expression was complicated-because it was working.
“Has it healed now?”
Lin Duxi turned back and smiled gently. “Mhm. It’s been so long-it’s already healed. The scar’s been treated too. You can’t even see it unless you look closely, so don’t worry, A-Yu.”
She wanted An Yu to worry but told her not to. How strange.
An Yu turned away, but the faint glimmer of heartache in her eyes didn’t fade.
Lin Duxi, however, wasn’t ready to drop the subject. “A-Yu, did you finish the cookies I gave you before the show started?” she asked abruptly.
Almost in an instant, An Yu remembered the red ribbon she had used as inspiration for the cookie box-also in an instant, the full image of that painting surfaced in her mind, impossible to shake off no matter how she tried to distract herself.
She could only maintain her posture of gazing at the scenery, not looking at her, relying on her acting skills to keep her expression neutral: “Finished eating.”
Lin Duxi studied An Yu’s expression with her eyes, her heart filled with tension. But when she saw that An Yu’s face showed no reaction at the mention of the word “cookie,” it felt as though something had struck her heart with a heavy blow.
It couldn’t be. She couldn’t have mistaken Ah Yu’s painting. She was intimately familiar with the style and brushstrokes-there was no way she was wrong. So why did Ah Yu show no reaction at all?
Lin Duxi grew so anxious that the corners of her eyes reddened, a mist rising in her gaze as she stared at An Yu, desperately hoping to find some clue in her expression. But all she saw was An Yu’s calm profile as she looked at the scenery, revealing nothing.
It was like cold water splashing over her. The comfort she had just found was shattered by her own hands. Lin Duxi leaned weakly against the railing, her interest in the scenery completely gone.
There were too many coincidences-it couldn’t have nothing to do with Ah Yu. Besides, she had checked the posting date: it was the day after she had delivered the cookies. There was no mistake. Thinking this, Lin Duxi’s heart slowly settled, and she smiled faintly.
How could she have forgotten? Ah Yu was also an actress. She could act too.
That image-whether An Yu had posted it or not-could only have been posted by An Yu. She stubbornly clung to this thought.
An Yu’s expression remained unchanged, but inwardly, she marveled at her own pretense. Though she didn’t even know what she was pretending about-Lin Duxi couldn’t possibly know about that painting’s existence.
After receiving her answer, Lin Duxi didn’t ask anything else, granting An Yu a moment of peace. She sat quietly on the chair, slowly taking in the scenery.
Time passed, and An Yu grew drowsy in her seat. Just then, a weight suddenly settled on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Lin Duxi leaning against her, her eyes closed in discomfort.
An Yu immediately snapped awake and reached out to help Lin Duxi up, but Lin Duxi stopped her.
Clutching An Yu’s arm, Lin Duxi’s voice carried a pleading tone she herself didn’t even realize.
“Ah Yu, don’t move. Let me lean on you for a bit, okay? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”
Understanding, An Yu stopped trying to move. She called out to the boatman to find the nearest docking spot, then turned back to Lin Duxi, who was frowning. Feeling both helpless and curious, she asked, “If you get seasick, why were you so eager to board?”
Lin Duxi only managed a faint smile before burying her face into An Yu’s neck, her voice muffled.
“Because I’m on the boat with Ah Yu. I’m happy doing anything with Ah Yu-I didn’t want to miss it.”
Her discomfort made her voice weak, evoking a protective instinct.
An Yu froze, her eyes filling with confusion. She looked down at the suffering Lin Duxi but ultimately kept her question to herself, letting her thoughts drift away.
If you couldn’t bear to part, why were you so resolute when we broke up?
If we’ve already broken up, why is your profile picture still that painting? That sketch An Yu had drawn for Lin Duxi during a boring class-she never expected Lin Duxi to keep it as her profile picture all this time. Was she trying to win her over?
But those cold words, those ruthless eyes, the way she left without a shred of hesitation-they had been like sharp knives stabbing into An Yu’s heart. How could Lin Duxi possibly be trying to win her back?
For years, An Yu had wondered what kind of person Lin Duxi really was. How could she detach from their relationship so effortlessly? But that rainy night, that phone call that never went through-hadn’t that already made it clear?
Lin Duxi never loved her.
An Yu had always thought she was pathetic. Even after the breakup, she still made that call, and even after getting her answer, she refused to believe it. She wouldn’t give up even when all hope was lost.
But over countless lonely nights, the grief and pain faded with time. Gradually, the wound in her heart festered, grew numb, and lost all feeling. Buried in memory, it became just another chapter in her life-a love story neither grand nor insignificant. She no longer had the drive to seek answers.
In a way, it was a kind of healing.
But now, those unanswered questions and doubts surged back into her heart. The questions that had gone unresolved for years remained just as inexplicable now.
An Yu couldn’t understand.
The boat docked at the nearest stop, and after disembarking, An Yu helped Lin Duxi sit on a bench by the shore.
She had originally planned to let Lin Duxi rest while she fetched some water, but even in her weakened state, Lin Duxi’s grip was surprisingly strong. It was as if she had poured all her reliance into An Yu-if An Yu left, she would take everything with her. Lin Duxi refused to let go, clutching An Yu’s arm tightly.
Helpless, An Yu could only ask a crew member to fetch water for them.
After the crew member left, filming paused for a while. Instead of relaxing, Lin Duxi’s grip on An Yu’s arm only tightened. The heat radiating from her body was far beyond a normal person’s temperature.
An Yu wondered if she had a fever. Just as she was about to ask, Lin Duxi spoke.
“Ah Yu, do you remember the first time we met six years ago?”
An Yu stiffened, looking at her in disbelief. This was the first time Lin Duxi had brought up the past with her. A faint suspicion arose in her heart-was Lin Duxi trying to do something? But Lin Duxi acted as though she hadn’t noticed, her gaze soft as she looked at the vast lake, as if reminiscing.
An Yu, however, was more concerned about whether Lin Duxi was sick. She didn’t want to continue this topic: “What’s the point of bringing up the past? It’s already over.”
Lin Duxi’s expression faltered. She turned to An Yu, her eyes glimmering with a faint light, as if already anticipating her next words. Her gaze silently pleaded with An Yu not to say it, piercing An Yu’s heart. Unable to bear it, An Yu looked away. Some things needed to be made clear-the longer they were left unresolved, the more trouble they would cause.
“We were both immature back then. Whether there were other factors or not, we would have broken up eventually-it was only a matter of time.” It was just that, at that moment, all the triggers had aligned.
An Yu gazed at the distant clouds, her voice calm. “It’s all in the past.”
Lin Duxi’s heart felt as though it had been struck by lightning. Frantic, she grabbed An Yu’s sleeve, her voice urgent: “No. That’s not what I meant, Ah Yu. Please don’t say that.”
She was terrified of seeing such an expression on An Yu’s face-it made her fear that An Yu would leave her again. The intensity of her movement worsened her dizziness. Weakly bracing herself against the bench, her face pale with discomfort, she still clung to An Yu’s clothes, pleading:
“Ah Yu, don’t say that… don’t leave me… please, don’t break up… don’t break up.”
An Yu held her steady, torn between heartache and amusement. With a mix of exasperation and fondness, she said:
“Lin Duxi, you were the one who said we should break up, and now you’re the one saying we shouldn’t. What are you playing at? Did you change your mind, or do you just think I’d stand here waiting forever for the scraps of affection you throw my way when you’re bored?”
Lin Duxi froze. She quickly lifted her head, gripping An Yu with both hands, afraid she would slip away again. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and landing on An Yu’s heart-it hurt so much.
The scene from back then played vividly in her mind. Lin Duxi’s heart felt as though it were being crushed. The same helplessness and despair washed over her again. With all her strength, she clung to An Yu like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline, her words frantic and disjointed:
“I was sick, Ah Yu. I was sick. Ah Yu, don’t leave me, okay? I didn’t want to break up… please, Ah Yu, I’ll give you anything… please don’t break up.”
Her head was spinning, throbbing with pain-but none of it compared to the agony in her heart. She forced her eyes open, staring at An Yu, hoping she could see the depth of love in her gaze. She grabbed An Yu’s hand, guiding it to her collar, desperate to prove her love.
But An Yu didn’t see it. She only thought Lin Duxi’s reaction was too extreme, worried she might really have a fever. With great effort, she freed one hand from Lin Duxi’s grip and quickly pulled Lin Duxi’s clothes back up, covering the snow-white skin that invited inappropriate thoughts.
Fortunately, the crew had left, and they were alone-no one else would see this.
An Yu restrained Lin Duxi, buttoning up the collar she had just loosened. Lin Duxi, perhaps exhausted from her outburst, sat quietly, letting An Yu adjust her clothes.
An Yu reached out, touching Lin Duxi’s forehead. Lin Duxi instinctively closed her eyes, her long lashes trembling slightly. A faint smile played on her lips, as if savoring An Yu’s touch-or perhaps anticipating her next move.
So hot.
Frowning, An Yu withdrew her hand. Lin Duxi opened her eyes unhappily, her dark pupils still glistening with unshed tears, making her gaze especially pitiful.
An Yu sighed, planting her hands on her hips in resignation. “You weren’t wrong-you really are sick.” She glanced into the distance-the crew member still hadn’t returned.
“Can you stay here by yourself for a bit?” she asked, turning back to Lin Duxi.
The light in Lin Duxi’s eyes dimmed instantly, her body tensing. Was Ah Yu going to leave her again? After finally getting her to stay?
Breathing unevenly, she reached out, clutching An Yu’s sleeve, gently tugging. “Is Ah Yu leaving?” Her voice was fragile, like a delicate flower that would shatter at the slightest touch.
An Yu’s heart softened. She sat back down, lowering her voice. “You have a fever. I need to get you medicine.”
Lin Duxi rested her head on An Yu’s shoulder, hugging her arm tightly, her voice muffled. “Then will Ah Yu come back?”
An Yu: “Of course I’ll come back. You still need to take the medicine.”
Lin Duxi’s grip loosened slightly, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkled fabric-a silent acquiescence.
An Yu stood up, looking at Lin Duxi’s bowed head. Unable to help herself, she softened her tone. “I’ll be back soon. Rest for now.” With that, she hurried off toward the production team’s location.
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance. Lin Duxi slowly lifted her head, gazing at the mist surrounding her, at herself enveloped in fog, and let out a despairing laugh.
After all this effort, after years of suffering, she had finally mustered the courage to reach out-yet Ah Yu still didn’t want her.
Her hand on the bench clenched abruptly. The despair and suffocation had made her speak recklessly, desperate to keep An Yu from leaving. She couldn’t even remember what she had said.
Ah Yu was so cruel. On one hand, she coldly declared that the past was behind her, yet on the other, she couldn’t help but worry when she saw Lin Duxi was sick, rushing off to get medicine.
It made it impossible not to want to get closer. Even if it was a thorned flower, Lin Duxi was willing to bleed if it meant she could pluck it gently.
Someone so good, someone who had loved her so much-she should have treasured her, kept her hidden where no one else could find her. So why had they separated?
Lin Duxi smiled bitterly, tears falling to the ground, blurring her vision.
Perhaps she was destined to lose everything.
To young Lin Duxi, her mother had been an angel. As a child, Lin Duxi rarely spoke. She didn’t like the games other children played, and adults who saw her only sighed over her circumstances. The only person she loved was her mother.
Because of her family situation, Lin Duxi was often bullied by other kids. She was thin and small, but her ethereal beauty made her an even more tempting target.
They taunted her- You have a mother but no father -mocking her family and background with malicious glee. Lin Duxi listened without reaction, refusing to engage. She just found them noisy.
So they called Lin Duxi heartless, an emotionless monster, giving themselves further justification to torment her.
One day, little Lin Duxi asked her mother: What is “emotion”?
Her mother said it was love.
Lin Duxi thought, I have love. I have my mother, who loves me, and I love her. I’m not emotionless.
Her mother was overjoyed. For once, she managed to avoid that man and took Lin Duxi to the mall, buying her a beautiful dress and calling her a little angel. They even ate a nice meal together.
Lin Duxi was ecstatic. Wearing her new dress, she went to the park to play-only for the bullies to splash juice on her. The pretty dress was ruined. She no longer liked it. The bullies sneered that she didn’t deserve such nice clothes-monsters didn’t.
Little Lin Duxi didn’t react. She only thought her mother would be sad when she saw.
She wanted to go home, but the bullies blocked her path, intent on tormenting her further. Lin Duxi didn’t want to argue-she found them childish.
But then, a little girl suddenly stepped forward, standing in front of her and scolding the bullies.
“Big boys picking on a little girl-how shameless!” She stuck out her tongue at them, utterly fearless.
“Why are you helping her? She’s an emotionless monster! If you play with a monster, you’re a monster too!”
The little girl turned to look at her. Lin Duxi lowered her head and took a step back. See? They all think I’m a monster. You should leave too. I’m a monster.
To her surprise, the little girl pulled her behind her, declaring firmly, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll stand up for you.”
Lin Duxi looked up in surprise, meeting the girl’s determined gaze. The sunset that day was especially fiery, its glow burning in the girl’s chestnut-brown eyes.
She wanted to say she didn’t need help-she had her own ways of getting back at them. But under the girl’s fiery gaze, she stayed silent.
Lin Duxi nodded, placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders and hiding behind her.
The little girl then fearlessly confronted the boys, all of whom were a head taller than them.
“She’s not a monster- you are! You’re the monsters who gang up on others!”
The bullies were left speechless. Enraged, they tried to rush forward to beat her up, but the little girl scared them off by throwing pebbles, sending them fleeing in panic.
Triumphant, the little girl stuck out her tongue at their retreating backs before turning to Lin Duxi. “I chased the bad guys away. Let’s play together!”
It was the first time Lin Duxi had played with someone else. She had no friends and was unfamiliar with games, but the little girl’s pretty ruffled dress was soon stained with mud. When Lin Duxi pointed it out, the girl just shrugged.
“Now our dresses match!”
The little girl took her hand. “That means we’re friends now.”
Lin Duxi didn’t know how to respond. For the first time, her small heart allowed someone else inside. She had made her first friend. They agreed to meet at the park again the next day.
On the way home, Lin Duxi ran joyfully down the path. The road that usually felt so long now seemed short. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother-she had made a friend. A friend who didn’t think she was a monster. She had one more person to love.
But she would never get to tell her.
The fire that night burned until the early hours of the morning, as crimson as the sunset at dusk. The scorching flames reduced everything Lin Duxi owned to ashes. Having lost the one she loved, she truly became an emotionless monster.
After that day, she was sent to an orphanage and never made it back to that park again. That tiny promise was destined to remain unfulfilled.
Later, in high school, those childhood memories-both happy and painful-had already faded into the dust of time. She thought she would never see them again.
“Sorry, classmate.” A girl crouched down, a fried dough stick between her lips, picking up the homework Lin Duxi had dropped on the ground.
She handed the papers back to Lin Duxi and apologized, “Sorry, I was running too fast and didn’t watch where I was going.” Her clear eyes were filled with remorse.
Lin Duxi stared into those eyes-those clear, chestnut-brown irises-she could never mistake them.
She reached out to take the homework, watching as the girl ran past her. It felt like a lifetime ago as she turned to watch her grow farther and farther away. The dead ashes in her heart ignited once more, burning fiercer and fiercer, as if determined to consume her like wax.
She wanted to clutch onto this long-lost light, but the tighter she held, the faster it slipped through her fingers like fine sand, until it was completely gone.
Lin Duxi suddenly laughed, the sound both sorrowful and infatuated. From the depths of despair bloomed an obsessive flower, enchanting yet eerie. Someone who loved to the point of madness was destined never to turn back.
She would never let what she cherished leave her-not people, not anything. Even if it meant mutual destruction, even if it meant being left battered and broken, she would reclaim Anyu’s love.
It was the medicine she needed to survive.
“Lin Duxi, how are you feeling? Does your head still hurt?” Anyu asked softly, carefully feeding her warm water.
She had already coaxed Lin Duxi into taking her medicine and planned to check her temperature again later.
Drowsy from the medication, Lin Duxi leaned weakly against her. Worried about the wind outside, Anyu helped her to the car to rest. Viewers in the livestream flooded the chat with well-wishes for Lin Duxi.
Anyu settled Lin Duxi into the seat and was about to step out to fetch the thermometer when Lin Duxi suddenly grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back.
Lin Duxi nuzzled against her shoulder like a wounded kitten seeking comfort. “Ayu, stay with me. I’m so tired.”
Anyu’s heart softened, and she gave up on leaving, letting Lin Duxi cling to her. After all, the sick deserved some privileges.
[Ahhh! They hugged! Am I allowed to see this?!]
[I know it’s a little inappropriate, but Lin Duxi seems so fragile right now… As a staunch “Lin is the top” believer, I’m wavering.]
[Lin’s so weak right now, Anyu, take good care of her, okay?]
Unaware of the fandom’s meltdown in the comments, Anyu quietly asked a staff member to bring the thermometer, then cracked the window for some air, letting Lin Duxi continue to lean against her as she dozed off.
The soft rhythm of her breathing brushed against Anyu’s arm, sending warmth spreading across her skin. The heat of Lin Duxi’s exhales against her neck made Anyu’s ears burn red.
Checking the time, Anyu distracted herself by taking Lin Duxi’s temperature again. Only when she confirmed the fever had subsided did she finally relax.
But as her worry faded, other doubts rose in her heart.
Back then, you were so cold. Now, you’re begging like this… What are you really thinking, Lin Duxi?
She had never been able to read Lin Duxi’s mind-not six years ago, and not now.
Lin Duxi had left her for six years. That time had been unbearable. Then, with her parents’ deaths, all her emotional anchors, all her loved ones, vanished overnight. The pain had nearly driven her to the edge more than once, but she forced herself to endure.
She thought she had severed all ties to the past. Yet, after being wrongfully killed in her previous life, she found herself reborn at twenty-four, forced back into Lin Duxi’s orbit.
Everything traced back to that phone call. Who was that person? What grudge did they have against me… against my parents?
But before she could dwell on it, a sharp, staticky noise erupted in her mind-the system had arrived.
“Host, you didn’t make much progress this morning.” The system’s voice crackled like faulty wiring, making Anyu suspect it was short-circuiting.
Anyu: “Did you not see Lin Duxi was sick? Even if I wanted to do the mission, I’d have to wait until she recovers.”
System: “…”
“She should be fine by the afternoon. It won’t interfere. The activities later are group-based-focus on getting the male and female leads to interact more.”
Anyu frowned but forced an agreement. “I’ll try this afternoon. But whether Lin Duxi participates is up to her. She’s sick, and your precious male lead is nowhere to be seen. If you expect Lin Duxi to seek him out, don’t get your hopes up.”
A pause. Then, the system gritted out, “I’ll handle the male lead’s side. You just make sure the female lead cooperates when the time comes.” With that, it vanished, taking the electronic buzz with it.
Anyu glanced at Lin Duxi, peacefully asleep against her. Gently, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lin Duxi’s ear, revealing her flawless face, and sighed.
According to the system, she had to engineer some interaction between Lin Duxi and Pei Lu during the afternoon activities. The only way was to convince Lin Duxi to approach him herself-but the thought of suggesting it made Anyu’s stomach twist.
I’ll wait for the right moment.
Secretly, though, she hoped that moment would never come. Then, when the system interrogated her, she could honestly say she hadn’t found an opening-even if it meant enduring another electric shock.
But fate had other plans.
After lunch, the director announced a packed schedule for the afternoon and evening, suggesting the six participants rest in their rooms first.
Anyu lingered by the table, watching the others leave one by one, before reluctantly heading to the bedroom door, rehearsing what to say.
Just then, the door opened.
Lin Duxi’s gaze met hers, sudden and unguarded.
Fresh from a shower, her hair slightly damp, Lin Duxi looked ethereal. A faint smile played on her lips. “What are you doing, Ayu?”
Anyu hesitated, then stepped inside, pulling the thermometer from her pocket. “Let’s check your temperature first.”
Lin Duxi took it with a smile, sitting on the bed to measure it while Anyu perched on the sofa, a deliberate distance between them.
“Does your head still hurt?” Anyu asked, eyes fixed on the intricate patterns of the carpet.
Lin Duxi shook her head, voice soft but slightly hoarse from her cold. “Not anymore. I’m glad you’re here.”
The words, tender as a mountain spring yet rough with fatigue, sent a shiver down Anyu’s spine. She nodded, then finally broached the subject.
“The director talked to me about this afternoon’s activities. She wants us to team up with the other group’s members.” The lie slipped out effortlessly, though her hands betrayed her, fingers knotting together unconsciously.
Lin Duxi tilted her head, her gaze lingering on Anyu’s restless hands for a beat before she smiled faintly and said nothing. Instead, she pulled out the thermometer, studying it under the light.
The glow caught in her eyes, fracturing into shimmering shards.
“I don’t want to do tasks with them. I only want to be with Ayu.” Her voice was light as she examined the thermometer, delicate fingers cradling it-and, it seemed, Anyu’s heart.
“But,” she turned, meeting Anyu’s eyes with a tender smile, “if it’s what Ayu wants, I’ll do anything with you.”
Anyu’s chest ached. Tracing Lin Duxi’s features with her eyes, she felt smaller by the second. The more Lin Duxi yielded, the more wretched she felt.
“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “I don’t really want to either. We’ll just humor the director a little.”
Lin Duxi’s lips curved. Then she stood, graceful as a lotus in bloom, bending to return the thermometer. “No fever anymore. You don’t have to worry.”
Her loose collar dipped with the motion, revealing a glimpse of pale skin.
Anyu’s breath hitched. Snatching the thermometer, she jerked her gaze away, pulse roaring in her ears. Even Lin Duxi’s stray strands of hair felt like an invitation.
I want to leave my mark there.
Lin Duxi followed her line of sight, then looked back at Anyu, amusement glinting in her eyes. She leaned in, breath brushing Anyu’s ear, voice a velvety purr.
“Ayu, you’re so perverted .”
Anyu stiffened, cheeks flaming, and stood abruptly.
“Right. I’ll go talk to the director. Excuse me.”
She fled, the door slamming behind her.
Listening to the hurried footsteps, Lin Duxi leisurely fastened her buttons, a smug smile playing on her lips.
Ayu, your tells when lying haven’t changed at all.
But then her expression darkened.
Why would she say that, though? Different words, same meaning-pushing me toward others. What’s her goal? Who’s forcing her?
For the first time, a trace of bewilderment flickered across Lin Duxi’s expression-then slowly melted into a smile.
No use overthinking it.
She would stay by Anyu’s side, waiting patiently for the moment her prey revealed its weakness. There was a particular thrill in watching the flustered hesitation of a cornered target.
And an opportunity to get this close to Anyu?
She’d be a fool to let it slip away.
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Zei_An
LMAO Lin Duxi knowing “Tsundere” was not on my Bingo card!