Chapter 4
Before five o’clock the next morning, Gu Xin woke with a splitting headache.
Again, she had been plagued by nightmares.
She could understand not sleeping very well. After all, everyone had things on their mind. But having nightmares every single time she closed her eyes was a bit too ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Rubbing her throbbing temples, Gu Xin took a deep breath.
As before, she could not remember the contents of the nightmare at all, leaving her with no way to vent.
The current her was practically like a game that automatically refreshed every time she woke up. Everything was brand-new, including her brain.
After lying in bed in a daze for a while, Gu Xin got up and made herself a cup of coffee. It was the only unexpired food she had found in the cabinet last night.
She downed the bitter coffee in one gulp and felt extremely comfortable, as if she had done this thousands of times before.
Once her mind relaxed a little, Gu Xin casually opened Weibo and discovered that the comment she had left under a marketing account’s post in the early hours had already received many replies.
At the top was her comment:
【I went through Yan Shuangshuang’s filming schedule, event appearances, and various director interviews and behind-the-scenes clips. I found that even by the lowest estimate, she had to work at least nine hours a day. Among them, Deep Green and three other famously difficult TV dramas were filmed deep in the mountains and forests, where she had no conditions to leave. In other words, the only dramas during which she actually had time to go out and fool around were Beneath the Clear Sky, Dream Sonata, and Losing to You. If all her other commercial work during those periods is calculated at the minimum possible time, she would have needed at least thirty hours in a day to support all the extra “recreational activities” in your exposé.】
The replies below were all kinds of things. The one with the most likes said:
【Stop washing this clean. If she weren’t guilty, would she need to retire? Can you Snowflakes hide your tails properly? Stop pretending with a brand-new account that has no profile, no posts, and no followers!】
Gu Xin furrowed her brows. She had clearly investigated it seriously. Yan Shuangshuang’s manager might not even remember everything as firmly as she did now.
She had newly registered this Weibo account last night. Her previous account was far too irritating; the moment she logged on, it was full of flirting and all kinds of demons dancing around, too unbearable to look at.
After registering the new account, she had rushed over without stopping to comment, only to attract “group ridicule.” Once people decided she was “washing things clean” for Yan Shuangshuang, basically no one seriously read her analysis to the end.
Gu Xin put down her coffee and began typing solemnly.
【What I listed are facts. In Director XX’s interview from May 31, 2019, at 56 minutes and 07 seconds, there is an evaluation of Yan Shuangshuang’s working hours. Page 33 of the September 10, 2020, A edition of Splendor Weekly…】
She listed three sources in one breath, realized she was about to hit the word limit, and simply sent it out. But after tapping several times, it failed to post.
What was going on?
She tapped again. With a whoosh, the screen went blank, leaving a single line in the center: “Sorry, this comment has been deleted~”
…
Gu Xin had not expected there to be such a maneuver.
When she tapped into that marketing account again, she discovered that she had already been blocked.
Holding her phone, Gu Xin calmed herself down.
It was nothing. Wasn’t it just being blocked so she could not talk back? Wasn’t it just being attacked by a bunch of people who did not understand manners, facts, or logic?
She was not angry at all. Really. She was completely, absolutely, totally not angry.
Half an hour later.
“I still can’t let go~ too dependent on you~” Her phone ringtone buzzed across the table. Gu Xin glanced at the incoming number, immediately stopped tapping on the keyboard, and picked up.
“Hello?”
Yan Shuangshuang said, “Have you read the divorce agreement?”
Gu Xin instinctively rubbed the keyboard, her fingertips gliding over each keycap and making faint clicking sounds.
“Mm. I’ve read it.”
The terms were clear, and the division of their assets was very reasonable. She would even get the larger share.
“When will you sign it?”
“You want it now?” Gu Xin stood up involuntarily. She left the computer, walked toward the windowsill, and her other hand began picking at the curtain again.
Yan Shuangshuang was silent for a while before saying, “I’m tired, Gu Xin.”
“…”
“When you’ve signed it, let me know. We still need to get the divorce certificate processed.”
“…Okay.”
Gu Xin did not know how she put down the phone. By the time she came back to herself, the curtain had already been twisted out of shape by her hands.
She gave a self-mocking smile at the dark phone screen and returned to the computer. Displayed on it was the small program she had just finished writing, which could block, mute, and automatically filter people who sprayed filth with a single click.
Beside it were clear, objective visual charts, one after another, meant to clarify Yan Shuangshuang’s ridiculous black material.
She just had not had time to post them yet.
Gu Xin walked out of the bedroom and sat down in front of the divorce agreement. She picked up the pen, but even after a long while, she could not bring herself to write.
“If I take this much of her property while her career is being hit like this, wouldn’t that make me too inhuman?” Gu Xin murmured.
In the end, she chose another path.
Gu Xin dialed “Teacher’s” number. There was a phone number on Teacher’s WeChat contact card. Gu Xin had glanced at it once yesterday and remembered it.
“Hello, may I ask who this is?” A young female voice answered.
Gu Xin said, “Hello. I should be Teacher’s student. My name is Gu Xin.”
“Gu Xin?” The woman’s voice rose in pitch, as though she was extremely surprised, but she quickly snapped angrily, “What Gu, what Xin? Don’t know you! Don’t call again!”
The call was swiftly hung up. When Gu Xin called again, there was only a busy tone on the other end—she had been blocked.
For some reason, Gu Xin thought that after blocking so many people yesterday, today she had gotten to experience being blocked to her face. In a certain sense, this counted as karmic retribution.
But Gu Xin was not someone who would admit defeat. She edited a WeChat message, wrote down her current situation, and sent it as a group message to “Teacher,” “Senior Brother,” and “Junior Sister.”
As expected, aside from Teacher, Senior Brother and Junior Sister had already blocked her.
Meanwhile, her message lay quietly on Teacher’s page for a long, long time without receiving any reply.
Back at the computer, Gu Xin entered her own name plus Capital Communications Research Institute.
No information.
She searched her name alone.
What came up were all posts from the past few years where some beautiful Betas had exposed her, saying she was stingy and ran out without paying.
She searched Capital Research Institute plus the phone number she had just called, and finally, a webpage popped up.
It was an introduction to the professors of the Capital Communications Research Institute. The professor this phone number belonged to was named An Pingyu, sex: Beta. Even with graying hair in the photo, the woman radiated a capable, bright air. Her perceptive and generous gaze showed her peaceful personality, and Gu Xin seemed to see herself sitting in front of her, concentrating on research.
However, below the photo, it was marked that she was already an honorary professor, and no new projects were listed. In short, it was very possible that she had already retired.
Gu Xin searched one last time. She entered An Pingyu plus Gu Xin. The page jumped and refreshed.
Two seconds later, the result was blank.
The system prompted that her search terms could not be associated with any information and asked her to check whether they were correct.
Gu Xin clearly realized that her relationship with the Capital Communications Research Institute seemed to have been erased by something unusual. The information she could find about herself only covered the last two years or so.
Yan Shuangshuang looked at the enormous dark circles under her eyes in the mirror. In the end, she decided to put on some light makeup, at least so she would not go to the cemetery looking quite so haggard.
After finishing her makeup, Yan Shuangshuang deliberately chose the style of clothing she usually disliked the most. But after thinking about it, since she was going to visit people, it was better to look more solemn, so she changed into black.
At one meter seventy tall, she somehow wore it with the presence of someone one meter ninety.
Yan Shuangshuang deliberately carried the bag she usually disliked carrying the most, then drove around in several circles. After making sure there were no paparazzi following her, she finally drove toward the cemetery on Qinglu Mountain.
It was the day before Qingming. Many people had already come to pay respects, but Yan Shuangshuang had deliberately woken up very early. When she arrived, the cemetery had only just opened, and there were not many people there.
Holding the flowers and paper money, Yan Shuangshuang found the place she knew by heart.
She crouched in front of the tombstone, set down the flowers, and lit the incense and candles. In the glow of the burning paper money, Yan Shuangshuang looked at the three people smiling brightly on the tombstone.
“Mom.” Yan Shuangshuang paused. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t take good care of Gu Xin. I originally wanted to bring her here to see all of you, but she doesn’t remember. Over the past two years, she’s also done some absurd things. I think perhaps it’s better to wait until she figures things out herself.”
“Sorry, Mom. I didn’t come here to complain. I just wanted to say… these years, Gu Xin has been doing pretty well. She’s been quite happy. No illness, no disasters, healthy and safe. The money I left her should be enough for her to spend for the rest of her life too.”
“And Brother, although your biological sister didn’t come, this sister of yours did. This is the new album from the European and American singer you like most. I even specifically asked for the signed version. I’ll put it here so you can listen to it first.”
She placed the album in front of the tombstone. Yan Shuangshuang opened her phone and played the digital version.
It was a song about hope. Soothing music rang out, ethereal and holy. Yan Shuangshuang stood and lifted her head to look at the misty sky, letting out a soft sigh amid the woman’s husky singing voice.
She was silent for a very, very long time. So long that the music had looped to the third playthrough.
Yan Shuangshuang said, “Mom, I’m a little tired.”
The names on the tombstone, from left to right, were Zuo Yan, Zuo Lanjian, and Gu Shibai. Their years of birth were different, but the date of their deaths was the same.
On the left and right were Gu Xin’s two mothers. In the middle was Gu Xin’s older brother.
The three of them were gathered together, their smiles unchanged. Together, they gazed at the soul before them, worn down to the very limit, as if saying—
It’s all right. It’s all right.
Good child, you’ve worked hard.
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