Chapter 44 - Lin Xian, I hope you’ll always be the exception

Xiao Wanqing was so engrossed in what she was watching that she didn’t realize how much time had passed. When she finally snapped out of it, she noticed that the seats to her right—where Xia Zhijin and Shi Jinglan had been sitting—were now empty.

Only here to watch Shi Man’s performance? Xiao Wanqing mused with a wry smile.

Well, she supposed it made sense. The fact that Shi Jinglan had even shown up was surprising enough. During a past interview, they had touched briefly on family matters. Back then, Shi Jinglan had smiled and admitted she owed her daughter a great deal—she could count on one hand the number of times they saw each other in a year. Fortunately, her daughter was independent and didn’t require much hand-holding.

Thinking of Shi Man, Xiao Wanqing agreed. Despite Shi Jinglan’s absence, the girl had grown up wonderfully. Then her mind drifted to that day in the kitchen, when Xia Zhijin had moved about so naturally and skillfully. Perhaps... she had played a role in Shi Man’s growth, too?

She couldn’t help but wonder—what kind of place did Xia Zhijin hold in their family?

Xiao Wanqing chuckled and shook her head. When had she gotten so nosy?

Two more performances went by. Suddenly, her phone began buzzing like mad inside her bag. By the time she fished it out, the buzzing had stopped. The screen showed a missed call from her assistant. She hesitated, unsure whether to step out and return the call, when the screen lit up again—it was another call from the same number.

Normally, if it weren’t something urgent, her assistant would have sent a text after the first missed call. But two back-to-back calls? That was unusual.

A sense of dread crept over her.

She slung her DSLR camera around her neck, grabbed her bag, and carefully made her way to the small back exit of the theater, keeping low and moving in the dark.

Once outside, she looked around and headed upstairs to the second floor. She pushed open a door that led to an open rooftop terrace. Finding a quiet corner, she dialed her assistant back.

As she’d suspected, there was a last-minute issue with work.

Two months ago, she had planned a salon event for the magazine, scheduled just two days before Christmas. It was meant to gather professionals from the industry and spark a discussion about the convergence between print media and digital platforms. At the time, four guest speakers had been confirmed.

But now, one of the speakers had just notified them that something unexpected had come up and they wouldn't be able to attend. Xiao Wanqing was the chief planner of the event, so her assistant had contacted her immediately: should they proceed with just three speakers, or scramble to find a replacement?

The problem was, changing the number of speakers would trigger a domino effect—many logistical elements would need to be altered, and it would be a massive undertaking, especially given the tight timeline.

Xiao Wanqing leaned back against the wall, raised a hand to her forehead, and sighed softly. She reassured her assistant gently, “Let’s stick with the original plan for now. I’ll try to find someone tonight and give you an answer tomorrow.”

Truthfully, with time this tight, it would take a very close relationship for anyone to agree to step in last minute.

With no better option, Xiao Wanqing sent out an SOS to Wen Tong.

Wen Tong was currently the regional marketing director at Xin Chao, one of the top news media companies in the country. In terms of credentials, she was just as qualified as the original guest speaker.

Xiao Wanqing had known Wen Tong for years. She always believed that friendships should remain simple and untainted by work or mutual interests. Even though their professional circles overlapped and they had plenty of useful contacts between them, unless Wen Tong offered first, she never wanted to impose.

But this time, she really had no choice.

Luckily, Wen Tong replied almost immediately, agreeing without hesitation. She even told her to call when she had a moment, so they could discuss details.

However, Wen Tong had one condition.

Since Xiao Wanqing had booked her for an entire evening plus several nights of prep, shouldn’t she at least “compensate” her for one of those nights?

Reading the text, Xiao Wanqing’s brow finally relaxed. She let out a quiet laugh. It probably wasn’t going to be anything too outrageous, right? With warmth in her eyes, she texted back with a resigned smile, “Alright, I’ll repay you.”

Still smiling, she tucked her phone back into her bag and retraced her steps toward the theater. But just as she was about to head back inside, something caught her eye—someone familiar.

She froze.

There, sitting on the narrow ledge of the terrace balcony, was Xia Zhijin. She was staring blankly up at the vast night sky, her usual cool and composed face now clearly etched with sorrow and defeat.

Xiao Wanqing’s hand tightened instinctively around her bag strap, heart constricting. She immediately changed direction and walked over softly.

She stopped behind Xia Zhijin, then quickly wrapped her arms around the girl, holding her tightly and murmuring, both concerned and a little scolding, “What are you doing sitting here? It’s too dangerous.”

Xia Zhijin didn’t flinch at the sudden contact, nor did she react with alarm. Slowly, she turned her head, her expression still dull and distant. When she saw it was Xiao Wanqing, she merely blinked and said quietly, “Auntie Xiao…” Then she turned back around, eyes gazing again into the dark sky, void of stars.

Something felt deeply off, and Xiao Wanqing dared not loosen her embrace. She leaned down, voice gentle and coaxing, “The wind’s strong up here. You’ll catch a cold. Let’s go back down, okay?”

The girl remained silent.

Just as Xiao Wanqing was about to try again, Xia Zhijin suddenly leaned all the way back, surrendering her weight fully into Xiao Wanqing’s arms.

Completely.

Nestling into her, she whispered with a faint laugh, “Auntie Xiao, do you think… poverty really can bend someone’s spine? That poor people… don’t even have the right to dream?”

Though she was smiling as she asked, her voice faltered halfway through. Her words caught in her throat, trembling on the edge of tears.

Xiao Wanqing was stunned by the sheer sorrow and despair in her tone. She instinctively tightened her embrace and blurted, “No—it’s not true.” But beyond that, she didn’t know what else to say that might actually comfort her.

“Living… is so meaningless…” The girl’s voice was cold and clear, soaked in a kind of weariness far beyond her years. In that moment, it was as if she had seen through all the cruelty life had dealt her.

Just now, after watching Shi Man's performance, Shi Jinglan gestured for Xia Zhijin to step out with her. They sat facing each other at an empty table on the quiet open-air balcony on the second floor of the theater. Shi Jinglan said gently, “You should be with Shi Man.”

Wasn’t it laughable?

She had been so afraid that being with Shi Man would hurt Shi Jinglan—had pushed away the person she loved, endured Shi Man’s cold blame and indifference, suffered heartbreak upon heartbreak. And the one she’d been so afraid of hurting had casually said, “Be with her. Don’t worry about me.”

For a split second, she was overwhelmed with joy. She thought perhaps, finally, luck was on her side. That her desolate life, bleak and barren as it had been, might actually get a chance to bloom.

But the next second, Shi Jinglan’s voice, calm and low, pierced through her fantasy—so cruelly it shattered her pride and dignity built over the years.

Shi Jinglan said, “Manman’s always liked you. If you don’t accept her, she’ll just keep making a scene. These past years, she’s finally been a bit more obedient because of you. Do Auntie a favor, will you? Just keep her company, don’t let her get too upset.”

“But it’s just kids playing house,” she added, eyes indifferent, staring down at Xia Zhijin with a look full of implication. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Xia Zhijin looked up at the woman before her—someone she realized she had perhaps never truly known—and met a gaze cold and oppressive. A shiver involuntarily ran down her spine.

Her mind was in a haze. She stared at Shi Jinglan for a long time, unable to speak. Her heart churned.

But Shi Jinglan had lost patience. “I have a video conference. I’m leaving now.” She stood up, placed a check on the table as if she were tossing alms to the poor, and said, “Bring your grandma and sister over.” Then she walked away without a backward glance.

Xia Zhijin stared blankly at the six-figure check lying on the table. After a long while, she began to laugh softly. Tears streamed down her face.

Xia Zhijin, just how delusional, how self-important must you be—to have looked up to someone like her as half a mother figure?

You thought she helped you and let you stay in her home because she was kind, because she pitied you. You actually believed that being with Shi Man would hurt her deeply.

Who do you think you are? Where did you get the audacity to think you stood on the same level as her?

You're nothing but a tool—to control and satisfy her daughter. And you actually believed you were someone with dignity?

You accepted their money, and you played along—ate with her, studied with her, entertained her. So now, when they pay you to sleep with her, how dare you feel betrayed?

You owed them from the start.

Ha…

And really, what were you expecting? You, struggling to get three meals a day—what right did you have to dream of love?

Too naive, after all.

“I really did love Shi Man,” Xia Zhijin suddenly murmured. She pulled her legs back from where they dangled in the air, turned around to face Xiao Wanqing, her eyes bright and clear—like they could light up the night sky.

Xiao Wanqing wrapped her arms around the girl’s thin, fragile back and replied gently, “Mm. Shi Man is very lucky.”

Xia Zhijin shook her head, disappointment clouding her voice. “But from now on, no one will ever know. No one will believe it.”

She hopped down from the ledge, landed steadily on the ground, and buried her face in Xiao Wanqing’s embrace, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Auntie Xiao.” Then she stepped back, her expression once again calm and composed, with that ever-present aloof grace. She smiled lightly. “Let’s go back down. The awards ceremony should be starting.”

She turned around, back straight, figure slim—so proud, and yet so fragile.

Xiao Wanqing stared after her, then suddenly called out, “Zhijin!”

The girl turned back, confused.

Xiao Wanqing frowned, her voice uncharacteristically solemn. “Zhijin. We can’t choose where we come from. But we canchoose what kind of life we live.”

Xia Zhijin smiled faintly at her words, a smile like a night-blooming flower—beautiful, fleeting. “But sometimes… there aren’t any choices left.”

Xiao Wanqing’s heart clenched, like a thousand needles piercing it all at once.

That day, when Yan Jia gave up on her and walked away, she had said the same thing: “Little Wan, I don’t have a choice.”

Maybe it wasn’t the people who were wrong. Maybe it was fate.

Fate, that never gave them any other choice.

Just as Xia Zhijin expected, by the time they returned, the awards were already being announced.

Lin Xian’s class took home the first prize without a hitch. Xiao Wanqing stood in the audience, beaming as she took pictures of Lin Xian, and immediately sent them to Zhou Qin with the good news.

After the event ended, Xiao Wanqing waited nearby while Lin Xian chatted with classmates. Noticing her holding a DSLR, a few girls asked if she could take some group photos. Xiao Wanqing agreed without hesitation, cheerful and obliging, becoming their unofficial class photographer and taking various group shots on the theater’s starlit avenue.

The students were still buzzing with excitement, posing for more fun shots, but Lin Xian noticed Xiao Wanqing getting tired.

Casually, she stepped in to help Xiao Wanqing pack up the camera and said to her classmates, “It’s getting late. We should head home and get some rest. I’ll send you all the photos later.”

It was getting late. Seeing Lin Xian take the hint, everyone said their goodbyes and left.

On the way back, the two of them walked along a quiet, tree-lined boulevard toward the parking lot.

Xiao Wanqing was unusually silent. Lin Xian, still riding high from the performance, chattered on happily.

“Auntie Xiao, I think our School of Finance’s play was way better than the Business Management one. Don’t you think?”

“Mhm.” Xiao Wanqing gave a vague reply. Truth be told, she hadn’t even watched the later performances.

“And the story that won first place? The logic and character development were so weak!”

“Is that so?” Xiao Wanqing responded absently.

Finally, Lin Xian noticed something was off. She stopped walking, took Xiao Wanqing’s hand, and looked her in the eye. “Auntie Xiao, what are you thinking about?”

Perhaps it was the warmth cast by the tall streetlights on either side of the road, or maybe it was the vulnerability brought on by the loneliness that lingered after the bustle had faded. Or perhaps, it was the still-intact makeup on Lin Xian’s face—so strikingly mature and alluring—that made Xiao Wanqing lower her guard, and stirred within her a desire to share her heart.

She asked the question that had been weighing on her mind since earlier:
“Lin Xian, do you believe in fate?”

Lin Xian was slightly taken aback, her smile gently fading. She wanted to ask Xiao Wanqing why she had suddenly brought this up, but instead, after a brief moment, she gave a firm answer:
“I don’t.”

Xiao Wanqing looked at her resolute expression and gave a wistful smile.
“I didn’t used to believe in it either. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve started to feel more and more that life is filled with helplessness and things beyond our control. It’s as if... sometimes, the path we walk isn’t really chosen by us. It’s as if there’s an invisible hand pushing us down a road we never picked. Don’t you think... that’s fate?”

Just like how Yan Jia chose to give up, Xia Zhijin chose to yield, and she herself chose to close off her heart—no longer daring to love, or even to hate.

Lin Xian looked at her with unwavering eyes and shook her head in disagreement, firmly and clearly:
“No, I don’t believe that.”

She said,
“People like to blame everything that goes wrong on fate and impermanence. But really, everything we’ve been through and everything we’re going through now—aren’t they all the results of the choices we made ourselves? If fate truly exists, did it really never give us a choice? No—it’s that we’re too afraid to choose, too unwilling to bear the consequences of choosing. The outcomes we like, we call them choices. The ones we don’t, we blame on fate. Isn’t that a bit unfair to fate?”

“Aunt Xiao, I don’t believe in fate. I only believe in myself. We only get one life, and I want to be the one in control of mine.”

The hazy yellow glow of the streetlights fell upon the girl’s young and confident face, casting her in a light so radiant, so extraordinary, it tugged at the heart.

Xiao Wanqing gazed at Lin Xian for a long time, her expression gradually softening as the knot in her heart slowly unraveled.

She reached out and gently tapped Lin Xian’s nose, her eyes filled with fondness and warmth as she whispered, “Lin Xian, I hope you’ll always be the exception.”