As the original host threw another tantrum, screaming and hurling objects, Chen Meini and Su Qiangqiao’s faces hardened with impatience.
“Qingqing,” Chen Meini said, her voice dripping with anguish. “You’ve lived in luxury your entire life while Xiaoruo suffered. You were the one who should have endured those hardships, not her!”
Su Qiangqiao let out a cold snort. “We’ve done more than enough for you. This is no longer your home. You robbed my daughter of the life she should have had from the start. You should be grateful for what you’ve already taken.”
Chen Meini flinched slightly at her husband’s words, a flicker of pain crossing her face. After all, she had raised Su Qingqing as her own daughter for years. But the thought of what her biological child had endured reignited her fury.
Du Ruo sat caught between them, accepting their comfort yet remaining silent. Su Qingqing couldn’t read her expression.
The original host stumbled back, her face a mask of disbelief. She looked completely shattered by the cruelty of the parents who had raised her.
Su Qingqing frowned. In the original novel, the original host’s biological parents—though not wealthy—had treated Du Ruo with the utmost care. They had never even asked her to wash a single dish, ensuring she always had better food and clothing than most people.
As their only daughter, they had poured every cent they earned into Du Ruo’s well-being.
Though Du Ruo had not lived in luxury, she had certainly never been forced to suffer. So why were the original host’s wealthy parents claiming otherwise?
Su Qingqing’s gaze shifted to Du Ruo, who remained silent. It seemed the heroine was no mere damsel in distress.
The original host, her heart shattered by their words, spotted the emerald bracelet on Du Ruo’s wrist—a family heirloom her mother had promised her after graduation.
Losing all reason, she lunged forward to snatch the bracelet back.
Su Qiangqiao instantly yanked her away and delivered a resounding slap to her face.
The crack echoed, its force evident from the sound alone. Su Qiangqiao’s palm stung, his arm frozen at his side, a flicker of regret crossing his eyes.
Su Qingqing watched coldly. Even if she wasn’t their biological child, she thought, they raised her from infancy. This was too cruel.
The original host’s eyes welled with tears as despair and helplessness enveloped her, as if the entire world had abandoned her.
“You hit me?” she sobbed, her voice trembling as she questioned Su Qiangqiao.
Su Qiangqiao’s lips moved, but no words came. “You… must not hurt Xiaoruo again.”
“So you hurt me instead?”
Her accusation left Su Qiangqiao speechless. He had no defense.
“You keep saying I robbed her of the life she deserved,” the original host sobbed, her voice thick with accusation. “Am I not a victim too?”
Chen Meini wept uncontrollably, yet her arm remained locked around Du Ruo. In her heart, her biological daughter was the only one who mattered.
Su Qiangqiao stared at Su Qingqing’s swollen cheek, guilt etched on his face. But as his thoughts turned to Du Ruo… he remained silent.
The scene blurred. Su Qingqing’s head spun, and she snapped awake, gasping for air.
She wiped the cold sweat from her brow with a tissue, her body feeling utterly drained. The dream had been a fragmented memory of the original host’s past—scenes the novel had glossed over with mere cursory mentions.
Su Qingqing couldn’t fathom the original host’s despair. To be told by the parents who raised her that she wasn’t their own, only to be blamed for every one of their failures… the pain must have been unbearable.
Why did the dream end so abruptly? she wondered, exhaling slowly. Will I see more of the original plot in my sleep?
She reached for her phone. It was only three in the morning. Su Qingqing needed to use the bathroom.
She glanced at the opposite bed, where Mu Bai slept with unnerving straightness. His only movement was the slight rise and fall of his chest; every fold of his blanket was perfectly aligned.
Her own bed, by contrast… Su Qingqing decided to ignore that.
She slipped out of bed, hunched slightly as she made her way to the bathroom. The robe was too rustly, but even if the male lead were awake, the darkness would mask her silhouette.
After finishing in the bathroom, she checked his bed again. Only when she confirmed he was still there did she hurry back to her own.
Slipping beneath the air-conditioned sheets, she closed her eyes. Maybe I’ll see more of the original plot tonight, she hoped. The more she knew, the better. After all, the “Plot” was omnipresent, and as a villainous fake heiress, she was practically designed to be fodder.
As Su Qingqing drifted back to sleep, the man on the opposite bed slowly opened his eyes. They glinted coldly in the dark.
But this time, her dreams were empty, offering no glimpse into the novel’s plot. When she woke, the sky was already graying with dawn.
What a waste, she thought, yawning. Her gaze swept the room, landing on the already-empty bed across from hers.
He’s up this early? She looked around the dorm, but the room was vacant.