When Qiao Zhen recalled those memories, her head spun, her vision went black, and her body went limp as she unconsciously lunged toward Qin Yichi.
She crashed into his embrace.
Qin Yichi held the large umbrella with one hand while his other arm swiftly wrapped around her slender waist, pulling her into his chest.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he lowered his head slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Before long, the girl in his arms lifted her head in a daze. Her face was deathly pale, her eye sockets alarmingly red, and a whimper escaped her lips.
Her eyes shimmered with crystalline tears, as if she were trying desperately to hold them back, but the teardrops still fell in rapid succession—”plip, plop, plip, plop.”
As if she had suffered some tremendous injustice.
Qin Yichi’s expression shifted drastically, his heart briefly stuttering to a stop. He reached out and cradled her small face in his hands. “Why are you crying?”
His slightly rough thumb brushed across her skin, wiping away her tears one by one.
Qin Yichi furrowed his brows slightly, veins faintly pulsing at his temples as he stared at her with a grave expression:
“Who bullied you? Was it Ji Xian and the others?”
At his words, Qiao Zhen said nothing. She only hung her head and sobbed, her shoulders trembling lightly along with her cries.
She didn’t know why, but all those bitter emotions from her past life—all the grievances she had endured back then—surged up in this moment, crossing through time and space to flood over her completely, leaving her breathless.
She tried to suppress her tears, but she couldn’t control herself at all. Instead, she cried even harder.
“Ugh…”
It was like a faucet that had been turned on and couldn’t be shut off. Tears poured out in a rush, streaming silently down her flawless, snow-white face.
Her eyes were red and swollen, pitifully endearing.
And still so obedient. So adorable.
Qin Yichi stood silently in place, bending slightly, patiently wiping her tears again and again.
In the evening, warm streetlights slowly flickered on, stretching the shadows of passersby endlessly long.
Thunder rumbled, and heavy rain fell like countless silver needles, weaving a hazy curtain of rain as it pelted the umbrella mercilessly with a “crackling” sound.
The sound of the rain drowned out her choked sobs and sniffles.
Qin Yichi dried her tears, then couldn’t resist pinching her soft cheeks. After a long moment, he let out a sigh:
“If someone bullies you, tell me. Don’t carry it all on your own. You hear me?”
Qiao Zhen’s thick, curled lashes still clung with glistening teardrops, her eyes hazy with mist.
She nodded vaguely, as if she didn’t quite understand, but perhaps not wanting others to worry, she choked out:
“No one… no one bullied me.”
Qin Yichi’s lips parted, then paused, and in the end, he said nothing. He lowered his lashes, concealing the flicker of dimness that passed through his eyes.
Fine. She cried that hard and still wouldn’t stop defending that Ji guy.
Just how much did she like him?
The intense emotion churned and clamored in Qin Yichi’s chest, eventually dissolving into a bitter ache, buried forever deep in his heart.
Qiao Zhen shook her head, sniffled, and murmured to herself in sorrow: “I… I don’t like him anymore.”
Her voice was so soft—even quieter than the sound of the torrential rain—that it was nearly inaudible unless one listened closely.
Qin Yichi’s fingers froze, and his steps came to an abrupt halt. “What did you say?”
Qiao Zhen’s eyes were red, her fingertips clutching the hem of her clothes as she said seriously: “I don’t like Ji Xian anymore…”
Every single word struck the ground like heavy raindrops, crashing into Qin Yichi’s ears.
Time seemed to stand still.
His heart suddenly pounded, his Adam’s apple rolled, and the corners of his lips curved up slightly. “Congratulations.”
Qiao Zhen didn’t understand.
She obediently tilted her head up, her face adorably blank, and asked with a thick nasal tone: “Huh?”
Under the warm orange glow of the streetlamp, Qin Yichi curled his lips into a light smile, starlight shimmering in the depths of his dark eyes, looking utterly radiant:
“Congratulations, you’ve finally opened your eyes.”
— And congratulations to himself, too.
— Finally, this moment had come.
Qiao Zhen covered her red, swollen eyes and returned to her dormitory, rushing into the bathroom to shower.
Once she had composed herself, she opened the drawer and took out her diary.
On the first page was a Polaroid photo: on the school anniversary stage, a boy sat playing the piano, dressed in a black suit, cool and noble.
It was Ji Xian.
She would never forget the way he looked playing the piano under the dazzling spotlight.
One glance, and she was captivated. One glance, and she was lost.
From that moment on, Qiao Zhen began to notice him, to watch him, yet she always remained cautious, never daring to approach.
Ji Xian was a child of destiny, heir to a wealthy family—someone held up by all, admired from afar, yet utterly out of reach.
And she was nothing but a humble speck of dust, dim and colorless, hidden from the light.
Until one day, caught in a downpour on her way to rehearsal, a luxury car suddenly stopped in front of her, and the window slowly rolled down.
Ji Xian’s eyes were as exquisite as glass as they met hers, his voice cool: “Get in.”
It was said that no female student had ever been allowed into Ji Xian’s car;
It was said that no girl at school had ever managed to add Ji Xian on any contact app.
But Qiao Zhen was the only one.
Perhaps this unique, one-of-a-kind treatment gave the young girl a false impression, weaving an illusion of a beautiful dream.
After the school anniversary ended, Qiao Zhen happened to overhear some boys asking Ji Xian what kind of girl he liked.
Ji Xian’s calm voice drifted out from behind the door:
“Someone proactive, passionate, and obedient.”
So Qiao Zhen made up her mind, mustering all her confidence and courage to openly pursue him…
Looking back now, it was indeed laughable.
If Ji Xian didn’t like her, he could have simply rejected her outright, just as he had rejected the other girls.
But instead, time and again, just when she was about to give up, he gave her that illusion of being special, offered her a sliver of hope, stringing her along.
It was that sliver of hope that made Qiao Zhen offer up her sincere heart with full passion, only to be drenched in icy water, wounded all over, and utterly disheartened in the end.
A man as cold-blooded as him could never be warmed.
Reality was never a fairy tale. Cinderella could marry the prince because she herself was the daughter of a noble earl; the ugly duckling could become a swan because it was always a swan.
And she was never the heroine.
Just a humble speck of dust.
Qiao Zhen picked up a pair of scissors and shredded the diary into pieces, leaving it unrecognizable, then tossed it into the trash.
She swiped open her phone and, without a trace of reluctance, deleted and blocked Ji Xian and all his friends.
It was all over.
Everything had completely turned a new page.
Having finally awakened, she would never repeat the same mistake.
Qiao Zhen lay down on the bed and pulled the covers over herself. For the first time, she felt utterly light and at ease…
She drifted off into a hazy sleep, and in her dreams, fragments of memories from a past life intermingled.
A low, husky, seductive voice gently tapped against her eardrums.
The memories were chaotic and blurry; Qiao Zhen could only vaguely make out a familiar man cradling her face in his hands, speaking with utter sincerity:
“You were never a humble speck of dust.”
“You are the most brilliant, the most radiant pearl.”