“Senior Sister—”
The voice seemed to come from very far away, carrying an echo, rippling toward her in circle after circle.
“Se—nior—Sis—ter—”
“Hurry—up—and—get—up—”
What kind of broken nonsense is this?
Song Jin snapped her eyes open. What met her sight was a group of little brats circling around her. Seeing her awake, the “little radishes” who had been giggling and playing just a moment ago instantly scattered like startled birds and beasts.
The sky was very blue, and the peach blossoms were blooming vibrantly. Song Jin reached out to touch the thing she was lying on; it was cool and hard—it seemed to be a very large stone.
She propped up half her body from the rock and looked down at the yellow robe she was wearing. She understood; it looked like this was a serial drama.
Ever since dreaming of that fanfiction that would require several “OOC (Out of Character) apologies” if posted online, Song Jin discovered she had gained the right to move freely in her dreams, no longer forced to be a controlled character.
She scanned her surroundings, originally intending to pick the bravest-looking one from that group of kids to ask some questions. However, with just that one glance, she discovered something amusing.
Song Jin hurriedly jumped down from the rock and walked toward her, unable to suppress the playful smile on her face for long. She blurted out: “Oi! Little kid, what’s your name?”
The “little radish” she called a “kid” could only reach Song Jin’s knees even if she jumped. Her expression, however, was deadly serious, like a little adult. Hearing Song Jin call her, she couldn’t help but knit her brows; her eyes, supple as black grapes, shot a glance at her, seemingly somewhat resistant to Song Jin’s approach. Yet, out of politeness, she reluctantly squeezed out four words: “I am Wen Yu.”
Song Jin nearly doubled over with laughter.
So it wasn’t a serial sequel it was a prequel!
“Pfft.” Song Jin was halfway through memorizing her script when some line apparently hit her funny bone; her shoulders were shaking as she chuckled idiocallly to herself.
Sitting next to her, Wen Yu frowned and glanced at the script again, pondering for a long time without seeing where the joke was. She set her things aside and turned to look at her with a face full of confusion.
This was already the eighth time today Song Jin had suddenly started giggling like an idiot. What on earth happened?
“Ah? You… pfft hahaha… why are you looking at me?” Song Jin laughed uncontrollably, her words coming out in staccato bursts.
Her apricot-shaped eyes curved into crescent moons, making her usually subtle tear troughs prominent. This smile was truly infectious; the gloom that had sprouted in Wen Yu due to her confusion vanished without a trace in an instant.
She asked, her tone carrying a hint of softness she hadn’t even noticed herself: “Did you encounter something fun?”
Song Jin’s eyes flickered for a moment as she replied, “I met a kid today, really funny.”
“A kid?” Wen Yu tilted her head, musing, “Do you like children very much?”
Song Jin made a cross with her arms in front of her chest.
Not to that extent.
Song Jin didn’t like children; she didn’t even like the childhood version of herself. Every time Ms. Li Zhengzheng told her stories about her childhood, Song Jin would express heartfelt admiration and worship—
How on earth did her mother resist the urge to beat her to death?
Is this the power of maternal love?
Furthermore, in Song Jin’s eyes, only those who were well-behaved, sensible, obedient, and quiet could be called children; the rest were collectively categorized as “bratty kids”—including her younger self.
But thinking of that mini Wen Yu…
“She’s different.” Song Jin couldn’t help but let out another “pfft,” laughing so hard she eventually started hiccuping. Seeing this, Wen Yu hurried to the back to get her a cup of warm water, finally managing to “rescue” her.
The person slumped on the sofa sipped the water to regain her life, finally looking at Wen Yu with a paternal childlike? gaze, saying appreciatively: “So sensible.”
Wen Yu: “?”
What is wrong with her?
Before she could follow up with a question, the stage manager’s shout of “Start work!” came from over there. Wen Yu and Song Jin exchanged a glance, simultaneously put down their things, and walked toward the set.
Outside, a relentless rain was falling. The original plan to shoot outdoors was forced to a halt, so they had to film the later scenes first.
This scene involved the police station receiving a call early in the morning. The reporter claimed a mysterious foul odor had appeared at their breeding farm, and eventually, a human corpse was discovered under the concrete floor, triggering a series of events.
With the plan changed, the crew temporarily skipped the outdoor investigation scenes and fast-forwarded to the confrontation with the suspect.
Jiang Huaiyue’s police uniform was a bit wrinkled, and her face bore the exhaustion of several days of travel—she had just returned from a meeting in a neighboring province and was called back immediately after landing.
She slammed her police cap onto the table and said in a stern voice: “Talk. What were you doing three months ago?”
The DNA test report for the corpse had come back. The deceased was Ye Jingxiu, the ex-wife of the city’s famous real estate tycoon, Huang Tianqi. The two had divorced at the end of last year, and rumors said it was not an amicable split.
Even in a passive position, the man remained composed, leaning against the back of the chair. His tone was as indifferent as if the person who died wasn’t his former wife, but some random person from nowhere: “Officer, I’m just an ordinary citizen. Usually, I just do business, go fishing, or sleep at home. What else could I be doing?”
“We investigated the surveillance; your ex-wife went to your house before the incident. What did you talk about? Tell us.”
“What else could we talk about? Just some little secrets between a divorced couple. Surely the officer doesn’t want to hear those? That would be quite embarrassing—” The actor playing Huang Tianqi had eyes like a torch, closely following Wen Yu’s gaze. His speaking pace remained unhurried, even carrying a hint of provocation. “Furthermore, she left my house on her own two feet; the surveillance recorded everything. Surely the officer doesn’t suspect me of killing her?”
“I admit, although I had a failed marriage with her, that’s all in the past. Rather than suspecting me, Officer, you’d be better off checking her little boyfriend. Maybe he killed her.”
Jiang Huaiyue lifted her eyes, her gaze remaining icy as she swept over him: “We have our own judgment; don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Huang.”
“Since you don’t want to talk about that right now, let’s talk about that abandoned building in the south of the city.”
“Cut—keep this take! Xiao Song, you guys get ready; it’s your turn to go on in a bit.” Li Hang shouted toward the back. Hearing this, Song Jin raised her hand in an “OK” gesture.
After receiving the director’s signal again, Song Jin stood up, tidied her clothes, and quickly sat in the pre-arranged position. She sat slumped in the swivel chair with her legs crossed, arms folded over her chest, staring playfully at the surveillance footage in front of her.
The second the clapperboard snapped, Jiang Huaiyue pushed open the door to the monitoring room, her voice crashing in before she even entered: “Did you see anything?”
“I see that his level is quite high,” Chu Yun said.
Jiang Huaiyue rolled her eyes, her voice full of fatigue: “Is that what I was asking?”
Chu Yun couldn’t help but turn to look at her: “Jiang Huaiyue, why do I feel like you’re getting less and less patient with me?”
“Something that changes and develops over time is called ‘more and more’; a five-year gap in the middle doesn’t count.” These words seemed squeezed out from between her teeth. Hearing this, Chu Yun shrunk her neck, turning away somewhat guiltily.
Peng Yuxin, sitting to the side, really wanted to offer a word of persuasion, but when she met Jiang Huaiyue’s sharp gaze, she immediately shut up in fear.
“Back to business,” Chu Yun changed the subject. “Huang Tianqi behaved very abnormally when a topic related to children was mentioned.”
Chu Yun sat up straight and fumbled with the mouse on the desk, adjusting the surveillance screen back to ten minutes ago, replaying his reaction when Jiang Huaiyue questioned him.
Initially, Jiang Huaiyue was throwing questions at him regarding the follow-up issues of the abandoned building in the south. At that time, Huang Tianqi’s performance didn’t have any major problems; he even gave off an air of being at ease, as if he wasn’t being questioned in an interrogation room but was chatting with someone in a tea room.
Until she coldly asked: “By the way, I heard you have a child?”
On the screen, hearing this, Huang Tianqi seemed somewhat surprised, but he still answered: “I have one.”
Chu Yun pressed the pause button, pulled back the progress bar, and replayed it.
“I have one.”
“One.”
With a “click,” the screen paused again.
“Uh… sorry, I don’t quite understand. Is there a problem with this?” Zhang Jing, who had been sitting silently the whole time, finally couldn’t help but speak up, her eyes full of confusion.
“Sister Jing, do you have a child?” Chu Yun suddenly asked a non-sequitur.
“Yes, why?” Zhang Jing answered instinctively.
Chu Yun tilted her head to look at her: “See, that is the problem.”
Zhang Jing was stunned for a moment, then understood her meaning, but the confusion in her heart remained, and she even felt this method of judgment was a bit reckless: “You can’t conclude he has a ghost in his heart just because he emphasized having ‘one’ child, right? After all, everyone’s way of thinking and language habits are different.”
“Then look more closely.”
Chu Yun zoomed in the screen on Huang Tianqi’s face while turning the speed down to the minimum.
When he heard Wen Yu’s question clearly, Huang Tianqi’s gaze toward Wen Yu flickered; his left eyelid twitched upward for a split second; his nostrils flared slightly, and he made a lip-pursing motion before speaking.
He was feeling guilty.
Even somewhat disgusted.
But what was he guilty about? Is there a problem with the child?
And what was he disgusted with? The child? Or the person who gave birth to the child?
The fingertips of Chu Yun’s left hand tapped the tabletop rhythmically for a while before she said: “Has the reason for his divorce from his ex-wife been investigated yet?”
Peng Yuxin shook her head: “Still doing door-to-door visits; they kept it very hidden.”
“Oh—” Chu Yun drawled, thoughtfully saying, “Perhaps we can try starting with the ‘child.’ We won’t be able to get any other evidence for the time being anyway.”
“Fine, I’ll go now.”
Seeing Jiang Huaiyue turning to leave, Chu Yun quickly reached out and grabbed the hem of her clothes: “I’ll go with you.”
Jiang Huaiyue was pulled so she couldn’t move, her long brows furrowing: “No need, I can do it myself.”
Fine, she’s still angry.
Without waiting for her to resist, Chu Yun had already jumped up from the chair, hooked her right arm into the other’s, and led her out: “Forget it, I see your eyes can hardly stay open. Don’t go driving while fatigued; you might get handcuffed by a colleague before you even leave the intersection.”
Jiang Huaiyue looked down at the hand wrapped around her, and in the end, she didn’t push her away.