By the time I got back to my shared rental apartment, it was already nearly 10 p.m.
Just as Ruan Zhi had finished changing into her slippers, Song Ran heard a noise and hurried out of her room.
“How did the conversation go? What did he say?”
“Senior.”
Ruan Zhi looked at Song Ran’s face, filled with concern, and felt a lump in her throat; her voice was hoarse and strained:
“It’ll never work out between him and me.”
Song Ran furrowed her brow: “Is he breaking up with me?”
Ruan Zhi’s boyfriend—I’ve met him twice myself.
He exudes an air of aristocratic refinement; on the surface, he appears to be a gentle and graceful young gentleman, but in reality, he is arrogant and aloof, sharing the same flaws as the other young men in high society—he considers himself superior to everyone else.
Even without Ruan Zhi saying anything, she knew that the man looked down on her and didn’t want her to associate with him.
But Ruan Zhi remained unmoved and carried on as usual.
That’s also one of the things I admire most about her.
Rumor has it that her boyfriend is the sole heir to the most secretive wealthy family in Rongcheng.
For a guy like that—a real golden boy—it’s only natural that, no matter how much he loves her, he couldn’t accept that his girlfriend had slept with another man.
In his eyes, that was an insult to his masculine dignity.
Even if his girlfriend is the victim, it’s not as important as preserving his reputation as the heir to a wealthy family.
Ruan Zhi shook her head and smiled wryly. “I’m the one who wants to break up with him.”
“……”
Song Ran let her imagination run wild; just as she’d come up with a string of insults and they were on the tip of her tongue, she heard what she said and swallowed them back.
“What are you thinking? It’s not your fault. If he doesn’t mind, why would you bring up breaking up? Are you crazy…?”
“I haven’t told him yet, but there’s no point anymore.”
Ruan Zhi gave a slight smile,
“None of us did anything wrong—it’s all Ruan Jiajia’s fault and God’s.” (ehem don’t blame God)
She and Ah-Che were destined to be together but not meant to be, and Ruan Jiajia was the one who set the wheels of fate in motion.
Song Ran, looking deeply concerned, was about to say something when Ruan Zhi managed a faint smile and reached out to embrace her:
“Thank you, senior. I’ve already made up my mind. As for the specific reason… could you let me keep it to myself for now? I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”
As she spoke, her voice grew soft and hoarse, tinged with a self-deprecating tone she couldn’t bring herself to voice.
“Okay.”
Song Ran paused for a moment, then patted her on the back,
“If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t. Go take a hot shower, sleep until dawn, and start fresh—a new day, a new beginning. To hell with all those annoying men.”
Ruan Zhi couldn’t help but laugh at her words, and much of the heaviness weighing on her chest lifted.
When I got back to my room and took a shower, I noticed I had several missed calls on my phone—all from Rong Che.
Under the warm yellow light, her downcast eyes were dull and lifeless; she stared blankly for a moment before taking a deep breath and answering the call.
The phone was answered before it even rang twice, and Rong Che’s slightly hoarse voice, filled with urgency, came through:
“Ruan Ruan, are you home yet? Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
“I’m at home. I was just taking a shower.”
Ruan Zhi leaned against the small desk by the window and replied calmly.
“That’s good.”
Rong Che let out a sigh of relief and explained gently,
“I hope my dad didn’t scare you tonight. He didn’t say anything when he asked me to stay—we just talked business. I was worried you’d get bored listening, so I sent you home first.”
Hearing him mention that man reminded Ruan Zhi of the decision she had been forced to make, and a sharp pang of pain shot through her heart.
“I understand, Ah-Che. I didn’t take it to heart.”
Rong Che let out a deep sigh of relief and smiled as he praised her:
“My Ruan Ruan is so well-behaved and so thoughtful—do you know that Dong Dong and the others are all so jealous of me for having such an understanding girlfriend like you?”
A look of bitterness and sarcasm flashed in Ruan Zhi’s eyes.
“Well-behaved and sensible” has become a label that’s stuck to her like glue.
But she definitely wasn’t like that before.
To her parents and grandmother, she was a little rascal, a little troublemaker, and a little princess who loved to cause a ruckus…
“By the way, how about I take you on a little trip for a few days? Just the two of us. It’s been a long time since we’ve gone on a date alone together. I’ve been so busy with work lately that I haven’t really been able to spend quality time with you.”
“Next Wednesday just happens to be our one-year anniversary, so let’s come back after we celebrate, okay?”
Rong Che suddenly made a suggestion. Ruan Zhi was taken aback for a moment, then blinked hard. When she opened her eyes again, the moisture in them had receded, and she spoke with a hint of apology:
“Ah-che, I just took on a custom screenplay today, and I have to rush to finish it in the next few days. Can we wait until I’m done?”
Rong Che hadn’t expected her to refuse at all; his breath caught in his throat, and he furrowed his brow:
“Didn’t I tell you before? If you’re short on money, just let me know. You’re my girlfriend—it’s only natural for me to spend money on you. You can count on me, but you insist on keeping things so strictly separate from me. You’d rather take on those part-time jobs, working so hard for such little pay.”
“I don’t object to you writing a screenplay—I can find the best film and television production company to invest in and produce it—but you won’t agree to that either.”
Sometimes he found that he really didn’t understand what she was holding out for.
Is it really that hard to use his money?
Seeing how she had to walk on eggshells while living with the Ruan family, he felt sorry for her. He offered to buy her an apartment so she could move out on her own, but she refused.
She said he would save up to buy it himself.
If she wouldn’t listen, she’d stop him from going to find Ruan Xiuming to warn him to keep Ruan Jiajia in line.
Whenever he thought about these things, he felt frustrated and helpless, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do anything to her.
“……”
Ruan Zhi knew full well that as soon as the topic of her getting a job came up, the two of them would end up disagreeing.
“I’m sorry, Ah-Che. How about we go on a date to celebrate on our anniversary? Five days will fly by.”
She soothed him in a soft voice.
In the end, Rong Che gave in. Ruan Zhi said a few more soothing words to him and was about to hang up.
Rong Che suddenly asked, “By the way, you said earlier that you had something very important to tell me tonight. What is it?”
After a moment of silence, Ruan Zhi whispered, “I just told you—I took on a job writing a screenplay.”
Rong Che laughed bitterly in exasperation. After hanging up the phone, he stood on the balcony, lit a cigarette, and tried to quell the waves of frustration churning inside him.
He had a vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
*
Late at night, Ruan Zhi curled up in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, her mind was filled with memories of her time with Rong Che.
From the moment they first met when she was twelve, through their subsequent encounters, to the three years he pursued her—every fragment of those memories remained vivid in her mind.
Those were the fondest memories of her youth.
She slept fitfully, and when she woke up again, it was already past 10:00 a.m.
The room was quiet, and I saw the note Song Ran had left on the door.
It said she went to a nearby city to film a movie and won’t be back for about a week, so don’t miss her too much.
I let out a soft sigh and looked around; without Song Ran, this room of over fifty square meters felt completely empty.
She stayed in her room by herself for two days, didn’t go anywhere, and just buried herself in writing the script.
She did indeed take on the commission to write a custom screenplay, but the studio said there was no rush and that she could submit the draft after the Lunar New Year.
When she was feeling down, she liked to immerse herself in the world she had carefully crafted, refining every character’s joys, sorrows, and emotions.
Over the past couple of days, Ah-Che must have been upset—he hasn’t called her again, but her uncle did give her a call.
Worried that she wasn’t doing well out there, he urged her to come back, telling her that he’d get to the bottom of what happened that night, and that both Ruan Jiajia and my aunt had reflected on their actions and promised in person to offer her a sincere apology. He also told her that they’d send Ruan Jiajia abroad right after the Lunar New Year.
Of course, she didn’t believe that the mother and daughter would change their ways; having lived with them for so many years, she had long since seen through their true nature.
Her uncle wanted to put on a show of harmony and family unity, but she didn’t want to play along anymore.
I’ve had enough of acting after all these years.
I woke up early Sunday morning, thinking it was going to be another day of holing up at home writing my screenplay, but then I got a call from my good friend Xia Shan:
“Good morning, Ruan Ruan. Are you free today? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten together. I just moved into a new place, and you haven’t seen it yet. How about coming over for lunch? I’ll cook.”
“Sure, send me the address.”
Her friend’s invitation brought a smile to her face, which had been somber for several days.
They haven’t been in touch since the last time they exchanged messages.
When I found out she had a boyfriend and had moved into an apartment, I was happy for her.
It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.