“Qingxiao, how were the results of the follow-up?” Assistant Zheng called in the afternoon.
Ruan Qingxiao was walking out of the doctor’s office, holding her report. “No major issues,” she replied. “Only my sprained ankle prevents me from walking for long periods or doing strenuous exercise. I need a few more days of rest.”
“And… the memory issue?” Zheng asked the most critical question.
“There’s no obvious damage or blood clots in the brain. I’ve recalled a few fragments over the last two days. The doctor said it was just a mild concussion; my memory might return slowly over time.”
“Really?” Zheng was pleasantly surprised. “How much did you remember?”
“Some things from when my mother was still around,” Ruan said softly.
“…” Zheng went silent. That would have been when Ruan was six or seven. Her mother had passed away when she was eight.
“Just some scattered fragments,” Ruan added, not wanting to elaborate. “The doctor says it’s a good sign. I’m being discharged today.”
“Are you staying at a hotel?” Zheng asked, dropping the memory topic.
Ruan gave a reluctant “mm-hmm.”
“You couldn’t convince Teacher Li to take you in?” Zheng suspected this was the reason for her boss’s low spirits.
“I didn’t ask her,” Ruan admitted. “I couldn’t bring myself to say it.”
She had just confessed and been told her future depended on her “performance.” To immediately beg to move into Li Mengjue’s house felt shameless. She didn’t want Li Mengjue to think she was some kind of creep—even if, deep down, she really wanted to be there.
Li Mengjue returned after finishing the paperwork. “Was that Assistant Zheng?”
“Yes,” Ruan nodded. “She asked about the situation.”
“Did you tell her you’re being discharged? Why didn’t you ask her to arrange a driver or a new assistant?”
“I…” Ruan hesitated. “I’m not used to being around strangers. I can’t trust them. I feel safer alone.”
“But in your condition, being alone is dangerous,” Li Mengjue sighed. “How’s the security at your hotel?”
“Yunhe says it’s a chain I used to stay at frequently.” But Ruan didn’t remember anything else about it.
It didn’t sound very reliable to Li Mengjue. “Let’s go check it out first. If it’s no good, we’ll have Zheng arrange someone reliable.”
“I can’t go back to my usual home,” Ruan added. “My family knows where I live. They might show up to cause trouble, and I don’t want to see them right now.”
Li Mengjue nodded. She remembered that Ruan had recovered some childhood memories, and she guessed they weren’t happy ones. As they walked out of the hospital and into a waiting car, the atmosphere was thick with silence.
Before getting into the car, Li Mengjue glanced at a corner across the street. She stared for a moment before sliding into the seat.
“Sister Li, what’s wrong?” Ruan asked.
“Probably nothing. Just a feeling,” Li Mengjue shook her head. “To the hotel.”
Elsewhere, in a taxi, a middle-aged man was “incognito”—black cap, black sunglasses, black mask, and a black tracksuit. He looked like he was trying very hard to announce he was up to no good.
He was hunched over, peering out the window suspiciously. The taxi driver, watching him through the rearview mirror, almost drove straight to a police station.
“Stop! Pull over!” the man suddenly shouted.
The driver slammed on the brakes. The man fumbled with the door handle. “Open the door! I need to get out!”
“Sir, the fare is twenty-four yuan. Cash or QR?”
The man cursed under his breath, threw two ten-yuan bills at the driver, and barked, “Open it!”
The driver didn’t argue. He unlocked the door, and the man bolted into a crowd. “No manners,” the driver muttered, looking at the twenty yuan. He was four yuan short, but seeing the man desperately trying to photograph people with his phone, the driver decided not to chase him. Probably a husband trying to catch a cheating wife. He doesn’t look professional at all.
Inside a bustling commercial clothing market, Li Mengjue pulled Ruan Qingxiao behind a clothing rack in a corner shop.
“Is that person really following us?” Ruan whispered.
“Seems so,” Li Mengjue replied.
“A paparazzi?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Paparazzi usually carry cameras, and he didn’t take photos when he saw me earlier. Do you have any enemies who would hire such a low-quality stalker?”
“…” Ruan couldn’t answer. She was visibly over-tense; Li Mengjue could practically hear her racing heartbeat. “…I don’t remember.”
“If you don’t remember, don’t think about it. He doesn’t look dangerous,” Li Mengjue comforted her. “I’ve never seen someone stalk so… loudly.”
She wanted Ruan to relax because the woman looked like she was about to faint. But the stalker proved one thing: someone was indeed watching her.
“Don’t worry. I tested my disguise around my complex this morning; nobody recognized me,” Li Mengjue said. Before leaving the hospital, she had Ruan change her hairstyle and put on glasses. “Most people wouldn’t expect you to be in a place like this.”
Li Mengjue took a hat from the display and placed it on Ruan’s head. Ruan had changed into a simple shirt and was standing against the wall, head down, not daring to move.
Li Mengjue was slightly taller. She stood directly in front of Ruan, leaning in to help her button the shirt, her body shielding Ruan’s face from the rest of the shop.
The shop owner was busy haggling with another customer and didn’t notice them.
“I think this hat looks more natural,” Li Mengjue said, adjusting it. “As for the clothes, the quality isn’t what you’re used to, but bear with it for now.”
She was trying to get Ruan to loosen up. The more rigid she acted, the more she would stand out.
“I…” Ruan took the hat, her head tilting slightly. She caught their reflection in a nearby mirror and went silent.
Her heart rate spiked again.
They weren’t actually that close, but because they were whispering, their heads were near each other. Li Mengjue was leaning down slightly, and Ruan was looking up.
From any other angle in the shop, it looked exactly like they were locked in an intimate embrace.