During her first two years of university, Li Mengjue performed in the school’s small theater. Her performances were exceptionally outstanding; she had played everything from leads to extras to narrators. It was during this period that she truly began to shine in her identity as an actress.
Her professors were very fond of her. Hearing that she came from a disadvantaged background, they introduced her to many resources. Though most were minor roles or extras, having a teacher’s recommendation meant the industry seniors would guide and look after her. Li Mengjue benefited immensely; already gifted, her skills improved by leaps and bounds from then on.
Later, when new students arrived, the small theater was supposed to be the freshmen’s stage. However, with Li Mengjue’s stunning performance as a benchmark, the lack of talent in the next class nearly drove the instructors to frustration. To make matters worse, a few troublemakers had soured the atmosphere; most students were busy networking and seeking connections elsewhere, leaving very few willing to actually hone their craft in the theater.
During that time, Li Mengjue wasn’t busy and didn’t mind guiding her juniors, so she was often called back by her teachers to help out. But since it was ultimately the juniors’ turn to shine, she usually only took on roles as an instructor, an extra, or the narrator.
That specific day was also a rainy one.
It was the end of the semester, and students from all the major universities were tensely preparing for finals. A sudden thunderstorm had made traveling difficult. Minutes before the show was set to start, the audience remained sparse. The young actors grew restless and a bit lax.
The lead instructor gave a quiet scolding backstage. Li Mengjue took a lap around the props department to ensure everything was in order before walking to a corner near the stage to continue flipping through her script. For this show, she was the narrator and the host.
Due to the sudden storm, the instructor in charge decided to delay the start by ten minutes to wait for any audience members who might be running late.
Li Mengjue sat on the edge of the stage with a microphone, a smile on her face, explaining the situation to the few audience members in a gentle, steady voice. Her teachers always said her voice had a natural power to soothe people. Even when the theater was packed and chaotic, the moment her voice rang out, the restless crowd would settle down.
The effect was just as clear with a small crowd. Sitting on the edge of the stage, she closed the distance between herself and the audience, making it feel like a face-to-face conversation. It was hard for anyone to refuse her reasonable explanation and gentle request.
Consequently, a round of applause broke out among the scattered audience, intended for the young actors waiting behind the curtain.
A few latecomers trickled in. One of them wore a mask and a hat. The stray hairs peeking out from the hat were soaked, clinging to her forehead and mask, yet she only cared about protecting the flowers in her arms with her coat.
She was a young girl, likely a student from somewhere nearby. She ran all the way from the entrance, hurried but not at all clumsy, her footsteps as light as a cat’s. As the theater lights dimmed, the girl took the opportunity to slip into the darkness.
Her seat happened to be directly across from Li Mengjue.
After Li Mengjue finished the opening remarks and the curtain slowly rose, she moved further into the corner. Once the stage lights came up, no one would notice her in that dim spot—except for the girl directly across from her.
Li Mengjue turned off the microphone. When she looked up, she met the girl’s gaze. In the ambiguous, dim light, she saw the girl instinctively flinch and look away, only to turn back a moment later to look at her again. The bouquet in her arms bumped against her chin. Perhaps because her mask was on so tight, she didn’t seem to realize it.
Li Mengjue gave her a slight smile and tapped her own chin to signal her. The girl froze, then hurriedly adjusted the flowers, causing two petals to stick to her mask.
Before Li Mengjue could remind her further, a junior from the props team ran over. A piece of equipment that had been fine was suddenly malfunctioning, and she had to go back to check on it.
The performance ultimately ended as a safe and complete success. The exceptional acting garnered even warmer applause than the opening. Since the audience was small, nearly everyone had the chance to take a photo with the actors. The young students were easily swept up in the audience’s enthusiasm, their faces brimming with joy as they actively posed for photos.
Li Mengjue, as the senior, proactively stepped aside to give them the spotlight.
As she retreated to the side of the stage, the girl with the flowers walked toward her. Those flowers were for Li Mengjue.
Li Mengjue saw the card among the flowers; the ink had been blurred by the rain, but she recognized her own name at a glance. She wasn’t particularly surprised. Ever since she became a regular at the school theater, even as just a narrator, she never lacked for fans. Many had told her they came specifically for her, then asked expectantly when she would play a lead or an important role again.
Li Mengjue would just smile and say the juniors were working hard too, occasionally using the moment to plug a new drama she was in. Those audience members would note the name, get an autograph, and then reluctantly turn to take a photo with the lead actor.
But this girl was different from any previous fan. She walked straight to Li Mengjue and handed her the flowers, yet remained silent the entire time.
Li Mengjue took the flowers and whispered a “thank you.”
The girl was no longer wearing her hat but still had the mask on. She kept her head slightly bowed, revealing only half of her face. Li Mengjue noticed her ears were red. The girl could clearly hear her, yet she didn’t speak.
Was she unable to speak? Or just too shy? The thought crossed Li Mengjue’s mind, but she wouldn’t ask it to the girl’s face. She saw the girl trembling slightly. In the two-hour performance, the air conditioning in the empty theater had been blasted high enough to dry the rain in her hair, but it also increased the risk of catching a cold.
Li Mengjue asked if she had an umbrella. The girl shook her head.
Li Mengjue told her to wait a moment and sent a message to a junior she knew, asking her to bring the umbrella Li had left in the backstage locker.
The girl stared blankly at the charm on Li Mengjue’s phone. In a daze, she reached out as if to touch it. Li Mengjue happened to look up at that moment, her hand shifting; the small red fox charm lightly brushed the girl’s fingertip before swinging in the opposite direction.
The girl snapped out of it, her face flushing deep red. The blush spread from her cheeks to the corners of her eyes and up to her forehead until her whole face seemed to be on fire. In that moment, she looked so embarrassed she wanted to find a hole to crawl into. She stole a glance at Li Mengjue, seemingly wanting to explain, but in the end, she couldn’t utter a complete sentence.
Li Mengjue smiled and apologized, explaining that the charm was a gift from a friend and couldn’t be bought anywhere else. She expressed regret that she couldn’t give it to her. However, Li Mengjue did give her a red panda plushie—the kind with reddish-brown fur and a big fluffy tail—which was originally intended as a gift for audience interaction.
The girl hugged the red panda plushie tightly and whispered a “thank you” so quietly that Li Mengjue almost thought she had hallucinated it. Before the junior could arrive with the umbrella, the girl took one last look at Li Mengjue, bowed slightly, and turned to leave in a hurry.
She didn’t take a photo with the leads on the other side.
The junior arrived a step too late. Seeing the flowers in Li Mengjue’s arms, her first reaction was to ask if someone was courting her. Li Mengjue asked why she thought so. The pale-toned bouquet looked like spring sunlight or a warm field of flowers—nothing like a passionate romantic gesture.
The junior’s reasoning was simple: the flowers were expensive. Some of the individual stems were quite pricey, let alone such exquisite packaging. Despite a few petals lost to the rain, it still exuded a vibrant, fresh life. The color palette also suited Li Mengjue perfectly; it was clearly a custom order. Only a wealthy second-generation heir with time and heart could pull that off.
The junior winked mischievously and asked if they were handsome.
Li Mengjue smiled and said it was a fan. “A very shy young girl.”
The junior wasn’t sure how “young” she was, but looking at the flowers and then at Li Mengjue, she landed on a new conclusion:
“Then she must be a hardcore fan who likes you very much.”
Li Mengjue replied, “I’m honored.”
Unfortunately, she never saw that “hardcore fan” again.
“So, why did I never go back after that?” Ruan Qingxiao asked blankly.
Li Mengjue naturally didn’t have the answer to that question. In fact, if Ruan Qingxiao hadn’t been so particularly focused on that little red fox charm, Li Mengjue might not have even connected her to that fan in the corner of her memories.
Recalling those memories now, she was startled to realize that the half-face and the demeanor truly were identical to Ruan Qingxiao’s.
Who could have imagined that the “enemy” she was once so wary of had secretly gone to give her flowers as a fan so long ago?
The two locked eyes for a moment before simultaneously turning their gaze toward the phone, which was still in the middle of a call.
Assistant Zheng, after a moment of silence, finally realized Ruan Qingxiao’s question was directed at her. “…”
“I don’t know either,” Assistant Zheng said, even more confused. “We weren’t at the same school back then, and Qingxiao never told me those details.”
“Maybe something else happened,” Ruan Qingxiao said, turning her head as she tried to find a reasonable explanation for her subsequent absence.
Though an explanation was entirely unnecessary.
Rather than the fact that “Eldest Miss Ruan is my fan”—which had already shocked her once before—Li Mengjue was more concerned with another detail: Ruan Qingxiao’s relationship with her fiancé seemed poor.
Oh, right. Her former fiancé.
Assistant Zheng spoke up then. “Anyway, those things can wait until Qingxiao recovers her memory. The most urgent matter right now is Tang Qingyun.”
“I’ve already had the evidence preserved. To be safe, it’s best to hand it directly to the police for investigation,” Assistant Zheng continued.
Ruan Qingxiao gave a soft “Mm,” having no objections.
“Tang Qingyun might not believe his ‘True Love’ would do such a thing; he might even end up hating you for it. There’s no telling what someone blinded by love might do. And that ‘White Lotus’ girl… she looks harmless, but who knows what else she’s planning? You must not go out alone these next few days. If Young Master Tang contacts you privately, do not agree to meet him alone. I’ll head to City A as soon as I finish up here, but the earliest I can get there is tomorrow afternoon.”
After a thorough round of instructions, Assistant Zheng called out, “Teacher Li, I’ll have to trouble you for these next few days. In case you run into them on the road—”
“We won’t,” Ruan Qingxiao interrupted. “We aren’t going out for the next few days.”
She sounded a bit impatient, and perhaps a bit annoyed.
Assistant Zheng faltered for a second, then suddenly understood. She changed her tune. “Of course. It’s best not to meet Young Master Tang. There’s no need.”
If he saw Li Mengjue, who knows if ‘old love’ would prove hard to forget? Zheng thought.
Between the “White Moonlight” he could never touch and the “True Love” for whom the prodigal son returned—which one would he care about more?
If it were anyone else, Ruan Qingxiao would likely be happy to watch the drama unfold. But since one of them happened to be Li Mengjue…
Absolutely not.
I absolutely cannot let that idiot see Sister Li, Ruan Qingxiao thought, her eyes darkening.