After Redeeming the Female Lead, I Faked My Death and Escaped - Chapter 33.1

In the end, it was Gu Qingzhu who turned her face away first.

“Get off.”

Her expression remained as cold as ever, but her voice had softened considerably, giving Ying Xu a fleeting illusion that the deep-seated ice between them frozen solid over the years, had thawed slightly in that moment, melted by the faint, ambiguous emotions that had just surfaced.

Ying Xu responded gently, as she always did in front of Gu Qingzhu so obedient that it made Gu Qingzhu unconsciously exhale in relief.

Unaware that all her emotions had already been neatly categorized into simple numbers.

[Gu Qingzhu’s favorability increased by 5. Current favorability: -50]

The next day.

On the way to the set, Ying Xu finally received a reply from Cheng Jun.

The message wasn’t long. Aside from apologizing, Cheng Jun mentioned that she was currently involved in a closed-set shoot and hoped Ying Xu would also audition for the role.

It was common knowledge that when it came to such “golden opportunities,” most people would keep them tightly under wraps, afraid that others might snatch the resource away through information gaps.

But Cheng Jun was unusually candid as if, compared to a role that could “elevate” her career, she cared more about Ying Xu.

The message had been sent four hours ago, in the early hours of the morning. Cheng Jun had likely just left the closed set and sent it while rushing back to Star City.

Given Ying Xu’s notorious reputation, no reputable production team would choose her. It wasn’t worth the backlash, let alone provoking Qinghong Entertainment. The losses would outweigh the gains.

Ying Xu’s reply leaned toward refusal. She didn’t dwell on Cheng Jun’s follow-up messages, instead flipping through the script.

Her scenes had piled up during this time, leaving her exceptionally busy. Rather than chasing after an elusive opportunity, Ying Xu preferred to focus on the present.

On her first day back at the Redemption set, the entire crew was restless.

After all, since Ying Xu’s public apology livestream, she had disappeared without a trace not a single word of response, shrouded in mystery.

Everyone was brimming with curiosity, wondering just how many secrets she was still hiding.

Throughout the day, countless gazes lingered on Ying Xu’s face, their implications obvious.

They wanted to see if she would offer an explanation, or if she would crack under the weight of those blatant stares and remarks, doing something utterly unexpected.

But nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

The alpha simply did her job, embodying her character as she always had, smoothly completing her scenes.

Every expression she displayed was flawless and perfectly timed, true to the role without ever breaking immersion.

Despite being away from the set for so long, her performance had shed the rawness of her early days, growing increasingly polished and compelling. It was as if, during this time, she hadn’t been cowering in the shadows as the public imagined, but had instead undergone rigorous, professional acting training.

The prying eyes of outsiders, meant to scrutinize, instead fell upon her like dazzling spotlights, illuminating the sole protagonist on the cramped stage.

By the end of the day, a few who hadn’t gotten the reaction they’d expected sulked, convinced Ying Xu was merely putting on a calm front and would eventually slip up. But others quietly filmed snippets of the shoot.

The clips initially circulated in small circles before, eventually, someone shared them publicly.

By the time the buzz began to spread, Ying Xu was still filming.

Sweat soaked through her hair. In the scene, it was the height of summer, forcing her to wear heavy layers to simulate the heat.

If the first half of Redemption tells the story of how the female protagonist socialite heiress Lin Yu fell in love, lived a blissful life, and then gradually discovered her husband’s true nature, becoming the “madwoman” in the eyes of the world,

then the second half unfolds from the perspective of a doctor, chronicling a decade-long treatment process.

Lin Yu’s plan to kill her husband failed.

As her husband gripped her hand, trying to wrest the knife away, Lin Yu’s mind teetered on the edge of collapse. The relentless flood of anonymous letters had shattered the image of her husband in her eyes. She recounted every accusation in those letters, and as she spoke, the man’s expression grew increasingly grave.

Finally, he smiled and claimed it was all malicious gossip spread by outsiders. He admitted it was his fault for making Lin Yu worry. After all, they had shared years of deep affection and unwavering devotion. He promised not to tell a soul about what had happened that night.

He loved Lin Yu.

Lin Yu refused to look at him, her eyes tightly shut.

The next day, she awoke to find herself in a hospital room. The sterile white walls loomed around her, her limbs strapped to the bed. Just beyond the door, her tender, devoted husband was painstakingly explaining to the doctors and her parents:

He didn’t know what had come over Lin Yu. All he knew was that the moment he returned home the previous night, she had lunged at him like a madwoman, intent on killing him.

It was all his fault for neglecting her. If only he had noticed her distraction, her dazed moments, the anomalies in her daily life sooner, she wouldn’t have ended up like this.

Ended up like what? Lin Yu thought in confusion and agony. She didn’t know what drugs they had injected into her. Before the splitting headache consumed her, she heard her parents respond with understanding words—avoiding any mention of her, only instructing the nurses to take good care of her.

Footsteps faded into the distance, and then her husband pushed the door open. He stood by the bed, gazing at the woman’s pained face, her brows furrowed even in sleep.

“Once you’re cured, we’ll go home together.”

The latter half of the story largely revolves around the hospital.

Lin Yu was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

Even there, she desperately sought help, trying to expose her husband’s true nature.

But how could a politician’s reputation be tarnished by the ramblings of a madwoman?

No one believed her. To everyone, she was just a deranged woman, an object of scorn and malice. They saw her as a burden to her husband, a life unworthy of existence.

Yet, despite it all, her husband loved her without reservation, visiting her periodically alongside the doctors.

The world praised his devotion. Only Lin Yu knew the truth: with every visit, she was injected with double the usual dose of medication.

Her body rapidly deteriorated, her spirit long broken. It was then that she met her new attending physician, Liang Ruoyan.

Like Lin Yu, Liang Ruoyan was a Beta gentle and empathetic. Though Lin Yu, battered by repeated failures, dared not open her heart recklessly, Liang Ruoyan showed her kindness at every turn.

As time passed, they grew closer, their relationship less like doctor and patient, more like confidantes. Still, the most intimate gesture they ever shared was Lin Yu’s unconscious grip on Liang Ruoyan’s wrist during particularly agonizing treatments.

The closer they became, the more Lin Yu wanted to protect Liang Ruoyan, never speaking of her husband. And Liang Ruoyan, as a psychiatrist, could never entertain any emotional entanglement with a patient.

Thus, they spent their days in a paradoxical blend of intimacy and detachment one year, then two…

In the tenth year of Lin Yu’s hospitalization, Liang Ruoyan got a promotion. Her job was transferred to a branch hospital in a neighboring city. Before leaving, she promised Lin Yu that she would visit her every weekend.

But time was so hard to arrange, and trivial matters always entangled Liang Ruoyan’s life. She was late once, twice Lin Yu would wait patiently, only to fall into a deep, medicated slumber.

After who knows how many times, Lin Yu finally saw her daughter again after so long. By then, the girl had grown into a graceful young woman. Yet when met with Lin Yu’s pale gaze, her daughter flinched, eyes filled with fear.