Dating Myself - Chapter 43

The An family was truly a large family. Elder Master An had six children. Except for An Mu’s father, who was in France, and her maternal uncle (Xiao Shushu), who was in the military, the rest were all in the Imperial Capital (Beijing). They were either in business or politics. While outsiders viewed them with immense envy, Elder Master An felt quite regretful.

“Our An family is, after all, a family of scholars. How did we not produce a single professor or artist?”

This was truly a case of wanting what you didn’t have.

When An Mu won the design competition back then, the Elder Master was delighted for a long time, mentioning it to everyone until their ears grew calloused. He treasured his granddaughter’s simple glass trophy more than piles of gold and jewels.

Of course, the Elder Master’s affection for An Mu wasn’t solely because she won an award, but because she was the only granddaughter among all his grandchildren and the only child of An Laosan (Third An), An Mu’s father. Combined with her being smart, clever, and beautiful, how could she not be adored?

They initially intended to hide An Mu’s memory loss from the Elder Master, but An Mu’s insistence on going to school in Weicheng made it impossible for the Elder Master not to be suspicious. Rather than letting him find out later and throw a fit, it was better to tell him proactively, leaving room to smooth things over.

Naturally, they didn’t disclose how An Mu lost her memory, only that she had a minor car accident and bumped her head.

This was, of course, a lie. An Mu had asked about the cause right after she woke up. Although her parents initially told her the same story, they could silence the medical staff but not her childhood friend.

An Mu had to press her childhood friend to learn the approximate truth.

Liang Sirui, An Mu’s childhood friend, was the one who accidentally revealed her ID on the school forum. She was the same age as An Mu and was currently a high school sophomore in France. She had initially been firmly instructed by An Mu’s parents not to tell the truth. It took a combination of the “self-harm tactic” and aggressive probing from An Mu to force her to finally speak up.

Liang Sirui said An Mu attempted suicide. She wasn’t clear on the exact reason, only that An Mu had swallowed a large amount of sleeping pills. By the time she was discovered, it was already too late. The family doctor attempted CPR but failed. When she was rushed to the hospital, she had already stopped breathing.

Despite having no breath, the hospital staff performed CPR for several hours, using every available resource, from cardiac injections to defibrillators.

The doctor had already pronounced her dead. No one expected her to suddenly wake up before the hearse even arrived.

The doctor was astonished, deeming it a medical miracle. He wanted to use her as a clinical subject for future research. The An family, of course, refused, vehemently insisting the doctor had misdiagnosed her. They threatened to sue both the doctor and the hospital if he pressed the matter, which is how the doctor backed down.

That was all Liang Sirui knew; she couldn’t explain anything further.

In fact, it was precisely An Mu’s history of attempted suicide that allowed her to convince her parents to let her return to China for school.

Her parents had been conflicted for a while.

They were afraid that if she recovered her memory while alone in Weicheng, she might attempt suicide again.

They were also afraid that staying in France would trigger painful memories.

And they feared that if they didn’t agree to let her leave, she might become distraught again and further stimulate her nerves.

The doctor had specifically instructed them that An Mu’s memory loss was entirely psychological. Any stimulation would be detrimental to her, so they should try to indulge her as much as possible.

Ultimately, An Mu’s parents agreed to let her go to Weicheng and live alone, but they required her to call them at a fixed time every day.

On the day she left for China, Liang Sirui saw her off at the airport, hugged her, and shed a few tears, expressing endless reluctance to part. At the time, Liang Sirui didn’t say anything, but later, after seeing Chen Han strongly support An Mu on Weibo, she couldn’t help but reveal a few surprising things about An Mu.

Liang Sirui advised her not to interact with Chen Han much, suggesting it would be best if they never crossed paths again.

Liang Sirui believed that An Mu’s suicide attempt was likely due to Chen Han stealing her design drafts and prematurely holding a fashion show, almost getting An Mu labeled as a plagiarist. Fortunately, she hadn’t submitted the drafts to the partner company yet, or her reputation would have been completely ruined.

Design drafts were a designer’s lifeblood. Chen Han was An Mu’s most trusted teacher. To lose her work and be betrayed by her most trusted person overnight was completely understandable. An Mu, a pampered princess raised with such privilege, swallowed sleeping pills in a fit of rage—it was entirely plausible.

Liang Sirui’s analysis certainly had some merit.

However, Liang Sirui didn’t have much contact with Chen Han, so her understanding was naturally limited. All she knew came from An Mu. An Mu had highly admired Chen Han back then, so Liang Sirui mostly heard words of praise.

After Chen Han terminated their teacher-student relationship, An Mu was depressed for a long time and rarely mentioned Chen Han again. It wasn’t until she saw Chen Han’s fashion show shortly before her suicide attempt that she broke down on the spot. Liang Sirui then pieced together from her confused rambling that Chen Han had plagiarized her.

Liang Sirui had told An Mu’s parents about this speculation. They thanked Liang Sirui but had no intention of pursuing Chen Han.

Firstly, it was only speculation, and they had no proof. Secondly, if they pursued the matter, the news of An Mu’s suicide would undoubtedly become public, and they didn’t want to cause An Mu secondary trauma.

Liang Sirui also mentioned that An Mu had left a suicide note, but only her parents had seen it. No one else knew what it said.

Regardless, Liang Sirui’s meaning was clear: Don’t contact Chen Han.

An Mu actually didn’t care whether Chen Han was a good person or not, nor did she need to. Chen Han was based in France, and she would be based in China going forward. They were unlikely to have many interactions, perhaps only maintaining basic social politeness.

Liang Sirui sighed for a while upon hearing An Mu’s response, muttering that she wasn’t sure if An Mu’s memory loss was a good or bad thing, but that Chen Han absolutely couldn’t know about it, just in case she caused any more trouble.

An Mu didn’t tell her that she had already stressed her memory loss to Chen Han.

Back in Beijing, An Mu went straight to her paternal uncle’s house.

Elder Master An was getting old and had high blood pressure. To prevent the family doctor from being unable to handle an emergency and failing to make it to the hospital in time, his children had persuaded him with sweet talk a few years ago to move him from the old house on the outskirts back to a villa in the city center, where he lived with her paternal uncle.

Because of her return, her maternal aunt (Ergu), fourth aunt (Sigu), and maternal uncle (Xiaogugu) all came to her paternal uncle’s house with their families for dinner. An Mu’s parents were still in France and wouldn’t return until the 27th or 28th. Her paternal uncle (Xiaoshushu) in the military would be lucky to return by the first day of the New Year.

The whole family enjoyed a lively dinner.

An Mu’s cousins, the “bear kids” (Xiong Haizi) of her generation, ranged from twenty-one years old to nine years old. They were all boys. Despite the significant age gap, their bond was good. As soon as they finished eating, they uniformly grabbed their phones and started gaming, leaving An Mu feeling somewhat out of place.

An Mu chatted with the Elder Master for a while before her fourth aunt and maternal uncle pulled her up to the second-floor guest room.

Her two aunts were very talkative and young at heart. The three of them had little generational gap, or whatever gap there was disappeared considering An Mu’s twenty-eight-year-old psychological age.

The three conversed happily. Both aunts urged her to sleep at her paternal uncle’s house tonight, but An Mu politely declined.

An Mu’s parents owned a duplex apartment in Beijing. While it wasn’t as grand as her paternal uncle’s villa, it was perfectly comfortable for their family of three.

The apartment was cleaned weekly by an hourly worker and was very tidy, designed for them to stay whenever they returned to China.

The two aunts didn’t press her, only instructing her that no matter where she stayed, she must come to her paternal uncle’s house for lunch and dinner (they excused breakfast, knowing none of the kids woke up early).

An Mu’s apartment was the closest to her paternal uncle’s house, only a ten-minute walk.

The whole family’s lively gathering didn’t disperse until almost 11:00 PM. An Mu hitched a ride home with her maternal uncle. By the time she finished showering and lay in bed, it was already 1:00 AM.

This was only her second night staying in the apartment. She was sensitive to new beds and wasn’t highly adaptable. Lying in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, she took out her phone and opened WeChat.

WeChat only had messages from Xie Maomao and Jian Yixi from dinnertime, asking if she had arrived home, and each sending pictures of the delicious food their families prepared. Maomao was the most miserable; her dinner was corn porridge with tea-boiled eggs. She said her mom told her that giving her eggs was a concession because she was her biological daughter, given her grades.

An Mu looked at the dark, cracked tea-boiled egg for a while and couldn’t help but smile. Then she looked at Jian Yixi’s message, and her smile gradually faded.

[Mengxi Bitalk: Look! Chicken with Chestnuts! My mom made it specially for me! Wait until I learn how, and I’ll make it for you~ Chicken with Chestnuts.jpg]

An Mu hadn’t told Jian Yixi she was transferring schools. She planned to wait until after the New Year, as she didn’t want to ruin Jian Yixi’s holiday mood. Moreover, after the New Year, she could use her family as an excuse, minimizing the impact on Jian Yixi.

Exiting WeChat, An Mu opened Weibo. The #MostBeautifulSisterGangRapeCase# was currently trending hot, topping the search lists repeatedly from different angles.

Jian Yihu already had a poor reputation, and now she had become the target of public condemnation. Her old Weibo posts were thoroughly excavated, and every word was magnified and scrutinized, as if every syllable could be analyzed into a crime epic.

As the saying goes, when a wall collapses, everyone pushes. Jian Yihu’s reputation was now infamous, which would severely affect both her academic and career prospects in the future.

Jian Yihu might still be dreaming of inheriting the family business, but alas, the dream would soon shatter.

After browsing Weibo for a while, An Mu opened her private messages.

Because of the Jian Yihu incident, she had gained many new followers. Different people sent her various private messages every day. Her compulsion regarding private messages wasn’t as strong as the little red dot on WeChat, so she usually checked them only once every few days, replying if necessary and ignoring the insignificant ones.

Scanning through them, her gaze landed on the message from @ChenHanIsMe.

[ChenHanIsMe: I’m coming back to China in a few days. Can you pick me up?]

The message was from yesterday.

An Mu’s icy-white finger hovered above the screen before finally tapping the reply box after a moment of hesitation.

Regardless of everything, Chen Han had helped her a lot, so picking her up was fine.

Just as she finished replying and was about to continue scrolling, Chen Han replied immediately.

[ChenHanIsMe: It must be 1:00 or 2:00 AM in China right now, right? You’re still not asleep this late?]

An Mu didn’t want to chat further and replied directly.

[oMistyRainBoato: Just about to sleep.]

[ChenHanIsMe: So you’re already lying down? I envy you. I’m still stuck in traffic after a night of networking, reeking of alcohol.]

[oMistyRainBoato: Teacher Chen works too hard.]

[ChenHanIsMe: It looks like you really have amnesia. I corrected you so many times before, and you never wanted to call me ‘Teacher.’ Now, you can’t say three sentences without it.]

[oMistyRainBoato: I was really impolite before. Please don’t take offense, Teacher.]

[ChenHanIsMe: I’m already very happy that you’re willing to pick me up. How could I blame you?]

[ChenHanIsMe: Oh, my ticket is booked. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I’ll text you before I board.]

[ChenHanIsMe: So… are you still not telling me your phone number? Or we can keep using private messages, but I’m worried you don’t check often and might miss a message.]

An Mu always dealt with things on a case-by-case basis. She wouldn’t make snap judgments about things she wasn’t clear about, nor would she easily label Chen Han’s character. Furthermore, it was just a phone number, and it was the Weicheng number, which she would soon be changing. There was no need to be difficult about it.

She sent her phone number. Chen Han replied with a cheerful emoji and told her to rest immediately, ending the conversation.

Honestly, being back in Beijing wasn’t much different from being in Weicheng, except for going from two people back to one, and her meals changing from the school cafeteria to her uncle’s house.

She still woke up very early and kept a packed schedule. Her goal was to major in Economics and Finance at Tsinghua University. This was her goal in her past life and the first one she wanted to achieve for herself in this life.

She certainly had a wealth of practical experience from her past life. In ordinary thinking, she didn’t even need to attend university, as the purpose of learning is ultimately to apply it.

Yet, she didn’t think so. Studying theory after gaining practical experience allowed for a deeper understanding and absorption of those theories. Purely studying theory was just armchair strategizing, and the results wouldn’t be particularly good.

Moreover, in this life, she no longer wanted to struggle in the business world. The scheming and power struggles were exhausting. She was tired. She only wanted to do some simple personal finance and live the simple, relaxed life she longed for but never achieved in her past life.

As for the An family…

She never coveted the An family’s wealth, but she had certainly benefited from them. An average sixteen-year-old girl wouldn’t have so much capital to invest in stocks and manage wealth. Standing on the shoulders of giants and equipped with the cheat code of her past life’s memory, she had already earned more in six months than most people could earn in a lifetime of hard work.

The simplest thing in the world was likely making money from money. She couldn’t foresee the future. After all, her rebirth was an accident. Maybe one day God would find her “bug,” and she would lose everything she had finally gained. She didn’t want to look too far ahead. She just wanted to do these simple things and live the life she most desired, regardless of whether she would open her eyes tomorrow.

Jian Yixi contacted her every day. Sometimes she sent her pictures of dishes she was trying to cook, and other times she sent the snowy sky or the flickering flames of a stove—all trivial yet heartwarming small matters.

Maomao also contacted her every now and then, even secretly asking her for the answers to the winter break homework.

A few days quickly passed, and Chen Han returned. Her flight was delayed, and she didn’t disembark until after 8:00 PM.

Watching the woman, who was dragging a suitcase and smiling as she walked toward her, An Mu felt her heart accelerate strangely. This wasn’t her own instinctive reaction but a reaction of this body.

Chen Han was tall and slender, with her long, cloud-like hair neatly pinned at the back of her head. Gold-rimmed glasses rested on her pale nose. She wore a black suit with wide-leg trousers, looking both capable and intellectual. Her eyelashes were exceptionally long, making one worry they might brush against the lenses of her glasses.

“Teacher Chen is wearing too little; you might be cold outside.”

Chen Han didn’t reply, walking straight over and embracing her. Her voice, husky and hard to place—was it fatigue or something else?—echoed in An Mu’s ear.

“It’s really good to see you again.”

“I am also honored to see you, Teacher.”

Skillfully creating distance, An Mu reached out, took Chen Han’s suitcase, and pulled it as she walked outside.

Chen Han looked down at the arm that had been pushed away, her fingers slightly curling. The glass lenses reflected a cold, pale light. After a second of contemplation, she caught up to An Mu’s pace, a gentle smile hanging on her lips.

“Let’s drop the luggage at the hotel first, and I’ll treat you to a meal.”

“There’s no need. You must be very tired after the flight. You should rest well first.”

“No matter how tired I am, I still need to eat. Just keep me company.”

An Mu put the luggage in the trunk, got into the taxi, closed the door, and told the driver the destination. Only then did she say, “Then let me treat you, Teacher. You’ve helped me so much; I don’t know how to thank you.”

Chen Han laughed, “I only helped by reposting your message at the very beginning. After that, it was my own decision. Even if you hadn’t asked, I would have advocated. Whether it was Qi Liran or Jian Yixi, they are vulnerable groups that need our protection. They represent not just themselves but all teenagers who suffer violence. I’m glad I could help them. I feel like my own life has a little more value.”

An Mu couldn’t tell if this was just polite talk or genuine sincerity. Chen Han looked sincere, but if a decade-long friend could stab her in the back, what did mere surface sincerity prove?

She had only come to pick her up out of simple gratitude and social courtesy.

“Regardless, this meal must be my treat.”

Seeing An Mu insist, Chen Han stopped being overly polite.

“Then I’ll brazenly accept the meal.”

The dinner was very harmonious. Chen Han was articulate, extremely well-mannered, and her age was close to An Mu’s psychological age of twenty-eight, making the interaction much more comfortable than expected.

After dinner, as An Mu saw her out, Chen Han hesitated before asking, “You said you plan to major in a finance-related field. Does this mean you don’t intend to continue designing?”

“Yes, I’m more interested in investment and wealth management now.”

“It wouldn’t be… because of me, would it?”

“Of course not,” An Mu said earnestly. “I genuinely don’t remember the past, and I have no interest in it.”

An Mu extended her pale, smooth hand to bid Chen Han farewell.

“We probably won’t have many chances to meet in the future, but if anything comes up, you are welcome to contact me anytime, Teacher Chen.”

Chen Han looked at the hand she had shaken, adjusted her gold-rimmed glasses, and chuckled with an ambiguous meaning.

“Does that mean… I shouldn’t contact you if nothing is wrong?”

“Of course not. It’s just that the curriculum difference between China and abroad is significant, and the college entrance exam is just over a year away. I might be quite busy, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to reply to messages promptly, which would be discourteous to you, Teacher.”

“Then don’t text. Just call me. It’s brief and direct, and you won’t have to worry about being discourteous.”

After a pause, Chen Han added, “Of course, I will choose times when you don’t have classes.”

She then added another sentence: “I don’t mean anything else. I just think it’s a shame that you’ve given up design, and I hope to chat with you more. What if you change your mind? This should count as… a teacher’s final effort.”

Since she had said so much, even setting aside Chen Han’s past help, strictly based on ordinary social etiquette, it wasn’t appropriate to refuse at this point.

An Mu lowered her eyes, politely agreed, got into the car, and went home.

Chen Han didn’t linger in Beijing for long. After visiting a few friends, she quickly returned to her hometown, Linnan. She didn’t ask An Mu to see her off when she left, only mentioning that she would fly out after the New Year and would arrange to meet her then.

On New Year’s Eve, Jian Yixi called with a voice message and video, excitedly asking her to guess which dish on the dinner table she had made. The moment the clock struck midnight, a red packet (digital gift money) was sent right over: 99.99 (symbolizing long-lasting friendship).

An Mu thought for a moment and sent her back one cent.

Jian Yixi complained that she was stingy. An Mu replied:

[MistyRain Boat: Adding my one cent, our friendship is 100% perfect.]

[Mengxi Bitalk: You’re being stingy and also making a joke of it (⊙o⊙)…]

Jian Yixi screenshotted the exchange and sent it to Maomao. Maomao immediately sent back a red packet: 3.1 yuan (symbolizing “digging up three rooms and one living room”).

[Miaolege Mi: You two are so cheesy you made me dig out a three-bedroom apartment.]

The three of them laughed, kept their families company, and stayed up until midnight on their phones. They each finally climbed into bed around 1:00 AM.

Early on the first day of the New Year, Jian Yixi’s video call came through just after 6:00 AM. An Mu groggily answered. Jian Yixi was already washed up and happily twirled around to show her.

“Look at my new clothes! Aren’t they pretty?”

An Mu yawned and glanced at the down coat. It looked familiar, very similar to her white one, the color exactly the same.

“I asked you! Is it pretty? I bought it yesterday after shopping all day. It was on promotion and super cheap!”

An Mu mused, “Don’t you think it… looks a little familiar?”

“Familiar? Where?”

“Like mine.”

The small dimples on Jian Yixi’s face instantly froze. She belatedly flipped the camera around to look at herself. The more she looked, the more her face wrinkled up. She drooped like a frosted eggplant.

“I spotted it right away when I was shopping and loved it, but I didn’t think much about it then. How did I end up getting the same one as you? My brain must be frozen; it’s not working at all.”

Most girls are wary of wearing the same outfit as someone else. Aside from school uniforms, who doesn’t want to be the most unique?

Especially with this kind of fashion clash, it wasn’t about who bought it first; it was entirely linked to appearance. Whoever looked worse would be embarrassed.

Jian Yixi was clearly not worried about beauty; she was worried An Mu would misunderstand.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, truly! My mom insisted I buy new clothes. I told her I didn’t want to, and I didn’t buy anything all day yesterday because I ‘hadn’t found the right one.’ Who knew that the moment I saw this one, I just… I didn’t realize it was the same style as yours. I bought it and put it away. I only took it out just now and immediately video-called you after putting it on.”

An Mu understood. It was like a melody she had heard before, not paying attention at the time. When she heard it again later, she instinctively found it pleasant. She might not genuinely love it, but the familiarity deepened her favorable impression, making her feel it was good. Jian Yixi had likely been shopping all day, looked at many clothes, and was physically and mentally exhausted. Seeing a familiar down jacket, she subconsciously liked it and bought it to end the shopping trip quickly. She didn’t realize it at the time, only recognizing it when she put it on.

Seeing Jian Yixi’s dejected appearance, An Mu said, “I think it’s great. We’ll just wear them as sister outfits.”

Seeing that she wasn’t angry, Jian Yixi quickly cheered up and urged her to get out of bed quickly. She was also heading out with her parents to visit neighbors.

The sound of firecrackers crackled on the phone. In small towns, regulations were looser, and they could still set off firecrackers. This was strictly prohibited in Beijing.

Once the first day of the New Year arrived, the days flew by. They visited relatives every day, finally concluding the rounds on the fifth day.

The fifth day of the New Year marked the end of the main celebrations, but working people didn’t return to work until the eighth day, and students waited until after the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth or sixteenth.

An Mu figured the time was right. Waiting any longer would mean the start of the semester, and it would be too late to say anything then.

On the evening of the sixth day, Jian Yixi sent a video call before bed, as usual.

Jian Yixi, wearing white pajamas with small strawberries, was nestled in her quilt. Her cheeks were flushed from the warmth of the blanket. The phone was so close that An Mu could count her eyelashes.

“I’ve been so lazy this winter break. I haven’t written a single word of my homework. What about you, An Mu?”

“I finished it.”

“You’re amazing! Did Maomao ask to borrow it?”

“She did. I didn’t lend it to her, but I told her she could ask me if she had questions.”

“Then you’re finished. Maomao has questions on everything.”

“Then I’ll video call and tutor her.”

“That’s one way.”

Jian Yixi had just returned from her hometown. She was yawning as she spoke, casually setting her phone on the pillow. It soon slipped down, casting the light near her neck. The neckline of her pajamas was slightly parted, faintly revealing a black bandeau top.

While she was still compliant, she should warn her two more times.

“Hmm?” Jian Yixi’s voice was already drowsy.

“Do you remember what I told you before?”

“What? Finish the homework early?”

“No, the principles.”

Jian Yixi stopped mid-yawn. She rustled, picked up her phone again, and looked intently at the screen.

“Safety first, always. I remember.”

“One more thing.”

An Mu leaned against the headboard, her red lips slightly pursed. She said plainly, “I’m transferring schools.”

The author has something to say: Thank you all for your concern, my little darlings~ I’m much better now~

Also, I have plans tomorrow, so the update might be late QAQ