Forced to Act out a Strange Script with a Rival - Chapter 85

This was certainly no ordinary wedding.

This was the wedding of the Gong family’s eldest daughter, Gong Zhiyuan—a “wedding of the century” costing hundreds of billions, an event massive enough to dominate the headlines of global finance and fashion magazines for an entire month.

When the world’s top wedding planning team presented the budget—a document as thick as an encyclopedia with mind-bogglingly intricate details—to You Yilin, she was trembling. Looking at that long string of zeros trailing behind the numbers, she couldn’t understand how things had spiraled so far out of control, reaching such a desperate level of absurdity.

The Origins of a Protector

You Yilin was the only daughter in her family, with two older brothers. Her mother passed away from illness when she was very young, leaving behind only a faded old photograph and the blurry memory of a warm embrace.

Her father, a retired soldier turned renowned martial arts director in the entertainment industry, was a man of iron will and few words. He buried his grief for his late wife deep within his heart, choosing instead to raise his three children with a near-harsh, military-style discipline.

In his worldview, tears were a sign of weakness and complaints were proof of incompetence. If you fell, you climbed back up; if you were hurt, you gritted your teeth and endured. He treated his daughter no differently than his sons, throwing them all into the training hall to tumble and fight. He demanded they be strong, resilient, and unyielding, allowing no room for daintiness or retreat.

Under this crucible of an education, You Yilin did indeed develop extraordinary skills. Her bones were tempered, her reflexes lightning-fast, and her combat techniques surpassed even those of professional fighters her age.

However, the girlhood nature that had been forcibly suppressed did not vanish. Instead, it fermented in the deepest corners of her heart, brewing into a secret longing.

Because of her background and her father’s “barrack-style” upbringing, her environment was almost exclusively populated by rugged men. She rarely had the chance to interact with ordinary girls her age or participate in their whispered secrets. The more inaccessible that world was, the more she viewed it through a massive, glowing filter of idealization.

Consequently, as she grew up, she found herself completely defenseless against things that appeared fragile, exquisite, and beautiful—especially “vulnerable” women. She would subconsciously want to draw near, to protect, and to care for them. It was as if by guarding that “fragility,” she could reclaim the colorful, tender parts of the childhood she had missed.

She didn’t particularly enjoy the company of men. Perhaps it was because she had seen too much of the aggression, sweat, and dust of her father and brothers. To her, there was an unshakeable “smell” to groups of men—a mix of competition and hormones. Deep down, she yearned to belong to the soft, fragrant world of women, filled with gentle laughter.

The Trapped Hunter

Her entry into the “Tongque Wujian” training camp happened simply because a young Yilin once walked past a gymnasium and saw a group of girls practicing together. She was so captivated she couldn’t move.

She saw a crowd of girls in training gear, ponytails swinging, practicing form and basic movements under a teacher’s guidance. They were lithe, their laughter rang like silver bells, and the sunlight hitting their damp foreheads and slender necks seemed to wrap them in a soft glow.

Grabbing her father’s hand, she shouted for the first time: “I want this.”

Her desire to be near women wasn’t a romantic longing at first; it was a yearning born from her own perceived deficiencies. Specifically, regarding maternal love, she was utterly powerless against older, delicate women—to the point where she could be led by the nose.

And Gong Zhiyuan happened to be exactly that kind of woman.

Gong Zhiyuan was several years older, stunningly beautiful, possessed a terrifying family background, and appeared—outwardly at least—so fragile she could barely take care of herself, requiring meticulous devotion.

Among a dozen potential undercover targets, You Yilin chose Gong Zhiyuan at first glance. How could such a woman be an underground mob boss? How could she be a threat to national security? The intelligence department must have made a mistake!

From the very beginning, Yilin’s perspective was clouded by her own internal filters. Her goal wasn’t to find the “fox’s tail” (evidence), but rather to prove Gong Zhiyuan’s innocence.

Was it fate? Or a mysterious attraction? Or perhaps, it was simply that a meticulous, controlling hunter had, from the very start, set a magnificent trap lined with velvet for this simple-minded little beast.

To put it briefly: You Yilin was the type of youth who was obsessed with “being a dog for an older woman.” She loved the feeling of being needed, being relied upon, and even the illusion of being controlled by the other person’s seemingly harmless “frailty.”

The First Meeting

For You Yilin, the process of approaching the sole heir of this massive conglomerate was frighteningly smooth—almost as if destiny were pushing her forward.

It just so happened that during that time, Gong Zhiyuan had received several viciously worded threatening letters. The “fragile” heiress appeared deeply shaken and decided to personally select a close, trustworthy bodyguard.

Her requirements were highly specific: she wanted a young woman from China who was skilled in combat and had an outstanding appearance.

Every single criterion seemed tailor-made for You Yilin. With her superb skills, crisp aura, and a face that balanced heroism with elegance, she emerged from the crowd of candidates without any suspense.

You Yilin successfully became the only female bodyguard selected, taking on the responsibility of protecting the eldest daughter and managing her daily life.

She still remembered the first time she formally met her employer—and mission target. It was at a private sanatorium villa owned by the Gong family. The air was filled with the faint, bittersweet scent of expensive medicine.

Gong Zhiyuan wore a moon-white silk gown, reclining lazily on a lounge chair covered in soft cashmere blankets. Sunlight danced through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows across her seaweed-like wavy hair.

Hearing the door open, she slowly turned her head.

It was a moment of pure, breathtaking wonder.

Because of her role in Copper Sparrow, You Yilin was considered a semi-insider in the entertainment industry and had many friends within the circle. Among them, the most dazzling and eye-catching was her close friend Si Xiaoxiao, a woman of such flamboyant, vivid beauty that she was often labeled a “vase.”

Xiaoxiao’s beauty lay in her bold radiance—her features were impeccably refined, and she possessed a sharp, aggressive charm that felt like a roaring flame, scorching and brilliant.

Gong Zhiyuan also possessed deep, striking features; as a woman of mixed heritage, her eyes were a rare shade of deep glazed amber, her nose bridge was high and straight, and her lips were full yet pale in color. More importantly, she carried the dignified aura that only a century-old noble lineage could cultivate. She was elegant and composed, as if no amount of worldly clamor or dust could ever touch her.

Of course, being elegant and dignified wasn’t enough.

The “lethal” part was that she was shrouded in a sense of physical frailty that even the most meticulous medical care could not fully dispel. Her eyes often held a trace of weariness and vulnerability, making her seem like a fragile piece of Oriental porcelain, carefully wrapped in the scent of medicinal herbs.

This peculiar temperament hit You Yilin’s “sweet spot” with pinpoint accuracy.

On their first day meeting, Gong Zhiyuan dismissed all her attendants, leaving only You Yilin.

She slightly lifted those amber eyes, which seemed misty with unshed moisture, and observed You Yilin with a mix of timidness and curiosity. Then, she reached out with a cold, slender hand and gently grasped You Yilin’s fingers—fingers that were covered in thin calluses from years of martial arts training.

Her Mandarin was a bit halting, her tone as soft as if it were coated in honey: “Good morning… my dear, Miss Knight.”

At that moment, You Yilin was thrown into a state of total confusion by the sudden cold touch and the intimate title. Her fingers stiffened, and her ears began to burn uncontrollably. She could only grumble inwardly: Is this eldest Miss’s Chinese really that bad? Why is she calling her bodyguard “Miss Knight”?

The Fragile Heiress

It was only after becoming Gong Zhiyuan’s personal bodyguard that You Yilin truly understood what it meant to be “frail and unable to care for oneself.” The delicate Miss Gong seemed utterly helpless regarding anything that required physical strength or even slight mental exertion.

In the dead of night, when all was silent, she would softly press the pearl-encrusted call button by her bed. Her voice would come through the intercom, raspy from sleep and heartbreakingly weak: “A-Lin, my heart hurts… can you come stay with me?”

Of course, she would also apologize for disturbing You Yilin so late at night. In her “spoiled” way, she would insist that You Yilin get plenty of rest, even going as far as watching over her to ensure she took a midday nap.

Nights with sudden weather changes and roaring thunder were “high-alert” shifts for You Yilin. Usually, as the first bolt of lightning cut through the sky, the bedroom door would be pushed open just a crack.

Gong Zhiyuan would be standing there timidly, clutching a soft silk pillow, her bare feet so pale that the faint blue veins were visible. Her thin nightgown made her silhouette look even more slender, as if a gust of wind could knock her over. She wouldn’t speak; she would simply gaze at You Yilin with the eyes of a startled fawn, her long lashes seemingly glistening with tears.

And almost always, the following day, she would attempt to offer extravagant gifts as a reward for You Yilin’s “protection”—keys to limited-edition supercars, rare gemstone brooches shimmering with a cold light, or checks large enough to buy a mansion.

When You Yilin firmly declined these gifts with excuses like “it’s inappropriate” or “I don’t deserve this,” Gong Zhiyuan would lower her eyes, showing a perfectly measured look of disappointment and grievance. But she would quickly cheer up and find another way to repay the care.

It might be a clumsy-looking cake she baked herself, topped with fresh strawberries; or a handkerchief she secretly learned to embroider from the old butler, with crooked stitches forming her initials; or perhaps a dried flower she picked from the garden herself, placed in a silk sachet and infused with her unique, bittersweet medicinal scent.

The eldest Miss of the Gong family was delicate, polite, and respectful. She didn’t look down on others from a pedestal, nor did she treat You Yilin as an inferior servant just because of their employer-employee relationship. She possessed the refined grace of a noble raised in wealth, but none of the foul habits typically associated with rich children.

She was perfect—at least, she was in front of You Yilin.

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