I Wish To Never Leave Your Side - Chapter 4

Mo Lishen pushed Qiu Yan out of her embrace, glanced down at her, and was about to walk toward the sofa when she suddenly noticed something. She pinched Qiu Yan’s chin with two fingers and tilted it to the side.

“What happened to your neck?” Mo Lishen asked, spotting a red mark on Qiu Yan’s neck. She was certain she hadn’t left that mark.

Qiu Yan clenched her hands tightly and replied softly, “It’s from being a stunt double.”

“A stunt double?” Mo Lishen furrowed her brows.

“Just for action scenes. I won’t have any intimate scenes with anyone. If you don’t like it, I won’t take such roles again,” Qiu Yan quickly explained, afraid of angering Mo Lishen.

Without another word, Mo Lishen walked straight to the sofa, took out her laptop from her bag, and began working.

Qiu Yan picked up the tomato that had fallen on the floor, placed it on the kitchen counter, and returned to the living room. She muted her phone and sat on a single-seater sofa not far from Mo Lishen.

Occasionally, Yuanyuan would message her at night to ask if they could video call. Under no circumstances could Mo Lishen find out about Yuanyuan’s existence.

She hadn’t known Mo Lishen would visit tonight. She hadn’t showered yet, so naturally, she hadn’t changed into a bathrobe.

Qiu Yan clasped her hands together, thinking about how to please Mo Lishen and earn the remaining 200,000 yuan.

“Do whatever you need to do. Don’t mind me,” Mo Lishen said, her eyes fixed on the computer screen, not sparing Qiu Yan a single glance.

Do whatever she needed to do? As a kept woman, what was she supposed to do?

Qiu Yan remained seated across from Mo Lishen, occasionally stealing glances at her.

Mo Lishen wasn’t wearing a dress today. Under her black suit, she had on a thin gray turtleneck sweater. She was already a woman of few words, and when she was engrossed in work, she seemed even more unapproachable.

“Go back to the bedroom,” Mo Lishen said, disliking being stared at. She decided to send Qiu Yan away outright.

But to a kept woman, those words carried a different meaning.

As if bearing some heavy responsibility, Qiu Yan stood up, nodded, and returned to the bedroom.

An hour later, after finishing her work, Mo Lishen stretched her neck and, after a moment’s thought, walked into the bedroom.

Light from the bedroom seeped through the crack under the door. Mo Lishen turned the doorknob and entered the room.

Qiu Yan lay on the bed in a bathrobe, breathing evenly in her sleep.

Mo Lishen approached, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at her face for a long while.

Her gaze drifted downward, noticing that Qiu Yan, just like the first night, wore nothing under the bathrobe.

Mo Lishen reached out, slipped her hand inside the robe, and grasped Qiu Yan’s waist.

Today, Qiu Yan’s skin felt colder than Mo Lishen’s hand.

Although the apartment’s heating was excellent, wearing nothing under the bathrobe would still leave one feeling somewhat chilly.

Qiu Yan jolted awake. Instinctively, she gripped the bedsheet, her eyes quickly glistening with a faint mist, yet she made no move to resist.

Mo Lishen felt the slight tremble of the body beneath her hand and raised an eyebrow. “Are you that afraid of me?”

Qiu Yan shook her head and whispered, “No.”

Mo Lishen gave a faint smile, withdrew her hand, and pulled the nearby blanket over Qiu Yan. “You don’t have to dress like this anymore in the future.”

Truly, a benefactor’s moods were unpredictable. One day, she was one way; the next, she was tucking you in.

Qiu Yan obediently nodded.

Mo Lishen stared at her face for a while longer, about to rise, when her sleeve was gently tugged.

She raised an eyebrow from her elevated position, her eyes questioning.

“Aren’t… aren’t you staying?” Qiu Yan didn’t dare look up, keeping her gaze fixed on the other’s sleeve as she murmured softly.

Mo Lishen’s eyes darkened. She gripped Qiu Yan’s wrist, pinned it abruptly to the bed, and leaned close to her lips.

The little quail began trembling all over again.

But instead of the expected kiss, Mo Lishen gently traced the tear mole beneath Qiu Yan’s eye with her fingertip. Her cool fragrance enveloped Qiu Yan’s senses.

When Qiu Yan looked up, she met Mo Lishen’s gaze. Today’s Mo Lishen was different from that day.

That day, Mo Lishen had deliberately teased her with words, but today she was almost excessively gentle.

As their eyes locked, Qiu Yan sensed something lurking in Mo Lishen’s gaze, an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Mo Lishen was the first to lower her eyes, covering Qiu Yan’s with her palm to prevent her from looking.

“Rest.” Mo Lishen said, then stood and left the bedroom.

Qiu Yan watched her retreating figure. Her patron had left again.

It had been five days since Mo Lishen started keeping her, yet she still hadn’t taken her. If she didn’t want her, why keep her at all?

Could she gather enough for Yuanyuan’s surgery within two weeks?

Burdened with worries, Qiu Yan drifted into sleep.

Mo Lishen sat on the living room sofa, staring absently at the bedroom door.

Dawn had just broken when Qiu Yan woke. Used to early calls on set, she often found herself awake before sunrise.

She reached for her phone to check for messages from Yuanyuan and, sure enough, found several from the previous night.

Yuanyuan was obedient; if Qiu Yan didn’t reply, she wouldn’t send more messages or video call, knowing Qiu Yan was busy.

Qiu Yan typed a reply, promising to buy Yuanyuan’s favorite snacks when she had time.

After washing up, she pushed open the bedroom door and froze at the sight of Mo Lishen asleep on the sofa.

She hadn’t left last night?

Qiu Yan had assumed she’d left in the evening as usual.

After a moment’s thought, Qiu Yan returned to the room for a blanket, intending to cover Mo Lishen.

But before she could reach her, Mo Lishen’s eyes snapped open, cold and watchful.

Startled, Qiu Yan stood frozen, blanket in hand, unsure whether to proceed.

Mo Lishen’s gaze seemed to warm slightly as she looked at Qiu Yan’s face. She reached out, took the blanket, and draped it over herself.

“Can you cook?” Mo Lishen asked abruptly.

“Yes, but only simple home-style dishes.”

“Have dinner ready before I come back tonight.” With that, Mo Lishen stood and left the apartment.

Qiu Yan stood there, processing the words, and by the time she looked up, all she saw was Mo Lishen’s retreating back again.

Is this how patrons are?

Mo Lishen went home first to change clothes, then headed straight to the company.

The Mo Group was now essentially divided into three factions.

Mo Lishen’s eldest brother, Mo Lixian; the favored younger brother, Mo Licheng, doted on by the old master; and Mo Lishen herself.

Although it appeared to be a three-way power struggle, most of the time, Mo Licheng and Mo Lixian would join forces against Mo Lishen.

The employees in the company had heard a thing or two about the Mo family’s affairs. They neither wanted to offend Mo Licheng, who was most likely to take over the family business, nor did they wish to provoke Mo Lishen.

Mo Lishen had joined the company right after graduating from university. Over the years, she had naturally built up her own trusted allies and connections.

For years, Mo Licheng had repeatedly tried to sabotage her, deliberately creating obstacles for her projects. Mo Lishen, in turn, never let him off easily. Every time Mo Licheng provoked her, she would retaliate tenfold.

If it weren’t for the fact that Mo Lishen controlled most of the resources and projects within the Mo Group, Old Master Mo wouldn’t treat her with such courtesy. Perhaps the old man even regretted his decision to let this young woman, Mo Lishen, enter the family company in the first place.

“President Mo, the attire for the banquet the day after tomorrow has been delivered. When would you like to try it on? If it doesn’t fit, I’ll have them make adjustments immediately.” Bai Hua brewed a cup of coffee for Mo Lishen and gently placed it by her hand.

“I’ll go in a while,” Mo Lishen replied, taking a sip of coffee as she flipped through the documents in her hand.

“Do I have any dinner plans tonight?” she asked without looking up, her thin lips parting slightly.

“Yes, you have a gathering with Miss Yu and the others.”

“Cancel it. Tell them I’ll treat them separately another day.”

“Understood.”

…

That morning, Qiu Yan went to the hospital to bring some snacks for Yuanyuan.

Yuanyuan’s attending physician had applied for a relief fund on her behalf, and the hospital agreed to proceed with the surgery first. However, the medical expenses after the surgery would not be covered by the hospital.

In other words, Qiu Yan still needed to come up with the money as soon as possible.

Today, Qiu Yan hadn’t managed to secure any extra roles as a background actor. All she had was the hundred yuan she earned from odd jobs, which she used to buy groceries at the market.

For most ordinary girls, twenty-four is an age not long after graduating from university, a time when youthful innocence fades and ambitions soar.

But for Qiu Yan, at twenty-four, she had already been carrying the role of a mother for four years.

She wasn’t Yuanyuan’s biological mother. When Qiu Yan was very young, her father had abandoned her and her mother in the countryside, never to be heard from again.

During her second year of high school, Qiu Yan’s mother fell ill, forcing her to drop out of school and earn money to cover her mother’s medical expenses.

Life continued like that until Qiu Yan turned twenty. That was when her so-called father returned, bringing with him five thousand yuan, which he claimed was for her mother’s treatment.

Along with the money, the man also brought back a one-year-old girl.

He knelt by Qiu Yan’s mother’s bedside, holding the child and weeping as he apologized, saying he had lost his mind back then and now only wanted to make amends for his mistakes.

As for the child, he explained that she was the daughter of a deceased coworker, entrusted to his care. He knelt there, promising to make things right for Qiu Yan and her mother, and said he also wanted to help his coworker by raising the child he had left behind.

Qiu Yan, holding a bundle of firewood, watched the man coldly, a stranger to her.

She didn’t know whether her mother had believed his lies at the time. All she knew was that her mother told her to start the fire and prepare a meal. At the dinner table, the man tried to pat Qiu Yan’s head, but she dodged his hand.

The next morning, the man had vanished without a trace.

He had left behind the one-year-old girl.

One was a bedridden mother, the other a babbling toddler.

Qiu Yan’s mother pleaded with her, asking her to keep the child.

That was the first time Qiu Yan had ever lost her temper with her mother. She had taken care of her for three years without a single complaint.

But her mother actually wanted her to raise someone else’s child. While other eighteen-year-olds were wearing beautiful dresses and attending university, her own eighteenth year was spent working odd jobs and returning home to care for her sick mother. For three years, she had been constantly stooped over, almost forgetting what the color of the sky looked like.

Tears streaming down her face, Qiu Yan stormed out, slamming the door behind her, startling the child inside. She ran outside, wanting to escape the incessant crying and the chaotic mess of her life.

At the entrance of their village stood a large television that played movies in the evenings. Everyone would gather to chat and watch, leisurely passing the nighttime hours.

Qiu Yan hid in a corner, watching the screen through the gaps in the crowd.

She remembered every movement and expression of the actors on screen. That television was the only thing that had brought any color into her life over the past three years.

Sometimes, Qiu Yan wondered: if her mother hadn’t fallen ill, would she have gone to university too? Could she have studied acting, appeared on television, and shone brightly?

But she could only occasionally lift her head to glimpse the lives of others. When the movie ended, she still had to return to her own life and shoulder her responsibilities.

Normally, she only dared to steal half an hour to watch. But that night, Qiu Yan stared at the screen until the crowd dispersed, and the colorful square turned gray again. She wiped her face, stood up, brushed off her pants, and started the walk home.

When she arrived, she saw her mother struggling to hold the child, who was crying herself hoarse. Qiu Yan looked down at the ground, clenched her fists, and asked in a cold, raspy voice:

“Whose child is this, really? Did that man have her with another woman?”

Qiu Yan’s mother said nothing, holding the little girl as tears began to fall.

Qiu Yan took a deep breath, lowered her gaze, and silently took the child, heading to the kitchen to prepare some food.

Perhaps her life was destined to be one where she could only peek at others’ lives through the cracks. She didn’t even dare to sit openly among the crowd, enjoying the brief joy the television brought.

At twenty, it seemed she had accepted the fate heaven had arranged for her.

Her life, already filled with odd jobs, chopping firewood, cooking, and caring for her mother, now included the added responsibility of raising a child.

But gradually, it no longer felt like just a responsibility.

Qiu Yan named the child Qiu Yuan, symbolizing reunion and wholeness.

The first word Qiu Yuan learned to say was “sister.” For a child, the syllable for “sister” is more complex than “mom” or “dad,” but every time Qiu Yuan said it, it was clear and strong, bringing many smiles to Qiu Yan’s face.

Qiu Yan remembered teaching Qiu Yuan to walk: her mother held the child at the head of the bed while Qiu Yan stood at the foot, arms outstretched.

Little Qiu Yuan, overjoyed and eager to reach her sister, kicked her tiny legs forward with all her might but lacked the strength, tumbling headfirst.

Qiu Yan caught her in her arms, covering her with kisses and hugs.

In the evenings, Qiu Yan would take Qiu Yuan to watch television. The colorful screen fascinated the little girl.

The two sisters would stare intently at the screen. When a movie ended, Qiu Yan would carry Qiu Yuan home, sometimes buying a piece of candy along the way. Qiu Yan didn’t dare let Qiu Yuan eat too much, she’d let her have just one lick before finishing the rest herself.

When Qiu Yan was twenty-one, her mother passed away.

She didn’t shed a single tear. After calmly burying her mother, Qiu Yan returned to their old house.

Sitting in the yard, Qiu Yan looked up at the blue sky. She finally had time to rest. She no longer had to rush to the pharmacy the moment she earned money from her part-time job, the cash still warm in her hand. She no longer had to wipe her mother’s body or handle her waste day after day.

A tear fell onto the dusty ground, beside Qiu Yan’s worn-out cloth shoes.

She wept, overwhelmed by a sense of emptiness.

For four years, she had lived this way. Looking back, she didn’t know whether her actions were driven by love, duty, or mere habit.

She didn’t know if she still loved her mother, or if she even hated her.

As Qiu Yan cried harder, little Qiu Yuan, unaware of what was happening, ran over and stretched out her arms, trying to pull Qiu Yan into her small embrace.

Holding Qiu Yuan, Qiu Yan felt a moment of gratitude that her mother had left the child behind, giving her a reason to keep living.

Qiu Yan took Qiu Yuan and left their hometown for the city.

By chance, she came into contact with a film crew. Her good looks, though lacking the backing for major roles, allowed her to find work as an extra or a stand-in, enough to satisfy her.

On good days, she could earn five or six hundred yuan; on bad days, one or two hundred. It was far more profitable than her previous odd jobs.

When a film featuring Qiu Yan as an extra was released, the two sisters huddled in their rented room, watching a pirated copy.

All night, they searched the screen for Qiu Yan’s fleeting appearances. Unsure if her scenes had made the final cut, she grew so anxious her hands and feet turned cold. When her face finally flashed across the screen, the two of them jumped up excitedly, rewinding again and again just to relive that moment.

At twenty-two, Qiu Yan no longer had to glimpse the colorful world from the sidelines. By a stretch, she had become the tiniest part of that vibrant world.

Her life gradually took on the hues appropriate for her age, and her face began to wear the smiles she ought to have.

Qiu Yuan was nearly old enough for kindergarten. The identity of “mother” was more convenient than “sister.” To be safe, Qiu Yan instructed Qiu Yuan to call her “Mom” in front of others, reserving “Sister” for when they were alone.

At first, little Qiu Yuan struggled with the change. To help her adjust, Qiu Yan had her use “Mom” even at home.

But misfortune strikes where the thread is weakest. When Qiu Yuan turned four, she was diagnosed with a growth in her brain. Qiu Yan took her from hospital to hospital for examinations and treatments.

The location of the growth was precarious, and many hospitals refused to take the case. After a long search, they finally found one willing to accept them.

After Qiu Yuan fell ill, Qiu Yan felt as though she had returned to her seventeen-year-old self, no, even more helpless than before.

After nearly a year of struggle, Qiu Yan finally secured a chance for Qiu Yuan’s surgery, but she didn’t have enough money.

At her wit’s end, an acquaintance from the film crew told her that becoming a wealthy man’s mistress was a quick way to earn money.

The acquaintance said she had the contact information of a rich man’s assistant and could recommend Qiu Yan. The only question was whether Qiu Yan was willing.

When Qiu Yan learned that the man in question was Mo Lishen, fear gripped her heart.

Working in the film industry for years, Qiu Yan had heard plenty of gossip. Although Mo Lishen was a woman, her methods of tormenting lovers were no less cruel than those of men.

But thinking of Xiao Qiu Yuan lying sick in the hospital bed, Qiu Yan gritted her teeth and accepted the offer.