Inertial Dependence - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Her Sudden Arrival

“[Flyer Express] Please use code 9-3-1101 to collect your package from the station…”

Hearing her phone vibrate, An Chixu couldn’t help but pause her frantic work.

Seeing the content of the text made her even more anxious; her hand clicking the mouse began to tremble. There were still over two hours left before the company’s official clock-out time, but An Chixu’s heart had already flown out of this busy office.

She remembered the night she ordered this package—the surrounding noise of the world had seemed to freeze.

She had a habit of sleeping while holding someone. After breaking up with her ex-girlfriend, the vast house was left with only An Chixu and a chilling silence; she suffered from insomnia night after night. Even the moonlight couldn’t fill her empty embrace. A month ago, she finally made up her mind to buy a life-sized body pillow for comfort.

Thinking she would use it for a long time, she chose a more expensive model, budgeting nearly half a year’s salary. After repeated comparisons, she finally selected a humanoid pillow with customizable features.

At the time, she had felt a mix of shame and annoyance toward the “Simulated Girlfriend” description on the interface. She hadn’t dared to look at it for more than a second, as if looking would prove she was still obsessed with her “Ex-Wife.”

After a month of sleep deprivation, An Chixu had discarded what little invisible dignity she had left. Her heart was full of anticipation. She had spent three hours of a precious Sunday afternoon “sculpting” the features of this humanoid pillow. Then, she waited another month, checking the shipping progress day and night.

Her happiness had been soaked in waiting, expanding until it burst at this very moment. Her logic melted, replaced by a screaming desire to see the pillow.

An Chixu took a deep breath and closed the window she had accidentally opened. She couldn’t afford the risk of leaving early, but she couldn’t stand the possibility of being forced into overtime either. She had to finish her work.

The role of an Assistant Planner at an entertainment company was not an easy one.

There was no real power—just pure grunt work and endless, trivial tasks. After finishing the edit on a video demo and sending it off, An Chixu began organizing the minutes from a previous meeting.

She had spent the morning on-site for a promotional event, leading an intern and following her group leader. She rushed back in the afternoon for a meeting, and now the report fell to her. The intern had classes in the afternoon and wasn’t likely to stay at Yanxun Entertainment long-term; An Chixu didn’t have the authority to assign her work, so the minutes returned to her hands.

After two years on the job, she was used to this pace. To survive in this highly competitive, fast-paced city, she had to work twice as hard.

As she reached the end of the meeting minutes, she saw the distribution list. Her mouse paused for a moment on the name of the Central Director.

Yan Ciwei.

The direct supervisor of An Chixu’s department and her boss several levels up. Although they didn’t interact often, Yan Ciwei’s name echoed throughout Yanxun Entertainment; she was known by everyone.

“Yanxun Entertainment… guess why there’s a ‘Yan’ in the name?” On the first day of training the intern, An Chixu had told her about the company’s taboos.

“Because the founder likes swallows? For good luck?” The intern, Tian Ming, answered with the typical naivety of a college student, making An Chixu laugh.

“Our company’s surname is Yan. Yan Ciwei is closely related to the current Chairman. Don’t gossip about her ‘air-dropping’ into the position or her planning style with colleagues,” An Chixu thought for a moment and added one more thing.

“And don’t try to make a move on her.”

That warning was a bit personal, but it didn’t come from selfishness. When An Chixu first started, her own group leader had warned her the same way. Interns were especially dangerous because they often felt they had nothing to lose, making eyes at Yan Ciwei only to be unceremoniously thrown out of the headquarters building.

After all, Yan Ciwei was the Director. Since her sudden appointment, her ruthless methods had reorganized the entire department, producing results that silenced all detractors.

More importantly, she had a face and a figure that could rival any of the company’s signed artists. Just by looking at that face, anyone could imagine how popular she must have been during her student days.

The mole at the corner of her eye was the most striking “cinnabar mark” in many people’s adolescent dreams; her fluttering, butterfly-wing lashes had stolen too many souls.

Tian Ming had been slightly miffed by An Chixu’s warning, but that awkwardness vanished the moment she saw Yan Ciwei in person that afternoon.

“Sister An, I finally know why you warned me…” Even now, Tian Ming was messaging An Chixu, sounding completely smitten, likely struck by a single glance at Yan Ciwei.

An Chixu, whose thoughts had been turned into frayed cotton by the mention of Yan Ciwei, didn’t reply. She typed in Yan Ciwei’s work email and sent the meeting minutes. A red “1” popped up in the bottom right corner of her screen, but she didn’t click it.

After handling all the trivialities, writing her weekly report, and organizing tomorrow’s schedule, it was 8:00 PM. The official clock-out time had long passed, but the entire floor was still crowded, no different from when she received the package notification.

She hid her belongings under her coat and picked up a pack of tissues, pretending to go to the bathroom. Then, she quickly slipped toward the elevator. This was her standard operating procedure. Her group leader loved overtime and loved making everyone stay with her. No one could “leave early” under her nose.

But the courier station closed at nine.

Once she confirmed the leader hadn’t followed, An Chixu breathed a sigh of relief. The elevator numbers climbed slowly. It was about to reach the 17th floor where the planning department was, but it didn’t stop.

An Chixu clutched the bag hidden under her coat, watching the scarlet numbers fly. The elevator only came to a stop when it reached the 23rd floor—the executive level.

An Chixu’s heart skipped a beat.

The elevator then slid smoothly down from the 23rd floor, as fluid as running water. An Chixu thought of a person—someone she didn’t want to see.

She pulled her heavy head back and blinked her dry eyes. She should take the stairs, or wait for the next one, or even go back to her desk right now to solidify her bathroom excuse. She lifted her leg to leave, but her stagnant breath made the movement slow.

Ding. The elevator stopped.

Unable to retreat in time, An Chixu looked to the side and locked eyes with the face of Yan Ciwei inside the elevator.

Her childhood friend of ten years. Her partner of seven. Her ex.

Yan Ciwei tilted her clean, white chin, looking at her with a piercing gaze.

“…”

The silence was as thick and viscous as the night outside the building. The early summer rain covered the sky, stealing the moonlight and staining the corridor with fog. The light in the elevator flickered for a second, making Yan Ciwei’s exquisite, sculpted face look like a ghost.

Her long lashes cast shadows over her eyes, turning them dark and gloomy. The red mole at the corner of her eye looked like a smear of blood. Everything about this Director that others loved was blurred into a terrifying negative in An Chixu’s eyes.

Yan Ciwei stood in the depths of the elevator, silently staring at An Chixu for a long time.

An Chixu stiffly completed a turn, wanting to walk away. In all of Yanxun Entertainment, in all of their middle school and university years, and among everyone who knew Yan Ciwei—only she, An Chixu, had the gall to be this disrespectful in front of her.

An Chixu thought Yan Ciwei would understand her awkwardness and let this poor lamb go. But Yan Ciwei tilted her head, her pale skin taking on a faint, breathing pink hue.

“Not coming in?” Yan Ciwei held the door open button, as if she were holding An Chixu by the throat.

The scarlet number 17 seemed to stand still, frozen in eternity. An Chixu closed her eyes in resignation, turned back to Yan Ciwei, and stepped into the elevator.

She kept her head down. Aside from the initial eye contact, she didn’t give Yan Ciwei another glance. The two of them stood on opposite sides of the elevator, an invisible wall between them. The air was stagnant; An Chixu didn’t smell Yan Ciwei’s usual geranium scent.

The stumbling vibration of the moving elevator made the lights dim. An Chixu raised her peripheral vision slightly, unwilling to look at the “specter” on the other side, choosing instead to empty her mind. She quietly adjusted her coat to hide her bag.

She didn’t look at Yan Ciwei. But Yan Ciwei never stopped watching her for a single second.

Yan Ciwei’s gaze was light and soft. Like a fine drizzle, like a silk thread—cool, yet continuous.

In the past, An Chixu was used to this gaze. She had been watched by Yan Ciwei for seven years, until the thread suddenly snapped at a certain moment. Now, An Chixu tried not to feel this invasive gaze, much like how her chronic rhinitis prevented her from smelling that deep, sweet, yet bitter perfume.

The elevator felt too slow. An Chixu closed her eyes, not even letting herself think about the package she had waited a month for. She only wanted the elevator to reach the ground.

“I remember the clock-out time was…” Yan Ciwei actually spoke.

An Chixu opened her eyes. It had been a long time since she had heard Yan Ciwei’s voice in such a confined space. That cold-toned voice was like a snow lotus—transparent and beautiful. It made her shudder.

She bit her tongue to keep from showing her fear. Fortunately, the doors opened.

An Chixu didn’t even check which floor it was; she stepped out and walked away quickly. Yan Ciwei’s gaze was pinned to her back, rising and falling with her steps—following her, becoming a rhythm to match her dance, a drumbeat for her accompaniment.

She was right behind her.

An Chixu breathed heavily, turning the world that had been silent except for Yan Ciwei back into a noisy one. After walking into the crowded subway station, she finally stopped feeling that gaze. She looked back; of course, she didn’t see Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei was the Chairman’s daughter; she was driven to and from work in luxury cars by a private chauffeur every day. There was no way she would be squeezing into a subway.

It’s just my imagination, An Chixu thought, clutching her racing heart.

Yan Ciwei, her ex… after the way they broke up, she certainly wouldn’t have followed her out of the elevator. Everything was just because she was too nervous after hearing Yan Ciwei’s voice, mistaking the past for reality.

An Chixu moved the life-sized pillow, which was as tall as she was, back to her apartment alone. Luckily, there was no one else in the elevator, so she was spared the embarrassment. Her face was slightly red from the exertion as she wiped away sweat and looked at the pillow, her mood lifting.

Once inside, she began to unbox it. The layers of packaging were so thick she lost her patience, eventually using a knife to cut through.

Finally, a snowy-white corner was revealed. An Chixu dropped the scissors and slowly peeled away the rest of the casing.

…It wasn’t wearing clothes.

The milky-white “skin” was completely exposed to An Chixu’s eyes. The texture, the details—everything was incredibly realistic.

An Chixu stepped back slightly, but the lifelike details didn’t vanish; they became clearer. The nails had a healthy pink hue; blue veins pulsed slightly on the back of the hand like mountain ridges. There was a mole on the side of the arm exactly where An Chixu had specified, and a small red one near the chest. Even the fine hairs were there, and the hair was long, just like she had ordered, clinging to the back. Every muscle followed human anatomy.

Even more subtle was the slight, dewy reflection—like real skin, the way a human looks after sweating slightly.

For a second, An Chixu was stunned. It felt as though her lover was truly lying there, just fallen into a deep sleep, breathing evenly, unable to refuse her touch. The “Simulated Girlfriend” title was well-deserved.

However, after she knelt down piously and touched it for a moment, she collapsed to the floor.

It looked too much like a person, but it had no body heat, no pulse, no rise and fall of breath, and no real flaws. An Chixu covered the doll’s eyes, feeling lost.

Maybe… I should give it a bath first?

Yan Ciwei returned to the office, heading back to the 17th floor. It was now 8:12 PM, over two hours past the clock-out time.

She walked into the office where An Chixu usually worked. Seeing that almost no one had left, her eyelids flickered. She knocked on the door—not loudly, but enough to draw everyone’s attention. All the employees working overtime looked up at their Department Director.

“Clock out,” Yan Ciwei said. Just two words. It wasn’t even a sentence; it was a command.

She glanced at the group leader, crossed her arms, and left. The employees scrambled to pack their things in total silence.

With a heavy heart, Yan Ciwei left the company again, got into her car, and opened her tablet to continue working. Her mother had told her to pick a department and start as a Director to make it easier to take over Yanxun and the entire group later. Yan Ciwei had picked the busiest department, and no one knew she had a selfish motive.

When the work became too irritating, Yan Ciwei reached into her pocket for her e-cigarette. She turned it on, and a fruity aroma filled her mouth. As she exhaled the cloud of vapor, the fatigue eased along with the image of the person in her mind.

An Chixu’s bowed head was imprinted on her brain, carved so deeply it seemed to cast a shadow over her thoughts. An Chixu had always been that way.

Yan Ciwei thought dazeedly, reminiscing.

Until, suddenly, her abdomen felt a tickle.

Yan Ciwei’s eyes snapped open.

That sensation… it felt exactly like An Chixu’s touch.

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