Inertial Dependence - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Gazing at Her

Yan Ciwei kept her head lowered, flipping through the proposals submitted by several planning groups.

From An Chixu’s perspective, she could only see the strands of hair falling around Yan Ciwei’s ears, catching glimpses of her focused eyes through the gaps.

It was a somewhat high-altitude gaze. An Chixu thought to herself that she, too, finally had a day where she could look down at Yan Ciwei from a higher vantage point.

However, among all the people present, she was probably the only one with such “wicked” thoughts toward this Director—a person everyone admired and feared, the heir who had been openly air-dropped into the position.

An Chixu stepped forward, separating herself from the group.

Tian Ming, who had just misinterpreted Yan Ciwei as being fierce and likely to scold people, looked at An Chixu with a trace of worry. An Chixu squeezed the intern’s reaching wrist but didn’t look back.

As she passed Tang Shu, she received a frantic wink. Tang Shu wanted An Chixu to bring up the overtime issue. It wasn’t that she intended to overwork them; it was simply that the planning group had too much work lately.

An Chixu ignored their glances entirely. One by one, those gazes drifted behind her as she moved like a passing breeze.

She fixed her eyes on Yan Ciwei.

Unblinkingly, she gazed at Yan Ciwei.

Yan Ciwei finally gave her a glance as she approached, casually handing over the documents in her hand. It was a very normal interaction between superior and subordinate; after all, An Chixu was currently just an assistant producer, not much different from a general errand-runner.

Yet, An Chixu caught a faint, lingering scent of geranium.

A momentary sense of peace made An Chixu irritable. She was truly too used to this—sick of this bittersweet fragrance.

Yan Ciwei walked ahead naturally.

It was like this every time. An Chixu felt weary of Yan Ciwei’s back. The materials in her hands weren’t heavy; the one on top was the proposal Tang Shu had discussed with them a few days ago. In a setting like this, even a little extra weight felt like a burden, sure to be crushed under the weight of a gaze.

The elevator doors opened.

Yan Ciwei seemingly never used the private elevator. During her two years on the job, An Chixu frequently saw Yan Ciwei in the large public elevators. Yan Ciwei’s intentions were clear as day, and An Chixu never tried to stop her.

However, moments of being alone were rare. This was the second time. An Chixu didn’t understand what Yan Ciwei wanted to do, so she just kept staring at her.

She imitated her. She wanted to use the weight of her gaze to crush Yan Ciwei’s shoulders.

Yan Ciwei led An Chixu as if she were a little secretary, her slightly curled ebony hair swaying as she entered the elevator. Then, she raised her hand to check the time. In the process, she tucked the strand of hair that had been distracting her since the meeting behind her ear.

Her long fingers were striking and beautiful, drawing An Chixu’s gaze.

The An Chixu beside her was no longer as detached as she had been the previous night—when she wouldn’t even listen to a word while in the same room, let alone exchange glances. Now, her gaze was too direct, hooking into Yan Ciwei like a fishing lure.

Yan Ciwei would always take the bait. She turned her head, meeting An Chixu’s eyes.

An Chixu’s gaze was so cold.

It was like the night of the breakup, where she was left in the cold wind with only a thin shirt, the wind blowing away her remaining dignity and pouring chill into her body. The sensation of pain, reviewed countless times, layered upon itself; Yan Ciwei felt a stinging pain from An Chixu’s gaze.

That look for a stranger, for an enemy, for a lover. They were all mixed together.

It stripped away Yan Ciwei’s heart, thread by thread.

Surprisingly, she felt a sense of thrill.

Yan Ciwei turned her body slightly, fully welcoming An Chixu’s “eye-blades.” Even if it was a cold gaze meant to slice her into a thousand pieces, Yan Ciwei savored it.

Hate lasts longer than love and is more intimate than indifference. Hate me a little more, then.

And so, Yan Ciwei’s eyes crinkled as she flashed a satisfied smile. She thought An Chixu would find it disgusting and look away. Her “Tuantuan” had always been like this: cautious and meticulous, yet with a fierce temper; the explosion after repression was always something she couldn’t handle.

An Chixu merely blinked.

Like a delete key, she wiped away Yan Ciwei’s smile. Then, she continued to gaze at her.

This was a silent condemnation—a demand to know why Yan Ciwei was making private contact with her.

Yan Ciwei’s lips curled up. The harsher An Chixu’s gaze, the more it hurt. The more profound the feeling from last night, the more real it became. Her eye-blades could also be caressing hands; Yan Ciwei wasn’t afraid of the stinging scrapes.

An Chixu would never know what she had experienced or what she felt.

They reached the 23rd floor.

An Chixu withdrew her gaze, lowering her eyes so her lashes covered her emotions. She reverted to being a lowly assistant, following her Director boss with a submissive air.

Yan Ciwei walked slowly, keeping An Chixu behind her. She guided her.

It took a long time to finally enter the office; a five-minute walk felt like a lifetime.

“Sit,” Yan Ciwei said, not letting An Chixu continue her subordinate roleplay, and poured her tea.

An Chixu stared at the tea in Yan Ciwei’s hand in silence. Why bother being polite with her? They were already strangers; there was no need for this much attention or constraint.

An Chixu sat quite decisively on the visitor’s sofa, crossed her legs, and even took a sip of tea.

Yan Ciwei remained behind her, carving every movement into her mind. Then she leaned against the back of the sofa, as if sitting back-to-back with An Chixu. The chasm between them was no thinner than the sofa. Even so, Yan Ciwei felt a layer of warmth.

“Why didn’t you reply to my message? I am your boss, after all.” Even if there were many levels between them. An Chixu’s position was still too low. She had to find a way to get her promoted quickly. That Tang Shu wouldn’t just step aside. Or rather, it was because of Tang Shu that An Chixu was being suppressed, still just an assistant producer after two years.

An Chixu set down the teacup.

Clink. The sound sent another jolt of pain through Yan Ciwei’s heart.

…The wounds inflicted by Tuantuan felt comfortable even when they were painful. Yan Ciwei rubbed the rim of her cup and thought that she was probably guilty, and also sick. She liked being stung by her lover.

“An ‘Understood’—what was I supposed to reply?” An Chixu recalled the red dot in the bottom right corner of her computer after sending the meeting report yesterday; she felt a sense of tedium.

They had broken up, yet they still had professional intersections. Although private contact information had long been locked away to gather dust in her contacts, and An Chixu had changed her social media accounts to avoid Yan Ciwei’s attention, their corporate accounts were forced to be “friends,” with information passing between them daily.

An Chixu’s voice was even lighter than the sound of the cup hitting the table. It was like she was talking to herself.

Yan Ciwei knew this was her strongest form of resistance.

“Hmm?” With an ambiguous sound, Yan Ciwei turned around and leaned down beside An Chixu.

The scent of geranium grew stronger. An Chixu’s eyes clearly showed impatience.

“I said, I’m sorry, President Yan. I was a bit busy yesterday and didn’t see it.” As An Chixu turned her head, she saw Yan Ciwei’s smiling eyes, and her eyelid twitched violently.

Yan Ciwei chuckled.

What a distant way to address her. It didn’t used to be “President Yan,” or even “Sister Yan”—it was just “Sister.” Or Weiwei, Beibei, Qinqin.

Yan Ciwei used this posture to coil her hair. Her long, jade-like fingers threaded through the black ebony strands. The dust motes turned into points of light, shimmering.

An Chixu finally couldn’t maintain the pretense against Yan Ciwei’s allure. She looked away, no longer maintaining her subordinate persona.

Yan Ciwei, however, sat down across from An Chixu.

She had many private topics she wanted to ask about. How have you been lately? Do you have pets? Are you happier since we split? Does hating me make you feel refreshed? Who was that person talking to you before the meeting? Why were they leaning so close? Did their words make you happy? Have you met many people lately? Is Tang Shu annoying? Is it tiring not being able to go home on time? Your dark circles are heavy again; are you suffering from insomnia again?

Yan Ciwei simply suppressed her jealousy.

“Regarding the winter show, your group’s proposal is good.” She could tell that some of the ideas came from An Chixu’s hand. If she could help her eliminate the trouble that was Tang Shu, would she be able to get promoted? Then she could… get closer to her.

Yan Ciwei’s breathing grew slightly heavy.

If it weren’t for the person she accidentally added last night, she wouldn’t have risked having An Chixu come to her office again. It was just… she was likely the lover with the least self-control. Even a dreamlike possibility could make her lose her composure.

Yan Ciwei withdrew the stubbornness in her gaze, shifting to a gentle look at An Chixu.

“If we’re determining the project’s responsible group, President Yan should discuss it with Group Leader Tang.”

An Chixu didn’t seem to receive that gentleness, adding a hint of indifference to her business-like tone.

“True, I was just speaking casually.” Yan Ciwei handed the documents back to An Chixu. “The meeting report was well done. However, you can completely leave that to the intern.”

Her Tuantuan should be responsible for more important things, things with more “gold content.” Like that show’s planning.

“Okay.” An Chixu was somewhat surprised.

She thought Yan Ciwei was so relentless—clinging even to an unreplied email, even if only for business—that she wouldn’t let her leave so easily. But Yan Ciwei seemed like the considerate and reliable “sister” of the past.

“Go home early and rest well.” Yan Ciwei’s instructions were only this; in truth, there had been no need to bring An Chixu to the office at all.

She had personally broken the rule she had established earlier. She was testing the waters.

An Chixu stood up and thanked Yan Ciwei formally. As she stepped out the office door, Yan Ciwei could still see her furrowed brow.

The door was slammed shut.

The vibration left Yan Ciwei silent for a minute before she finally looked down.

Does she not like my perfume?

But, this was clearly An Chixu’s favorite scent.

She still remembered when she bought a bottle of perfume and brought it home—the bright light in An Chixu’s eyes as she scrambled to use it with her.

…Her hatred, in truth, really hurts the heart.

The influence brought by Yan Ciwei was fleeting.

Sitting in the car to the site, An Chixu even felt that perhaps she had moved on. No matter how Yan Ciwei tried to find her in the future, it didn’t matter. She was just a worker, after all. Her family situation was complicated, and she didn’t have the courage to switch jobs; plus, aside from the high work intensity, the benefits of this position were decent.

Thinking of this, An Chixu relaxed. She tossed the meeting report to Tian Ming, opened the promotional video demo, and checked if there was anything to modify.

She was about to meet the little idol soon, and An Chixu was in a good mood. She—or rather, the girl her group was responsible for—was very cute. She had a sweet personality and would call her “Sister An.” But her appearance was quite heroic; her public persona was something An Chixu had personally planned.

Some people become disillusioned with stars after entering this profession. Every side they show to fans is fake, backed by the deliberate fabrications of countless people like An Chixu. An Chixu, on the contrary, developed an interest in stars because of this. She was very familiar with the styles of several big planners in the industry; sometimes when watching variety shows or survival shows, she could recognize which personas came from whose hand.

She felt like the big boss behind the scenes, a sculptor of the stars’ souls. She controlled the other party’s words and actions. This feeling felt both foreign and exciting to her.

“An Chixu.” Tang Shu stopped her before they entered the venue. She gave her a look.

An Chixu nodded in acknowledgment, her mind drifting. Tang Shu had taken many of her proposals. But constantly taking her things would eventually lead to a backlash. An Chixu already had a plan.

“I’m quite at ease with how Little An does things.” Seeing An Chixu being so perceptive, Tang Shu walked to her side, hooked an arm around her shoulder, and patted her. “Once the students start summer break, there’s another good project. Let’s work hard together then.” Tang Shu meant to look after An Chixu.

An Chixu gave an appropriate smile of gratitude. She knew that this middle-aged person, who had luckily become group leader after staying for many years, simply wanted to climb up too much yet lacked the relevant abilities.

“Sister An!” The little idol she was managing arrived.

Shen Jibai came skipping over to An Chixu’s side. She was only sixteen this year, at an age when one easily develops good feelings for gentle “sisters.”

“Here, these are the things you should and shouldn’t do on the show later. Take them and get familiar with them.” An Chixu handed Shen Jibai the planning proposal she had written, which bore Tang Shu’s name.

“Thank you, Sister An. I know you’re the one who writes these every time; only you would adjust them according to my habits.” Shen Jibai thanked her in a low voice, looking up at An Chixu with light in her eyes.

“As long as you can tell, I’m satisfied.” An Chixu reached out and patted Shen Jibai’s head, giving her a friendly smile.

From the corner of her eye, she quietly watched the leader of their team, the all-rounder ACE. Pine-green hair was tied loosely behind her head, catching the light and creating a halo. Blue eyes were the masterpiece of colored contacts; looking from a distance, she seemed like a proud cat, the same style as the soft “Orange” at home.

Idols are not all the same; the leader, Pei Luochen, looked at a glance like a prospective A-lister who could go far. Her persona planner was certainly not at An Chixu’s level.

So beautiful.

An Chixu didn’t care if the other party’s persona was fake or if they hyped themselves up daily. She wasn’t a real fan; at most, she was someone who appreciated good looks. Just catching a glimpse was enough to be satisfied. An Chixu withdrew her gaze after looking. Having been suppressed for two years, she understood very well when she should restrain herself.

Getting off work on time and returning home, An Chixu opened the door to find Orange greeting her enthusiastically.

“Little cat.” An Chixu was delighted and crouched down after closing the door.

Orange sat before her, as proud as a sculpture, like a noble duchess. Her fur was upright, smooth, and supple, clearly having been meticulously cared for by her owner.

“I need to take good care of you as well.” An Chixu carefully reached out her hand.

Today was their second day together. Orange seemed familiar with the house already; An Chixu could see plenty of fallen fur on the floor. She should probably try to pet this cute cat, right?

Seeing An Chixu’s hand, Orange didn’t show fear, lazily shrinking down. She lay on the floor and stretched; the whole cat expanded, her fur spreading out like a dandelion.

An Chixu’s hand stopped in mid-air. She measured vertically and horizontally, back and forth. How am I supposed to pet a cat?!

During the thirty seconds of stalemate, Orange looked at her hand and even proactively leaned forward a bit. An Chixu flinched back in fright.

“Orange, don’t—don’t bite me, I don’t taste good.” An Chixu sat on the floor, the softness of the cat’s fur still lingering in her palm, but her heart was fluctuating due to her lack of experience. She didn’t understand what Orange wanted to do.

Orange also didn’t understand what this human wanted to do; she sat back and then simply lay down. In Orange’s understanding, humans were all very good. She could lick her fur and clean herself in front of humans without fearing they would hurt her. Occasionally not understanding what a human was doing was also normal.

Orange was very relaxed. While licking her paws and washing her face, seeing the human in front of her move a little closer, she not only showed her belly but also began to purr. I like the new house, I’m happy. While purring, Orange also “made biscuits” in the void, stepping against the air.

This series of maneuvers left the “cat-less wild human” stunned. An Chixu felt a sudden pang of worry—her rash attempt to reach for Orange just now; she hadn’t scared her into a stress response, had she?

Is this a stress response?

An Chixu hurriedly took out her phone to record a video and sent it to Pei Yuxi’s alt account.

“Little Pei, I just tried to pet your cat. She leaned her head over, but I didn’t dare touch her. After that, she fell over like this and started making a weird sound. Is she stressed?”

Yan Ciwei had encountered her biggest problem in recent days.

Aside from An Chixu still hurting her with cold eyes—something she had gotten used to and even occasionally found thrilling—the netizen she had added yesterday, the suspected An Chixu and boarding owner of her cousin’s cat, had sent her many messages.

They looked quite urgent.

Yan Ciwei didn’t care much about cats; she cared more about this netizen’s true identity. She enlarged the video and screenshotted various details. Unfortunately, the video was too short and the focus was entirely on the cat; aside from the floor and a distant table leg, Yan Ciwei couldn’t see anything else.

The table leg looked a lot like the style she and An Chixu had chosen together when browsing furniture malls that year. But it was blurry, after all. Yan Ciwei’s heart only continued to race, her logic delaying making a judgment.

After looking for a long time, Yan Ciwei pressed her hand to her heart, suddenly recalling the past. Messy tables and chairs, a dim living room, cloudy weather… and a green heart and jumping emotions.

She had once, by the dining table, for the first time… seen An Chixu’s body.

At that time, An Chixu was just like this little cat. Crouching at the corner of the table, looking up. With eyes that had been through the rain, gazing at her damply.

…Don’t raise a cat, my Tuantuan. Raise me.

Yan Ciwei typed out a passage. She hoped the person receiving it was her Tuantuan.

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