Let's Get Married on the First Day of Rebirth - Chapter 28.1

Xinglin Pavilion was particularly famous among the wealthy circles in City A, something Qu Ange only learned later. Because Lin Zhenyi liked it and frequented the place, Qu Ange ended up visiting often too. The restaurant mainly served slightly modified Chinese cuisine, leaning toward Jiangnan flavors. Qu Ange wasn’t fond of sweet dishes, but after trying the food here, she found it surprisingly acceptable and quite tasty. Still, all things considered, she didn’t think it was as good as Xu Mi’s cooking.

Having dined here so often, she practically knew the place like the back of her hand. But now, she had to feign the awkwardness of a first-time visitor—a true test of her acting skills. The two settled into a private room, and Lin Zhenyi slid the menu toward Qu Ange, saying, “Take a look and see what you’d like. They usually serve set meals here, and drinks can be ordered separately.”

Qu Ange smiled shyly and said, “No need for drinks.”

Lin Zhenyi gazed at Qu Ange’s face and chuckled. “The fruit tea you brought is delicious. Did you make it yourself? I really like it.”

Qu Ange thought for a moment before replying, “It was my wife who made it.”

Back in Lin Zhenyi’s youth, the country certainly hadn’t legalized same-sex marriage yet. But Qu Ange remembered that Lin Zhenyi had been quite accepting of it. Later, when Qu Ange was heartbroken from missing Xu Mi, Lin Zhenyi had even comforted her, offering to introduce her to other women.

Sure enough, upon hearing this, Lin Zhenyi showed no sign of disapproval, only pausing briefly to ask, “Is she your legally recognized partner?”

Qu Ange nodded. “Yes, we’re officially married. We just haven’t had time to hold a wedding yet.”

Lin Zhenyi’s expression grew even more approving. “At your age, most people aiming for a career in entertainment rarely think about settling down so early. Many believe that once they become famous, they can find someone better.”

Qu Ange’s expression turned serious. “She is the best.”

Lin Zhenyi’s smile widened. “You’re really not holding back, are you? Telling me all this at our first meeting? Aren’t you afraid I might leak it to the media?”

Qu Ange replied, “I’m a nobody. Why would I worry about that? Even if someone did leak it, the paparazzi would probably ask, ‘Who is this person?’”

Lin Zhenyi burst into laughter, realizing she was already growing fond of this young woman. Qu Ange ordered the top-ranked set meal, and as they chatted while waiting for the food, Lin Zhenyi grew increasingly astonished. She and Qu Ange seemed to hit it off suspiciously well—no matter the topic, the other woman could effortlessly keep up, as if they had been conversing for years.

A hint of caution crept into Lin Zhenyi’s mind. Was this person deliberately trying to get close to her? But just as she began to withdraw slightly, Qu Ange’s next remark made her laugh again. Lin Zhenyi thought, Fine, whatever. At worst, I’ll have someone look into her background after this meal. For now, I’ll just enjoy the dinner.

The first dish arrived quickly—an appetizing cold salad of wild greens tossed in sesame oil. Qu Ange took a couple of bites, then suddenly pulled out her phone to snap a photo. She did the same for every subsequent dish. Lin Zhenyi frowned slightly in disapproval. “You should focus on your meal. Getting distracted can lead to indigestion.”

Qu Ange smiled sheepishly. “I just wanted to take pictures to show my wife.”

Lin Zhenyi’s dissatisfaction instantly dissipated. She had never married in her life, partly because she had very high standards for relationships. She always felt that if there was even the slightest flaw in a relationship, there was no point in being together. Qu Ange’s utterly smitten demeanor, however, struck her as rather amusing, and she couldn’t help but say, “Next time, let’s come with your wife.”

Qu Ange replied, “Oh, that would be too much trouble.”

Lin Zhenyi feigned displeasure: “What, are we not good enough to invite you both?”

Qu Ange quickly responded, “Well, in that case, I’ll gladly accept your kindness.”

While the two were chatting happily, Xu Mi began stewing ribs in the pot. With a moment to spare, she walked into the living room to watch Tan Zhenzhen edit photos. It was then that she saw the pictures Qu Ange had sent—black truffles, red prawns, geoduck, Alaskan king crab legs—each dish alone was worth a month’s worth of their meals. Paired with the exquisite plating and presentation, Xu Mi, though she had never dined at such an expensive restaurant, had an instinctive sensitivity to food. She guessed the base cost of the meal must have been over ten thousand.

She couldn’t help but wonder: Where was Qu Ange eating? And who was she eating with? She was supposed to be at an audition—how had it turned into a meal? And at such an extravagant place, no less…

The sleepless nights came flooding back to her. The first time she realized something was wrong was when she found countless unsent drafts in her phone, all variations of “What are you doing?” That entire night, she stared at her phone, drowning in a suffocating, weightless sensation as the sky outside slowly brightened—indigo, pale blue, then the faint glow of dawn. By morning, she hadn’t eaten anything, yet she ran to the bathroom to vomit, her stomach and esophagus burning, her head throbbing from exhaustion and nerves. She covered her face, unable to cry, but her heart screamed in agony.

No one else could hear it, but she could.

She blamed herself for being so unable to let go of Qu Ange. They were lovers, yes, but lovers could break up. Yet she clung like an unshakeable stain, disgusting even herself. Qu Ange must find her disgusting too, she thought uncontrollably. If possible, she would have welcomed an escape.

If not death, then leaving was the only way. That night, she had been ready to burn all bridges yet Qu Ange had given her a sliver of hope.

But was it really hope? Or just a rotting piece of driftwood destined to sink eventually?

Her expression must have been terrible, because Tan Zhenzhen quickly noticed and asked cautiously, “Mimi, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Xu Mi shook her head, but when she touched her forehead, she realized it was covered in cold sweat. Forcing a smile, she said, “Just a bit of a stomachache.”

It did hurt a little, likely from stress, though the pain was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. “Keep an eye on the stove,” she said. “I’ll go rest in my room for a bit.”

Tan Zhenzhen hesitated. “Is it Qu Ange? Did she upset you?”

Xu Mi looked up at her expressionlessly. Tan Zhenzhen hurriedly clarified, “I didn’t peek at your messages! Her name just popped up on the lock screen, and I caught a glimpse—that’s all, I swear!”

(She had also seen what looked like photos, but she didn’t dare mention that.)

She raised her hand as if swearing an oath, looking very nervous. Xu Mi offered a faint smile to reassure her and said, “It’s not about her. She just won’t be back for dinner, and I’m worried we might have made too much food.”

Tan Zhenzhen suddenly understood. “Are you upset because of that? My mom’s the same way. If my dad suddenly told her he wasn’t coming home for dinner, she’d definitely get mad too.”

Xu Mi froze for a moment, then blushed. “What are you talking about?”

Tan Zhenzhen grinned. “It’s obvious to anyone with eyes—you two are a couple.”

Xu Mi rubbed her arm awkwardly, and Tan Zhenzhen added, “Plus, I can tell you’re still in the middle of some conflict. It’s such a shame when misunderstandings come between people who love each other. You should really talk it out sooner rather than later.”

Xu Mi shook her head. “There’s no misunderstanding between us.” It was a real, tangible issue.

Tan Zhenzhen said, “Even though we’ve only known each other for a few days, I can promise I’m great at keeping secrets. If you have anything on your mind, you can tell me.”

Xu Mi shook her head again, feeling a wave of irritation—whether at Tan Zhenzhen or her own tangled thoughts, she couldn’t say. She stood up and said, “I really do have a bit of a stomachache. I’m going to lie down for a bit. Don’t leave—when the water boils, just turn it down to a simmer.”

Tan Zhenzhen didn’t press further and simply nodded.

Xu Mi went to her room to lie down but couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning for a while, she got up again and said to Tan Zhenzhen, “Can you teach me how to set up a public account?”

She realized that keeping herself busy was far more effective at dispelling the restless, suffocating anxiety than lying in bed.

That afternoon turned out to be remarkably productive. Xu Mi successfully set up the public account and posted a detailed recipe for corn and pork rib soup, complete with step-by-step photos and simple illustrations. Tan Zhenzhen recorded an eating show video, but they decided not to upload it in the end because the lighting was poor, leaving the footage too dark to be appetizing. Instead, she helped Xu Mi edit and proofread the content for the public account, compiling it into a long infographic that Xu Mi then posted on her Weibo. It was the first time Xu Mi had shared such a detailed post, and it quickly garnered a flood of positive feedback.

Meanwhile, Qu Ange was already on her way home. Lin Zhenyi, being older and still recovering from heatstroke earlier, wasn’t feeling well, so Qu Ange declined her offer for a ride and took the subway back instead. However, since it was the week’s market close, Qu Ange first stopped by Zuo Qingyan’s place. Zuo Qingyan, now thoroughly impressed, said, “I followed your advice, and everything’s gone up. It’s already doubled.”

In her eyes, Qu Ange was nothing short of miraculous. Stunningly beautiful and with an uncanny foresight.

Qu Ange couldn’t stop smiling, feeling that such a great start deserved celebration. She flipped through her photo album and posted pictures of the meal she’d had at the restaurant that day, along with the selfie she’d sent Xu Mi that morning, captioned: Today’s a good day!

She also skimmed through her private messages and found, among the usual requests for her contact info, inquiries about signing with a company or hiring an agent, one that stood out—someone asking if she’d be willing to sell the copyright to her song.

At that, Qu Ange’s smile instantly faltered.

When it came to singing “Dream Travelogue,” all she felt now was regret nothing else. She swore to the heavens that before singing this song, she had absolutely no idea when it had been written. Now, she was terrified that the original artist might have already composed it and would come forward to accuse her of plagiarism. Or worse, they might have been halfway through writing it and now felt their efforts were wasted. Either scenario would leave her utterly mortified.

The private message seemed to be from a music company, so she replied— [Sorry, not for sale.]

Apparently, everyone had good taste. They all recognized the song’s potential to go viral.

She skimmed through the remaining messages but didn’t reply. After some thought, she sent Xu Mi a WeChat message: [I’ll be home soon.]

Xu Mi didn’t respond, but Qu Ange didn’t mind, assuming she was busy with something else. By the time she stepped out of the subway, it was already dark, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. The rain dispersed the summer heat, making the night breeze less sticky and sluggish than it had been in recent days. Qu Ange arrived home slightly damp from the drizzle, feeling a chill all over. As soon as she entered, she called out cheerfully, “Mimi, I’m home~”

Xu Mi didn’t answer. Instead, Tan Zhenzhen emerged from her room, munching on a slice of watermelon while leaning on crutches, her right leg encased in a cast. She gave Qu Ange a once-over.

Qu Ange froze. “What happened to you?”

Tan Zhenzhen shrugged. “Fell down.”

Qu Ange was deeply moved. “Even in this state, you came out to greet me. I’m touched.”

Tan Zhenzhen smirked. “What can I say? I just love being part of the action.”

Qu Ange asked, “Did Xu Mi go out?”

Tan Zhenzhen beckoned her closer. Qu Ange leaned in, and the other girl whispered, “Are you seriously this clueless?”

“…” Qu Ange blinked before indignantly retorting, “Hey, no need to insult me.”

Tan Zhenzhen sighed in exasperation. “You ate out and didn’t say anything until the last minute. Xu Mi was halfway through cooking when you messaged her and then you sent her a picture of the food? Were you trying to provoke her?”

Qu Ange paused to consider this, and her expression quickly turned horrified. “W-what was Xu Mi’s reaction?”

Tan Zhenzhen clicked her tongue. “She was furious. Locked her door, too. Good luck dealing with that.”

Qu Ange clutched her hair in despair, already drowning in regret. If she could turn back time, she’d even choose to skip the meal altogether. Her first instinct was to buy a gift to apologize, but remembering the aftermath of the flowers she’d bought last time, she realized gifts wouldn’t work on Xu Mi. After a long silence, she ventured, “Would kneeling outside her door help?”

Before Tan Zhenzhen could respond, the door behind them creaked open. Xu Mi’s voice came through: “Come in.”

She had locked the door earlier, but after overhearing Qu Ange and Tan Zhenzhen’s conversation, she couldn’t bear the secondhand embarrassment. So, she decided to at least spare Qu Ange further humiliation in front of others.

Overjoyed, Qu Ange hurried inside and closed the door behind her. Xu Mi said, “Go take a shower first.”

Qu Ange obediently headed to the bathroom, all the while brainstorming ways to appease Xu Mi. As she mentally reviewed the day’s events, she had to admit she’d been thoughtless. The first step, she decided, was to firmly clarify that she hadn’t done it on purpose.

Thinking this, she wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out, speaking firmly, “I really didn’t mean to. I just ran into an old-timer from the entertainment industry, and she insisted on treating me to dinner. It was a rare opportunity, so I went.”

Xu Mi frowned and said, “You’re so loud. You’re ruining my show.”

Qu Ange turned her head and saw the TV was indeed on, playing the recently popular singing competition Heavenly Melody. This show would become a perennial favorite, airing every year without fail.

Qu Ange lowered her voice. “She’s in her fifties—a senior in the industry. How could I refuse? That would’ve been so rude.”

Hearing this, Xu Mi felt a wave of relief but couldn’t shake the suspicion that Qu Ange might be lying. Lost in thought, she zoned out for a moment, and Qu Ange seized the chance to climb onto the bed, reaching for her hand. Xu Mi snapped back to reality and rolled away, but her fingers had already brushed against Qu Ange’s skin. She couldn’t help but rub her fingertips together, feeling a silky smoothness, like touching fine jade—so tempting she wanted to keep touching.

To stop herself from indulging further, she scowled and said, “Can’t you put some proper clothes on?”

Qu Ange replied, “I was waiting for my hair to dry first. Mimi, the food at that restaurant was awful. Nothing compared to your cooking.”

Xu Mi scoffed. “If it was so bad, why did you post nine pictures of it on Weibo?”

Qu Ange defended herself, “It wasn’t nine! One of them was a selfie. That place is just overpriced. If you opened a private kitchen, it’d be way better. Your cooking is a masterpiece. Speaking of which, is there any left? Did Tan Zhenzhen eat it all?”

Xu Mi stayed silent. Qu Ange added, “I sent you those photos just to say how bad the food was. Really.”

She studied Xu Mi’s expression, noticing a slight softening, and quickly moved closer, wrapping her arms around Xu Mi’s. Instantly, Xu Mi felt her arm press against something soft and warm. Her face flushed, her heart racing, and she yanked her arm free. But Qu Ange held on, and in the struggle, the towel slipped off. Warm, smooth skin pressed tightly against her, like heated silk wrapping around her arm. Her mind went blank, her entire body melting in an instant until a familiar melody played from the TV.

A slow, serene tune, played simply on an acoustic guitar. Even Qu Ange froze, stunned, as she turned to the screen.

On the show, an unknown amateur was singing Dreamwalker.

Xu Mi frowned. “Isn’t that what you sang the other day?”

Qu Ange’s brain short-circuited. The whole thing felt surreal.

But then again, this surrealism was her own doing. A tiny butterfly flapping its wings had stirred a storm thousands of miles away. She had sung a song that shouldn’t exist yet, thinking she could bury it like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Instead, things had spiraled completely out of her control.

This was Heavenly Melody. The hottest singing competition in the country right now, broadcast nationwide.

And who was this person? Since Qu Ange had zero recollection of them, she had a strong suspicion they’d been eliminated early in her past life unless they were the original creator of the song, someone she’d simply forgotten?

Qu Ange’s heart was pounding, her mind blank. It was Xu Mi who snapped out of it first. Seeing Qu Ange completely naked, she hurriedly pulled a blanket over her, though the image was already seared into her mind like a siren’s curse. Desperate to distract herself, she fixed her gaze on the screen. The male singer there was unremarkable in appearance, but his voice was deeply emotional, weaving the song like poetry.

By now, all three judges had pressed the “I Like” button, signaling the singer’s passage to the next round.

Qu Ange stayed silent, and so did Xu Mi. The two quietly listened to the song until the end. The show’s caption identified the singer as Cao Zhixuan. As the music faded, he stood up and bowed. The audience and judges applauded for what felt like an eternity to Qu Ange, her heart clenched in suspense.

Finally, a judge spoke: “Zhixuan, is this your original song?”

Cao Zhixuan tightened his grip on the microphone. “Ah, no, actually. I heard it online a week ago. The moment I listened to it, I decided to switch songs. I felt I had to perform this one on this stage.”

The judge was taken aback. “I’ve never heard this song before.”

Cao Zhixuan replied, “Maybe because you’re not online much. It went viral last week sung by a girl. I hadn’t heard it before either. It’s probably her original work.”

Xu Mi turned to look at Qu Ange. She knew better than anyone that Qu Ange had never shown any musical talent growing up.

Qu Ange forced a laugh. “I—I really heard it from a friend. He’s pretty low-key.”

For the first time, Qu Ange realized she’d been far too careless. As someone who’d been reborn, she really should’ve been more cautious.

Xu Mi let out an “Oh” and turned back to the show, though a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind. Qu Ange, no longer in the mood for jokes, got up to change into pajamas and blow-dry her hair. Afterward, she picked up her phone and saw her Weibo follower count skyrocketing by thousands with every refresh—as if there were some coding errors. The red notification dots kept piling up to 99+ no matter how many she cleared. Frustrated, she muted the notifications and tossed her phone aside, glancing back at Xu Mi.

Thanks to the earlier distraction, Xu Mi seemed less angry now. Qu Ange lay on the bed, pretending to scroll through her phone while stealing glances at Xu Mi’s expression. Suddenly, a message from Tan Zhenzhen popped up on WeChat:

Psst, I secretly saved you a bowl of Xu Mi’s soup in the fridge. Go drink it.

Overjoyed, Qu Ange replied—Thanks, sis! I’ll never forget this!

She stood up and headed for the door. As she opened it, she glanced back and saw Xu Mi looking up at her in confusion, head slightly tilted as if wondering where she was going. But the moment their eyes met, Xu Mi quickly lowered her head, pretending to read.

Qu Ange screamed internally—Too adorable!

And more importantly, Xu Mi was paying attention to her. The cold shoulder was just a front.

She turned on the light and walked to the living room, opening the fridge. Sure enough, she spotted a palm-sized ceramic soup bowl covered with plastic wrap. Inside were corn ribs and goji berries. Qu Ange took it out, heated it in the microwave, and placed it on the table. After sitting down, she stirred it with a spoon and noticed that besides the corn ribs, there were also potatoes and tomatoes. There was no fishy smell—only the rich aroma of bone broth and the sweet fragrance of tomatoes. The broth was milky white, tasting mellow and savory, clinging to her tongue as it slid down, leaving a lingering freshness. She imagined it would taste even better fresh off the stove.

Thinking back to the dishes she had posted earlier from Xinglin Pavilion, none could compare to Xu Mi’s cooking. Eagerly, she hurried back to her room, intending to snap a photo of this late-night snack.

When she entered the room, she saw Xu Mi with her head lowered, reading a book, pretending not to notice her. Qu Ange couldn’t help but feel secretly delighted—clearly, Xu Mi had known all along that Tan Zhenzhen had left a bowl of soup behind, so she had tacitly agreed to save one for her.