My Wealthy Ex-Girlfriend Knelt and Begged Me to Come Back [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 61

Ji Jiayu was momentarily dazed, as if she hadn’t expected that she would actually come to the company to wait for her.

A few minutes later, she snapped back to her senses, walked over, stopped by the sofa, and tilted her head to ask:

“Why did you come?”

“To see you.”

Ji Chen closed the magazine resting on her lap, placed it back on the rack beside her, then stood up straight.
When she looked at Ji Jiayu, her eyes curved slightly at the corners, soft and gentle.

“We can talk later, alright?”

“Mm,” Ji Jiayu nodded, “just as well, I’m hungry too…”

They got into a rideshare.

Twenty minutes later, the car slowed to a stop.

They got out at the west gate of Ying University.

From the west gate, if you turn left and walk about 300 meters, there’s a small food street.

On that street sits a chain bistro, Lily’s Garden. Its decor is simple and natural—plain walls, a few paintings—following the “less is more” Scandinavian style. The whole shop looks fresh and bright.

This was the very first branch of the chain, opened where the founder once worked.

“Lily” isn’t only a name—it also means lily flower.

The founder was a woman, a lesbian. She and her girlfriend opened this first restaurant together. Her girlfriend loved white lilies, so they named it after the flower. But unlike today, at that time same-sex marriage hadn’t yet been legalized.
For them to be together, to open this shop hand in hand, enduring society’s judgment—it was admirable, almost heroic.

Inside the bistro, by the window, two women sat facing each other.

Ji Jiayu’s red lips parted slightly around the straw of her yuanyang milk tea.

The tea had more bitterness than coffee, yet softened with the fragrance of sweet milk—
ordinary, but fulfilling.

Though Ji Jiayu grew up in the capital, she always had a fondness for sweets, for bistros and tea shops—born with the palate of the South.

She had always been misplaced, a Southerner who grew up in Beijing.

“Do you still remember this place?” Ji Chen asked. “When you first started school, I brought you here a few times.”

Ji Jiayu paused slightly as she cut into the “leaky cream toast” before her. “Yes… you were the one who brought me here.”

The silver knife sliced off a corner of toast; cocoa powder mixed with creamy condensed milk spilled out.

Her pale hand held the silver fork, spearing a cocoa-dusted piece of toast, lifting it to her lips, chewing slowly. The milky sweetness, the faint bitterness of cocoa, and the flaky crisp of fried bread combined in her mouth into a wonderful flavor.

“Don’t you find it cloying? Eating it now… I suddenly feel it’s a bit much.” Ji Chen stroked the rim of her glass, sighing softly.

“Maybe it’s just that people’s tastes change with time.”

Ji Jiayu set down her fork, swallowed her bite, and slowly dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin.

“But I’m someone who clings to the past, sister…” she said softly.

Ji Chen’s lips curved into a smile. “Is that so…”

“I couldn’t be at your graduation ceremony.”

“What a pity.”

Ji Chen lowered her gaze to the tablecloth, her fingers curling slightly around her cutlery as she spoke with quiet regret.

Ji Jiayu thought of the custom image Ji Chen had once arranged for her on the rooftop of Qiushui Ventures—the little golden fish swaying its shimmering tail. “Didn’t you already make it up to me back then…?”

“The past can’t be undone, little sister. But I don’t blame you,” Ji Jiayu whispered. “You came back, and you’re willing to see me… just being able to see you again makes me happy enough.”

Suddenly she remembered a photo she had once found in a paparazzo’s archive—

That day had been her graduation. She was at this very bistro near the west gate of Ying University with Song Tingyu. In the corner of the picture, at the very edge of the frame, there had been a familiar figure—someone who looked so much like Ji Chen…

Another image surfaced—Qiu Miaoran, sitting quietly, head bowed, dark hair falling loose, sipping the owner’s handmade beer with a solitary rose at her side.

But she hated sweets…
Why would she have come that day?

Ji Jiayu pressed her lips together, her long lashes trembling.

She was with her sister now—such precious time.
So why… why did that person suddenly come to mind?

Ji Chen chuckled softly. She raised her glass and gently tapped it against Ji Jiayu’s milk tea. “It’s Sunday. I have the day off. Want to go out together?”

“Mm,” Ji Jiayu responded, lifting her drink, her eyes curving into crescents as she smiled brightly. “It’s been so long since we went out together.”

By half past four, they had finished their visit and stepped out of Beijing’s planetarium.

They walked side by side along the sidewalk.

“The cosmic cinema was fascinating. Those theaters arranged along the string-like structure—it reminded me of basic particles, produced by the vibration of strings. It was an attempt to explain the relationship between gravity and particles. Quite intuitive in form.”

Ji Jiayu, inside the cosmic theater, had only thought the lights were beautiful, the galaxy vast and magnificent. But she also found it a bit stifling inside.

“In the face of galaxies and the universe, we humans are so small…”

Her lashes lowered, and she bit her lip. “But I don’t really understand astronomy…”

They used to share endless topics.

Ji Chen loved research, and Ji Jiayu once forced herself to like what Ji Chen liked.

But now, Ji Jiayu no longer cared for such things.

In high school, she had failed at the school-level physics competition. The setback had stung bitterly, making her realize she wasn’t cut out for scientific research.

Everyone has strengths and weaknesses.

She wanted to be outstanding in her own field, not just follow behind Ji Chen. Even if not side by side in the same industry, she could shine in another.

Ji Chen smiled faintly. “I don’t actually know much either. Back in university, I only helped some physics and astronomy students with nonlinear system computations.”

Another domain far outside Ji Jiayu’s reach…

She glanced toward a shopfront ahead, tugged lightly at Ji Chen’s arm, and said in a soft voice, “I kind of want strawberry parfait.”

When she was with Ji Chen, Ji Jiayu felt the most relaxed. She could be herself—whatever she wanted, she did.

At least when it came to food, Ji Chen never restricted her.

Maybe this kind of ordinariness was what life was mostly made of.

To her, going on dates with Ji Chen had always been the most anticipated part of her childhood.

But now, sitting beside her sister, Ji Jiayu felt something missing.

She didn’t know what she was still hoping for.

The next moment, Ji Chen took her into an unassuming Western restaurant nearby, like an older sister guiding her little sibling.

Inside, the speakers played soft instrumentals. The lighting was warm, cozy.

But the restaurant was nearly empty—only three people scattered in the corners of the spacious dining room.

They sat in a corner by the glass window.

Ji Jiayu got her strawberry parfait as she wished.

The cream was sweet—sweets always eased her stress.

The strawberries were a little firm, carrying a faint sourness.

Her red lips parted slightly as she took a bite, her pink tongue flicking lightly to lick the cream from her spoon.

Ji Chen blinked, fingers slender and pale as they curled around the handle of her coffee cup.

So the little girl still liked cream, after all…

Her thoughts drifted back years ago—

In her final year of high school, Ji Jiayu had once gone to the lab alone on a Sunday. Her fair cheeks flushed with pink as she finally gathered the courage to confess to Ji Chen.

Of course, Ji Chen gently refused her then.

She had said: “That’s just admiration, little girl… when you grow up, you won’t feel this way anymore.”

At that moment, the restaurant music shifted into a new piece: How Deep Is Your Love.

The low sound of the saxophone, the piano’s steady rhythm—tender and lingering. It felt like coming home after a day of work to find a peaceful family. Comforting.

Ji Chen sipped her black iced Americano. No sugar, no milk.

Unrequited love was like this coffee—bitter, yet with a faint richness if savored long enough.

She set the cup down slowly, her slender fingers resting against the porcelain. The pale color of her fingertips and the white of the cup gleamed softly together.

“Xiaoyu,” she murmured so lightly it almost blended with the saxophone’s notes, “do you still like me?”

“Cough, cough—” Ji Jiayu turned her head, raising a flushed hand to cover her lips as she choked, nearly sputtering.

Ji Chen quickly grabbed a napkin and passed it over. “Slow down, don’t choke.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t choke,” Ji Jiayu said quickly, wiping the corners of her lips.

Then suddenly, lowering her gaze to avoid her sister’s eyes, she blurted instinctively, “Of course I do. I’ve always liked you, sister.”

“Your expression can’t fool me, Xiaoyu.” Ji Chen paused, pushed her coffee cup aside, and raised her eyes to the flustered girl across the table. “I know you too well. What you feel for me isn’t really love—it’s dependence.”

“You’re just used to leaning on me, like a fledgling bird looking at the caretaker who hatched it. Forgive my clumsy metaphor.”

“But I’m willing to wait—for the day you truly feel your heart stir. Even if that person isn’t me.”

“I only want you to be happy.”

Ji Chen’s words drifted like a soft breeze, warm and tender.

Under the golden lamplight, her profile was haloed with a faint glow, pure and sacred.

Even though Ji Jiayu had clearly spoken the words “I like you,” Ji Chen could have taken advantage of it—held her, kept her, claimed her forever.

But that… that wasn’t Ji Chen.

Divine love gives without asking in return.

Her love, too, was selfless.

She pointed it out plainly—that Ji Jiayu didn’t even truly understand her own heart.

She chose to set her free, not bind her with “debts of gratitude.”

Ji Jiayu’s gaze wavered, her hazel eyes clouding as her dark lashes trembled faintly.

Ji Chen said it wasn’t love…

Then what was that yearning she had always felt toward Ji Chen?

Was it only as Ji Chen said—dependence?

Like a fledgling imprinting on the one who hatched it, mistaking them for its mother, mistaking that dependence for love?

So her feelings weren’t desire, weren’t passion?

The past blurred like smoke, the seasons turned in confusion…

Ji Jiayu set down her silver spoon.

And in that moment, a thin mist of tears veiled her eyes—
making her unable to see her own heart clearly anymore.

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