Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 22

Under Xin Yan’s firm persuasion, Bei Lanlan gave up on the wildly unique idea of cream blonde hair and chose a more conventional coffee-brown color instead.

The wait felt endless. Xin Yan watched anxiously from the side, lifting the foil every few minutes to sneak a peek at how the color was developing.

After four long years, Bei Lanlan was finally changing her hairstyle. Xin Yan didn’t want this moment ruined by a botched dye job.

By contrast, Bei Lanlan remained perfectly calm, eyes downcast as she flipped through one of the salon’s in-house magazines. Xin Yan looked at her and eventually couldn’t help asking:

“Why did you choose this style?”

As someone who liked everything to be neat and tidy, this hairstyle—messy, voluminous curls—was one she herself would never even consider.

Bei Lanlan shrugged. “I’ve never tried it before. Just wanted to give it a go.”

That answer stopped Xin Yan in her tracks. She didn’t say anything more.

It wasn’t a canned “I like it” or “it suits me”—just honest curiosity and change. That was more real than anything else. It felt like a glimmer of hope, like a crack in the shell. Xin Yan pressed her lips together, smiling faintly before quietly sitting back down to wait.

Bei Lanlan noticed the soft smile on her face but had no idea what she was smiling about—or why it looked so gentle. She stared at Xin Yan for a long time until Xin Yan turned to look at her. Then she quickly averted her gaze.

The final result was stunning.

They’d chosen the most expensive—and most skilled—stylist in the entire salon. The new hairstyle made Bei Lanlan look less mature and way more adorable. The stylist even left wispy bangs on either side of her forehead, inspired by a Japanese hime-cut—but with a Western classical twist rather than a distinctly Asian look.

Xin Yan circled her like an appraiser inspecting fine art. Very satisfied, she stepped forward, fluffed Lanlan’s hair a bit more, and said unabashedly, “You look amazing.”

The stylist beamed. “Told you I’m the best in the shop.”

Xin Yan, without missing a beat: “Sorry, this has little to do with your skills. You could plop a bird’s nest on Lanlan’s head, and she would still look good.”

Stylist: “…”

Bei Lanlan: “…”

Xin Yan always complimented her so bluntly, Lanlan was practically immune by now.

By the time they left the salon, it was already past 9 p.m. Xin Yan didn’t waste any more time and drove straight to Adubo’s residence. She didn’t bring Assistant An this time—partly because she felt bad troubling him again, and partly because, well, she had a bit of a rebellious streak.

She wanted Adubo’s secretary to serve as her translator this time.

They were all businesspeople, all hired help—why should her assistant have to do work for someone else’s?

Even if she didn’t exactly get along with An Zhiyuan, that didn’t mean other people could treat him like an errand boy.

Throughout the apology meeting, it was Xin Yan doing all the talking. Bei Lanlan simply sat quietly by her side, almost invisible. If anyone happened to glance her way, she would return a gentle, ladylike smile.

As they were about to leave, Adubo turned to Bei Lanlan and said something with a warm smile. His secretary translated it:

“Your wife is adorable. You must bring her to our next dinner party.”

Xin Yan blinked—then practically lit up with joy. “Absolutely! How about this Friday? I’ll have my people coordinate everything.”

Adubo agreed. A servant escorted them out.

Once they were alone, Xin Yan clutched her chest with relief. “I seriously thought I blew it. But hey, heaven always leaves us a way out. Lanlan—you don’t have anything this Friday, right? And even if you do, you don’t anymore. This is an 800 million deal! I have to call An Zhiyuan right now—he’s going to be even happier than I am—hahahaha!”

Bei Lanlan: “…”

She was pretty sure no one could be happier than Xin Yan at this moment.

For a brief second, she and An Zhiyuan likely shared the same emotion—not so much pride as secondhand embarrassment.

The villa was connected to a traditional Chinese garden. No one really knew why an Arab businessman would want a Chinese garden, but every guest who visited had, at some point, gotten lost in it.

They finally made their way back to the main path when, unexpectedly, two people came walking in from the other end. The road had been empty just a moment ago.

Xin Yan casually glanced over—then froze.

A single thought popped into both their heads:

“Speak of the devil.”

…
Song Xizi raised an eyebrow and approached. “Let me guess—you sobered up, regretted everything, and came crying to beg forgiveness?”

Xin Yan paused, then smiled faintly. “You still have that overactive imagination—just like when we were kids. Remember when we got into a fight and I made you swallow a piece of chewing gum? You were convinced you were going to die. Called the police and dug a grave for yourself in your backyard. By the time the police, the gardener, and your parents arrived… what was it again? How many beatings did you take for that?”

Song Xizi: “…”

That was twenty years ago, and you really dare bring it up? Also, don’t act like you didn’t get punished too!

Her hands trembled with anger. She was ready to shoot back with a few embarrassing stories of Xin Yan’s own—but just as she opened her mouth, her eyes shifted and caught sight of the person beside Xin Yan.

It had been too dark earlier. She only saw the voluminous hair and assumed it was another assistant. But now that the woman had turned her face toward her…

Song Xizi blinked, then her expression turned sly.

“Bei Lanlan, is it?”

Lanlan didn’t react, but Xin Yan immediately grew defensive. She stepped forward, blocking Lanlan protectively. “What do you want?”

“Nothing at all,” Song Xizi replied with a grin. “It’s just—Bei Lanlan, you remind me so much of someone. You two look uncannily alike. I mean, what are the odds? Honestly, Xin Yan, I’m impressed. Never thought you had it in you. You wouldn’t happen to be doing illegal cloning experiments, would you? Oh, Xin Yan, that’s not very ethical of you. Should I be calling the cops again?”

Lanlan listened quietly, her expression unmoved.

She hadn’t been out much in recent years, so she rarely heard people gossiping about her appearance. But with maids around the house, she wasn’t completely in the dark either. She knew what people whispered behind her back.

This kind of comment—comparing her to someone else, treating her as a copy—she hadd heard it before. It didn’t faze her anymore.

The only thought crossing her mind was that Xin Yan had been right about one thing: to the world, she really had become a joke.

Lanlan didn’t feel like responding—but Xin Yan sure did.

“Are your eyes broken?” Xin Yan snapped. “This is Lanlan—my wife. I don’t care who you think she looks like, she’s her own person. If you can’t tell the difference between her and someone else, you might want to see an ophthalmologist. While you’re at it, get your brain checked too. I’ve heard that sometimes visual distortions aren’t eye problems—they’re tumors.”

Song Xizi didn’t even have time to be offended.

She stood stunned, staring at Lanlan again. Then she turned to Xin Yan and asked:

“Wait—wife? You’re married?”