Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 41

Xiao Zhang drove in silence, not daring to utter a word.

He was just an innocent chauffeur. Bearing the brunt of his employer’s temper—that was Assistant An’s battlefield, not his.

Fortunately for him, Bei Lanlan wasn’t in the mood to make things difficult. On the way to the sanatorium, she kept her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. When they arrived, she didn’t wait for Xiao Zhang to open the door for her. She got out on her own and instructed him firmly to stay in the car, forbidding him from following.

Before leaving, Xin Yan had told him clearly—no matter where Bei Lanlan went, he was to stay by her side. Xiao Zhang opened his mouth, trying to persuade her, but she didn’t even look back. She turned and walked away. Since he was already in the wrong, he dared not call her again.
________________________________________

Before stepping into the sanatorium’s lobby, Bei Lanlan’s face was blank. Once inside, her smile bloomed, warm as spring sunlight.

“Hello, I’m Bei Lanlan. Here’s my identification. I’ve come to visit a patient today. But before that, I’d like to meet with your director.”

Bei Lanlan’s appearance was already pleasant, but when she smiled, her charm skyrocketed. The staff member was easily disarmed by that smile, lowering their guard completely.

“Ah, of course. Do you have an appointment?”

Lanlan gave a regretful shake of her head. “I’ve been too busy lately and forgot to make one. I know your sanatorium has more than one director. Would any of them happen to have time to help me with my issue?”

The staff smiled politely. “Actually, if it’s about a patient, our head of inpatient services can assist you.”

Lanlan’s smile never faltered. “Mm… I don’t think that’ll do.”

The staff: “……”

Ten minutes of back-and-forth later, she still didn’t see the director—but she did manage to secure a meeting with the head of administration, second only to the director.

As she was being led in, Lanlan thought wryly: If Xin Yan was here, they wouldn’t dare brush her off with a department head. She says she wants the director, then it would be the director—anything less, not even the vice-director, would suffice.

Lanlan was no child; she had long understood how identity and status dictated treatment. In the past, she had accepted this fact without much thought. But now… now the disparity burned her eyes.

It was as if the universe itself had carved them into ranks: Xin Yan soaring far above, while she was left struggling below.

With that resentment lodged in her chest, her expression darkened as she pushed open the office door.

________________________________________

Half an hour later—

“I thought this was a place wholly devoted to patient care. Is this what you call service? Allowing strangers to stroll freely through the sanatorium? Minister, you’re the one in charge here—you of all people should know how fragile the patients are. Some will spend their entire lives in sterile wards. Living here, they should feel safe, at ease. Tell me—have you given them safety and peace of mind?”

The minister stammered, “I—”

Lanlan waved him off, disappointment in her eyes. “My mother has been living here for four years. She’s a gentle woman—so gentle that even when she’s dissatisfied, she won’t speak up. A mother shoulders so much. Then as her daughter, it falls on me to speak what she won’t. Minister, to allow patients to bring in non-medical personnel—this practice makes me angry, makes me disappointed, makes me heartsick!”

The minister wiped the sweat beading on his forehead. “We never—”

“Never what? Never let outsiders in? Don’t lie to me. Miss Lu Wanqiu in the special care ward is a close friend of mine—I know exactly what her daily life here looks like. When my mother was first admitted, I asked if we could bring in our own caretaker. Your staff told me no—outsiders weren’t allowed, and that your own staff would look after her.

“So why is it allowed for her, but not for us? Because I’m not noble enough? Because my mother doesn’t qualify? Or simply because you dislike my family?”

The minister stammered, “I truly didn’t—”

Lanlan tilted her head as if considering. “If I recall correctly, Elder Duan also resides here. I saw him just this month. I heard his family wasn’t permitted to bring in their own people either. The Duans are a family of double academicians, and his nephew works in the Capital Health Commission. Should I perhaps mention this to him?”

The minister gaped at her.

The next moment, Lanlan smiled sweetly. “Forget it. No need to trouble him over something so small. Chairman Yun of Yunshan Group has his birthday banquet next month—my wife and I will both attend. I’ll just mention it to him in person. I hear he’s still in good health—on a good day, he can fire ten employees before lunch without breaking a sweat.”

The minister looked ready to cry. “I’ll immediately expel all unauthorized personnel, strengthen security, and ensure that no visitors remain past six p.m.!”

Lanlan added coolly, “And a twenty-four-hour patrol for the special care ward.”

The minister snapped to repeat, “A twenty-four-hour patrol for the special care ward!”

Then, cautiously, “Do you have… any other requests?”

Lanlan’s smile softened. “If possible, I’d like you to replace the caretakers and nurses assigned to Lu Wanqiu. The nurses manage the ward, the caretakers stay with her around the clock. They must know all her little tricks, yet they never report them. Clearly, they don’t care about her health the way I do.”

The minister: “……”

He honestly didn’t see an ounce of concern in Lanlan’s behavior.

The truth was, the sanatorium was always aware of patients’ “little tricks.” Especially someone like Lu Wanqiu, who basically treated the place as her home. They knew her condition well—and knew that letting one or two of her people in posed no risk. The special ward was designed so each floor housed only four patients, each with their own room, recreation area, study, and elevator.

In other words, the people Lu Wanqiu brought in never affected anyone else.

But this was a gray zone. Some administrators turned a blind eye; others, like Lanlan, pressed the matter to the letter.

Now that she had raised the issue, the minister had no choice but to follow the rules.

At last, Lanlan was satisfied. She rose from her seat. Seeing that, the minister all but sagged with relief—nearly loosening even his last bit of control.

But Lanlan didn’t leave immediately. She smiled at him again. “Now that this is settled, I’d like to visit a patient. Do I need to return to the lobby to register?”

The minister hastily called his secretary. “No need. My secretary will escort you. Xiao Li, take Miss Bei Lanlan to her mother’s ward. Let me see… which room number—”

Lanlan corrected him gently, “I’m not here to see my mother. I want to see Lu Wanqiu.”

The minister froze. “Lu Wanqiu? After you just swept away everyone at her side like a hurricane?”

Lanlan nodded. “Didn’t I say? She’s my good friend.”

She gave extra emphasis to good friend. The minister looked at her silently for a long moment, then finally turned to his secretary. “Take her to Lu Wanqiu.”

At this point, he didn’t care who she visited—so long as she got out of his office.

________________________________________

Lu Wanqiu had just woken from her nap. She sat in a small room watching television.

It was her favorite room in the sanatorium—because it had no windows.

Whenever she wanted to relax, she came here. She watched the television now with deep concentration.

Lanlan arrived with the minister’s secretary. Since she hadn’t gone through proper registration, the nurses didn’t expect her visit. Seeing the secretary treat her with such deference, they assumed she must be someone important. One nurse personally led Lanlan inside and opened the door for her.

Even before the door swung open, Lanlan heard it: the flowing notes of a piano, a piece instantly recognizable—Jing Chu’s famous debut composition.

Lu Wanqiu, absorbed, looked displeased at the sudden interruption.

She turned, spotted Lanlan at the doorway, paused for a heartbeat—then turned back toward the television where Jing Chu’s performance played.

Tilting her head slightly, she said, “Not that much of a resemblance.”

She seemed not at all surprised by Lanlan’s sudden appearance, speaking with the ease of familiarity. Lanlan’s gaze lowered to her hands resting together on her lap.

Her right hand pinched at her left thumb, hidden beneath.

She wasn’t happy.

Lanlan smiled faintly. Turning to the nurse, she said, “I’ll stay here. You can go.”

The nurse glanced at Lu Wanqiu. Seeing nothing amiss, she relaxed. “Alright, call me if you need anything.”

She left the door ajar, but Lanlan quietly closed it. Without windows, the room could have felt stifling, but it was brightly lit and decorated with many paintings. Anyone less observant might not even notice the absence of windows.

Lanlan scanned the space with careful attention. In front of her, Wanqiu leaned back against her wheelchair and suddenly laughed.

“Looks like you didn’t like the gift I sent.”

Lanlan’s eyes shifted back to her, taking in the woman in the wheelchair. She nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t. It was childish, impulsive, cloying, crude, meaningless. That kind of perfume will never appear in my home.”

Wanqiu breathed slowly in and out, then smiled. “To each their own. I like it. Because once it clings to you, it never washes away.”

Lanlan met her gaze. “There’s no such thing as a scent that can’t be washed away—only one that can’t be overpowered.”

From her handbag, she drew out the very bottle Wanqiu had sent her. Setting it on the table, she said, “Bergamot has a sweet top note and a faint base. Its fragrance lasts a long time, yes, but it has a fatal flaw—it can only ever serve as a supporting note, never the lead. All it takes is a touch of oakmoss, and its scent is completely buried. So much bergamot, so little oakmoss—and still, it vanishes. How does that make sense?”

Lanlan’s tone was so earnest it was as though she truly didn’t know the answer. As though she was really asking Wanqiu.

Wanqiu studied the bottle—the same as the one she had sent out—before lifting her head at last.

“Perhaps because intensity and longevity can’t coexist. Heavy scents are many, substitutes are plenty. And anything so easily replaced… can only ever hold attention for a fleeting few minutes.”

Bai Lanlan stepped forward two paces, bent down slightly, and nudged the perfume bottle toward Lu Wanqiu.

“I don’t know about anyone else,” she said softly, “but I’m certain the attention this perfume will get from you won’t be over in just a few minutes.”

Her lips curved, her smile carrying the deceptive sweetness of a fallen angel tempting one into sin.

“Want to try it?”

She held her pose, as if utterly convinced Lu Wanqiu would give in. Wanqiu’s grip on her own thumb tightened, leaving faint pain in her skin. She stared at the bottle—though she couldn’t yet smell its contents, revulsion had already taken root. She wanted nothing less than for that scent to linger in her room.

This wasn’t hers. It was Bai Lanlan’s.

But if she refused, it would mean conceding this round. And losing was something she loathed more than anything.

So, feigning calm, Lu Wanqiu picked up the bottle, opened the cap, and gave her wrist a light spray.

Without so much as inhaling, she set the bottle back down. Bai Lanlan’s sharp gaze caught the red mark blooming on Wanqiu’s thumb, but she said nothing. Straightening, she merely remarked:

“This is only the beginning.”

Wanqiu’s head snapped up. She searched Bai Lanlan’s face, uncertain if she was speaking of the perfume—or something else entirely.

Lanlan offered no clarification. She smiled, then turned and walked away. On the television, Jing Chu was already taking her bow, but Wanqiu no longer had the mind to watch.

The fragrance of oakmoss unfurled in the air, the woody notes tinged with a watery freshness spreading through the entire room. To some, it might smell exquisite. To Lu Wanqiu, it was nothing but—

Disgust. Hatred.

It was as if the scent crawled over her skin, clinging, suffocating, fouling her body with its stench.

Once Bai Lanlan was gone, she dropped her mask. Her face darkened, and she had the urge to summon her staff at once.

What on earth had they been investigating?!

Bai Lanlan came from an ordinary family, proud and insecure in equal measure. She was the stand-in Xin Yan had chosen to replace Jing Chu, only becoming relevant after Jing Chu’s engagement.

The pride was obvious enough. But insecure? No. A woman who could strut into her room so brazenly had long since cast off any inferiority.

As for being a substitute…

Wanqiu’s eyes drifted to the television screen.

No. Xin Yan would never mistake Bai Lanlan for a stand-in. In her eyes, Bai Lanlan and Jing Chu couldn’t be more different—poles apart, without the slightest resemblance. She trusted her judgment. The one she loved could never be that blind.

Xin Yan knew perfectly well how distinct they were. Which meant every bit of care she now lavished on Bai Lanlan came from sincerity.

Lu Wanqiu’s expression chilled. The intelligence she’d received was wrong. Her plan to make Bai Lanlan retreat had already collapsed at the outset. But no matter. She had time.

A life confined to a hospital room left her with endless, empty hours to squander on new schemes.

She wheeled herself out of the room that now felt tainted, intending to bathe. But just as she reached the corridor, she saw several people approaching.

Her nurse, Huihui, stood there looking bewildered as she spoke with them.

One of the newcomers noticed Wanqiu and approached.

“What’s going on?” Wanqiu asked, suspicious.

The man’s tone was polite, deferential. “It’s nothing serious. For the sake of your health, the hospital has arranged for a few more seasoned, experienced nurses to care for you. We’ve also increased security patrols to twenty-four hours.

From now on, your safety will be better guaranteed.”

Wanqiu: “……”

The breath lodged in her chest wouldn’t go up or down. After a long silence, she forced a smile.

“Wonderful. Simply wonderful.”

——

After cutting off Lu Wanqiu’s contact with the outside world, Bai Lanlan didn’t immediately leave the sanatorium. Instead, she filled out another application form and went to see Li Jingshu.

Only then did she learn Jingshu’s ward had been relocated to the far edge of the facility. When Jingshu saw her, she chattered happily about how much nicer the new room was. Lanlan listened patiently, a faint warmth stirring in her chest.

It must have been right after she’d first visited Jingshu that Xin Yan arranged the transfer. She hadn’t mentioned it, probably wanting to surprise her.

If Lanlan ever discovered that Xin Yan’s true reason was to prevent her from running into Lu Wanqiu, who knew what expression she would show then.

Having skipped lunch, Lanlan shared a meal with Jingshu. She had put off visiting her before for countless reasons. Now that the ice had been broken, she intended to come more often.

She even promised, “Next time, I’ll bring Xin Yan along so you can meet her.”

Jingshu paused, then said, “I’ve already met her. Some time ago she came here for something. I asked her to stop by, and she sat with me for a while.”

Her gaze lingered on Lanlan. “She didn’t tell you?”

Lanlan: “……”

With a brittle laugh, she replied, “No.”

Jingshu couldn’t fathom why Xin Yan had kept it a secret. But Lanlan knew perfectly well—guilt. Visiting her mother was incidental. Meeting Lu Wanqiu was the real purpose.

The thought of Xin Yan sneaking off to this remote mountain retreat for a tryst with Wanqiu filled Lanlan with seething anger. She dug her nails into an orange as she peeled it, gouging two ragged holes in the fruit. Jingshu silently watched, hesitated a moment, but chose not to point it out.

Truth be told, she rather liked seeing this side of Lanlan—alive, fiery. Far better than the heavy, solemn mask she had worn last time.

By six o’clock—the new cutoff for visiting hours—Lanlan had already left the sanatorium. While dusk fell there, Xin Yan was still high above the clouds.

A private jet was comfortable, but unless one had a special taste for confinement, few could tolerate so many hours in a sealed space.

After landing came the usual—checking into a hotel, contacting the local embassy, dinners with strangers. Only once Xin Yan had finally settled and rested did she call Lanlan.

Lanlan picked up almost instantly. “A-Yan?”

Xin Yan: “……”

That single “A-Yan” stopped every word in her throat.

It had been some time since Lanlan had called her that. Xin Yan had always found the nickname a little much, but never corrected her outright. She certainly hadn’t expected to hear it again now.

She usually reserved corrections for face-to-face encounters. Over the phone, she let it slide. Instead, after a pause, she said, “I’m all settled. Florence is beautiful, and the food’s good. What about you? How are things at home?”

Lanlan smiled. “The same as always. Only… it feels strange with just me in the house.”

Xin Yan blinked. “What do you mean? The housekeeper’s still there, and Aunt Wang and Aunt Meng too.”

Lanlan: “……”

Her smile vanished in an instant, replaced by a blank expression. “Oh. Right.”

Xin Yan: “……”

At least she could read the shift in Lanlan’s tone—she wasn’t happy. Xin Yan thought for a moment, then tried to salvage the mood. “I’ll try to come back early.”

Lanlan gave a reluctant hum. “No rush.”

After a few more words, they ended the call. Xin Yan stared at her phone, thoughtful.

Had she smoothed things over—or not?

Just then, a knock sounded at her door. Xin Yan opened it to find An Zhiyuan.

Her head throbbed at the sight of him. “What now? We just had dinner.”

Never before had An Zhiyuan been dismissed so bluntly. He felt a sting in his chest.

“It’s not about dinner, President Xin. I just discovered that Jing Chu is holding a concert in Verona.”

Xin Yan leaned against the doorframe, baffled. “……And?”

His turn to falter.

Only then did he remember—Xin Yan no longer cared what Jing Chu was doing. She had her little enchantress now, cunning and irresistible, who had her wrapped around her finger. Jing Chu was yesterday’s news.

And he, still jetlagged, had run here like a fool to deliver real-time updates about yesterday’s news.

If the little enchantress ever found out…

An Zhiyuan forced a laugh. “I’ll go scout the conference venue. You should rest. See you tomorrow.”

Xin Yan: “……”

Utterly nonsensical.

And just as someone here had mentioned Jing Chu’s name, elsewhere, Jing Chu too heard Xin Yan’s mentioned.

During a video call, Kong Zhiluo chatted with Jing Chu between filming. After some casual talk, she brought it up:

“I heard she’s in Italy too—something about an environmental summit.”

Jing Chu’s expression barely flickered. “Is she? Let her be.”

Recalling the last time she’d seen Xin Yan at a gala, Zhiluo asked suddenly, “Has she contacted you recently?”

Jing Chu chuckled. “Are you jealous?”

Zhiluo shook her head. “No. Just curious.”

Which was, of course, jealousy in another form. Jing Chu thought a moment, then said, “The last time she came to me was at our engagement. That’s over two months ago.”

She stopped, startled by her own words.

Over two months already?