Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 44.1

Private convalescent homes were well known for their discretion, which also made digging up any news about what went on inside nearly impossible.

Still, money makes the world go round—no matter how strict the confidentiality, someone was bound to crack under the lure of cash.

Xin Yan thought it would be easy. To her surprise, no matter what methods her people tried, they couldn’t uncover the slightest scrap of information.

What was stranger still: whenever they asked about the sanatorium in general, staff would only shake their heads and refuse to comment. But the moment they inquired about Lu Wanqiu specifically, the staff instantly grew guarded, as if they were being pressed for top-secret intelligence.

Xin Yan: “…”

She couldn’t understand why the sanatorium was so fiercely protective of Lu Wanqiu’s information. Then again, she thought, perhaps that was a good sign—it meant they genuinely cared about their patients.

For now, she shelved the matter. There would be time to look into it later.

The company was still as busy as ever, with big and small issues popping up daily. After returning from abroad, Xin Yan needed two or three days just to reset her schedule. And even then, “reset” was a generous word—she could force herself out of bed at the sound of her alarm, but spent the rest of the day in a haze of exhaustion.

Bei Lanlan made her coffee and wellness teas, tried to shoulder as much of her work as possible, and urged her to nap in the lounge whenever she could. It was all to little effect.

One afternoon, slouched on the sofa in her office with a cup of hot tea in hand, Xin Yan sighed wistfully: “I’m getting old. My body just can’t keep up anymore.”

Bei Lanlan: “…”

She came to sit beside her and said bluntly, “It’s not age. You’re just too busy, you don’t exercise, and once your routine’s disrupted, you can’t adjust.”

Xin Yan paused, then stubbornly insisted, “No, I really think it’s age.”

Exercise was out of the question. Where would she find the time? Besides, she hated sweating.

Seeing the resistance written all over her face, Bei Lanlan didn’t push the point. Instead, she pulled out two tickets from behind her back and handed them over.

Puzzled, Xin Yan took them. They were crudely printed flyers: Year-End Performance by Such-and-Such University Opera Society — The Battle of Red Cliff (Youth Edition).

“What does ‘Youth Edition’ even mean?” Xin Yan asked.

“It’s a student production,” Bei Lanlan explained. “Self-adapted, with lots of changes to the script—part grandeur of the original, part comedy.”

Xin Yan: “…”

Truly, students were the most leisurely people in the country.

Still, it sounded interesting. In all her life, she’d never actually watched a traditional opera. Going might be a nice bit of culture.

She smiled, shaking the tickets. “Starts at seven tonight? Just after work, perfect timing. Thanks—I’ll go.”

“But…”

Her brow furrowed at the second ticket. “Why two? Am I supposed to give one away?”

She was already considering who she might invite, when she noticed Bei Lanlan’s darkening expression.

“The second ticket is mine,” Lanlan said flatly. “You’re just holding on to it.”

Xin Yan: “…”

Fair enough. That did make more sense.

________________________________________

The tickets had come from one of Bei Lanlan’s classmates, a member of the opera society who’d managed to secure them from the inside. They weren’t available through normal channels.

The show was set for the next evening. She and Bei Lanlan agreed to meet at five at a restaurant near campus.

Sometimes Xin Yan felt Lanlan was even busier than she was: up at dawn for class, straight to the lab afterwards, and depending on the hour she got out, either rushing to the company or heading straight home.

That day happened to end early, but since they already had plans, Lanlan didn’t go to the company. Xin Yan, on the other hand, had to wait in her office until five.

She hated being late. As the hour approached, she kept checking her phone every few minutes, until An Zhiyuan was tempted to tell her, Stop looking—just go already.

Sure enough, once she realized she couldn’t concentrate at all, she cheerfully stood up and left everything on his desk. Poor An Zhiyuan, who had no personal life to speak of, would just have to handle it.

On her way out, she even gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re not that young anymore. You should really get out more, add some social life to your routine. Whether you settle down or not, at least find yourself a companion.”

An Zhiyuan: “…”

Never in his life did he expect to receive advice on his love life from Xin Yan of all people.

By the time Xin Yan reached the restaurant, it wasn’t even five yet—twenty minutes early. She thought she was ahead of schedule, but found Bei Lanlan already there.

It was just an ordinary hotpot place, nothing fancy, about a hundred yuan per person. The place was bustling even at this early hour, with several tables already eating.

Lanlan waved happily when she spotted her, then slid a freshly washed set of chopsticks and dishes across the table.

“You’re early,” they both said at once, blinking at each other before bursting into laughter. Then Lanlan asked again, “So why are you here so soon? Was work light today?”

Xin Yan chuckled. “As if that’s possible. I left early—I couldn’t sit still at the office any longer.”

After speaking, she cleared her throat. Lanlan eyed her. “Your throat bothering you?”

“A little scratchy. Probably heatiness,” Xin Yan said, rubbing her neck.

“Then let’s order a clear broth,” Lanlan decided. “Tomorrow I’ll have a doctor come to the office and check you out.”

“…That’s not necessary. I’ll just drink water and sleep it off,” Xin Yan muttered.

Lanlan blinked, but conceded with a smile. “Fine. But we’re still getting clear broth.”

Xin Yan didn’t mind—whether spicy or mild, it all tasted the same once dipped in sauce.

When the waiter arrived, Lanlan picked up the pencil and ticked items off the order sheet with practiced ease.

Definitely a regular.

Xin Yan leaned over to watch. In under half a minute, Lanlan had finished. She flipped the paper around and passed it to her.

Glancing down, Xin Yan added a few of her own favorites, then handed it back. Curious, she asked, “You’ve been here before?”

Lanlan smiled a little shyly. “Mm. Back when I first started university, I used to come a lot.”

Those were the days before her mother’s illness—when she was still a freshman, full of excitement and energy, going out almost every day with friends. They tried every restaurant nearby, and in the end, this hotpot place won.

Xin Yan glanced around the lively restaurant and nodded. “For a place near campus to last this long, they must be doing something right. Otherwise, they’d have been pushed out ages ago.”

Lanlan nodded. “I really liked it back then, but I couldn’t afford to come often. A single meal here would eat up over a hundred yuan—most of my monthly allowance. So we rarely chose this place for group dinners.”

Xin Yan laughed. “Now you could not only eat here whenever you want, you could buy the whole restaurant outright.”

Lanlan rolled her eyes. “I don’t like it that much.”

The hotpot arrived. As Xin Yan stirred the broth with her ladle, she teased, “I was only joking.”

She lowered her gaze to the floating goji berries and shimmering oil, while Lanlan’s eyes lingered on her.

After a pause, Lanlan said, “Do you know what I did this afternoon?”

“Didn’t you say you had an appointment?” Xin Yan asked.

Lanlan nodded. “Guess who with.”

“How would I know?” Xin Yan thought for a moment. “An old friend?”

“All my old friends have graduated,” Lanlan replied. “Only one or two stayed in the city, and we weren’t that close. Everyone else scattered across the country—I don’t even know where they live now.”

“Then who?”

Lanlan stopped toying with her and answered directly. “Madam Yin.”

Xin Yan: “…Who?”

“Uncle Hu’s fiancée. He mentioned her at that dinner before—you don’t remember?”

Xin Yan searched her memory, recalling only Uncle Hu bawling his eyes out. She fell silent. “…No.”

After a beat, she asked in surprise, “And how exactly did you meet her?”

“Through Uncle Hu. He wanted to invite us both to dinner at his house, but you were abroad then. I added him as a friend, and through him got to know Madam Yin. She takes excellent care of herself—you’d never guess she’s pushing sixty. Looks about the same age as my mom.”

Lanlan’s voice was soft and unhurried, gentle as wind chimes under the eaves. She made it sound like nothing at all—ordinary, casual. She never mentioned how she convinced that shrewd Uncle Hu to hand over his future wife’s contact information.

She didn’t bring it up, because she expected Xin Yan to ask.

But Xin Yan only blinked and asked curiously, “Really? That amazing? Did she get work done?”

Lanlan: “…”

Wonderful.

What she’d only suspected before, she could now confirm: Xin Yan cared less about her than she used to.

Once upon a time, Xin Yan would have grilled her about every word exchanged. If they hadn’t commuted together, Xin Yan would ask about her whole day—who she met, what she did.

Now, that attentiveness hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it was clearly fading. Xin Yan had been subtle enough that Lanlan hadn’t noticed at first—until she tested her like this.

She’d gone alone to meet a powerful stranger. Even if that stranger was a woman, even if she was an older woman, Xin Yan shouldn’t have been so indifferent, not even bothering to ask why.

Because of that indifference, Lanlan suddenly found her appetite for hotpot gone. The way she looked at Xin Yan was full of displeasure.

If Xin Yan knew what was going through her head, she’d cry injustice.

She didn’t ask because she trusted Lanlan’s capability. In her eyes, it was perfectly normal for Lanlan to want connections with influential people. If Lanlan had asked, she could have made introductions herself. Since it was a private matter and Lanlan chose not to mention it, why pry? She didn’t want to force her into some perfunctory excuse.

As for the dwindling questions and concern…

Xin Yan herself hadn’t even realized.

Some habits were subconscious. Once, worry made her nitpick every detail. Now that the worry had eased, something else had quietly taken its place. The more they talked, the faster it grew. Xin Yan wanted distance—or rather, she wanted time to cool down.

But she hadn’t considered this: she and Lanlan were too close. Sharing meals, a home, an office, even a car—any subtle shift was like the flutter of butterfly wings, stirring winds in the other’s heart.

Avoidance was impossible. Cooling down was futile. Because one person’s retreat was nothing less than pressure on the other.

There was no proper theater on campus, only a student auditorium. By the time Bei Lanlan and Xin Yan arrived, the place was nearly packed. Their seats were near the front, and Xin Yan tugged her coat tighter as she carefully squeezed her way inside.

It had been ages since she’d been to something like this. Just now, a male student had accidentally stepped on her foot, and to her surprise, she’d even felt a little nostalgic about it.

Finally settling down, Xin Yan immediately sank into the seat. Heaven knows how many years these chairs had been in service—the surface was hard as a board, pressing into her hips.

“I think I ought to make another donation,” Xin Yan muttered. “At the very least they should renovate this hall. Sitting on these things, it’s a wonder the school isn’t worried about spinal injuries.”

Bei Lanlan was just about to reply when suddenly the backrest of her chair was smacked from behind. Xin Yan whipped her head around in shock and found a girl sitting behind them, eyes shining with excitement.

“Bei Lanlan! You came too? These tickets were impossible to get. I had to rally my whole club to help me, and we only managed three!”