Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 55

Another ten minutes passed before Bei Lanlan and Xin Yan finally walked out hand in hand. Bei Lanlan pressed her lips together and strode straight toward the exit.

Neither of them wanted to stay any longer. The sooner they went home, the sooner they could rest. But after only a few steps, Xin Yan suddenly stopped.

Puzzled, Bei Lanlan turned her head and saw Xin Yan staring at Song Xizi not far away.

Xin Yan gave her hand a little shake. “I’ll just say a few words to her. You wait for me downstairs.”

Bei Lanlan was clearly displeased. Even if she and Xin Yan had cleared up their misunderstandings, when it came to Song Xizi, there had never been any misunderstanding. Song Xizi was simply someone worth disliking.

Xin Yan coaxed gently, “Be good, just a couple of sentences.”

“…Fine. Three minutes.”

Xin Yan couldn’t help but laugh. Three minutes? That wasn’t enough for anything—just waiting for the next elevator would take one.

Bei Lanlan had always been sharp-tongued but soft-hearted. Sometimes what she said was more about attitude than an actual rule. Xin Yan didn’t take it too seriously. Once Bei Lanlan turned toward the elevator, Xin Yan turned the other way and walked toward Song Xizi.

Song Xizi was holding a glass of wine, half-heartedly listening to someone boast beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Xin Yan and instinctively straightened up.

Xin Yan’s face was expressionless. She simply stood there silently, watching her. Song Xizi kept quiet for a moment, then turned and walked away. Xin Yan followed.

Song Xizi pushed open an inconspicuous door and stepped inside. Xin Yan entered after her and realized it was a temporary lounge or dressing room, no more than six square meters, furnished with a sofa, a coffee table, and a professional makeup desk.

Xin Yan shut the door behind her, cutting off the noise outside. Song Xizi didn’t put down her wine; instead, with some impatience, she said, “If you have something to say, say it. I still have guests to entertain.”

Xin Yan replied flatly, “No need to remind me. I don’t want to see your face either.”

Song Xizi ground her teeth but didn’t snap back. Instead, she set down her wine. “Fine. I’m listening.”

“Are you jealous of me?”

Song Xizi’s head snapped up.

Xin Yan’s tone was deadly serious, without a hint of mockery.

For a moment, Song Xizi thought she must have misheard. “Me? Jealous of you?”

Xin Yan spoke slowly. “Yes. You and I used to be the same. I had no one around me; you had people, but none of them stayed. Now I have Lanlan, I’ve moved forward, while you’re still the same as before. You can’t accept that, so you keep trying to sabotage us.”

“…”

Song Xizi clenched her jaw. “In your eyes, am I really that petty?”

Xin Yan didn’t answer, only gave her a quiet look.

“…Before today, I didn’t even know you two were serious,” Song Xizi muttered. “What’s there for me to be jealous of? I just wanted to see how she’d react.”

She had wanted to see if, once Bei Lanlan realized Xin Yan’s unusual attachment to Jing Chu, she could still keep deceiving herself. And once Lanlan could no longer deceive herself, would Xin Yan still choose to tolerate it?

It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. But yes—she had wanted to stir things up.

Why, though…?

The thought had only just crossed her mind when Xin Yan spoke again.

“Think whatever you want. Now that you know we’re not in some casual fling, just stop bothering us. Live your life of wine and vanity if you like—that’s none of my concern. But I only want peace. Lanlan is the person I love, she’s my family. If someone takes my land, I’ll fight tooth and nail to take it back. So tell me, if you try to drive a wedge between me and Lanlan—destroy the most important thing I have in this world—how do you think I’ll repay you?”

Song Xizi stared at her silently.

Xin Yan held her gaze, calm and unwavering. She had said all that needed to be said. This wasn’t a joke. Song Xizi had crossed her bottom line. When Xin Yan was truly angry, she didn’t lash out—she grew cold.

She turned and reached for the door. But just as her hand touched the knob, Song Xizi suddenly said, “When your parents died, I was still at school.”

Xin Yan paused, turning back, confused why she would bring that up.

Song Xizi’s throat tightened. “…I found out a week later than everyone else. Toronto was hit by a blizzard, the airport shut down. By the time I got back, you’d already left with your uncle.”

“If there hadn’t been a blizzard, if someone had told me sooner, I would have gone to you.”

Like Jing Chu had.

It had been more than ten years, and the grief hadn’t even been her own, yet Song Xizi remembered everything. She remembered that night when snow buried the city. She remembered her parents’ startled faces when she rushed home.

She remembered running straight to Xin Yan’s house without even changing clothes, only to find the door locked tight, the once-lively courtyard lifeless after just three days.

Xin Yan, of course, knew nothing of this. Neither she nor the original Xin Yan ever had.

She blinked, then her expression smoothed over. “But there’s no such thing as ‘if.’”

In the past, in the future, in the present—“if” was just an illusion. What happened was destined to happen. What didn’t happen never could.

Song Xizi, raised with elite education, understood that too. She also knew the truth: Xin Yan hadn’t vanished from the earth. She had left with her uncle. If Song Xizi had really wanted to find her, there had been many ways. She simply hadn’t tried.

Song Xizi fell silent again. Digging up the past was pointless. She wouldn’t have even remembered it, if not for Xin Yan and Bei Lanlan stirring up all these old ghosts.

She sank onto the sofa, staring at the floor.

Xin Yan looked from the door to Song Xizi, who had suddenly gone quiet. Her hand tightened on the knob. Then, before leaving, she told her something Song Xizi had never known.

“The year we graduated high school, when your parents divorced, you locked yourself away in that apartment. I was the one who told your mom where you were.”

“You know me, and I know you, Song Xizi. I cared about you in my own way, too.”

With that, she left.

Song Xizi stared blankly at the closed door. After a long time, she lowered her head and let out a faint laugh.

So she had been right about at least one thing.

She and Xin Yan were very much alike.

Too alike. So alike that they had missed each other completely.

Even if those “ifs” had been real—even if she had appeared before Xin Yan like some kind of savior—would they have become friends? Something more? Could they have stumbled through the bruises and chaos of growing up, all the way to today?

No.

Because there was no such thing as “if.”

________________________________________

By the time Xin Yan came down to the first floor, Bei Lanlan was waiting anxiously by the elevator.

She pouted. “It’s been thirteen minutes.”

Xin Yan halted. “So you plan to keep me on a tight leash from now on?”

Bei Lanlan blinked. “…You don’t like it?”

Xin Yan laughed. “I do. I’m just not used to it yet.”

Bei Lanlan smiled faintly. “Good. Because whether you like it or not, I’ll be keeping watch. You know how domineering I can be—getting used to it is only a matter of time.”

Someone handed Xin Yan her coat, and the two walked out together. They hadn’t even stepped outside the hotel before Bei Lanlan asked, “What did you two talk about?”

“I told her not to bother us anymore,” Xin Yan said.

“That’s it?”

Xin Yan thought for a moment. “We also mentioned some things from when we were kids.”

Bei Lanlan’s gaze darkened. Childhood. The one part of Xin Yan’s life she had never been part of. “What exactly?”

Xin Yan paused mid-motion while putting on her coat. She wasn’t the most emotionally astute person, but even she knew some of the conversation with Song Xizi could easily be misunderstood.

She hesitated for two seconds—two seconds too long. Bei Lanlan’s eyes narrowed.

Abandoning the idea of making something up, Xin Yan confessed, “…She said when my parents died, she tried to come see me but didn’t find me. I told her I wasn’t always as bad as she thought. When her parents divorced, I helped her too.”

It was only a couple of sentences, but Bei Lanlan took a long while to process them. “So she heard everything we said?”

Xin Yan didn’t care much. She was open and forthright; she wasn’t afraid of eavesdroppers. “Let her. There was nothing shameful in it.”

Bei Lanlan frowned. What bothered her wasn’t the eavesdropping itself, but why Song Xizi, after overhearing such things, had suddenly compared herself to Jing Chu.

…Just as she thought!

So her dislike for Song Xizi hadn’t been without reason. Her instincts had been right all along.

She turned abruptly, only to meet Xin Yan’s innocent, guileless eyes. Bei Lanlan shut her mouth.

She couldn’t say it. If she did, it would be the same as voicing Song Xizi’s confession for her.

Bei Lanlan sneered inwardly, then slid closer until half her body leaned against Xin Yan, clinging tightly to her arm. “I don’t like being eavesdropped on, A-Yan. Let’s go home. Home is always better.”

She deliberately softened her voice, turning it sweet and tender. Xin Yan’s face flushed instantly, her mind wandering in less-than-innocent directions again. Still, she didn’t slow her pace. “Mm, let’s go. Watch your step.”

Arm in arm, they left together.

The hotel entrance was brightly lit, every detail below visible from above. On an upper terrace, Jing Chu had slipped away from a group asking about her concert. From there, she had a clear view of the parking area.

The curtain behind her rustled as someone came in. Kong Zhiluo entered, saw Jing Chu standing outside in a strapless gown, and paused. She quickly turned back, fetched a shawl, and returned to drape it over Jing Chu’s shoulders.

Jing Chu turned and smiled at her.

It had been two days since Jing Chu returned to the country, and Kong Zhiluo had already noticed she wasn’t as warm as before. She didn’t know why, and the unease made her fuss over Jing Chu even more carefully.

“What were you just looking at?” she asked.

Jing Chu glanced downstairs again. The cars and people had already gone; under the lights, the space was empty. After such liveliness, the silence felt all the more desolate.

She answered softly, “Other people’s lives.”