Oops, I’m the Scumbag Ex in Her Storyline - Chapter 57

When Xin Yan walked in, Jing Chu heard the sound. Without the glow of lights and the atmosphere of the banquet, Xin Yan shed the glamorous façade of a society debutante. At this moment, she looked every bit the capable, sharp executive.

Jing Chu, too, no longer seemed like the dreamlike figure she had been on stage. She wasn’t the famous pianist right now—just an old friend, someone Xin Yan hadn’t seen in a very long time.

That fleeting moment of being dazed had only happened once before, but seeing Jing Chu again still sent a ripple through Xin Yan’s heart. She kept it from showing on her face, however.

Xin Yan began thinking about how she might soften the words Lanlan had asked her to say. But before she could speak, Jing Chu was the first to break the silence.

“Tomorrow, I’m leaving for Barcelona.”

Xin Yan’s thoughts were cut off. She blurted out, “Didn’t your world tour already end?”

Lanlan, watching through the surveillance feed: “……”

(When you come back, you had better explain to me properly why you even know about this.)

Jing Chu also looked surprised. She hadn’t expected Xin Yan to know, and after a brief pause, she explained, “The concerts are over, but I still want to go. The winters here don’t suit me—it’s far too cold.”

“But it’s almost New Year,” Xin Yan countered.

Lanlan, on the other end, nearly slammed her monitor in frustration.

Jing Chu smiled faintly. “My parents will be joining me before the holiday.”

For people born into their circles, messy family situations were almost the norm—divorce, remarriage, single-parent households, blended families, even illegitimate children. There was nothing one wouldn’t see. By contrast, Jing Chu’s parents were considered model partners in their circle. Neither obsessed over their careers, nor indulged in scandals. They might quarrel, sometimes even talk about divorce, but in the end, they stayed together. That alone was already rare.

Family shapes a person more than anything else. It was precisely because Jing Chu had grown up in such an environment that she could pursue her art with clarity, become someone at once gentle and grounded, and believe unwaveringly in love that belonged solely to her.

Others, by the time they were barely out of adolescence, had already given up on love altogether.

Xin Yan nodded, then suddenly thought of another person. She asked, “Is Kong Zhiluo going with you?”

If she was, Xin Yan would need to inform An Zhiyuan—the company’s annual gala depended on Kong Zhiluo performing. If she pulled out, everything would have to be rearranged.

“She’s not,” Jing Chu replied, shaking her head.

Xin Yan’s curiosity sharpened. “Not going for now, or… not going at all?”

Jing Chu didn’t know the answer herself. “For now, definitely not. As for later… I’m not sure.”

She smiled again, as if to lighten the mood. “I’ll be spending less and less time here in the future. You’re busy, she’s busy… so I thought I’d come and say goodbye. The world isn’t too big or too small, but who knows when—or if—we’ll meet again.”

Xin Yan paused, studying Jing Chu’s expression, before suddenly asking, “Are you doing okay?”

“Of course. Very well,” Jing Chu said easily. “What about you? I saw you the other day—with that girl beside you. Do you like her?”

Xin Yan answered without hesitation, “I do.”

Jing Chu looked her straight in the eyes. “Are you sure?”

Watching the screen, Lanlan’s face immediately darkened.

Another rival. And what was that question supposed to mean? Whether Xin Yan liked her or not—what business of hers was it?!

Xin Yan herself thought the question overstepped, but looking at Jing Chu’s face, her patience stretched further than usual. Frowning slightly, she said, “I’m sure. Very sure. I’m no saint, but I want to give everything I have to Lanlan. I can’t bear for her to be out of my sight. If I hear someone sent her flowers, I get so angry I want to hit him. Even with my uncle, I’ve never once thought of using violence. But when it comes to people coveting Lanlan, I turn into someone else entirely. So yes—I’ve never been more certain.”

Jing Chu was stunned for a moment. “So this… is what liking someone feels like.”

Xin Yan smiled softly. “That’s right. Didn’t you know?”

“I thought I did,” Jing Chu admitted. “But hearing you now, I realize… maybe I don’t.”

Xin Yan’s eyes widened slightly.

She knew the plot: Jing Chu and Kong Zhiluo had never shared true love. And though Kong Zhiluo could no longer be entangled with Lanlan, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t find someone else.

And Jing Chu… was someone the original Xin Yan had once cared about deeply. So she gently probed, “Did something happen between you and Kong Zhiluo? Did she treat you badly?”

“No,” Jing Chu shook her head. “She always treated me well—before and after the engagement, nothing’s changed.”

But now she was realizing something: she and Kong Zhiluo had never exchanged even the simplest, heartfelt gifts. They had never fought. Never once spoken to each other with raw, selfish honesty. She always yielded to Kong Zhiluo; Kong Zhiluo always yielded to her.

When Jing Chu was flying from city to city, Kong Zhiluo would tell her not to overwork—but never said, I wish you could stay by my side a little longer. When Kong Zhiluo was swamped with work, Jing Chu meticulously kept their meetings brief, so as not to intrude on her rare rest. A few times, she had wanted to say, please, take fewer jobs, stay with me more—but the words had always felt too selfish, so she swallowed them down.

Her head hung low, and she hadn’t realized how long she’d fallen silent.

Glancing at the camera nearby, Xin Yan steadied herself, guided Jing Chu to sit down, and said earnestly, “Being good to someone doesn’t necessarily mean you like them. And it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re right for each other. I hope one day you can be as happy as I am now. But first, you have to find the right person—like I did.”

Jing Chu tilted her head, smiling faintly. “You really have changed so much. It used to always be me giving you advice. Now it’s you advising me.”

Xin Yan chuckled awkwardly. “I wouldn’t call it change. More like growth. At nearly thirty, I guess I’ve finally had a second adolescence.”

Her self-mockery drew a laugh from Jing Chu. After a while, Jing Chu looked up and said, “I envy that girl—Lanlan.

“She taught you what it means to truly like someone. I… never learned that.”

Even through the screen, Lanlan’s heart was touched.

Jing Chu wasn’t just skilled at playing piano; she was equally adept at striking resonance in people’s hearts. She was supposed to be the rival in love, and yet hearing those words, Lanlan couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for her.

The truth always cuts deeper than lies—because it carries with it all the emotions long suppressed inside.

Jing Chu stood, preparing to leave. As she lifted her head toward the ceiling, her gaze met Lanlan’s through the surveillance camera. And in Jing Chu’s eyes, Lanlan clearly saw a smile. It struck her suddenly—those last words, Jing Chu had been saying them to her.

Lanlan froze, caught in thought. She was so focused on deciphering Jing Chu’s intentions that she completely forgot to wonder who had leaked to Jing Chu that she was watching the feed.

“Wait!”

Jing Chu had only taken two steps when Xin Yan suddenly called out. She turned, puzzled. Xin Yan knew Lanlan was watching, but when Jing Chu was about to walk away, a sudden ache tore through her chest. The feeling didn’t belong to her—it belonged to the original Xin Yan.

Some things, Xin Yan realized, needed to be spoken here and now. Jing Chu deserved the truth, and the original Xin Yan deserved closure.

Looking at her, she said clearly, “I really did like you.”

Jing Chu froze.

“I know you don’t believe me. A lot of people don’t. Sometimes even I doubt myself. But… just like Lanlan now, back then you were the only one who could make me happy, the only one who could let me relax. No one else could.

“I never told you—I actually dislike piano music. I never understood it. But because you played for me, I was bewitched, listening to it again and again. I’m sorry I always seemed so cold in front of you. I don’t know why I was like that. My feelings, my longing—I could only hide them in sleepless nights, in those piano pieces I played on repeat.”

Jing Chu blinked once. A tear slipped down her cheek before she even realized it. She hurried to wipe it away, but the tightness in her throat only deepened.

Seeing her cry, Xin Yan finally found her voice again after a long silence. “The person I was back then, and the person I am now, are completely different.

“The old me was broken—wounded, unhealthy. She had you in her heart, but she couldn’t treat you well. The me today has healed. But I’m no longer the one you knew. If you can understand that difference, then you’ll also understand just how much the past me… truly cared about you.”

Lanlan stared at the monitor, wordless for a long time. Finally, she shut off the feed and walked out of her office.

An Zhiyuan, pretending to work diligently, had been listening all along. When he saw Lanlan step out, her expression unnervingly calm, he couldn’t tell whether she was pleased… or not at all.
________________________________________

In the parking lot, Jing Chu appeared, her makeup flawless even after her tears. She had barely stepped out of the elevator when she froze.

Across from her stood someone with her exact same face. Looking at Lanlan’s expression, Jing Chu asked, “Were you waiting for me?”

Lanlan’s tone was steady. “Xin Yan hadn’t wanted to see you today. I was the one who told her to go. I wanted her to tell you—to stay away from us.”

Jing Chu pressed her lips together. “No need. Xin Yan and I were never truly friends. Our lives are already pulling us to opposite sides.”

Lanlan held her gaze. “Still, there are a few things I want to say to you directly.”

Jing Chu’s poise never faltered, though she braced for harsh words. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you,” Lanlan said.

Jing Chu blinked, startled, wondering if she had misheard.

Lanlan went on, “I don’t know if Xin Yan’s words made you reflect, but they certainly made me reflect. The Xin Yan I love is no longer the one who revolved around you. If I want to be with her, I need to truly understand that.”

“… I see,” Jing Chu murmured. “Then I wish you both happiness.”

Lanlan smiled. “Thank you. And in return, let me offer you a piece of advice.”

Jing Chu looked at her curiously, uncertain what she might say.

“Tonight, tell Kong Zhiluo everything you’ve felt for Xin Yan over the years. Just the truth. No excuses. No other words. Then tomorrow, board your flight as planned. Within a week, you’ll know if that relationship still has a future.”

Jing Chu’s eyes widened in shock. But Lanlan said no more, simply walking away with the same detached composure as before.

Back in her office, Xin Yan realized Lanlan was gone. When Lanlan returned, she quickly asked where she’d been. Lanlan answered naturally, “I went to see Jing Chu.”

Xin Yan, already guilty, panicked at first, fearing Lanlan had gone to confront her. But Lanlan calmly explained. Yet when Xin Yan heard the advice Lanlan had given Jing Chu, her vision nearly went black.

“If she really does that, they’ll break up tonight!”

Lanlan chuckled. “You really don’t understand Kong Zhiluo.”

“You do?” Xin Yan asked, suspicious.

Lanlan nodded unabashedly. “The PR department is close with her. I’ve heard plenty. She looks mature, but truth is, she’s still in her twenties and doesn’t know what she’s doing. Life has always come too easily to her. She needs something to shake her, to make her realize she isn’t the only one with choices. If she truly loves Jing Chu, she’ll wake up and fight for her. If she doesn’t, then there’s no reason for them to stay together.”

Xin Yan was convinced by her reasoning, but one last question lingered. “Then… after a week, can I call Jing Chu and ask how it turned out?”

Otherwise, she wouldn’t even be able to focus on work.

Lanlan shot her a look. “I’ll call. From now on, you’re not allowed to contact her directly.”