The Eldest Lady always wants to have a double O Relationship with her old enemy - Chapter 28

After dinner and washing up, Shen Jianxi went straight to lie down on Tang Yanzhao’s bed. The unique scent of rum-grapefruit body wash and shower gel that belonged only to Tang Yanzhao lingered at her nose. She buried herself under the quilt, greedily inhaling several breaths of it.

The rustle of movements came, and Shen Jianxi peeked out her little “cat eyes,” staring as Tang Yanzhao slowly approached.

Tang Yanzhao circled around to the other side of the bed, lifted the quilt, and lay down. Shen Jianxi immediately rolled over, snuggling close against her, wrapping her arm around Tang Yanzhao’s intimately.

Tang Yanzhao’s naturally curled fingers tensed slightly, but her expression remained calm. She lowered her eyes to meet the girl’s bright gaze.
“Sleep.”

Shen Jianxi playfully rubbed her cheek against Tang Yanzhao’s shoulder. Her soft hair brushed against the line of Tang Yanzhao’s jaw, bringing a ticklish sensation. Tang Yanzhao stiffened her neck, pretending not to notice.

“Zhao Zhao, do you not want to go to Macao?”

During dinner, Tang Yanzhao had barely spoken. But when Aunt Tang mentioned traveling to Macao, she had raised her head, as though wanting to say something but holding back. Clearly, there was something she wasn’t telling.

Tang Yanzhao nodded.
“Mm.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like that kind of drunken, flashy atmosphere.”

Shen Jianxi chuckled.
“I never thought Zhao Zhao would dislike a whole city just because of an impression.”

Tang Yanzhao didn’t explain further.

Shen Jianxi raised her left hand and lightly scratched under her chin with her finger.
“If Aunt Tang goes, will you still go?”

Tang Yanzhao lowered her gaze to look at her.
“What about you?”

Shen Jianxi’s eyes curved, a smile at her lips.
“I’ll follow your lead.”

Tang Yanzhao pressed her lips together before replying,
“Then let’s go.”

“Alright.”

Three days later, Rongqing’s school anniversary officially began.

By six in the evening, Shen Jianxi and Tang Yanzhao were already preparing for their drama performance. Once their makeup and costumes were ready, they sat with their class to wait.

Tang Yanzhao glanced at Shen Jianxi, who was trembling faintly.
“Cold?”

Shen Jianxi nodded obediently.
“A little.”

Tang Yanzhao pulled out a hand-warmer and held it out in front of her.

Shen Jianxi’s eyes lit up.
“Zhao Zhao, you’re like a treasure chest! Whatever I need, you just happen to have it.”

Tang Yanzhao’s lips curved with a faint smile.
“It’s cold. I just brought it along.”

Shen Jianxi loosened her belt, opening her robe slightly.
“Then help me.”

Tang Yanzhao circled behind her, using her left hand to pull her clothes down a little, while her right hand pressed the warmer against the underlayer at her waist.

The lower back was the warmest spot.

Ye Tao happened to come over at that moment. Even though she knew the two couldn’t possibly be doing anything improper, she still teased,
“Dark night, strong wind—and you’re already undressing in public? Not good, not good.”

Shen Jianxi only met Ye Tao’s gaze with a smile, not responding.

It was Tang Yanzhao who explained,
“Just putting on a hand-warmer.”

“Oh, a… warmer baby.”

The word baby instantly made Tang Yanzhao’s face flush, because the image of that night came back—Shen Jianxi drunkenly clutching her, calling her “baby.”

Now that Ye Tao had said it aloud, a strange shame crept into her chest.

And Shen Jianxi, as if fanning the flames, added,
“Mm, I really do feel warm now.”

“…”

Tang Yanzhao’s lips pressed into a straight line. She said nothing more, falling back into her usual silent state.

Shen Jianxi openly gazed at her. Whenever the stage lights swept across, she could see Tang Yanzhao’s stern profile clearly.

A shy Tang Yanzhao was so adorable.

What to do? She was falling even harder.

After a while, someone came to notify them to get ready backstage. Shen Jianxi pulled Tang Yanzhao’s hand.
“Let’s go.”

Tang Yanzhao followed closely behind.

Just then, the singer on stage sang:
“I like following you, wherever you take me…”

Both of them instinctively turned to look. A girl stood alone at the center of the stage, quietly singing I Like You. Behind her, the large screen showed photos of her daily life with another girl—it was obvious they were a couple.

As the two of them arrived at the waiting area, the song reached its finale.

“Pan Fanrou, I like you,” the girl boldly confessed.

Thunderous applause and screams filled the night sky, though the next performance began, quickly drawing attention away from the scene.

Shen Jianxi whispered,
“Did you hear that?”

Tang Yanzhao looked at her, expression unchanged.

“I like you.”

Tang Yanzhao blinked, then softly answered,
“Mm. I heard.”

In this situation, neither of them would mistake it as a real confession between them. But it didn’t stop Shen Jianxi from secretly savoring the joy of it.

The participants gathered. The lights dimmed. Students swiftly set up the stage props. With the curtains pulled open, the play officially began.

Lighting, music, and acting—all the countless rehearsals paid off. Everything flowed seamlessly. The audience was immersed, emotions pulled tightly by the tense atmosphere on stage.

At the climax, the truth about Wan’er was revealed. Silence fell. Only Princess Taiping’s monologue remained.

Shen Jianxi, as the elderly Taiping, sat in a swaying rocking chair, her hair completely white, her skin marked by age. A jade hairpin rested in her fingers, a tear slipping silently down her wrinkled cheek.

On the chessboard of power struggles, rouge and powder could also be weapons. A dynasty built on darkness would eventually be washed away by history’s flood.

The voice of young Wan’er rang out:
“With brush and ink, I painted the world. I was never just the guilty minister’s daughter crawling at the emperor’s feet.”

Then came the voice of young Taiping:
“As a daughter of the Li family, I was born to stand in the Purple Palace, overlooking all beings.”

The jade hairpin in Shen Jianxi’s hand suddenly snapped with a crisp sound, overlapping with the flickering lights—a signal of time shifting.

She sat upright abruptly. A sheer white veil swayed in the cold wind. Across from her, the vague silhouette under pale light blurred into an unreal figure.

“Back then, when I combed your hair, you said: why should this grand dynasty only allow men to rule? Women joining hands could also resist armies. Yet now you sit upon the throne, clutching only this hairpin. Tell me—why?”

Tears welled in Shen Jianxi’s eyes. She bowed her head, clutching the broken hairpin to her heart.

As the lights faded, a voiceover played:
“The victor becomes king, unchanged through the ages. Yet rouge-born strategies, too, shall leave a mark of cinnabar in history.”

The play ended.

Backstage, Shen Jianxi still hadn’t recovered. Seeing Tang Yanzhao in her thin white costume under the light, she rushed forward without a word, burying herself in her arms, her tears finally flowing freely, soaking Tang Yanzhao’s collar.

Tang Yanzhao froze, arms stiff at her sides, startled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked after a long moment.

Shen Jianxi only tightened her grip and shook her head, silent.

She had poured everything into this performance, emotions unrestrained. The price was the collapse afterward. At this moment, she only wanted to hold Tang Yanzhao tightly—the warmth and softness of her touch was the only thing grounding her back to reality.

Because in her performance, she had wholly become her role. Tang Yanzhao’s “departure” overlapped with the Tang Yanzhao of her past life.

Shangguan Wan’er had died for Princess Taiping. And Tang Yanzhao, too, had once died for her.

Shen Jianxi’s hot breath against her neck made Tang Yanzhao shiver. The wet fabric clinging to her skin was uncomfortable, but she didn’t dare move, held tightly in Shen Jianxi’s embrace.

This was only a makeshift dressing room. Outside, voices and footsteps bustled. Tang Yanzhao couldn’t shake her anxiety that someone might walk in.

Even though—it was only a hug. Nothing more.

Fortunately, no one came.

At length, Shen Jianxi lifted her head. Her tear-reddened eyes shone brilliantly, and Tang Yanzhao’s chest ached at the sight. She wanted to say something, to comfort.

But before she could, Shen Jianxi grabbed her wrist, her voice hoarse but resolute:

“Zhao Zhao, let’s elope.”

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