The Heroine Pays Me to Fall in Love (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 41

After that day, some time passed.

That young woman was a master of marketing. She had plenty of tricks up her sleeve, and just as Su Jin’s popularity began to dip, she would play another card—always finding ways to stir up the public’s emotions and draw more attention toward Su Jin.

A few days later, when Su Jin’s popularity had climbed back up, the woman told Jiang Zhinan to arrange a livestream for her.

“Doesn’t have to be long,” she said. “An hour or so. Have her chat with fans, build some rapport, and maybe show off her singing a little. It’ll be a good way to attract new followers.”

“Got it,” Jiang Zhinan replied. She left the woman’s office and immediately sent Su Jin a message to discuss it.

She had assumed Su Jin wouldn’t be too keen—after all, Su Jin rarely even used WeChat, let alone showed any interest in online interactions. Asking her to sit in front of a camera and talk to thousands of strangers seemed like a stretch.

But surprisingly, Jiang Zhinan was wrong. Su Jin didn’t show the slightest reluctance; in fact, she even went out and bought herself a full set of professional streaming equipment.

When Jiang Zhinan heard that, she was stunned. She hadn’t expected Su Jin to be this cooperative.

—Wanna come see it? I’ll be at your place tonight.

Su Jin’s message came through with a tone of casual intimacy that was impossible to miss.

Ever since that night on the rooftop, Jiang Zhinan could tell that Su Jin had changed. She was no longer so withdrawn, more willing to share her thoughts and talk about her day.

For Su Jin, that was huge progress—and for Jiang Zhinan, too.

—Sure.

With that thought, Jiang Zhinan tapped out a quick reply on the screen with her long, slender fingers.

A moment later, she sent another—a cute sticker of a puppy wearing a giant flower, grinning foolishly.

She figured Su Jin wouldn’t reply again, so she set her phone aside and went back to her work.

But before she’d even typed a few words, her phone buzzed again. Su Jin had sent another message.

—Cute. Looks like you.

Jiang Zhinan: “…”

Right. So, she had changed, but the smooth talk was still the same as ever.

Jiang Zhinan sighed and didn’t bother replying. She lifted her head and went back to typing, though the corners of her mouth refused to stay still—they curved upward on their own.

At seven that evening, Jiang Zhinan shut down her computer and went downstairs.

The season had begun to turn; autumn was creeping in. The sky darkened earlier each day, and by now, the streets were already lit with scattered lamps under a misty, black sky. The air had a chill to it.

She pulled her coat tighter around her and made her way through the bustling crowd until she stopped by the roadside. Looking up, she spotted Su Jin waiting for her, holding two cups of milk tea.

There weren’t many streetlights here—the light mostly came from the moon above and a handful of faint stars.

Even so, Su Jin stood out easily in the dark, as if she carried her own soft glow—no less dazzling than the stars themselves.

“Cold?” Jiang Zhinan asked, quickening her pace until she reached her, gently brushing her fingers against Su Jin’s cheek.

It wasn’t too bad. A little cool, but still warm—soft to the touch.

Su Jin smiled quietly, leaning into her hand before holding up the two milk teas. “Here, take one.”

“Mm.” Jiang Zhinan nodded, accepting one and taking a few sips.

The milk tea was warm. Holding it in her hands, she felt the heat seep into her palms; drinking it sent a gentle spark down her throat, warming her all the way to her stomach.

It was comforting—so much so that a small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes softening with quiet joy.

Su Jin watched her the whole time, and before long, she found herself smiling too.

They hailed a cab from the roadside and slid into the back seat together.

“Where to, young ladies?” the driver asked cheerfully in a thick Northeastern accent as soon as they got in. “It’s getting colder by the day—better not go too far, get home early if you can.”

“Mm.” Su Jin gave a polite nod and said the name of their destination.

“Oh, that place!” the driver exclaimed, stepping on the gas. “What’re you going there for? It’s kind of remote. And I heard someone died there not long ago. Haven’t dared to drive that way myself lately.”

“Someone died?” Jiang Zhinan blinked and turned toward Su Jin, her expression slightly tense.

“You scared?” Su Jin glanced at her, then shifted closer until their shoulders were pressed together. “Don’t be. I’m here.”

Her voice was quiet—too soft for the driver to hear. All he caught was Jiang Zhinan’s question.

“Yeah, someone did,” the driver went on, his tone turning grave. “A young person, barely in their twenties, I think. Heard he was into music. No idea what happened—seems like he just couldn’t take it anymore and jumped.”

“Maybe the pressure got to him,” he continued before either of them could respond, sighing heavily. “I read online that writing songs, composing—it’s exhausting work. You need everything to line up just right. If it doesn’t, you can go months, even years, without creating a thing.

And this business doesn’t pay much unless you’re one of the lucky few. Guess it’s easy to lose hope that way.”

The driver sighed, saying nothing more. A sudden heaviness settled over him.

Jiang Zhinan fell silent as well. Something unnameable welled up in her chest—an emotion that left her completely unable to speak.

A young man, in his twenties, a musician—he’d lived in the same neighborhood as Su Jin.

So many coincidences stacked together, and as she felt pity for the man, unease crept in too—unease for the person sitting beside her.

“If anything ever happens, you have to tell me.” Once such thoughts began, it was hard to stop them. The more Jiang Zhinan thought about it, the more her fear grew, until she couldn’t hold back and spoke softly to Su Jin.

“I know.” Su Jin nodded, eyes closing briefly. She said nothing else.

After a while, the taxi finally pulled up to their destination. Su Jin paid, opened the door, and got out with Jiang Zhinan.

Just as the driver had said, the place was remote—so remote there wasn’t even a streetlight in sight. Ahead stretched a wide, empty road leading who knew where, and the only visible building was a dimly lit gas station glowing faintly in the dark.

The night wind blew, stirring the trees so that the leaves rustled with an eerie, unsettling sound.

Seeing this, Jiang Zhinan swallowed hard. Her face had gone pale—she was clearly frightened.

Su Jin stepped closer, gently taking her hand. Her voice was soft, reassuring. “It’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Mm.” Jiang Zhinan nodded, drew a deep breath, and followed Su Jin into the compound.

It was called a “residential area,” but in truth there were only three old, low buildings, each less than six stories high, with no elevators—just narrow stairwells to climb.

“Careful,” Su Jin said quietly as she held Jiang Zhinan’s hand and led the way. “It’s dark here. Watch your step.”

“Okay.” Jiang Zhinan nodded, her chest tightening with emotions she couldn’t put into words.

Above all else, she felt heartache.

She had never imagined Su Jin lived in a place like this. The stairwell was old and crumbling, cobwebs hanging from corners, walls covered in countless faded advertisements, even the ceiling stained with a yellow tint that would never wash off.

Such an exceptional person—yet even she hadn’t escaped the hardships of life.

The thought made Jiang Zhinan’s chest ache even more. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip, holding Su Jin’s wrist firmly.

“Close your eyes.”

Jiang Zhinan froze for a moment at Su Jin’s sudden words. “Huh?” She instinctively looked up—

—and saw an apartment sealed with police tape, the ground scattered with white funeral paper.

Her scalp prickled instantly; a chill ran down her spine.

She didn’t dare look any longer. Obediently, she shut her eyes and let Su Jin guide her up the last few steps.

She heard the jingle of keys. Instead of climbing further, Su Jin stopped right across from that apartment, unlocking a heavy steel door.

“Come in,” she murmured, reaching out to pat Jiang Zhinan’s head gently as she muttered under her breath, “Fluffy fur, nothing to fear.”

Warm yellow light filled the room as they entered. The cozy glow, along with the familiar scent of Su Jin’s home, gradually melted away the chill and dread clinging to Jiang Zhinan.

She opened her eyes and quietly took in her surroundings, letting every detail of Su Jin’s home sink into her memory.

The place was tidy and spotless—just like Su Jin herself—serene and pleasing to look at.

Su Jin guided her to the sofa, then took off her jacket and went to the kitchen, pouring a cup of hot water.

Steam rose softly from the cup. Jiang Zhinan took it, warming her hands around it, her eyes never leaving Su Jin’s back as she busied herself.

After a moment, Su Jin turned and caught her gaze. “Why are you staring at me like that? Do you want to say something?” she asked with a small smile.

“Mm.” Jiang Zhinan nodded slightly, her voice quiet and tender. “Aren’t you scared living here alone?”

She was referring, of course, to the young man who’d jumped.

Su Jin didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dimmed, and her hands stilled.

“There’s a spare room at my place.” Jiang Zhinan said softly, testing the waters. “If you’re not comfortable staying here, you could—come stay with me?”

Her voice grew quieter and quieter, almost as if she was embarrassed.

“No need.” Su Jin smiled faintly at her shyness.

She sighed gently, then sat down beside Jiang Zhinan, meeting her gaze. “I’ve lived here a long time. I’m used to it.”

“Besides,” she added after a pause, “I knew the guy who jumped. We used to play in a band together. He was a good friend.”

As she spoke, she reached under the coffee table and pulled out a photograph, handing it to Jiang Zhinan while pointing at a cheerful young man in it. “That’s him.”

The boy’s bright smile was so full of life that it was impossible to reconcile him with the tragedy she’d just heard about.

Jiang Zhinan looked at the photo, deeply moved.

“He was our bassist,” Su Jin said softly. “The others were the drummer, the guitarist, I was the vocalist.”

“That’s amazing,” Jiang Zhinan said sincerely.

“What about the others now?” she asked after a pause.

“They’ve all moved on,” Su Jin replied. “People think making music isn’t a proper job. Under pressure from life, they had to give it up and look for something else.”

“So, only you and that guy held on?” Jiang Zhinan sighed, a dull ache rising in her chest.

“Yeah.” Su Jin smiled faintly. “But in the end, even he couldn’t keep going.”

Memories—once spoken aloud—always carried pain. It was like reopening an old wound, forcing a wry smile through the sting.

Jiang Zhinan reached out and brushed a hand gently over Su Jin’s cheek, then leaned in and kissed her softly, as if to comfort her.

“Actually,” Su Jin murmured after the kiss, “I almost gave up too.”

She paused, eyes softening as she looked at Jiang Zhinan.

“I’m just glad I met you.”