The Venomous Wife Let Me Go - Chapter 24

The evidence provided by Bai Huayi was comprehensive. Even without a formal hospital diagnosis sheet, when combined with Bai Jun’s behavior over the past year or two, the fact of her depression was virtually indisputable.

As expected, the directors once again prioritized their own interests. On one hand, they demanded that everyone present keep this secret strictly confidential; on the other, they completely dropped the topic of replacing the head of the production line. Instead, they merely cautioned Bai Huayi to be more diligent in the future and avoid a repeat of this situation.

Bai Huayi successfully kept her position.

However, she didn’t look particularly happy about it. Bai Jun could feel her aunt watching her, appearing as if she wanted to say something, but Bai Jun did not look up.

As difficult as it was to accept, the falling out between her and her aunt was now an established reality.

Her heart felt empty, and her mind followed suit. At this moment, she didn’t want to think about anything; she only wanted to sleep. Perhaps if she woke up from a nap, everything would be better. She wouldn’t be sick, her grandfather wouldn’t be dead, her mother would be by her side, and her aunt wouldn’t be so hideous.

“Oh, Bai Jun! How could someone so young end up depressed?”

“Didn’t you say before that you weren’t willing to take over the production line? We understand you now. You need rest. As your elders, we can’t bear to see you so overworked.”

“You hid it too well before, but how could you be so reckless? You are the Chairman now; the interests of the entire company depend on you.”

“Your grandfather was something else back then, too. If he had been willing to remarry and have a son, we wouldn’t have ended up in this situation today.”

Under the guise of concern, many people were saying things that were utterly repulsive.

So noisy. They sound like a flock of squawking ducks!

Bai Jun felt like laughing. She didn’t know what the 27-year-old Bai Jun thought when facing these people, but right now, she felt nauseous, even wanting to retch.

She thought it, so she said it: “Elders, I’m sorry. Since the matter is settled, I’m feeling a bit unwell, so I’ll take my leave first.”

She apologized to the 27-year-old version of herself in her heart. She knew that after seeing the stunned expressions on their faces, the original 27-year-old Bai Jun likely would have chosen to endure it and play the part of the polite, considerate Chairman.

But the current her could not endure even a little.

In a way, Bai Huayi revealing her illness was a blessing in disguise; she no longer had to worry about them finding out about her memory loss. Since she was “sick,” no matter how strangely she acted, they would simply attribute everything to her condition. It was as if only by being labeled as “ill” did she gain the right to freely express her emotions.

Sure enough, the directors looked at each other with varied expressions but did not speak to stop her.

As she stood up to leave, she noticed Lin Song following her, seemingly wanting to take her hand. For some reason, as Lin Song approached, Bai Jun leaned away, instinctively avoiding her touch.

Lin Song seemed stunned for a moment, but then her eyes darkened as she approached again, firmly grasping Bai Jun’s hand and interlacing their fingers. Lin Song’s grip was incredibly strong—a force Bai Jun could not break.

In public, Bai Jun didn’t want to struggle further and allowed her hand to be held. She knew she shouldn’t take her anger out on Lin Song. Lin Song had likely kept it from her for her own good; depression was not something to be proud of.

Yet, Lin Song was hiding too many things.

Now, Bai Jun knew nothing, like a person trapped in a thick fog hiding infinite dangers. She hated this 27-year-old self—depressed, out of control, alienated from her aunt, and forced to deal with loathsome directors. What about such a person was worth Lin Song’s constant love?

The two walked in silence toward the door.

“Sister Jun Jun.”

At the entrance, a pale girl sat in a wheelchair, looking up at her. The girl who used to follow Bai Jun around calling her “Sister Jun Jun” had grown up; her features were delicate, resembling her aunt and another person Bai Jun found familiar.

Bai Jun couldn’t immediately recall who that person was. She simply stared at the wheelchair beneath Bai Hong. When they were children, Bai Hong could at least stand; now, she could only sit there with a pallid face.

Bai Jun pressed her lips together and managed to say, “Sister A-Hong!”

Bai Hong seemed to want to say something, but Bai Huayi called out to her from inside the room. Bai Jun lowered her head, no longer looking at the guilt-stricken Bai Hong, and walked past her in silence.

Bai Hong’s physical condition was clearly very poor. Evidently, Lin Song and Sister Feng had lied to her yet again.

The ride home was silent. Once back, Bai Jun went straight to her room and lay stiffly on the bed. She had wanted to sleep earlier, but now that she was touching the bed, she was completely wide awake.

It felt as though a clump of cotton had been stuffed into her mind; her head throbbed more and more, yet her spirit was hyper-active, forcing her to confront the things she didn’t want to think about.

With the Bai Group carrying so much debt, could she really only stand by and watch it fall into ruin? Even if they successfully avoided this crisis, what about the next one? What did her mother think of all this? Had she gone abroad just to escape it?

Bai Jun’s nose felt prickly. She couldn’t help but dial the number for her mother from her memory.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

This time, Sister Feng hadn’t lied: her mother’s number had indeed been canceled.

Should she contact her mother through her father? Recalling her father’s ill-intentioned move with the USB drive, Bai Jun thinned her lips and abandoned the idea.

She put down her phone in defeat and stared blankly at the ceiling, tears falling involuntarily. A familiar yet foreign sense of loneliness swept through her. Since waking up from the accident, this was the first time she felt so lost and helpless, as if the world were empty and she was the only one left.

“I’m so sorry, Jun Jun.”

Naturally, someone wouldn’t even let her cry alone. Despite being the one who lied, Lin Song’s eyes were red, and she looked even more heartbroken than Bai Jun.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” Lin Song sobbed softly, clinging to her.

Lin Song’s strength was considerable; Bai Jun couldn’t break free, nor did she dare struggle too hard because Lin Song’s tears were falling like pearls, and the expression on her beautiful face was one of intense agony.

“I was just so worried about you,” Lin Song sobbed, explaining her motive. “I didn’t want you to remember all the painful things. I wanted to solve them for you in secret.”

“But I’m so stupid. I still haven’t found a proper way to handle it, and I let you suffer again.”

She wasn’t stupid at all; in fact, she was exceptionally cunning. She had kept Bai Jun in the dark so thoroughly!

Looking at Lin Song’s tear-streaked, pitiful face, Bai Jun told herself not to be soft-hearted again. But meeting Lin Song’s watery gaze, her heart instinctively constricted. Before she realized it, she had reached out to wipe the tears from Lin Song’s face.

Deeply hating herself for being swayed by beauty, she swallowed and told herself this was Lin Song’s last chance.

“I don’t need your guilt,” Bai Jun said in her coldest tone, looking at her with chilling eyes. “Tell me everything you’ve been hiding from me right now, and I’ll forgive you.”

Lin Song looked up at her, her expression sorrowful and sincere, her long neck appearing as fragile as a swan’s.

“How about later?” she sobbed, looking at Bai Jun pleadingly. “I want to wait until I’ve solved everything, and until you’re feeling a bit better emotionally, before I tell you.”

As expected! She still won’t tell me!

Bai Jun closed her eyes with restraint. She really wanted to shake Lin Song’s head to see what she was actually thinking. It wasn’t that she looked down on Lin Song, but if three generations of the Bai family couldn’t solve the massive crisis facing the Group, how could she? Or was it that Lin Song really didn’t know the Bai Group was on the verge of bankruptcy and was only hiding other things?

At that moment, Bai Jun couldn’t help but think of Bai Huayi’s claim that Lin Song was privately buying up shares from shareholders at low prices. Bai Huayi wasn’t just being alarmist.

Everyone else thought the Bai Group was just facing a temporary slump in sales, but after seeing the financial reports, Bai Jun knew the company was at a life-or-death crossroads. It was like a massive ship carrying too many people and far too much weight; even a small wave could capsize it.

Her pre-amnesia self would have known about the crisis; in such a situation, there was no way she would have let Lin Song spend money to buy shares. If the company went bankrupt, the shares Lin Song bought would be worthless. Since she hadn’t authorized it, then this was something Lin Song was doing intentionally on her own.

What was she trying to do?

Bai Jun didn’t want to suspect Lin Song with malice—she was her lover. But she suddenly realized that since waking up, she had fallen into a trap woven with Lin Song’s tenderness. She didn’t actually know this wife of hers, who claimed to love her so deeply, very well at all.

It seemed she had been deliberately isolated by Lin Song from all external communication; the center of her world was only Lin Song. If she hadn’t accidentally entered the company store and caught her aunt’s attention, leading her aunt to find a way to contact her, she would likely still be in the dark.

Was she truly worried and felt that Bai Jun couldn’t handle the shock of forgotten memories, or was she deliberately numbing her for some other purpose?

The thought left Bai Jun cold.

What she found even more unbearable was that even as she began to doubt Lin Song, seeing Lin Song holding her arm and crying so sadly made her heart ache. On one hand, she felt Lin Song might be faking it—after all, her acting skills were legendary—but on the other, she couldn’t help but feel pained.

What if it was all just a coincidence? What if she was just misunderstanding a gentle, virtuous wife whose eyes were full of her?

But were her eyes truly full of her? She had once had a “white moonlight” she loved so much.

Her heart was in total turmoil, and she was no match for Lin Song. Lin Song knew exactly how to confuse someone’s heart. Especially when Lin Song cried for a long time and then, like a bullied kitten, gazed at her piteously and rasped, “Jun Jun, can you hold me? I’m so afraid you don’t want me anymore.” Even knowing she might be a huge liar, Bai Jun couldn’t help but feel distressed.

Why lie to her? She loved her so much. If it could stop her crying, Bai Jun felt she would be willing to give her her very heart!

Keeping a stiff face, she loathed herself internally while trying her best to restrain the urge to kiss Lin Song, eventually pulling her into a hug.

“Stop buying company shares.”

She didn’t know how much Lin Song actually knew. Given the stakes, she couldn’t tell Lin Song outright that the Group was going bankrupt; she could only warn her indirectly. “You saw it yourself; the stores aren’t doing well. If you buy in now, you’ll likely lose money in the future.”

She didn’t know if Lin Song took it to heart, because Lin Song immediately pushed her luck, holding her and starting to kiss her again.

At first, Bai Jun didn’t want to. She felt that in this situation, they shouldn’t be so affectionate. However, the moment she glared at Lin Song, Lin Song would start to cry. She knew Lin Song might be faking, but crying that much wasn’t good for her eyes, and she still didn’t want to see her cry.

She closed her eyes, telling herself not to care. Yet, the pent-up frustrations in her heart slowly dissipated under Lin Song’s cherished kisses.

When Lin Song cupped her face and told her, “Jun Jun, in the past, whenever you were sad, you kept it all inside, and that’s why you got sick. From now on, whenever you’re sad, I’ll cry for you. You just stay happy every day, okay?” she even felt moved again and couldn’t help but kiss Lin Song back.

In a daze, she was kissed from her mouth to her brow like a kitten. She was coaxed downstairs, ate dinner, and it wasn’t until bedtime, when Lin Song handed her that familiar medicine, that Bai Jun realized she had forgotten to be angry.

But she couldn’t seem to get angry anymore. All the suppression and frustration had been filled up bit by bit by Lin Song. It was like punching a bale of cotton; only a hollow sense of defeat remained.

With a complex mood, she looked down at the pills and put them in her mouth.

When Lin Song wasn’t looking, she quietly spat the medicine out.

She guessed these were likely antidepressants, but she also had a faint inkling that these pills were what was preventing her from remembering everything. Those nightmares that kept her awake at night might contain her past memories. Since she couldn’t get the information she wanted from Lin Song, she would have to rely on herself to remember.

Even if those memories were unpleasant and might sting her scarred soul, and even if she likely couldn’t handle them—they were still the road she had traveled and the past she couldn’t discard.

Lin Song clearly didn’t trust her and wanted to watch her at all times. However, Lin Song’s work was extremely busy, and she still had to go out frequently.

Disregarding Bai Jun’s protests, Lin Song installed surveillance cameras throughout the house. At the same time, Bai Jun noticed that Sister Zhang and Xu Tu were clearly watching her more closely.

Was Lin Song really just worried about her? After experiencing her aunt’s betrayal, she didn’t dare fully trust anyone anymore.

After privately spitting out the medicine, Bai Jun felt her emotions becoming volatile again. As she had predicted, the nightmares began to return at night.

The dreams were chaotic and fragmented. Sometimes unfamiliar faces appeared, sometimes scenes of her father’s infidelity, but the most frequent image was a pool of startlingly bright red blood.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see who was lying in that blood, nor could she connect all the dreams into a memory. Every time she woke from a nightmare, she met Lin Song’s worried eyes. Lin Song would constantly soothe her until she fell back asleep.

At times like these, she couldn’t help but want to cry. She guessed the reason Lin Song had always been a light sleeper, it was because she was afraid Bai Jun would be scared at night, so she stayed on guard every day.

Could a person fake something to this extent?

She truly hoped that Lin Song’s love for her was real and not for some other purpose. But her aunt had also masked herself perfectly once. Lin Song was an award-winning actress; her skills were so outstanding that if she wanted to, she could probably act deeply in love with a dog. Sometimes she even thought humbly even if this love were fake, if Lin Song were willing to keep acting forever, she would cooperate for a lifetime.

Because her nighttime wakings were worsening and the medicine didn’t seem to be working, Lin Song changed her prescription several times. Bai Jun flushed all the pills down the toilet.

She acted well, and Lin Song was busy, so she didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, though she kept a tighter watch.

Bai Jun didn’t like this secretive, self-pitying version of herself. She didn’t want to admit defeat and become a slave to her emotions. Her 27-year-old self seemed to be living quite miserably, but she was still only 27. No matter how poorly the past had gone, she still had time to raise herself properly once more.

She wanted to save herself.

On one hand, she began formulating perfumes again. On the other, she frequently entered Lin Song’s study to read psychology books. The more she read, the more startled she became—Lin Song seemed to have deep knowledge of psychology. The books she chose were textbooks from major universities, and her annotations were very profound.

She seemed to have never truly understood her wife.

She asked Sister Zhang and learned even more about Lin Song. Lin Song was a genuine top-tier student; her college entrance exam scores were high enough for the best universities in the country. No one knew why she chose to study directing with a score so far above the requirement. During university, Lin Song not only acted but also delved into short-form video production and established a related company. She had a great eye for investment and reportedly made a lot of money. Under Lin Song’s name, there was a foundation dedicated to caring for women and children in mountain regions, to which she donated large amounts of goods and money every year.

No wonder Lin Song was so busy.

Bai Jun gradually began to realize that, aside from being her wife, Lin Song was more outstanding and brilliant than she had ever imagined.

Yet, in front of her, Lin Song seemed to deliberately mask her brilliance, acting soft and timid. Why would she do that? What did the adult Bai Jun even have to offer Lin Song? Perhaps only her family background—and now even that legacy was on the verge of ruin.

A heavy sense of suffocation grew in Bai Jun’s heart. Her loneliness and feelings of inferiority intensified daily. She craved Lin Song’s company, but a new panic took root: she feared her clinginess would cause Lin Song to abandon her. Consequently, she became increasingly restrained, not daring to initiate contact.

Every time she saw an incoming call from Lin Song, a secret joy would spark in her heart. But Lin Song was becoming busier and busier.

It seemed Lin Song wasn’t just worrying about company matters. During their video calls, Lin Song’s background was often chaotic; sometimes she even appeared to be at a construction site. It looked as if she were searching for something.

Despite the chaos, Lin Song still video-called her on time every day. Even when she returned very late, knowing Bai Jun’s sensitive sense of smell, Lin Song would always shower to wash away the outside world before climbing into bed.

Since stopping the medication, Bai Jun’s sleep had become increasingly light. Even though Lin Song moved with extreme care, she still woke her. But Bai Jun continued to feign deep sleep to avoid alerting her, only daring to indulge herself in the middle of the night by silently embracing her lover.

One thing remained constant: whenever Lin Song returned at night, Bai Jun would wake the next morning to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers by her bedside.

In many moments, Bai Jun felt they were just a pair of ordinary lovers. Emotionally, she hoped this life would never change, but rationally, she continued to pursue her lost memories.

The oddities surrounding Lin Song were mounting. She didn’t dare rely on her entirely anymore; she had to prepare for the worst—even for the possibility of being left completely alone.

She became more silent with each passing day.

Lin Song naturally sensed this resistance and began to grow uneasy. Whenever they had time together, Lin Song would use every second, exhausting all her charms to get close to her, trying to restore their former intimacy.

For a couple, the bed is a sanctuary that can dissolve all suspicion and quarreling. Bai Jun often loathed her own lack of resolve; she hadn’t wanted to be entangled with a liar like Lin Song before regaining her memory. But as long as Lin Song was near, her gaze couldn’t help but fall on her, and she was powerless against her wife’s allure.

During many moments of passion, she felt a fierce urge to take the final step—to pin this deceptive woman to the bed so that those beautiful, captivating eyes would look only at her and nowhere else.

But Lin Song’s technique was far too good. Even knowing Lin Song’s terrifying learning ability, she couldn’t help but wonder: Did she learn this from the pre-amnesia Bai Jun? Or had she shared such moments with her “white moonlight”?

A frantic obsession grew within her; she wanted to surpass that “white moonlight” in Lin Song’s heart. But she clearly lacked the skill. Compared to Lin Song’s effortless grace, she was as clumsy as a toddler learning to walk: hesitant, afraid of hurting Lin Song, afraid of leaving marks on her snow-white skin, and often far too slow.

She was too embarrassed to let Lin Song teach her. Even though she secretly studied the materials Lin Song had given her, she couldn’t overcome her shyness. The initiative invariably slipped back into the hands of the bold and indulgent Lin Song. She was like a fish on a cutting board, allowed to be molded and handled at will.

At first, Lin Song was indulgent, lying beneath her with eyes full of expectation, calling her name. But after Bai Jun retreated at the critical moment a few times, a sensation struck her—Lin Song seemed to want to flip the roles and take the top position. The look in Lin Song’s eyes became terrifying, as if she wanted to devour Bai Jun whole.

Being “on top” was Bai Jun’s final line of defense and dignity as a CEO. No matter how Lin Song tempted her, she refused to yield. Lin Song would grind her teeth in frustration. In those moments, she looked fearsome—utterly enchanting yet harboring an infinite fury, as if she wanted to bite Bai Jun into pieces and swallow her. Bai Jun didn’t dare look at her.

“Jun Jun, you’re going to be the death of me!”

“What exactly are you worried about? Do you not like me? Are you still thinking about…” Lin Song swallowed a name.

Bai Jun lowered her head, unable to answer. She didn’t want it to be this way, but she couldn’t expose her last bit of pathetic pride and competitiveness to anyone, especially not Lin Song.

Lin Song would make indignant accusations, only to surrender to Bai Jun’s tears, leaning in breathlessly to kiss her.

“We have plenty of time ahead of us.”

“Jun Jun, don’t cry. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault…”

Bai Jun would often cry even louder then. It shouldn’t be like this. She felt like a pampered little wife being soothed, when she should have been the one comforting Lin Song. Yet, she couldn’t deny the truth: she was subconsciously dependent on Lin Song. Only when Lin Song was with her could she have a dreamless, good night’s sleep without medication.

Lin Song—this deceptive woman she both loved and hated—was her medicine.

Time passed quickly, and it was soon the second half of the month. Lin Song became even busier, sometimes not returning home for two or three days at a time. Remembering Lin Song’s promise that everything would be resolved by the end of the month, Bai Jun’s anxiety grew.

Was Lin Song still buying shares? Although Bai Jun had significant assets under her name, most were mortgaged; she no longer had the ability to bail Lin Song out. While the world outside was surging with waves, she felt as if she were under a glass dome, isolated from the vortex, not knowing when the storm would break.

The unknown made her increasingly anxious.

One day, Xu Tu brought a pile of documents for her to sign. Previously, Bai Jun was too impatient to read them, thinking she wouldn’t understand. But now, knowing the company’s plight, she scrutinized every paper.

One document caught her eye: Huizu Company owed a large debt that needed repayment. Huizu was a subsidiary of the Bai Group, managed by her father, Zhan Hui. However, the claimant stated they couldn’t find Zhan Hui for several days, so they brought the debt to the headquarters.

It wasn’t a large debt—only a few hundred thousand, less than her father’s monthly allowance. Her father was a “phoenix man” who valued face above all else; he would usually solve such problems himself to maintain his so-called dignity. If he couldn’t, he would only ask her mother for help privately. It was impossible for him to be unable to handle such a small amount unless he was out of money and hadn’t received any from her mother.

How could her mother, who loved him so much, not give him money?

The more Bai Jun thought about it, the stranger it felt. However, Xu Tu was clearly in league with Lin Song, and she couldn’t get any useful information from her. Bai Jun thinned her lips, signed the documents with a normal expression, but carefully noted her father’s current phone number on the file.

The number hadn’t changed; it ended in a very lucky sequence of digits. It had originally belonged to Bai Jun’s mother, but her father thought it was prestigious and had her transfer it to him.

After signing, Xu Tu left. Bai Jun sat in the living room for a while, then went into the bathroom and dialed her father’s number. This was a perfect excuse to ask him for her mother’s current number.

The phone rang through three times, but no one answered. Bai Jun frowned and hung up. Her father was truly hiding! She tried to recall her interactions with him and realized the only indirect contact since waking up was the USB drive handed to her at the restaurant.

What was he doing? Perhaps… there were clues in that USB drive.

Bai Jun walked out of the bathroom and found the drive in the foyer. She felt strangely nervous; this drive supposedly contained Lin Song’s “black material.” Previously, she was confident their relationship couldn’t be broken by anyone, but now, the more she experienced, the more she felt she didn’t know Lin Song at all.

She entered Lin Song’s study, adjusted the computer so the screen was hidden from the surveillance cameras, and with trembling hands, plugged the drive into Lin Song’s computer.

The drive contained only one video and one image. The video appeared to be at an airport. Lin Song hadn’t retired yet, and a crowd of fans surrounded her, shouting her name and holding banners. Bai Jun felt proud of her, yet a bit bitter; so many people loved Lin Song passionately—she didn’t lack for love. Her own affection seemed almost insignificant in comparison.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted into chaos. A man with a scar near his eye rushed out, shouting at Lin Song’s back.

“Daughter! Lin Song, my good daughter! Now that you’re rich, you can’t forget me!”

This man!

The video stopped there. Bai Jun stared at the scar near the man’s eye, her gaze freezing. With trembling hands, she opened the second image. It was a photo of a birth certificate. In the column for the father’s name, it read: Lin Feng.

Bai Jun bit her lip hard. She thought nothing could shake her after the board meeting, but her soul trembled. Her hand on the mouse shook.

The police had shown her photos of the accident driver several times; she remembered his face perfectly. Lin Song and the driver who had hit her were father and daughter!

Did Lin Song really know nothing about this?

She had heard from Sister Zhang that Lin Song had been abandoned by her father shortly after birth. Logically, she shouldn’t have reconciled with him. Bai Jun wanted to convince herself it was a coincidence.

But she thought of her own parents. Men could be incredibly cunning; they were driven by goals, not emotion. To achieve an objective, they would use any means necessary. Even her brilliant mother hadn’t avoided falling into the cage of “love” her father had built.

Furthermore, Lin Song’s father was a degenerate gambler. A gambler would do anything for money. If a lonely Lin Song encountered a trap of “family” built by a gambler, could she really escape?

Looking at it this way, all of Lin Song’s actions had a motive: Lin Song knew the Bai Group was in a crisis and married her for money. Perhaps the pre-amnesia Bai Jun had discovered the truth, so Lin Feng tried to kill her. When she survived but lost her memory, Lin Song continued the deception, trying to keep her amnesiac while hollowing out the company and seizing shares.

If not for money, why would someone as outstanding as Lin Song marry her?

Bai Jun’s face went pale. She deeply regretted opening the USB drive. If she hadn’t, she could still lie to herself that Lin Song loved her. She hated herself even more for her weakness; even with reality before her, she was still making excuses for Lin Song in her heart.

I wasn’t the richest person, why would Lin Song target me? Does she love me at least a little while plotting for my wealth? How could the tenderness and the nights together all be a facade?

Her tears fell, and she curled up in her chair. She missed her mother desperately, but her mother’s phone was still out of service. She wanted to ask her father why he gave her the drive, but he wouldn’t answer. She felt abandoned by the entire world, stranded on a lonely island of calculation and solitude.

Was this how her 27-year-old self felt? Facing a world she loathed every day, trapped with no way out, forcing herself until she fell into depression. She regretted it. At this moment, she really didn’t want to be an adult. The adult world had torn off its veil, exposing raw greed and calculation.

What was left to trust? Her joyful love was a scam. Her lover was likely a calculating viper. All her previous beliefs collapsed into ruins. She didn’t want to cry, because Lin Song would see it on the cameras, and she hated her helpless, weeping self, but she couldn’t stop.

Lin Song might not love her. Any attempt to maintain her dignity might just be a joke in Lin Song’s eyes.

However, Lin Song, who usually watched the cameras, was unusually quiet that day. She didn’t even video-call at the usual time. Perhaps she was tired of pretending. Bai Jun felt her heart turn cold. She didn’t want to care about Lin Song anymore; she had to love herself. She still had her mother.

She wiped her tears and opened the window for air. But looking at a building across from her, she was struck again: she knew her studio apartment was nearby, but she hadn’t realized that from Lin Song’s house, she could see her own building perfectly. Had Lin Song been targeting her from the very beginning?

Coldness seeped into her bones. Bai Jun stumbled into the bedroom and flushed the USB drive down the toilet. Her head throbbed; she had no appetite, but to ensure she could sleep, she took the medicine Sister Zhang provided.

The effect was immediate, and she fell into a deep sleep. But perhaps because the wound was so deep, she dreamed of her and Lin Song together in a different light.

In the dream, a young Lin Song was very thin, her face dominated by large eyes, lingering at Bai Jun’s door early in the morning.

“Lin Song?” Hearing Bai Jun call, Lin Song ran over and shyly pulled a bouquet of wildflowers from behind her back.

“Sister, flowers for you.” The Lin Song of that time was far from glamorous her skin was a bit dark, and she had an accent. She looked very obedient.

“So pretty, just like little Lin Song.” Seeing the girl’s anxiety, she took the flowers and pinched her cheek. “My name is Bai Jun. You can just call me Sister Jun Jun.”

The girl’s face flushed red. She stammered “Sister Jun Jun!” and her eyes sparkled. “I… I’ll give you pretty flowers every day from now on!”

The scene shifted. Lin Song was now about twenty, wearing a costume from a film set. Her eyes were as bright as they were in childhood.

“Why are you acting so young?” she heard her own worried sigh. “If you need money, you can tell me…”

“Is Jun Jun getting married?” But the girl didn’t answer. She stared stubbornly. “I heard you fell in love with Song Yu from the Song Group while abroad and the families are preparing to merge. The first perfume you developed, ‘Y,’ was a gift for her. Is all that true?”

“Why aren’t you calling me Sister Jun Jun?” She looked into the girl’s dark eyes and laughed. “Why do you love gossip so much?”

“I listen to everything related to Jun Jun,” the girl said seriously.

She had to clarify: “I’m not in a relationship. Song Yu was a classmate in elementary school; seeing an old acquaintance abroad in the same school means we move in the same circles. When I developed the perfume, I didn’t know what to name it. Song Yu happened to visit and said it was a rainy day, so why not name it ‘Y’? I agreed, and I don’t know why it was rumored to be a gift for her. As for the marriage, I haven’t paid attention. I can’t decide; it depends on my grandfather.”

She pinched the beautiful girl’s face again. “Don’t worry, if I get married, I’ll definitely invite you to be my bridesmaid.”

“I don’t want to be your bridesmaid,” Lin Song muttered, though her mood clearly improved. She held her skirt and smiled. “Jun Jun, am I pretty now?”

“Very pretty!” Bai Jun smiled too. “But you’re still young. The glamour of the entertainment industry might not suit you.”

“Do you like me like this?” As she tried to lecture, Lin Song leaned in, interrupting her to gaze at her intently. The girl was at her prime, with dark hair and eyes, and glossy lips looking green yet radiant, like a rose blooming in the wilderness.

She took a step back, her heart skipping a beat. After a moment, she lowered her head. “Of course, I like you. You’re my prettiest little sister!”

Many images appeared in the dream; she and Lin Song got along perfectly. Bai Jun knew these were fake, hallucinations born of her grief. But she didn’t want to wake up. The dream was too beautiful.

Suddenly, the door opened silently. Someone tiptoed into the room, and the other side of the bed dipped slightly. There was a faint smell of blood in the air.

Bai Jun jolted awake. Lin Song had a bandage on her arm and looked surprised and apologetic.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lin Song’s face was very pale, but her spirit seemed high. So, the reason she hadn’t watched the cameras all day was because she was injured?

Even though she told herself not to acknowledge this cunning woman, seeing her weak state and realizing she had showered before entering the room despite her injury Bai Jun couldn’t help but speak coldly.

“Do you have a death wish?”