Chapter Thirty-Nine: Luo Ange, You Are Mine

I looked at him, my voice perfectly calm. “Sir, no matter who you are or how much money you have, please mind your language. Next time you speak like that, I promise the thing that falls might be your hand or your foot.”

He tried to grab me, but I dodged easily, not even bothering to glance at him as I headed downstairs on my own.

On the third floor, I ran into Lei Zhiyi. She’d changed into a pale yellow dress, her long hair draped over her shoulders, high heels clicking on the floor—she looked every bit the princess.

I knew full well she was behind the marble on the stage during the school anniversary, but I had no time to quarrel with her now.

Ignoring her, I walked past and continued downstairs, when I suddenly heard her voice, tinged with mockery: “Luo Ange is mine. You’d better not compete with me.”

I paused, then chuckled. “Congratulations. I have no interest in him anyway.”

She could hardly miss the meaning behind my words, nor would she let any chance to insult me slip by. “Yi Lanshan, could it be that Du Fanchuan dumped you and now you want to renounce the world and become a nun?”

I laughed. “Don’t worry. If I ever become a nun, I’d surely take you as my disciple. The question is, can you keep hold of your Zhang Wuji?”

She was so angered she nearly hit me, but her high heels made her clumsy. She could only glare daggers at me. “Yi Lanshan, I hate you.”

I smiled serenely. “Even if you loved me, it wouldn’t give your life any deeper meaning, so you’re welcome.”

“You’re shameless.”

Looking up at her face, chalky with powder, I replied, “If I were truly shameless, I’d have tossed a marble onto the stage while you were hosting the celebration, and watched you take a spectacular fall.”

Her expression changed instantly. “Don’t accuse me of things I didn’t do.”

“I haven’t said anything. Why be so eager to betray yourself?” When it came to verbal sparring, I always had the upper hand. As expected, she stormed off in a huff.

Outside the club, I called Qilin. There was a lot of noise on his end—I couldn’t tell which private room he was in or whether he was drunk.

I told him I wasn’t feeling well and was heading home first. He said, “Wait there,” and in no time at all, he appeared before me like a knight swooping in.

I patted his flushed cheeks. Clearly, he’d had quite a bit to drink—his eyes were unfocused.

He insisted on seeing me home, but how could I let him? Drunk driving is a serious crime; if he ended up in jail, his father would surely skin me alive.

Back at the courtyard house, I made dinner for Ajiu. Suddenly, a wave of nausea overtook me, my stomach churning violently.

After vomiting until there was nothing left, I finally felt better. I took a comfortable bath, swallowed some medicine, and, lying in bed, called my grandfather.

The trouble with Yi Huayang hadn’t even blown over before fresh waves of chaos arrived. The old man, exasperated, had run off to Yunnan to visit an old comrade.

He sounded a bit tipsy, rambling and repeating himself, asking if I was happy.

I told him I was, and he laughed like a child. Ever since my grandmother died, I rarely saw him smile—he lost his temper more often than not.

He said he’d bring me some local specialties. I yearned for Yunnan’s crossing-the-bridge rice noodles and wheedled him for a taste.

He was sober enough to reply, “That’s not something I can bring back. Next time, I’ll take you there to eat it.”

I remembered something I used to say to Du Fanchuan: “If a man ever brings me crossing-the-bridge rice noodles from thousands of miles away, I’ll marry him.”

My grandfather paused, then laughed at my foolishness. “Child, some people can never be returned to. And even if you could go back, so much has changed—would you still want to?”

Curled under my quilt, I sighed, “Times change, and so do people.”

The truth is, it’s never that easy to forget. Someone you’ve loved becomes the cinnabar mole pressed into your heart—impossible to remove.

Lately, I’d simply been forcing myself not to think of Du Fanchuan, not to dwell on our happy days together, not to remember the silly girl I once was.

But late at night, when I lay awake, restless and frustrated, I’d always find myself scrolling through our old messages and photos, over and over again.

A little while later, my phone rang. Du Fanchuan’s contact had once been “honey” in my phone, but I’d changed it to “jerk.”

I hesitated when I saw those two characters flashing on the screen. By the time I’d steeled myself to answer, he’d already hung up.

You see, fate is like that. Sometimes, it’s just a second—so close, yet already a world apart.

Drowsy and dazed, I drifted off to sleep, not knowing when I’d hear a knock at the door outside.