Seventy-two hours later, Jiang Ruoqiao’s account was finally able to post updates again.

Three days had been enough to significantly cool the discussion surrounding the incident. After all, even the most sensational entertainment news tended to fade from memory within a few days. And since she, Lu Yicheng, and Jiang Yan were just ordinary, non-celebrity individuals, no matter how dramatic the storyline, netizens would comment and move on.

Jiang Ruoqiao had been running her account for two years now. Although she hadn’t signed with any agency, over those two years she had gotten to know a number of bloggers with similar temperaments to her own.

These bloggers were all impressive people, and Jiang Ruoqiao had asked one of them for a favor—to help her investigate who was working behind the scenes to sabotage her.

Jiang Ruoqiao already had a suspect in mind.

She just needed final confirmation.

It was truly the age of big data.

Within just a day, news came back, and the blogger messaged Jiang Ruoqiao privately: 【Xiaoqiao, did you offend someone?】

Jiang Ruoqiao: 【? What’s going on?】

Blogger: 【I had a friend look into it. Remember how a few bloggers were stirring the pot with their sarcastic reposts, and that’s what brought attention to the whole thing? Well, one of those bloggers hinted fairly obliquely that yes, they had been paid—apparently by some second-generation rich kid who came back from abroad. Xiaoqiao, do you know anyone like that?】

In the original novel, the two of them had reunited abroad. But now, the timeline had shifted forward significantly—Chen Yuan had returned to the country and reunited with Lin Kexing.

Jiang Ruoqiao: 【Not sure if it’s that person, but I’ll be more careful from now on. Oh, and thank you—next time you come to Jing Shi, dinner’s on me~】

Blogger: 【Haha, you’re too polite, it was nothing. Do you remember Xiao Ou? She was really popular a couple of years ago. A rich second-gen was pursuing her and she turned him down, so he went after her. Her account got destroyed—couldn’t get on the front page, no exposure, no traffic. She ended up switching careers entirely. In this industry, if you don’t have connections or backing, one day you’ll get taken down and you won’t even know how it happened.】

Jiang Ruoqiao understood this deeply, which was why from the very beginning, she had never intended to go all-in on this path.

That same afternoon, someone in the overseas student circles posted a bombshell: a certain second-generation rich kid with the surname Chen had a girlfriend abroad while back home he was chasing after the daughter of a jewelry brand family. It was, without a doubt, the most despicable behavior since the dawn of creation.

According to the expose, this Chen-surnamed second-generation had been packed off abroad by his own father at a young age. His looks, bearing, and family background made him something of a golden boy at school. Riding on his decent reputation, he had begun dating another wealthy young woman who was also studying abroad—their parents had already met, and there were even cooperative business projects back home between the two families. Yet somehow, this scoundrel had returned to the country and, behind his girlfriend’s back, started pursuing another heiress.

The post also included photographs. The man and woman in the pictures were a striking pair—the man holding an umbrella over the woman, tilting it so far toward her that his own shoulder was half soaked, both of them laughing. The photos were beautifully taken and quite romantic.

The man’s quasi-fiancée was something of an influencer within overseas student circles herself, and once the expose dropped, her friends came out with full firepower aimed squarely at the scoundrel—and naturally, they didn’t spare the heiress who appeared to have been unknowingly cast as a homewrecker either.

This piece of gossip was far juicier and hotter than anything involving Jiang Ruoqiao, Lu Yicheng, or Jiang Yan.

After all, those three were, at best, reasonably attractive ordinary college students—how explosive could their drama really get?

Netizens were far more interested in gossip from wealthy elite circles.

Jiang Ruoqiao’s little saga had been completely forgotten.

It was a fitting illustration of the saying: if you dream of manipulating public opinion, you’d better be prepared to face the backlash.

Chen Yuan’s girlfriend abroad was her family’s only daughter, and her family was not about to swallow such an insult lightly. Meanwhile, Chen Yuan’s father had a project deal at a critical juncture, and the girlfriend’s family pulled their investment—making it clear that even if they had to take some losses themselves, they were going to inflict even greater damage on the other side. Father Chen flew into a rage and tore Chen Yuan apart verbally, ordering him to win the girl back. But Chen Yuan had long been fed up with this kind of romance that existed purely for the sake of an alliance marriage, and he flatly refused. Father and son’s relationship fell into deadlock once again—not helped by his stepmother pouring oil on the flames nearby.

Though the photograph had been scrubbed from Weibo through the combined PR efforts of the Chen and Lin families, quite a few people had already saved copies of the photos of Chen Yuan and Lin Kexing.

Even Lin Kexing’s classmates and friends felt a strange mix of emotions: somehow the gossip they’d been watching had swept up someone from their own circle—how bizarre was that?

Privately, everyone was analyzing the same question: did Lin Kexing know that Chen Yuan had a girlfriend?

If she didn’t know, well, that was one thing. But if she did…

For a time, even the classmates who had previously been close to Lin Kexing instinctively began to distance themselves from her.

This My Child’s Father – Chapter of events had come to a temporary close.

Jiang Ruoqiao’s life was unaffected, and even Jiang Yan had suddenly settled down, no longer coming to harass her every single day.

The translation company had sent her a few assignments, all of which she completed with outstanding results, earning high praise from the clients. Her supervisor had also begun assigning her some practice work—for instance, this time she was tasked with accompanying two simultaneous interpreters to a business conference, primarily handling minor tasks. It was her first real-life encounter with actual simultaneous interpretation. In the industry, simultaneous interpretation was regarded as the pinnacle of the translation profession, earning the title of “the gold-collar of language.”①

Such talent was exceedingly rare domestically. Both of the interpreters she was accompanying this time were leading figures in the field.

The most impressive of the two had even participated in important international conferences.

The field demanded rigorous academic knowledge and professional expertise, which meant the bar for entry was very high and the standards across every dimension were extremely demanding.

Nowadays, nearly all high-level international conferences employed simultaneous interpretation, so the income was substantial—it was no exaggeration to say one could earn a small fortune in a single day. This was not a field measured in monthly salaries.② For instance, one of the two interpreters accompanying her had her income calculated by the hour and by the minute. After a brief conversation, Jiang Ruoqiao learned that she was also an A’Da alumna and was nearly forty years old—addressing her as “senior sister” helped bridge the gap between them.

This senior sister, Cen, was extraordinarily accomplished. Her work had brought her into contact with people from every industry, her professional caliber was exceptional, and she had a warm, gracious manner—she would affectionately call Jiang Ruoqiao “little junior sister.” Senior Sister Cen was now at the peak of her career, with her own studios in both Jing Shi and Shen Cheng, as well as properties of her own. Jiang Ruoqiao looked at her and wondered: would she be able to reach such heights by the time she was forty?

Over the course of just two days and one night, Jiang Ruoqiao learned an enormous amount from both of them.

She also came to realize that she had previously been something of a frog in a well. She had once thought that translating for foreign friends like Mei Li, or handling document translations, was already quite impressive. But witnessing the abilities of these two seniors made her see that she still had so much to learn. For instance, at her current level, she couldn’t even touch the edges of simultaneous interpretation—she was nowhere close. When she returned, she didn’t pause to joke around with her dormitory roommates, nor did she reach out to Lu Siyan. Instead, she sat alone at her desk and thought for a long, long time.

Before, she hadn’t known what path she wanted to take, or what she wanted to do with her future.

Now, she seemed to have a far more precise goal.

She sent her professor an email, hoping to find some books and materials in this area. She was still very, very far from Senior Sister Cen’s level—but she was still young. She was in her third year of university now, and she still had graduate school ahead of her. The future held infinite possibilities. Perhaps twenty years from now, she would become someone else’s “Senior Sister Jiang”?

Jiang Ruoqiao felt an extraordinary sense of excitement.

It was like parting the clouds for the first time and glimpsing a vast, breathtaking landscape beyond.

She thought about so many things—it felt as though she’d returned to how she had felt in high school. Back then, no person, no event could stir even a ripple in her heart. Her mind had held only a single thought: to get into A’Da. Nothing else had mattered.

Meanwhile, in the deep of the night, Lu Yicheng was still at work in his study.

He had been genuinely very busy lately and had been weighing whether to give up his tutoring job.

On the table beside him sat a mug—filled with the black coffee that Jiang Ruoqiao loved best. He had grown used to its bitter taste now. It was a steadfast companion through every late night of overtime work.

As Lu Yicheng’s slender fingers typed away at the keyboard, Jiang Ruoqiao had at last drifted off to sleep.

She began to dream again.

In the dream, she had an omniscient perspective—like a viewer sitting in front of a television, watching the characters’ every move, their joys and sorrows.

“Her” grandmother had passed away. After the depths of grief, “she” still had to pull herself together and press forward. The autumn wind blew cold and desolate as “she” walked home, and at the entrance of the somewhat rundown residential complex, “she” saw someone.

This person was standing beneath a tree, and somehow stood even straighter than the tree itself.

He looked over. It was only then that “she” saw clearly—it was Lu Yicheng!

Lu Yicheng again!

“She” and he held each other’s gaze for a moment, and then he stepped forward of his own accord, saying in a gentle voice, “The wheelchair is heavy—you probably can’t carry it yourself, so I came.”

“She” lowered her head, her voice flat and quiet, carrying almost no emotion. “Mm, thank you. I’ve been meaning to return the wheelchair to you for the past couple of days. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he said. “It was something I was originally renting to your grandfather anyway.”

But “she” said: “Still, thank you.”

Her grandmother had needed a wheelchair near the end. But a wheelchair was too expensive; the cheap ones were poor quality. Just as “she” had been steeling herself to go buy one, her grandfather mentioned that he’d encountered a young man at the hospital, and this young man had rented him a wheelchair from his family.

“She” had never imagined that the young man her grandfather spoke of would turn out to be Lu Yicheng.

By the time “she” found out, her grandmother had already passed away despite all efforts to save her.

“She” had heard long ago that he was a very, very good person. It must have been that a few months earlier, he had happened to run into “her” at the hospital, seen the circumstances of “her” family, and decided to lend a hand.

The two walked into the residential complex and up the stairwell with its mottled, peeling walls.

This was “her” rented apartment—small, and a little out of the way, but at least the rent was affordable.

In the fading light of dusk, a car slowly drove into the complex.

The window rolled down, and a young man happened to look over just as this man and woman walked by, watching their figures from behind as they entered the stairwell.

Lu Yicheng was careful and respectful—he did not follow “her” inside, but stood at the doorway.

“She” struggled to bring out the wheelchair, and only then did he step forward to take it from her. He wanted to say something, but he noticed “her” face was flushed.

“You don’t look well. What’s wrong—are you sick?” he asked.

“A bit of a fever. But it’s fine. I bought some fever medicine—I’ll take a tablet, sleep it off, and I’ll be better in a couple of days.”

“She” was utterly exhausted. Her body and mind had nearly reached their limit.

Her body had been the first to protest. On the way home from work, “she” had already felt her temperature rising. Rather than going to the hospital, “she” had gone to a pharmacy and bought fever-reducing medicine.

“Would you like me to take you to the hospital?” he said, hesitating.

“No need. Go home first.”

He and “she” weren’t close—it wasn’t his place to say more. He could only nod, though he added, “If anything comes up, you can call me.”

“She” stood in the doorway, “her” clear, cool eyes fixed on him. After a few seconds of silence, “she” gave a soft sound of acknowledgment, then politely said thank you again.

After the door closed, he descended a few steps of the staircase—then stopped. He looked back with worry, but the door was already firmly shut.

He was worried about “her.”

In the end, he stood hesitating in the darkness for a long, long time, wrestling with himself, before finding a ledge and sitting down.

He was concerned about “her” health. If “she” really needed something and called him, he wouldn’t be able to get there quickly—the distance was too great.

Better to just sit here until dawn.

He sat in that stairwell for an entire night, keeping watch for an entire night.

The car downstairs also remained there all night. The young man inside sat with a taut expression, his eyes dark and unreadable. He gritted his teeth and finally said to the driver: “Go. To the airport.”

And the young man left again.

At the airport, the young woman who had come to receive him burst into tears and laughter all at once upon seeing him return.

And in that worn, crumbling stairwell, “she” opened the door—and found the person who had kept watch all through the night. “She” stood there in stunned silence for a long moment.

His tone was the same as it always was—unhurried and gentle: “Has the fever come down?”

—