The overseas student circles expose post had, of course, been set in motion by Jiang Ruoqiao.

She had barely woken up that morning, not yet fully surfaced from the dream, when a message arrived on her phone from the person she had enlisted.

These days there were more and more ways to make money—many of them involved obtaining certain information and turning it into profit, like private investigators, or paparazzi. There were also people who worked as behind-the-scenes operators, and many of the attention-grabbing expose posts out there originated with people like these. Chen Yuan’s status as a second-generation rich kid did give him certain natural advantages—but Jiang Ruoqiao herself had built her current follower base on marketing savvy, and in every respect, she understood the game far better than he did.

Even before she had confirmed exactly who had gotten her account banned and smeared her in the original novel, she had already arranged to have Chen Yuan’s affairs thoroughly investigated.

Including Chen Yuan’s girlfriend.

After learning that Chen Yuan had returned to the country, Jiang Ruoqiao realized that the entire timeline had been completely scrambled—so she arranged to have someone follow Chen Yuan. Sure enough, many photographs of Chen Yuan and Lin Kexing were taken. Jiang Ruoqiao believed that Lin Kexing almost certainly did not know Chen Yuan had a girlfriend. More precisely: Lin Kexing simply did not care about other people’s affairs like that. She only cared about what was happening with Jiang Yan. Madame Lin obviously did not want Lin Kexing to know about Jiang Yan’s mother’s situation, and Jiang Yan was pulling away from Lin Kexing—so Lin Kexing was currently very, very lonely. Chen Yuan’s arrival had been like a ray of light breaking into her life.

Whether that light belonged to someone else—she would not concern herself with that.

With these photographs in hand, all it took was finding the right operator to release them at the right moment, and then arranging for someone to push the narrative in the right direction…

This, incidentally, was exactly what Chen Yuan had done to the secondary female lead in the original novel. In real life, he had simply done it once more himself.

Sure enough, Chen Yuan’s behavior reached the ears of his worthless father and stepmother. Father Chen didn’t particularly care—most men, after all, were quite capable of sympathizing with the concept of having one’s foot in two boats at once. But Chen Yuan’s stepmother saw it very differently. She believed Chen Yuan was trying to have it both ways: wasn’t one wealthy girl abroad not enough? Now he had to come back to the country and pursue the young lady of the Lin family on top of that—just what was he plotting?

Chen Yuan’s original intention had been to offer warmth and comfort. But his stepmother turned the whole thing into a conspiracy theory.

In wealthy, powerful households, it ultimately came down to one word: scheming.

Either the east wind would subdue the west wind, or the west wind would subdue the east—in any case, Chen Yuan’s days ahead would no longer be so leisurely that he could go around meddling in other people’s business.

As for Lin Kexing…

People around her had begun looking at her with careful, wary eyes. When she went to class, classmates would glance at her and then whisper amongst themselves. She was constantly convinced they were insulting her, looking down on her.

On top of that, people regularly left vile and offensive words on Lin Kexing’s social media accounts.

She simply could not bear it.

Jiang Ruoqiao scrolled through the latest news while brushing her teeth.

She felt a surge of relief—relief that she had dreamed those dreams. If she hadn’t known in advance that there was a Chen Yuan to worry about, she would never have seen it coming, and she would absolutely have been dragged into the vortex.

But now, she had fully extracted herself from all these people and their tangled mess of right and wrong.

After washing up, Jiang Ruoqiao headed downstairs as usual. Lu Yicheng was already waiting at the foot of the dormitory building with breakfast in hand. By now, onlookers barely batted an eye at the sight of him—if he ever failed to show up one day, that would be what attracted their attention.

“Did Siyan go to kindergarten?” The only reason Jiang Ruoqiao asked was that Lu Yicheng was about half an hour later than usual.

Normally he would come deliver breakfast first and then rush back to the apartment complex to see Lu Siyan onto the school bus.

Lu Yicheng shook his head with a helpless look, “He refused to get out of bed. He’s still in bed sulking.”

Jiang Ruoqiao was taken aback.

Lu Yicheng said: “He suddenly started refusing to get up this morning, threw a little fit at me, said he didn’t want to go to kindergarten. I tried everything—I even brought up the story of my grandfather walking several miles through snow and ice just to get to school—and he still wouldn’t budge. Then he lied to me and said his stomach hurt and he couldn’t go.”

Jiang Ruoqiao stifled a laugh, “Well, to be fair, it really is pretty cold today.”

Not just Lu Siyan—she hadn’t wanted to drag herself out of bed this early either.

Lu Yicheng let out a sigh, his expression rather rueful, “So I gave in and called Teacher Xiong to ask for a day off.”

Jiang Ruoqiao: “…”

Now she was genuinely astonished, “I always figured I was the one who’d do something like that.”

Of all people—Lu Yicheng!

She had always imagined he was the type of father who would be completely inflexible when it came to matters of principle.

Lu Yicheng already regretted it, “I shouldn’t have given in.”

His willpower clearly hadn’t been firm enough—how could he just agree when his child decided he didn’t want to go to school?

Jiang Ruoqiao was also a little worried, “What if he doesn’t want to go tomorrow either?”

Lu Yicheng nodded gravely, “Quite likely.”

Jiang Ruoqiao thought about it, “I don’t have class this morning. Do you?”

Lu Yicheng: “I don’t have class either, but I was planning to go to the library to study.”

Jiang Ruoqiao gave a small nod, “Call Teacher Xiong back and tell her we’re asking for a one-hour delay—we’ll take Siyan to kindergarten ourselves.” She paused, “We can’t let this become a habit.”

Lu Yicheng was in complete agreement: “…Alright!”

“Wait for me—let me run the breakfast up to those three, and then I’ll come with you to get him out of bed!”

Jiang Ruoqiao delivered breakfast upstairs at top speed and came back down, then set off with Lu Yicheng toward the school gates. Both wore identically serious, purposeful expressions. Classmates who might have otherwise been tempted to tease them instinctively stepped aside without calling out—after all, the two of them radiated a kind of solemn gravity that suggested they were off to save the world.

When they arrived at the rented apartment, Lu Siyan was sitting on the couch in his pajamas, wrapped up in his duvet, watching television.

The little boy was thoroughly at ease—there was milk on the coffee table, he was holding a tin of biscuits and eating away, and a cartoon was playing on the TV.

The moment Lu Siyan saw that both dad and mom had arrived, he decisively clamped the biscuit tin shut and began clutching his little belly with theatrical moaning sounds.

What followed was a two-person relay of coaxing and cajoling, with Lu Yicheng and Jiang Ruoqiao taking turns. After talking themselves hoarse, it was ultimately Jiang Ruoqiao who ran out of patience first. She adopted a stern expression and called his name: “Lu Siyan!”

The instant Lu Siyan detected signs of genuine anger from his mom, his stomachache made a miraculous recovery, and he immediately declared, “Fine, fine—I’ll go, okay?”

He was already getting up efficiently to change his clothes, complaining with an aggrieved air, “Dad, honestly—why did you have to go and get Mom involved…”

Was this really something that warranted disturbing Mom?

And Dad was something else too, not knowing how to be flexible. One day off school—was that such a big deal? The upside was no craft class this evening!

Lu Siyan muttered quietly in condemnation of Lu Yicheng: “Dad is a tattletale!”

Lu Yicheng: “?”

Lu Siyan announced, “Dad betrayed me once, so one day I’ll betray Dad back. Any time a pretty auntie asks Dad for his WeChat or phone number, I am absolutely going to tell Mom!”

“…”

“I’m also going to tell Mom about the pretty older girl who chatted Dad up in the elevator, and about Grandma Wang who said she’d introduce Dad to a girlfriend—I’m going to tell all of it. I might not say it today, but I’ll say it tomorrow!”

Lu Yicheng: “I’ll take you to Kendeji after school.”

Lu Siyan’s pudgy little finger made a zipping motion across his lips, “Okay, deal. I’ll keep quiet for now.”

In the end, in the biting cold, little Lu Siyan shouldered his small school bag, lingered at the kindergarten gate to wave farewell to Jiang Ruoqiao with great reluctance, and then trudged inside with his head hanging.

Jiang Ruoqiao and Lu Yicheng both finally let out a long breath of relief.

They walked back toward the main road. At this hour the kindergarten gate was quieter than usual—fewer cars and people. The little side path was carpeted with yellow maple leaves and ginkgo leaves, altogether quite poetic. Jiang Ruoqiao thought of the dream she’d had, and in a very casual tone asked, “Lu Yicheng, does your family happen to have a wheelchair?”

Lu Yicheng gave her a puzzled look and shook his head, “No. Why, does your family need one?”

Jiang Ruoqiao burst out laughing.

Her laughter was clear and bright, carrying straight to his ears.

Lu Yicheng felt simultaneously surprised and a little flustered.

He didn’t understand why she was laughing so freely and openly. It seemed like lately, every time he faced her, he was somehow especially slow. He couldn’t figure out what she was laughing about, but he found himself laughing along with her.

“Jiang—” he finally spoke up, “Jiang Ruoqiao, what are you laughing about?”

“Nothing, really.” Jiang Ruoqiao was still smiling, her eyes curved softly, “I just thought of something really wonderful.”

Lu Yicheng didn’t ask what that wonderful thing was.

He had no way of knowing that at this very moment, Jiang Ruoqiao’s heart was like a vessel filled to the brim with warm water.

She even found herself, just a little, envying the “her” in the dream.

But no sooner had that faint envy risen than she glanced sideways at Lu Yicheng.

Well, perhaps she didn’t envy “her” all that much after all. That “her” had that particular “Lu Yicheng.” And right here beside her, she also had a Lu Yicheng.

True to his meticulous nature, once she’d finished laughing, he returned to the topic: “Is it someone who needs a wheelchair? Before, when my grandmother was ill, I joined a patient support group—some of the patients had bought wheelchairs. I could ask them which model is good?”

But Jiang Ruoqiao didn’t answer directly. Instead, she said, “Lu Yicheng, you’re a good person.”

You’re a very, very good person.

Anyone who has seen your goodness, anyone who knows your goodness—that person would never want to let you slip away.

Lu Yicheng paused, waiting for her to continue, but she said nothing more.

Why had she suddenly called him a good person?

With that question lingering in his mind, Lu Yicheng found himself completely unable to concentrate on the books in front of him at the library.

He couldn’t make sense of what Jiang Ruoqiao meant. He turned it over and over, and the question continued to circle in his thoughts, making it impossible for him to settle into studying.

He had no choice but to take out his phone and, after some hesitation, message a friend: 【If someone suddenly tells you that you’re a good person, what does that mean?】

His friend replied: 【Ding. One “good person card” received.】

Lu Yicheng: 【?】

Friend: 【”You’re great, but we’re just not right for each other / I already have someone I like, sorry about that.”】

Lu Yicheng locked his screen.

He didn’t think that was what she meant.

It probably wasn’t.

It definitely wasn’t.

Without realizing it, he had written the character 江 on his scratch paper.

Under the influence of a cold front, the first snow of the year fell on Jing Shi earlier than it had the previous year.

The first snow of the year was typically the busiest time for Jiang Ruoqiao.

Jing Shi was full of traditional courtyard homes, and after a snowfall they became truly breathtaking—the snow blanketed every trace of modern life. At this time every year, the gardens were packed with visitors, and Jiang Ruoqiao had heavy photography commitments. So when the snow came down and everyone in their social feeds was delighted and surprised, Jiang Ruoqiao got out of bed wearing an expression as grave as someone heading into battle. Snow days were ideal for taking photographs that would go viral—but they were also genuinely freezing and exhausting.

Fortunately, this would be her last shoot.

The contract was almost up.

When Jiang Ruoqiao arrived at the garden, she took a ceremonious selfie and posted it to her social feed along with a location tag—

【One journey is ending, but another is about to begin~】

Jiang Ruoqiao was nearly frozen stiff.

Photographer Brother Fang was still not quite satisfied. Everyone knew this was Jiang Ruoqiao’s final shoot, and they all hoped to capture a standout series of photos.

…

Meanwhile, Lu Yicheng was out with Lu Siyan buying groceries.

They happened to be passing nearby, and on an impulse he had the driver let them off early. After all these years in Jing Shi, there were still plenty of scenic spots Lu Yicheng had never been to—he simply never had the time. But today he felt a genuine urge to take Lu Siyan to stroll through the gardens. The snow was still falling, and there were quite a few people on the streets, many of them heading in the direction of the gardens.

Children seemed entirely impervious to cold and heat.

Lu Siyan kept squatting down to scoop up handfuls of snow and hurl them at Lu Yicheng.

His pudgy little paws turned bright red from the cold, yet he never once complained.

The garden was bustling with visitors, many of them dressed in traditional hanfu, and for a moment Lu Yicheng half-believed he had been transported back to ancient times. Amid the lively crowds, he finally spotted Jiang Ruoqiao on a bridge.

That area was cleared of people. Jiang Ruoqiao wore a crimson cape.

The world was an expanse of white snow in every direction, and against it, her red cape blazed like fire—strikingly vivid, impossible to ignore.

Snow was still falling. She tilted her face upward, snowflakes drifting down onto her pale cheeks.

Lu Yicheng stood there, transfixed. He had forgotten the Lu Siyan beside him. He had forgotten every other person in the garden.

As though sensing something, Jiang Ruoqiao glanced over in his direction without thinking. Their eyes met across the snowy landscape.

Lu Yicheng wasn’t certain Jiang Ruoqiao had seen him.

Jiang Ruoqiao likewise wasn’t certain Lu Yicheng had seen her.

Even so, she couldn’t help it—she smiled at him.

Brother Fang’s camera clicked in rapid succession, his shutter faster than ever, capturing the smile and the delighted surprise in Jiang Ruoqiao’s eyes.

Brother Fang bowed his head to review the photos on his camera, and let out an ecstatic shout, “Holy—!! Stunning!!”

Finally. Finally, he had gotten the best shot of the day.

He swore on whatever hair remained on his head: this photograph would be the most perfect final note to Xiaoqiao’s brief career.

—