What Yan Tuo feared most was that when Nie Jiuluo regained consciousness, she would lose her newfound professional talent. Fortunately, this didn’t happen—it seemed that true talent, once manifested, couldn’t be forced nor easily lost.
However, Nie Jiuluo wasn’t as arrogant as before. She felt that six months was too rushed for her exhibition, so after discussing it with Old Cai, she postponed it for another half year. After all, this was her first exhibition in life, and she needed adequate preparation time.
Additionally, as Yan Tuo had predicted, Nie Jiuluo indeed wanted to return to Heibai Valley, though this wasn’t urgent—the chance of meeting Pei Ke and the others was practically non-existent; it would depend on luck. She planned to go with Yu Rong and the others once things were on track.
After staying with Nie Jiuluo for about half a month and confirming her stable condition, Yan Tuo decided to return to Xi’an. The main purpose of this trip was to handle company matters and transfer some assets to Lin Ling. Although Lin Ling wasn’t his biological sister, they had become as close as real siblings over the years. Yan Tuo wanted to ensure she could live comfortably even without an income.
Nie Jiuluo saw him off at the door, beaming with joy and showing no signs of reluctance to part. She even said, “Finally, you’re leaving.”
Yan Tuo was irritated: “Am I that annoying? Why are you acting like you’re sending off a plague?”
Nie Jiuluo replied, “You’re distracting me from my work.”
This made Yan Tuo even more annoyed: “I’m distracting you? Let’s be honest, have I ever bothered you while you were working? Wasn’t it always you coming to disturb me…”
Nie Jiuluo grabbed his lips threateningly: “Want to say more?”
Yan Tuo laughed and ended the matter with a long kiss.
Over these months, Yan Tuo hadn’t seen Lin Ling. Partly because he was busy handling Nie Jiuluo’s matters and had no energy for other things, and partly because of Lin Ling herself. Whenever they spoke on the phone and he asked about her sculpture studies, she would vaguely answer “It’s fine,” and when asked when she’d return home, her answer was invariable “After a while.”
On the day he returned to Xi’an, Yan Tuo first handled some urgent matters at the company. He had originally planned to have dinner with Lu Xian after work, but near mealtime, Lu Xian hastily called to cancel, saying he had other plans.
Before Yan Tuo could express his dissatisfaction, the call had ended.
Yan Tuo didn’t have many close friends, and with Lu Xian backing out, he couldn’t arrange to meet anyone else on such short notice. He dejectedly went to the underground parking to get his car, planning to order takeout and maybe schedule a video call with Nie Jiuluo. Her time needed to be booked in advance—unless it was extremely urgent, Yan Tuo never called her directly, avoiding disrupting her creative process or dispersing her inspiration.
By coincidence, as his car exited the parking garage, he saw Lu Xian’s car pass by. The driver’s window was half-open, and even from several meters away, he could see Lu Xian’s neatly styled hair and beaming smile.
Something stirred in Yan Tuo’s mind, and he turned his steering wheel to follow.
Since he had nothing better to do, and others seemed to have their schedules full of romance he had to make way for clay figures in every aspect of his life.
Yan Tuo followed Lu Xian’s car leisurely through the streets for about half an hour until it stopped in front of a restaurant.
At a window seat, a slender, fashionably dressed young woman half-rose from her chair, waving to Lu Xian as he got out of his car.
So it was a date with a beautiful woman. Yan Tuo sneered—what was so special about that? After Nie Jiuluo approved his appointment request, he’d be having dinner with his girlfriend too.
He lightly pressed the gas pedal, preparing to turn around, when suddenly something struck him as odd.
He felt that the young woman’s figure looked somewhat familiar.
This beautiful woman named Liang Qian was someone Lu Xian had met while playing an escape room game a few days ago. She could be described as gentle in temperament and first-rate in looks.
Lu Xian had asked her out several times before finally securing this dinner date, which was naturally why he had to cancel on Yan Tuo. As for why he hadn’t explained the details to Yan Tuo, he feared Yan Tuo would be annoying and insist on coming along. Love was full of competition—what if Liang Qian took a liking to Yan Tuo instead? Then all Lu Xian’s efforts would have been wasted, like making a wedding dress for someone else.
Lu Xian sat across from Liang Qian, expertly browsing the menu and very gentlemanly asking for her preferences: “How would you like your steak cooked?”
Just then, someone greeted him: “Lu Xian!”
Damn, it was Yan Tuo! What terrible luck to run into him here!
Lu Xian internally groaned. At this crucial moment of trying to impress someone he liked, he didn’t want friends who were taller, richer, and more handsome than him to appear.
But since this friend was also his salary-paying boss, he had to respond with a smile: “Oh, what a coincidence.”
Yan Tuo looked at Liang Qian but addressed Lu Xian: “Is this… your girlfriend? Won’t you introduce us?”
Liang Qian looked somewhat embarrassed but politely said “Hello” to Yan Tuo, while Lu Xian, afraid of presuming too much, quickly explained, “No, no, just a friend.”
Fortunately, Yan Tuo was tactful enough to exchange only a few pleasantries before leaving. Before he left, his gaze seemingly casually swept over Liang Qian’s hands.
Five minutes later, when the appetizers and main courses were all on the table, another phone in Liang Qian’s bag rang.
Seeing the caller’s name, she hesitated but still answered.
Yan Tuo’s voice came through: “Lin Ling, come out.”
Lin Ling left the restaurant and, following the directions given over the phone, found Yan Tuo’s car in front of a nearby dessert shop.
After getting in and fastening her seatbelt, before she could speak, the car started moving.
Yan Tuo’s expression wasn’t pleasant, rather cold.
Lin Ling stammered, trying to make conversation: “My appearance has changed, aren’t you surprised?”
Yan Tuo said, “What’s there to be surprised about? I’m not stupid, I’ve had my suspicions for a while, just didn’t ask.”
Plastic surgery required recovery time, and Lin Ling wasn’t an independent person, yet this time she had stayed away unusually long, continuously withdrawing money without showing her face. He had guessed long ago.
His tone remained flat: “Didn’t you say you’d be in Xi’an in a few days?”
Lin Ling looked embarrassed: “I’ve been here for several days. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you by pretending to be a stranger, but you saw through it immediately.”
Yan Tuo said, “After spending so many years with you, I can recognize you just by your posture. Don’t think I can’t recognize your voice even when you’re disguising it—you might fool someone like Lu Xian who doesn’t know you well, but not me.”
Then he asked, “What’s the story with Lu Xian?”
Since their meeting, Yan Tuo had been somewhat distant, making Lin Ling nervous: “I happened to run into him…”
“Xi’an is so big, how come you never ‘happened’ to run into me?”
Lin Ling had to tell the truth: “It wasn’t by chance. I did it on purpose. I deliberately went to the escape room where he was and pretended to need more people for a team.”
“What’s your purpose? Do you like him?”
Lin Ling hurriedly replied, “No.”
Yan Tuo smiled slightly: “I didn’t think so either. What then? Planning to get revenge? Because he was cold to you before, and now that you look different, you want to play with his feelings to get even?”
Lin Ling bit her lip in silence, as he had hit the mark.
Yan Tuo sighed softly, saying, “There’s no need for that.”
Lin Ling looked much better than before. She said she had spent over 380,000 yuan on her facial procedures.
She also mentioned that there were still some small scars left, like near her nostrils, which needed to be covered with makeup.
Yan Tuo couldn’t see these flaws; he only thought the surgery had been done very well, very naturally, and very successfully.
Because Lin Ling’s personality had clearly become more optimistic and confident. He remembered how she used to be like a frightened quail, always walking with her head down and hunched shoulders, rarely even speaking loudly.
But now, she smiled easily, her demeanor relaxed and at ease.
Yan Tuo asked her, “Now that your face has changed, does life feel different?”
Lin Ling spoke with a hint of emotion: “It feels like I’ve been given a second chance at life. The whole world seems kinder to you.”
Yan Tuo chuckled, “Is it really that dramatic?”
His question made Lin Ling melancholic. After a while, she said, “Yan Tuo, you’re not me. You don’t understand all the pointing and whispering I’ve endured since childhood.”
“Before, the whole world seemed unfriendly. But just by changing my face, suddenly everything became bright and sunny. When I carry a suitcase, people volunteer to help. When I ask for directions, they explain patiently without getting annoyed. Everything becomes convenient, everything goes smoothly. That’s why they say human nature is inherently double-standard – on one hand, they preach against appearance anxiety, but on the other, they show obvious favoritism toward beautiful people.”
Yan Tuo kept his eyes on the road, focused on driving: “Is it possible that the world was always just as friendly, but you believed it wouldn’t be, so you were overly guarded and vigilant? Now that you’re smiling at it first, it’s smiling back at you?”
Lin Ling was stunned. Just as she was about to say something, the car slowed down and gradually came to a stop.
She looked up and her whole body trembled.
They had arrived at the villa – the one under Xiong Hei’s name, the one where she had lived for so long… that villa.
Neither of them got out of the car, watching through the windows as the villa gradually darkened in the dusk.
Compared to before, the villa seemed much quieter, and much more desolate.
Lin Ling asked softly, “When you told me on the phone that Aunt Lin would never come back, was that true?”
Yan Tuo made an affirmative sound: “More or less.”
Lin Ling let out a long sigh. Then this trip truly marked her rebirth – a new person, a new path ahead.
Yan Tuo suddenly remembered something: “How’s the sculpture learning going?”
Lin Ling fell silent for a moment, then shook her head: “I quit after finishing the first term. I’m not interested in sculpture.”
Yan Tuo was puzzled: “I remember you were very interested back then.”
Lin Ling lowered her head, her hair falling from behind her ear, covering half her face.
She said softly, “Back then, I wasn’t interested either. I just admired Miss Nie very much.”
Yan Tuo’s heart skipped a beat. He turned away to look at the shrubs by the roadside, where decorative solar-powered lights were gradually coming alive in the darkness, flashing like stars.
Lin Ling continued: “I’ll be honest with you. Back then, when I went to see plastic surgeons, I always brought Miss Nie’s magazine photos.”
“The doctor kept asking me, ‘Are you sure? Do you want to look like this? Once it’s done, it can’t be changed.’ At the last moment, I changed my mind.”
Yan Tuo turned to look at her.
Lin Ling turned to face him too, tears glistening in her eyes: “What was the point? No matter how similar I became, I’d still just be a shadow, right?”
“Besides, I’ve been so fortunate. I wasn’t even supposed to be born, but by some twist of fate, I was. I should have been born in some small town, maybe never even getting an education, but instead, I was taken to the big city, never wanting food or clothes. I should have died without a sound, becoming some blood vessel for the Night Owl, but I fortunately escaped that too.”
“I’ve already been so lucky, how could I live trying to be someone else? That would be wasting everything. I know I’ve been mediocre these twenty-some years, without any special talents or abilities, but I want to try – learn what I truly like, do what I truly want to do. Maybe someday, I’ll be outstanding too, no worse than anyone else.”
Yan Tuo nodded: “Of course. In this world, there’s only one Lin Ling. You can shine on your own, you don’t need to be anyone’s shadow.”
Lin Ling smiled through her tears and said, “That’s what I think too.”
[Author’s Note]
Today when I came to post the chapter, I saw some comments that left me feeling quite helpless.
Having written for so many years, there are things I remember, and the old readers who have followed my work remember too.
When I wrote “Rage Bell,” I was criticized for padding the content and cheating readers for money. In anger, I cut the outline short and ended it prematurely.
When I wrote “Seven Deadly Notes,” I was accused of losing my talent, for padding word count.
When I wrote “West of Jade Gate,” the comments shifted to “the author has lost their touch,” “just repeating themselves,” and “the pacing is strange,” with hundreds of complaints daily near the ending, saying it was rushed and I couldn’t write anymore.
Without exaggeration, “West of Jade Gate” received the most criticism during its ending among all my works. It was from this work that I developed the habit of not reading comments anymore. Of course, I still catch glimpses when posting new chapters.
When I wrote “Three-Line Reincarnation,” the main characters were called useless, and criticized from beginning to end, with the same comments about “losing the original feeling, getting worse and worse.”
When I wrote “Dragon Bone Burning Box,” the female lead was called useless, and unworthy of her character setting, and the whole work’s premise was criticized as unsustainable, saying the mountain ghost was too weak. The ending was similarly bombarded with criticism, saying it wasn’t complete, should have had another volume, that I couldn’t write anymore and just rushed to finish.
The amusing part is that whenever I start a new work, the old works suddenly become the standard, used to attack the new work. For example, “I think ‘Rage’ was better,” “The pacing in ‘West of Jade Gate’ was the best,” “How can this female lead be so useless, look at the protagonist from ‘Three-Line,'” “Dragon Bone’s plot was more interconnected”…
Now writing “Rise of the Night Owl,” the same comments have arrived, albeit late, still saying “The pacing isn’t as good as before,” “It’s lost that feeling.” With previous experience, I’m not fazed anymore, and even think, why are there so few complaints? The previous works were criticized much more heavily.
I do not doubt that if I start a new work, there will be comments like “It’s not as good as ‘Night Owl'” and “The pacing isn’t like before.”
I don’t know if any of my readers are writers themselves, but if there are, I want to say: don’t take the comments too seriously. If I had taken all the above comments to heart, then every work I’ve written would be terrible, and I would have been depressed long ago.
Once, I was reading movie reviews on Douban and, on a whim, looked up “The Shawshank Redemption,” one of the highest-rated films in my viewing experience. I found that even this movie had over two thousand one-star reviews from people who thought it was terrible.
So sometimes, it’s just a matter of personal taste. You simply don’t like the setting of this work and prefer others.
Also, there are always readers who think every character’s fate should be explicitly explained, or else it’s a bad ending. I want to say, in Jin Yong’s works that I love, like “Fox Volant of the Snowy Mountain,” did Hu Fei’s slash at Miao Renfeng connect? Could the main couple end up together? Nothing was explained, did I complain?