Chapter 23: The 23rd Day After Entering the Book – She Was Like a Hollow… (1)

Su Muqing returned to the villa he used to stay in after a long time. Even though it had only been half a month since he was last there, as he looked at the decorations, everything suddenly felt unfamiliar.

The villa seemed too empty—as if any sound made would echo faintly through the space.

He thought he had already gotten used to this innate loneliness. But at this moment, he suddenly remembered the apartment he currently lived in.

Even though it seemed small, it always gave off an inexplicable sense of warmth.

Just like a long, long time ago—back when he first began to remember things.

His parents had a typical business marriage within a wealthy family. Because of the intertwined interests between the two families, they were tied together.

Logically speaking, even in a business marriage, for the sake of harmony and the development of both families, even if they weren’t in love, they should have treated each other with respect and decency, without gossip or scandal.

Su Muqing glanced at the empty living room, his eyes full of mockery.

That’s how it had been—before his grandfather passed away.

When he was three, the head of the Su family, his grandfather, died, and his father took over.

His parents’ true selves were revealed all at once. They brought their long-hidden true loves—and the children born from those affairs—out into the open.

And he? He became a joke. At three years old, he already had two older half-brothers aged six or seven.

His father, Su Mingzheng, brought the two illegitimate sons to him before he even had time to mourn his grandfather, asking him to call them “brother.”

And his mother brought along a down-and-out painter, told him to take good care of himself, and said she was going to pursue her own happiness.

They both had their own new families now. That enormous villa was left with only him and a few maids.

Everyone knew how easy it was to bribe maids in a home without adults. But no one cared.

He lived like that—eating irregular meals, constantly scolded and berated by the maids—for four years. When he was seven, someone (who knows from which side) couldn’t stand watching anymore and kidnapped him.

Who told him that, even if he wasn’t loved, he was still the rightful heir to the Su family?

Thinking about this, Su Muqing slowly leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. His long eyelashes trembled slightly from the pain.

At that time, he understood: in this world, no one could save him except himself.

No one knew how he escaped from the kidnappers—not even he remembered anymore. But whenever the night was quiet, he would dream of that despair and sorrow.

When the police brought him back home, he saw his parents’ faces—so indifferent that they didn’t even bother to fake concern. He silently hid the hatred in his eyes.

He looked at the two of them with admiration, with surprise, with expectation, and a faint trace of inferiority. “Daddy, Mommy, I’ve been really good. Can you come visit me more often?”

After staying in the hospital for a few days, he used this facade to make them feel guilty. Then, little by little, he disguised himself as someone harmless.

He distanced himself from Su Corporation, showed brotherly love to his half-brothers, and treated his parents with respectful intimacy. Gradually, he made his surroundings safe.

Of course, his good father later found even more true loves. As for that first one? Who knew why she was so petty that she would harm the little princess his father adored most at the time?

Such a mutually damaging situation—it really was such a pity.

Anyway, no matter how you looked at it, none of it had anything to do with him.

Su Corporation might not be his now, but in the end, it could only belong to him.

To lie low and bide his time, he secretly founded Qingyuan Technology Company during university, focusing on game development. Now the company already had several popular games under its name.

The road had to be walked step by step. What was meant to be his would never get away.

Just as he was zoning out, thinking about what gift to give to his father’s current favorite illegitimate son, the phone suddenly rang, echoing through the vast living room.

“Boss, we’ve got a bit of a problem at the company.” Xu Zheng’s voice sounded more urgent than usual. “Some core employees suddenly resigned, and our backend systems are under attack…”

Hearing this, Su Muqing’s face immediately darkened. “Keep the employees calm. Have the tech team monitor the backend—I’m coming over right now.”

---

As for Yu Cheng’s office, he truly was a rare visitor.

He came here less often than the department managers who occasionally reported to the office.

So, when Secretary Ming entered the office with a file in hand and saw Yu Cheng properly sitting at his desk, he couldn’t help blurting out:

“What a rare guest!”

Under Yu Cheng’s sharp gaze, he quickly corrected himself, “I mean, is your health better now? Coming to the office won’t tire you out, right?”

He could pretty much guess why Yu Cheng had come today.

Just yesterday, he had issued the order targeting Qingyuan Technology. Now, President Yu must be here to check on the results.

“How did it go?” Yu Cheng got straight to the point without any small talk.

Secretary Ming recalled Yu Cheng’s instructions—it was something along the lines of completely destroying Qingyuan, ideally leaving Su Muqing with nothing but empty hands.

To be honest, the reason Secretary Ming had lasted this long without being fired was because he had a knack for understanding Yu Cheng’s mindset.

Yu Cheng might be intense, but if he were truly insane, the Yu Corporation would have been taken over long ago.

After just three months working by Yu Cheng’s side, Ming had picked up on his peculiar trait—a mysterious pride, no matter the situation.

For instance, if Wang Corporation angered him, he’d grimly declare he would drive them to bankruptcy. But if Ming actually did that, he’d be fired the next day.

Yu Corporation couldn’t afford to make enemies so recklessly.

So Ming, gauging the situation, stole two important deals from Wang Corporation instead.

Sure enough, when he reported back, Yu Cheng muttered about how they’d let Wang off too easily—but his monthly bonus was doubled.

This time, Ming used the same strategy.

He methodically described everything he had done the day before—emphasizing Su Muqing’s swift response, how Qingyuan’s offices stayed brightly lit all night, and so on.

As he spoke, the hostility in Yu Cheng’s eyes slowly subsided. After the report, Yu Cheng casually added:

“I heard Su Muqing has trouble sleeping.”

This was a weakness Su Muqing had revealed himself. It wasn’t a critical vulnerability, but it made his parents feel guiltier and reassured his siblings.

“I heard the same,” Ming said. Since Su Muqing moved next to Yun Shuning, it didn’t take much digging to figure out why he treated her differently.

A person with insomnia finds someone whose voice lulls them to sleep—how could they let go so easily?

Yu Cheng knew that too. He said lightly, “Sleepless nights are really awful.”

He glanced maliciously at the towering stack of files on his desk and said gently, “In that case, let’s do a good deed and keep him busy at night.”

“That way, he won’t think the nights are too long.”

Secretary Ming looked at him with a shiver in his heart. That was cruel. Su Muqing had finally found peace sleeping to Miss Yun’s voice, and now thanks to one sentence from their CEO, he’d go back to his sleepless nights.

When you’ve never had something, losing it doesn’t hurt much. But if you lose something hard-won, the pain is excruciating.

“Understood. I’ll instruct the relevant departments to act,” Ming responded crisply.

If Su Muqing represented Su Corporation, he wouldn’t go this far—or at least not so obviously. But right now, Su Muqing meant nothing to the Su family.

So he agreed without hesitation.

“President Yu, about these documents…” Now that their talk was done, was it time for Yu Cheng to handle company affairs?

Yu Cheng glanced at the towering pile of documents without much emotion. “Have the secretary department summarize them for me. I’ll only handle one centimeter’s worth.”

As for how to shrink this nearly half-meter-high pile down to a single centimeter—that wasn’t his problem.

“…Understood.” Secretary Ming clenched his fists and answered through gritted teeth.

---

In recent days, Yun Shuning had been living especially relaxed and carefree.

Aside from her livestreams, what she did most was shop for cat supplies. Cat food, canned food, snacks. Litter, beds, toys. Like a nouveau riche, she wanted to buy everything she saw.

What made her happiest was that, for some reason, Su Muqing seemed to have gotten busy—no matter how many times she went out lately, she didn’t “bump into” him.

Without that weirdo next door, her mood had improved dramatically.

So every day, she made a trip to the pet hospital.

She even spent a fortune to move Xiaobai from a regular ward (a cat cage) to a luxury ward (a deluxe cat cage). It was as if she transferred all her guilt for Xiaohei onto Xiaobai, doing everything she could to ensure it lived a happy, comfortable life.

Today, the doctor said Xiaobai had basically recovered and could be discharged.

After hearing the doctor’s words, although her expression remained indifferent and apathetic, the atmosphere around her softened.

She carefully brought Little White home in a pet carrier.

Little White was a very good-looking cat. Unlike the typical orange tabby, its fur wasn’t the usual yellow but a shade closer to gold.

Under the sunlight, it looked like a tiny golden lion.

The doctor said Little White was about five months old. The reason it looked more like three months was because it had been scavenging while it was a stray—eating irregularly and suffering from malnutrition. With adequate food moving forward, it would slowly return to a normal weight.

When she got back to her apartment, she opened the pet carrier.

Little White peeked its head out, curiously observing its surroundings. When it saw the person whose scent it recognized, it hesitantly took a step forward—

Then quickly shrank back in.

Yun Shuning had read up on relevant information and knew that kittens were very wary when entering a new environment. It was best to let them get familiar with it on their own. Forcing them into your arms to play would only scare them more.

She turned and walked into the kitchen, pouring the pet goat milk she had already bought into a special cat bowl.

She had just poured half when she felt something warm rubbing against her leg with force.

“Little White.” She squatted down helplessly and gently touched its still somewhat rough fur. “You really are a little foodie.”

“Meow~”

Even though she had heard Little White’s meow many times already, each time she still found it unbelievable.

Such a cute kitten, with such beautiful markings and a charming little body—why did its meow sound like a cracked gong? Hoarse, with a tinge of weariness.

Little White had no idea its meow had been disliked again. It rubbed hard against its current owner, wanting to leave its scent on her so all the other cats in the world would know—this person was taken.

Goat milk? Who cares about goat milk? She was more important.

Feeling the fluffy creature by her leg, Yun Shuning set the milk down before it could meow a second time.

“Meow~” Little White suddenly meowed louder, startling her enough to make her hand tremble slightly.

Seeing her reaction, Little White stared intently at her, afraid she might spill the milk by accident.

“Alright, here you go.” She placed the bowl at the designated feeding area and watched as Little White dashed to it without even glancing back.

When she was alone at home, she had no need to put up a facade, so in moments like this, she was closest to her true self.

She was just an ordinary girl—who liked wearing pretty clothes, eating delicious food, and sometimes felt down and just wanted to curl up in a corner.

Most importantly, she also felt lonely.

Every night after her livestreams, she would look around her empty apartment, sit alone on her bed, and feel like she was the only person left in the world.

But now, she had formed a bond in this world.

She would live well with Little White.

It seemed Little White sensed her sadness. It paused its drinking and, meowing hoarsely, walked over to her and rubbed against her leg forcefully, as if saying: Don’t be sad, I’ll always stay with you.

Yun Shuning looked at the milk stains on her pants, at a loss for words. Whatever sadness or nostalgia she had was thrown to the back of her mind.

She squatted down and gently poked its forehead with her index finger. “You have to be well, okay?”

“Eat well, sleep well, and… grow up well.”

Adopting a stray cat sounded simple.

Prepare some cat food, toys, and a litter box—and that was about it. It was supposed to be cheap, too.

Yun Shuning had mentally prepared for an adjustment period with Little White. But what she didn’t expect was that, while Little White seemed obedient on the outside, it had a wild soul inside.

Every time she turned off the lights, Little White would obediently stay in its cat bed in the living room, give her a meow, and then tuck its head in.

The first night she saw this, she was moved—and a little heartbroken.

She felt like Little White was tiptoeing around in the house, afraid that one wrong move would get it kicked out.

As she lay in bed, she even thought about giving it more treats the next day to make it feel more at ease. She didn’t want it to feel too restrained here.

Then at 2 a.m., she heard Little White parkouring outside.

Bang! — That was probably a box getting knocked over.

Shhh! — That was the sound of toilet paper being shredded.

Whoosh! — Truly a Chinese rural cat; so smart it figured out how to turn on the faucet by itself without being taught.

She opened her eyes in despair and walked out of the room—only to be met with a pair of glowing eyes in the darkness.

Expressionless, Yun Shuning said, “Little White, do you know what time it is?”

She walked over to the now-wet-headed cat, soaked from the faucet, took a deep breath to calm herself, and not scare it.

“Are you just bored?” She grabbed the mostly destroyed tissue box, pulled out a few tissues, and wiped the water from its head.

At 2 a.m., she single-handedly cleaned up the mess it had made in the living room, then forced herself to stay up and play with it using a teaser wand for over half an hour. Only after it got tired and closed its eyes did she finally put the wand down, return to her bedroom, and fall asleep instantly.

The next morning, during her livestream, a faint sense of helplessness lingered around her.

That day, she fully learned from her mistake. Whenever she had time during the day, she played with Little White using the teaser wand, and even bought some automatic cat toys online to help exhaust its energy.

These activities also left her no time to overthink.

But the strange thing was—Little White’s energy seemed limitless.

Even after what she thought was enough stimulation during the day, at 2 a.m. sharp, it started again—just like the previous night.

This time, it was even more extreme. As if calling out to her, it parkoured while loudly meowing.

In that moment, she suddenly understood the pain of her fans who suffered from insomnia.

In despair, she got out of bed—only to trip over her shoes, hitting her wrist hard on the bedside table. The pain brought tears to her eyes instantly.

After finally recovering, she walked into the living room and saw Little White gleefully bouncing around.

When Little White noticed her, its four short legs ran as fast as they could, and in just a few seconds, it was in front of her.

“Meow~” Sensing the traces of tears at the corners of her eyes, Little White immediately turned soft and affectionate, rubbing its head against her leg while its tail coiled around her.

In that instant, all the anger Yun Shuning had built up from being woken up vanished without a trace.

Pets really are the kind of existence that make you helpless, yet heal you in the most unexpected ways.

She reached out and vigorously rubbed its head, venting her frustration.

Little White didn’t realize it, and simply enjoyed the petting, lying down with its now slightly chubby belly exposed.

At that point, Yun Shuning had no temper left at all.

She lowered her head and rubbed its forehead, then obediently picked up the teaser wand.

Before Little White came along, though she had harmed her body to maintain her public persona, it was mostly just by starving herself or eating bad food.

No matter how she mistreated her body, she always got enough sleep—sometimes even too much.

But since Little White arrived, she had been woken up every night. She tried various methods—like locking Little White in a cage, but it would cry pitifully. And its cry was… awful. In the end, she always gave in and let it out.

She tried playing with it until it got tired. But once it was done playing, no matter how hard she waved the teaser wand, Little White would become monk-like—utterly indifferent, no desire at all.

In those three days, Little White had rapidly drained her energy. Thankfully, she was naturally beautiful, so her skin still looked fine and she didn’t get dark circles.

But anyone could see how exhausted she was.

During her livestreams, she had to force herself to stay upbeat and appear the same as usual.

After three days of this, she actually looked even worse than when she’d been deliberately ruining her health.

“Little White, I must’ve owed you a fortune in my past life.” She looked blankly at the lazy cat basking in the sunlight.

And it had only been three days. If this went on, could she really take it?

But during the day, Little White truly looked like an angel—sweet and obedient. No matter how you bullied it, it just gazed at you forgivingly.

As soon as you got close, it’d start purring non-stop, making it impossible to scold.

Yun Shuning looked at its swaying tail and mischievously went over and rubbed its fluffy body.

Little White tilted its head in confusion, its glassy eyes still a little dazed.

Feeling her movements, it flipped over, exposing its soft belly. Four pink paw pads appeared neatly before her—this was a sign of complete trust.

“You really got me beat.” Yun Shuning smiled at it tenderly. She didn’t even realize that over the past few days, she had spent less and less time thinking about the past or worrying about the future.

Little White was like a slightly side-effect-laced medicine—while physically exhausting, it gave her soul a place to rest.

“Alright, big sis can’t play with you today.” Yun Shuning stood up and glanced at the time. “You’ll have to stay home alone today. I’ve left food and water for you—don’t turn on the faucet again…”

She looked toward the kitchen. “Actually, I better go lock that door first.”

“Remember not to eat all the food at once. Don’t miss me too much…”

She rambled on to Little White like she was making up for all the things she hadn’t said.

In the end, she reluctantly glanced at it, then walked to the entryway and changed clothes.

Little White seemed to realize she was about to leave. It rushed over and lay on her shoes, blocking her way.

Yun Shuning sighed and picked it up. It immediately flopped back down like a puddle of water.

She raised an eyebrow and grabbed a few freeze-dried snacks from the treat cupboard, placing them in its bowl.

Sure enough, Little White ran over without a glance back, purring as it ate.

Truly a classic orange cat.

Before opening the door, she adjusted herself into an expressionless state, carrying that familiar loneliness and calm.

Sometimes, many things could be faked with acting—but “vitality” could only be convincingly shown when the body was truly worn out.

That’s why some method actors go through extreme experiences to get into character—like fasting before playing a starving person, so they can bring the right energy and hunger to the performance.

But that kind of experience is too damaging. Unless it’s an especially important role, few actors do it.

Right now, Yun Shuning carried that exact sense of depleted energy. And since she didn’t even try to control it, her whole presence seemed weak—not just physically, but mentally too.

For someone who normally got plenty of sleep, three sleepless nights had taken a heavy toll.

She had no idea just how much her current state would shock others.

Like now.

“Shu… Shuning.” Su Muqing, who hadn’t had a proper rest in days, finally carved out a bit of time. Using Little White as an excuse, he came to reconnect with her.

He felt that if he stayed away too long, she might even forget what he looked like.

But when he saw her like this, a strange emotion rose in his chest. His voice softened involuntarily. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

“No.” This time, Yun Shuning didn’t care whether he’d waited here deliberately or it was just a coincidence. She replied calmly.

“But you look…”

“Maybe I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

God knows that was the truth.

But sometimes, the truth is the hardest thing to believe.

Su Muqing looked at her, completely unconcerned about her own health, and the air around him grew heavy. He had so many words of advice and health tips he wanted to give her.

But thinking about how the two of them were now practically strangers, he swallowed all of it back.

“I came to see Xiaobai,” he said, forcing a smile back onto his face as he leaned forward to glance toward her door. “I’ve been so busy the past couple of days I haven’t had time to visit. Do you think it’s forgotten me?”

“Sorry, I have some personal matters today,” Yun Shuning replied, suddenly feeling thankful for this weekly commitment of hers—otherwise, being alone with Su Muqing in one room would’ve been too terrifying.

Only then did Su Muqing remember that today was the weekend. He’d been so caught up in his hectic schedule that he completely lost track of the days.

No wonder Yu Cheng had so “generously” decided to ease off his attacks on Qingyuan today.

“Then I won’t disturb you.” Su Muqing stepped aside, clearing the way. He knew that even if it rained knives from the sky today, it still wouldn’t stop her from going.

“Thank you.” Yun Shuning gave him a nod and walked past lightly.

Su Muqing watched her retreating figure, and in that instant, a flood of thoughts passed through his mind. In the end, a helpless smile curved at the corners of his lips.

For the first time, he doubted himself—could he really replace He Yan in Yun Shuning’s heart?

No… not replace. He just wanted to know what it would take for her to leave even a small corner of her heart for him. Just a corner would be enough.

Yun Shuning had no idea how deeply her demeanor had shaken Su Muqing. She followed her routine and arrived at He Yan’s villa.

After a brief greeting with Auntie Li, she slipped straight into He Yan’s bedroom.

Only Auntie Li was left at the door, looking at the half-closed door with worry. She hesitated for a long time, but eventually withdrew her hand from the doorknob.

Miss Yun always seemed to treasure her time in that bedroom so much. It was best not to disturb her.

…

The radio drama aired twice a week, and at 9 a.m. this morning, the Meng’er Listening App released the newest episode of Dawn Song of Qiming on schedule.

Since it was the weekend, most fans were home. As soon as they saw the update, they immediately clicked in.

Today’s episode finally returned to the crumbling Qi dynasty.

This episode featured the Saintess meeting the emperor to reveal the prophecy, followed by her farewell to Yan Qingzhi atop the city wall.

As loyal readers of the original novel, they already knew what would be covered today.

To be honest, though this part of the story was tragic, it was also one of the most beautiful scenes in the original—a sadness cloaked in beauty.

The author had spent pages painting the scenery of the time, portraying the grandeur and sorrow of the army.

There wasn’t much inner monologue for the Saintess or Yan Qingzhi. In the novel, they never even spoke. The Saintess stood on the city wall, watching the spirited and charismatic young general and softly uttered that line on her own.

So when fans listened to the episode with no mental preparation, they felt utterly devastated.

Saintess fans had analyzed that moment countless times—her expression, how her voice should sound, everything.

But sometimes, a thousand words still couldn’t match a single spoken sentence.

When they heard her say “I’ll wait for you to come back,” they couldn’t hold back the tears.

At that moment, she was watching the one she loved walk into death—and she could say nothing, do nothing.

She could foresee all that was to come, yet could not change even a sliver of fate. All she could do was quietly watch him leave, one step at a time, already knowing the ending in her heart.

The Saintess was human too. She could feel pain, she could be hurt, and she could… love.

But because she was the Saintess, she had to bury all those feelings deep within herself.

And in the comment section, countless people broke down over her.

“Wuwuwuwu, my Saintess…”

“How could I forget? In the beginning, when she was still Qiling, she smiled so brightly, so gently… and loved him so deeply.”

“I can’t take it anymore. I’ve already used up all the tissues in the house, but the tears still won’t stop flowing.”

“Help! My kid is crying so hard they can’t catch their breath. My poor Saintess…”

“Just thinking about how she died together with that rotten dynasty makes it even worse. Damn it—Qi dynasty didn’t deserve her!”

“This voice actress is insane. How can she portray the role so perfectly? When she said that line, all I could think was—this is exactly who the Saintess was.”

“She hid everything under that calm face, but she was still her—always.”

The marketing team for Dawn Song of Qiming saw that the audience reaction matched their expectations and quickly pushed the pre-arranged trending tag.

“Saintess: I’ll wait for you to come back.”

Fans who had just finished listening and were desperate to share their feelings instantly jumped into the conversation:

“You have to listen to this audio clip—it’s incredible!”

“Don’t miss it! Come and experience the Saintess and the General’s tragic love!”

“Trust me, the best decision I made today was clicking on that trending tag and listening to this.”

“If there’s a kind of love that can’t be spoken, that shouldn’t even exist… does it really vanish? Or does it only grow deeper with time?”

“Finished listening and now I’m tearing the house apart looking for tissues—wuwuwuwu, my Saintess.”

Amid all the commentary about the Saintess and speculation on what she was thinking, some began talking about the voice actress, Shu Yan.

“Oh my god, she’s a monster. Before this, I never imagined the Saintess could be like this.”

“She’s got to be a strong contender for the Voice Actor of the Year award.”

“Never heard of her before—is she some kind of genius newcomer?”

“Do you really think it’s all acting technique? I don’t know why, but when I heard her say that line, I felt like the emotion… was real.”

“Finally someone else who thinks like me. I didn’t hear much technique in her voice—more like she was speaking from true emotion. Unreplicable.”

“She probably just really got into the role. There’s no way such deep love could really exist these days.”

“But I’m a professional voice actor myself, and I can tell Shu Yan didn’t rely much on technique from the beginning. It’s like she magnified the part of herself that resonates with the Saintess.”

“Can a rookie really convey so much feeling in just one line?”

In He Chen’s company, Assistant Wang sneakily listened to the clip during a break.

By the end, his eyes were moist. But being a man, and not as emotionally sensitive, he managed to quickly compose himself.

As a fan of Yun Shuning, he knew she had voiced the Saintess. That knowledge made it hit even harder.

As he scrolled through the comments speculating why Shu Yan’s performance was so moving, he couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears welled up in his eyes.

Because she had truly loved someone deeply—and she would never get to wait for him again.

At that moment, even as a man, he suddenly wanted to cry for this woman who wasn’t allowed to cry.

Miss Yun… her life was just too difficult. Why did it have to be so hard?

“Assistant Wang?” A knock at the door came with someone calling him.

He quickly wiped his eyes and put on his glasses to cover the redness.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, lowering his head to pretend to organize documents.

“Oh, this is the budget from the finance department. It needs President He’s signature.”

“Just leave it here. I’ll take it to him in a bit,” he said without looking up.

“Okay.”

Once the door closed, he finally looked up and took a deep breath, calming his emotions.

Then he picked up the documents meant for He Chen and went to his office.

“President He, here are the files that need your signature,” Assistant Wang said in an official tone after regaining his composure.

Hearing his voice, He Chen looked up, a trace of concern in his eyes. “Did something happen?”

He was a good boss—reasonable, open to feedback, even willing to work overtime with employees on weekends like today.

Most importantly, he cared about their emotions and offered comfort when needed.

“It’s nothing,” Assistant Wang replied, though his eyes were once again tinged red with emotion.

He knew He Chen had been trying to avoid any mention of Miss Yun lately, so he didn’t say what was truly on his mind.

“I thought that aside from being colleagues, we were also friends,” He Chen said, looking at him with sincere eyes.

He never held back his kindness. If one extra question could make a difference, why not ask?

“It’s Miss Yun Shuning.”

“What happened to her?” He Chen blurted out. There was a hint of urgency in his tone that Assistant Wang noticed immediately.

After noticing his attention toward Yun Shuning had become excessive, he forced himself to mention and think about her less and less.

If he had any spare time, he would spend it with Lin Wan. When he was with her, he rarely thought of Yun Shuning.

Eventually, it became a habit, and he would only occasionally recall that name.

“Miss Yun should be doing fine,” Assistant Wang glanced at him and finally spoke in a low voice. “I’ll send you the audio clip of Miss Yun’s voice acting in a bit.”

“Mm.” He nodded calmly, his voice returning to its usual steadiness.

Once he finished dealing with his work, he stared at the link Assistant Wang had sent him on his phone. After a brief moment of silence, he put the phone down.

He shouldn’t be this concerned about his uncle’s girlfriend.

But after a while, he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and tapped the play button.

He was just listening—surely that didn’t count for much.

Time seemed to pass quickly, yet it also felt extraordinarily long. After finishing the audio, He Chen suddenly found himself unsure of what day it was or what time it was.

Had she always been in this much pain and despair?

Putting on a brave front just to reassure those around her, pretending that everything was fine, while in private, her heart was already full of wounds—so damaged that it might shatter with a single touch.

Today was the weekend—the day she… went to the villa.

Realizing this, he suddenly stood up, grabbed his coat, and gave an instruction to the secretary’s office: “I have something to do this afternoon. Postpone all my engagements to tomorrow.”

By the time he regained his senses, he was already standing at the entrance of He Yan’s villa.

He knew perfectly well that he shouldn’t have come. But he came anyway.

“Young Master He, what brings you here?” Li Shuhua greeted him with a look of surprise. “Would you like me to prepare lunch for you?”

“Where is she?” He Chen looked at her and asked seriously.

“Who? Miss Yun?” Li Shuhua replied somewhat confused, “She’s still in…”

Before she could finish her sentence, He Chen was already turning toward the bedroom and walking straight over.

The only reason he came today was to confirm that she was safe and healthy.

Yes—that was all.

He looked at the slightly ajar door. Instead of knocking, he pushed it open.

The door opened silently. The curtains in the room were tightly drawn, leaving the room in complete darkness.

The person sitting inside didn’t seem to hear anything. She just sat there motionless.

He Chen stared at her sitting on the edge of the bed. In that moment, he felt like she wasn’t even human anymore, but rather a puppet—hollow inside, even the sorrow she always carried now faded and dim.

She sat there as if she had already become one with the darkness, ready at any moment to embrace death.