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When Qin Shi tried to follow, Fox merely smiled and chased after Li Huan‑huan.
Left behind, Qin Shi clenched his fists; Hu Xun and Zhou Jian‑yu could only look on.
At the hotel entrance Fox caught up.
Fox: “Jie‑jie, you’re crying—because of Qin Shi?”
Huan‑huan: “Sand in my eye… please, let me be by myself.”
Seeing her tears, Fox finally stepped back but sighed:
“If thinking of Qin Shi makes you cry, I feel worse…”
He flagged a taxi and watched it go.
In the cab she berated herself:
A lazy shut‑in stuffed into a cheongsam, pretending to fit in the champions’ world—how ridiculous!
The driver said everyone does stupid things; think of life and death instead.
Remembering her mother’s narrow escape, she decided nothing else mattered.
Back home she became an ostrich—blocking Qin Shi and everyone connected with him, ordering two weeks of groceries, paying a “feed‑my‑cat & take‑out‑trash” service so she never opened the door.
Once the courier ran into Qin Shi at the electronic lock, but her ruse held.
She even asked cousin Peppers to return the jade necklace. Only then did she learn it was genuine, bought at auction for eight figures. That made her feel even less worthy, and the shell drew tighter.
A call from the laundry reminded her that Fox’s white blazer—soaked when he rescued her—was still waiting. She texted him, got an immediate reply (“This afternoon is fine, jie‑jie ~”) and, for the first time in half a month, stepped outside.
Hallway empty—no Qin Shi, no Husky. Mask up, blazer in hand, she headed to the amusement park.
Fox arrived first, chatting with two teenage girls. Waiting at a distance Huan‑huan heard:
“Fox, you don’t remember us? Sister Zhang told us to do it—push that woman into the pool so she’d embarrass Qin Shi. Now Star found out and wants to punish us!”
They had shoved her, on Fox’s orders.
The bottles in her hand crumpled.
Fox brushed the girls off; when he turned he found Huan‑huan standing there.
Huan‑huan (trembling): “It was you?”
Fox tried to explain; seeing her tears he finally blurted:
“I couldn’t stand you with Qin Shi! Why can’t it be me?”
She realised—with a shock—that the bright “Little Sun” of her childhood and today’s Fox were one and the same. Yet the reunion was nothing like the warm scene he had imagined. Leaving his jacket with her, he walked away, wounded.
That night she reopened the long‑silent “Lord Cat” live‑stream.
The mysterious top donor “No‑Hot‑Pot‑Just‑BBQ” instantly dropped yachts, yet the barrage felt… sad. Sensing the benefactor’s mood, she streamed ten more minutes of Cat playing.
Across the hall, in 150‑A, Qin Shi—logged in as “No‑Hot‑Pot‑Just‑BBQ”—watched silently while his Husky lay at his feet. He hadn’t chased her again; perhaps both of them needed time to think about what they truly wanted.