Chapter 4

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Tu Qin realized that although she and this enemy of the Liu family were strangers, their tacit understanding was shockingly good.

With a casual “What a coincidence,” from Tu Qin and a “What’s up?” from Xie Zhailing, they quickly slipped into the act of pretending to be acquaintances. Tu Qin got out of the car and briefly recounted the situation.

It truly was a brief summary. Tu Qin looked at Xie Zhailing and said, “The driver tried to extort me, so I figured I’d just report it to the police.”

The driver stood nearby, mouth opening and closing but saying nothing.

He was timid to begin with. The whole mess today was because he thought Tu Qin, a young girl taking a taxi alone with a non-local accent, might be scared enough to pay more if he intimidated her.

Who knew it wouldn’t go smoothly from the start? In the end, he mistakenly ran a red light and wasn’t even sure if points would be deducted.

To add insult to injury, the woman locked him out of the car and called the police herself, curling up inside. If it weren’t his car, he might have smashed the window and dragged her out for a good beating.

He was frustrated, thinking it would have been better to just complete the business quietly—it was a big order after all. Instead, the woman brought backup.

And not just any backup—two people who looked tough: a green-haired thug and a gang leader dressed in black.

The man in black looked so cold and grim that the driver felt he might have killed someone before.

So, he could only stand there helplessly, realizing he was truly doomed today, and started calling contacts to figure out how to handle the aftermath.

The other three didn’t pay any more attention to the driver.

They weren’t worried he would run off; the ride-sharing platform had all his information, so he could be tracked down if he fled.

After two seconds of silence between the two pretending to be familiar, Tu Qin naturally asked, “The police will take about ten more minutes to arrive. Are you in a hurry? If so, I can wait up ahead at the highway toll booth where there are staff—it’s pretty safe.”

Xie Zhailing glanced at Tu Qin.

“Fine,” he replied decisively. “I’ll take you to the toll booth and let the staff know.”

That was the best way to handle it.

Today felt oddly unlucky. Jin Kui’s words, “She’s pretty,” kept looping in his mind. Seeing Tu Qin, he even wanted to call her “pretty.”

She really was—her appearance was clean and pleasant.

Jin Kui found it strange that he thought she was pretty because he usually preferred heavily beautified influencer faces.

Moreover, she was brave, smart, and calm.

If they hadn’t shown up today, she definitely would have handled the situation well herself.

That was even more valuable than just being pretty.

Liu Lingxu had been sick for years; having friends like this was all the more precious.

“How do you know Liu Lingxu?” Xie Zhailing asked as they neared the toll booth.

“Hm?” Tu Qin was caught off guard by the sudden question and gave a standard answer: “We went to the same high school. I was a student representative.”

“...Ah?” Jin Kui, standing beside them, was baffled by such a model answer, his mouth hanging open.

Tu Qin didn’t elaborate, and Xie Zhailing didn’t ask further.

They were strangers who probably wouldn’t meet again. When they parted, they didn’t exchange contact information or even ask each other’s names.

Even Jin Kui, who made a fuss over small things, focused only on the fact that this ride-sharing driver deserved a good beating to behave, not on making friends.

After all, they looked too different.

There was no sign their lives would intersect again.

This was just a moment of friendly mutual help in a foreign land. She gave him half a pack of wet wipes, and he helped simply because he happened to remember the license plate—both likely didn’t truly need the help.

But lending a helping hand in times of need always lifted the spirits.

***

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Similarly joyful was Tu Qin’s recent work.

She always felt lucky with her job. Over three years, she had worked with four or five production teams. Though these were web dramas, none had the notorious horrible reputations circulating online. The chief scriptwriter, Zhang Qin, was generous with her knowledge, and the directors had decent aesthetic standards, never demanding strange rewrites.

Her current production only lasted two months. The original script was solid, and although some actors had scheduling conflicts, they were generally cooperative. Her work progressed almost daily as planned, and Zhang Qin often praised her in meetings.

Though there were overtime hours, irregular meals, last-minute schedule changes forcing overnight script editing, and early mornings spent apologizing to senior actors for scene cuts, these were all part of the daily grind.

Overall, everything was near perfect.

Furthermore, her online novels maintained a steady readership and consistent updates, bringing in decent income that offset her low rookie screenwriter salary.

So, she owned a small apartment in Mo City—thirty-year mortgage, two bedrooms and a living room with a small terrace. Though it was a second-hand unit outside the city center, she had designed every storage space herself, measuring each repeatedly.

It wasn’t spotless but filled with soft cushions and custom fittings—her cozy nest.

She also had her own new energy vehicle, costing over a hundred thousand yuan, freshly painted mint green. She didn’t plan to carry passengers in the back, which she outfitted with soft storage and resting accessories. The seat covers were embroidered with many small bottle motifs—custom-made, her second cozy space.

These were things she had painstakingly earned through hard work, bringing her joy and a sense of belonging.

Beyond work and her little nest, she had few sources of happiness.

A father she’d known all her life but barely communicated with, awkward whenever they met; relatives on her mother’s side who refused to lend money twenty years ago when her mother died but now suddenly appeared asking to stay in Mo City;

And her classmate Yao Lingling, who had been her best friend for over a decade because as a young girl she’d been attracted to her beauty.

Both had somewhat colorful love lives—Tu Qin broke up quickly, while Yao Lingling’s precise “jerk magnet” rule meant her boyfriends always revealed their true rotten nature unexpectedly.

This wasn’t the first time. At two in the morning, Tu Qin got a call from the hospital: Yao Lingling was in the emergency room. Her boyfriend refused to break up, so she jumped down three flights of stairs, spraining her ankle with a slight bone fracture after X-rays. Her phone was broken, and the boyfriend was still lingering, insisting it was just a lovers’ quarrel, refusing to leave even when the police arrived.

Yao Lingling had no choice but to have the hospital call Tu Qin.

Tu Qin, who had gotten up at five to apologize to a senior actor for script cuts and only gone to bed at 1 a.m., threw on pajamas, a thin padded jacket, and a knit cap, and ran over, yawning all the way.

The emergency room was unusually lively at dawn. There were several wailing patients in the corridor, and inside two groups had gathered—two overwhelmed police officers and doctors on one side.

On the other side, noisy people, children crying, adults cursing, and even a TV reporter with a camera.

“There!” Yao Lingling raised her hand among the group by the door, spotting Tu Qin looking around in confusion.

Tu Qin hastily slipped on some sneakers with slippery soles and nearly fell, catching herself on a nearby bed, causing a stir as everyone turned to look.

“My guardian is here; he can leave now,” Yao Lingling told the police as Tu Qin approached.

The call had only mentioned a slight fracture in the left foot, but jumping down the stairs left Yao Lingling looking disheveled—her chin deeply scratched, hair messy, makeup smeared, evidence of crying, and swollen eyes.

“What kind of guardian is that? She’s the same age as Lingling—what could a little girl know?” a man nearby said, clearly unwilling to leave.

Tu Qin glanced at him.

Yao Lingling’s boyfriend had only been in the picture for a month. He was from out of town, and they’d only had one meal together when confirming their relationship. He was good-looking, as they were both appearance-conscious.

But no matter how handsome, when someone reveals their negative side, they become repulsive, like a snarling jackal in the animal kingdom.

“I am her guardian,” Tu Qin said calmly without dodging his gaze. “It’s notarized.”

“And you two have already broken up,” she continued. “Please leave now.”

She was short, wearing the thin pink padded jacket hastily grabbed from her bed, slightly worn, with a white knit cap topped by a pink pompom. Her bare face showed tiredness, making her look like a harmless little girl.

But her clear eyes met his steadily, her voice low but every word clear, calm, and precise.

Neither submissive nor arrogant.

The police quickly removed the ex-boyfriend, who had no reason to stay, recorded the incident details, had Yao Lingling sign a form, and then left.

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The doctor informed them of two more tests pending results. Yao Lingling had hit her head when she jumped and needed further observation for a few hours. The hospital had wheelchairs available for rent if needed, instructing them to approach the nurses’ station. Then they left.

Most onlookers scattered immediately.

Tu Qin sighed and crouched down to meet Yao Lingling’s gaze.

Yao Lingling blinked through swollen eyes and asked, “Don’t you have to be at the set by six tomorrow?”

“Yes, so lend me your shoulder—I’m going to nap a bit.” Tu Qin sat down beside her, took off her knit cap, stuffed it in her coat pocket, and leaned against Yao Lingling with her eyes closed.

“Why this time?” Yao Qin yawned, though closing her eyes didn’t bring sleep.

“He hits women. His sister and mother have both been beaten by him,” Yao Lingling said, still nasal and indignant. “I’m almost collecting all the jerks in the world. Is there no normal person left?”

“Nope,” Tu Qin smiled with her eyes closed. “Look at me—I’m not exactly normal either.”

Yao Lingling patted Tu Qin’s head and scoffed. “What nonsense. But that jacket you’re wearing—you bought it freshman year, didn’t you? What’s with your taste? No clothes at home?”

“It’s comfortable. The cotton inside is old and has been washed with scented beads, so it smells nice...” Tu Qin patted her beloved jacket.

Yao Lingling laughed, then sighed. “I don’t want to date anymore.”

Tu Qin opened one eye to glance at her.

“If I do, it has to be someone so handsome he makes me weak in the knees.” Yao Lingling quickly amended.

Tu Qin snorted and patted her head.

Life was dull, men were all jerks, so why not find a handsome one? That was Yao Lingling’s dating philosophy.

Tu Qin agreed.

As long as you’re capable of dating and breaking up, that’s fine.

Better than someone like her who couldn’t even date normally. If anyone showed interest in her life, she immediately felt uncomfortable and wanted to run away.

A nurse came over to tend to Yao Lingling’s chin wound. Tu Qin stood up, bored, and looked around.

The other group still remained, and the TV reporter was still there, the noise loud despite repeated requests from police and doctors for quiet.

“What’s going on over there?” Tu Qin asked, gesturing with her chin.

“No idea, it was already crowded when I got here,” Yao Lingling said, curious.

“A fire,” the nurse said as she secured Yao Lingling’s chin. “Apparently a pottery studio exploded. The TV station sent reporters.”

Tu Qin glanced over.

Then she saw him—the enemy of the Liu family she had met at Liu Lingxu’s funeral more than a month ago.

He was still wearing a gray shirt with a standing collar and a dark gray coat, looking somewhat disheveled, leaning against the wall with an expressionless face, watching the crowd.

Tu Qin looked at him.

He happened to look back.

His face still bore a sickly flush, his jet-black eyes unreadable.

One...

Tu Qin’s mind stuttered.

That pale, feverish complexion... the enemy of the Liu family.