Chapter 11
Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW
Chapter 11: Inside
Jiang Liuyi knew that Song Xian was shy and uncomfortable with public displays of affection, but she hadn’t realized just how reserved she was—not even willing to hold hands.
And truth be told, she wasn’t sure why she had so naturally reached for Song Xian’s hand in the first place.
After they got home, Song Xian went to edit photos while Jiang Liuyi headed into the music room to practice. The room was soundproof—completely silent from the outside. On Song Xian’s screen was the current cover model for their magazine’s upcoming issue, halfway through the retouching process, when a notification from a WeChat group popped up in the bottom corner of her laptop. She clicked it open without much thought and found the chat buzzing with activity.
[He Xiaoying, are you serious? It’s that Jiang Liuyi—the pianist? Not someone with the same name?]
[No way!! He Xiaoying, you’re incredible! How did you even get her?]
He Xiaoying, usually more low-key, responded with a smug waving emoji: [Keep it low, everyone. Not a word to anyone, okay? If Meixiu catches wind of this…]
[Got it, got it! You’re the boss! This time we’re totally going to crush Meixiu, right?]
Editor-in-chief Yuan Hong chimed in: [The interview hasn’t started yet. Everything’s still up in the air. I just spoke with senior management—we’ve decided to make this a confidential feature. Until the issue is published, no one is to leak even a hint of this.]
They were mostly worried that Meixiu might try to sabotage the feature. Over the past few years, Meixiu had gone to war with them over models—pulling every trick in the book, from outbidding to outright dirty tactics. To play it safe, they’d decided not to make anything public for now.
Everyone in the group agreed without protest. Seeing that it didn’t concern her directly, Song Xian exited the chat.
As she closed the app, her eyes happened to flick across the two pinned conversations at the top of her list. The second one was Bai Ye. Their last exchange was from three years ago.
Her message: [Professor, I’m sorry.]
Bai Ye’s reply: [Song Xian, come back when you’re ready.]
Her gaze dimmed. She closed WeChat and found she no longer felt like editing.
The living room was still—so still she could hear the rhythm of her own heartbeat. Song Xian set aside the laptop and returned to the bedroom, thinking she might take a nap. But the sparrows outside were chirping nonstop. She lifted the light blanket and got up, settling by the window seat. A small flock of sparrows shot across the sky with a fluttering burst.
The pencil lay in the drawer of the nightstand. Blank sketch paper waited beside it. Song Xian stared down for several seconds before finally picking up the pencil.
When Jiang Liuyi stepped out of the music room and didn’t see Song Xian in the living room, she noticed the laptop was closed—clearly, she wasn’t working anymore. Slipping into her slippers, she walked to the bedroom door and, from a distance, caught sight of Song Xian bent over, sketching quietly.
Her posture as she drew was completely relaxed. Curled up by the window, both legs tucked beneath her, the sketchpad balanced on her knees. The pencil tip moved lightly across the page, the faint rustle of graphite audible in the stillness. The whole scene radiated a quiet, effortless beauty.
It wasn’t Jiang Liuyi’s first time watching someone draw.
She used to keep Yu Bai company while she painted. Yu Bai loved it—never started without first arranging everything meticulously. She called it approaching the canvas with reverence, with the right state of mind.
Jiang Liuyi would watch as she fussed over every detail, then finally settled in before the easel—spine straight, expression serious—and began to draw with practiced precision.
It was nothing like Song Xian.
She froze.
The person she’d once mistaken her for was now right there, doing the same thing, in the same pose… and yet she could tell the difference at a glance.
Jiang Liuyi had been about to step into the room. She stopped. After a long pause, she slowly backed away and left, returning to the music room—only to find herself unable to settle.
The sheet music lay open on the stand. She sat down and placed her fingers on the keys, letting them move without thought. The resulting notes floated through the room in a scattered, discordant drift. Far from pleasant.
When the piece ended, she lowered the piano lid and closed the score. Her phone, resting on the side table, suddenly lit up again—its sharp, insistent ringing breaking the stillness like a warning. As if the caller’s patience had reached its limit.
Just as the final ring began to fade, she picked up.
Her mother’s voice came through at once: “So you’ve finally decided to answer?”
Jiang Liuyi hesitated, then said, “Mom.”
Her mother let out a sharp laugh. “Mom? So you do remember you have a mother? What, were you planning to never come home again?”
Jiang Liuyi replied, “That’s not it.”
Her mother took a deep breath, tempering her tone before continuing. “It’s not? Then how long has it been since you last came home?”
Jiang Liuyi thought for a moment. It seemed that ever since marrying Song Xian, she hadn’t returned once—because her parents hadn’t approved of the marriage.
She and Song Xian had gone straight to register without informing anyone. It wasn’t until afterward that she told her family—and their reaction had been far more explosive than she’d anticipated.
“I’ll come home when I have time,” she said.
Her mother asked, “You’re not free right now? What are you so busy with? Qiushui told me your tour just ended and you’re supposed to be resting.”
Jiang Liuyi held her breath. “I’m busy.”
“Busy with what?” her mother snapped. “What exactly could you be so busy with? Besides playing that damn piano day in and day out, what else do you even do?”
Jiang Liuyi pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to respond—because if she did, it would only end in another argument.
From a very young age, she’d been forbidden from touching anything related to music—let alone playing the piano. She once visited Zhao Yuebai’s house and saw her older sister practicing. She’d been instantly captivated—and that was it. She fell in love with it. After that, she began practicing in secret, spending all her pocket money on piano lessons.
Her parents were busy running their business and didn’t have time to keep tabs on her. By the time they realized she’d grown attached to playing, she was already representing her school in competitions.
From then on, the arguments at home never stopped. Once, before an important school competition, she had secretly rented a place to practice. Her father, drunk and furious, somehow found her—stick in hand—and went at her with the intent to ruin her hands.
It was Yu Bai who threw herself over her and took the blow. That was the only reason Jiang Liuyi was able to finish the competition.
Afterward, she was kicked out of the Jiang household…
She came back to herself, hearing her mother’s voice growing increasingly shrill on the other end of the call. She was yelling now, voice edged with hysteria: “Fine, you’ve made something of yourself with the piano. We won’t force you to change careers anymore. But this marriage—it was reckless!”
It had been a bit impulsive. Jiang Liuyi didn’t argue, which in itself was an admission.
Her mother pressed on. “You haven’t even held a wedding yet. You can still turn back!”
A headache bloomed behind Jiang Liuyi’s eyes. She sat back in her chair and said to the woman on the other end, “Mom, I’m doing well. My marriage is going well, too. As for the wedding, Song Xian and I have already discussed it. We’ll hold it in a little while.”
“You still refuse to admit your mistake?” her mother snapped, voice rising with fury. “What are you trying to do—spite your father and me? Just picked someone at random to marry, is that it?”
Jiang Liuyi fought to keep her temper in check. “I didn’t.”
Her mother pressed, “Didn’t? Then what? You like that woman?”
Jiang Liuyi opened her mouth, but no words came. Her silence only fueled her mother’s outrage, the accusations growing louder, sharper. She finally set the phone aside, letting the tirade run its course.
She was used to it by now.
She had no idea how much time passed before her mother finally fell silent. Only when she could no longer hear anything on the other end did she hang up.
By the time she stepped out of the music room, dusk had fallen. She walked to the bedroom door and saw Song Xian still in the same position as that afternoon—curled up by the window, her legs tucked just as before. She hadn’t moved at all.
And suddenly, the question her mother had thrown at her echoed in her mind:
Then what? You like that woman?
Did she like Song Xian?
Jiang Liuyi wasn’t sure. She didn’t dislike Song Xian—quite the opposite. She genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. These past two months had been some of the happiest days she’d had in years—light, easy, comfortable.
Song Xian cared for her so deeply. Maybe… maybe she should try to return that affection.
Clearing her mind, Jiang Liuyi walked softly into the room and stood behind her, watching as she sketched.
She’d thought Song Xian was drawing the view outside the window—but to her surprise, it was the river from that afternoon. A stretch of water, a winding path of stones along the bank, willows draping gently overhead, and a few scattered figures walking in the distance. Off to the side were rows of restaurants, each with its own signage and banners.
Jiang Liuyi couldn’t believe it. In just one afternoon, Song Xian had memorized every detail and rendered it on paper with such clarity—it looked almost like a photograph.
The only difference was the color. A photo would be in full color; this was black and white.
And enlarged.
As Song Xian finished the final strokes, Jiang Liuyi suddenly reached out. “Is this me?”
A slender hand appeared in front of Song Xian’s eyes—long, elegant fingers poised midair. She glanced sideways at it, a faint light glinting in her eyes.
“What are you drawing this time?”
A pause.
“Hmm? Is that me?”
Memory and reality overlapped for a moment, and Song Xian fell into a brief daze. Then, all of a sudden, she reached out and gripped Jiang Liuyi’s wrist—tightly, as if afraid she might slip away the moment she spoke. Jiang Liuyi winced from the pressure. “Song Xian?”
Song Xian turned her head and found Jiang Liuyi right there, inches away. The light in her eyes dimmed instantly. She gave a small nod and let go of her hand.
Jiang Liuyi asked, “What made you want to draw that?”
Song Xian answered evenly, “Had nothing to do, just sketching whatever.”
As soon as she spoke, she crumpled the drawing into a ball. Jiang Liuyi frowned. “You’re just throwing it out?”
“It’s not any good,” Song Xian said.
Not good? Jiang Liuyi knew enough about art to recognize skill when she saw it. That piece couldn’t have been drawn without solid foundation—it had captured every detail with uncanny precision. She reached over and took the crumpled sketch. “If you don’t want it, can I have it?”
Song Xian looked at her for a few seconds. “Up to you.”
Jiang Liuyi carefully smoothed it out and set it aside. Just then, she heard a soft hiss. Turning back, she saw that Song Xian had already drawn the curtains. Half her figure was now bathed in shadow.
“What is it?” Jiang Liuyi asked.
Song Xian’s voice was quieter than usual. “I’ve been sitting too long—my legs are sore. Will you carry me to bed?”
She had been sitting there all afternoon—Jiang Liuyi had seen it herself. Not once had she changed position since she first stepped out of the music room. No wonder her legs hurt.
Jiang Liuyi walked over and bent down to lift her up. Song Xian’s frame was slender but well-proportioned, her long legs resting neatly in the crook of Jiang Liuyi’s arms. She carried her over to the bed. As soon as she set her down, Song Xian murmured, “Still hurts. Could you massage them a bit?”
She so rarely acted this way—soft, a little coy. Jiang Liuyi noticed it instantly. The Song Xian in this room felt different from the one she saw every day. But she didn’t dwell on it. She simply asked, “Where does it hurt?”
“My legs,” Song Xian replied.
Jiang Liuyi placed her hand on her calf. Song Xian had changed into looser clothes after getting home. When she tugged the pant leg higher, her hand brushed bare skin—soft and smooth. Jiang Liuyi’s face, half-hidden in the shadowed room, gradually began to flush. Her breathing, too, grew unsteady.
“A little higher,” Song Xian said.
Jiang Liuyi moved to her knee.
“Higher,” Song Xian whispered again, dissatisfied.
Her hand slid past the knee, onto her thigh, then higher still…
