Chapter 12
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Chapter 12: Wife
They spent the weekend—two full days—entirely at home, wrapped in blissful abandon. Since their marriage, Jiang Liuyi hadn’t spent much time at home. Between preparing for tours, working late at the company, or flying in and out of cities, she was rarely around. This was the first time she’d stayed in for an entire weekend. During those two days, calls came in from friends—each one promptly declined.
When Lin Qiushui called on Monday morning, Jiang Liuyi was in the middle of getting dressed.
“You coming to the office?” Lin Qiushui asked.
Usually, Jiang Liuyi would rest before heading in. The company had a private rehearsal room, and she used it often. But lately, she hadn’t felt like going.
“Not today,” Jiang Liuyi replied casually. “I’ve got an interview in a bit.”
The sound of Lin Qiushui’s pen spinning slowed. “What interview?”
“It’s a feature piece,” Jiang Liuyi said. “I’ll fill you in after it’s done.”
Left with no choice, Lin Qiushui agreed.
Jiang Liuyi rarely took the initiative when it came to scheduling. She typically followed whatever the company arranged. But Lin Qiushui knew her—aside from music, nothing else held her interest. Especially not interviews. The last time she did one, it had stirred up quite a scandal and left a lasting mark. Ever since then, she’d turned down every offer, even when Yu Bai’s sister, Yu Cai, extended a personal invitation.
Yu Bai had even called her about it once, asking if Jiang Liuyi was still upset with her—was that why she’d refused her sister’s interview request?
To be honest, Lin Qiushui didn’t know either. But she wasn’t about to take any risks. When it came to choosing between Jiang Liuyi and Yu Cai, she knew exactly where her loyalties lay.
Still, now that Jiang Liuyi had agreed to do a feature, it was safe to assume that whatever lingering grudge she’d once held had started to fade.
That was a good thing.
After hanging up the phone, Jiang Liuyi stepped out of the bedroom and found Song Xian warming bread in the kitchen. Two glasses of milk were already steeping on the table. She walked over, catching the sweet scent of milk just as Song Xian brought over two plates—each with a few slices of freshly toasted bread, soft and fragrant with just a hint of sweetness.
After watching her for a few seconds, Jiang Liuyi suddenly asked, “Want a fried egg?”
Song Xian sat down and rolled the bread in her fingers, her voice low and slightly husky. “Either way.”
Jiang Liuyi turned toward the kitchen and opened the fridge. Neither of them cooked, so the shelves were mostly stocked with bottled water and drinks. On the bottom shelf were a few packs of noodles and half a drawer of eggs—probably from the day they got married. They hadn’t been touched since.
Song Xian bit into her bread and tilted her head slightly. Jiang Liuyi was dressed casually at home—light blue loungewear, short sleeves, no apron. Sunlight streamed through the windows, landing across her profile and arms. Her arms were slender but toned. Jiang Liuyi always recovered faster than she did. Sometimes, Song Xian would wake up with a sore wrist, while Jiang Liuyi seemed perfectly fine. Then again, it probably had something to do with the positions Jiang Liuyi favored—she wasn’t particularly fond of using her hands.
Lowering her gaze, Song Xian let her eyes settle on Jiang Liuyi’s slim waist. It was delicate and graceful, giving no hint of the wildness she displayed in bed.
Stamina like that. And a pretty solid waist, too.
She watched as Jiang Liuyi plated a fried egg, then turned to grab another. When she reached up, her loungewear rode up slightly, revealing a pale, smooth lower back. The curve was striking, her muscles taut and defined. It was just a simple motion—retrieving a plate—but somehow, she made it look like a dance. Graceful. Beautiful.
Some qualities were nearly impossible to replicate or outshine. Especially that innate elegance shaped by years immersed in the arts. It set her apart from ordinary people.
Song Xian allowed herself a few more seconds of quiet admiration.
Then Jiang Liuyi turned around—right into her gaze. The intensity in Song Xian’s eyes caught her off guard. Her heartbeat skipped, and the plate in her hand nearly slipped onto the counter.
It was Song Xian who finally spoke, her voice calm as ever. “Is it ready?”
She glanced at her watch—nearly time for work.
Jiang Liuyi brought over two plates and set one in front of her. “Want to try?”
Song Xian took a bite. It seemed the heat had been too high; the surface was slightly charred, with a dark ring around the edge. Jiang Liuyi asked, “How is it?”
It had been a long time since she’d cooked, but she had confidence in her fried eggs—probably the one dish she could actually make well. She fully expected Song Xian to be pleased, to look up and tell her it was great.
Instead, Song Xian met her gaze and said blandly, “It’s alright.”
The polite remark Jiang Liuyi had been about to offer—something along the lines of it’s not my best, but at least edible—died right in her throat.
After finishing the egg, Song Xian stood up and asked, “Want me to pick you up later?”
Jiang Liuyi thought for a moment. “I’ll drive myself.”
“Don’t forget the time, then,” Song Xian said. “I’ll call you ahead.”
Jiang Liuyi nodded. “Am I meeting you at the magazine?”
“Come straight to the studio,” Song Xian replied. “I’ll bring the contract there.”
Jiang Liuyi had no objections.
After Song Xian left, Jiang Liuyi finished breakfast alone. While changing clothes back in the bedroom, she suddenly thought of the sketch Song Xian had drawn and went to retrieve it from the table.
The detail was astonishing. Even the expressions of passersby were rendered with startling clarity—the creases on their faces, the length of their hair, the cut of their clothes. None of these things Jiang Liuyi had remembered herself. Even the tiny features of the restaurants in the background had been captured.
It was like looking at a printed photograph.
If she wasn’t mistaken, this was a memory sketch.
She knew the term because of Yu Bai. Yu Bai had always been gifted. Back in art class, there were often memory sketching competitions—students would be given a picture to study for half an hour, and then asked to recreate it entirely from memory. The one with the most accurate and detailed reproduction would win.
Yu Bai almost never lost.
Her reputation grew quickly. Soon, even students from other departments knew about the memory-sketching prodigy from the art division: Yu Bai.
Sometimes, Jiang Liuyi would ask her what she liked to draw from memory the most.
Yu Bai would smile and say, “You. I love sketching you the most—because you’re the one I know best. And the one I like most.”
Back then, she’d been young. Just a few sweet words were enough to leave her completely lightheaded. So when Yu Bai said she wanted to break up before going abroad, Jiang Liuyi couldn’t believe it. Breaking up just because of studying overseas—what kind of logic was that? It wasn’t like she couldn’t visit Yu Bai abroad, or Yu Bai couldn’t come home during holidays. They could still see each other. Why did it have to be so final?
To this day, she still didn’t understand.
But now, none of it mattered anymore. There was no point in dwelling on it.
Jiang Liuyi laid the sketch flat on the table. After looking it over several times, she finally folded it neatly and slipped it between the pages of a book. On the table, her phone screen lit up—a familiar name flashing across it. She glanced at it but didn’t pick up.
A moment later, a message from Song Xian arrived: [I just sent you the location on WeChat.]
She exited the message screen and opened WeChat to find the shared location. Then she replied with a simple [Okay].
Song Xian set her phone down. Beside her, He Xiaoying leaned over and whispered, “Everyone in the group chat is dying to know who managed to get Jiang Liuyi. Can I say it was you?”
Ever since Song Xian had mentioned it to her, He Xiaoying had found the whole thing hard to believe. Then, not long after, Jiang Liuyi’s assistant personally called to confirm—and that was it. She lost her mind, immediately rushing off to consult with the editor-in-chief.
The chief’s stance was that it was fine if people in the group chat knew, but best not to let it go public. The concern was Meixiu. If word got out, and they decided to stir up trouble again, any slip-up would be a disaster.
After all, landing Jiang Liuyi had been no easy feat. If it went through, they might not just hold off Meixiu—they could even reclaim the top sales spot next issue. But that all depended on things going smoothly.
So the editor-in-chief and the boss agreed to keep the feature under wraps. For now, only people in their department would be informed—no external announcement.
He Xiaoying had already told the chief that Song Xian was the one who brought Jiang Liuyi in, but she hadn’t mentioned it to the rest of the team. Mostly because she wasn’t sure how Song Xian felt about it. Just to be safe, she leaned in and asked, “Can I say it was you who got her?”
Song Xian turned her head and replied with casual indifference, “Up to you.”
Not the least bit excited. That only made He Xiaoying more curious about how she’d managed to land someone like Jiang Liuyi in the first place.
She stared at her for a few seconds before finally asking.
Song Xian thought about it for a moment. As she recalled, she hadn’t even asked directly. She looked at He Xiaoying and said, “Jiang Liuyi offered to do it herself.”
“Sh-she offered?” He Xiaoying stammered, utterly stunned. She had imagined Song Xian must’ve begged and pleaded to land someone like Jiang Liuyi—but it turned out Jiang Liuyi had volunteered?
Why?
She couldn’t wrap her head around it.
“Because of Yu Cai, probably,” Song Xian said.
“Yu Cai?” He Xiaoying frowned. What did Yu Cai have to do with it? Though, now that she thought about it, she did remember Yu Cai had been trying to land an interview with Jiang Liuyi for ages. Could it be there was bad blood between them—and that’s why Jiang Liuyi chose their magazine instead?
Just as He Xiaoying was about to voice her theory with a triumphant clap, a colleague across the aisle turned to Song Xian and asked, “We’re meeting at Little Loft tonight, right?”
Snapping out of her thoughts, Song Xian replied, “Yes. Little Loft. Seven-thirty.”
“Perfect. I’ll just have my girlfriend drop me off,” the colleague said, grinning from ear to ear.
He Xiaoying let out a dramatic tsk. “God, enough with the PDA.”
“Then you go get yourself a girlfriend,” the colleague shot back with a laugh, before turning to Song Xian again. “Oh, right—there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Song Xian lifted her gaze, calm as ever. “What is it?”
The colleague across from her scratched their head sheepishly. “It’s, um… my girlfriend, she—”
He Xiaoying frowned. “Spit it out. What are you mumbling about?”
The colleague took a deep breath and blurted, “My girlfriend’s a huge fan of Jiang Liuyi. Could you maybe help me get an autograph during the shoot this afternoon?”
He Xiaoying blinked in confusion. “Aren’t I the lead on this piece? I’m the one doing the interview—why are you asking Song Xian?”
“You’re not taking the photos,” the colleague replied. “And you’re kind of… unreliable.”
That snapped He Xiaoying out of her daze. She lunged halfway across the desk, ready to strike. “Wu Maomao! What do you mean I’m unreliable?!”
Wu Ying leaned back, narrowly dodging the file folder aimed at her. She was a known cat lover—she and her girlfriend had seven or eight cats—so everyone in the office affectionately called her Wu Maomao.
He Xiaoying’s first attack missed, but she looked ready to launch a second when Wu Ying quickly raised a hand. “Okay, okay, enough already!”
She turned to Song Xian and bit her lip. “So… would that be okay?”
Other colleagues, having overheard, eagerly joined in, crowding around Song Xian and He Xiaoying with hopeful eyes.
“I want one too,” someone said.
“My daughter’s a fan,” another chimed in.
A small crowd had gathered around Song Xian’s desk, all of them leaning in, giving her the most pitiful puppy-dog eyes imaginable. She paused for a moment and said, “I’m not sure if she’ll sign autographs. But if you want one, you can ask her yourself.”
Wu Ying waved her hands. “I want to, but the studio doesn’t allow visitors.”
“What I mean,” Song Xian clarified, “is that you can ask her during dinner tonight.”
“Dinner?” Wu Ying blinked. “She’s coming to dinner too?”
Everyone’s eyes lit up.
Song Xian replied, “She said she’d treat everyone tonight.”
She did???
Everyone was stunned. And then—He Xiaoying slowly turned to stare at her, her voice trembling as she asked, “Your wife… don’t tell me it’s Jiang Liuyi?”
In an instant, every eye in the office locked on Song Xian, burning with white-hot curiosity—like a wildfire. But as the heat reached her, it was met with her usual cool, composed aura. Instantly extinguished.
Still calm, still indifferent, Song Xian gave a small nod and looked at He Xiaoying. “Mm. She’s my wife.”
The entire office fell silent.
Then—thud!
Everyone whipped around to see He Xiaoying on the floor, flat on her back, her chair tipped over behind her. The seat’s base was still slowly spinning in place. Her dazed, slack-jawed expression completed the scene—utterly dumbfounded and, somehow, comically tragic.
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Translator’s Note:
“Mao” (猫) means “cat” in Chinese. “Wu Maomao” is a playful nickname meaning “Wu Kitty” or “Wu Meow-Meow,” used affectionately for Wu Ying because of her love for cats.
