When An Baili reached the low-rent district, she saw her father collapsed on the ground like a corpse. Dead? She wondered with a trace of malice—if only he really were. To her disappointment, An Gula turned his head upon sensing her. Tear stains still lingered on his face. “Who the hell told you to come?”
No answer. She didn’t dare.
The streetlamp flickered on, beam slicing down like a prison searchlight. The world felt like a cage.
“Get out before I lose it.”
“They said you were nearly beaten to death.”
“Not dead yet.”
“I’ll take you home.”
“No need.”
An Baili stood frozen, hands clasped, utterly lost. Hearing silence, An Gula vaguely thought she’d left—and began sobbing like a little girl. An Baili caught his whisper: “Jinliu… today I almost got to join you.”
That broke her. She hurled the unopened band-aid box at him.
“Why does it always have to be like this?!”
“Why am I never the most important person to you?!”
“You, Li—am I just born worthless?! Nothing I do ever changes anything!”
She didn’t know if she was crying. Numbness swallowed her. Last time she felt this? Long ago. The day she received Lu Li and Wen Amber’s wedding invitation. True grief doesn’t crash like thunder. It steals in, quiet and sharp, night after lonely night.
She’d tried so hard. Changed everything. Chased happiness with everything she had. Yet her father drowned in memories of her mother. She never reached Lu Li’s heart. Every gesture copied Wen Amber. She’d merely repeated what Wen once did—and stole the bride’s place. So why did Lu Li still leave? Was it simply… because she wasn’t Wen Amber?
An Gula, stung by the box, bristled—then froze. Seeing her tear-streaked face, he saw his late wife. He wiped mud and blood from his cheek, reached for her hand. A sudden urge: *Be a father.* “Let’s go home.”
But the moment his hand rose, An Baili flinched back, steps stumbling. His arm hung midair. A dry, self-mocking chuckle followed.
From afar, Zhou Haiming, Chen Shiwei, and Ruan Qian watched.
“That’s his daughter?” Zhou Haiming squinted.
Chen Shiwei smirked. “Daughter pays the father’s debt. Old man’s broken—she settles the score.”
Ruan Qian hesitated. “Should we tell Brother Lu? He’s sharp. He’ll know what to do.”
“Brother Lu’s too soft,” Zhou shook his head. “This is on us. We’ve got nothing to lose. Make that old bastard regret breathing.”
*
Next day.
An Baili still dressed fresh and lovely, as if yesterday’s words never touched her. She still ran to greet Lu Li with a smile—even when he stayed stone-faced. She chattered brightly about trivial things, fluttering like a colorful butterfly.
Love is a quagmire. The deeper you sink, the harder to climb out.
Mid-sentence about extra sugar in cooking, Chu Jingyi jogged over—her steps clumsy, clearly unused to exercise. The class monitor beamed, greeting them warmly. For her, meeting friends was the day’s sweetest start.
She pulled a lunchbox out. “Mom made pastries. Try some?”
To the silly goose, it was ordinary. To An Baili, silence fell. She took the egg tart, bit in. Rich egg scent bloomed, a hint of grape’s sweet-tart tang.
Beside it lay a folder. The silly goose handed it to Lu Li. “Dad said to give this only to you.”
Lu Li blinked. He’d reported An Gula to Secretary Long *yesterday*. How was Chu Xiaodong’s reply already here? Government efficiency? Or special treatment?
Inside: An Gula’s file, plus Chu Xiaodong’s official note. Skimmed. Closed. Chu advised filing with tax bureau—cite failure to pay dependent taxes. Also warned: *No private action.* An Gula was a fourth-rank noble of the Divine Realm, martyr descendant. Family fallen, status intact.
The Divine Realm’s constitutional reform left nobility standing. An Gula lived under its shadow.
The file noted his daughter attended Chuanhai No.1 High School.
“What’s that?” An Baili flitted closer, peering. “Jingyi, what’d you give Lu Li? So thick? Study stuff?”
“Dad wouldn’t let me see. Said only for Lu Li.”
“Are your dad and Lu Li that close?”
Chu Jingyi’s eyes lit up. “Mm! Dad really likes Lu Li!”
An Baili pouted. *So foolish.* Not dumb—just… surrendered. Like a pet rolling belly-up for affection. Maybe “love makes women foolish” meant exactly that.
Since Lu Li returned from Lingyue City, he and Chu Jingyi moved in gentle sync. He cared for her; she sought his voice. Respectful. Harmonious. Like a devoted couple.
Helplessness coiled tight in An Baili’s chest—sharpest around Chu Jingyi.
Wen Amber, Zou Yameng? Rivalry. Chu Jingyi? Pure inadequacy. Perfect family. Perfect life. Perfect grace. Wrapped in flawless light. A world away from her. From Lu Li.
An Baili’s eyes darted to the folder in Lu Li’s hand. Wheels turned. Schemes brewed.
