The waterfront glittered under streetlamps, their light wavering against the bay. I wrapped my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth, and kept walking.
The Shen card had already been frozen; I found that out when I tried to check into the first hotel. The receptionist's smile had been sharp with sympathy, her gaze sliding toward the security guard like I might bolt without paying. At the second hotel, I handed over cash — the "severance package" the Shens had so kindly left me with. Fifty thousand yuan, crisp bills that suddenly felt flimsy in my palm.
Severance. As if I were an employee quietly terminated after years of service. Not family, never family — just an investment they'd decided had gone bad. The clerk counted the notes like they might evaporate, and I stood there, spine stiff, pretending not to notice the way her eyes flicked toward my shoes, my gown, my worth.
They took me in, though. A temporary roof, nothing more.
By morning, my phone buzzed. Notifications stacked like vultures. Screenshots from group chats, forwarded by acquaintances too eager to "warn" me.
Jiayi had started her work early. Not her words directly, of course—she'd never risk her manicure on something so blunt. But her circle carried the script like gospel:
"Fake heiress back where she belongs."
"Pitiful, really. I'd die if that happened to me."
"Guess money can't buy class after all."
Emoji-laced "sympathy" followed, dripping with delight.
I set the phone down. Didn't reply.
Imagine wasting energy crying over insults that sound recycled from a bad soap opera.
Still, their whispers clung, finding me even when I stepped outside.
Leaving the hotel, I made a quick stop at a bubble tea stall, figuring sugar was cheaper than therapy.
The stall was crowded, steam rising from the griddle where the vendor flipped scallion pancakes. Oil hissed and popped, the smell of sesame hitting the air with comforting weight. People laughed around me, loud and careless, like the city had moved on while I stood still.
That's when a girl bounced into my periphery. Hoodie, medical mask, bright eyes that seemed permanently tilted in amusement. She ordered two bubble teas in one breath, voice bright and certain, then turned to me like we were old friends.
"You look like you need something warm," she chirped.
I blinked. "Do I?"
Please don't let the tea spill on this gown; it's my last decent armor.
"Extra napkins!" she piped up to the vendor. "Tea stains are murder on satin."
My brows pulled together. I hadn't mentioned my dress is satin.
She giggled, unbothered, like she thought I'd said it under my breath. Then she thrust one of the cups into my hands.
I hesitated, then took it. Heat seeped through the paper, chasing the cold from my fingers.
"Thanks," I muttered.
She leaned on the stall, straw between her lips. "Rough night?"
"That obvious?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Mm. But sugar helps."
Therapy in a plastic cup. Ten yuan cheaper, too.
Qingwan's mouth curved. "It truly is therapy in a cup."
I stiffened. "...What?"
She just laughed it off, tapping her straw against the lid like it was nothing.
"You always hand drinks to strangers on the street?" I asked, letting go of my earlier confusion.
"Only the ones who look like their lives are collapsing in couture."
I snorted despite myself.
"Painfully obvious," she added. "Though you carry it well." Then she stuck out her hand. "I'm Qingwan."
I blinked, then accepted the handshake. Her grip was light but confident.
"…Shen Yue," I said. My name came out quiet, but I forced it steady.
Her gaze lingered for a beat before she smiled. "Pretty name."
We lingered by the stall, sipping tea while steam curled from the griddle. Qingwan filled the silence with chatter: the latest ballad she couldn't stop humming, the puppy she wanted to adopt, the way her brother scolded her for sneaking out late. Her words tumbled quick, unfiltered, like she was determined to keep the air light.
I found myself answering despite the odd start.
"So which one do you like better?" she asked. "Violin or piano?"
"…Both," I admitted.
Her eyes curved in a grin. "Knew it. You have musician hands."
Hands that once typed reports, now coaxing melodies out of strings that aren't even mine.
"Not even yours?" she echoed.
I froze. Did I say that out loud?
Her easy smile faltered. She glanced at my mouth and her eyes flickered with something like confusion.
I narrowed my gaze. "What?"
Color rose under her mask. "Nothing! I meant… not even yours to waste on cheap paper cups. You should be using those hands to play every day."
I stared at her briefly before letting out an unconvinced hum.
We both sipped our drinks. I caught her sneaking another glance at me, brows faintly furrowed like she was puzzling something out.
Don't stare too hard, kid. You'll scare me off.
Her laugh came a second too quick. "Staring too hard? Kidding. You're just… interesting."
"Interesting," I repeated dryly. "That's a word."
She grinned. "I could've said mysterious, but you'd have rolled your eyes at me."
I did anyway, but the corner of my mouth tugged upward despite myself.
"Do you play often?" she asked suddenly, as though circling back to music. "Like… on stage? Competitions?"
Stage, banquets, competitions. Pick your poison.
Her brows arched. "All of the above, huh?"
I paused. "…What?"
She coughed into her cup, waving it off. "Nothing! Just guessing. You seem like the type who's gotten around!"
I could only stare at her, wondering if I had heard her correctly. The type who's gotten around? Is it only me or was I just called a slut by this airheaded girl.
She coughed again, this time spraying out a mouthful of bubble tea.
Her face turned red as I handed her some napkins and she gave me a shy smile. "I mean…you seem like someone who has probably played at a lot of different events, I meant nothing else by that. I swear!"
Seeing her all flustered left me feeling like I was overthinking everything for no reason so I just decided to let it go.
Before leaving, she gave my arm a gentle squeeze. "See you around, Shen Yue."
She skipped off, hoodie bouncing. Halfway down the street she glanced back once, like she'd heard me wondering if I'd ever see her again.
I stood there, unsettled.
Weird rich-girl energy. That was all. Nothing to overthink.
I told myself that as I drained the last of the tea.
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By nightfall, I sat on the edge of my hotel bed, staring at the slim black card Gu Hanchuan had given me. Its presence pressed heavier than the cash stacked in my drawer.
Protection, he'd offered. Practicality. Marriage.
The idea lingered, half-tempting, half-terrifying. To accept meant armor. To accept meant chains. But maybe the kind I could live with, if it bought me time.
Jiayi's words from the morning replayed in my head. Clinging to rich men.
I almost laughed. If only she knew.
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A/N: AH! THERE IT IS! ANOTHER TROPE! THE COMMON GREEN TEA BITCH HAS ARRIVED IN SHEN JIAYI!