`Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Li Xuan’s wheelchair slid past, and a small moving shadow suddenly appeared on the screen, making Shi Yin realize his arrival.

Prince lifted his head and made two soft grunts, tail lightly tapping the seat, as if a warm host greeting a guest.

“How did you get in?” Li Xuan glanced at the Border Collie indifferently.

Shi Yin hurriedly spoke in its defense: “Prince has been bathed, see, he’s very clean.” She gently lifted the Border Collie’s front paw and smoothed its fluffy tail, displaying the sleek, clean fur, with a faint scent of shampoo lingering in the air.

Li Xuan made a low “hm” sound.

Taking advantage of the dim light, Shi Yin quietly observed him. Li Xuan’s expression was calm, seemingly unwilling to pursue the “crime” of Prince opening the door on his own. His wheelchair stopped in the aisle to the left of Shi Yin’s seat, with no intention of moving to the other sofa.

Li Xuan had cut his hair very short, showing the bluish stubble, giving off a fresh aura. Shi Yin hadn’t seen him for a while; he looked more spirited than when they first met, no longer so thin and pale. At such close range, she noticed for the first time a faint mole on the bridge of his nose, softening his otherwise sharp features perfectly.

The two of them and the dog sat quietly in the media room until the giant screen suddenly played the restricted scene of “Ambition High.” The male and female leads went from arguing on the street one moment to inexplicably kissing the next; the scene cut to the bedroom, where they passionately kissed on the bed, tongues entwining, the intimate sounds catching the viewer off guard.

Shi Yin: “!!”

Instinctively, she covered Prince’s eyes, but her own gaze didn’t know where to land.

Watching alone would have been one thing—at most, she might grin and indulge in some ship teasing, maybe screenshot for fun, pause to study the camera composition, and analyze the actors’ performance layers. But now, with Li Xuan so close, even the subtle sound of fabric rubbing was clearly audible, making the situation extremely awkward.

Li Xuan quietly lowered his eyes, clearing his throat: “Finished filming the scene?”

His question was abrupt, unexpected, seemingly deliberately searching for a topic.

“Ah? No… just joined the crew for a month.” Shi Yin realized after speaking that he was probably asking about an earlier project. “You mean ‘Reversed Scale’? I finished filming that long ago. As for others, this month should wrap it up.”

“Why did you finish first?” Li Xuan asked.

“Because I’m just a supporting role,” Shi Yin explained calmly, “my scenes weren’t many. The main plot of ‘Reversed Scale’ focuses on the clash between the underworld and law enforcement—it’s a crime drama after all.”

The annoying intimate scene finally passed, and Li Xuan’s gaze returned to the screen: “The person we talked about last time—handled?”

Shi Yin froze for a moment. After so many days, she hadn’t expected Li Xuan to still remember Liang Yicheng’s matter.

“Handled,” she smiled, “thanks to your… less-than-ethical… brilliant plan.” She lightly bit her tongue, nearly blurting out too quickly: “I found a tough person to deal with him. After that, he kept his tail between his legs every day, no interest in bothering me at all.”

Li Xuan, however, heard: “…calling it less-than-ethical.”

His thick eyelashes twitched, casting fine shadows under his eyes. He silently stared at Shi Yin for a moment, then naturally changed the topic: “When will it air?”

Shi Yin was caught off guard, half-joking: “What, you want to binge it?”

Li Xuan nodded.

“Hard to say,” Shi Yin calculated seriously, “editing and post-production normally take over half a year, and the review is even more unpredictable. If everything goes smoothly, maybe next summer.”

Li Xuan frowned slightly: “Where will it air? Push them.”

“Peach TV and Central 8 will broadcast simultaneously. How do you push that?” Shi Yin laughed, “The 120-day filming schedule was set early. If we finish on time, it’s already a miracle. At most, post-production and review can be rushed, but that depends on the platform schedule. No chance of speeding up… seriously…”

Her voice trailed off as she suddenly remembered something, a ridiculous suspicion popping into her mind.

“Last time ‘Fog Apprentice’ aired suddenly… you didn’t do that, did you?” Shi Yin sat up in disbelief.

“No.”

Shi Yin was about to relax.

“It was Wen Sheng,” Li Xuan added calmly, “ask him for details.”

Shi Yin: “…”

Does it really matter? She didn’t believe Luo Wen Sheng would care that much about her career—the favorability score had always remained at 0!

Speaking of favorability…

Shi Yin secretly glanced at the top of Li Xuan’s head. The +3 value hung quietly; she didn’t even know when it had increased.

“If you need help, ask Wen Sheng.”

Li Xuan had said this before; at the time, she thought it was just polite. She hadn’t given it much thought, but now she was silent.

Letting doubts linger and guessing in vain wasn’t her style.

Shi Yin pressed her lips together, deciding to ask clearly: “Li Xuan, can I ask a question?”

Li Xuan lifted his eyelids to look at her, his dark eyes exceptionally deep in the shifting light. Their gazes met in the air.

“Go ahead.”

“I accidentally clicked on the user page and saw your viewing history,” Shi Yin pointed to the still-lit terminal screen, “why have you watched ‘Marriage for Sale’ 392 times? This movie has never been released domestically; the source material had to be specifically sought out.”

The warmth in Li Xuan’s eyes vanished instantly, like a winter lake freezing over in a second.

Shi Yin stubbornly met his gaze, leaning against the back of the sofa, feeling her heart chill slightly. She clearly knew she was touching a taboo; no matter how good-tempered Li Xuan was, he had a temper, and stepping on this landmine could easily get her thrown out. But she didn’t regret doing it—she wanted to know the answer.

Prince anxiously perked up his ears, looking back and forth between them, letting out soft whines.

When Li Xuan lifted his eyes, he saw a scene like this: Shi Yin’s expression resembled a cat soaked in a torrential rain, knowing it had done wrong but tilting its head proudly, refusing to admit defeat.

The air froze for a long minute before his low voice emerged from the shadows, each word restrained: “About three years ago, I had an accident. During that period… my state was not good, my thoughts were extreme. Later, I happened to watch this movie, and my mood finally calmed down.” He paused briefly. “To me, it’s more than a movie—it’s like a special medicine.”

“That accident… did it involve your leg?” Shi Yin felt as if she were standing at the edge of a cliff, yet she stepped forward anyway.

“Yes.”

Shi Yin drew a soft breath: “You… are a fan of Shui Xin?”

Li Xuan pondered for a moment: “Not really. I’ve seen her other works, none of them struck me like this one.”

“So you only like ‘Marriage for Sale’?”

“You could say that.”

Shi Yin’s tense shoulders gradually relaxed. So Li Xuan’s connection with ‘Marriage for Sale’ was only this—he simply needed this movie, and nothing more.

“‘Marriage for Sale’ has never been a movie that brings peace,” Shi Yin turned to look at Li Xuan, “what keeps you watching it repeatedly must be the character Bai Xiuxiang, and the things she said.”

Shi Yin slowly stood up, and when she spoke again, her entire demeanor changed—no longer gentle as usual, but embodying the Bai Xiuxiang who was imprisoned by fate yet never yielded.

“Accept my fate? Why should I accept it!”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word rang with decisiveness, replicating the tone from the original film—a life force erupting from ultimate oppression.

“My life, it should run free in the wilderness—with these two legs given by my parents, witnessed by heaven and earth—run until I can’t breathe, run until the sun sets!”

Her right hand touched her chest, fingertips trembling slightly, as if she truly felt the wind of that vast wilderness.

“It should be on the highest mountain, watching the sunrise I earned with my own hands, letting the golden light wash away all the filth on me! It should be in the scent of books in the library, in the symphony of the concert hall, in the embrace of the lover I choose…”

Shi Yin’s gaze shifted gradually, from fiery to gentle, then to resolute.

“It should belong to the future, to every tomorrow I create myself!”

The last sentence, she nearly bit out through her teeth, like a stone hitting the ground with a heavy echo.

“You misjudged, you bought wrong. My life—its name is ‘freedom.’”

“You can lock my hands and feet, you can break my spine, but you cannot confine my eyes from looking beyond the mountains, nor extinguish the spirit in my heart.”

“You know it well,” Li Xuan suddenly said.

Familiar enough to recite every line.

Shi Yin smiled faintly, a trace of the earlier performance still lingering in her eyes: “Maybe as well as the number of times you watched it…?”

Her tone softened: “Sorry, for reminding you of sad things.”

Li Xuan did not respond to this topic, only quietly watched her.

“As an exchange, I’ll tell you a secret too.” Shi Yin sat down again, hands folded on her lap, “Both of my past agents asked why I wanted to be an actor. I said I want to be Best Actress—sounds like a dreamer’s nonsense, right?”

“But I actually have an even bigger dream.”

“You know Shui Xin is the only Silver Bear Best Actress in the country?” Without waiting for Li Xuan’s response, Shi Yin continued, “China has won the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival six times, but only she has been Best Actress. Shui Xin was only twenty when she won.”

Shi Yin lifted her head, eyes blazing: “I hope that one day, I can stand on the podium of Europe’s top three, at the peak of world cinema. I want my name to stand alongside hers. I want to surpass her. I want everyone to see me, to remember me.”

Li Xuan: “……”

The light scattered delicate gold on his eyelashes, and his eyes, always unfathomably deep, now clearly reflected Shi Yin’s figure.

After a long while, he spoke softly: “If you want, I can send you up.”

If it were anyone else, it might have been a casual remark, but the other person was Li Xuan—Shi Yin believed he was serious.

He was also capable of doing it.

Shi Yin shifted her position, turning slightly to face Li Xuan, and this movement suddenly shortened the distance between them. Her gaze fell into his bottomless pupils, where an invisible vortex seemed to lurk, ready to draw a person’s soul in.

Li Xuan sat upright, unmoving.

The shifting light on the screen drew a dividing line between them—he hidden in shadow, she bathed in light, like two distant planets responding to each other yet clearly separate.

In physics, there is a romantic yet cruel concept called the Roche limit. When two celestial bodies approach infinitely, once they breach the safe distance, the smaller one will be torn apart by immense tidal forces, eventually forming a ring around the larger body.

At this moment, Shi Yin was testing that invisible dangerous boundary.

Li Xuan was the first to look away.

“Was it because of Prince again this time?” Shi Yin asked softly.

The pointed Border Collie looked up in confusion.

Li Xuan’s eyebrows moved barely perceptibly: “No.”

But he offered no further explanation.

“Can we consider ourselves friends now?” Shi Yin did not press further, a bright curve lifting her lips. “Thank you, Li Xuan. I remember what you said today, but I want to try it myself first,” she paused, her voice gentle yet firm, “if one day I need help, I won’t hold back—I’ll come to you first.”

“Good.”

This simple syllable fell into the silent air, soon dispersed by the wind.

The movie ended, and Shi Yin stood to say goodbye. Li Xuan remained alone in the media room, with only Prince quietly keeping him company.

For three years, he had accepted the life laid out for him—facing his immobile legs with calm, living a life with a visible end in sight. Yet just now, in Shi Yin’s eyes, he saw the light that once belonged to him: that burning, fierce desire for the peak, and ambition that never extinguishes.

“If you wish to stand at the top, I can help you.”

When the words slipped out, even Li Xuan was surprised. It felt like a tsunami stirred in his heart, silently, unheard by anyone.

~

Shi Yin returned home, mechanically completing her wash, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly.

“Such a sin…” she whispered to herself. “I really am a sinner.”

“Xiao Assistant, am I being too selfish?” Shi Yin murmured into the void. “I’m too cruel, too despicable.”

She brought up the system interface. The branch mission [Turning Clouds with a Flip of the Hand] unfolded before her, the cold text seeming to question her very soul—

From the beginning, it had been a meticulously planned approach: deliberately falling in front of Li Xuan’s car to stage an accident, and her initial target wasn’t even him, but Li Xuan’s cousin. She investigated his background, assessed his abilities, accepted his employment, sought his protection… every step had a clear purpose.

Yet when Li Xuan truly presented her with what she longed for, Shi Yin felt unprecedented fear.

She could not read Li Xuan’s mind.

In this world, there are no pies that fall from the sky—only traps laid in secret. She feared she could not repay, and feared being outwitted even more.

Just as Shi Yin’s mind spun in chaos, a new task popped up on the pale blue screen:

[Branch Mission: Head Itchy, Feels Like a Career Brain is Growing]

[Mission Content: Raise Li Xuan’s favor ≥5, ensure Reverse Scale airs smoothly during the Spring Festival]

[Mission Reward: Equestrianism (Intermediate), Chinese Dance (Intermediate)]

“This… is a bit much, isn’t it? Not even performing anymore?” Shi Yin couldn’t help but complain. “Two intermediate rewards, purely treating me as a tool? Or just making full use of it.”

It was clear—Xiao Assistant was her biggest career fan.

Shi Yin lay back on the bed, letting her thoughts wander freely in the darkness.

If only everything were just a transaction, or purely a mission.

She didn’t know how much time had passed before she summoned the system again, clicked into [Gossip Blind Box Vending Machine], and found the golden orb in the warehouse, glowing softly.

This was Shi Yin’s only golden gossip; she didn’t know when the next one would appear. She had always felt that using it on anyone was a waste, but this time, she hesitated only for a moment.

If she wanted to raise favor, she had to truly understand the other person.

Shi Yin typed carefully, word by word: [Li Xuan three years ago].

[Obtained Li Xuan’s Gossip (Gold) x1]

A flash of white light appeared before her eyes, and Shi Yin felt her mind go blank. When her consciousness returned, she was already placed in a pure white world.

……

Snow, snow falling across the sky.

It was as if she had instantly traveled to the peak of the Alps, the piercing cold wind hitting her face. Under the clear sky, the mountains stretched like a painting, and before her lay a winding snowy trail.

A black figure hurtled down from the highest point, picking up speed, like an arrow released from a bow.

At the moment he passed close to her side, the rushing wind made her instinctively squint. When she opened her eyes again, he had already launched into the air—

Spinning five full rotations, drawing a perfect arc in the sky.

Shi Yin tilted her head to watch the black silhouette. His extended posture was like a soaring eagle; his ski suit flapped in the wind, clearly outlining the tension of his back muscles. Sunlight gilded his outline, and at that moment, he seemed to break free from gravity, truly flying.

The 1800 Indy Crail (1800-degree inward grab) concluded perfectly. He landed steadily, kicking up a spray of sparkling snow.

“Jesus, Lee! You did it!” the crowd erupted in cheers.

Li Xuan casually pushed up his goggles, revealing a sharp, cool face. Beneath thin single eyelids, his eyes appeared especially deep in the backlight. His brow bone and eyelid naturally created an imposing look, the subtle upward curve of his thin lips conveyed a hint of rebellion, and the pale mole on his high nose bridge flickered faintly in the snowlight.

Snowflakes on his hair quivered with his breath as he glanced at the landing point and casually said:

“Not bad.”

The tone was calm, but the sparkle at the corner of his eyes betrayed the young man’s inescapable sharpness.

Shi Yin brushed the snow off herself and looked up again—the scene had shifted.

She was seated in the co-pilot seat of a small aircraft, the seatbelt securing her firmly.

“Maintain altitude, watch for crosswind,” a male voice came from her position, simultaneously through the headset.

Li Xuan had already adjusted the joystick half a beat ahead. The Cessna 172, like a tamed silver eagle under his command, steadily climbed through the turbulent Alpine air, precisely reaching the designated altitude.

“I heard you ordered a Legacy 650?” The instructor’s voice carried amusement. “You’re the first student I’ve taught who bought a private plane before even getting your license.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Li Xuan replied briefly but firmly.

“Turbulence ahead.”

Li Xuan immediately switched channels: “Tower, request to penetrate the cloud layer.” The electric transmission made his voice sound especially low and magnetic.

After permission, Li Xuan gently pushed the stick, and the plane tilted upward, plunging into the fluffy sea of clouds.

The sudden weightlessness made Shi Yin’s heart skip a beat. As the wings violently shook in the turbulence, she clutched the seatbelt tightly, face pale: “Slow down! This is terrifying! I get airsick! Li Xuan!!”

At that moment, Li Xuan let out a soft laugh, his knuckles pressing lightly on the joystick. The plane pierced through the clouds like a diving falcon, leaving a pure white trail in the sea of mist.

Finally landing, Shi Yin’s legs went weak as she followed Li Xuan down the ladder.

Li Xuan’s damp hair clung to his temples, still reflecting the light from passing through the clouds.

“Can you fly solo tomorrow?” he asked, turning toward Shi Yin.

Behind her, the Alps remained eternally snow-capped, while Li Xuan stood under the clear sky, more dazzling than the mountains.

……

The view shifted again, the midday Mediterranean sun blazing and blinding.

The teak deck of the Riva yacht was scorching under the sun, the champagne tower refracting dazzling halos, and cheerful jazz music floated through the air.

“Lee! Happy 22nd birthday!”

Amid the crisp pop of champagne corks and the booming fireworks, the party’s main guest was nowhere to be seen.

“Gone missing again?” a friend in a floral shirt looked around, “If he doesn’t want this new yacht, I’ll take it.”

At that moment, a tall figure silently slid down the stern ladder into the sea. The black wetsuit wrapped his powerful body; he moved like an elegant marlin, cutting cleanly through the clear, calm water.

When everyone finally spotted him at the stern, Li Xuan was leisurely floating on the shimmering surface. The oxygen mask hung loosely around his neck; water droplets traced the sharp lines of his Adam’s apple and slid into the wetsuit collar. A friend whispered a warning about jellyfish, and Li Xuan dove gracefully, his strong movements scattering a school of silver fish.

“The wingsuit flying club opens next week, want to go?” the friend called after him.

“No.”

“Why? Wingsuit flying is the ultimate extreme sport.”

“I just like challenges,” Li Xuan surfaced, wiping water from his face, “not courting death.”

Shi Yin couldn’t help but follow, diving into the water with him.

Li Xuan hovered elegantly three meters underwater. Among the coral, clownfish darted out of sea anemones, and colorful fish swam in formation. Through the shimmering water and distorted time-space, their eyes seemed to meet for a brief moment.

Li Xuan suddenly stretched his body, leaning back, merging again into the deep blue. His agile legs moved like a mermaid’s, drawing graceful arcs in the sunlight filtering through the water, as if the entire ocean were his private, serene sanctuary.

Shi Yin suddenly sat up on the bed, gasping, fine cold sweat on her forehead.

Morning light crept in outside, and the horizon was tinged with pale white.

This immersive journey across time and space felt so real, every frame deeply etched in her mind—the black eagle soaring on the snowy slope, the skillful profile in the cockpit, and the serene solo snorkeling in shallow waters.

Three years ago, Li Xuan.

The so-called child of heaven—this was what it looked like.

Author’s Note: The leg wasn’t broken from playing extreme sports!