Her Miss Shen Was Sometimes Quite Petty.
The wind rose, and the sea of flowers rippled and swayed.
Shi Jinlan stood at the very edge of this floral sea. Not far from her, Chi Qian was leaning against Yuan Ming.
The sunlight was brilliant and warm, making every color burn with intensity.
Chi Qian and Yuan Ming stood together, Yuan Ming’s arm resting across the small of her back—slender, well-proportioned, a gentlemanly and polite gesture. The spring breeze tangled their hair together as their skirts fluttered.
Everything was just so.
The atmosphere was so harmonious it was like a meticulously composed oil painting.
Shi Jinlan wanted to walk over, but she only tightened her grip on the cane in her hand.
The silver cane did not match the palette of the flower sea, and with her limited mobility, she could never take Yuan Ming’s place.
For the first time, Shi Jinlan felt a fierce, intense desire to be well again.
She wanted the leg that hung in the air to be able to step onto the grass. She wanted to be able to move freely.
Her possessiveness arrived out of nowhere, surging and violent.
The veins on the hand holding the cane stood out, like snakes lurking in the darkness, silently flicking their tongues.
Under the same sun, three people wore three different expressions.
Shi Jinlan’s somber darkness.
Yuan Ming’s probing.
Chi Qian’s heart, which pounded like a drum.
Each held a ghost fetus in their womb1; the world seemed to press pause at that moment.
It was Auntie Zhou who broke the spell, finding them and waving from a distance. “So you’re all here.”
Hearing this, Chi Qian immediately separated from Yuan Ming and turned to look at Auntie Zhou.
But as she turned, her gaze fell upon Shi Jinlan, standing not far away.
Thump!
In the sunlight, Shi Jinlan’s pupils were filled with a somber darkness.
Pitch-black flames flickered, like distant, struggling stars.
This was infinitely more terrifying than hearing Yuan Ming’s words.
“The incense has burned out. Let’s head back, it’s almost noon,” Auntie Zhou announced.
“Okay.” Chi Qian didn’t even have time to give Shi Jinlan the flower crown she had woven, and she hurried away first.
In the grassy flower field lay two flower crowns.
One was a vibrant weave of warm tones clashing with a myriad of colors. The other was a cool, blue-themed crown. The two were entirely different.
Yuan Ming stood in place, looking at them for a long time.
Even as her shadow stretched across the grass, she didn’t pick up either one.
The journey back was quieter than the one there. The sun beat down, but it couldn’t penetrate the emotions clouding everyone’s eyes.
Yuan Ming was also heading home, but her route was different from Chi Qian and Shi Jinlan’s.
She was giving Auntie Zhou a ride. At the fork in the road, she looked at Chi Qian. “Ah Qian, I’m heading off. See you tomorrow.”
Sunlight dappled through the leaves onto Yuan Ming’s face, and her gaze was still as gentle as ever.
Chi Qian started to wonder if she had misheard her earlier, and she nodded in a daze. “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
The sea breeze blew in along the road, its gentle touch soothing their moods.
Chi Qian looked at Shi Jinlan’s shadow behind her and remembered what had just happened.
She had been so frightened by Yuan Ming’s words that she had completely forgotten about Shi Jinlan.
Although she had just lost her footing and Yuan Ming had only steadied her, from where Shi Jinlan was standing, it must have looked like they were being intimate.
Her Miss Shen was sometimes quite petty.
Chi Qian felt it was necessary to explain. Clearing her throat, she called out, “Miss Shen.”
“What is it?” Shi Jinlan replied, her voice cool.
“I was weaving the flower crown and my legs went numb from squatting. I was just unsteady on my feet. Yuan Ming was only helping me,” Chi Qian clarified, peeking stealthily at Shi Jinlan in the rearview mirror.
But Shi Jinlan’s expression remained placid.
The wind blew the strands of hair at her temples into disarray, obscuring her expression and making it difficult to read her eyes.
Because of this, Chi Qian didn’t see the way Shi Jinlan’s brow, which had been tightly furrowed, instantly relaxed when she heard the explanation.
Just moments ago, standing at the edge of the sea of flowers, she had felt like an outsider.
But now, it seemed she wasn’t.
When a painting is negated by the artist who created it, then any meaning others might assign to it becomes meaningless.
Shi Jinlan gazed at the glittering sun reflected on the ocean’s surface. The golden light was brilliant, chasing and sparkling along the road as Chi Qian drove her. It no longer seemed so glaring.
“Where’s the flower crown?” Shi Jinlan asked, her tone even, continuing the conversation.
“I dropped it…” Chi Qian said, a little aggrieved. She had worked so hard to weave that crown, only to drop it in the flower patch out of guilt.
“Don’t drop it next time,” Shi Jinlan said calmly. The flames inside her had, without her realizing it, subsided once more.
“Okay!” Chi Qian knew that this meant the incident was closed, and she couldn’t have been happier.
Shi Jinlan watched the back of that proud little head in front of her, her gentle gaze layered with a hidden complexity.
Was she this happy just from a simple instruction?
The little electric scooter summoned all its strength to climb the long slope to the Chi family home, and Chi Qian brought Shi Jinlan back.
The moment she parked, Thirteen trotted over, tail held high, meowing.
Chi Qian knew this cat was only so enthusiastic when it wanted something from her. She spoke in her mind: 【My punishment has been upgraded, hasn’t it?】
【Host! I was gone for a moment! What did you do!】 Thirteen’s voice was on the verge of a breakdown, and even its meows lost their soft, kittenish quality.
Chi Qian resigned herself to her fate, her voice full of defeat: 【I think Yuan Ming figured out that I’m not me.】
But then she couldn’t stop herself from complaining to Thirteen: 【See, I told you! I can’t act in front of people who knew her! She and the original host were childhood friends! It would be weirder if she didn’t notice I wasn’t me!】
【Theoretically, that shouldn’t happen. Chi Qingyan didn’t notice you.】 Thirteen was puzzled, but then it tried to console her. 【Fortunately, she’s not a T0-level character, so you won’t be sent for annihilation.】
【Annihilation?!】 Chi Qian’s heart hammered in her chest. The fear was palpable. Confused by the new term Thirteen had just used, she asked, 【What does T0 mean? Are we in a game? If Yuan Ming isn’t T0, is she T1?】
Thirteen shook its head: 【Yuan Ming doesn’t even count as T3.】
It explained patiently to Chi Qian: 【The system assigns levels to characters based on their prominence in the original text. The main characters and the main villain, for example, are T0-level characters. In the original text, Yuan Ming never appeared. She was only mentioned briefly when Shi Jinlan reminisced about you.】
【So even if she notices you’re different, it won’t affect the development of the world. She won’t be able to say it, or others won’t be able to hear it. You should have experienced something like this before.】
Hearing this, Chi Qian felt a wave of complicated emotions.
So their lives were nothing more than data in the system’s world.
She remembered how she had been unable to tell Chi Qingyan that she “didn’t like Shi Jinlan” and sighed deeply: 【I see. It’s because in the original text, I was already dead and had no more appearances.】
【You’re an exception, Host. As Shi Jinlan’s white moonlight2, you are T1!】 Thirteen corrected, adding for emphasis, as if to boost her confidence, 【You’re a 1, Host!3】
Chi Qian let out a dry laugh: 【Thanks, but that’s not very comforting.】
She was more concerned about her upcoming punishment: 【Let’s get back to my punishment. What has it been upgraded to?】
【Oh, right.】 Thirteen quickly pulled up the system notification again. 【The system shows that your punishment has been upgraded from Level Four to Level Two. The nosebleed and fainting incident was Level Three.】
Remembering what happened at the hot spring, Chi Qian’s face grew grave: 【…Does this mean my life is in danger?】
【No, this is just a punishment for the host, not annihilation.】 Thirteen denied it, then gave her a heads-up. 【However, as the punishment level increases, to prevent us from providing assistance to the host, we may be blocked. If you can’t contact me, don’t panic.】
Chi Qian figured as much. She shot a sideways glance at the unreliable system cat: 【I hope the next time we meet isn’t inside the system, with you seeing me off for good.】
Thirteen rubbed against Chi Qian’s leg: 【Don’t be so pessimistic, Host.】
Seeing this rare show of affection from Thirteen, Chi Qian once again thought to herself: If only there was something fluffy I could hug right now.
With that thought, she looked at Thirteen.
But Thirteen, fully embracing its feline nature, had gotten its fill of rubbing and deftly dodged Chi Qian’s outstretched hands, leaping away.
Sunlight reflected off the glass window, clearly displaying the silhouette of someone chasing a cat.
Shi Jinlan sat by the window. She had just received a few messages on her phone. An Ning had told her that their negotiations with the Zhou family had gone smoothly; they would be providing her with assistance.
The Zhou family was her mother’s family. Although it had been over twenty years since her mother’s death, Old Madam Zhou still had faith in the Shinian Group and hoped that Shi Jinlan would reclaim it.
After all, her own granddaughter was a much closer relation than a relative of seven turns and eight bends4 like Shi Cheng.
Besides, the returns from helping someone stage a comeback were far more substantial and reliable than merely adding to an already successful enterprise.
Shi Jinlan understood all this perfectly. She had never pinned the success or failure of this endeavor on kinship.
Feelings were the most unreliable thing in the world.
“Bad kitty!”
A certain person’s disgruntled voice came through the not-so-soundproof window.
Muffled by the glass, the voice sounded dull.
Shi Jinlan looked outside and saw Chi Qian pouting, glaring indignantly at the cat named Thirteen.
So childish.
As Shi Jinlan watched, the somber, brooding look in her eyes softened without her realizing it.
The sun slanted in, spilling across her palm, its warmth comfortable and soothing.
But her legs still couldn’t feel that warmth.
People are like that. Once you start to mind something, you only become more aware of it.
Just like these legs.
Shi Jinlan opened her hand, brushing her palm over the knee that could not feel the sunlight.
The desire to stand up had not faded in the slightest.
“Knock, knock.”
Two knocks sounded from Chi Qingyan’s room. The hand writing a prescription paused.
He knew the members of this household well. “Come in,” he said politely to the door.
As he finished speaking, the door opened, and just as he expected, it was Shi Jinlan in her wheelchair.
Chi Qingyan looked at her, a little puzzled. “Miss Shen, is there something I can help you with?”
“Last time, you mentioned a treatment plan. I’d like to try it,” Shi Jinlan said, getting straight to the point.
Hearing this, Chi Qingyan put down his pen, his expression turning serious. “I told you, that method is not gentle. The environment inside your body is barely stable right now. While the new treatment plan is faster, your body’s reaction will be much more intense.”
Shi Jinlan, of course, remembered.
She just suddenly felt that this slow treatment would take an eternity to work.
She didn’t want to wait anymore.
She utterly loathed the feeling of standing at the edge of the flower sea.
She had never been a marginal figure.
“Old Sir5, I’m out of time,” Shi Jinlan said to Chi Qingyan, her words laced with an unspoken meaning.
Chi Qingyan thought about the formidable scene he had witnessed not long ago and understood.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I understand.”
“I’ll prepare. Have Qianqian bring my case to the sickroom. You can wait for me there.”
“Okay.” Shi Jinlan nodded and wheeled herself into the courtyard.
Chi Qian had just managed to catch her “emergency food supply” and was kneading it in her arms when she noticed a shadow approaching.
She looked up at Shi Jinlan, remembering her daily schedule. “Is it time for your acupuncture?”
Shi Jinlan nodded, then said to Chi Qian, “The old gentleman is switching to a different treatment plan for me. It’s not as gentle as before. He said for you to prepare.”
“Okay.” Hearing this, Chi Qian’s heart couldn’t help but clench.
Chi Qian was not a person of great fortitude. In her life, she feared two things: hardship and pain.
Following Chi Qingyan’s instructions, she brought over his case and helped Shi Jinlan lie down on the bed. She watched as her grandfather took out needles that were twice as thick as usual.
A silver needle caught the sunlight, flashing a sharp glint in her eyes.
Her brow furrowed tightly. She couldn’t imagine how much it would hurt to have something like that stuck into your skin.
And yet, Shi Jinlan’s expression was unchanged.
Chi Qingyan held the needle with a steady hand and pushed it into Shi Jinlan’s leg. The fair, well-proportioned leg was soon occupied by the thick, long needle.
How could it not hurt?
The principle behind Chi Qingyan’s method was to stimulate the nerves in Shi Jinlan’s legs to restore sensation.
And the most sensitive feeling for a human is pain.
Warm sunlight spilled onto the bed in the sickroom, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
Shi Jinlan sat propped up on the bed, her long, thick eyelashes catching the golden light. She watched with perfect composure as the silver needle pierced her skin, her expression so calm it was as if she weren’t the one receiving the treatment.
Chi Qingyan pushed the needle in a little deeper. Chi Qian’s heart clenched, and she couldn’t bear to look anymore.
It was then that she noticed the hand by Shi Jinlan’s side, clenched into a tight fist.
The dormant veins rose, forming a long, violent mountain range against her pale, flushed skin.
She was in pain.
Of course she was in pain.
The thought made Chi Qian feel deeply uncomfortable.
She didn’t know where this empathy came from, but every time she noticed Shi Jinlan’s hand tighten, her own heart would twist with it.
By the time Chi Qingyan had arranged all the needles in the corresponding acupoints on Shi Jinlan’s legs, a cold sweat had broken out on her palm.
Chi Qingyan let out a long sigh of relief, while Shi Jinlan continued to endure in silence.
She was long accustomed to hiding such pain.
She was even better at hiding any and all of her feelings.
The old-fashioned wall clock ticked away, its clicks echoing the passage of time.
She even began to savor the rare sensations in her legs, as if enjoying them.
But…
Shi Jinlan subconsciously glanced at Chi Qian, only to see that the pained expression on the other girl’s face was even more pronounced than her own.
She watched her, and the hand resting by her side lifted slightly.
Then it fell heavily back down.
The pain spread from Shi Jinlan’s legs, leaving her feeling a little weak.
“Get a hold of your emotions! There’s no such thing as empathy in this world! Stop indulging in such foolish fantasies!”
Her grandfather’s scolding voice rang in her ears again, coldly destroying her emotions, demanding that she suppress any superfluous actions.
Sunlight streamed in from the window behind her, warming her slender legs.
She looked at her own body, which had long since grown up. She wasn’t that little girl anymore.
Suddenly, Chi Qian, who was frowning as she observed Shi Jinlan’s legs, felt a light tap on her forehead.
Or maybe it was more like a caress.
Before she could even look up, a voice came from above her head. “It doesn’t hurt.”
The author has something to say:
Wuwuwu, Lanlan, don’t be so in love.
✨ Unlock Early Access to Chapters! ✨
Choose your perfect membership at bamboopandatl.net:
📚 Full Access ($4.99)
• Advanced chapters of ALL ongoing novels
• Access to complete finished novels
• Ad-free reading experience
📖 Single Novel Access ($1.49)
• Advanced chapters of ONE specific novel
• Ad-free reading for chosen novel
PayPal is the only current payment option!