When his ploy failed, Yan Yincheng could only bury himself in his breakfast.
The porridge was unexpectedly delightful—sweet and clean on the tongue. The rice, the tremella, the longan all seemed to melt like cotton candy; each spoonful was a small pleasure.
After they finished, Xu Zixi hesitated a moment, then turned to him.
“Cheng-ge, I want to go check out the salon Yuan Ya’er used to go to.”
Yan Yincheng dabbed his lips with a napkin in a slow, deliberate way, his expression as calm as if she’d asked about the weather. “Go. Be careful.”
She looked at him a few more times and couldn’t help grinning. “Why are you so quick to agree? Don’t you worry about my safety at all? Wei Shu tried to stop me!”
“Of course I worry,” he said. “But even if I said no, you’d find a way to sneak off. Better I arrange everything properly so you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.”
A soft laugh escaped her behind her hand. She’d always known there was no one who understood her like Cheng-ge.
“But that means we probably can’t make it back to Haicheng today,” he added.
She’d been thinking the same. They were supposed to return to Haicheng this afternoon, but there were loose ends in Fengcheng—starting with that salon. She had to go see it, and they’d likely be stuck here a few more days. Yet at the thought of the two little ones in Haicheng, she ached to get back to them.
After weighing it, she said, “Okay—three more days. Whatever happens, we go back after that.”
“This time you can’t be reckless,” Yan warned. “Remember you have a fiancé and children waiting for you.”
She shrugged into her coat, crossed to his bedside, cupped his face, and planted a light kiss on the bandage at his temple. “You remember too—right now you’re a man with a fiancée. Hospitals are full of pretty nurses. While I’m gone, don’t you dare start flirting with anyone. If I catch you, I’ll make your life miserable.”
The kiss seemed to work like a charm; the pain from his wound faded and his whole face lit up. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, theatrical and delighted.
“Get out. Who said you’re my husband? We’re only engaged—not married.”
“When will you marry me, then?”
“You want to propose in your hospital bed? Are you serious? People usually date a year or two—let love run its course. You’ve only been engaged a little while and you want to rush into marriage? That’s a bit much.”
“Some people marry the day they meet, though.”
“That’s called a shotgun wedding—and the divorce rate for those is high. Want to try it?” she teased.
“No. You’re right. Whether it’s one year, two years, or seven, you pick the time and I’ll wait.”
“That’s better.”
They bickered until he squeezed her hand hard. She left the room smiling with Wei Shu at her side. Once they had gone, a bodyguard stepped out from the shadows and took up a strict watch outside Yan Yincheng’s door.
Back at his place, Li Mao was busily stoking a much larger fire online.
The Yan family was the wealthiest, most prominent house in Fengcheng—known to everyone. The wedding between Yan Zhen and Yuan Ya’er had the whole city watching. Media outlets were invited that day; the moment Xu Zixi appeared, cameras—sharp as hounds—captured everything and streamed it live.
Predictably, the messy four-way entanglement exploded across the internet. Within half an hour the footage had racked up a hundred million views and the social feeds were ablaze.
Comments flooded in:
- “Whoa—so scandalous. She slapped the bride right away? Yuan Xi is savage!”
- “I thought the slap was over the line, but then the bride’s next lines… deserved it. Total green-tea move!”
- “I live for these tear-down-a-green-tea dramas!”
- “Don’t call people by the wrong name—one mistake, one slap. Love the attitude! Babe, can I get your number?”
- “Mr. Yan is such a beast—letting his fiancée change names like that, iconic!”
- “Everyone’s gossiping, but am I the only one who thinks there was something off about those scandal photos of Yuan Xi four years ago?”
Some accounts steered the conversation toward the feud between Xu Zixi, Yuan Xi, and the Yuan family. The debate splintered: was Yuan Xi a victim, or had she been cruel? Was changing her name disrespectful or justified after the Yuan family’s mess?
Amid the roar of speculation, a long-dormant social account came alive. Ji Xinyue—whose name had been buried under scandal and a tragic car crash months before—posted a new video, and it detonated across platforms.
The clip was short. The speaker’s voice was steady. There were only three lines:
“Four years ago I paid him two million yuan to photoshop Yuan Xi’s bed photo and release it—totally ruin her.”
“Yuan Xi? The adopted daughter of the Yuans? Why would you target her?”
“Because she’s from a humble background yet ended up stealing every advantage. The Yuans adopted her by mistake and rewarded her life; meanwhile I, Ji Xinyue, with my looks, height, and talents—what did I lack? She kept pushing me down, stealing my opportunities, and now she wants to marry into the Yan family and become their little princess? I won’t let her have that.”
The video spread like wildfire. Old suspicions, old grudges, and new outrage all folded into one another as the city watched a carefully constructed past suddenly unravel.