Mu Wan woke at six in the morning.
The hangover headache gave her a burst of irritation the moment she opened her eyes. She scrunched her face and made a small, unhappy sound, then rolled over.
She was used to sleeping alone. When she turned, her leg usually hit the edge of the bed.
Today, it didn’t.
Mu Wan’s eyes snapped open. It was like she still hadn’t sobered up, and in her mind, last night replayed in sharp, humiliating flashes.
She sat up.
Outside, it was raining, the sky dark and heavy. Even the curtains could not turn it bright. The room was empty, quiet as a sealed box. Only a small desk lamp remained, and a laptop that had been shut down. Liu Qianxiu was gone.
In an instant, Mu Wan filled in the rest of the story herself.
Seduction failed. Mu Wan had taken over his room. Liu Daozhang, to avoid any scandal, must have booked another room.
Rejected.
Her mood matched the weather: gray, miserable.
She had been drunk last night, but she was clear now. Still, she did not stay in that misery long. She pulled out her phone and texted him, roughly: sorry for last night, thank you for taking her in, sorry for causing trouble.
Then she left without lingering and returned to her own room.
Gao Mei was already gone. Only a breakfast voucher lay on the table.
Call time was seven. It was already after six. There was no time to eat properly. Mu Wan went to the restaurant, grabbed something quick, and asked for a cup of soy milk to go.
The soy milk came in a sealed paper cup. Mu Wan was stuck in a straw and sipped as she rode the elevator down. The doors opened on the first floor, and she walked into the hotel lobby.
At the entrance, a crowd had gathered.
Reporters, staff, and black-clad bodyguards formed a ring, all orbiting the person in the center like stars around a moon.
It was a short-haired woman.
A black tank top. A pale coffee silk skirt. A hint of the waist was revealed. Mu Wan’s silhouette was effortlessly graceful—head slightly bowed, eyes tilted up at the corners, a tiny beauty mark like a tear beneath her right eye.
She stood in the center of the crowd with practiced ease, expression unchanged, as if she had long grown used to being surrounded. A soft red tinted her lips. Her smile was polite, controlled, graceful, and intelligent.
Mu Wan withdrew her gaze and walked past the crowd.
A woman’s figure flashed at the edge of her vision, too bright to ignore. Mu Qing lifted her eyes and swept a glance sideways, catching the profile of a woman drinking soy milk as she walked.
Mu Wan looked straight ahead, expression calm.
She did not even look at her.
In the ornate lobby, the two of them crossed like parallel lines that only intersected by accident. They had not truly met before.
They would not meet after.
“Miss Mu.”
Before Mu Wan could leave the lobby, a familiar voice called her.
She bit the straw and turned. When she saw it was only Xiao Tan, she let go of the straw and smiled.
“Director Xiao.”
Xiao Tan was thirty-seven, but he did not look it. He had the gentle, polished elegance of a successful man, appearing to be in his early thirties.
“Just call me Doctor Xiao,” he said with a smile. His gaze fell on her soy milk. “Didn’t have time for breakfast?”
Mu Wan was about to answer when Xiao Tan continued, as if remembering something.
“Ah, right. You slept in Qianxiu’s room last night.”
Mu Wan choked on the soy milk.
She coughed lightly, looking up to find laughter in the corners of Xiao Tan’s eyes. Her face turned red from the choke. She pulled the straw away and said, “I was drunk. Doctor Liu just looked after me a little.”
Xiao Tan listened quietly, warm and courteous, not interrupting. His expression suggested he fully believed her. Being around someone like him felt easy.
When Mu Wan finished, Xiao Tan smiled.
“I know. Qianxiu didn’t sleep in that room. When he went to open another room, I happened to see him. Qianxiu is a gentleman.”
Those words pulled Mu Wan out of the corner her thoughts had backed her into.
“I have to go. The hospital car is here. Qianxiu is waiting for me at the hospital.” Xiao Tan nodded to her and walked out through the revolving door. Outside, an assistant handed him a stack of documents. He accepted them, every movement refined.
Mu Wan watched him go, then finally understood last night from a different angle.
Liu Qianxiu’s leaving might not have been a rejection.
She had been drunk, not in full control.
He was a gentleman.
He simply did not want to take advantage.
Mu Wan bit her straw, and her smile slowly spread.
It rained in Wen City.
The raindrops were small, but dense. In minutes, they could soak you through.
A drama did not have to be filmed strictly in order. Since it was raining today, Mu Wan shot her final death scene.
She wore a light gray cotton dress, white socks, and black leather shoes, the standard look for a Republican-era woman. The dress was loose. Her stomach was padded into a small swell.
She was to be murdered while pregnant.
The rain grew finer. The entire hospital seemed wrapped in a dark, heavy, dim cloud. The set was by the curved lake. The area had been cleared. No one remained, only the sound of rain striking water.
Mu Wan clutched her belly and ran, her face slick with heat, rain, and tears. It was impossible to tell. She held a bag of documents to her chest. Her square-toed black shoes slapped the ground, splashing muddy water.
She reached the lake and found the path blocked. She backed up, stumbled, and fell. Soaked through, her skirt coated in mud, she held out the documents, pleading as she crawled backward, arms protecting her belly.
The attacker took the documents. Murder rose in his eyes. He grabbed her from behind.
Mu Wan’s eyes filled with terror. She fought, protected her stomach, begged, cried for help, pleaded for mercy, every emotion visible in her face.
One shoe kicked off. With a loud splash, Mu Wan’s body sank into the water.
She flailed, drowning in panic written across her features. Then, as the struggle failed, she slipped downward, swallowed by the lake.
Multiple cameras captured the scene from different angles.
By a window, Liu Qianxiu watched, stitching the angles together in his mind.
Her acting was good. The scene almost passed in one take.
They hauled her out of the water, dripping. She stood behind the camera, listening as the director said something, likely praise. She smiled faintly.
She liked acting.
Liu Qianxiu could see that from just that one scene.
Someone handed her a towel. She wiped twice, then held an umbrella and headed toward the inpatient building. The crew’s changing room was there.
The rain did not stop. It washed the heat out of the air. Mu Wan was soaked, wrapped in a towel against the wind. Raindrops hammered her umbrella. A gust cut through, and she shivered so hard her teeth clicked.
She hurried into the inpatient building.
There was no way to shower. She dried herself with towels and changed into her own clothes. Rainy weather was damp and cold, and even her clothes felt slightly clammy, but it was still better than the wet costume. Her body warmed gradually. She coughed softly, wiped her hair, and stepped out of the changing room.
The moment she entered the corridor, she looked up and saw Liu Qianxiu waiting by the doorway.
Her gaze flickered. She smiled.
“Liu Qianxiu.” The nasal tone from her cold made it sound even softer.
She had cried hard in that scene. Her eyes were red, and the tip of her nose was pink. She rubbed it with her hand.
She had texted him that morning. He had replied: “You’re welcome. She had planned to contact him after filming.
She had not expected to see him here.
Maybe it was not an accident.
Mu Wan lifted her eyes to him. He looked down at her, calm as ever. Mu Wan shifted her weight, smiled, and curved her red eyes.
“I cried so hard just now, I cried the baby right out of me.”
In the scene, her character was pregnant.
What Liu Qianxiu thought of was another night: the passenger seat, the woman pushing her little, rounded belly forward under the seatbelt, teasing him about the empire he had built.
His gaze dropped to her flat stomach.
His lips moved.
He held something out.
A glass cup with a lid screwed tight. Clean glass reflecting the corridor lights. Inside the pale brown liquid, two clear bubbles climbed slowly toward the top.
“The baby’s gone, you can always have another,” Liu Qianxiu said. “Don’t catch a cold.”
Mu Wan’s heart lifted, and her smile brightened.
The air was still damp and cold. Mu Wan’s clothes were still thin. Yet warmth rose through her body fast, from toes to hair, like her blood had decided to sprint.
She took the cup.
It was still hot.
Freshly mixed banlangen.
She held the warm glass, fingers pale against it, and scratched lightly at the cup with her fingertips. Then she mumbled, so softly she thought only she could hear it.
“That only works if you’re willing to have one with me…~.”
She thought he hadn’t heard.
Then a low voice sounded beside her, so close it seemed to bite straight into the soft place under her ear and clamp around her heart.
“Hmm?”
Continue reading Incurable Chapter 16 Part 2
The hangover headache gave her a burst of irritation the moment she opened her eyes. She scrunched her face and made a small, unhappy sound, then rolled over.
She was used to sleeping alone. When she turned, her leg usually hit the edge of the bed.
Today, it didn’t.
Mu Wan’s eyes snapped open. It was like she still hadn’t sobered up, and in her mind, last night replayed in sharp, humiliating flashes.
She sat up.
Outside, it was raining, the sky dark and heavy. Even the curtains could not turn it bright. The room was empty, quiet as a sealed box. Only a small desk lamp remained, and a laptop that had been shut down. Liu Qianxiu was gone.
In an instant, Mu Wan filled in the rest of the story herself.
Seduction failed. Mu Wan had taken over his room. Liu Daozhang, to avoid any scandal, must have booked another room.
Rejected.
Her mood matched the weather: gray, miserable.
She had been drunk last night, but she was clear now. Still, she did not stay in that misery long. She pulled out her phone and texted him, roughly: sorry for last night, thank you for taking her in, sorry for causing trouble.
Then she left without lingering and returned to her own room.
Gao Mei was already gone. Only a breakfast voucher lay on the table.
Call time was seven. It was already after six. There was no time to eat properly. Mu Wan went to the restaurant, grabbed something quick, and asked for a cup of soy milk to go.
The soy milk came in a sealed paper cup. Mu Wan was stuck in a straw and sipped as she rode the elevator down. The doors opened on the first floor, and she walked into the hotel lobby.
At the entrance, a crowd had gathered.
Reporters, staff, and black-clad bodyguards formed a ring, all orbiting the person in the center like stars around a moon.
It was a short-haired woman.
A black tank top. A pale coffee silk skirt. A hint of the waist was revealed. Mu Wan’s silhouette was effortlessly graceful—head slightly bowed, eyes tilted up at the corners, a tiny beauty mark like a tear beneath her right eye.
She stood in the center of the crowd with practiced ease, expression unchanged, as if she had long grown used to being surrounded. A soft red tinted her lips. Her smile was polite, controlled, graceful, and intelligent.
Mu Wan withdrew her gaze and walked past the crowd.
A woman’s figure flashed at the edge of her vision, too bright to ignore. Mu Qing lifted her eyes and swept a glance sideways, catching the profile of a woman drinking soy milk as she walked.
Mu Wan looked straight ahead, expression calm.
She did not even look at her.
In the ornate lobby, the two of them crossed like parallel lines that only intersected by accident. They had not truly met before.
They would not meet after.
“Miss Mu.”
Before Mu Wan could leave the lobby, a familiar voice called her.
She bit the straw and turned. When she saw it was only Xiao Tan, she let go of the straw and smiled.
“Director Xiao.”
Xiao Tan was thirty-seven, but he did not look it. He had the gentle, polished elegance of a successful man, appearing to be in his early thirties.
“Just call me Doctor Xiao,” he said with a smile. His gaze fell on her soy milk. “Didn’t have time for breakfast?”
Mu Wan was about to answer when Xiao Tan continued, as if remembering something.
“Ah, right. You slept in Qianxiu’s room last night.”
Mu Wan choked on the soy milk.
She coughed lightly, looking up to find laughter in the corners of Xiao Tan’s eyes. Her face turned red from the choke. She pulled the straw away and said, “I was drunk. Doctor Liu just looked after me a little.”
Xiao Tan listened quietly, warm and courteous, not interrupting. His expression suggested he fully believed her. Being around someone like him felt easy.
When Mu Wan finished, Xiao Tan smiled.
“I know. Qianxiu didn’t sleep in that room. When he went to open another room, I happened to see him. Qianxiu is a gentleman.”
Those words pulled Mu Wan out of the corner her thoughts had backed her into.
“I have to go. The hospital car is here. Qianxiu is waiting for me at the hospital.” Xiao Tan nodded to her and walked out through the revolving door. Outside, an assistant handed him a stack of documents. He accepted them, every movement refined.
Mu Wan watched him go, then finally understood last night from a different angle.
Liu Qianxiu’s leaving might not have been a rejection.
She had been drunk, not in full control.
He was a gentleman.
He simply did not want to take advantage.
Mu Wan bit her straw, and her smile slowly spread.
It rained in Wen City.
The raindrops were small, but dense. In minutes, they could soak you through.
A drama did not have to be filmed strictly in order. Since it was raining today, Mu Wan shot her final death scene.
She wore a light gray cotton dress, white socks, and black leather shoes, the standard look for a Republican-era woman. The dress was loose. Her stomach was padded into a small swell.
She was to be murdered while pregnant.
The rain grew finer. The entire hospital seemed wrapped in a dark, heavy, dim cloud. The set was by the curved lake. The area had been cleared. No one remained, only the sound of rain striking water.
Mu Wan clutched her belly and ran, her face slick with heat, rain, and tears. It was impossible to tell. She held a bag of documents to her chest. Her square-toed black shoes slapped the ground, splashing muddy water.
She reached the lake and found the path blocked. She backed up, stumbled, and fell. Soaked through, her skirt coated in mud, she held out the documents, pleading as she crawled backward, arms protecting her belly.
The attacker took the documents. Murder rose in his eyes. He grabbed her from behind.
Mu Wan’s eyes filled with terror. She fought, protected her stomach, begged, cried for help, pleaded for mercy, every emotion visible in her face.
One shoe kicked off. With a loud splash, Mu Wan’s body sank into the water.
She flailed, drowning in panic written across her features. Then, as the struggle failed, she slipped downward, swallowed by the lake.
Multiple cameras captured the scene from different angles.
By a window, Liu Qianxiu watched, stitching the angles together in his mind.
Her acting was good. The scene almost passed in one take.
They hauled her out of the water, dripping. She stood behind the camera, listening as the director said something, likely praise. She smiled faintly.
She liked acting.
Liu Qianxiu could see that from just that one scene.
Someone handed her a towel. She wiped twice, then held an umbrella and headed toward the inpatient building. The crew’s changing room was there.
The rain did not stop. It washed the heat out of the air. Mu Wan was soaked, wrapped in a towel against the wind. Raindrops hammered her umbrella. A gust cut through, and she shivered so hard her teeth clicked.
She hurried into the inpatient building.
There was no way to shower. She dried herself with towels and changed into her own clothes. Rainy weather was damp and cold, and even her clothes felt slightly clammy, but it was still better than the wet costume. Her body warmed gradually. She coughed softly, wiped her hair, and stepped out of the changing room.
The moment she entered the corridor, she looked up and saw Liu Qianxiu waiting by the doorway.
Her gaze flickered. She smiled.
“Liu Qianxiu.” The nasal tone from her cold made it sound even softer.
She had cried hard in that scene. Her eyes were red, and the tip of her nose was pink. She rubbed it with her hand.
She had texted him that morning. He had replied: “You’re welcome. She had planned to contact him after filming.
She had not expected to see him here.
Maybe it was not an accident.
Mu Wan lifted her eyes to him. He looked down at her, calm as ever. Mu Wan shifted her weight, smiled, and curved her red eyes.
“I cried so hard just now, I cried the baby right out of me.”
In the scene, her character was pregnant.
What Liu Qianxiu thought of was another night: the passenger seat, the woman pushing her little, rounded belly forward under the seatbelt, teasing him about the empire he had built.
His gaze dropped to her flat stomach.
His lips moved.
He held something out.
A glass cup with a lid screwed tight. Clean glass reflecting the corridor lights. Inside the pale brown liquid, two clear bubbles climbed slowly toward the top.
“The baby’s gone, you can always have another,” Liu Qianxiu said. “Don’t catch a cold.”
Mu Wan’s heart lifted, and her smile brightened.
The air was still damp and cold. Mu Wan’s clothes were still thin. Yet warmth rose through her body fast, from toes to hair, like her blood had decided to sprint.
She took the cup.
It was still hot.
Freshly mixed banlangen.
She held the warm glass, fingers pale against it, and scratched lightly at the cup with her fingertips. Then she mumbled, so softly she thought only she could hear it.
“That only works if you’re willing to have one with me…~.”
She thought he hadn’t heard.
Then a low voice sounded beside her, so close it seemed to bite straight into the soft place under her ear and clamp around her heart.
“Hmm?”
The author has something to say:Liu Daochang: Naturally, I am willing to.
