Incurable Chapter 23 Part 2

The west side of Xia City was home to many old-style residences—courtyards with grey tiles and white walls. Xia City had developed fast, but the focus had never been on the west. This area had never been demolished. Many long-time residents still lived there.

The Mu family compound was its own large courtyard. Past the main gate was the main hall. Behind it is a small garden. On both sides of the garden sat two smaller yards.

When Wu Ma returned, she happened to run into Mu Qing leaving.

Mu Qing wore a dark navy qipao and held an oil-paper umbrella. Beside her, Shen Cheng wore a blue long gown. They were heading to a Republic-era themed party.

Wu Ma lowered her head. “Miss. Mr. Shen.”

Wu Ma was short. Shen Cheng hadn’t noticed her at first. After hearing the greeting, he simply nodded politely. Mu Qing, however, noticed the items in Wu Ma’s hands and smiled lightly. “Went to see Mu Wan?”

Since returning from overseas, Mu Qing had become “kinder” on the surface. Wu Ma heard the question and didn’t dare answer at first. The Mu family had always treated Mu Wan like a taboo subject.

Wu Ma only visited Mu Wan when she had free time. The Mu family had always known. But they likely thought a servant couldn’t cause trouble, and they were used to Wu Ma working there, so they never fired her over it.

Seeing Wu Ma’s hesitation, Mu Qing asked directly, “Did you tell her what I told you to say?”

“I did,” Wu Ma answered, no longer wavering.

“And what did she say?” Mu Qing’s eyes brightened. She was tall, long-legged. Even dressed in “proper” elegance, her energy felt almost like an interrogation.

Wu Ma replied, “She said she has work.”

“Does she?” Mu Qing’s throat seemed to release a thin, cold laugh.

Wu Ma raised her eyes, but Mu Qing had already turned away.

Mu Wan did have work.

Like today.

She’d been up since five, filming. Lunch was a boxed meal on set. She didn’t wrap until seven p.m.

The filming base felt like it had been sealed under a giant jar—hot, wet, suffocating. Mu Wan changed out of costume and walked out, only to find the entire city felt the same.

The clouds from yesterday still hadn’t broken. They’d gathered thicker instead, a black mass rolling overhead, dense and airless.

Standing outside in that weather was enough to make you irritable. Even passersby looked sour, rushing to wherever they had to be.

Mu Wan’s own skin was crawling with damp heat. As she raised a hand to hail a taxi, she called Liu Qianxiu.

At five-thirty, she’d texted him that she’d be late. He’d replied that he was working overtime.

He picked up quickly. His voice was like wind through bamboo—cool, clean, splitting apart the heat under  Mu Wan’s skin. Mu Wan’s eyes curved down on their own.

“Are you still at the hospital?”

“No. I’m on my way home,” Liu Qianxiu answered.

“Then I’ll just take a taxi straight to your place.” Mu Wan didn’t waste time. She caught sight of a cab and lifted her hand fast, breaking into a jog as it pulled over. “I got one. I’m hanging up—”

She ended the call and ran to the taxi. The short sprint felt like swimming through hot water. When the door opened, cold air slid into her pores. Her skin tightened, and she shivered.

“Nanfeng Apartments,” she told the driver.

The meter clicked on. The driver glanced at the rolling black sky and said, “Typhoon weather tonight. It’s going to pour.”

Mu Wan leaned against the window as the temperature dropped. She looked up at the clouds, too. It really did look like a city about to be swallowed.

“Then please drive faster,” she said. “If it starts raining, I don’t have an umbrella.”

Outside, cars weren’t allowed into Nanfeng Apartments. The gate was still a walk from Liu Qianxiu’s building. If the rain hit, she’d get drenched.

“Got it.” The driver stepped on the gas.

After seven, the worst traffic had passed. The roads were smoother than usual.

But cars weren’t faster than the weather.

By the time they neared Nanfeng Apartments, fat raindrops began to fall. The first drops before a storm were always huge—like coins slamming the ground. When they reached the gate, the pavement was already half-wet.

The driver listened to the heavy hits on the roof, glanced back at Mu Wan, and said, “You should call someone to come get you. Those drops are big. They’ll hurt.”

Mu Wan was pretty and slender. People couldn’t help feeling protective.

But this wasn’t her home, and she couldn’t ask anyone else to fetch her. She didn’t explain. She paid, smiled, and said, “I got hit a lot when I was little. I’m not afraid of pain.”

Then she thanked him and shut the door.

The moment she stepped out, the raindrops hammered her shoulders, her face, her hair. The impact really did sting. Mu Wan lifted an arm over her head and prepared to sprint for Liu Qianxiu’s building in one go.

But as she mapped the route in her mind and readied herself, she looked up—

And her heart stopped.

A figure stood at the gate.

A man under a black umbrella. Tall, straight, unmoving. His skin was pale under the umbrella’s shadow, and in the dim light it looked even colder. His features were calm and clean, his eyes dark and bright like deep pools you couldn’t see the bottom of.

He stood there, quiet and distant, as if rain and noise had nothing to do with him.

There weren’t many people at the gate. The guard booth was lit, shadows moving inside. Outside was nothing but the sound of rain.

Mu Wan’s heart unfurled, soft as gauze.

She ran toward him.

Up close, his face sharpened into clarity. He was holding a beige supermarket bag in his other hand—opaque, but Mu Wan could guess what was inside.

This afternoon, she’d said she wanted sweet-and-sour diced lotus root.

Mu Wan—like drifting duckweed—crashed into his umbrella.

Sandalwood rose around her at once.

He shielded her. The rain couldn’t touch her anymore.

After her mother died, she couldn’t count how many times she’d walked through storms alone. Tonight, she wouldn’t.

She was damp from the short dash, droplets clinging to her pale face. She smiled, wiped at her cheeks so she wouldn’t look pitiful, then lifted her head. Her eyes shone, bright and wet.

“Liu Qianxiu… were you waiting for me?”

Her voice was sweet and light, rising at the end, like ripples spreading across water.

Liu Qianxiu looked down at her under the umbrella. Streetlights flicked on. Her shadow grew longer and slipped beyond the umbrella’s edge—thin and trailing, like a cat’s tail.

“Mm,” he answered.

The author has something to say:
Mu Wan: Lin Wei asked me how old you are.
Liu Qianxiu: you have to see for yourself how old it is.

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