Incurable Chapter 24 Part 1

The woman in his arms didn’t answer. With the rain whispering outside, her breathing grew longer, steadier, as if she’d fallen asleep again. Liu Qianxiu lowered his gaze, opened the door to the second bedroom, and placed her onto the bed.

No one had ever stayed in the second bedroom, but everything in it was complete and spotless. Liu Qianxiu switched on the small night lamp by the bed and turned to leave. The moment the door clicked shut, it locked the faint living-room light outside.

On the bed, the woman opened her eyes.

She listened carefully for footsteps beyond the door. When she finally heard another door closing, she shut her eyes again, hugged the thin quilt, and curled up tighter and tighter—until, with a sudden burst of energy, she kicked her legs out hard.

After the kick, she released the breath she’d been holding and flopped into a starfish sprawl on the bed, gulping air as she’d just surfaced from deep water.

Liu Qianxiu had bridal-carried her. He’d agreed to let her stay. He’d even said she could do whatever she wanted. And best of all—when she opened her eyes tomorrow morning, she could see him.

Mu Wan trembled with small, contained excitement. She hugged the quilt and rolled twice, giggling under her breath. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, rain pattered softly, and her happiness couldn’t be hidden.

Mu Wan didn’t know what time she finally fell asleep, but it had to be late. Because when Li Nan’s call woke her in the morning, she had a flash of cranky irritation.

She opened her eyes, sat up, took three seconds to remember where she was—and the irritation vanished.

“Hello, Sir,” she answered, glancing at the time. Not even seven yet.

Li Nan was her manager. His schedule was chaotic because he followed Mi Yu to sets. If Mi Yu filmed overnight, he stayed up too.

“City of Prayer has its premiere tonight at seven. Go show your face,” Li Nan said.

Mu Wan was a professional supporting role actress. “Showing her face” events rarely landed on her. Usually, it was when Mi Yu couldn’t spare the time, and Li Nan needed someone to stand on stage for a bit. The host wouldn’t ask her questions anyway. After the short appearance, she could watch the premiere for free.

Mu Wan actually liked these events. Free movie. No pressure.

But she couldn’t go tonight. She was scheduled to film. And even if Li Nan’s priorities were all Mi Yu, he shouldn’t have forgotten.

“I have filming at seven. Wind and Snow,” Mu Wan reminded him.

“Ah.” Li Nan acknowledged. “I was just about to tell you—your call time got canceled.”

It wasn’t shocking. Mu Wan’d never played an important role. Scenes could be cut down until she had nothing left. Cancellation was normal.

But as soon as he said it, Mu Wan remembered what Wu Ma had asked her the day before. Her lashes lowered. She looked down at the little daisy embroidery on the quilt. “Then what about my schedule tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is normal.” Li Nan sounded mildly surprised—Mu Wan rarely asked this carefully. “The writer trimmed some scenes. Nothing serious.”

“Got it.” Mu Wan relaxed and smiled. “Thanks, Sir.”

After she hung up, she was fully awake. She leaned back and stared at the floor-to-ceiling window. The curtain was drawn, leaving a narrow gap of light. She couldn’t tell whether the sky outside was bright or cloudy.

She got out of bed barefoot and pulled the curtain open.

The room flooded with midsummer sunlight.

Her mood lit up with it.

Mu Wan stretched, slid into slippers, and washed up. Liu Qianxiu had let her stay the night. The least she could do was wake early and not cause trouble.

When she finished, she opened the door and stepped out.

The living room was quiet, filled with a faint agarwood scent—calming, steady, almost dizzying in how it cleared the mind. Liu Qianxiu’s bedroom door was closed. She didn’t know if he was up yet.

Then she heard a few meows from the cat room.

Mu Wan’s gaze shifted. She walked over.

Zhou Yi sat primly at the entrance like a black shadow with golden eyes. Seeing her, it lifted a paw and licked it.

Mu Wan looked into the room, and her lashes fluttered.

Liu Qianxiu was already awake.

He sat cross-legged on the carpet with a bottle in his hand, feeding the three kittens. One bottle, three kittens. He fed them in order. Their tiny heads tracked the bottle like a single organism, turning in perfect unison.

The curtains in the cat room were wide open. Sunlight spilled in. The kittens’ soft fur glowed, almost translucent. Liu Qianxiu wore a long shirt and pants. His fingers—clean, defined—held the bottle nearly empty. Light passed through his knuckles, a thin layer of brightness.

At the door, Mu Wan stood still.

Liu Qianxiu sensed her quickly and glanced over. His features were calm, but the warmth in his eyes hadn’t faded yet.

Mu Wan’s heartbeat accelerated—steady, controlled, impossible to stop.

“Good morning,” she said, pulling herself together. She looked down at the carpet, ears warming. Then she went in and sat beside Liu Qianxiu. “You’re up so early.”

“They’re hungry,” Liu Qianxiu answered quietly, eyes on the kittens.

Kittens were hard to raise, not only because they were fragile, but because they demanded constant attention. Every few hours, feed again. The three little ones had made it this far because Liu Qianxiu had put in real care.

Thinking of that, Mu Wan remembered Li Nan’s call. She lifted her head. “Liu Qianxiu, I’ll take you to a movie.”

He looked up.

Mu Wan smiled and leaned back on her hands. Her eyes stayed on him, hopeful and bright. “A movie I’m in. I’m just a small supporting role, but it’s the premiere today. I have to attend the event so that we can watch it.”

She kept watching him as she spoke—too expectant to hide it.

Liu Qianxiu asked, “What time?”

“Seven-thirty at night.” Mu Wan felt like she’d already won halfway and answered fast. She didn’t know much about him, and he didn’t know much about her either. Tonight could be time together—time for him to see more of her. Though honestly, there wasn’t that much to learn: a small actress, no parents, no family. He could probably guess most of it.

“I have surgery tonight,” Liu Qianxiu said evenly. “I might be late.”

“It’s fine.” Mu Wan’s smile lifted again. “Don’t rush. Just come. I’ll wait.”

She looked down at the kittens. “Let me try. They’re this big already, and I haven’t fed them breakfast even once.”

She straightened and reached out, serious about it, posture full of confidence.

About a third of the formula was left—a quick feed. Liu Qianxiu didn’t refuse. He handed her the bottle.

Mu Wan tried to lure the kittens.

The kittens ignored the bottle completely and lifted their faces to cry at Liu Qianxiu instead.

Even though Mu Wan visited often and the kittens were affectionate with her, when she and Liu Qianxiu were both present, the kittens still clung to him more.

In the end, Liu Qianxiu picked them up one by one and set them into Mu Wan’s lap.

With the bottle, the kittens finally quieted.

Mu Wan poked Zhong Fen’s tiny ear with a fingertip. The warm fuzz on her finger was ridiculously comforting. She looked up at Liu Qianxiu as he stood and joked, “They like you so much. When they grow up, and I want to take them home, what if they can’t leave you?”

She answered her own question, pointing at herself. “If they can’t leave you… Can I stay too?”

Outside the window, a white dove flew past.

Inside the quiet cat room, her words lingered.

Mu Wan looked up at him.

Liu Qianxiu stood in the sunlight. It shone through the pale coffee-colored fabric of his shirt, outlining the lean line of his waist. He looked down at her, lashes casting a shadow along his lower lids. His voice was low, like clear water running over stones.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Mu Wan’s smile paused.

She stared at his clear, calm eyes, heart stuttering once. “A sandwich and orange juice.”

“Okay.” Liu Qianxiu agreed and left the cat room.

Mu Wan watched his back, and then her smile returned.

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