Chapter 3 (1/2)
Mu Wan was sent for imaging.
The results showed that the glass had neither pierced her heart nor injured the chest wall. The wound was only superficial. Still, because of where she had been hurt, they wanted to keep her in the hospital for observation.
After treating the wound and giving her a few precautions, Liu Qianxiu went off to see other patients. A nurse escorted Mu Wan to the surgical inpatient ward, and Lin Wei went with her to the room.
Yesterday, Mu Wan had been the one sitting below the bed while Lin Wei lay in it.
Today, they had switched places.
The moment Lin Wei sat down, she crossed her legs, folded her arms, and narrowed her eyes at Mu Wan.
“Tell me the truth. Did you and Taoist Liu know each other before this?”
Mu Wan leaned back against the raised hospital bed. The wound had been numbed and treated, so it didn’t hurt, only it itched a little. She rolled one shoulder and said, “If I knew him already, would I not have told you?”
That much, Lin Wei did believe. Still, when she thought of Liu Qianxiu’s cold, detached nature—and the fact that he had actually told Mu Wan her birthmark was beautiful—it still felt unbelievable.
She rubbed her chin and asked, “Could it be that you forgot?”
Mu Wan gave her a look.
“Does Taoist Liu seem like the kind of face anyone could forget?”
No, he did not.
Lin Wei had only seen him once, and she was pretty sure she could remember him for life.
“Then he likes you,” Lin Wei concluded with reckless confidence. “Taoist Liu only pays attention to things he likes. If he said your birthmark was beautiful, then what he really meant was that you’re beautiful.”
Lin Wei’s analysis was nonsense, as far as Mu Wan was concerned.
In her mind, she replayed those unfathomable eyes of his and said, “Immortals don’t fall for mortals that easily. Maybe bamboo-leaf-shaped birthmarks are rare. Or maybe it means something special in Taoist symbolism. Taoists can be a bit mystical.”
Compared with Lin Wei’s version, Mu Wan’s explanation sounded far more convincing.
Lin Wei looked at her. Some color had already returned to Mu Wan’s face; she no longer had that frightening, bloodless pallor from earlier in the bathroom. Living alone meant that when something happened, the only person Mu Wan could call was her. This time, it was lucky the glass had missed her heart. If it hadn’t—if the injury had been deeper—then even if the ambulance had arrived early, it might still have been too late.
The thought made Lin Wei shudder.
Leaning back, she said, “Still, when I was handling your admission paperwork, the nurse told me it was the first time she’d ever heard Dr. Liu compliment anyone. That means you are unusual. And look at this—you met him yesterday, and today you end up in the ER, and he’s the one treating you. You two really do seem weirdly fated. Doctors make decent money too. About the same as an eighteenth-tier actress like you. You’re both good-looking. Honestly, you’re kind of a match.”
Mu Wan listened to the whole string of reasoning. The rainy weather was making one of her legs ache, so she let it hang over the edge of the bed and said, “At this rate, in another five minutes you’ll have named our children.”
She said it lightly, but there was no real interest in it. Lin Wei sighed inwardly.
“Tell me honestly,” she said. “Are you planning to spend your whole life alone?”
She and Mu Wan had been classmates in high school. Lin Wei had moved to Xiacheng for school, and the two of them ended up in the same class. Mu Wan had always been beautiful. Boys had lined up to pursue her, but all the way through graduation, she had never dated anyone.
After university, it was no different. Once she moved out of the Mu family home, she spent all her time acting, earning tuition, and scraping together living expenses. She had never known her father, and the Mu family had always treated her like an outsider. Really, ever since her mother died, Mu Wan had already been living alone in every way that mattered.
“We’ll see,” Mu Wan said.
She had spent enough time on her own to think seriously about life and what she wanted from it.
“If living alone feels better, then I’ll live alone. If there’s someone who makes life feel even better, then I can live with him too.”
“Then Taoist Liu is a great option,” Lin Wei said at once, spotting hope again.
Mu Wan looked at her.
“Are you afraid I’ll start clinging to you out of loneliness, so you’re trying to push me off onto someone else?”
“Have you ever actually felt lonely?” Lin Wei asked.
Then she scratched her head, her eyes dimming a little.
“You really should try living with someone. Or at least get a cat. Then you’d understand. It’s not that you aren’t afraid of loneliness. It’s just that you’ve gotten used to it.”
Mu Wan knew Lin Wei meant well, but she didn’t want to view her current life through such a bleak lens. So she changed the subject.
“Do you have any everyday clothes here?”
Lin Wei glanced at her, still in a hospital gown and clearly not yet over what they had just been talking about.
“What for?”
“I have a dinner to attend tonight,” Mu Wan said. “I can’t exactly show up in this.”
Lin Wei’s face hardened.
“Do you have a death wish?”
“I had the X-ray. Nothing serious. It’s just a superficial wound,” Mu Wan said. “I already skipped one dinner not long ago. If I miss this one too, it won’t look good.”
“Then tell your agent you ended up in the ER and nearly died, so you can’t go,” Lin Wei shot back.
“That won’t work,” Mu Wan said. “I still have appearances this week. If I don’t work, how am I supposed to pay the mortgage?”
Lin Wei fell silent.
In the end, Mu Wan didn’t borrow Lin Wei’s clothes. She changed back into her own, went home, and put on a loose red cotton-linen dress. It hung softly enough that it wouldn’t rub against the wound. But once evening came, and the numbing medicine wore off, her left shoulder was nearly useless, too weak to lift properly.
Li Nan brought Mi Yu over.
As the most successful artist under him, Mi Yu’s schedule was one he followed almost personally. She was thirty this year and had taken good care of herself, though years of heavy makeup and sleepless filming had begun to leave faint traces. Even so, the age visible on a celebrity was not the same as the age visible on an ordinary person. She still looked twenty-six or twenty-seven, and she was still beautiful.
When Mu Wan saw them, she greeted them both.
“Boss. Sister Yu.”
Mi Yu was wearing sunglasses. She had enough public recognition that she needed at least a little disguise when she went out. At Mu Wan’s greeting, she turned her head slightly, though it was impossible to read her expression behind the lenses.
Li Nan noticed at once that there was something off about Mu Wan’s left arm.
“What happened to your arm?”
“I got hurt a little,” Mu Wan replied.
“Mm.”
His tone was flat. He glanced at Mi Yu, then said to Mu Wan, “Mi Yu still has scenes to shoot tonight. Director Zhang likes to drink. Later, at dinner, drink a few extra rounds in her place.”
Mu Wan had been to enough industry dinners to know the routine. Her alcohol tolerance was decent; a few rounds of toasts wouldn’t be a problem.
Besides, some of the company resources she received had come through Mi Yu’s recommendations after auditions. It was only fair to return the favor.
“All right. Got it.”
While they were speaking, the elevator arrived. Mi Yu stepped in first. Mu Wan followed. The doors closed, and neither of them said another word.
Mi Yu was the company’s top artist and a senior manager. Her temperament wasn’t especially pleasant. She was proud, a little distant, and didn’t mix much with the other artists at the company.
Mu Wan still remembered that when she first signed with Xinzhou Entertainment, Mi Yu had already been there. Back then, Mi Yu had been at the height of her popularity, yet Mu Wan could still sense a trace of hostility from her.
That was the entertainment industry. New faces appeared in waves. If you were young and beautiful, that already got you ninety percent of the way there.
Mu Wan, however, lacked the remaining ten percent.
She had no real hunger for fame, and as Mi Yu gradually realized that, the hostility faded.
The moment they stepped out of the elevator, someone was there to receive them.
Qingsongxuan was huge, decorated in a refined Chinese style. Screens, carved wooden doors, landscape paintings, red lanterns hanging high. The place was divided into four sections—east, south, west, and north—with a pond in the center. In the middle of the pond stood a pavilion, connected to the four wings by four small bridges. The entire setting was elegant and carefully arranged.
Director Zhang’s dinner was in the north wing. Following behind a server dressed in Han-style clothing, Mu Wan and Mi Yu crossed past the pavilion and into the northern corridor.
Just before turning into the north wing, Mu Wan happened to glance up.
