Chapter Twenty-Six: Growing Intimacy

Song Wanning didn’t answer directly but instead reached out to Wen Jingxing, asking for her phone. “Where’s my phone? Give it to me first.” Wen Jingxing pulled the phone out from his pocket and handed it to her. “Also, how did you get this phone? Didn’t everyone hand theirs over to the production team?”

He was full of suspicions, but Song Wanning didn’t rush to explain. Instead, she turned on the phone herself and started watching the video from earlier. The words Jian An’an had just spoken replayed from the phone. Wen Jingxing, curious, leaned in to see.

The two of them, heads so close they almost touched, didn’t realize how little distance there was between them—their breath mingling in the air. It wasn’t until the video nearly reached the part where Jian An’an started undressing that Song Wanning abruptly turned off the screen.

“That’s enough. There’s nothing worth seeing after this.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Wen Jingxing said calmly, fixing Song Wanning with his gaze.

Song Wanning turned her head; their noses almost brushed, and only then did she realize just how close they were. She leaned back slightly, inching away from Wen Jingxing.

He noticed her small movements but chose not to expose her, pretending not to see. Song Wanning had only watched the video to buy herself some time. In truth, she wasn’t sure if she should tell him everything.

Should she claim she passed by by chance? Then how would she explain the phone? Should she say she came especially to see him? Again, what about the phone? If she told the whole truth, why would Jian An’an be so hostile toward her?

If Song Wanning hadn’t already known the plot from the book, no one could have imagined, based on Jian An’an’s current public persona, the true depth of her animosity. What’s more, the original Song Wanning had always seemed to dislike Wen Jingxing; revealing these things to him now would seem highly contradictory.

Still, Song Wanning now held a secret over Jian An’an. As long as Jian An’an behaved, Song Wanning was willing to keep it. But given Jian An’an’s current attitude, it was unlikely she would let things go.

Song Wanning wasn’t in a hurry. In the original plot, Jian An’an gradually dismantled the original Song Wanning, making her more and more miserable. So Song Wanning didn’t mind lifting Jian An’an up high, only to throw her into the mud—let her experience the plunge from heaven to hell.

Wen Jingxing, seeing Song Wanning with her head bowed in deep thought, could only sigh helplessly, “If you don’t want to talk, fine. Just make sure you keep that phone hidden. Don’t let the director find it.”

Song Wanning’s eyes widened as he spoke. She was already shocked by what he’d said before, but this was even more outrageous. “You’re openly covering for me.”

“So what?” Wen Jingxing replied indifferently.

Song Wanning stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. Did he realize how serious this was? The cold, unfeeling male lead suddenly going out of his way to help a nobody—how could that be anything but suspicious?

She couldn’t understand what she had, or what she’d done, that made him want to help her.

“Why don’t you help me with something, then?” she ventured. Since he was willing to cover for her, surely he’d agree to a small request—like asking her sister-in-law for help finding someone on set. She remembered the paparazzo had said it was a man with a mole on his ear who’d let him in.

To verify the paparazzo’s story, she needed to find out if such a person existed.

Wen Jingxing didn’t ask for details. “Who do you want me to find?”

“Someone with a mole on his ear. But can you do it discreetly? I don’t want him to know—otherwise, he’ll be on guard.”

She looked up at Wen Jingxing with bright, expectant eyes, unaware how captivating that look was in his eyes.

Seeing her so secretive, Wen Jingxing was even more curious, but he still nodded in agreement.

Song Wanning was delighted by his acceptance. “You’ll know what this is about soon enough!”

Yet she couldn’t help but wonder—Wen Jingxing didn’t seem to dislike the original Song Wanning as much as she’d thought. And he listened to everything she said. Given how the original had treated him, she was too embarrassed to ask.

They gazed at each other in silence for a long while.

Suddenly, Song Wanning blurted out, “Um... I’d like to go back to my place. I haven’t even had my hot spring bath yet.”

All thanks to Jian An’an’s scheming, she hadn’t had a moment’s relaxation.

“Your shoes aren’t here. I’ll go fetch them for you,” Wen Jingxing offered.

Just as he was about to get up, Song Wanning grabbed his arm. “There’s no need. I already walked over here, so going back won’t be a problem.”

“Just stay here. There are a lot of loose stones around—what if you hurt your foot?” Wen Jingxing pressed her gently back onto the seat. “You stay here. I’ll find another place. I’ll leave your shoes by the door.”

Seeing how insistent he was, Song Wanning could only say, “Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s nothing.” Wen Jingxing shook his head and walked out.

Listening to his footsteps recede, Song Wanning finally slipped off her bathrobe and stepped into the hot spring, submerging herself in the soothing water.

Warmth enveloped her, and she let out a contented sigh. “How wonderful. It’s been so long since I truly relaxed.”

Indeed, it had been too long. In her previous life, she was a princess from birth. Everyone envied her, the emperor’s cherished daughter. Yet, as a princess, she’d been required to master countless courtly arts—etiquette, music, chess, calligraphy, painting.

But Song Wanning was born with a boyish temperament. She loved martial arts, horseback riding, galloping across open fields.

She’d balanced her passions with the burdens of palace protocol, forever performing for her father, the emperor. Later, when her country fell and her family was destroyed, she fled with her younger brother, always on edge, terrified of discovery.

After avenging her family and ascending the throne, she carried the weight of her people’s welfare on her shoulders.

She wondered, after her death, whether her mischievous brother could sustain their nation.

Lost in these thoughts, Song Wanning drifted into a deep sleep—so deep she didn’t even notice when Wen Jingxing returned.

He came back holding the shoes he’d fetched from the changing room, knocking softly on the bamboo gate. There was no response.

He called out tentatively, “Wanning?”

He leaned closer to the fence, listening for any sign from inside, but all he could hear was the gentle sound of flowing water.

“Wanning, are you in there?” Wen Jingxing called again.

Suddenly, he remembered something that had happened when they were children, and a wave of anxiety swept over him. Could the same thing have happened again?

Growing more uneasy, he warned, “If you don’t answer, I’m coming in!”