Chapter 6: "Why are you crying? Who bullied you?"

When Qiao Zhen recalled those memories, she was overcome by dizziness, her vision darkened, her strength vanished, and she collapsed unconsciously into Qin Yichi’s arms.

She fell straight into his embrace.

Qin Yichi held the umbrella with one hand and swiftly wrapped his other arm around her slender waist, pulling her securely to his chest.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he lowered his head slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Not long after, the girl in his arms raised her head in a daze. Her face was deathly pale, yet her eyes were alarmingly red, and a faint whimper escaped her lips.

A crystal mist welled up in her gaze, as if she were desperately trying to hold back her tears, but the drops still fell, one after another.

It was as though she had suffered some enormous grievance.

Qin Yichi’s expression changed abruptly. His heart skipped a beat as he cupped her small face in his hands. “Why are you crying?”

His slightly rough thumb brushed gently across her skin, carefully wiping away each tear.

Qin Yichi’s brow furrowed, a vein pulsing at his temple. He stared at her intently, his voice grave:

“Who bullied you? Was it Ji Xian and his friends?”

At his words, Qiao Zhen said nothing. She only bowed her head, sobbing quietly, her shoulders beginning to tremble.

She herself could not say why, but all the bitterness and injustice she had suffered in her previous life surged over her in this moment, crossing the gulf of time to overwhelm her completely, leaving her unable to breathe.

She tried to hold back her tears, but she couldn’t control herself; instead, she wept even more fiercely.

A soft, choked sob escaped her.

It was as if, once the floodgates had opened, she could no longer shut them. Her tears streamed down her flawless cheeks, tumbling one after another.

Her eyes swelled red and puffy, looking utterly pitiful.

Yet she was still so obedient, so endearing.

Qin Yichi stood in silence, leaning over her, patiently wiping away her tears, again and again.

Night fell. The warm glow of the streetlamps stretched the shadows of passersby to infinity.

Thunder rumbled; rain poured down like countless silver needles, weaving a gauzy curtain of water that drummed mercilessly against the umbrella.

The sound of the rain drowned out her sobs.

After wiping her tears, Qin Yichi couldn’t resist pinching her soft cheeks. He sighed after a moment:

“If someone bullies you, tell me. Don’t shoulder it all alone. Do you hear?”

Qiao Zhen’s lashes, thick and curled, still glistened with tears as a haze of moisture lingered in her eyes.

She nodded, half-understanding, as if not wanting anyone to worry, her voice choked:

“No… no one bullied me.”

Qin Yichi’s lips parted, but after a pause, he said nothing. He lowered his gaze, hiding the fleeting shadow in his eyes.

All right, she’s crying so hard, yet still trying to defend that Ji fellow.

Just how much does she like him?

A surge of turbulent emotion roared through Qin Yichi’s chest before settling into a bitter ache, buried deep within his heart.

Qiao Zhen shook her head, sniffled, and murmured sadly to herself, “I… I don’t like him anymore.”

Her voice was so soft it was nearly drowned out by the rain, barely audible unless one listened closely.

Qin Yichi’s fingers froze, his steps halting. “What did you say?”

Qiao Zhen’s eyes were red, her fingers clutching the hem of her shirt, as she replied earnestly, “I don’t like Ji Xian anymore…”

Each word struck the ground like a raindrop, landing hard in Qin Yichi’s ears.

Time seemed to stand still.

His heart gave a sudden, violent thump. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “Congratulations.”

Qiao Zhen didn’t quite understand.

She looked up at him, obedient and confused, her voice thick with tears. “Hm?”

Under the warm orange streetlight, Qin Yichi’s lips curled into a faint smile. In his dark eyes, stars seemed to glimmer, dazzlingly bright.

“Congratulations—you’ve finally opened your eyes.”

—And congratulations to himself.

—At last, this moment had come.

Qiao Zhen pressed her reddened eyes and returned to the dormitory, rushing into the bathroom for a shower.

When her emotions had settled, she opened the drawer and took out her diary.

On the first page, a Polaroid was affixed: on the stage at the school anniversary, a boy sat at the piano in a black suit, cold and noble.

It was Ji Xian.

She would never forget the sight of that young man playing the piano under the dazzling lights.

It was love at first sight, an instant enchantment.

From that moment, Qiao Zhen had begun to pay attention to him, to watch him from afar, always cautious, never daring to approach.

Ji Xian was the darling of fate, heir to a powerful family, surrounded by admirers—an existence utterly out of reach.

And she was nothing but a speck of humble dust, dim and unseen.

Until one day, caught in a sudden downpour on her way to rehearsal, a luxury car pulled up beside her, the window rolling down slowly.

Ji Xian’s eyes, as exquisite as colored glass, met hers, his voice cool and clear: “Get in.”

It was said that no girl in school had ever ridden in Ji Xian’s car.

It was said that no girl had ever managed to get his contact information.

But Qiao Zhen was the only exception.

Perhaps it was this unique, singular treatment that led her to an illusion, a beautiful dream.

After the anniversary celebration, Qiao Zhen happened to overhear some boys asking Ji Xian what kind of girls he liked.

Ji Xian’s calm voice drifted from within the door:

“Proactive, passionate, and obedient.”

So Qiao Zhen made up her mind, summoned all her confidence and courage, and began her secret crush…

Looking back now, it seemed foolish.

If Ji Xian didn’t like her, he could have rejected her as decisively as he had rejected all the others.

But whenever she was about to give up, Ji Xian always gave her some special illusion, offered a sliver of hope, stringing her along.

It was that tiny bit of hope that made Qiao Zhen offer her sincere heart, her whole-hearted passion, only to be doused in icy water, left broken and disillusioned.

Someone so cold-blooded could never be warmed.

Reality is never a fairy tale. Cinderella could marry the prince only because she was actually the daughter of a noble earl; the ugly duckling could become a swan only because it was a swan all along.

And she—she had never been the heroine.

She was nothing but a humble speck of dust.

Qiao Zhen picked up the scissors and cut her diary to pieces, shredding it beyond recognition, then tossed it into the trash.

She unlocked her phone and, without a trace of reluctance, deleted and blocked Ji Xian and all his friends.

It was all over.

That chapter of her life was finished.

Suddenly awakened, she swore she would never repeat her mistakes.

Qiao Zhen lay in bed, pulling the covers up. For the first time, she felt utterly light and free.

She drifted off to sleep, her dreams interspersed with fragments of her past life.

A deep, husky voice echoed in her ears.

Her memories were blurred and chaotic, but faintly, she could make out a familiar man cupping her face, saying with utmost seriousness:

“You were never a humble speck of dust.”

“You are the brightest, most brilliant pearl of all.”