The hardest hit often didn’t end in angry outbursts, nor in crying fits.
The hardest hit was silence—
the kind that left one standing perfectly still,
heart breaking with impeccable composure.
She had a cake in her hands, yet no one spared her a second glance. Everyone assud she was here on soone else’s behalf.
An Ning had noticed her standing quietly in the corner.
On any other day, a stranger loitering near the filming set would have been chased out within minutes.
But tonight, as fate would have it, she went unnoticed.
Now, An Ning’s luck value had dropped from forty-five to a asly five.
Twenty points gone just to let Zhang Yazhi slip past the staff.
Another twenty had already vanished—to send concrete evidence for the reveal.
Apparently, summoning fate ca with transaction fees.
"Do you regret it?"
The little lon drifted out of nowhere, voice soft but curious. His gaze followed Zhang Yazhi’s figure across the room.
An Ning didn’t answer imdiately. Her fingers tapped light lyagainst the table, eyes lingering on the quiet woman in the corner.
"Well," she comnted, half to herself, "I didn’t think Han Yichen was this thorough. He’s erased every last trace of Zhang Yazhi."
The little lon huffed. "You say that so calmly for soone who’s been tripping over air all day. Your chopsticks jumped off the table, your faucet exploded, and you nearly face-planted into your own reflection."
An Ning gave him a sidelong look. "Minor inconveniences. Besides, my reflexes are excellent—I avoided facial damage."
"You call this minor?" he grumbled. "That’s divine retribution."
"No," she said mildly, "that’s called transaction fees."
She paused then, her tone softening with sothing that almost resembled pity.
"It seems he’d made his choice long before she ever understood there was one to make."
"Host, humans are scary." The little lon finally concluded, voice small but solemn. "Those songs that Zhang Yazhi wrote with him in mind...only for him to erase those traces of her."
"Or...maybe not all humans," the little lon said quietly, his gaze drifting to An Ning.
Sotis, when you’re standing at the edge of the abyss, all it takes is soone willing to reach down and pull you back.
In the original tiline, no one pulled Zhang Yazhi.
But tonight, the little lon was glad that An Ning was here.
The courtyard lights flickered softly, casting long, uneven shadows across the lawn. Dinner chatter rose and fell—low laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the kind of pleasant noise that disguised tension underneath.
For a fleeting mont, An Ning wondered what it must feel like—to stand there with a cake in hand, dignity balanced on a trembling line.
She wondered how much courage it must have taken for her to stand here, watching Han Yichen showing affection for another woman.
Then, at that exact mont, a slender young woman appeared at the edge of the set—a cap pulled low, a mask covering half her face, a cake balanced carefully in one hand.
The sound of her footsteps was soft, but sohow—it cut through everything.
Across the table, Han Yichen looked up.
For a heartbeat, the world seed to slow.
The chatter dimd, the laughter thinned, and all that remained was the faint clink of fork eting porcelain.
Zhang Yazhi stopped a few steps away, her expression unreadable beneath the mask.
Her fingers trembled slightly—whether from nerves or restraint, it was impossible to tell.
Han Yichen’s hand, resting on the table, stilled.
It was the smallest motion—barely perceptible—but enough for the cara to catch.
It was in that mont he understood what people ant when they said fear could make the mind go blank.
[Wait... why does this feel weirdly intense 😳🔥]
[WHO IS SHE 😱💀 why’s Yichen looking like he’s seen a ghost?!]
[Not the cake delivery arc 😭🍰😭]
[Girl boss walked in like the final boss 💅⚡️]
"The show’s about to get interesting." A quiet amusent flickered in An Ning’s eyes.
anwhile, across the courtyard, the director leaned closer to the monitor, whispering to the PA, "Who’s that? Is she one of the extras?"
"No," the PA whispered back, her face visibly paling as she scrolled through script. "There isn’t supposed to be any secret event today."
The director blinked. "Then how—"
And then realisation dawned.
The quiet posture.
The way Han Yichen’s composure had shattered—just slightly—around the eyes.
Ah—damn.
Soone was out to get him this year.
If only An Ning had caught the director’s confusion, he had no idea this was only the beginning.
"Turn off the caras!" It was the first thing Han Yichen managed to say when thought finally returned.
As if An Ning would give him the chance to do that.
She had already borrowed fifty Luck Value from little lon—just to make sure no one could shut the caras off.
After all, gossip is always ant to be shared.
The silence that followed stretched—thin enough to snap.
Even the clinking of cutlery had gone still, as though the air itself held its breath.
Then Zhang Yazhi stepped forward.
Slow, deliberate. Each step soft, but carrying the kind of weight that made people look up without knowing why.
She stepped beside Han Yichen’s table.
The cake trembled slightly in her hands, frosting catching warm light.
"Happy anniversary," she said, her voice low—almost gentle.
It would’ve sounded affectionate, if not for the faint tremor underneath.
[??? Anniversary??? 😳]
[Wait WHAT anniversary 😭😭😭]
[Bro’s face just drained—what did he do 😱🔥]
[This isn’t a dating show anymore, this is a real drama live 💀]
Han Yichen froze, his mind a tangle of panic and disbelief as he saw the production team trying to turn the caras off but to no avail.
An Ning leaned back slightly in her seat, chin resting on her palm, eyes bright with that familiar, lon-eating curiosity.
"Well," she said, voice barely audible over the buzz that rippled through the crew. "This better be worth my Luck Value."
Still, as she watched Zhang Yazhi’s fingers tremble around the cake, she couldn’t quite decide whether this felt like justice—or cruelty pretending to be it.
"I am Zhang—"
"Yazhi! Let’s not do this here," Han Yichen’s voice cut in too quickly, his smile taut, eyes wide with sothing between panic and plea as he moved toward her.
But Zhang Yazhi only stepped back, placing a careful distance between them.
"I am Zhang Yazhi," she said clearly, her voice strong and steady.
"Han Yichen’s girlfriend. And today," her gaze swept the stunned cast, "is our tenth anniversary."
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Even the night breeze seed afraid to move—in case it missed the drama.
anwhile, the comnt section updated at one comnt per second—a blur of disbelief, popcorn emojis, and collective gasps flooding across the screen.
[Wait WHAT 😱😱😱 girlfriend??]
[TENTH anniversary??? bro isn’t even single 😭🔥]
[Soone pass the popcorn 🍿 this is history]
[Director, don’t you dare cut the feed 🔥🔥🔥]
The director mouthed sothing to the PA—"Cut it, cut it!"—but the blinking red LIVE light refused to turn.
At this point, the director wasn’t even sure if this was divine retribution—or worse, who it was ant for.
Him?
Han Yichen?
Or perhaps, this was fate’s idea of poetic justice—in high definition, with good lighting and a live feed.
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