There is no escaping those who make it their mission to be seen. In that regard, Sun Qiaolian possessed a particular gift.
An Ning had made it very clear that she didn’t have anything to say to Sun Qiaolian.
But the sidelong glances, the faintly pursed lips, the restless fingers tapping against her cup—all betrayed that there was plenty Sun Qiaolian wanted to say; she simply hadn’t yet found a way to say it.
The indignant little huffs that ca from An Ya completed the picture—or at least, the one Sun Qiaolian wanted to paint.
She finally set down her teacup, the porcelain clinking softly against the saucer.
"Actually," she began, tone honeyed but carefully asured, "I’ve been aning to clear up that little misunderstanding from the show."
The word misunderstanding landed like a petal—soft, deliberate, and ant to bruise.
"You an," An Ning asked mildly, "the part where you said I didn’t like you?"
"Oh no, that wasn’t what I ant at all." Sun Qiaolian’s laugh was light—polished, harmless, and just rehearsed enough to be believable. "The editing must have exaggerated it."
Ah, yes. The editing, the little lon whispered dryly. Truly the villain of every variety show.
"Of course," An Ning said, her tone polite, her smile impeccable. "Editing does seem to have a mind of its own these days."
Gu Yuehua’s fingers paused briefly over the tablet before she gave it back to the sales assistant and waved her away.
Her tone was light when she spoke, almost conversational—yet it carried the kind of grace that left no room for misunderstanding.
"Ah, the editing," she echoed softly. "It’s quite remarkable how it always seems to favor so people more than others."
Sun Qiaolian’s smile didn’t waver, though her lashes fluttered once—just enough to betray surprise.
"Auntie, you misunderstand," she said quickly. "I would never—"
"I am sure you wouldn’t," Gu Yuehua interrupted gently, "After all, sincerity tends to show on screen just as clearly as insincerity."
For a mont, silence reigned again—polite, glacial, absolute. An Ya fidgeted in her seat; even the boutique attendant seed to find a reason to adjust the flower arrangent.
An Ning hid a small smile behind her teacup. The little lon gave a satisfied hum.
Boss-level mother in action, he whispered. Critical hit.
An Ya almost spoke up for Sun Qiaolian, lips parting in protest—but before a single word escaped, Liu Yufang’s hand shot out, pressing lightly against her arm.
A small shake of her head. A warning glare sharp enough to silence even the most stubborn of daughters.
Across the table, the quiet stretched on—polite, taut, and humming with the unspoken.
An Ning decided she’d had enough drama for one day.
What she wanted now was simple—to go ho, collapse on her super-sized bed, and maybe skim through the few scripts Zhao Liyun had made her bring back.
Preferably without any more family caos or unexpected guest appearances.
She turned to Gu Yuehua and gave a small, knowing gesture. Her mother understood imdiately.
Without another word, the two rose from their seats, their composure immaculate as ever—leaving the others to sit in the silence they left behind.
They walked to the counter, their reflections gliding across the boutique’s marble floor.
Gu Yuehua handed over her card, her tone calm and decisive as she settled the paynt for all the gowns.
They were just about to leave when a sharp exclamation broke the poised silence.
"—Wait! My ring—it’s gone!"
The sudden panic in An Ya’s voice drew every pair of eyes in the boutique toward her.
She was standing beside the sofa, rummaging through her purse with increasingly frantic movents. Her tone climbed higher with each word.
"I-I was just wearing it! The one that I got for my birthday last year—it was right here!"
Sun Qiaolian’s brows lifted slightly, her voice smooth and asured. "Are you sure you didn’t take it off earlier?" she asked gently.
An Ya froze, thinking for a mont. "I-I think I might’ve left it in the restroom."
She hurried off, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. But a minute later, she returned, empty-handed and pale.
"It’s not there," she said, her voice trembling now.
The boutique quieted instantly.
Even the background music seed to dim, as if the room itself were holding its breath.
One of the sales assistants spoke first, her tone careful.
"Miss An, we can help to check the seating area. Maybe it slipped when you sat down?"
They began searching—between cushions, under the table, even along the carpet edges.
Nothing.
"Who else went to the restroom just now?" Sun Qiaolian murmured, her tone light but laced with suggestion.
"An Ning!" An Ya turned abruptly, her voice sharper than she intended.
The single na cut through the air like glass.
Heads lifted. Even the staff paused mid-search.
"I’m not saying you took it," An Ya added quickly, though her tone did nothing to soften the accusation. "But you were the only one who went in after —"
"An Ya!" Liu Yufang’s voice snapped, low and warning. But it was too late.
The words were out, and the silence that followed was louder than anything else.
An Ning’s lashes lifted slowly.
Her tone, when she spoke, was mild—almost amused.
"You’re saying," she said, "that I stole your ring?"
"I-I didn’t an that," An Ya stamred, cheeks flushing. "I just thought—maybe you saw it—"
An Ning smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. "Then by all ans, check my things. It would be a sha to let such a misunderstanding ruin your day."
The little lon’s eyes glead.
[Ding! False accusation triggered!]
[Resolution expected within 3 minutes = 20 Luck Value]
"But if you guys are going to search through my things, I think it would only be fair if you search everyone else’s things too?" An Ning said.
"What do you an?" Song Qingwan sounded indignant. "Are you implying soone else here could—"
"Qingwan," Gu Yuehua cut her off, her eyes filled with quiet disappointnt.
Her tone wasn’t loud, but it carried the kind of weight that made even the staff straighten unconsciously.
"There’s no need to get defensive. Ningning only asked for fairness—surely no one here objects to that?"
For a mont, no one spoke.
Sun Qiaolian’s smile didn’t waver, but sothing flickered behind her eyes—quick, calculating.
"I don’t mind letting my things to be checked." She said smoothly.
The air tightened—polite, brittle tension coiling like glass about to crack.
The assistant moved down the line of handbags, murmuring apologies as she searched.
Liu Yufang’s bag—empty.
An Ya’s bag—nothing but gloss and powder.
Then ca Sun Qiaolian’s.
A small clink echoed.
The assistant froze. Her fingers trembled as she reached in and lifted out the delicate diamond ring—glinting under the chandelier’s light.
"This...is Miss An’s ring, isn’t it?"
An Ya’s gasp was sharp enough to cut through the silence. "That’s my ring!"
For a fleeting second, everyone’s gaze turned toward Sun Qiaolian. She froze—eyes darting toward An Ning, a flicker of sothing sharp and disbelieving flashing through them—before smoothing her expression back into poise.
Her fingers tightened, just slightly, around her handbag strap.
"Oh? How strange," she said with a small, brittle laugh, the sound ringing a little too bright. "I swear I have no idea how it ended up here."
The doorbell chid just then.
"Sorry I’m late—"
An Yanming stepped in, the late afternoon light trailing after him as the boutique door swung shut.
The mont he caught sight of the scene—the scattered gazes, the tense silence, the ring gleaming accusingly in the assistant’s hand—his steps slowed.
His gaze went first to Sun Qiaolian.
Concern flickered there, instinctive and unguarded, before he quickly masked it.
Then his eyes shifted—to Song Qingwan, who stood a step behind others, her face composed but disbelief written plainly across it.
An Yanming’s expression softened, as though to placate her—but the concern he showed her lacked warmth, the quiet sincerity, that had surfaced when he’d first looked at Sun Qiaolian.
Even so, the faint spark of delight in Song Qingwan’s eyes was unmistakable—subtle, fleeting, yet enough to make the dynamic between the three suddenly feel very, very interesting.
"Thanks for the very entertaining afternoon," An Ning said lightly—polite grace edged in steel. "I do hope this sort of thing doesn’t happen again."
She slipped her arm through Gu Yuehua’s and turned toward the door—leaving before anyone could find a single word to stop her.
[lon Available: Song Qingwan’s Scandal]
Consu? [Yes/No]
Her tone was polite, her words anything but. "Yes."
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