Yan Yu sat on the edge of the bed, digesting this reward information.
‘Emotion Recognition.’
She silently recited those four words in her heart.
This skill was quite useful. For someone like Ruo Xiaozhen, who wore all her emotions on her face—happy and laughing, sad and crying—she didn’t really need it. But Bai Yan’er was different. That outwardly gentle and harmless younger sister was the one who truly made Yan Yu dare not let her guard down. Behind every smile, every word from Bai Yan’er, layers of intent were hidden. Yan Yu could sense those things, but she couldn’t see through them.
If she had the “Emotion Recognition” skill, the next time she interacted with Bai Yan’er, she might be able to more accurately identify her younger sister’s true feelings. This way, she could better maneuver between Bai Yan’er and the people around her.
Yan Yu was about to turn off the light and rest. The system beeped again.
“Can’t you just finish it all at once?”
[Ding. Detected that the host achieved a perfect score evaluation for this mission. The system hereby issues an additional reward.]
‘Additional reward?’
Yan Yu, who was about to lie down, sat up straight again. Her eyes brightened slightly.
[Reward Issued: Omniscient Perspective.]
[Note: After equipping this skill, you can observe changes in important plot nodes, even if you are not present at the scene. Select a designated character and use this skill to explore key events from that character’s perspective. God’s Perspective is not omniscient or omnipotent.]
[The perspectives you can unlock are limited and restricted to key nodes that have a significant impact on plot progression. Please use it at the appropriate time; each plot node can only be unlocked once.]
[Currently unlockable key plot node: The argument between Su Qinghan and Jiang Muyun.]
[Do you wish to unlock?]
‘Argument? Those two are already arguing? Good, arguments make things interesting.’
Now Yan Yu wasn’t sleepy. She recalled the scene at the aquarium square this evening: Su Qinghan holding her phone, the ringtone sounding one after another in the twilight, her expression shifting from hesitation to wavering, from wavering to some emotion Yan Yu couldn’t quite read. In the end, she didn’t answer the call. Instead, she put the phone back in her pocket and said, “Let’s eat first.”
Later, that upscale restaurant Su Qinghan mentioned was indeed high-class. The restaurant was hidden on the top floor of an office building in the eastern part of the city, with no signboard, no entrance, and even the door was an unremarkable gray wooden door. If Su Qinghan hadn’t pushed it open with familiarity, Yan Yu might have thought it was just an ordinary wall.
Behind the door was a completely different world. Yan Yu still remembered staring at the astronomical prices on the menu for a full five seconds. Su Qinghan glanced at her, said nothing, and directly took the menu from her hand.
“I’ll order,” she said. Then she ordered the most expensive main course, the most expensive soup, the most expensive dessert, and the most expensive wine in that restaurant.
Yan Yu said nothing. She already knew that Su Qinghan’s spending habits were completely different from hers. In Su Qinghan’s world, price was never a factor to consider. She took whatever she wanted, bought whatever she liked, never looked at price tags, and never made trade-offs. This world was the Su family’s world, and the Su family’s money was so abundant that she would never need to learn frugality.
This was perfect, giving Yan Yu an opportunity to create a plot.
During the meal, she pulled out her phone from her pocket, unlocked the screen, and opened the camera. She took a photo of the table full of dishes. The porcelain-white plates, the exquisite plating, the warm yellow lighting, and the white rose inserted in a slender-necked vase—everything was framed into that small photo.
She opened her Moments, posted the photo, set the visibility to everyone, and pressed send.
The moment she pressed send, a smile curled at the corner of her mouth. The photo contained no faces, no identifiable features—only a table of expensive dishes. She thought Jiang Muyun would see this post and voluntarily join her script.
As expected. Because of that ambiguous photo, those two had probably finally torn through that thin layer of paper, pouring out all the emotions that had accumulated over so many days.
Yan Yu didn’t know exactly what happened, but she really wanted to know.
Perhaps because the silence had stretched on too long, the cold system prompt rang out again: [Inquiry again: Does the host wish to unlock and use the “Omniscient Perspective” skill?]
Yan Yu took a deep breath and nodded slightly. “Unlock.”
This was Yan Yu’s first time using “Omniscient Perspective.”
The feeling was very special. She closed her eyes and clearly sensed her consciousness being gently drawn away by some invisible force—not through sight, but through a more fundamental perception. Consciousness drifted out of her body like a wisp of smoke, passing through walls, through the night, through the dense tangle of wires and signals above the city, heading to a place she had never been. Then, she “saw” a scene elsewhere.
Night had fully fallen.
It was the downstairs of Jiang Muyun’s villa. The streetlights in the villa district cast dim yellow light, reflecting fuzzy outlines of the neatly trimmed shrubs. The surroundings were very quiet, quiet enough to hear the chirping of insects in the grass and the occasional low rumble of a car engine in the distance. A few villa windows in the distance still had lights on, warm yellow light leaking through the gaps in the curtains, falling onto the lawns outside.
Su Qinghan stood on the steps below the villa’s entrance, one hand holding her phone to her ear, the other tucked into her trench coat pocket. Her posture was very straight, her spine taut like a drawn bowstring, but her face showed a rare restlessness. Her brows were furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze occasionally looked up at the lit window on the second floor of the villa.
The call went through. No one answered. One ring, two rings, three rings.
Su Qinghan hung up and redialed. Three rings, four rings, five rings. She took a deep breath and dialed again.
Still no answer. This time, the ringtone only sounded twice before it was ended. Not unanswered—actively hung up by the other party.
Su Qinghan’s hand holding the phone tightened slightly. She looked up and shouted toward the lit window on the second floor: “Mu Yun! What’s wrong with you today? Why aren’t you picking up? Come down, let’s talk properly!”
Her voice carried far in the quiet night, startling a few unknown flying insects from the grass. The motion-sensor light at the villa’s entrance turned on with her shout, casting a bright white light on her, projecting her shadow onto the ground, stretching it long and thin.
Silence.
After what seemed like a long time, or maybe only a few seconds, the villa’s door finally opened.
Jiang Muyun walked out. She wasn’t wearing a jacket, only a thin white home dress, the hem lightly fluttering in the night wind. Her long hair was loose on her shoulders, uncombed, somewhat messy. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her fingers tightly gripping her upper arms, her knuckles white.
Her eyes were red. There were obvious tear stains under her eye sockets, glistening wetly under the streetlight. Her nose tip was also red, and her lips trembled slightly, as if her teeth were biting down hard. Too hard—when she released them, they still quivered.
She walked down the steps one by one, neither fast nor slow, her high heels clicking crisply on the stone path. When she reached Su Qinghan, she stopped.
The two stood facing each other, less than a meter apart. The night wind passed between them, carrying the crisp coolness unique to early summer nights.
“Su Qinghan,” Jiang Muyun began, “tell me, why didn’t you answer my call right away?”
Su Qinghan’s eyes flickered. “I was busy at the time,” she said.
“Busy?” Jiang Muyun’s voice rose a little, the ending tone climbing. “What were you doing?”
“It’s nothing…” Su Qinghan lowered her eyes, avoiding Jiang Muyun’s gaze. “I just went out for a walk by myself. I wasn’t in a good mood, so I didn’t notice your call.”
“Really just went for a walk by yourself?”
Su Qinghan looked up, meeting Jiang Muyun’s red-rimmed eyes. “Really.”
But Jiang Muyun didn’t believe her. Her gaze slowly moved down from Su Qinghan’s face, following the collar, the front of her trench coat, all the way to the leather bag hanging at Su Qinghan’s side—the bag with the expensive metal buckle glinting coldly under the streetlight.
A small keychain was attached to the bag. A milky-white seashell, a pale blue gem, a rose-gold clasp. Pretty, cute, but also glaringly conspicuous. That unfamiliar accessory struck Jiang Muyun like a bolt of lightning.
Jiang Muyun’s voice suddenly turned very heavy. “What is this!?” Her eyes were like a thin layer of ice, hiding unfathomable cold water beneath. She pointed at the keychain, her fingers trembling.
“This is not something you would buy, Su Qinghan. I know! You never hang things like this on your bag. This seashell, this childish, flashy, cheap little trinket—your taste has never been like this!” Her voice began to tremble. “Tell me, Su Qinghan, tell me, who gave it to you? Who gave it to you!?”
Su Qinghan was stunned. She had never imagined that this inconspicuous accessory would become the most irrefutable evidence at this moment. Her gaze fell on the keychain, and her pupils shrank slightly.
She had carried this bag all day. While eating at the restaurant, while watching fish at the aquarium, while waiting for the car at the square, the keychain had hung there quietly, the milky-white seashell faintly glistening in the light. She hadn’t taken it off, hadn’t tucked it into her pocket, hadn’t even thought about putting it away. Because at that moment, beside Yan Yu, she didn’t want to.
But now, facing Jiang Muyun, she couldn’t explain.
“I…” Su Qinghan opened her mouth, wanting to say, “I just bought it on a whim,” but the words stuck in her throat. Because it wasn’t true.
Jiang Muyun watched Su Qinghan’s face, hesitant to speak, and finally couldn’t hold back the tears in her eyes.
“You said you only liked me!” Her voice tore through the night wind with collapse. “Su Qinghan, you can’t do this to me! You can’t!” She stamped her foot, the heel of her high heels making a dull sound on the stone path.
“Have you forgotten what happened when we were children? Without me, where would you be today? You… you owe me, Su Qinghan, you owe me for the rest of your life!”
Tears rolled down her cheeks in big drops, hitting the collar of her white dress, soaking into small dark patches. Her shoulders trembled, and her voice trembled.
Su Qinghan stood there, watching Jiang Muyun cry. She didn’t know what she should do at this moment. Heartache? There was some. Guilt? There was some. Annoyance? That too. Or rather, she didn’t know what her feelings toward Jiang Muyun were at this moment.
She had encountered this troublesome situation once again. Every time she had a conflict with Jiang Muyun, it would end up like this: Jiang Muyun cried, she coaxed, Jiang Muyun cried again, she coaxed again. Like an endless cycle, every time spinning in place.
Su Qinghan suddenly felt very tired. Not physically tired, but a deeper exhaustion, like fatigue seeping out from the crevices of her bones.
She remembered her best trick, the one that had worked without fail when facing Jiang Muyun’s tears. It wasn’t a good solution, but it worked. It always worked.
“Mu Yun, don’t be angry. I know it’s all my fault.” Su Qinghan’s voice became very soft, so soft it didn’t sound like herself. “What do you want? I’ll buy it for you, okay?”
Jiang Muyun’s sobbing paused for a moment. She lifted her tear-soaked eyes, crystal teardrops still clinging to her lashes, staring unblinkingly at Su Qinghan. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Su Qinghan’s tone was cautious, “whatever you want to buy, or wherever you want to travel, I’ll satisfy you. As long as you stop crying.”
With that, she turned around, took the leather bag off her shoulder, and held it in the crook of her arm. Then she reached out, her fingertips pinching the metal clasp of the seashell keychain, and yanked it off.
The clasp slipped off the bag strap, and the keychain fell into her palm. She held it, pausing for less than a second. In that second, her fingertip gently rubbed against the smooth surface of the seashell.
Then, she hesitated, and her hand loosened slightly. With a soft click, the seashell vanished into the dark green shadows of the shrubbery.