This trace of hope was both laughable and pitiful, like a dying candle flame stubbornly flickering in the wind.
Not long after, the light at the entrance of the art studio was blocked by two figures.
Su Qinghan entered, leading Jiang Muyun, whose eyes were red and swollen and who still occasionally sobbed.
Seeing this, Huang Lu quickly stepped forward, wanting to explain a few words. But Su Qinghan raised her hand to signal that he need not speak, her gaze directly fixed on Yan Yu, who stood before the easel by the window.
Contrary to Jiang Muyun’s expectations, Su Qinghan did not immediately step forward to question or rebuke Yan Yu.
She released Jiang Muyun’s hand and walked straight to Yan Yu’s easel.
Under everyone’s astonished gaze, she slowly crouched down beside the wheelchair, bringing her eyes level with Yan Yu’s.
This posture invisibly narrowed the distance between them.
“Yan Yu,” Su Qinghan spoke, her voice still carrying her usual calmness, with no trace of extra emotion detectable, “What exactly happened?”
The fingers holding the paintbrush tightened almost imperceptibly. Then Yan Yu stopped moving, slowly turned her head, and met Su Qinghan’s deep eyes.
“As you can see,” Yan Yu’s voice was flat and distant, “My painting was ‘accidentally’ damaged by Classmate Jiang. It will require a significant amount of time to rework and cover up.”
“But my volunteer work hours end at 5:00 PM today. I have personal arrangements afterward, so she’ll have to complete the remedial work on her own.”
She stated the facts concisely, with no complaints and no baseless accusations—just a calm recounting of what had happened.
Su Qinghan listened quietly, her gaze sweeping across the messy patch on the canvas.
Jiang Muyun immediately grew anxious from the side, interjecting with a tearful voice, “Qinghan, I know damaging the painting was my fault. I really didn’t mean to! I’ve already apologized, and I sincerely want to help fix it… but Yan Yu just refuses to let it go. She won’t give me any leeway at all…”
Su Qinghan raised her hand, signaling her to calm down first. Then she looked back at Yan Yu, silent for several seconds, before making a move that no one in the room had anticipated.
She reached into the side pocket of her briefcase and pulled out a bank card.
It was just an ordinary savings card.
Su Qinghan held the card out to Yan Yu, her voice still steady, yet hiding a complexity she herself might not have realized.
“Take this. I know you’re financially strained right now—maybe even struggling to afford medical bills. We… after all, had a past relationship. There’s some money in this card. Take it and take good care of yourself from now on.”
She paused, her gaze lightly brushing over Yan Yu’s pale, gaunt cheeks, then landing on the wheelchair beneath her. Her tone softened slightly.
“Mu Yun just returned from abroad. Her family has always spoiled her—she’s never suffered hardship, so her temperament is inevitably a bit pampered. If you accept this money, should something similar happen again, just be more understanding of her. Don’t let her be too upset, alright?”
The art studio fell into dead silence. You could have heard a pin drop.
Everyone was stunned. Even Jiang Muyun looked bewildered.
She had never expected Su Qinghan to react this way.
Neither scolding Yan Yu nor fully taking her side—instead, using this method to both offer “compensation” and subtly deliver a warning.
Yan Yu stared at the bank card held out before her, the cold plastic edge almost touching her fingertips.
In an instant, an icy tide seemed to surge madly up from her feet, flooding her heart and freezing her limbs.
That trace of hope—already laughable and pitiful—was like a spark dropped into ice water. With a single hiss, it was extinguished completely, not even a wisp of smoke left behind.
She had actually hoped that Su Qinghan—who had been with the original host for three years—would ask for an explanation. Would, for once, be fair.
So this was her idea of fairness. Buying Yan Yu’s silent submission with money. Paying for Jiang Muyun’s “pampered nature” and “carelessness.”
“We had a past relationship.”
“Be more understanding.”
“Don’t let her be too upset.”
Every single word stabbed precisely into her already shattered self-esteem—made abnormally sensitive by the residual emotions of the original host.
So in Su Qinghan’s eyes, Yan Yu’s three years of cautious devotion, her suffering from illness, even her hard work now destroyed—could all be measured in money.
And all her persistence and principles, in the face of Jiang Muyun’s “fragility,” were just troublesome things that needed to be “taken care of” with money.
A biting urge to laugh surged up her throat. She almost let out a cold sneer right there.
Look. This is the person the original host once looked up to, even loved so humbly.
But in this person’s eyes, the original host was nothing more than an insignificant figure—someone who could be dismissed and settled with money.
Even the violation of her dignity could be brushed aside so easily with cash.
Su Qinghan had never considered her important at all. Not even a little.
This was the reality she now had to face.
She slowly raised her eyes to Su Qinghan, who was still crouched before her with a calm expression.
The corner of Yan Yu’s mouth curved upward into an almost imperceptible smile.
Fine. It’s not like I’m here to fall in love anyway. If Su Qinghan wants to be cold, let her be cold.
As long as I get my rewards, as long as I can stand up from this wheelchair—it’ll all be over. I won’t have to be so pathetic in front of Su Qinghan anymore.
She opened her mouth, about to speak—
But a figure moved faster than her, stepping between her and Su Qinghan.
That figure was slender yet straight, perfectly blocking Su Qinghan’s outstretched hand and shielding Yan Yu from view.
Yan Yu blinked in surprise, slowly raising her gaze.
Su Qinghan also seemed startled, frowning at the unexpected interloper who had suddenly appeared between them.
The girl standing in the middle wore a simple white dress, her long hair cascading like a waterfall. She turned slightly sideways, firmly guarding Yan Yu behind her.
Her delicate face showed no expression. Only her clear eyes carried a calm yet oppressive weight.
It was Bai Yan’er.
“Senior Su,” Bai Yan’er spoke, her voice clear and pleasant. Her gaze swept coldly over the bank card. “What are you doing?”
She stood sideways in front of Yan Yu, her eyes calmly fixed on the card in Su Qinghan’s hand. There was no curiosity in her gaze—only a barely concealed displeasure.
Su Qinghan clearly hadn’t expected Bai Yan’er to suddenly appear and intervene in such a manner.
Maintaining her crouched position, she furrowed her brow even deeper. Her voice grew heavier, carrying the displeasure of being interrupted and the haughtiness of someone in a superior position.
“Classmate Bai, this is between me and my ex-girlfriend. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Ex-girlfriend? Nothing to do with me?”
Bai Yan’er repeated the words, the corner of her mouth twitching almost imperceptibly, as if she had heard something absurd.
She didn’t back down. Instead, she took a half-step forward, shielding Yan Yu even more securely behind her, meeting Su Qinghan’s eyes directly.
“Senior Su, you might have it wrong. Yan Yu is my sister. Her business is my business.”