Chapter 17: Let’s Talk

Nan Xiao clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. Xu Ruoxin’s words had lit a fire in her chest, burning through her lungs and heart like molten rage.

She locked eyes with Xu Ruoxin, each word sharp and deliberate: “I care. I care deeply. Very deeply!”

Xu Ruoxin visibly froze—she hadn’t expected this reaction at all. In her mind, Nan Xiao had always been soft, quiet, easy to push around.

Nan Xiao’s lungs felt ready to burst. She bit down hard on her lower lip, forcing herself to stay calm before speaking again:

“Miss Xu, you *knew* Xie Chengyu was married. And yet, you called him ‘husband’ right in front of everyone. What’s that if not being a third party?”

“You say it was because you messed up in front of the director. But mistakes happen—especially when an actor’s unwell. The director wouldn’t have scolded you. Didn’t you know that?”

“You *knew* all of this. So why did you call him ‘husband’ in public? Because you *wanted* to.”

“You did something shameful. Then own up to it. Instead, you come here acting innocent, telling me to ‘not take it personally.’ Can you just stop playing both sides?!”

Silence.

Xu Ruoxin’s pupils burned with fury—but she couldn’t speak.

Then, within seconds, her expression shifted. The anger melted into something heartbreaking, fragile. She turned toward Nan Xiao’s back and whispered, “Chengyu…”

Nan Xiao’s stomach dropped.

She spun around—and saw Xu Ruoxin collapse into Xie Chengyu’s arms, her body limp, her face pale, as if she’d just been wronged.

Xie Chengyu immediately caught her, his hand gripping her arm. “What’s wrong? Still not feeling well?”

Xu Ruoxin looked up at him, voice trembling with hurt. “I really am… still dizzy. And Nan小姐 just yelled at me…”

“*You* yelled at her?” Xie Chengyu turned to Nan Xiao, his gaze icy.

That coldness cut through her like a blade.

Her heart went numb—like it had been plunged into freezing water. She could barely breathe.

Still, she forced herself to speak, pain clawing at her chest: “Yes. I *did* yell at her.”

The boldness of it shocked even her. She’d expected resistance, maybe denial, or some rehearsed excuse. She’d even imagined what she’d say next. But Nan Xiao just admitted it—flat-out.

“You keep saying you’re not a third party. Yet you called my *lawful husband* ‘husband’ in public. What else is that supposed to be?”

“You’ve sold yourself out, then want to build a shrine for your own virtue? And now you don’t want anyone to talk about it?”

She turned sharply to Xie Chengyu, eyes blazing.

“I don’t care what’s going on in your head. But legally, *I’m* your wife—not her. When she called you ‘husband,’ why didn’t you correct her? Are you colluding with her?”

The moment the words left her mouth, Xie Chengyu’s expression darkened. His eyes turned black with storm, his presence suddenly suffocating. The air around him grew heavy, dangerous.

Nan Xiao’s heart hammered against her ribs. She took two steps back, glaring at them both with pure venom—then turned and ran out.

It felt good—*really* good—to stand up to them. But once the adrenaline faded, doubt crept in. Would they retaliate?

And though her chest felt lighter, something deep inside remained pierced—a splinter lodged beneath her skin.

She knew: as long as she couldn’t forget Xie Chengyu, that splinter would never come out.

When would she finally pull it free?

*Clap. Clap. Clap.*

Suddenly, applause rang out.

Nan Xiao turned, startled.

A tall man stepped into the dressing room, clapping slowly. He leaned casually against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket, his face effortlessly handsome, his expression half-amused, half-lazy.

He gave her a slow, approving nod—and raised his thumb.

“Nice one. No more dumplings this time?”

“…”

Xiao Zekai?

What was he doing here? Why say that?

Had he heard everything—was he standing nearby when she confronted them?

A flush crept across her cheeks. Good thing she was wearing a mask—he couldn’t see.

She muttered under her breath, “None of your business,” and slipped out the back door without another word.

The brief encounter with Xiao Zekai didn’t shake her much. She returned to the set, watched the filming quietly, and left after her scene was done.

She went back to the old house. As she climbed the stairs, she was stopped by Xie Chengyu.

His face was carved from ice—beautiful, but utterly cold. The aura of a man used to command, the kind that made breathing feel difficult.

He spoke, voice flat, distant: “We need to talk.”