Yan Tuo began his story from the moment he received Nie Jiuluo’s self-destructing message.
Nie Jiuluo wasn’t typically one to interrupt with questions, but when matters concerned her directly, she couldn’t help wanting to know more.
Her first question was: “You put me in a suitcase? The same one Chen Fu was in?”
After getting Yan Tuo’s confirmation, she felt somewhat disgruntled—to think she’d shared a suitcase with Chen Fu.
But she couldn’t complain; she could hardly expect Yan Tuo to use a fresh suitcase for each person.
As she continued listening and learned how Lu Xian had treated her, her second question arose: “This Lu Xian, how old is he?”
Yan Tuo: “Around twenty-seven or twenty-eight.”
“Only twenty-seven or twenty-eight and already a doctor?”
Yan Tuo retorted: “You’re not even twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and aren’t you already an ‘artist’?”
Nie Jiuluo: “That’s different.”
A doctor’s qualifications and experience were crucial—the kind of profession where you needed to put in years, becoming more valued with age. You often heard of prodigy artists and sculptors, but had anyone ever heard of a prodigy doctor?
Yan Tuo said: “Someone like Lu Xian if he worked in a proper hospital, wouldn’t even qualify as an attending physician at his age. But since this was all ‘off the books,’ he’s been performing surgeries for years already. Besides, he did save your life.”
Nie Jiuluo bit her lip lightly: “Wasn’t there… a female nurse or someone?”
She wasn’t stupid. When she woke up in Liu Changxi’s bed, she was wearing new sleepwear. In other words, everything she had worn before, including undergarments, was gone.
Yan Tuo coughed lightly, his palms feeling warm. He pulled back his hand and shifted his position, saying: “There was.”
After speaking, he picked up his cup to drink, indicating his mouth was too busy for further conversation.
Nie Jiuluo didn’t ask more, continuing to fidget with the plastic wrapper in her palm until it crackled. Finally, she said: “Continue.”
Thank heavens—he had nearly finished his cup of water.
Yan Tuo put down his cup and continued with subsequent events.
He had initially planned to skip the Lin Ling section but then thought two heads might be better than one. Besides, Nie Jiuluo was an outsider who might offer fresh perspectives, so he told her the key points.
Nie Jiuluo was indeed interested, asking: “Do you have paper and pen? I’d like to take notes.”
The bookstore had included a notebook with the books, and pens were readily available. Yan Tuo handed them to her. Nie Jiuluo used a thick sculpture book as a writing surface, opened the notebook, and bent her head to write “Lin Ling.”
Yan Tuo watched her, somewhat entranced. This was a novel experience for him—his first time truly “collaborating” with someone to solve a problem. He had done so with Lin Ling before, but her personality made her too dependent on others, and their discussions usually ended up with him taking the lead.
Nie Jiuluo’s hair was quite long, and as she bent to write, it fell softly onto the blanket corner, looking smooth and silky.
She pondered for a moment: “Lin Ling was adopted by Lin Xiru? Where from?”
Yan Tuo shook his head: “Don’t know, and there’s no way to find out. Lin Ling was too young when she was adopted, only remembering that her hometown was in a poor rural area.”
Why would a Di Xiao go to the countryside to adopt a little girl?
Nie Jiuluo: “Is there anything different about this Lin Ling?”
“So far, no. She seems completely ordinary.”
“She tried to escape once?”
“Yes, after discovering several strange things about Aunt Lin, she became frightened and tried to run. She was caught within two days, and Aunt Lin was furious.”
Nie Jiuluo looked at him: “You call her ‘Aunt Lin’ even behind her back?”
From her perspective, Yan Tuo calling Lin Xiru in person was understandable—he needed to maintain his cover. But there was no need behind her back: Yan Tuo’s actions were clearly against her, he’d even investigated “how to kill Di Xiao.”
Yan Tuo said: “Better to stick with one name. Having different names for her face and behind her back is risky—what if I slip up in front of her, or say too much in my sleep?”
That made sense. Nie Jiuluo wrote “First Escape” next to Lin Ling’s name, then asked: “Then what? She never tried running again?”
“No, firstly because she was too scared, and secondly, her movements were restricted after that. Someone always followed her when she went out, sometimes closely, sometimes more like…”
Yan Tuo considered how to phrase it appropriately: “Like, you couldn’t see anyone, but you knew someone was watching from the shadows.”
Nie Jiuluo made a “ha” sound: “Who do you think Lin Xiru treats better, you or Lin Ling?”
Yan Tuo was honest: “Me.”
Nie Jiuluo: “But you’re not as important as her.”
Not as important?
He wasn’t as important as Lin Ling?
Yan Tuo couldn’t follow this logic: honestly speaking, at least on the surface, Lin Xiru had treated him very well. Over the years, Lin Ling had been slapped and scolded, while he hadn’t experienced any of that.
Nie Jiuluo said: “I’m talking about ‘importance.’ When Lin Ling ran away, she was found within days. When Ban Ya imprisoned you, it took two weeks before you were rescued.”
“Afterward, Lin Ling lived under some degree of surveillance, while you remained relatively free to move around—it gives the impression that Lin Xiru could do without you, but losing Lin Ling would be disastrous.”
Yan Tuo carefully considered her words, murmuring: “I never thought about it that way before.”
He had always assumed Lin Xiru must have had a reason for adopting Lin Ling but had never considered the question of importance.
Nie Jiuluo: “That’s because, in your mind, importance equals care—if someone is important to you, you naturally care for them. But Lin Xiru treats Lin Ling poorly, worse than you, so you overlooked it.”
Speaking, she drew an arrow from “Lin Ling’s” name and wrote “Lin Xiru,” then drew another arrow back, noting “forced marriage.”
She couldn’t quite understand: “If Lin Ling is so important to her, why is she in such a hurry to marry her off?”