Chapter Eighty-Three: Misunderstanding
He Chuan, who was scolded for no reason, raised his eyebrows, his expression hovering between a smile and a sneer. Cheng Hui shrank back, switched off her phone, stood up, and put a little distance between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly not wanting to talk to him, nor uttering a word.
He Chuan raised his eyebrow again, “What’s wrong, can’t speak?”
Cheng Hui was determined not to answer, retreating further until she stood far away.
He Chuan was clearly displeased by her behavior, his brow twitching fiercely. She didn’t dare meet his gaze, her eyes unfocused and wandering, silent but not leaving.
“Waiting for someone?” He Chuan asked.
Cheng Hui finally replied, “Yes.”
She was young after all, still childish and stubborn, so He Chuan patiently asked, “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”
Cheng Hui denied it, “No.”
“Then what are you doing at the hospital? Don’t tell me you came to play?”
Cheng Hui wondered why the housekeeper hadn’t come out of the restroom yet—maybe a stomach ache or something else—and hesitated to make up an excuse to leave. If she slipped away now and the housekeeper came out to find her gone, and saw He Chuan, she’d surely say something to him, which would make things even more complicated.
He Chuan was familiar with their household, including the housekeeper.
He Chuan said, “Have you thought of an excuse yet?”
Cheng Hui gave up pretending, “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing now.”
“So you came to the hospital by yourself?”
“No, the housekeeper’s here too. She went to the restroom; I’m waiting for her.”
She forgot to hide her hand behind her back; there was a bandage on it.
He Chuan spotted it easily—she was about to get an IV, surely it wasn’t nothing. He said, “When she comes out, I’ll give you two a ride home.”
Cheng Hui replied softly, “No need.”
Her words carried a hint of petulance and childishness, as if she hadn’t grown up.
He Chuan realized she was probably still angry at him for what he’d said before. Well, he thought, why bother with a little girl, especially since he hadn’t answered her call when she needed him most—so they were even now, let bygones be bygones.
He said, “Huihui, still angry?”
Cheng Hui ignored him, her fingers trembling, emotions surging within. She told herself that He Chuan looked down on her, saw her as a child, and if it weren’t for Cheng Jiu, he wouldn’t bother with her at all, much less indulge her.
She kept telling herself to draw clear boundaries with He Chuan—she had her own brother, after all, and she was grown up now, didn’t need to be treated like a child. He Chuan had no obligation to tolerate her moods.
She sighed softly and shook her head.
He Chuan didn’t understand, “Don’t be childish. It was my fault, I shouldn’t have been harsh. I won’t be harsh again.”
Cheng Hui kept shaking her head, “No need to apologize, Brother He Chuan. Actually, I was at fault too—I was too stubborn and immature.”
The old Cheng Hui would never have said such things, much less apologized. He Chuan’s eyelids twitched again, still digesting her words when the housekeeper came out of the restroom and greeted him.
He Chuan was a regular visitor to their home, so the housekeeper knew him well.
The housekeeper emerged, and Cheng Hui immediately said, “Let’s go home.”
He Chuan didn’t stop them, his expression dark, and with others present he couldn’t act out, so he let her leave.
Besides, she was still unwell.
...
Tang Huaihuai finished her checkup, but the report wouldn’t be ready for a while, so she called He Chuan to ask where he was.
He Chuan said, “In the parking lot.”
“I’ll come find you.”
“Aren’t you waiting for the report?”
“I’ll get it first, then find you.”
He Chuan, not in the mood, smoked gloomily, “No need to find me. I have something to do now, I’ll leave first. When you’re done, just take a cab.”
Tang Huaihuai was surprised, amused, “What’s so important?”
He Chuan didn’t answer, “Let’s schedule dinner tonight.”
At least there was dinner, so she felt somewhat reassured, “Alright then.”
...
Cheng Hui was gloomy all the way home. She hadn’t realized at the time, but now wondered why He Chuan had been at the hospital too. They’d met by chance in the corridor, and he hadn’t seemed to be with anyone—what a coincidence, running into him at the hospital.
The housekeeper saw her pale face and assumed it was due to discomfort, so she rolled down the car windows for some fresh air.
Once home, Cheng Hui collapsed on the sofa, limp as a wilted flower.
The housekeeper poured her a glass of warm water, “Little ancestor, are you still uncomfortable?”
Cheng Hui forced herself to sit up and take the cup, “No, just tired. You don’t need to worry about me, go about your business. I’ll just lie here for a bit.”
“Alright, but call me if you need anything. Don’t hold it in.”
Cheng Hui waved her off, set down the cup, and continued to lie there.
Soon, the doorbell rang persistently.
Dragging her weary body to the door, Cheng Hui found He Chuan standing outside. She was startled, “Why are you here?”
He Chuan held an exquisitely packaged fruit basket, obviously not bought casually, “To see you.”
Cheng Hui was not pleased, frowning, “Why see me?”
He Chuan genuinely wanted to clear up the misunderstanding, not wanting her to treat him like an outsider. He wanted things to return to how they used to be—her mischievous antics, coming to him first whenever something happened. He needed to be needed by her, not for her to say she had to grow up and be sensible.
“Just to see you, no need for a reason. What, you won’t let me in?”
Now that he was at her door, Cheng Hui had no valid excuse to send him away.
Reluctantly, she stepped aside to let him in.
He Chuan took the fruit to the kitchen and personally washed grapes.
Cheng Hui lingered in the living room for a while, then retreated to her room, locking the door.
When He Chuan finished washing the fruit and couldn’t find her, he placed the grapes on the table and went upstairs to look for her.
Her door was locked; he knew she was hiding inside.
He knocked, “Come out.”
Cheng Hui heard him but lay on the bed, ignoring him.
He Chuan was helpless, softening his tone, “Open the door, Huihui, be good, don’t be upset.”
Cheng Hui’s nose tingled, full of grievances, thinking he still saw her as a sulky child.
“Huihui, open the door. Let’s talk.”
Cheng Hui finally spoke, “I don’t want to see you. Don’t bother me.”
He Chuan sighed deeply, “Huihui, are you still angry? Tell me, what are you angry about? I’ll change, alright?”
His voice was truly pleasant, especially when coaxing her.
Cheng Hui felt even worse, suffocated, “I’m not angry anymore, just tired. I want to sleep.”
After that, no matter what he said, she didn’t respond, as if she’d really fallen asleep.
He Chuan, hands on his hips, had nowhere to vent his frustration. If it were He Cheng, he’d have busted in and roughed him up, but with Cheng Hui, none of his usual tactics worked. In the end, he could only try to coax her into forgiving him, into feeling better.
Girls really were troublesome.
He Chuan had no idea what she was angry about. When his patience finally ran out, he left, leaving the washed grapes on the table.
...
That evening, when Mrs. Cheng returned home, she asked the housekeeper, “Why aren’t the grapes on the table in the fridge? No one’s eating them. Who bought them?”
The housekeeper replied, “He Chuan.”
“When did He Chuan come by?”
“In the afternoon, to see Cheng Hui. He didn’t stay long.”
Hearing this, Mrs. Cheng hurried upstairs to check on Cheng Hui.
Cheng Hui was asleep, sweating. Mrs. Cheng woke her, and she mumbled, “Has He Chuan left?”
Mrs. Cheng pinched her cheek, amused, “Still dreaming? He Chuan left long ago. Did he come to see you?”
Cheng Hui was fully awake, relieved not to see He Chuan, “Yes, I suppose.”
“Good thing you’re unwell, otherwise you’d be out playing with him instead of staying home.”
Cheng Hui was completely uninterested and didn’t respond.
...
That night, Tang Huaihuai and He Chuan had dinner at an upscale restaurant.
He Chuan said little, never looked at her, eyes glued to his phone.
Tang Huaihuai sipped red wine, “Still dealing with this afternoon’s matter? Not finished yet?”
He Chuan replied perfunctorily, still focused on his phone.
Tang Huaihuai could tell he wasn’t paying attention to her, so she stopped talking and lost her appetite, fiddling with her own phone.
This time, her social media post featured a direct shot of He Chuan’s face, not just his profile or back.
The caption read: "Dog man, eating dinner with me but still working. Guess I’m just not good enough."
Minutes later, a flood of comments:
‘Sis, I volunteer! Dog man, get lost!’
‘Beautiful sister, so sweet, shipping you two! Is this what they call a perfect match? Love it!’
Among them was a like from Tang Que.
...
Cheng Hui saw Tang Huaihuai’s post. Though she’d blocked Tang Huaihuai, curiosity about He Chuan being at the hospital today made her check Tang Huaihuai’s feed.
The latest post was from dinner hours earlier.
She saw He Chuan’s photo.
She’d known He Chuan for so long and never posted his picture on her feed, nor had a photo taken together.
It wasn’t petty jealousy—only now did she realize some things.
Forget it, she thought. Better not look, it only made her feel worse.
...
Xin Gan rarely used WeChat, hardly ever checking feeds or posting updates, especially lately when she’d been busy. After some time, her art studio was finally running smoothly. Business licenses were sorted, equipment prepared.
For now, Xin Gan managed everything herself. To keep up with daily cleaning, she hired a lady to help, asking her to come around eight or nine each morning. Generally, the studio was quiet in the mornings, opening for business in the afternoon.
For student recruitment, Xin Gan hired an ad agency to run promotions. Gradually, calls and walk-ins started.
After a week, she signed up three students—all high school freshmen. Their workload wasn’t too heavy, so they came to the studio after school to paint.
It was manageable for Xin Gan, just getting started.
...
The three students were from the same school and grade, but different classes. They became friends through the studio, made a WeChat group, and soon asked Xin Gan for her contact, adding her to the group.
Xin Gan thought this was convenient; if they had art-related questions, they could reach her easily.
Initial investment had been substantial—tens of thousands, counting carefully. Xin Gan didn’t have enough savings, so she borrowed some from Shen Ruxin, not from her family—after graduation, she couldn’t justify asking them for money.
Xin Gan began using WeChat more often, occasionally posting updates. Later, Cheng Hui started chatting with her there, and over time, became increasingly attached.
According to Cheng Hui, she felt Xin Gan had an aura of approachability that made people want to draw close.
Gradually, Xin Gan learned from Cheng Hui’s daily complaints that she and He Chuan were at odds, and it had lasted for a while.
Once, when Xin Gan went to Shen Ruxin’s house to see Keke, she found He Chuan there too, talking business with Song Chen.
Xin Gan was playing with Keke when He Chuan approached, apparently having heard something, and asked, “Has Huihui been hanging around your place lately? Did she mention me?”
Xin Gan thought, she had, but none of it was positive—mostly complaints.
“Yes, she’s been coming over often.”
“Is she feeling better?”
“Better? Was she sick?” Xin Gan asked, puzzled.
He Chuan said, “Nothing serious—it’s been a while, any minor issues should be gone.”
Xin Gan smiled lightly, “She seems fine lately, in good spirits.”
He Chuan seemed to understand, chuckling huskily, “She must’ve been complaining about me. She doesn’t even want to see me.”
“Huihui mentioned you—probably just a misunderstanding. Talk it out and it’ll be fine.”
He Chuan shook his head, “If it were that simple, she wouldn’t be herself. That little brat—she’s just spoiled.”
Xin Gan said nothing more.
Some things, she wasn’t directly involved, so didn’t fully understand.
Besides, this rift between Cheng Hui and He Chuan didn’t seem so simple—her intuition told her so.
...
Xin Gan’s classes ran from five to eight in the evening. Once the students left, she tidied up the studio and prepared the next day’s lesson. But teaching only three students wouldn’t cover costs, nor repay her debt.
Advertising wasn’t working, nor did handing out flyers on the street. So she decided to post ads online.
She started an account to document the studio’s daily life—just as a record.
She couldn’t think of a name, so simply called it Xin Gan.
Within days, she gained followers—one account in particular, clearly a small alt, no profile picture, no posts.
She didn’t pay it much mind, kept posting daily updates, sometimes sharing glimpses of the studio.
...
Xin Gan realized the struggle with attracting students stemmed from her lack of reputation. She framed the award-winning works from competitions abroad, hanging them in the studio with dates and descriptions—she was actually quite accomplished.
Just too low-key, and the environment abroad was different from home, even her painting style was distinct.
Fortunately, Xin Gan could adapt. Though she couldn’t paint entirely as she wished, her style was now unique.
With her works on display, it was like gilding her reputation—she’d studied abroad, had timing and prestige, and suddenly the studio’s student intake improved.
She couldn’t handle it alone anymore, so hired another teacher and a finance manager, expanding professionally.
Her online posts about studio life gradually attracted attention, pushing her follower count past a thousand, with plenty of comments.
During this busy period, she hadn’t kept in touch with Cheng Jiu—he was busy too, their schedules mismatched. Communication was by text, and when he had time, he’d call for a brief chat.
They couldn’t see or touch each other, only exchange words.
In truth, they had little to talk about—their topics were mundane, nothing special.
Xin Gan understood his workload, and was grateful for his rare breaks to call her. She always hurried him off, urging him to rest.
Cheng Jiu wasn’t just busy; the pressure was immense.
After Jiang Tang disappeared for five days, she returned to the team battered and bruised, barely recognizable.
No one knew what had happened during her absence, nor how she made it back.
No matter how they pressed her, she wouldn’t speak.
She was still undergoing treatment at the hospital.
Everyone assumed Cheng Jiu was somehow involved.
Meng Canchang’s words were, “The doctor said Xiao Jiang was severely traumatized, multiple bruises indicating she’d been beaten, and injuries to her private area—she was probably... Cheng Jiu, you’re the only one she recognizes. If you have time, go see her at the hospital. She’s a girl, after all, and after what happened...”
He finished with a heavy sigh.
Even Jiang Yang came to beg him, kneeling and sobbing, “Brother Jiu, I’ve never asked you for anything, but Jiang Tang got hurt after arguing with you and ran out. If not for... I’m begging you, for all the years we’ve worked together, please don’t be so cruel—she’s already suffered enough!”
Cheng Jiu tugged at his lips, lit a cigarette, and said nothing.
So, did this mean he had to take responsibility for Jiang Tang?
Still, he went to the hospital, saw Jiang Tang lying in bed, as a nurse had just given her a sedative injection.
Cheng Jiu asked, “How is she?”
The nurse recognized him—this was a military hospital—and replied, “The patient was too agitated earlier. To prevent her from hurting herself, we had to give her an injection.”