DM Chapter 52

Chapter 52: Your Car is a Bit Heavy

That evening, after a long day of work, Jiang Xiaoyuan called her grandmother back.

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Why don’t you come stay with me?”

Her grandmother replied: “I’m not going. It’s too expensive to stay with you. You earn just enough to buy a jar of vinegar; you should save that money for yourself.”

Upon hearing this, Jiang Xiaoyuan understood immediately; she knew her grandmother wanted to come.

If the old lady truly didn’t want to come, she would have stated a clear reason, such as, “I don’t know anyone over there, it wouldn’t be fun,” or “The apartments in the city are too cramped, I can’t get used to it.” The fact that her grandmother said this meant she had seriously considered moving to the city with Jiang Xiaoyuan, had thought about how life would be there, and had even calculated the cost of living and the pressure her granddaughter might face in the future. It was only after this careful consideration that she felt compelled to refuse.

Jiang Xiaoyuan calculated in her mind—bringing her grandmother along would mean she could neither stay at school nor crash at the studio anymore. In the future, she couldn’t just think about buying a house; she would at least have to rent a place for herself, not to mention buying one.

Moreover, she had to ensure a stable income. She could manage to find someone to share meals with or even go hungry when she was broke, but how could she do that with her grandmother in tow?

If she couldn’t guarantee a stable income, she needed to have enough savings—at least enough to cover three to four months of living expenses. Considering her grandmother’s old age and the likelihood of needing medical attention for ailments, she figured she would need savings that could cover at least half a year’s worth of expenses for emergencies.

“Wait for me for half a year,” Jiang Xiaoyuan promised her grandmother. “In six months, I’ll save up enough money, tidy up a place, and bring you to the city to spend the winter. There’s heating here, and life will be convenient. How does that sound?”

Her grandmother just smiled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Thus, before Jiang Xiaoyuan could pursue her ultimate goal of conquering Asia, she now had an urgent short-term goal—she needed to rent an apartment within six months, which required saving up twenty thousand yuan first.

To balance both her short-term and long-term goals, Jiang Xiaoyuan transformed into a superwoman.

Half a month later, she packed her simple belongings and moved to the second floor of the “Nirvana Styling Studio,” and the studio officially opened for business.

Jiang Xiaoyuan first consulted Qi Lian, who had worked as a media person for a while, and after some in-depth research, she registered her marketing account online, purchased some followers, and connected with a few other marketing accounts through various channels. After some bargaining, Jiang Xiaoyuan managed to squeeze out a small amount of advertising funds from Teacher Jiang, who had a stern expression.

Meanwhile, Jiang Xiaoyuan cleverly monitored a few accounts that sold cosmetics. As soon as someone posted a new list of purchasing goods, she would check them out, mark the sellers, and write long microblog reviews of the products, discussing related beauty tips. This indirectly served as advertising for them, and usually, eight out of ten times, her posts would be shared by the sellers.

To ensure her account remained active, she made sure to boost her presence daily. Jiang Xiaoyuan got up at four every morning, turned on all the lights in her room, and began to experiment on her face, documenting every step. She learned from comedians how to write engaging articles filled with useful information, crafting soft ads to post on her account.

At first, writing a decent soft advertisement took her at least four to five hours. But soon, she became adept, completing it in two to three hours—just enough time to still wake up after five-thirty.

Who could have guessed that the once-sleepy Jiang Xiaoyuan, who always struggled to stay awake while reading, would one day become a witty writer?

Thus, life is truly unpredictable.

After finishing this work, the day was bright. Jiang Xiaoyuan began her day’s tasks.

Her work included repeatedly communicating with clients about various proposals and finalizing drafts, booking tickets, planning itineraries, and other miscellaneous tasks.

She prepared teaching materials for Teacher Jiang when he was invited to give lectures.

She negotiated payments with partners, collected payments, and urged clients for payment, running around for tax matters and banking affairs once the funds were in place.

And, of course, there was the essential task—arguing with Jiang Bo over the phone and in person.

In short, she was both a technical assistant and a personal assistant, an accountant, and an administrator.

At the same time, the short-term goal of saving money hung over Jiang Xiaoyuan like a sword of Damocles. The initial income from the studio was barely enough, and there were often public relations expenses. Sometimes, the income from one job didn’t even cover her costs. She had no choice but to squeeze out time to take on freelance work.

Spare time can also be a bad thing. Even with every second accounted for, it was still possible to squeeze out time to work if one really wanted to.

At first, someone reached out to her through Chen Fangzhou’s wife, and eventually, she built a small reputation.

Jiang Xiaoyuan was never picky about the jobs she took, as long as she was paid happily.

But she also understood that both her time and money were precious; she couldn’t let the pursuit of short-term income derail her dream of conquering Asia.

She couldn’t afford to waste a single second, so Jiang Xiaoyuan treated every freelance job like it was a big project. After each communication, she would practice on her marketing account. Once a hairstyle was completed, she would privately show it to Teacher Jiang, bracing herself for his sarcastic remarks, jotting down his critiques in her notes.

Then, before bed, she would study vocabulary or chat with Qi Lian—these activities rarely had a proper beginning or end since she often fell asleep halfway through.

Making the studio successful was a promise she had made to Teacher Jiang, Qi Lian, and herself.

Saving enough money within six months to bring her grandmother over was a commitment she had made to her grandmother, and she couldn’t go back on her word.

So, she spent three consecutive months working tirelessly.

One day, Teacher Jiang suddenly said to her, “The sign-ups for the stylist competition are about to begin. You should register too. No matter what, having one more spot means one more chance. Bring your ID over; take some time to organize your work in the next few days.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan replied eagerly, ready to head upstairs for her ID, but accidentally missed her step.

She felt her consciousness fading, as if her brain had shut off, her vision darkening. Jiang Xiaoyuan thought she reached for the railing, but her brain sent the command while her hand didn’t respond. By the time she regained awareness, she was already lying on the ground.

It didn’t hurt because the sensation of pain had also gone numb; her body felt tingly.

Jiang Bo: “…”

He hurriedly dropped the model he was holding and rushed over, displaying impressive composure—he didn’t scream in panic.

Three minutes later, after being dragged onto a lounge chair, Jiang Xiaoyuan finally caught her breath, slowly rebooting. Only then did she realize something was off with her forehead—it was both cold and hot.

She reached up to touch it and discovered a layer of skin had been scraped off.

Jiang Bo, drenched in cold sweat, had a serious look on his face. He cleaned her forehead wound with a cotton swab, applied a band-aid, and started scolding, “Are you trying to kill yourself? Can you fall to your death by going upstairs?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan leaned back on the sofa and recalled what had happened, arriving at a conclusion: “It might be low blood sugar… What did I eat for breakfast? Oh, I think I forgot to eat.”

Jiang Bo: “…”

He took a deep breath, realizing he would never find a more reliable assistant than Jiang Xiaoyuan. He definitely didn’t want to work her to death, so he reluctantly made a decision: “Take two days off.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan was stunned. Did the iron tree just bloom[mfn]铁树开花 (tiě shù kāi huā) or the iron tree blooms means a highly improbable or extremely rare occurrence.[/mfn]?

Jiang Bo: “What are you staring at? Hurry up and thank me!”

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “… Thanks, Teacher Jiang, for giving me these two days off. Feels like you must have sacrificed a third of your heart and lungs to do it, huh?”

After eating a little something, Jiang Xiaoyuan, under Jiang Bo’s urging, crawled upstairs to her small space and lay down to rest.

After Jiang Bo heard no more noise upstairs, he cleaned up downstairs himself and then grabbed his coat and left. More than an hour later, he returned with a bunch of instant snacks, quietly putting them into the fridge.

He then took out a small pot for soup from the cupboard, washed it, and added almond milk and a small piece of instant bird’s nest to cook. After setting a timer, he thought for a moment before tossing in a handful of rock candy.

Jiang Bo glanced upstairs, frowned, and smiled slightly, then quietly left as he had come.

He felt that in this lifetime, he probably wasn’t worthy of loving either women or men, so he would just be a solitary daffodil, taking pride in its cold beauty, sometimes blooming a cold, white flower.

In his heart, there was a towering hundred-foot peak, only a foot high of exposed rock, and a thousand layers of waves, only a few flecks of spray visible.

He finished these tasks, knowing the rest was for him to keep to himself; there was no need to announce it to the world.

No one knew the depths of Teacher Jiang’s twisting, turning heart. Jiang Xiaoyuan had been lying down for over an hour, but couldn’t stay still—she hadn’t had leisure time in ages, and the sudden idleness stirred up a wave of anxiety in her.

Just then, a phone call came in unexpectedly. It was from a client she’d done some freelance work for.

The other party, sounding extremely apologetic, said, “I know I should have booked you in advance for something like this, but I’m in a bind. My friend’s stylist can’t make it tomorrow, and I was wondering if…”

Jiang Xiaoyuan responded, “Uh…”

The caller quickly added, “I know your schedule’s tight. How about this: they’ll pay an extra hundred on top of the original price for a full package, would that work?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “Alright!”

After hanging up, Jiang Xiaoyuan raised a hand to press against her eyes, her forehead cold to the touch. She felt like her energy was drained—her body didn’t seem to have enough metabolism left to maintain its warmth. The first time she caught a cold in the little back room of a hair salon, she’d silently wept while burning with fever. This time, though her body was cold, her heart wasn’t filled with sorrow—because she was getting paid.

Wrapped in her blanket, Jiang Xiaoyuan chuckled to herself with a “hehe”. She felt like she was diving headfirst into a sea of money.

Suddenly reinvigorated, her dizziness disappeared, and her hands stopped trembling. She quickly contacted the bride’s family to confirm the time and makeup plan, then leapt out of bed and rushed downstairs. Just in time, the bird’s nest porridge Teacher Jiang had cooked was ready. Jiang Xiaoyuan lifted the lid and thought to herself, “He’s at it again, living life too extravagantly.”

She texted Jiang Bo: “What did you cook?”

Jiang Bo didn’t reply for a while, then finally responded: “Almond bird’s nest. I’m caught up in something and won’t be back. You go ahead and eat it.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan, happily accepting the imperial edict, eagerly dug in, afraid he’d change his mind. Her mood lifted even more—how rare it was to take advantage of Empress Dowager Jiang for once.

The bridal makeup started in the middle of the night, and the next morning Jiang Xiaoyuan crawled out of bed at dawn, feeling a bit weak. She rummaged through the fridge and, to her surprise, found a bag of brown sugar among the snacks Teacher Jiang had bought.

Jiang Xiaoyuan stared at it for a few seconds—psychologically, it didn’t seem like something Jiang Bo would need, at least not for his health. A bizarre thought crossed her mind: “Could it be… he bought this for me?”

The next moment, she dismissed the idea as wishful thinking. Jiang Bo was a good guy, a saint with a terrible personality. He would never harm others for personal gain in major matters, but in small things, he also wouldn’t go out of his way to make people feel good. How could he suddenly be so sweet?

Still, since it was there, and there was such a large pack of it, Jiang Xiaoyuan helped herself without hesitation. She made a big cup of brown sugar water, drank it down, and left the house under the cover of night and frost.

She worked the whole day, got paid, and felt completely satisfied.

At the wedding venue, the client even gave her a seat. Jiang Xiaoyuan wanted to get things over with quickly since the bride still needed a costume change. A young girl, possibly a relative of someone at the wedding, sat at the same table but didn’t touch her food. Instead, she meticulously scanned the table for calorie counts on her phone, like she was navigating a minefield, carefully deciding where to start.

She murmured to herself, “Sweet and sour pork, 293 calories per 100 grams… My gosh, I can’t eat this!”

Just as she finished speaking, she saw Jiang Xiaoyuan grab a piece of sweet and sour pork without hesitation and pop it into her mouth.

The girl looked at Jiang Xiaoyuan with surprise, “Wow, people who don’t gain weight really are so carefree.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan smiled at her, eyes curved. She used to worry about that too. Keeping a good figure wasn’t easy, but after getting so busy that she barely had time to eat, she learned to grab whatever meal she could. Eventually, she lost the sense of what it meant to feel full, and now, her meals were all about getting the most calories in the shortest time possible.

She felt like she had evolved over millions of years, reverting to the lifestyle of a primitive human.

After completing the final hairstyle for the model, and with the client settling the bill, Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t linger. She packed up her toolbox and left the hotel, only to bump into Qi Lian in the outdoor parking lot.

Qi Lian was frowning, smoking a cigarette, and flipping through his contacts with an annoyed expression. He couldn’t seem to find who he was looking for. After a while, he pressed his phone off with a grim expression, staring at the ground like he was ready to pick a fight.

A long moment passed before he closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to calm himself, and made a call: “Can you send me a number for a driver? …Yeah, I’m outside, I’ve been drinking.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan, watching from the side, noticed the scent of alcohol as she walked up and patted him on the back: “Hey, need a driver?”

Three minutes later, Jiang Xiaoyuan was driving Qi Lian’s car out of the parking lot.

Her life had been turned upside down by a car accident, but oddly, after all this time, sitting behind the wheel again, she felt no psychological barriers. She had to admit—maybe she really was a bit thick-skinned.

Smoothly driving out, Jiang Xiaoyuan commented on Qi Lian’s car: “Your car’s a bit sluggish.”

Qi Lian, leaning his head against the seat, eyes half-closed, muttered: “A sluggish car is safer. Less chance of an accident.”

It was clear his mood was low. Jiang Xiaoyuan didn’t pry and only asked, “How do I get to your place? I don’t really know the way from here.”

“Not going home,” Qi Lian said, rubbing his temples in what looked like genuine pain. He must have been really drunk, because after saying those three words, he stopped speaking altogether.

Jiang Xiaoyuan: “…”

She had to rely on GPS and her vague memory of having been to his place once before to find a general direction.

Qi Lian remained silent for so long that Jiang Xiaoyuan thought he had fallen asleep, but when they reached an intersection, he suddenly spoke, as if resurrected from the dead: “Not straight. Turn left.”

The left turn led to a wide street, and Qi Lian had her park the car near a corner. He staggered out, leaning against a utility pole. His face was pale, and he looked like he was about to vomit, but he clutched his chest and didn’t.

Jiang Xiaoyuan hurried after him with a bottle of water.

Qi Lian took a sip, waved her off, and sat down on the curb.

Jiang Xiaoyuan asked, “Why drink so much if you can’t handle it? Did you hit the jackpot or something?”

Qi Lian glanced at her, his usually clear eyes faintly bloodshot. He didn’t answer, and after a long silence, he tightened the bottle cap, raised a hand, and pointed to the corner ahead. “I ran into Xu Jingyang there.”

Jiang Xiaoyuan followed his gaze.

Qi Lian wobbled as he stood up. “Do you know what I was planning to do if I hadn’t hit him?”

Jiang Xiaoyuan crouched down, looking up at him as he stood backlit by the streetlights, struggling with himself. It was as if his rational mind was telling him to keep his mouth shut, but the alcohol was pushing the words out, creating a fierce battle in his throat.

She watched in suspense.

Ten seconds later, alcohol won. Qi Lian looked down at her, his gaze surprisingly gentle, but his words were chilling.

“I was going to kill someone.”