Chapter 48: Li Heng

"Demon, taste Lao Sun’s staff!"

The living room was silent, save for the sound of the television.

Although Li Heng had watched the 1986 version of Journey to the West many times, rewatching it still held him utterly captivated.

Burdened with thoughts, Chen Xiaomi watched half an episode, then could no longer sit still—she got up and walked to the window.

She peered through the glass at the campus, searching for Wang Runwen and the never-before-seen “December.”

She held that bent posture for about fifteen minutes, then, lost in thought, she simply opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

Li Heng merely glanced at her and kept watching TV.

About twenty minutes later, Chen Xiaomi strode back in abruptly, unable to contain herself, and blurted out:

“Which building is that female teacher teaching in?”

Li Heng showed no reaction to her question, as if he hadn’t heard it at all—his eyes never left the Monkey King on screen, utterly engrossed.

Seeing him ignore her, Chen Xiaomi suddenly felt a surge of rage.

But she knew this wasn’t the time to quarrel—the rival from Harvest Magazine might arrive any moment; she had to reach “December” first.

Chen Xiaomi glanced at her wristwatch, then at him, and after a moment’s thought, said:

“Tell me where that female teacher teaches, and I’ll answer you one question about Zijin.”

Not mentioning Chen Zijin was fine.

But the moment she did, his temper flared!

Li Heng, who had no intention of responding, coldly said: “Is this your upbringing? Trading your niece like a commodity?”

Seeing this little brat—who used to cower before her—speak to her like this, Chen Xiaomi couldn’t hold back:

“Li Heng, how dare you talk to me about upbringing? Are you even human? What kind of human does this?”

Li Heng looked up, his voice icy: “Chen Zijin and I are mutually in love—we’ve been freely dating for five years. What’s wrong with that?

You’re so high and mighty, meddling in everything—why don’t you go scold your own father?”

“You! You bastard…”

Chen Xiaomi was furious, pointing at him, ready to unleash a torrent of abuse.

But this Li Heng was no longer the Li Heng of before—he wouldn’t tolerate her anymore, and shoved her hand away.

He snapped: “Shut up! You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Go close the door.”

Hearing the argument inside, a passing teacher on the hallway curiously peeked in, then withdrew.

Since childhood, Chen Xiaomi had always been the “other kid” parents praised, the jewel in relatives’, classmates’, and friends’ eyes—who had ever endured such domineering orders?

Right now, her inner universe exploded.

She narrowed her eyes and retorted: “Li Heng, you—!”

But she’d barely spoken three words when she suddenly remembered something—her whole body trembled violently, as if struck by lightning, staring blankly at Li Heng, speechless.

Her mouth hung wide open.

Wide open—so wide you could see her entire tongue, wide enough to fit a goose egg.

Her eyes bulged, every pore tightened, and she stared at Li Heng as if seeing a ghost.

Her expression shifted wildly—from funeral parlor to paper horse shop, then to a grave pit. Shock, awe, disbelief, and complex emotions rolled over her like a Sichuan opera face-change—more dazzling than imaginable!

Earlier, in the heat of argument, she hadn’t noticed—but now that she realized, now that she recognized Li Heng’s voice as the voice of the writer “December.”

She was utterly stunned!

She froze!

She was too terrified to reply!

Her mind went blank—empty!

She’d arrived brimming with confidence, dreaming of one perfect future after another—now shattered mercilessly by reality.

Seeing she’d recognized him, Li Heng stopped pretending, speaking with absolute authority:

“Close the door.”

Chen Xiaomi paused, motionless for a moment.

But when she saw his aura fully unleashed, his cold gaze fixed on her, she gritted her teeth—and after a long silence, in a strange atmosphere she couldn’t comprehend, she turned slowly, mechanically, and closed the door.

Before closing it, she seemed unaware of what she was doing?

The moment the door shut, she snapped back to reality.

In that instant, she wanted to resist, to scream at him as she used to—but the next second, she remembered his identity, remembered her promises to the editor and elders, remembered the sneering face of Zhou Chunlan.

She hesitated.

After long inner struggle, she finally took several deep breaths, turned her back to Li Heng, and fought to suppress the rage threatening to drive her mad.

Seeing this, Li Heng didn’t rush—he waited quietly.

Oddly enough, seeing this once-arrogant woman, who always held her head high, now obediently obeying his command to close the door, he felt an inexplicable surge of satisfaction.

Thrilling!

Damn, it was thrilling!

Something he’d dreamed of for decades in his past life—he’d finally, finally achieved it.

His heart swelled with accomplishment!

But this small victory paled beside the humiliation and wounds she’d inflicted on him in his past life.

Far, far from enough!

Half a minute later, Chen Xiaomi turned around—her face now calm as still water. She walked over and sat across from him, her gaze steady on him.

Seeing her recover so quickly, Li Heng couldn’t help but admire—this woman truly was exceptional, her mental resilience formidable.

After a moment of emotionless eye contact, she seized the initiative and asked first:

“Are you truly December?”

Li Heng smiled faintly and said softly: “There’s an old saying: ‘Eyes fail to recognize Mount Tai.’ Seems your vision is just that limited.

Six months ago, you deemed a poor boy unworthy of a Chen family noblewoman, and brutally crushed the relationship—didn’t even grant him the chance to propose.

Now, December—the golden, jeweled December—stands right before you, and you’ve squandered the best opportunity.”

These words left Chen Xiaomi’s expression flickering with anger and deep frustration.

Though she’d once suspected his identity, how could she have imagined Li Heng was truly December?

Before she could reply, Li Heng leaned forward slightly and struck his first blow: “By the way, now that we’ve met again, should I call you ‘Little Aunt’?

Or should I address you as Chen Xiaomi?”

The words sounded mild, gentle as jade, carrying no vulgarities, no overt aggression.

Yet they were poison.

Why “Little Aunt”?

Naturally, because that’s how Chen Zijin calls her.

If she accepted the title, it meant the Chen family and Chen Xiaomi approved of this relationship.

What did that imply?

It meant she had to retract every cruel word she’d ever spoken to Li Heng—like swallowing her own shit, one bitter mouthful at a time.

It was a naked assault on her dignity.

It also branded her a mercenary—previously opposed to Li Heng and Chen Zijin’s love, but now that he might become a great writer, she suddenly approved?

Wasn’t this a direct slap in the face—of her, and of the Chen family?

But if she refused “Little Aunt” and insisted on “Chen Xiaomi”?

Then Li Heng’s meaning was brutally clear: Chen Xiaomi is my enemy—why should I publish my novel for you?

In other words: You can leave.

Chen Xiaomi was sharp—she understood instantly. Her face flushed crimson, then turned ashen.

In short, Li Heng’s words were needles hidden in silk: call him “Little Aunt,” and you admit you broke your word, acted like a petty traitor.

Call him “Chen Xiaomi,” and this opportunity is over.

This was Li Heng’s choice—only one answer allowed.

Even if she tried to dodge it, Li Heng would instantly turn on her.

The choice was cruel: one path led to humiliation, the other to dignity.

Choose humiliation, and we can still discuss “To Live.”

Choose dignity, and you leave right now.

But she’d already endured humiliation once by closing the door—would she really walk away now and lose everything?

Would she let her suffering be in vain?

And if she left empty-handed, wouldn’t she become a laughingstock?

Better to…

Remembering her purpose, recalling her conversation with the editor before leaving, the fiercely career-driven Chen Xiaomi forced down her inner turmoil and made her choice.

No choice—Li Heng held all the power now.

Facing him, Chen Xiaomi said: “I can’t decide on ‘Little Aunt’ alone—I must ask Zijin’s opinion first.”

What did Chen Zijin think?

Did you even need to ask?

She was swallowing humiliation, making a veiled compromise—using linguistic artistry to dress up her disgrace as elegance.

“Hmph!” Li Heng listened, then gave a dry, indifferent laugh.

"Hehe" sounded especially jarring under these circumstances.

Even the composed Chen Xiaomi could not bear his unusual gaze; she slightly turned her head, her face flushed with embarrassment and shame.

(End of Chapter)