CHAPTER 20: CHAPTER TWENTY: THE SECOND MELON

The little melon was practically beaming with excitement as he waited for An Ning to get ready for bed.

After all, what better time for gossip than when one was comfortably tucked in—soft lighting, a blanket fortress, and no witnesses but the night itself?

"Before I start," he blurted, unable to contain himself any longer, "how did you even manage to slip the ring into Sun Qiaolian’s bag?"

An Ning raised a brow, sliding under the covers with all the serenity of someone who’d just committed a perfect crime. "Let’s just say I learned the sleight of hand long before this."

"But how did you know she was going to set you up?" the little melon pressed, eyes wide and utterly invested.

"Of course I didn’t," An Ning said. "But she was hovering around my bag after I came out of the restroom. That doesn’t exactly scream good intentions."

[Ding! Current Luck Value: 35]

"So," An Ning murmured, making herself comfortable against the pillows, "Song Qingwan?"

"You do know that the entire An family didn’t get a good ending, right?" the little melon said.

"Let me guess—this catalyst is Song Qingwan?" An Ning replied dryly. "I’m not exactly surprised. She probably liked An Yanming."

"She was in cahoots with An Yanming," the little melon nodded, confirming what An Ning said. "First, she stole the bidding information from An Yancheng and handed it to him."

"My second uncle’s family must have felt they were unfairly treated all this while." An Ning scoffed softly.

It wasn’t that An Ning had ever belittled them; her second uncle simply wasn’t cut out for business.

Her grandfather, old Mr. An, had seen that much early on. He’d given both sons a fair start—equal shares, equal chances—but only one of them knew how to keep what he’d been given.

When the company grew and the stakes rose, it was An Hongsheng who handled every crisis with a clear head, while An Zhiguo relied more on luck and borrowed confidence. In the end, her grandfather made the only reasonable choice: he passed the reins to An Hongsheng.

And from that moment, resentment quietly took root.

An Zhiguo blamed his father for being biased, his employees for not working hard enough—yet never once paused to think that he simply didn’t have it in him to run a business.

Self-awareness, after all, was a rare trait in her second uncle’s family—valuable enough to be mistaken for arrogance when it actually appeared.

"So that’s where it all began," the little melon murmured, eyes bright with the thrill of someone uncovering premium gossip.

"An Yanming had a company outside the An Group, but it wasn’t registered under his name," the little melon continued eagerly. "That company ended up winning the current bid."

An Ning’s lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but in understanding. "So that’s how they did it."

She could almost picture it: her second uncle appearing perfectly content with the company being handed over to An Yancheng while secretly feeding his own son ideas that the An Group was supposed to belong to their branch, he’d merely lost out on luck.

It would’ve been laughable, if it hadn’t been so predictable.

"Let me guess," she said lightly, "they didn’t stop there."

The little melon shook his head gravely. "Nope. After that, the board started doubting your brother’s judgment for losing the bid just by a margin. An Zhiguo and An Yanming set him up with a land deal that looked perfect on paper but was a complete trap."

The little melon hesitated for a beat before adding, "And that’s where Song Qingwan comes in."

An Ning’s brow lifted slightly. "Of course she does."

"She was the one who introduced your brother to the people behind that deal. On the surface, it looked like she was helping him make connections—but in truth, she was leading him straight into the pit."

An Ning frowned slightly. "But I don’t think my brother would fall into that kind of trap so easily."

"That’s the thing," the little melon said. "He didn’t fall for it at first. He double-checked everything—legal documents, the intermediary company’s background, even the land certificate itself. Everything looked flawless."

He paused, lowering his voice. "Until Song Qingwan showed up again, saying she’d gotten the confirmation from a ’reliable source.’ She even convinced one of the project consultants to vouch for it."

An Ning’s gaze cooled. "So she borrowed someone else’s credibility."

"Exactly," the little melon said. "Your brother trusted that consultant, so he went ahead and signed the deal. Two weeks later, the environmental report came out—the land was restricted, under redevelopment protection. By then, the money was already gone."

A soft chime sounded in An Ning’s mind.

[Ding! Melon Consumed = + 20 Luck Value]

[Total Luck Value = 55 Luck Value]

An Ning let out a quiet breath, her tone unreadable. "Typical. They never plant just one landmine—they make sure you step on it yourself."

"I don’t think there was any way your brother could have discovered it in the original timeline," the little melon sighed. "This was planned by his own family—his own fiancée. "

An Ning’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers curled slightly beneath the blanket. "His own fiancée," she repeated softly.

Once the deal collapsed, An Yanming took the opportunity to strike. He leaked the entire story to the media—twisting the facts just enough to make it look like An Yancheng had insider information but still went ahead with the deal. Within days, headlines screamed about mismanagement and corruption in the An Group.

Investors panicked. The stock plummeted.

And as if that wasn’t enough, rumours spread that the company was on the verge of bankruptcy. Since An Group had multiple projects underway, the contractors and subcontractors began pulling out one after another, demanding immediate payment for fear they’d never see their money again.

"Your brother tried to calm them down," the little melon said quietly, "but before he could, An Yanming sent someone to ’teach him a lesson.’ It got out of hand."

An Ning’s throat tightened, though her voice remained steady. "He was crippled."

The little melon nodded, eyes dimming. "He never walked again after that."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room was still, heavy with the weight of what had been and what could no longer be changed.

An Ning closed her eyes briefly. "So that’s how it ended," she murmured. "Destroyed not by strangers, but by their own sense of entitlement."

The little melon said nothing more. Silence settled—broken only be the faint sound of fate being rewritten.