CHAPTER 22: CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: LINES OF INTERVENTION

Morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, soft and forgiving—the kind of light that pretended the world wasn’t full of fools on the brink of repeating their mistakes.

An Ning sat by the vanity, tying her hair into a low knot. In the mirror, the little melon floated just above her shoulder, blinking anxiously.

"Ningning," it said, voice small but firm. "The moment you talk to your brother, the timeline will start to diverge."

"That’s the point," An Ning replied, reaching for her earrings and making no move to correct how the little melon addressed her."Otherwise, what’s the use of knowing the future?"

The little melon whirred in distress. "But divergence increases instability! The system was calibrated for melon observation, not melon interference."

An Ning arched an eyebrow at her reflection. "You sound like an accountant terrified of creative accounting."

"Because I am!" the little melon squeaked. "Do you know what happens when variables shift too fast? Causality ripples, threads snap—"

"Then let’s be gentle with the threads," she said lightly, standing. "We’ll only pull one."

It didn’t reply, but its glow dimmed in resigned despair.

In the dining room, Gu Yuehua was arranging a few sides into a lacquered lunch box when An Ning entered.

"You’re up early," her mother said, surprised. She knew her daughter absolutely refused to go out unless needed. "Going somewhere?"

"I thought I’d send lunch over to Yancheng," An Ning replied lightly. "He’s probably too busy to eat properly, as usual."

Gu Yuehua brightened immediately. "That’s thoughtful of you. He’s been swarmed with work lately." She tucked in an extra serving of braised ribs. "He always liked those."

"Mm." An Ning smiled faintly. "He still does."

Busy. Of course he was. The An Group was finalising a land bid—the same one that would, in the original timeline, start the downfall of her brother.

If memory served, this was also around the time Song Qingwan started to "help."

An Ning tightened the knot on the lunch bag. "I’ll drop it off myself."

The An Group’s headquarters gleamed like ambition itself—steel, glass and quiet money.

An Ning’s heels clicked against the polished floor as she stepped out of the elevator, lunch bag in hand.

There weren’t the usual snotty receptionists like in those novels—the kind who made things difficult just to prove a point.

Ever since the An family announced her return as their long-lost daughter, the staff had begun treating her name like glass—handled carefully, almost reverently, though the family banquet hadn’t even been held yet.

Recognition always changed people’s manners faster than character ever could.

The receptionist treated her with a surprised smile before hastily calling ahead.

Within moments, the door to An Yancheng’s office opened.

"Ningning?" Her brother looked up from a pile of documents, surprise melting into warmth. "You should’ve told me you were coming."

"I brought lunch," she said simply, holding up the bag. "Here to supervise that you actually eat this afternoon."

He laughed, the fatigue around his eyes easing. "So now you’re my nutritionist?"

"Temporary contract," An Ning replied, setting the lunch box down on his desk. "Expires once you develop common sense."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "If only board meetings could be half as entertaining as you."

She began unpacking the dishes, the soft clink of porcelain filling the room. The smell of soy and ginger cut through the sterile air of the office, grounding the scene in a warmth that didn’t quite belong there.

"You’ve been working too much," she said, glancing at the neat stack of reports by his elbow.

"That’s just part of the job," he replied lightly. "You’d be surprised how many fires there are to put out every day."

"I wouldn’t," An Ning murmured, almost to herself.

For a few moments, they ate in companionable silence—the kind that only existed between siblings who didn’t need to fill every pause. Then, as he reached for his tea, she spoke again—her tone as deliberate as ever.

"So how are things between you and Song Qingwan recently?" she asked.

An Yancheng glanced up mid-sip, faint surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a polite neutral smile. "The same as always. Why?"

"Nothing," An Ning said, lowering her gaze to the rice she portioned out. "You two have been together for a while. I just wondered."

He gave a small, dismissive hum. "Things are steady. She’s been dropping by the office more often lately—asking about projects, pretending to help."

"Pretending?" An Ning asked lightly.

He smirked, the expression brief. "Let’s just say her interest is selective. She likes to appear involved, but half the time she’s more of a distraction than assistance."

An Ning raised an eyebrow. "That doesn’t sound like much of a partnership."

He shrugged. "The marriage was arranged. Both families benefit. That’s enough."

"Did you know about what happened at the gown fitting?" An Ning said after a pause.

The smirk disappeared. His expression cooled instantly. "Mother told me."

An Ning studied him quietly, "You don’t sound pleased."

"I’m not," he said flatly. "It may not have been a public scene, but it was disrespectful. She knew exactly what she was doing."

He set his chopsticks down, the movement precise, controlled. "You’re my sister, Ningning. All of us cherish you—so for someone about to join the family, this isn’t how she should treat you."

For a heartbeat, the air between them softened. Not with warmth, but with shared understanding.

"Mother thinks you should reconsider the marriage," An Ning said gently. "Or at least delay it."

He exhaled, rubbing his temple once. "She’s right. But this marriage isn’t about sentiment. The contracts are signed, the investors are watching, the Songs have already tied funds to the merger. Pulling back now would cause more noise than it’s worth."

"Maybe," An Ning said, her voice quiet but cutting, "but pretending not to see something wrong only delays the collapse."

That gave him pause. He looked at her—really looked—and something flickered in his gaze.

"I’ll think about it," he said finally. "That’s all I can promise."

"That’s all I asked."

An Ning’s smile lingered for a moment—soft, fleeting, touched with something almost wistful. "You always did take things too seriously," she murmured, though her tone carried no reproach.

Then, as if the moment had never existed, she began packing up the empty dishes with her usual unhurried grace.

When she finally left, the door closed softly behind her, leaving the room filled with the low hum of the air conditioner and the lingering scent of braised ribs.

For a long while, An Yancheng sat there, unmoving.