CHAPTER 149: FOR HER OWN SAKE

After a while, the laughter in the living room gradually faded, leaving behind an air of lightness. Qi Jianyi shook her head, amused by her sister’s childish antics. Yet, despite that, a smile lingered on her face—one that hadn’t been there in quite some time.

Mother Qi, watching her eldest daughter, felt a small, knowing smile tug at her lips. She noticed how Qi Jianyi still couldn’t fully compose herself, her laughter lingering even after Qi Jianning had run off in dramatic defeat.

It was a sight that warmed Mother Qi’s heart, a reminder of the carefree, playful spirit her eldest daughter once had.

The sight of Qi Jianyi teasing her younger sister was nothing new. It was almost a routine, like an unspoken dance between the two of them, filled with bickering and laughter in equal measure. But for some reason, Mother Qi couldn’t help but feel like it had been too long since she’d seen her daughters battle with each other so openly.

It was as if a small but significant piece of their family dynamic had been missing—until now.

Her heart fluttered with a bittersweet feeling. It was only recently that she’d noticed the change in her daughter. The quiet distance, the hidden awkwardness, the unspoken longing in Qi Jianyi’s eyes.

She didn’t know exactly what had happened during that time, but it felt like something had been weighing heavily on her daughter’s shoulders.

Yet today, watching her laugh freely again, Mother Qi felt a flicker of hope.

It was like the cool, playful Qi Jianyi had returned, piece by piece.

Her mind drifted back to a week ago, when Qi Jianyi was trapped in her nightmare, a constant source of worry for their family. Mother Qi recalled her daughter’s stiff body, and the way Qi Jianyi had seemed so far away, lost in some invisible battle.

Though Qi Jianyi had insisted that it wasn’t a nightmare, Mother Qi couldn’t shake the feeling that her daughter had been caught in a deep, unspoken dream—one that she had finally managed to wake up from.

Mother Qi’s gaze softened as she watched her daughter, lost in her thoughts. Something had shifted within her, and though the change was subtle, it was unmistakable.

"What’s wrong, mom?" Qi Jianyi’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. She raised an eyebrow in mild confusion, the sweetness in her smile hinting at a lightheartedness she hadn’t shown before. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Mother Qi blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she shook her head slightly and smiled warmly.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was soft, but there was something in it—a quiet undercurrent of concern—that Qi Jianyi couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the typical motherly concern; it was deeper, more searching.

Qi Jianyi’s brow furrowed slightly, a little thrown off by the question.

"How am I feeling? I’m fine," she answered with a shrug, her tone a little too casual as she dismissed her mother’s inquiry.

She didn’t fully understand the question, nor the unspoken weight behind it. The truth was, Qi Jianyi didn’t quite know how to answer. How could she explain what she had been through these past few months? That she has been living in someone else’s body for months and could barely come home?

Mother Qi studied her daughter’s expression carefully, her heart aching slightly at the response. There was so much more behind those words, so much more beneath the surface, but she didn’t press her.

Instead, she nodded, her eyes lingering on Qi Jianyi for just a moment longer. "I’m glad you’re feeling fine," Mother Qi said softly, though her voice still carried that odd, indescribable tone.

Life after returning to her own world was strangely dull. It was as if nothing had truly happened, as if everything Qi Jianyi had experienced before was nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

If not for her parents’ constant worries about the change in her behavior, Qi Jianyi might have convinced herself that she had never left at all.

It seemed like nothing had shifted, nothing had changed—everything was just as it had always been. But she realized that her parents had noticed the subtle differences in her attitude.

Not her attitude, but the attitude of the other Qi Jianyi, the one who had taken root in her body before she returned. Her parents couldn’t know the truth, but they could sense something was different.

The way she spoke, the way she looked at them—there was something faintly unfamiliar, as if the daughter they once knew had been replaced with someone who merely resembled her.

She noticed the relief in their eyes when they saw her, as if they were finally seeing their real daughter again. It was a relief that made her heart ache because she knew better.

They thought their daughter had simply gone through something, a phase or a struggle that had now passed. They had no idea that their daughter’s life had actually been exchanged—that the person they believed was their daughter was before, in fact, someone else.

They didn’t know.

And Qi Jianyi couldn’t bring herself to tell them.

How could she? How could she explain to them what she had gone through? That her life was stolen from hers? That everything happened because of a simple wish she didn’t truly mean that changed her belief in this world?

No matter what, the truth about her ’transmigration’—or soul swapping, as she sometimes thought of it—was a secret that Qi Jianyi could never share.

It was a truth buried deep within her, a secret she would carry to her grave. The life she had lived in another world, the memories of the person she used to be, would remain hidden, locked away in a place where no one, not even her parents, could ever touch.

It wasn’t just the secret of her transmigration that she couldn’t reveal. There was something deeper, something even more personal—a secret of love in the world she once knew. A love that Qi Jianyi believes she could no longer find in this world.

The kind of love that had bloomed in that other world, but could never exist here.

It was a love that she knew she would have to leave behind, even if it tore her apart to do so.

"Mom..." The words slipped out softly, a whisper she had longed to say for so long, especially when she was trapped in that other world.

"I think I’m going to start writing again," Qi Jianyi said, her voice tinged with a slight nervousness. Her eyes cast down, hiding the unease that gnawed at her.

Mother Qi reached out and softly tapped her daughter’s forehead, a gentle gesture that lifted her gaze. Qi Jianyi’s eyes met her mother’s, and she felt a sudden rush of warmth flood through her.

"It’s good if you feel like writing again," Mother Qi said with a soft smile, her voice filled with quiet encouragement. But then, her expression grew more serious.

"But, Jianyi, don’t push yourself too hard." Mother Qi paused for a moment, a trace of sorrow passing over her face before she continued. "You’ve already done so much for us. Both your father and I... we still feel guilty for taking away your childhood."

Qi Jianyi’s heart tightened at the words, but she shook her head quickly, not wanting her mother to carry such guilt.

"Mom, why are you saying that?" she replied, her voice a little sharper than she intended.

"You never took away my childhood. What childhood? I was already sixteen back then." She tried to brush the comment off, but the truth was, she had always understood the sacrifices her parents had made for her. The weight of it never truly disappeared.

But Mother Qi’s smile, though kind, looked deeply sad. Her eyes grew moist as she spoke again. "Sixteen is the age when you should be seeing the world, experiencing life, falling in love, making friends. But because of our own shortcomings, you were forced to mature far too soon. Jianyi, your father and I are sorry for not being able to give you the life you truly deserve." Qi Jianyi’s chest tightened at the sincerity in her mother’s voice.

She didn’t want her mother to feel this way—not for a single second.

"Mom, stop it," she interjected, her voice firm yet gentle. "Helping you is something I wanted to do. You know me—I never do anything I don’t want to. I like writing and I realized that I have a talent for it, and that talent allowed me to help you and Dad. I never regretted it. Not for a single moment." A warm smile spread across Qi Jianyi’s face, one that was meant to reassure her mother, to erase the sadness that lingered in her eyes.

"So, you don’t have to feel guilty about it anymore, okay? I’m proud of the decisions I made. And I’d do it all over again if I had to." Qi Jianyi meant every word.

She had never regretted helping her parents, no matter what it cost her.

In the end, she did what she had to do. The only regret she carried was not in the sacrifices she made, but in the way her own dreams—her own career—had unraveled.

She had been too greedy, too ambitious, and in the end, it had all slipped through her fingers. But that wasn’t something she could say aloud.

Mother Qi didn’t know how to respond to her daughter’s thoughtful words. She nodded her head and silently wiped away the tears.

"What is your plan?" Mother Qi asked gently, trying to shift the conversation back to Qi Jianyi’s desire to write again.

The question hung in the air, filled with an unspoken hope that her daughter might find a way to move forward.

Qi Jianyi leaned back, resting the back of her head against the top of the couch. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, her mind spinning as she searched for the right words.

What was her plan, really? Did she even have one?

"I don’t know..." she mumbled quietly, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. "I just want to write... to pass the time."

There was no grand inspiration driving her, no burning desire to create something magnificent. Qi Jianyi didn’t feel that spark she once had when writing came naturally. But there was a nagging need inside her, something that told her she couldn’t just remain idle, that if she stopped moving forward, if she stopped doing anything, she might begin to crumble from within.

Her mother, ever understanding, didn’t push her. Instead, she gently prodded with another question. "Do you want to write a novel or a script for a drama?" Mother Qi’s fingers gently brushed through Qi Jianyi’s hair, a tender gesture that conveyed her love and concern without words.

Turning her head to look at her mother, Qi Jianyi felt the warmth of her presence, and for the first time in a while, she allowed herself to be comforted by it. She let out a small sigh before responding.

"I don’t want to write scripts anymore," she said softly. "I just want to write novels, at my own pace. No deadlines. No pressure. Just... writing because I want to."

Mother Qi’s expression softened as she listened, nodding in approval.

"That’s good," she said with a gentle smile, her voice filled with the kind of reassurance that only a mother could offer. "You’ve done so much for us already, and we’re no longer under any financial burden. This time, Jianyi, you don’t have to worry about money anymore. You can write without any of that hanging over you. As long as your father and I are here, don’t worry about our family. Just live your life. Do what makes you happy." Mother Qi’s words were like a balm to Qi Jianyi’s soul.

The pressure she had carried for so long—the pressure of providing for her family—had slowly started to lift.

Her mother’s unwavering support, the promise of not needing to worry about money anymore, was a freedom Qi Jianyi hadn’t allowed herself to feel before.

Tears threatened to form in the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, smiling instead.

"Thank you, Mom." Mother Qi smiled back, her eyes filled with warmth and pride. "You’ve given us so much already. Now it’s your turn to live for yourself. Take your time, and do what feels right for you."

Qi Jianyi smiled at her mother, her expression radiating warmth and happiness. Yet, behind that smile, there lingered a feeling she couldn’t shake—a deep, aching loneliness.

It was a strange, almost alien sensation that caught her off guard. Despite the comfort of her mother’s presence, despite the reassurance she had just received, she felt an emptiness that no amount of affection seemed to fill.

But Qi Jianyi quickly brushed those feelings aside, convincing herself they were insignificant. She couldn’t afford to dwell on such things. She couldn’t afford to be consumed by them. She had to move forward. There was no other choice.

Because if she didn’t, if she allowed herself to remain trapped in that loneliness, she feared she would crumble under the weight of her own unresolved emotions—the agonizing memories of a man, a love lost, a love that could never be found again.

And so, she chose to focus on the present, pushing the pain aside for another day.

But deep down, she knew it would always be there, lingering in the corners of her heart, waiting for a moment of weakness.

But for now, Qi Jianyi had to keep moving forward. For her own sake.