Chao Xin had gone off the grid.
Her disappearance appeared to be deliberate, focusing on specific colleagues. She had taken a leave of absence from the production team, suggesting that she might miss one or two upcoming recordings. Furthermore, she had arranged for another industry heavyweight, Ji Mingcheng, to stand in as a temporary mentor during her absence.
She also sent a WeChat message to Xiang Wan, mentioning some urgent business that had come up. She also informed Xiang Wan that she wouldn’t be able to pick her up as planned and asked her to wait for her return.
After that, there was no word from Chao Xin. Despite she wasn’t currently working on any new projects, two drama teams had attempted to contact her for additional shooting without success.
The phone calls eventually reached Feng Guo, who was also unable to contact her.
The news, after passing through several hands, finally reached Xiang Wan, and she sensed something serious was amiss.
Just a couple of days ago, Chao Xin had still been sending her nightly messages. However, as the recording schedule approached, Xiang Wan’s ‘Good night’ only received a response in the early hours of the next day.
When she came out from the isolated recording base, Xiang Wan tried calling Chao Xin, but received no answer.
Standing at the entrance of the studio, her heart was in turmoil.
After making three calls without any response, she couldn’t help but approach Su Chang and ask, “Do you know where Ms. Chao might be?”
The question carried a hint of despondency, and Su Chang’s baffled reaction only intensified it. Shouldn’t Xiang Wan be the one to know Chao Xin’s whereabouts best? Asking Su Chang felt like a desperate shot in the dark.
However, Xiang Wan had no better ideas. She always felt Su Chang had a wide network and might just have some information.
Su Chang ushered her into the car and started driving home, making calls to directors and planners who had worked with Chao Xin in the past through her Bluetooth headset. She let Xiang Wan speak when they connected, though Su Chang didn’t say much herself.
After a fruitless search, Xiang Wan pulled out her phone again and tapped into the WeChat app, still, there was no reply.
“She doesn’t really have many friends. These are the only leads I have,” Su Chang said, parking the car and leading Xiang Wan up the elevator.
Suddenly, Xiang Wan realized the connection she shared with Chao Xin was both robust and fragile. When Chao Xin said “I love you,” it created an illusion that they were the only two people in the world that mattered. However, a break in that connection took only three or four unanswered phone calls to materialize.
She began to miss the Li Dynasty. People in the Li Dynasty didn’t travel far, so their whereabouts were predictable, usually confined to a certain courtyard. Messages via carrier pigeons were slow, as were journeys by horse and carriage, but there was reassurance that the person would always be in that corner of the courtyard, year in and year out, even until death.
Su Chang briefly explained the situation to Yu Zhou, who then prepared some dumplings for them and suggested accompanying Xiang Wan to Ms. Chao’s house afterward to check things out.
Xiang Wan barely touched her food, her gaze fixed on her phone throughout. So, Su Chang didn’t want to delay any longer, she handed Xiang Wan a tissue and said to Yu Zhou, “Let’s go.”
They changed clothes and left, taking about forty minutes to arrive at Henghu International.
The smell in the hallway remained unchanged, yet Chao Xin’s home was empty.
At this hour, Paipai should have been done with school, yet upon opening the door, Xiang Wan found the place in darkness. The living room window stood slightly open, and there were traces on the floor from the heavy rain that had poured in a couple of days ago.
Yu Zhou and Su Chang didn’t feel it was appropriate to enter, so they just watched as Xiang Wan searched the place around before returning with a shake of her head.
Yu Zhou whispered to Su Chang, “Should we call the police?”
There was a hint of panic in her voice, mainly because the house was so big that it felt eerie without the lights on.
Su Chang thought for a moment, taking into account that they were still in the midst of recording a show. Then, she suggested, “Let’s wait a little longer. If we still can’t get in touch later, we can consider asking the police for help.”
After all, Chao Xin had responded to Xiang Wan’s message just yesterday after midnight. It wasn’t as if she had been missing for a long time. However, judging from the limited interactions Su Chang had with Chao Xin and Xiang Wan’s anxiety, Chao Xin’s behavior was somewhat abnormal, perhaps indicating she had encountered some trouble.
Standing at the door was tiring, so Xiang Wan invited them to come in and sit on the sofa to discuss.
As she turned on the lights, Xiang Wan sent Chao Xin a WeChat message, “I’m at your place, brought Su Chang and Yu Zhou with me.”
No reply.
Xiang Wan looked down and sent another, “Sitting on the sofa now.”
Still no response.
A third message, “We didn’t change shoes, I’ll mop the floor when you get back.”
“Why didn’t you close the window when you left?”
“The heavy rain from the other day, if the water seeped in, the bedroom floorboards would be ruined.”
She didn’t know what else to do except to keep typing, to keep chatting with Chao Xin, which provided her with a little peace of mind.
Su Chang was still flipping through her contacts list, while Yu Zhou surveyed the room carefully.
Xiang Wan stood up and walked to the window to catch a breeze, the rumbling sound from some unknown location outside coming in waves, like a machine in operation.
More than an hour passed, and then Xiang Wan’s phone suddenly vibrated.
Xiang Wan’s shoulders jerked in surprise, her heart racing too as she quickly picked up the phone. It was Chao Xin.
She slid her finger across the screen in a slight panic to answer the call, swallowing a gulp of saliva.
“Ms. Chao.” Xiang Wan managed to keep the tension out of her voice.
“Wanwan,” Chao Xin’s voice sounded exhausted, “What’s up, why did you send so many messages?”
Her voice was hoarse, the kind of hoarseness that comes from just waking up.
“If you didn’t reply, I was going to call the police,” Xiang Wan frowned, glancing at Yu Zhou and Su Chang. She nodded at their concerned looks, signaling that it was Chao Xin on the line.
“Call the police?” Chao Xin’s tone wobbled slightly, then she sighed and said, “Don’t worry.”
“Have you sorted everything out? When will you be back?” Xiang Wan settled back onto the sofa and asked Chao Xin.
There was a brief silence on the other end, and then, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know? What does that mean? What have you been up to?” Xiang Wan felt her ears burning with a mix of heat and itchiness. She switched the phone to her other ear, afraid that even a slight movement might cause her to miss a second of Chao Xin’s voice.
“Paipai was picked up by her dad. I’m here looking for her,” Chao Xin said.
“Paipai? Her dad? Your… brother-in-law?” Xiang Wan mulled over the term, her furrowed brow never smoothing out.
Su Chang blinked and gestured to her, signaling her to put the phone on speaker.
Xiang Wan asked softly, “Can Su Chang and Yu Zhou listen in too?”
Chao Xin paused for two seconds before agreeing, “Okay.”
Xiang Wan placed her phone on the coffee table and pressed the speaker button, and Chao Xin’s voice sounded from the speaker.
“To put it simply, because I was busy with the show, I couldn’t properly take care of Paipai’s daily life, so I hired a nanny. She was a classmate of Chao Wang from before and also comes from my hometown. She still has connections there. Last week, she posted a video of Paipai playing with a dog in the neighborhood on her Moments, and it was seen by Sun Qi.”
“Sun Qi, that’s Paipai’s father.”
Paipai actually had a father. For some reason, Xiang Wan had never felt that a father figure was part of Paipai’s life.
“Sun Qi got information about Paipai’s school from the nanny, and while I was recording the show, he took her away.”
Chao Xin’s voice was low, deliberately devoid of any emotion.
It was the day she drove Xiang Wan home, and on the way back, she had been considering whether to buy new desks for Xiang Wan and Paipai. There were these smart desks now that could adjust in height, which seemed better for protecting the cervical spine for those who spent long hours doing homework or desk work.
When she arrived home, Sis Wu was watching TV. Seeing Chao Xin return, she went to heat up some food for her.
Chao Xin glanced at her: “Where’s Paipai?”
It was unusual for her to be so well-behaved, not coming out to watch ‘Poor Little Sisters.’
Sis Wu headed towards the kitchen, “Her dad said he’d pick her up from school today, take her out to eat, and bring her back later.”
“Her dad?” Chao Xin narrowed her eyes, almost doubting her own ears.
Aunt Wu noticed her changed expression and stopped in her tracks, clutching her apron, “Sun Laoer[1], that’s what he said. He said he would tell you himself.”
Chao Xin didn’t say another word, just turned around with her hands on her hips, standing in the doorway, frowning as she dialed Paipai’s number.
Her heart thumped heavily, and sure enough, the phone was turned off.
She licked her lips and dialed the number again.
She knew the outcome all too well, but in moments of anxiety, it was like this—repeating the same action mechanically over and over, as a way to quickly soothe the emotions threatening to spiral out of control.
- The formal name is Sun Qi, Sun Laoer here means he is the second son in the Sun family, Laoer actually means second, the ‘Sun Er’ in later chapters has the same meaning.[return to text]
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