The hardest hit often didn't end in angry outbursts, nor in crying fits.
The hardest hit was silence—
the kind that left one standing perfectly still,
heart breaking with impeccable composure.
She had a cake in her hands, yet no one spared her a second glance. Everyone assumed she was here on someone else's behalf.
An Ning had noticed her standing quietly in the corner.
On any other day, a stranger loitering near the filming set would have been chased out within minutes.
But tonight, as fate would have it, she went unnoticed.
Now, An Ning's luck value had dropped from forty-five to a measly five.
Twenty points gone just to let Zhang Yazhi slip past the staff.
Another twenty had already vanished—to send concrete evidence for the reveal.
Apparently, summoning fate came with transaction fees.
"Do you regret it?"
The little melon drifted out of nowhere, voice soft but curious. His gaze followed Zhang Yazhi's figure across the room.
An Ning didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tapped light lyagainst the table, eyes lingering on the quiet woman in the corner.
"Well," she commented, half to herself, "I didn't think Han Yichen was this thorough. He's erased every last trace of Zhang Yazhi."
The little melon huffed. "You say that so calmly for someone who's been tripping over air all day. Your chopsticks jumped off the table, your faucet exploded, and you nearly face-planted into your own reflection."
An Ning gave him a sidelong look. "Minor inconveniences. Besides, my reflexes are excellent—I avoided facial damage."
"You call this minor?" he grumbled. "That's divine retribution."
"No," she said mildly, "that's called transaction fees."
She paused then, her tone softening with something that almost resembled pity.
"It seems he'd made his choice long before she ever understood there was one to make."
"Host, humans are scary." The little melon finally concluded, voice small but solemn. "Those songs that Zhang Yazhi wrote with him in mind…only for him to erase those traces of her."
"Or…maybe not all humans," the little melon said quietly, his gaze drifting to An Ning.
Sometimes, when you're standing at the edge of the abyss, all it takes is someone willing to reach down and pull you back.
In the original timeline, no one pulled Zhang Yazhi.
But tonight, the little melon was glad that An Ning was here.
The courtyard lights flickered softly, casting long, uneven shadows across the lawn. Dinner chatter rose and fell—low laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the kind of pleasant noise that disguised tension underneath.
For a fleeting moment, An Ning wondered what it must feel like—to stand there with a cake in hand, dignity balanced on a trembling line.
She wondered how much courage it must have taken for her to stand here, watching Han Yichen showing affection for another woman.
Then, at that exact moment, a slender young woman appeared at the edge of the set—a cap pulled low, a mask covering half her face, a cake balanced carefully in one hand.
The sound of her footsteps was soft, but somehow—it cut through everything.
Across the table, Han Yichen looked up.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to slow.
The chatter dimmed, the laughter thinned, and all that remained was the faint clink of fork meeting porcelain.
Zhang Yazhi stopped a few steps away, her expression unreadable beneath the mask.
Her fingers trembled slightly—whether from nerves or restraint, it was impossible to tell.
Han Yichen's hand, resting on the table, stilled.
It was the smallest motion—barely perceptible—but enough for the camera to catch.
It was in that moment he understood what people meant when they said fear could make the mind go blank.
[Wait… why does this feel weirdly intense 😳🔥]
[WHO IS SHE 😱💀 why's Yichen looking like he's seen a ghost?!]
[Not the cake delivery arc 😭🍰😭]
[Girl boss walked in like the final boss 💅⚡️]
"The show's about to get interesting." A quiet amusement flickered in An Ning's eyes.
Meanwhile, across the courtyard, the director leaned closer to the monitor, whispering to the PA, "Who's that? Is she one of the extras?"
"No," the PA whispered back, her face visibly paling as she scrolled through script. "There isn't supposed to be any secret event today."
The director blinked. "Then how—"
And then realisation dawned.
The quiet posture.
The way Han Yichen's composure had shattered—just slightly—around the eyes.
Ah—damn.
Someone was out to get him this year.
If only An Ning had caught the director's confusion, he had no idea this was only the beginning.
"Turn off the cameras!" It was the first thing Han Yichen managed to say when thought finally returned.
As if An Ning would give him the chance to do that.
She had already borrowed fifty Luck Value from little melon—just to make sure no one could shut the cameras off.
After all, gossip is always meant to be shared.
The silence that followed stretched—thin enough to snap.
Even the clinking of cutlery had gone still, as though the air itself held its breath.
Then Zhang Yazhi stepped forward.
Slow, deliberate. Each step soft, but carrying the kind of weight that made people look up without knowing why.
She stepped beside Han Yichen's table.
The cake trembled slightly in her hands, frosting catching warm light.
"Happy anniversary," she said, her voice low—almost gentle.
It would've sounded affectionate, if not for the faint tremor underneath.
[??? Anniversary??? 😳]
[Wait WHAT anniversary 😭😭😭]
[Bro's face just drained—what did he do 😱🔥]
[This isn't a dating show anymore, this is a real drama live 💀]
Han Yichen froze, his mind a tangle of panic and disbelief as he saw the production team trying to turn the cameras off but to no avail.
An Ning leaned back slightly in her seat, chin resting on her palm, eyes bright with that familiar, melon-eating curiosity.
"Well," she said, voice barely audible over the buzz that rippled through the crew. "This better be worth my Luck Value."
Still, as she watched Zhang Yazhi's fingers tremble around the cake, she couldn't quite decide whether this felt like justice—or cruelty pretending to be it.
"I am Zhang—"
"Yazhi! Let's not do this here," Han Yichen's voice cut in too quickly, his smile taut, eyes wide with something between panic and plea as he moved toward her.
But Zhang Yazhi only stepped back, placing a careful distance between them.
"I am Zhang Yazhi," she said clearly, her voice strong and steady.
"Han Yichen's girlfriend. And today," her gaze swept the stunned cast, "is our tenth anniversary."
Silence fell over the courtyard.
Even the night breeze seemed afraid to move—in case it missed the drama.
Meanwhile, the comment section updated at one comment per second—a blur of disbelief, popcorn emojis, and collective gasps flooding across the screen.
[Wait WHAT 😱😱😱 girlfriend??]
[TENTH anniversary??? bro isn't even single 😭🔥]
[Someone pass the popcorn 🍿 this is history]
[Director, don't you dare cut the feed 🔥🔥🔥]
The director mouthed something to the PA—"Cut it, cut it!"—but the blinking red LIVE light refused to turn.
At this point, the director wasn't even sure if this was divine retribution—or worse, who it was meant for.
Him?
Han Yichen?
Or perhaps, this was fate's idea of poetic justice—in high definition, with good lighting and a live feed.