Transmigration; A Mother's Redemption and a perfect Wife.-Chapter 362; Reading scripts 4

"Especially then." His voice was fierce now, almost angry, "Because you don’t get to give up. Not on yourself. Not when there are people who...." He stopped, the words caught in his throat.

"Who what?" she prompted softly.

"Who needs you," he finished, but they both knew that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say.

Tang Fei reached up and covered his hand with hers, their fingers intertwining against her cheek.

"The woman in the story needed someone too," she said quietly. "But she also needed permission to let go. Sometimes the cruelest thing we can do to dying people is refuse to release them. Force them to keep fighting when they’re so tired..."

"Are you tired?" The question came out sharp, almost desperate.

"No." She smiled, and it was genuine. "I’m not tired, Ting Cheng. I’m just... thinking. About stories and life and borrowed time."

She pulled his hand down but didn’t release it, holding it in her lap instead.

"If I had a week," she said, returning to her original question, "I wouldn’t want grand gestures or desperate searches for cures. I would want..." She paused, considering. "I would want to save as many people as I could. Leave the world a little better than I found it. And maybe..." her voice softened, "....spend the last day with someone who made me feel like I mattered."

Huo Ting Cheng stared at her for a long moment, something complicated moving through his expression.

"You matter," he said finally, roughly. "You matter so much that the thought of you having only a week makes me want to..." He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Don’t ever ask me that question again."

"Why not?"

"Because I can’t think about a world where you’re not in it." The admission came out raw, unguarded. "And I don’t want to imagine what I would become if I lost you."

The weight of those words settled between them, heavy and profound.

Tang Fei squeezed his hand intimately. "Then it’s a good thing I’m not going anywhere."

"Promise me."

"I promise I’m not sick," she said carefully. "The script just made me emotional, that’s all. Made me think about mortality and meaning and...." she gestured vaguely, "....all those heavy things that good stories make you think about."

Huo Ting Cheng studied her face for another long moment, as if trying to read the truth in her features. Finally, he nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

"No more sad scripts today," he decreed, standing and pulling her up with him. "You’ve cried enough."

"One sad script," she corrected, retrieving her laptop and clutching it protectively. "And it’s brilliant, whether you think it’s marketable or not."

"We’ll see what the market thinks," he countered, but there was no real argument in his voice.

"Huo Wu," Tang Fei called out, "when you contact Wei Xiaoting, tell them I want a meeting as soon as possible. I have questions about the themes and the ending, and I want to understand their vision before we begin production."

"Yes, Missus." Huo Wu was already typing rapidly.

Tang Fei looked back at Huo Ting Cheng, and despite the heavy conversation they’d just had, she smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"For what?"

"For caring what would happen if I had a week." Her eyes held his. "Not everyone gets that. Someone who would fight for them."

Huo Ting Cheng’s expression softened fractionally. "You’re mine to protect. Even from hypothetical illnesses in sad scripts."

"Possessive man," she murmured, but there was affection in her voice.

"Reckless woman," he returned, but his palm pressed firmly against the base of her spine, keeping her close.

And Tang Fei, who’d died once already and understood exactly how precious each day was, leaned into his touch and silently promised herself that she would make every borrowed moment count.

Starting with bringing The Locked Garden to life.

So that other people could understand what she knew: that sometimes the most beautiful stories are the ones about endings.

And sometimes, loving someone means letting them bloom one last time before they go.

Tang Fei’s thoughts drifted as she stared at the closed laptop. She was imagining if she didn’t exist in this body, the kids would be growing up without their mother, and the original Tang Fei would be dead and rotten, forgotten by a world that had been cruel to her. Life worked in mysterious ways, giving second chances in the strangest forms.

She shook herself from the melancholy. "Ahh, by the way, have the kids been called either from the military academy or the school?" She’d been too occupied with auditions to recall that she’d sent them all off to their respective institutions this morning.

"They’re okay, nothing to be worried about," Huo Ting Cheng assured her, his eyes still scanning the screens showcasing the auditions going on in the main halls. "Huo Minghao and Qin Xinyu will be taken home by the chauffeur after school. And as for Qing Qing, she had her surgery today." His voice softened slightly. "The doctor said everything went well. She’s back home recuperating."

"All right..." Tang Fei relaxed, relieved that the children were safe and cared for. She opened the laptop again and clicked on another file, there were still several scripts she needed to review. The sooner she went through them, the sooner they could finalize their production slate.

But Huo Ting Cheng remained standing right behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Aren’t you going back to your seat?" Tang Fei asked without looking up, her eyes already scanning the opening lines of the next screenplay.

"I think I’d better accompany you here," he replied, and before she could protest, he sat down on the carpet and pulled her back into his arms, settling her between his legs. His chest pressed against her back as he positioned himself so he could read over her shoulder.

One thing he absolutely didn’t want was.....