The Young Miss Refuse To Love
Chapter 77: Dilemma

Chapter 77: Dilemma

As the car rolled to a gentle stop in front of the Qi family’s mansion, Qi Jianyi unbuckled her seatbelt and cast a quick glance at Song Chengfeng, their driver for the day, who had volunteered to take them.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, catching his gaze as he turned toward her.

The twins, seated in the back, echoed her thanks enthusiastically before scrambling out of the car. They could hardly contain their excitement, eager to rush inside and share their small victories with their mother.

"I offered to come along," Song Chengfeng replied with a hint of his usual calm nonchalance.

He seemed to imply that, since he had taken the initiative to join them, a thank you was hardly necessary. To him, it was a given that he would handle the driving.

"Well, I’m glad you came along today," Qi Jianyi replied, smiling slightly. "Otherwise, I’d have been the one stuck managing those two brats by myself," she added with a touch of humor.

In truth, she felt immensely relieved. Song Chengfeng’s choice to join them had saved her a lot of energy.

The twins, in their usual curious fashion, were full of questions about everything they saw at the race, their voices practically non-stop.

They had chattered excitedly from the moment they arrived, bombarding her with questions and exclamations every time something caught their attention.

Fortunately for Qi Jianyi, Song Chengfeng had been more than willing to engage with them. He patiently answered each of their endless questions, filling in every blank in their minds with such detail that even she had been a little impressed.

Despite their usual disdain for Song Chengfeng’s obvious pursuit of their sister, the twins couldn’t help but be captivated by his depth of knowledge.

The more he talked, the more they found themselves in awe of him. Though he spoke only about the race, it left them convinced—perhaps begrudgingly—that Song Chengfeng was, without a doubt, an intelligent man.

"It’s fine. There are plenty of teens like them in the military too," Song Chengfeng replied briefly, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone as a flicker of memories crossed his eyes.

Qi Jianyi noticed the sudden shift in his mood, sensing a touch of nostalgia in his expression.

"Do you ever miss your job?" she asked gently, her voice soft.

In truth, Qi Jianyi had been curious for a long time about his past as a soldier. Yet, with her own life often spiraling out of control, she rarely had the chance—or the mental space—to consider others’ stories. But now, in a rare moment of peace, she finally felt she could ask.

At her question, Song Chengfeng let out a quiet, slightly amused laugh. "Miss my job? Who would miss work?" he replied with a teasing glance in her direction.

Qi Jianyi shrugged casually, offering him a small smile. "Who knows? You spent years serving as one of the country’s protectors. Wouldn’t it feel strange, not having something that important to do anymore?"

He watched her closely, noticing how her gaze stayed focused on him with genuine curiosity.

"Life did feel empty before," he admitted, his voice low and steady. He could see his reflection in her eyes, a faint echo of his past lingering in his mind.

"But now," he continued, his tone softening, "you’ve made things... not so boring anymore."

Qi Jianyi’s expression shifted, and she couldn’t help but frown, a hint of exasperation breaking through.

"That sounds like something straight out of a cheesy drama," she said, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion. "Did you pick this up from one of those shows?"

With a grin that was both innocent and mischievous, Song Chengfeng nodded, confirming her suspicions.

"You really need to stop," Qi Jianyi sighed, shaking her head in resignation as she leaned back in her seat. "I can’t even remember how many times I’ve told you to quit learning those lines from dramas."

But before she could fully settle into her moment of exasperation, Song Chengfeng’s voice broke through, gentle yet unwavering. "I’ll stop," he said, his gaze steady on her, "when you’re finally mine."

The unexpected sincerity in his tone caught Qi Jianyi off guard. She found herself staring at him, his words lingering in the air between them.

Earlier, Qi Jianyi had asked whether she could like him. But her question was outwardly rejected by Song Chengfeng.

He refused to be accepted just because Qi Jianyi pitied him nor did he want to force her to accept him. Song Chengfeng still has some faith in his face and charms, he believes he could make the woman he likes to like him back.

Despite Song Chengfeng’s internal reassurance, Qi Jianyi felt a new wave of uncertainty wash over her.

Was this something she was forcing herself to feel? Or was she simply too afraid to admit that she didn’t know how she felt about him?

The truth was, Qi Jianyi wasn’t sure. Every time she tried to process Song Chengfeng’s words, her mind went blank, refusing to land on any clear answer. It was as though her heart and mind were at odds, stuck in a tug-of-war she didn’t understand.

Perhaps it was because his confession had always felt like something that shouldn’t have happened—a twist in her life she hadn’t anticipated.

The more he persisted, the more uneasy she felt, like standing on the edge of a cliff, uncertain whether to step back or fall.

And there was a part of her, deep down, that was afraid. Afraid that one day, she might actually say yes, that she might allow herself to be swept away and lose sight of everything she was working toward.

"I’ll go now. Thank you once again," she replied, no longer wishing to continue the topic.

Qi Jianyi felt a surge of confusion, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Because once the confusion cleared, she knew what would follow.

It was a dilemma.

One thing she couldn’t afford to confront in this world. If she did, her faith would waver, and she might start to accept this exchanged life as her own.

Song Chengfeng remained silent, his gaze fixed on Qi Jianyi as she stepped into the house. No emotions showed on his face, yet a subtle chill settled over his demeanor.

It wasn’t a shift in mood but rather a return to the natural, distant air he wore around everyone else—a quiet intensity that didn’t soften for anyone.

That casual, relaxed warmth he showed belonged to her alone.

...

Qi Jianyi typed the final words of her first manuscript in this world. As the last sentence settled on the screen, bringing her fictional universe to a close, she couldn’t help but sigh, feeling both tired and relieved.

She found it ironic, really. Here she was, writing as a way to distract herself from her chaotic life, a pastime to fill empty hours.

But back when she was young, writing had been so different—it was her way of helping her family escape poverty.

To her younger self, every story, every Chapter, was just a means of survival, a way to bring in money.

Back then, manuscripts and novels weren’t creative expressions—they were financial lifelines. While she had always appreciated her work, her feelings were practical rather than personal.

Each time a novel gained attention, her joy was rooted in the hope of increased royalties, rather than any artistic fulfillment.

Now, after nearly three years away from writing, finishing this novel felt strangely significant. For the first time, it was more than just a story.

This manuscript felt like a small triumph, a piece of herself she could leave in this world.

It told the tale of a man and a woman who met by chance, their lives intertwining as they slowly overcame their differences and fears of commitment.

Yet, despite this accomplishment, Qi Jianyi remained true to one of her old habits—she disliked happy endings.

Over time, she had learned that a sad ending drew more readers; it seemed people found beauty in heartbreak. Most of her most popular novels had somber conclusions that resonated deeply with her audience.

This story was no different. She had decided to give it an ending worthy of tears, one where the protagonists, after overcoming every obstacle together, realized their true feelings only to lose each other in the end. It was bittersweet, an ending that would leave an ache behind.

As she leaned back, Qi Jianyi felt a complex mix of satisfaction and melancholy. This wasn’t just any story—it was a piece of herself, in a way she had never quite felt before.

Though Qi Jianyi didn’t fully understand why she’d woven this particular plot—a story of a man who waits patiently, only for the woman he loves to be gone by the time she’s finally ready to accept him.

Or maybe, deep down, she did understand. Perhaps the truth was right there, hidden beneath layers of denial, but she wasn’t ready to face it.

There was something about the idea of waiting, of missed chances, of timing that never seemed to align. It struck a chord she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

Maybe this story wasn’t just fiction after all. But if that was the case, she wasn’t ready to admit it—not yet.

Or—perhaps Qi Jianyi never wanted to admit it. Maybe this manuscript, this carefully written story, would become her answer.