CHAPTER 56: NANNY ZHENG

"Qi Jianyi, you’re really pissing me off," she muttered inwardly, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior.

"Am I your servant now? Why should I be the one running your errands, helping you soothe your guilt?" She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to shout.

If only she could meet the original Qi Jianyi face to face, she’d have smacked her across the head for all the trouble she was causing.

Her life had already been stolen, twisted into something unrecognisable, and now she was expected to help the person who had taken it pay respects to her nanny? It was infuriating.

With a sigh, she glanced around the park, her anger simmering beneath her skin. A few elderly couples strolled leisurely through the paths, walking arm in arm, likely trying to aid digestion after their lunch. Their slow, peaceful movements contrasted sharply with the turmoil roiling inside her.

It was lunch hour, and the park was quieter than it would be later in the day. The scorching sun had kept most people indoors, but by late afternoon, the park would come alive again—families, children, and more of the elderly, all seeking refuge from the fading heat. But for now, it was still, almost too peaceful for the thoughts racing through her mind.

Qi Jianyi clenched her jaw, her fists trembling with barely restrained emotion. A frustrated tear threatened to escape, but she ruthlessly wiped it away before it could fall.

These tears carried too much weight—regret for not paying respects, regret that wasn’t even her own. The original Qi Jianyi’s memories surged within her, mixing with her own frustration at not finding any answers. That regret, that guilt, didn’t belong to her. She knew that clearly.

She hated the way she could still feel the remnants of the original Qi Jianyi’s emotions, lingering in this body as if she were just a guest. As if, despite inhabiting this flesh, it was never truly hers.

Yet, at the same time, there was an odd sense of relief in that realisation. Because these feelings, this life, reminded her that she wasn’t meant to stay.

She wasn’t supposed to be trapped in this body forever. The guilt, the memories—they weren’t hers. Never had been.

Still, Qi Jianyi couldn’t help but wonder. Had her own stolen body carried lingering feelings like these? Was the person now living in it haunted by her memories, just as she was haunted by the original Qi Jianyi’s? Did her body cry out, reminding its new owner that it didn’t belong to them?

The more she thought about it, the more unsettling it became. The questions clawed at her mind, making her uneasy. She quickened her pace, moving past the old oak tree, her steps turning into hurried strides as she made her way back to her car.

The park, once a place of freedom for the original Qi Jianyi, felt suffocating to her. It was too bright, yet in her eyes, it seemed drenched in shadows. Her hands shook slightly as she forced herself to move faster.

’I’ll never come back to this place again,’ she whispered to herself, a silent vow that echoed in her mind as she reached for the car door, desperate to escape.

...

Qi Jianyi stood frozen, her face devoid of emotion, her eyes fixed ahead as if tethered to some invisible force.

She couldn’t recall how she’d gotten here—what roads she had taken, or how she’d even known this cemetery existed, let alone the exact one she needed to find.

The last few hours were a blur, like a film set to fast-forward, but she remembered none of the scenes. All she knew was that when her mind finally cleared, her car was already parked at the foot of the hill, its engine quiet, the key still gripped tightly in her hand.

A hollow, humourless laugh bubbled up in her throat, escaping her lips before she could stop it. She had told herself—no, she had sworn—that she would never give in to the wishes of the original Qi Jianyi.

She wasn’t here to play out someone else’s regrets, to live a life dictated by memories she hadn’t even experienced.

And yet, here she was.

The cemetery gates loomed tall and wrought with iron, their rusted edges softened by overgrown ivy. Standing at their threshold, Qi Jianyi felt a deep, unsettling emptiness that echoed from somewhere inside her. Her mind was lost, spiraling in circles, like a leaf caught in a quiet storm.

What was she even doing here?

Her hands clenched into fists, as if trying to hold on to the last shred of resolve she had. She had been so sure—so adamant that this wasn’t her battle, that she wouldn’t be drawn into the emotions of a life that wasn’t truly hers.

But here she was. And for all her resistance, she couldn’t stop the feeling that she was meant to be here. That somehow, despite the vows she made, this moment was inevitable.

Lost in her thoughts, Qi Jianyi walked past the cemetery gate, her footsteps uncertain yet steady, as if propelled by a force deeper than thought. She had no clear destination in mind, but her body seemed to remember—like an old, forgotten routine etched into her bones.

The way ahead felt familiar, though her mind remained clouded. Her legs carried her forward with a quiet resolve, leading her to a place she had never been, but somehow always known.

It was a place that remembered tears—tears shed so fully, so painfully, that even the air around her seemed heavy with the sorrow of those distant cries. A wave of unsettling sadness washed over her, gripping her chest with an invisible fist.

The pain was sharp, suffocating, as though the memories of someone else’s heartbreak had found their way into her heart. She clutched at her chest as if that might loosen the grip, but the ache only deepened.

After what felt like an eternity, she stopped, her gaze lifting to meet one of the many graves that dotted the landscape.

The wind whispered through the trees, but Qi Jianyi heard nothing, saw nothing but the face staring back at her from the tombstone.

It was the nanny’s picture.

The woman who had been everything to the original Qi Jianyi. The one who had loved her like a daughter, in a way no one else had. The one she had clung to when all else in her life had been cold and distant.

Qi Jianyi’s heart stilled for a moment, and then, like a trembling leaf in the wind, her hands began to shake.

Not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of nervousness. As if this was the one person—the only person—who could see through her, who would know that she wasn’t truly Qi Jianyi.

This woman, who had loved the original unconditionally, might somehow recognize the imposter standing in her place.

"Hello, Nanny Zheng," she whispered, her voice soft and unsteady as she lowered herself closer to the ground, almost kneeling before the grave.

"I am Qi Jianyi," she continued, her words barely above a whisper now. "Not your Xiao Yi, but someone else’s."

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. She was not the girl this woman had loved, but she was here all the same, feeling the depth of an affection that had never been hers. The weight of the past pressed heavily on her shoulders, and for a moment, she didn’t know if she could bear it.

"I’m here to pay my respects," Qi Jianyi whispered, her voice fragile in the quietness of the cemetery. "One that your Xiao Yi failed to give you."

She paused, the weight of her words sinking into the silence. The stone image of Nanny Zheng stared back at her, unblinking, unchanged, yet Qi Jianyi felt as though the woman was listening, hearing her every thought. She took a trembling breath, finally allowing the grievances she had buried so deep to surface.

"I don’t know how I ended up trapped in this world," she continued, her voice cracking slightly. "Nor do I know how to go back. Your Xiao Yi... she stole my life. The life I worked so hard to build. I sacrificed so much! So many sleepless nights, so much of myself...just to make something of my life, to live comfortably. And yet, Qi Jianyi took it all away, just like that."

Her chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface like a long-suppressed storm. "The worst part is, I don’t even know how she did it. One day, I was in my world, living my life, and the next... I was here. In hers. Nanny Zheng, do you... do you have a way for me to return home?"

Her whisper faded into the breeze, swallowed by the quiet of the cemetery. There was no response, of course—how could there be? But still, her heart ached as though somehow Nanny Zheng might hold the key, some hidden wisdom, some unspoken truth. The grave stood silent, but the weight of everything Qi Jianyi had lost pressed harder, as if she had let it all out only to feel more alone.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, low and sad, as she gazed at the photograph once more. "Nanny Zheng... I thought if I went to the park where you used to take Xiao Yi, I’d find some clue, some insight that would lead me back home. But there was nothing there. Only memories—memories between you and her that I could never touch, never be part of."

She paused, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to touch the cool stone, her fingertips grazing the edge of the engraved letters. "You were so close to her," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Didn’t she tell you anything about me? She said she used to dream of me, of my world, every night. Surely... surely she must have mentioned something."

The emptiness around her echoed with the painful truth—no one could give her the answers she craved. The silence of the graveyard felt suffocating, as if it were wrapping around her, trapping her in this impossible situation. No one could help her. Not even Nanny Zheng, who had once known the original Qi Jianyi better than anyone else in the world.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away, swallowing the lump in her throat. She had allowed herself this moment of vulnerability, of pouring her heart out to a ghost, but it solved nothing. The sadness lingered, heavy and unshakable, but there was no solution in sight.

"I suppose it doesn’t matter," she whispered, her voice growing quiet, resigned. "There’s no one left to answer my questions. Not even you."

She sat there in the stillness, the weight of her grievances heavy on her shoulders. Despite knowing no reply would come, she couldn’t stop the flood of words, the raw emotion of someone desperate for answers in a world that wasn’t hers.

Yet in this place, all she could do was swallow her sorrow and try to find her own way out, with no guidance and no hope of ever knowing how or why this had happened.

It was just her—and the silence of a world that didn’t belong to her.