A Time-Limited Romance with Movie Queen Ex - Chapter 25.3

Perhaps they had but she’d never seen it.

The office fell into an eerie silence. Bai Jinhuai yawned, visibly exasperated.

“I heard from Scott that when he delivered something to your place, he saw you keeping a beauty hidden away?”

Rong Qingyao remained silent, repeatedly taking off and putting on her glasses, a telltale sign of agitation.

“That Riddle girl, I’ve seen her perform too. She’s quite famous in the bar band scene, though she always wears a hat so you can’t really see her face.” Bai Jinhuai smirked. “Why not change things up? Maybe get yourself a drummer instead.”

“It is her.”

“What do you mean, ‘it is her’?” Bai Jinhuai was momentarily confused.

Rong Qingyao didn’t elaborate.

“What a coincidence! You’re something else. So, what’s the plan? Going after her or just letting it go?”

“Which bar did you see her perform at?” Rong Qingyao suddenly looked up, her gaze sharp.

“Let me think, I’ve been to so many bars, I can’t remember.”

**

The café lights flickered like candle flames after a gust of wind, another blackout caused by the snowstorm.

It had happened several times this week.

After biking back from Rong Qingyao’s place in the snow that day, Luo Mijin had caught a rare cold, her nose stuffy and voice hoarse.

Wearing a mask while shuttling between the café and her band rehearsals oddly gave her a strange sense of security.

Even after recovering, her eyes remained weary and unfocused, the usual spark in her light-colored pupils completely gone.

On top of that, the scratch on her bike from the fall had raised Lan Mingyu’s suspicions, prompting frequent questions about whether anything had happened during that delivery.

She instinctively wanted to erase that day from memory.

“I called the community power won’t be restored until tomorrow morning. Let’s just close early today,” Lan Mingyu said, appearing in the back kitchen with a cup of hand-ground coffee.

Hearing this, the rest of the staff cheered, quickly saying their goodbyes and joking about going home to cuddle with their partners for a good nap.

“Luoluo, isn’t your band working on a demo and live show for an engagement party lately?”

The image of Rong Qingyao and Scott’s engagement invitation flashed through Luo Mijin’s mind. She scrubbed the coffee cup harder, forcing herself out of any timeline involving Rong Qingyao.

“Yes.”

“Then why not take advantage of the blackout and go see a movie? A little break,” Lan Mingyu suggested, her tone soft but carrying a barely detectable excitement.

“Sure. The band’s taking today off anyway,” Luo Mijin replied mechanically, too exhausted to think.

“Perfect timing, Miss Rong’s new movie is out,” Lan Mingyu said, scrolling through showtimes on her phone. “Let’s watch hers. She’s gorgeous and a great actress.”

“Is it a romance?” Luo Mijin hesitated. She thought she had already come to terms with Rong Qingyao’s impending engagement. Watching her play out a love story with someone else on the big screen was that some kind of rehearsal?

“No, it’s sci-fi. About a researcher stranded on another planet, trying to find her way home on the barren surface when she encounters a silicon-based lifeform.”

Luo Mijin was about to refuse, but seeing the hope in Lan Mingyu’s eyes, she nodded. “Alright. After my band rehearsal tonight, we can go.”

“Alright, I’ll book the movie tickets for 10 PM then. We can have popcorn and cola for dinner, maybe add some chicken wings?”

“Whatever you say, I’m fine with anything.” Luo Mijin realized she’d changed quite a bit. She used to be picky about food, but now she was content as long as she wasn’t hungry.

Noticing Luo Mijin’s absentmindedness, Lan Mingyu frowned with concern. “You haven’t been eating properly again, have you? Maybe we should skip the movie, I’ll take you out for a proper meal instead.”

“No need. I just don’t have much appetite sometimes, you know that,” Luo Mijin forced a smile. “Just a cyclical low nothing to worry about.”

“Ms. Rong’s movie tickets are so hard to get. The 10 PM showing sold out the moment they were released. Guess we’ll have to go for the midnight one,” Lan Mingyu grumbled half-heartedly.

Across the street, a massive LED screen looped a high-end jewelry ad featuring Rong Qingyao as the brand ambassador.

Luo Mijin lowered her gaze, her thoughts drifting uncontrollably.

The world spun like a rapidly turning clock. Everyone had grown up and moved on, leaving her behind like a speck of dust on a gear, powerless to change anything.

At least she was grateful for the past. Because of it, she had someone to miss, to think about, to love for the rest of her days.

It was almost funny. She never imagined she’d play the drums for Rong Qingyao again at her engagement party, no less.

In her dreams, she was always chasing a plane she could never catch. Amid the surging crowd, she screamed herself hoarse, but no sound came out.

Seven years ago, she missed the plane. Seven years later, she made it to the engagement.

That was something to be happy about, wasn’t it?

Just being able to witness an important moment in Rong Qingyao’s life was enough, wasn’t it?

Lately, whenever she lay in bed, she kept hallucinating.

She’d think she was back in college, lying side by side with Rong Qingyao on the rooftop, fingers intertwined, the starry sky above them, time flowing away like an unstoppable river.

But when she woke up, she was alone in the dark room, struggling to breathe.

“Oh, Mingyu, I found a few affordable places to rent. I’ll move out soon so I won’t trouble you any longer.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve told you not to keep moving around. It’s more convenient living together,” Lan Mingyu protested, clearly reluctant. “Just stay. I’m happy being your landlord.”

Luo Mijin adjusted her mask and stepped outside the café, swinging one leg over her bike to steady herself. In the dim light, the elegant curve of her eyes and the sharp line of her nose were still faintly visible.

“I’ll pay the rent at market rate before I leave,” Luo Mijin said, then softened her tone, fiddling with the brim of her bucket hat. “The place I picked isn’t far from you. It’ll still be convenient.”

Lan Mingyu sighed inwardly, wondering if her slow-and-steady approach to winning her over was backfiring.

Maybe she needed to be more direct?

“Alright, you should head to the bar for your gig. Don’t forget about the movie tonight.”

“Got it. I’m off then.” Luo Mijin took off her apron, mounted her bike outside, and pedaled toward the neighborhood three kilometers away.

The winter sunlight felt like water stripped of warmth, casting the city in a deep, cinematic blue. Everyone seemed to be playing some insignificant role in an old film reel.

When Luo Mijin arrived at the bar, it was still early, so the crowd was sparse.

The bar’s lighting was dim, with an electronic piano placed by the stage where drunken customers would occasionally stumble up for impromptu performances, earning playful jeers from others.

“Riddle’s here,” the bassist from the same band greeted Luo Mijin lazily. Seeing her only nod in response, he didn’t take offense, simply rolling over to continue napping.

After all, Luo Mijin’s persona here was that of a mute.

Exhausted from days of sleep deprivation, she decided to brew herself a cheap cup of coffee before the upcoming performance.

While fetching hot water from the hallway, her mind grew increasingly hazy. Her hand slipped, and the glass bottle shattered on the bar floor.

Transparent shards scattered everywhere. Luo Mijin stood frozen, like a child who had just caused trouble.

The only difference was, there was no adult left to scold her for carelessness.

Watching the clean hot water in the broken bottle slowly turn murky, a wave of bitterness surged violently within her. She clenched her scarf as if trying to tear it apart.

Why couldn’t she do anything right? Even something as simple as fetching hot water ended in disaster.

Self-loathing peaked at that moment. A strange impulse gnawed at her rationality, she almost wished she could shatter like the glass bottle and be swept into the trash.

“What happened?” The bassist poked his head out to ask. Seeing Luo Mijin standing oddly still, he muttered, “Riddle, what’s wrong? The show’s starting soon. Get ready.”

His voice snapped her out of the strange mood.

She forced herself back into the composure and maturity expected of an adult, crouching to clean up the mess in the bar lounge before refilling her coffee and downing it in one go.

She barely registered the scalding heat burning her mouth.

“Hey, your hand’s bleeding. Can you even hold the drumsticks later?”

Luo Mijin slowly looked down, taking a long moment to process the sight of her right index finger gushing blood. She typed on her phone:

[I’ll handle it soon.]

The bassist watched her numb, mechanical movements with concern. “Doesn’t it hurt? Should we call a doctor? Can you even perform? Maybe you should take the night off?”

Each performance earned her a cut of one or two hundred yuan. There was no way she’d give that up. Shaking her head, she headed straight for the restroom.

Running water rinsed the wound, the deep red gradually thinning under the stream until it matched the clear water.

But the moment she stopped, fresh blood would seep out again.

Her expression remained calm. Just wanting the bleeding to stop, she wrapped the wound tightly with tape.

That would keep the blood in.

Holding the drumsticks on stage later, she felt no discomfort at all.

Tonight’s set was short, just two hours. After finishing, the band members scattered to other bars with their friends.

At nine o’clock, Lan Mingyu texted her, saying everything was ready and they could meet at ten for the movie.

Pushing her bicycle outside, Luo Mijin’s ears still rang from the drums, the vibrations of her phone blending into a maddening noise.

It was a message from Scott:

[Riddle, you can finish the new demo for the engagement party in a month, right?]

[I can. Don’t worry.]

She typed her reply with fingers wrapped in tape.

The green light at the intersection had fifteen seconds left, and a bustling crowd streamed through Luo Mijin. She lowered her head and saw the transparent tape covering her wound had come loose red and white, a messy tangle.

She had forgotten to remove the shards of glass embedded in the cut.

So Luo Mijin lowered her head, trying to tear open the tape in an attempt to pull out the glass shard. Once, twice the pain made her fingers disobedient.

No matter how many times she tried, the glass shard remained stubbornly lodged in the wound.

Exhausted, Luo Mijin crouched beside the traffic light and, without warning, pressed down hard on the wound, letting the glass shard ruthlessly grind against the torn flesh, like an incurable patient.

Passersby instinctively kept their distance. A three- or four-year-old child innocently asked their mother:

“What’s wrong with that sister? She’s bleeding so much, but she’s not crying. How pitiful.”

The child’s mother immediately scooped them up and hurried away as if avoiding a plague.

“Don’t look at her. She might be crazy.”

How strange, she didn’t even feel that sad. So why did her heart ache far more than the wound?

She had long known that she and Rong Qingyao were over. Seven years had passed.

Yet, the image of Rong Qingyao standing beside Scott looped in Luo Mijin’s mind like a faulty program.

She lied to herself, pretending not to think of Rong Qingyao, but she couldn’t stop. Memories flooded her thoughts, sluggish and unstoppable.

Amid the roar of car engines, the delayed pain became unbearable. Trembling, she clutched the wound, her eyes dry and red, as if she had fallen into an abyss, pierced by thorns.

Truthfully, she wanted to bring up the past. She wanted to ask Rong Qingyao if she still remembered the seasons they had spent together.

If possible, could she still be one of Rong Qingyao’s choices? Even just as an option that would be enough.

Those on the verge of despair always want to revisit the past, probing with the faint hope that “maybe trying will give me a chance.”

But it was too late. Rong Qingyao was about to become someone else’s fiancée. This was just the retribution she deserved.

Helpless, she could only let this despair grow day by day.

She hadn’t cried in a long time. Even if she wanted to, the tears wouldn’t come.

In the years without Rong Qingyao, she hadn’t cried because she knew she had grown up, and grown-ups had to be stronger, braver.

But deep down, she knew the real reason she didn’t cry was that no one would care even if she did.

The intersection bustled with people when suddenly, someone stopped beside Luo Mijin expensive boots, a pure black overcoat, the faint glint of mother-of-pearl cufflinks, slender, bony hands.

Luo Mijin gripped the bicycle handle tightly, standing up with her head still lowered.

Assuming she was in the way, she hoarsely murmured an apology: “Sorry, I’ll leave now.”

“Sorry for what?” The voice was unexpectedly cold and clear and unexpectedly familiar.

Her heart pounded violently. Squinting against the light, her vision blurred, but there impossibly stood the person she never thought she’d see again, gazing down at her intently, as if retrieving a discarded toy from the trash.

Rong Qingyao asked calmly, gently, yet with a stubborn insistence, as if demanding nothing less than a satisfactory answer.

“Tell me, what exactly are you sorry for?”

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