A Time-Limited Romance with Movie Queen Ex - Chapter 28.2

[Riddle: Hello, this isn’t presumptuous at all. To be honest, I’m not in a good state today. I made several mistakes while playing the drums, but no one noticed.]

Even with the urge to confide, her words still came out dry, unsure of what to say.

After hesitating for a moment and failing to think of better phrasing, Luo Mijin could only ask the waiter waiting outside the door to deliver the letter for her.

While waiting, she quietly watched the falling snow outside the window, feeling some of the persistent fatigue that had plagued her lately ease slightly.

Five minutes later, a new reply arrived.

[Fox: You look so focused and dazzling when you play the drums, but is something troubling you? If so, you can tell me anything.]

Luo Mijin picked up the pen and wrote her response without hesitation.

[Riddle: That’s enough. I’m fine. It’s just that apart from work and studies, I’ve spent the first half of my life accustomed to solitude. Lately, I’ve started feeling a bit unsettled by it, maybe it’s just a low period. It’ll pass.]

This time, the reply came quickly, just a single line.

[Fox: Don’t you have any close friends or a lover to keep you company and offer guidance?]

At the word “lover,” Luo Mijin lightly pinched the corner of the letter, closing her eyes before opening them again, inexplicably agitated.

Before she could figure out how to respond, a second letter arrived from the guest.

[Fox: My earlier question might have been too intrusive. What I meant was, it’s hard to imagine you being alone for so long. For instance, you’re quite popular here at the bar, so I rashly assumed there must be many people who love you around you.]

Luo Mijin couldn’t help but think, if she still had Rong Qingyao, if she were here…

She forced herself to stop this unrealistic fantasy and face reality. Seven years had passed. They were no longer penniless students, how could Rong Qingyao possibly return to her side?

As if arguing a point, she replied:

[Riddle: You might not believe it, but I was born like an isolated island. It’s hard for me to maintain normal relationships or even communicate properly, let alone deeper emotions. You only see me playing drums on stage, which makes you mistakenly think I’m an interesting person. But if you got close, you’d find me inarticulate and even quite dull.]

[Fox: You might not believe this either, but I was born arrogant. If I think you’re wonderful and adorable, then you absolutely are.]

After reading the letter, Luo Mijin muttered, “What a strange person,” but the corners of her lips curled slightly. In some inexplicable way, that constant anxiety of hers had lessened somewhat.

An hour later, in a private room on the second floor, Bai Jinhuai noticed the faint smile softening Rong Qingyao’s perpetually calm and indifferent expression.

She inwardly cursed, how could anyone in this world be so devoted, especially someone as aloof and detached as Rong Qingyao?

Even after seeing Luo Mijin in person today, she found it utterly unbelievable.

The girl was indeed different her eyes brimming with sincerity and melancholy, bright yet fragile, like wild grass thriving in a winter field.

But that wasn’t so special. Clear-eyed, earnest college students were a dime a dozen.

What was so significant about someone from the past?

For someone as efficient and strong-willed as Rong Qingyao, she should have long moved on and strode forward.

“So, made up? Did you hug and cry when you met?”

Bai Jinhuai asked tentatively from the couch in the private booth, noticing Rong Qingyao was in an unusually good mood.

“No, we didn’t meet.”

“???”

“Then what were you doing for that whole hour? Meeting a ghost?”

“We communicated through letters.”

“What?” Bai Jinhuai shot her a look that screamed, Are you serious? “You spent all that money just to become pen pals? Come on, it’s the 21st century, not the era of slow carriages and letters.”

Scott happened to be passing by the booth and couldn’t resist chiming in, “My lady, times have changed.”

“Shut up,” Bai Jinhuai threw a soda can at him.

Bai Jinhuai’s blunt assessment made Rong Qingyao realize just how easily she had been satisfied.

“Yeah, just pen pals,” the woman murmured, the moisture in her eyes fading, leaving only a hollow emptiness behind.

She didn’t know when the post-satisfaction void would hit perhaps not even lasting a night before craving more.

Rong Qingyao stopped chatting with Bai Jinhuai and instead carefully folded Luo Mijin’s reply letters one by one, a faint, tender smile lingering at the corners of her lips.

“Wait, she won’t recognize your handwriting, will she?” Bai Jinhuai spotted a potential flaw and couldn’t help but gloat.

The best outcome would be Luo Mijin finding out, leading to a huge fight either a clean break or a full reconciliation.

For someone with zero romantic experience like Bai Jinhuai, swift and decisive action was best. Prolonged suffering was worse than short-term pain, simple and efficient was the way to go, with no need to consider any other factors.

Besides, Rong Qingyao had been stuck in place for seven years.

How many more years would it take for this heartbreak to heal?

Rong Qingyao lifted her gaze calmly, her expression serene as if she had already planned everything. “I wrote with my left hand.”

“Since when did you have that skill?” Bai Jinhuai exclaimed. “I don’t remember you being left-handed. Was it even legible? That’s so hard.”

Rong Qingyao smiled but didn’t elaborate.

Truthfully, she had first picked up a pen with her left hand. But her father, Old Master Cen, had told her mother that left-handed writing was too troublesome and forcibly made her switch.

Every time she wrote with her left hand, she was punished. Over time, she adapted.

Writing with the right hand was indeed more convenient after all, it was the established norm. If proof were needed, most plants and animals in nature grew or coiled to the right, with left-handed exceptions being rare.

The woman’s face was luminous, her posture upright and focused as she worked, resembling the moon hanging high in the sky. The shifting light in her eyes suggested her mood had improved significantly.

**

Luo Mijin left the bar and returned to her apartment close to midnight.

Lan Mingyu was wide awake on the couch, watching TV. The sound of the door told her Luo Mijin was back.

She hurried over. “Why are you back so late today?”

“A customer tipped me, so I stayed longer.”

“Again? Was it another one of those creeps?”

“Not this time,” Luo Mijin paused before elaborating on the unusual interaction. “This one was interesting just exchanged a few words with me through letters. Not like the others before.”

“That’s quite interesting,” Lan Mingyu nodded thoughtfully after listening, then immediately asked, “Do you know the name of that guest?”

Luo Mijin shook her head. “Fox. Not a real name, but that’s not really important, is it?”

Lan Mingyu couldn’t help but laugh. She had long been acquainted with Luo Mijin’s peculiarities, and not caring about someone’s name or title was hardly the most remarkable thing about her.

After washing her hands and changing into clean clothes, Luo Mijin came to the living room and said to Lan Mingyu:

“Mingyu, I’ve already packed all my luggage. I’ll probably move out in the next couple of days.”

“So soon?” Lan Mingyu couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

“I’ve been imposing on you for too long. I feel really bad about it.”

“I never considered it an imposition. You’re overthinking things.”

Luo Mijin smiled faintly, the small dimple at the corner of her lips softening her expression.

The ivy outside the window drooped down, making the evening unusually quiet. After steeling herself, Lan Mingyu asked casually:

“Luoluo, it’s been years. Don’t you think about dating again?”

“Me?” Luo Mijin shook her head without hesitation. “No, I won’t.”

“Even though your sister is still in the hospital, she’d want to see you living normally. Don’t shut yourself away.”

Luo Mijin’s expression remained calm. “That’s not the reason.”

“Then could it be… because of Miss Rong?”

“It has nothing to do with her either.”

Before Rong Qingyao appeared, Luo Mijin had never loved anyone. And after parting with Rong Qingyao, that love never ceased.

She couldn’t deceive her own heart, whether she could love someone else or not had nothing to do with Rong Qingyao.

Luo Mijin wasn’t born loving Rong Qingyao, but she would only ever love Rong Qingyao.

Seeing this, Lan Mingyu changed the subject:

“By the way, I’ve developed a new cake recipe. Would you like to help me taste-test it?”

“Sure.”

Lan Mingyu glanced at the oven, estimating the cake’s baking time. “It’ll be about twenty more minutes. You can rest for a bit, and I’ll call you later.”

“Mm, I’ll go make a phone call then.”

In the dark room, Luo Mijin clutched her phone, steeling herself for a long time before mustering the courage to call Scott and report on her work progress—quick and to the point.

The process of dialing was agonizing. Calling Rong Qingyao’s fiancé was already a form of invisible torment, and the prolonged ringing with no answer only stretched out the suffering.

“Hello, Mr. Scott. I’ll send you the song demo shortly. Let me know if it meets your expectations, and I can make adjustments if needed, ”

“I’ve already heard it. It’s quite good.”

The voice on the other end was clear and gentle, the kind Luo Mijin had once teasingly described as the sound of snowflakes freezing as they fell.

She recognized it almost immediately, her heart abruptly tightening.

They were engaged, it was perfectly normal for Rong Qingyao to answer her fiancé’s phone.

But it was precisely that normalcy that made it even more unbearable for Luo Mijin.

She deeply regretted her reserved, introverted nature. Worried about unnecessary conversation, she always rushed to say everything first.

And so, she lost the chance to discern who was on the other end.

If Rong Qingyao had spoken first, she could have hung up, pretending not to hear their intimacy.

Now, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering where they were, what they were doing whether they were out on a date or at home together.

“That’s good.” Luo Mijin’s voice softened, her words slightly slurred, carrying a hazy, sticky sweetness, like a small animal trying to please its owner.

For a fleeting moment, Rong Qingyao had the absurd illusion that they hadn’t broken up, that Luo Mijin was still waiting for her in that rented apartment.

“Scott went to the bar to order drinks. He left his phone on the table and will be back soon. You can ask for his opinion then.”

“Alright, I’ll hang up first.” Luo Mijin was slightly surprised that Rong Qingyao would go to a place like a bar. The thought that she might have changed for someone else made her momentarily despondent.

Rong Qingyao bit her lip, stopping Luo Mijin from ending the call. “Wait, how is Zhiwen doing?”

“You already know?” Luo Mijin’s voice was strained.

“Yes, I know. I didn’t visit Zhiwen without permission, I wanted to ask for your approval first.”

This woman was about to get engaged, yet she still exuded that faint, lingering tenderness toward her, just like back then when she had wandered with her through the desolate snow-covered paths.

But this tenderness was cruel.

In the darkness, Luo Mijin closed her eyes in pain, struggling to steady her voice so as not to betray her true emotions.

“She’s doing alright. The doctor said her condition has stabilized. Thank you for your concern, if Zhiwen knew, she’d be happy.”

“Mm. Do you need me to?”

“No,” Luo Mijin interrupted sharply, her tone final.

She wanted to say, Enough. Really, enough. Even Rong Qingyao’s concern for her younger sister made her overthink, deluding herself into believing this person could belong to her again.

But the truth was irreversible.

“Alright.” Rong Qingyao lowered her eyes, her breath noticeably heavier. “Actually, I also wanted to ask, how’s your hand? Has Miss Lan been taking good care of it?”

“My relationship with Mingyu is none of your business,” Luo Mijin replied, each word deliberate. “My hand is fine. Thanks for asking.”

Rong Qingyao let out a soft laugh, like some suppressed self-mockery. “I overstepped again. Sorry.”

Luo Mijin’s voice was cold. “It’s fine. It’s all in the past.”

She wasn’t sure whether Luo Mijin meant their past was over or just that unnecessary remark. Sensing Luo Mijin’s reluctance to continue the conversation, Rong Qingyao couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye decisively, nor did she have the strength to press further.

So many years had passed. Rong Qingyao had thought she was different now that she could control her own life, chase after whatever she desired without restraint.

Far removed from that powerlessness, that wretchedness and resentment. But facing Luo Mijin, she lost every time, utterly defeated, as if falling backward into the vortex of time.

She was still that student who had heard Luo Mijin say break up and been powerless to stop it.

With nothing left.

Fate was too cruel. No matter how she resisted, it moved forward as always, unyielding, merciless, indifferent to anyone’s pleas or prayers.

“You’re right. It’s all in the past. After all!” Rong Qingyao felt like she was sick, needing to pry open the wounds between them, to bleed freely before she could feel satisfied. “We broke up so many years ago.”

She had mistaken her own strength for something formidable, but it was just an illusion. She had merely hidden well, even learned to deceive herself.

Thinking Luo Mijin would never change, that she would always run back to her. Now she saw the truth, the first love she had never forgotten for a moment was nothing more than someone else’s casually dismissed past.

Filtered through electromagnetic waves, Luo Mijin’s voice grew distant and unreal. “Mm. So, congratulations in advance on your engagement. If you don’t mind, consider Zhiwen’s blessings included.”

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