After Letting Go, Her Regret Remains - Chapter 12

[Sorry, Shi Jing, something urgent came up. I have to leave first. My apologies, I’ll make it up to you another time.]

After sending the apologetic reply to Shi Jing, Shang Li unlocked the door with her fingerprint. The moment she stepped inside, she sensed something was off, someone was home.

Jin Jin was the first to dart out, swiftly scurrying right up to her.

“Where have you been?”

Meng Yuan’s voice reached her before she appeared. As the last syllable faded, her figure emerged in the living room, holding a glass of ice water. Dressed in casual athletic wear, a few strands of her hair were damp with sweat and clung to her forehead. She spoke with a slight pant.

Shang Li was taken aback to see Meng Yuan at this hour and froze momentarily. In the next second, Meng Yuan asked, “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Oh, I didn’t hear them,” Shang Li mumbled, patting Jin Jin’s head before sitting down to change her shoes. A low-pressure aura seemed to envelop her.

A gaze from above fell directly on her. Moments later, footsteps drew closer, the soft leather sofa sank under weight, and the warmth radiating from Meng Yuan’s body reached her.

“What’s wrong?” Meng Yuan asked.

Shang Li bent over to slip on her house slippers. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Meng Yuan’s silhouette and stiffened involuntarily, a faint ache rising in her nose.

She quickly shook her head, about to say it was nothing, when she noticed Meng Yuan picking up her newly printed script and leaning back on the sofa to read it.

Shang Li’s face flushed bright red, burning with embarrassment.

“Is this a new project you’ve taken on?” Meng Yuan flipped casually through a few pages, then looked up at her. “What made you decide to act in a play?”

Shang Li opened her mouth, her mind going blank, unsure how to respond. “Um, I…”

“The script isn’t bad. Who are you playing in it?”

Shang Li clutched the hem of her clothes, biting her lip as if struggling to speak. After a moment, she mumbled a name indistinctly.

Meng Yuan repeated it, then lowered her head to search through the script.

The summer cicadas chirped incessantly outside, but the slightly cramped entryway was unusually quiet, filled only by the rustling of pages being rapidly turned.

Jin Jin kept nudging her elbow, wagging his tail and begging for attention, but Shang Li had no mind for him. Her body remained tense, visibly uneasy and awkward.

Those few short minutes felt as long as several centuries.

With a sharp snap, Meng Yuan closed the script, not bothering to hide her disdain. “With such a small role, why did you even take it? If you want to act, I can find you a better script.”

At this, a sudden surge of anger rose in Shang Li. She pressed her lips together tightly but forced herself to hold back, saying only, “No need. I really like this character.”

“With just a couple of lines, it’s not even a significant supporting role. What’s worth performing?” Meng Yuan tapped the script rhythmically with her knuckles before tossing it aside carelessly. “I could easily find you a script better than this.”

“Meng Yuan.” Shang Li’s face tightened with restrained anger, her voice dropping lower. “I told you, I don’t need your help.”

The atmosphere instantly froze.

Meng Yuan’s expression stiffened, visibly darkening. Her eyes deepened as she stared motionlessly at Shang Li for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a light, cold laugh. “I really don’t get you. You’re quick to accept help from others, but the moment you hear I want to help you. Hah, what? Does my help wound your pride?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Shang Li’s chest rose and fell slightly as she frowned and emphasized, “I just feel that no role is too small. There’s no need for you to look down on her with that contemptuous tone. Weren’t we all once small supporting characters ourselves.”

“You know that was in the past. Now there are clearly better options. I don’t understand why you’re being so pretentious.”

“Those are your options, not mine!” Shang Li’s eyes reddened, her voice suddenly rising several pitches as she pointed a trembling finger at the script Meng Yuan had casually tossed on the sofa. “For me, this is already the best choice.”

Meng Yuan glanced indifferently in the direction Shang Li pointed before turning back to her. “Do you have to draw such clear lines?”

Shang Li lowered her gaze, fists clenching as if suppressing something. “Meng Yuan, I told you, that’s not what I meant. I just. I can handle my own affairs.”

“Fine.” Meng Yuan let out a cold laugh, nodding, her beautiful crimson lips curling with faint derision. “Suit yourself. I won’t interfere anymore.”

With that, Meng Yuan slammed her cup heavily onto the ebony table and turned to leave.

The dull thud struck deep in Shang Li’s heart. She parted her lips, wanting to call Meng Yuan back, to explain further.

The next moment, Meng Yuan paused mid-step, tilting her head slightly with her chin raised, her gaze falling on the script on the sofa. Her tone was laced with scorn. “Even so, when choosing scripts, you should have some discernment and judgment of your own. Don’t just accept whatever others give you.”

Shang Li stared unblinkingly into Meng Yuan’s disdain-filled eyes, taking a long moment to process her words. Her cheeks burned as if she’d been slapped, stinging with sharp humiliation.

“Meng Yuan, what do you mean by that?” Shang Li’s lips turned pale instantly, fury surging wildly in her chest until her entire body trembled uncontrollably.

“Nothing. Do as you wish. I have nothing more to say.”

Though Meng Yuan averted her gaze, the contempt in her eyes still pierced Shang Li deeply.

Shang Li rushed forward several steps, raising her voice to stop Meng Yuan. “What’s wrong with my judgment? How dare you say I lack discernment? I know you’re a big star now, an award-winning actress with famous directors and great scripts lining up for you. It’s normal for you to look down on my small roles and minor scripts. But if back then I hadn’t found Liu.”

As if hitting some forbidden switch, a warning bell rang in her mind. Shang Li suddenly sobered, cutting herself off abruptly.

Meng Yuan leaned lazily against the second-floor railing, her expressionless face veiled in thick impatience. Only at the last sentence did a flicker of confusion appear. “What about back then?”

“Nothing.” Shang Li took a deep breath, holding it for a long time before exhaling. “I just hope you’ll stop commenting on my affairs from now on.”

Meng Yuan shrugged, eyebrows arching slightly as she replied coldly, “Gladly.”

Shang Li staggered back to the sofa, picked up the script and held it to her chest. When she looked up, Meng Yuan’s retreating figure was already growing blurry.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!”

Jin Jin suddenly dashed to the staircase, barking loudly upward before launching into a series of indignant yaps, only quieting down after Meng Yuan disappeared from view.

“Whine, whine.” Approaching Shang Li, Jin Jin dragged his tail along the floor, wagging it from side to side while continuously licking her arm.

The rough, damp sensation slightly diverted Shang Li’s attention. She wiped the tears from her face, forcing a smile as she patted Jin Jin’s head.

Jin Jin grinned, his tail immediately wagging frantically.

Shang Li, for some reason, felt even more heartbroken. Her emotions suddenly crumbled, and she crouched down, hugging Jin Jin tightly.

The injury on her foot hadn’t fully healed yet, and now it began to ache with a piercing, bone-deep pain.

Was Meng Yuan really still the Meng Yuan she had known?

She still remembered the year she graduated. Like many actors just entering the entertainment industry with no connections or background she faced setbacks everywhere. No matter how unfair or humiliating the situation, she could only swallow her grievances and endure in silence.

After stumbling along for nearly half a year, she finally landed a decent role. Even now, she could vividly recall the excitement and joy she felt back then. She had immediately shared the news with Meng Yuan.

At that time, Meng Yuan was still in school. Through the screen, her bright, cheerful face showed even more uncontrollable happiness than Shang Li’s own.

“Wow, my sister is just too amazing! Director Liu’s crew is a dream for so many people. It won’t be long before you stand on an even bigger stage and become a superstar!”

“It’s just a small role,” Shang Li replied modestly, a hint of barely noticeable disappointment in her voice. “I’m still far from being a superstar.”

“Roles aren’t defined by size! As long as you pour your heart into the performance, the audience will feel it!” The midday sun made Meng Yuan’s eyes shine especially bright, as if they held the power to break through any darkness or gloom.

Encouraged, Shang Li nodded firmly. “Okay.”

They both laughed joyfully, their shared happiness connected by a single internet cable.

But now, those past words echoed in her ears, feeling so illusory and fake.

Shang Li kept shaking her head, unwilling to believe that the person who had just spoken those words was truly Meng Yuan.

No!

That wasn’t Meng Yuan. The one she loved wasn’t this version of Meng Yuan.

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