After Letting Go, Her Regret Remains - Chapter 8

It wasn’t her who had made the mistake, yet Shang Li felt as though she had swallowed a wild beast, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

She and Meng Yuan were the real couple, so why did she now feel like the superfluous third wheel?

Even without looking in a mirror, she knew how awful her expression must be utterly pitiful, like a wretched worm.

How was she supposed to face this situation?

She didn’t know. Her mind was a tangled mess, as if confronting a formidable enemy.

In an instant, footsteps paused just outside the door. One more step, and her desperate, flustered attempt to hide would be exposed to the world.

Shang Li’s heart seemed to stop. She tried to relax her stiffened face, to appear at least somewhat normal, though it was a futile effort.

“Let’s go to your place to rehearse the scene.”

“Okay, thank you, Senior.”

With that, the footsteps abruptly changed direction, passing right by her door and fading into the distance.

Shang Li’s entire body went limp, her steps unsteady as she nearly collapsed. The crisis had passed, but delayed emotions surged forth one after another anger, disappointment, grievance.

She didn’t understand why she was reacting this way.

In just a few minutes, her body felt as though it had endured a catastrophe, leaving her utterly drained. Staggering out of the dressing room, she moved like a ghost who had lost its soul.

“Ms. Shang, are you feeling unwell?”

“Couldn’t find her? Meng Yuan just passed by Shang Li, what’s wrong?”

Various inquiries filled her ears. Shang Li forced a smile, responding with nods and shakes of her head, but her mind was consumed by the conversation she had just overheard between Meng Yuan and Yu Sheng.

So busy, yet still coming, just a small matter years of deep affection, Senior wouldn’t refuse.

Was it because of her that Meng Yuan. She didn’t dare delve deeper, but terrifying thoughts kept surfacing, forcing her to confront reality.

Meng Yuan could make time to help her, rehearse with her, smile at her, agree to her requests.

Meng Yuan used to treat her the same way.

Stumbling dozens of meters away from the set, she suddenly remembered she had left her bag in the dressing room. Shang Li froze in place, hesitating to go back. She desperately didn’t want to return to that suffocating, humiliating place.

But Meng Yuan was there.

An inexplicable impulse drove her: Just go take a look, one glance, and then leave immediately.

She couldn’t condemn Meng Yuan based on her own assumptions. They had promised each other not to let misunderstandings come between them.

Inside the dressing room.

“Wow, it’s kumquat and snow pear soup! It smells amazing. You can tell Shang Li made this specially for you,” Yu Sheng said, opening the thermos on the table and wafting the scent toward her. “Senior, your throat hasn’t been feeling well, right? You should drink it.”

Hearing this, Meng Yuan glanced up. “I’m not in the mood. I don’t want it.”

“Such a nice thing, if you’re not going to drink it, I will.”

Meng Yuan gave a faint “Mm,” her expression indifferent. “Suit yourself.”

“But Shang Li made this for you herself. Are you really willing to give it up?” Yu Sheng teased lightly.

Meng Yuan lifted her gaze, a trace of impatience in her eyes. Her tone was sharp. “It’s just a cup of water. What’s there to be reluctant about?”

Yu Sheng studied her for a moment, then ventured cautiously, “What’s wrong? Did you and Shang Li have a fight?”

“What is there for me to argue with her about?” Meng Yuan curled her lips, letting out a faint, almost imperceptible scoff, as a trace of dissatisfaction surfaced.

“Is that so?” Yu Sheng raised an eyebrow with interest. “Now you don’t even want to argue anymore?”

Meng Yuan neither confirmed nor denied it.

Yu Sheng shrugged, leaning forward with an understanding nod. “It’s normal. Couples tend to get like this after being together for a long time, especially in the dazzling and chaotic world of the entertainment industry.”

“Is that so?” Meng Yuan murmured, lowering her head. Strands of her hair fell, obscuring half her face and making her expression unreadable.

“Mhm.” Yu Sheng’s tone lifted slightly. “Since things have come to this, Senior, have you ever thought about breaking up?”

As she spoke, a flicker of nervousness unconsciously flashed in Yu Sheng’s eyes, and she anxiously observed Meng Yuan’s reaction.

Unbeknownst to her, behind a crack in the door, someone else was also waiting for Meng Yuan’s answer.

If Meng Yuan were to say it, if she said she no longer loved her, if she said she wanted to break up then she could finally let go completely.

From then on, she would no longer have to exhaust herself deciphering Meng Yuan’s every move, no longer be swayed by Meng Yuan’s joys and sorrows.

That way, the tightening curse on her head would finally loosen and fade, and she could leave with peace of mind, free from the guilt of running away at the last moment.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Shang Li thought optimistically, and before she knew it, a smile crept onto her face, lingering until the muscles around her lips grew stiff and sore.

A century seemed to pass in her heart, yet she never heard Meng Yuan’s reply.

“Ah, well, it’s true, after so many years together, breaking up is no simple matter.” Yu Sheng paused for a few seconds, unsure of what Meng Yuan was thinking. She forced herself to stay composed and joked lightly, “From what I know, there are plenty of rising stars in the industry who’d love to catch the attention of the renowned actress Meng. Maybe I could help you, Senior…”

The next moment, Yu Sheng’s words abruptly cut off.

As for what was said afterward, Shang Li no longer had the strength to listen.

[Welcome, User 25911…]

[Game ID: Hula Hoop]

The sun dipped below the horizon, the last rays of twilight vanishing from the sky. The summer heat lingered in the air, thick and stifling.

On the open balcony, the wilted leaves of the green plants, scorched by the midday sun, had regained their vitality.

Shang Li curled up on a bamboo-woven lounge chair, gently swaying with the summer breeze.

She had thought that after overhearing their conversation, she would return and cry her heart out. Strangely, though, not a single tear had fallen so far.

Was it because she had already given up hope that she felt nothing?

The startup music of the game chimed, and Shang Li’s gaze returned to her phone screen. An email caught her attention.

[Dear Hula Hoop, do you remember this day six years ago? On that day, we met here for the first time; on that day, guided by the little spirits, you cultivated your first plot of land; on that day, you planted your very first rose and gifted it to your beloved @YuanFlyingWithLi; on that day. Thank you for your companionship. We hope to walk hand in hand with you every year from now on.]

As she read, the words suddenly blurred before her eyes. A sharp, unexpected pain clenched her heart. Shang Li gripped the stem of the wineglass tightly, her knuckles turning white from the strain.

Tilting her head back, the sharp burn of tequila mingled with the salty wetness of her tears as they slid down her throat.

Meng Yuan loved playing games, especially intense, competitive ones. In the first couple of years after graduation, it had been her way of passing the time and occasionally venting her frustrations over unmet ambitions.

But no matter when, Meng Yuan always wanted her to accompany her.

Since she couldn’t handle thrilling games, Meng Yuan specifically found a cozy, pastoral-themed game for them to download together, register accounts, and bind as a couple.

In the virtual world, their love remained just as intense admiring flowers in spring, sweeping snow in winter, farming and fertilizing, raising chickens and herding cattle, watching the sunset paint the sky, making wishes upon the stars.

The rose was priceless, a token of affection worth a fortune, limited to one per day. Planting, watering, pruning it was reserved only for lovers.

Back then, they tirelessly repeated these trivial, mundane tasks. In those humble, obscure days, even childishness could be considered romantic.

But later…

Later, she planted flowers alone and admired them alone. She still went to pick that rose every day, but there was no one to claim it anymore.

Her little bird had flown away, vanishing one day and never returning.

Perhaps, from the very beginning, Meng Yuan had come into her world only to pass through, not to stay.

That day six years ago felt so distant now.

The future? Did they even have a future?

Drunk and dazed, Shang Li gazed at the birds returning to their nests in the distance, her vision blurred. Her fingers traced the ring hanging around her neck, over and over, unable to find the starting point.

Amidst all that had happened, was anything she was doing now truly meaningful?

Shang Li closed her eyes, her heart a desolate wilderness with only a cold, biting wind sweeping through.

Evening approached, a light drizzle began to fall. Someone returned, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

“Meng Yuan.”

Holding a wine glass, Shang Li leaned against the glass doorframe and called out to her.

In the dim, hazy light, Meng Yuan’s figure paused, but she didn’t turn around. Her voice was faint and distant. “What is it?”

Shang Li’s eyes, once dried, grew moist again. Staring blankly at Meng Yuan’s tall, slender back, an overwhelming wave of sorrow instantly engulfed the space around them.

Shang Li’s throat tightened, as if something were choking her. She struggled to open her mouth, trying to find her voice.

But Meng Yuan didn’t give her the chance. Tilting her head slightly, almost imperceptibly, she cast half a glance her way. “I brought your bag back. If there’s nothing else, go to bed early.”

“I saw you! With Yu Sheng!”

The sudden, loud exclamation successfully halted Meng Yuan’s steps forward and ignited a restless, agitated flame.

Meng Yuan turned around, placed her hands on her hips, swept her long hair back, and lightly bit her red lips. After a long pause, all she uttered was a single word: “Oh.”

To Shang Li’s ears, it automatically translated to: So, what? What does it matter? What are you going to do about it?

Shang Li began to tremble, her hands shaking uncontrollably, the wine glass wobbling precariously. She quickly tilted her head back and drained the glass, the intense burn searing through her. With a smile on her face, she asked, “Don’t you have anything to say?”

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