After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The photographer’s words hit Cheng Xi like a falling spotlight—sudden, heavy, and blinding.

She thought she had mentally prepared herself for the physical intimacy required for a “couple” photoshoot with Meng Zhijin, but this specific instruction shattered her defenses. Under the bright lights, the edges of her vision dissolved into white, and the hands of the clock began to spin backward.

Moonlight spilled into a dim room, lifting white curtains. A silhouette on the bed—a young girl leaning back on one hand, her neck arched as the fabric billowed. The summer heat drew sweat from her hairline, tracing a path down the valley of her shoulder blades. Dark hair swayed in Cheng Xi’s vision; she had squinted, her hot breath and her reaching fingers vanishing into those tresses.

“Jiejie…”

The wind rushed in, scattering the moonlight in her eyes. Skin that rarely saw the sun, delicate and pale like midwinter snow, blooming with crimson plum blossoms under a trail of dense, lingering kisses.

The memory was an ambush. It was entirely inappropriate, yet perfectly vivid.

Cheng Xi sat frozen, unable to pull herself out of the vision. Fortunately, with fewer people around, most didn’t notice her momentary daze; they assumed she was simply waiting for Meng Zhijin to get into position.

Memories are solitary things, even when the person standing right in front of you is the other half of the frame.

Meng Zhijin didn’t seem to share any of Cheng Xi’s internal associations. With her usual calm, she looked down and gathered the folds of her skirt. A second later—or perhaps an eternity—Cheng Xi felt a weight settle on her lap.

Meng Zhijin had laid down as instructed.

Cheng Xi’s dress today followed her usual style: a high-slit skirt that staff had draped naturally around her legs. Her long, bare legs were exposed, and while she wasn’t shy about that, the sensation of Meng Zhijin’s soft hair brushing against her skin and the warmth of her head radiating through the fabric was… overwhelming.

The familiarity of it was unfair.

“Xiao Wang, go adjust Teacher Meng’s skirt,” the photographer called out. Then, looking through the lens, he suggested: “Could the two of you look at each other? We need that ‘deeply in love’ gaze for the CP (couple) chemistry.”

Though the space within the lens felt private, the presence of the crew reminded Cheng Xi that this intimacy was being performed under a dozen pairs of eyes.

It was strange. She had been close to Meng Zhijin in public before. During the filming of Daylight, she used to bring two drinks and sit right next to her during breaks. Back then, they would lean shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the crew scurry about, and the intimacy felt as natural as sparrows huddling for warmth on a winter branch.

Now, as the harsh lights beat down, a delayed realization finally reached Cheng Xi after nearly two years. That little red marriage certificate that once sat between them was suddenly more glaring than any reflector board, impossible to ignore.

A finger brushed against Cheng Xi’s chin, pulling her sharply back to the present.

For some reason, Meng Zhijin had reached up. Her hand trailed along Cheng Xi’s jawline, coming to a stop just below her chin. Because she was lying in Cheng Xi’s lap, her slender frame didn’t quite fill the loose, white vintage dress; her rounded shoulders transitioned into the faint lines of her collarbone, a landscape of reserved, ivory skin that filled Cheng Xi’s vision.

Cheng Xi’s pupils flickered. Meng Zhijin’s fingers were cool as always, yet they seemed to ignite a localized fire on the patch of skin they touched. They were two people who had once “consumed” each other; the body remembered what the mind tried to forget.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The voices of the crew faded into the background. Cheng Xi stared into Meng Zhijin’s eyes, her heart pounding a rhythm of betrayal.

“It’s time you resumed your fitness management,” Meng Zhijin said suddenly.

Her voice was airy and calm, as if she were pointing out a minor, mundane detail. Her finger remained on the skin beneath Cheng Xi’s chin, pressing a slight, barely visible indentation.

It was clinical and boring. It was also incredibly provocative.

Whether it was because her recent “slacking” had been called out or something else entirely, a spark of indignant fury lit up in Cheng Xi’s eyes.

She had almost forgotten! This version of Meng Zhijin had somehow learned a new repertoire of teasing, always choosing the most public moments to deploy it.

Cheng Xi was not the type to be toyed with and remain helpless. But just as she prepared to retaliate, the photographer’s voice broke through. He was frantically clicking the shutter, his excitement palpable. “Perfect! Teacher Meng, hold that. Miss Cheng, lean down a bit lower. Yes, yes! Stay right there, this is incredible!”

Flashbulbs popped in a frenzied rhythm. To the side, the assistants Xiao Wu and Xiao Qi were gripping each other’s arms, their faces flushed with excitement.

“Help, Teacher Meng and Xi-jie are too perfect together! Teacher Meng is so smooth! Help…”

“How can Teacher Cheng be this beautiful? Only our Teacher Meng is worthy! I won’t accept anyone else!”

While the assistants were busy “shipping” them, the protagonists had already stood up and moved apart.

The photographer, thrilled with the shots, began exporting them to a computer. “Those were for the group promo. Now, let’s do a dedicated ‘couple’ set for just the two of you. I want to try a different vibe something contrasting. What do you think?”

“I’m fine with that,” Cheng Xi nodded. Despite her capricious nature, her professionalism was irreproachable. She looked at Meng Zhijin with a smile that looked deceptively innocent. “What does Teacher Meng think?”

Meng Zhijin looked into those curving eyes and nodded. “Of course.”

“Great! Please turn and face each other,” the photographer directed. “And then—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the figure in the lens moved.

Cheng Xi suddenly grabbed Meng Zhijin’s hand and yanked her whole body toward herself. Caught off guard, Meng Zhijin stumbled, her long hair spilling forward in a messy, silken arc.

The distance between them vanished. A rich, sophisticated perfume—as cunning as its owner—invaded Meng Zhijin’s senses. Under the bright lights, Meng Zhijin’s pupils dilated.

In the reflection of her own eyes, she saw Cheng Xi’s mischievous, predatory smirk.

Then, those vivid red lips lunged straight for her.

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