After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Mist swirled outside the window, as dry and difficult memories overlapped with the way Meng Zhijin turned her gaze toward her.

It had been a long time since Cheng Xi had heard anyone call her “kid.” She was no longer that child who needed constant guidance to get through a scene. Initially, Cheng Xi had resisted the nickname, but no matter how many times she corrected her, Meng Zhijin persisted until Cheng Xi simply gave up.

Later, there was no one left to ruffle her hair and call her “kid” anymore.

The car brushed past a tree branch extending into the road; the lush green leaves swiped against the glass, shaking off raindrops. Cheng Xi, sitting on the other side, blinked unnaturally. She never expected that hearing that resisted name again would feel like this—like that branch: passing harmlessly behind glass, yet causing an involuntary internal reaction.

Cameras were tucked into every corner of the car. Cheng Xi couldn’t tell if Meng Zhijin said it because she truly remembered the past, or if she was already starting to market their “CP” (couple) image.

The staff member in the passenger seat, sensing a key moment, turned around to interview them. “I recall that Teacher Meng and Miss Cheng’s collaboration, Daylight, was filmed right here?”

“Yes,” Meng Zhijin nodded.

“Returning to this place, do you both still feel familiar with it?” the staff asked.

This was a perfect topic to showcase their bond. Cheng Xi looked at the ink-wash scenery shifting outside. For some reason, she found herself anticipating Meng Zhijin’s answer.

But Meng Zhijin disappointed everyone. She shook her head slightly on camera, her cool voice carrying a flat sense of reality: “I don’t remember it very clearly.”

The staff member looked regretful and tried to smooth it over. “Well, it has been over three years since Daylight wrapped. It’s normal to forget.”

The temperature difference between the warm interior and the cool rain outside fogged up the window. Cheng Xi squinted at the hazy view, extending a finger to draw on the white fog as she spoke with an unreadable tone: “I actually remember it. Over that way, there used to be a river with a very old bridge crossing it. Does Teacher Meng remember?”

Meng Zhijin paused.

The winter of that year was bitter. The river was frozen solid, and the old bridge seemed to hang precariously over the ice. A girl, seemingly possessing endless vitality, skated across the surface, the fur on her hood fluttering in the winter wind.

“Jiejie, you’re too slow.”

The girl pouted, turned on her toes, and skated backward. She suddenly grabbed a hesitant hand, and a damp warmth instantly filled their palms—a sense of safety and heat amidst the winter cold.

The cool drizzle of the present replaced the bitter frost of the past. The small bridge and the river appeared in Meng Zhijin’s sight. Her hand, hanging at her side, curled into a fist imperceptibly.

“I remember now,” she said calmly.

That had been the first time they truly held hands outside of their characters’ needs.

“Did Miss Cheng and Teacher Meng walk across it together?” the staff member asked eagerly.

“No,” Cheng Xi shook her head, her expression neutral. “The bridge was old; it didn’t look very sturdy.”

The staff member was once again met with an unexpected answer. Before the silence could become awkward, Cheng Xi turned her bright, star-like eyes toward the center camera.

“Mainly because it wasn’t spring yet back then,” Cheng Xi explained. “The river was frozen thick. Two people could stand on the ice without any problem.”

Whether intentional or not, Cheng Xi emphasized the words “two people.” She glanced at Meng Zhijin, her fox-like eyes curving with a thick, playful smile.

Meng Zhijin caught her gaze and let a faint curve touch her lips. “We went ice skating there. When we got back, Director Wang gave us a lecture.”

It was hard to imagine the disciplined Meng Zhijin being rebellious. The staff was surprised. “Since you’re revisiting old haunts, you should go see it again if you have the chance.”

As the car approached the resort, the river of Cheng Xi’s memory began to take shape, only to be cut off by the sight of red-roofed villas. The modern architecture sprouted like bamboo shoots, slicing through the rustic nature of her past. They were a reminder that memories are just memories; times change, and there is no going back.

The mist on the window swallowed the small bridge she had drawn. Cheng Xi’s expression flickered, then settled. She looked lazily out the window. “But with this much development, that place probably doesn’t exist anymore.”

The car stopped in front of a chic three-story villa. Cheng Xi noticed a small attic with a skylight on the top floor.

The rain showed no sign of stopping. As the door opened, a cold draft swirled around Cheng Xi’s ankles. Perhaps thinking it was inconvenient for two people to get out under one umbrella, Meng Zhijin stepped out first. Her bodyguard held an umbrella over her, leaving Cheng Xi with a view of a slender, haughty silhouette behind a curtain of rain.

Cheng Xi pursed her lips, smoothed her hair in the window’s reflection, and stepped out.

The rain was falling, but the expected droplets never hit her head. Not even her shoulder was dampened. An umbrella’s shadow loomed over her. She looked up and saw that Meng Zhijin had taken the umbrella from the guard, giving most of the dry space to Cheng Xi.

The familiar scent of her perfume became clear in the damp air. Cheng Xi dazed for a moment before reacting. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go,” Meng Zhijin said softly. The lights of the set made her cool gaze look uncharacteristically soft. She behaved like a perfectly attentive lover.

No one usually dared to make a Best Actress hold an umbrella for them. But Cheng Xi did, and she enjoyed it with natural ease. Meng Zhijin’s arm was steady, her rolled-up sleeve revealing a clean, tight forearm. It felt like a deliberate act of favoritism.

Watching from the monitors, the head director’s eyes widened. He finally believed what Director Wang told him: the chemistry was real.

“Welcome to the Romantic Cottage!” the director’s voice rang out as they entered the living room.

Cheng Xi gripped her suitcase. “Are we the first to arrive?”

“Yes,” the director nodded.

“Yes!” Cheng Xi celebrated internally. She had arrived early specifically to snag a good room.

“There are four types of rooms this season,” the director explained. “The Lucky Room, the French Bedroom, the Chinese Bedroom, and the Starry Attic. Since you arrived first, you get first pick.”

Cheng Xi thought of the attic she saw from the outside. “So… the Starry Attic is the worst one?”

“Every room has its own charm; they only differ in size,” the director said—a scripted line Cheng Xi knew meant the attic was a cramped disaster.

Don’t be the attic… Cheng Xi thought, her usual nonchalance replaced by visible tension. Just as she was about to grab an envelope, she stopped and turned to Meng Zhijin. “I have bad luck. You do it.”

“Me?” Meng Zhijin was surprised.

“You’re a Best Actress; the heavens favor you,” Cheng Xi said playfully, her eyes shining with hope.

Meng Zhijin hesitated, looking as if she wanted to say something, but seeing the expectation in Cheng Xi’s eyes, she stayed silent. “…Alright.”

She pulled an envelope with a decisive motion. As the card slid out, Cheng Xi saw a dark blue corner with gold flecks. A bad feeling sank in.

A look of apology appeared in Meng Zhijin’s usually calm eyes. She turned the card toward Cheng Xi. Written in bold letters on the gold-dusted paper were the four words: STARRY ATTIC.

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