After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 19.1

Chapter 19.1

Feeling the gazes of everyone around her, along with the camera lenses converging on her, Cheng Xi’s heart was filled with complex emotions.

Looking at the card in Yu Tong’s hand, she felt a sudden urge to destroy both this card and everyone in the room to cover up the evidence.

Given the playful banter she just had with Yu Tong, it was impossible for Meng Zhijin to refuse this Truth or Dare task, as Yu Tong was following the rules perfectly this time.

Moreover, this was a romance reality show—the only place where one could be openly ambiguous with the person beside them under the lens of a camera.

Cheng Xi remembered binge-watching the previous season two days ago. When she saw the popular “CP” hugging and kissing, she couldn’t help but let out an uncontrollable “fan-girl” smile. Many fans had fallen deep into the “shipping hole” after those high-sugar moments, and she was no exception.

Her red lips parted slightly, glistening with a faint luster under the lights. Cheng Xi’s gaze darkened as conflicting thoughts wrestled in her mind.

As a CP, if you don’t provide “candy”, how can fans ship you?

Furthermore, in her cooperation agreement with Meng Zhijin, there was no clause prohibiting kissing.

However, this was only their first day as a CP in the eyes of the show and the audience. A kiss without any foundational buildup… would the audience find it too hasty or forced?

“Teacher Meng, I’m ready to start the timer.” Yu Tong brought up the timer on her phone and placed it on the table with a grin. “The ‘poison-neutralizing’ mission can begin at any time.”

Whether it was due to her professional ethics as an actress or some other reason, Meng Zhijin’s reaction was exceptionally calm.

She nodded politely to Yu Tong: “Okay.”

The lights fell evenly across the space. Cheng Xi felt Meng Zhijin’s gaze shift toward her. Those dark eyes were as calm as ever, only her lips, stained with a trace of wine, shimmered under the light.

It was just like what Cheng Xi had seen in the attic. The real sensations of their past contact loaded in Cheng Xi’s mind like fragmented shards—delayed yet vivid.

Her chaotic thoughts were merely weeds obscuring the true conflict. What Cheng Xi feared wasn’t that others would find it hasty or forced; she feared that Meng Zhijin really wanted to kiss her.

And she anticipated it, too.

The predestined proximity had been expected, and time seemed to slow down infinitely, like a reel of an old film playing frame by frame in Cheng Xi’s vision. She watched as Meng Zhijin leaned in bit by bit, the light in her field of vision obscured by the descending shadow.

The usually unrestrained “fox” seemed to have lost her voice; she couldn’t utter a rejection or a forfeit, nor could she move to push Meng Zhijin away.

As the two people who were once incredibly intimate drew close again, a familiar scent could be identified with just a hint.

The scent on Meng Zhijin entered Cheng Xi’s territory before its owner did, landing on the tip of her nose, invading and occupying, stained with an excessive amount of ambiguity.

Thump, thump.

Cheng Xi heard the sound of her own heartbeat. And that heart, having “tasted the marrow” before, was now restless and eager.

The entire dining and living area went deathly quiet. Everyone and every camera waited for that kiss to fall—

Half a second later, the hand Cheng Xi used to brace herself in the shot was pulled up by Meng Zhijin. The contrast between warm breath and cool fingers was sharp as they both fell into Cheng Xi’s palm, coinciding with the lips that were about to touch down.

The chief director staring at the monitor instantly understood Meng Zhijin’s plan. Yu Tong had never specified where the kiss had to be; everyone had simply assumed it would be on the lips.

Cunning! So cunning!

The chief director wailed inwardly at losing a massive highlight, but a second later, his full attention was captivated by the image on the monitor.

Meng Zhijin’s kiss didn’t land on Cheng Xi’s lips, but on her palm.

It was unexpected, and because of that, it struck a defenseless heart with sudden force.

Unlike the drowning, lost desire of lips meeting, Cheng Xi could now clearly and soberly feel the soft warmth of Meng Zhijin’s lips. And the phantom-like tickle of eyelashes brushing her palm.

Meng Zhijin’s face was very small; a single hand could almost cover it entirely. Her pert nose rested in Cheng Xi’s hand along with the kiss, and her deep, warm breath brushed through her fingers, completely filling her palm.

It was like a fire that surged straight to Cheng Xi’s brain. The earlobes hidden under her long hair burned a deep crimson.

The chief director stared at the monitor without blinking. He had never seen anyone kiss a palm with such piety and deep affection.

Meng Zhijin’s crow-feather eyelashes were lowered. The cool, distant gaze that was usually polite but detached in front of the camera was now infused with genuine tenderness.

A sense of “transgressive taboo” arose from the way she lowered her profile toward Cheng Xi. Even though they weren’t engaging in provocative intimacy, the frame was filled with such sentiment that it looked as beautiful as a painting.

The restraint emanating from Meng Zhijin made a phrase pop into the director’s head: “Starting from passion, but stopping at propriety.”

He stared blankly at the scene, gesturing for the cameraman to push for a closer shot. He was certain that when this segment aired, the Meng-Cheng CP would absolutely explode in popularity.

“Is that enough?”

After an unknown amount of time, it was Meng Zhijin, the protagonist, who ended the kiss. She turned to look at Yu Tong, who was in charge of the timer.

Yu Tong’s dazed eyes snapped back to reality. Seeing that the timer on the table had long exceeded one minute, she guiltily tucked her phone away and said, “Yes, yes, that’s enough…”

The warmth in the palm had come without warning, and it left without a preview. The restraint on the wrist was released, and the warmth left the palm, leaving behind a sudden, uncomfortable chill.

Cheng Xi could still hear the unbalanced thumping of her heart. She instinctively looked up.

However, Meng Zhijin had already sat back in her chair with an indifferent expression.

Ambiguity was her; coldness was also her. It seemed she could never see through what this person was thinking. A “thorn” in Cheng Xi’s heart had been nudged.

Seeing Meng Zhijin’s unbothered attitude, Cheng Xi also feigned a relaxed tone to Yu Tong: “So, are we considered ‘saved’?”

“Yes, yes!” Yu Tong nodded and quickly re-entered the game state. “Oh, my Teacher Meng and Sister Cheng Xi, who unfortunately fell into a trap—you have now escaped the Miasma Mushroom trap, and the miasma poison has been cured thanks to Teacher Meng’s selfless devotion!”

Yu Tong’s voice took on the dubbed tone of an old foreign film, giving people goosebumps.

Cheng Xi shook her shoulders as if shivering and complained as a reminder: “Taro (Yu Tong), you are a female celebrity after all, have a little ‘idol baggage’ (concern for image).”

Yu Tong didn’t care and found it amusing instead: “Oh, my Sister Cheng Xi, don’t you think it’s interesting when I say it like this?”

Following the principle of “if you can’t beat them, join them,” Cheng Xi mimicked her tone: “Oh, my dear Taro, I don’t think so at all.”

The two went back and forth, and the atmosphere in the dining room became cheerful.

The dice rolled across the map. The continuous cold air from the central AC flowed beneath the table where no one was looking, consuming the warmth between fingers. Someone’s palm, resting casually on her knee, was inconspicuously clenched, holding onto the scent that had been plundered.

Knock, knock, knock.

Just as Cheng Xi and Yu Tong were having fun with their “translation tone,” the living room door was knocked. A crisply dressed man and woman entered the “Romantic Cabin” under the lens of the accompanying cameras.

If this were the final aired version, a line of glorious introduction would surely appear below these two.

—Host: Sun Ran (Poetry Grand Prize, Masked Guessing, Ambush from Ten Sides). Singer: Gao Mingtai (31st Golden Melody Best Newcomer, 32nd, 33rd, 34th Golden Melody Best Singer).

Cheng Xi originally found it hard to imagine what kind of couple a serious host and a rock singer would make, but seeing them now, the style didn’t feel out of place.

After the two greeted everyone, the staff brought the last two envelopes to them. Gao Mingtai and Sun Ran didn’t seem very well-acquainted yet, politely deferring to each other on the room choice.

Sun Ran didn’t decline. She looked at the two envelopes and chose the one on the left.

“Oh, a Chinese-style bedroom.” Sun Ran was quite happy and showed the card in her hand to Gao Mingtai behind her.

“Not bad.” Gao Mingtai leaned in to look, and the two became a bit more familiar.

“Hey, so is the remaining envelope the ‘most special room’ in this Romantic Cabin?” Out of professional habit as a host, Sun Ran began to ask about the current situation.

The chief director shook his head and indicated: “Sister Ran, that special room you mentioned belongs to Teacher Meng and Miss Cheng.”

“Zhijin?” Sun Ran was clearly surprised.

“Bad luck,” Meng Zhijin said flatly, without any complaint.

“You’ve used all your luck where it counts,” Sun Ran smiled with some emotion. “It’s been about two years since we last met, hasn’t it? I didn’t expect to run into you here under these circumstances.”

Meng Zhijin nodded slightly and took the initiative to introduce: “This is Cheng Xi.”

Her cool fingers rested on Cheng Xi’s wrist. Cheng Xi was led by Meng Zhijin to stand before Sun Ran, as if she were naturally bringing Cheng Xi into her social circle.

Sun Ran didn’t reject this. She looked at Cheng Xi, as if remembering something, and said thoughtfully: “I remember you. Didn’t you collaborate with Zhijin on Daylight? And you played Liao Ning in The Forgotten Girl?”

“Yes.” Cheng Xi nodded, a beautiful and polite smile appearing on her face. It was bright and stunning, enough to hide the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

Four years after her debut, the only works she could still show for herself were from two years ago.

Cheng Xi hid it well, and Sun Ran naturally didn’t notice the subtle change. She liked Cheng Xi’s looks—it had been a long time since she had seen such a “strong-featured” beauty in the industry—so her tone was quite affectionate: “A good kid. You can learn a lot by being with your Teacher Meng.”

“Just one thing—don’t just go abroad without a word. Once she left, it was for two years, with no news at all, as if she didn’t know how much people back home missed her.”

As she spoke, Sun Ran looked at Meng Zhijin with some dissatisfaction.

Meng Zhijin maintained her usual polite and humble demeanor—calm and courteous, yet stubbornly refusing to admit she was wrong. No one knew why she had gone away for all those years. She never spoke to anyone about what she saw or experienced.

Sun Ran knew she couldn’t do anything about Meng Zhijin, let alone expose these matters on camera. She pursed her lips at Meng Zhijin, then pretended to be attracted by the game on the table: “Hey, I saw you all sitting together when I came in. What are you playing?”

“Adventure Island,” Meng Zhijin said. “A newly released board game.”

To maintain her broad perspective as a host, Sun Ran dabbled in all sorts of areas. Hearing what Meng Zhijin said, she truly became curious: “A board game? Can the four of you play it?”

“We’re missing someone with a ‘God-perspective’ to host the rest of the story,” Yu Tong said. “I was just worrying; next we enter the Werewolf script, and I didn’t know what to do when calling the werewolves to open their eyes.”

“Isn’t this right up my alley?” Sun Ran smiled and took the game instructions from the table. “Let me see…”

“The script this time is about a wandering princess who escapes a country controlled by her uncle to find a sword on this island that can save the Queen. Meanwhile, the wicked current King has also heard the legend and sent people to follow the Princess, intending to kill her and seize the sword once she finds it to solidify his rule.”

As Sun Ran spoke, the sound of a guitar strumming echoed in her ears.

The faint melody actually felt quite mysterious and treacherous.

Gao Mingtai, who had been listening to the conversation for a while, couldn’t hold back. Holding his guitar, he volunteered: “I’ll add some atmosphere, is that okay?”

“Welcome, welcome!” Yu Tong was happy to have him, looking exceptionally excited. “To have Teacher Gao accompany us is truly the honor of a lifetime!”

The lights shone in the living room, and the camera framed all six people at once. The strumming combined with the game’s progress created a scene that looked indescribably natural, just like the name of the house.

“Now everyone is preparing to head to the center of the island. The mist is clearing, and everyone’s true identity will emerge.” Under the accompaniment of the minor key, Sun Ran organized the current situation. She paused, looking at the four of them with a look of suspicion: “So, the people you teamed up with earlier might not be your teammates in the journey ahead. The true Princess is hidden among you four wanderers.”

Another strum of the guitar followed, bringing a sense of impending tension.

Cheng Xi looked at the map layout on the table. Her gaze drifted imperceptibly over the two people opposite and then to her teammate beside her, Meng Zhijin. The card resting under her hand was slightly tilted at one corner, revealing a ruby on a princess’s crown.

Once the general situation and game stage were clear, Sun Ran began to host the next part: “Next, please take turns rolling the dice to choose a way to cross the river.”

The dice were thrown onto the table, making a crisp sound.

The four dice stopped at different numbers. When the dust settled, Sun Ran said: “Zhijin’s luck isn’t great… she got the worst boat and has to skip a turn.”

“Everyone else’s boats are fairly equal.”

“The river current is rapid. Please close your eyes.”

As she spoke, Sun Ran played the role of a qualified ferryman, reminding everyone to close their eyes. Accompanied by Gao Mingtai’s guitar, it felt as though they were truly being led across a river.

Cheng Xi closed her eyes. For some reason, the command to close her eyes felt suspicious, but she didn’t sense any hidden meaning in Sun Ran’s words. After a pause, she didn’t violate the command and kept her eyes shut.

And because of that, bad news arrived: “Everyone has entered the cave where the treasure is hidden. Please open your eyes.”

“Unfortunately, Princess, during the river crossing, the ‘Black Side’ has already converged.”

As expected, they had managed to meet up.

Cheng Xi looked at the people around her whose eyes showed wariness just like hers. Her gaze was heavy, as if locked onto something.

Sun Ran held the script and read vividly: “Wanderers who have come to explore, the sword is just ahead. Please roll the dice of fate to cross these rows of stone pillars. But these pillars are fragile—if you don’t reach the end in three tries, you will fall into the piranha river and die without a burial place.”

The Goddess of Fortune didn’t seem to favor Cheng Xi; her luck today was truly abysmal. She rolled the dice three times in a row, and every single time it was a “one.”

Cheng Xi frowned. The squares painted blue looked as if piranhas were truly lurking there. The destination just ahead, where the finish line lay, emitted the lure of a treasure chest.

To have come all this way and fail because of bad luck was truly frustrating. If the Princess died, wouldn’t the Black Side win?

Or…

Just as Cheng Xi was forming another theory in her mind, Meng Zhijin’s voice came from beside her: “I’m using a ‘Teammate Mutual Aid Card’ to help Cheng Xi cross the river.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice was still faint, calm, and without a ripple, but the card she pushed forward shone with hope.

Cheng Xi looked up at Meng Zhijin, her knitted brows relaxing slightly.

Before Cheng Xi could express her gratitude, Sun Ran spoke again: “The Mutual Aid Card requires a test of rapport. Both of you must answer a ‘Truth’ question at the same time. If the answers are identical, the card takes effect. Do Xi and Zhijin accept?”

Cheng Xi didn’t hesitate and agreed immediately: “Accept.”

Sun Ran curled her lips in satisfaction, drew a card from the Truth deck, and said: “Question for you two… before Zhijin went abroad, when was the last time you met?”

This was not a good question.

Meng Zhijin clearly noticed Sun Ran’s subtle pause and said, “You changed the question.”

Sun Ran wasn’t like Yu Tong, who was a junior to Meng Zhijin and couldn’t easily bicker with her. She nodded openly to Meng Zhijin, her chin slightly tilted: “I, as ‘God,’ have the authority to modify the questions.”

“Ten-second countdown.”

Sun Ran gave Meng Zhijin no room for negotiation and began the countdown: “10, 9, 8…”

The countdown created a sense of urgency in the room. Complemented by Gao Mingtai’s perfectly timed accompaniment, it felt like a whirlpool churning the mind, pulling memories back in time.

Cheng Xi gripped her cards. Perhaps her competitive spirit was at play, for the stories of the past began to play uncontrollably in her mind.

The “pointer” of memory fixed on a summer night with only a full moon. Cicadas chirped, and the cold moon was silent. Two different atmospheres collided in the heat of midsummer, full of contradiction.

Moonlight touched Meng Zhijin’s eyelashes, coating them in a layer of crystalline purity. At that moment, she was calmer than she had ever been when she was with Cheng Xi, yet it felt as if something had silently shattered.

There was a faint sound of breathing in the air. Meng Zhijin reached into her non-existent pockets, her voice slightly low: “Silence begins preparations next month. On the 22nd at 3 PM, I fly to Moscow.”

Cheng Xi’s lowered head never lifted. A sense of awkwardness, like a stick thrust into her body, was churning restlessly, threatening to twist her whole being. The summer wind was dry and hot; even the night couldn’t soothe this unbearable feeling. The wind mussed the stray hairs at Meng Zhijin’s temples, as if segmenting her gaze into broken pieces.

“Goodbye.”

She looked at Cheng Xi and said those words. And that “goodbye” resulted in a separation of nearly two years.

“5, 4, 3…”

Sun Ran’s countdown continued. Almost in unison, Cheng Xi and Meng Zhijin spoke: “August 14, 2035…”

“Tuesday.”

The camera exposed them under the spotlight without hiding anything. The overlapping voices echoed in Cheng Xi’s ears, both real and illusory. It was as if a puzzle piece had fluttered down from the sky, landing precisely on an old, yellowed puzzle—matching perfectly, yet filling that gap in a strangely jarring way.

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