After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The production crew evacuated the Romantic Cabin after the final pair arrived, leaving behind only hidden cameras that were unnoticeable to the participants.

Amidst the rising steam from the hotpot, Yu Tong’s voice chattered on; a familiar and natural feeling began to wash away the self-consciousness of being on a show.

Meng Zhijin’s position wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, but from behind, she and Cheng Xi didn’t look overly intimate. The camera from the rear framed the two of them side-by-side. Meng Zhijin’s slender back looked proud and polite, yet her hand, pressed against Cheng Xi’s wrist, held a subtle intimacy that was hard to detect.

It was unclear whether Cheng Xi’s silence was due to the unexpected appearance of Meng Zhijin or that “Kid” that had brushed past her ear. She turned to look at the person standing behind her, unable to speak for a long time.

Meng Zhijin paid no mind to Cheng Xi’s surprise, stating flatly: “The staff didn’t know you were allergic to cilantro. Qi Ming and Xiao Wu aren’t here right now; you have to remember for yourself.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice hadn’t changed much; it sounded like the most ordinary, casual reminder. But it was precisely this sense of normalcy that left Cheng Xi feeling at a loss.

If “Xiao Wu” hadn’t been mentioned, this sentence would have sounded exactly like the reminders Meng Zhijin used to give her when she went on assignments back when they were still together.

Cheng Xi knew better than anyone that the past could not be chased, yet for some reason, her memories were running wild today, uncontrolled. An awkwardness lodged itself in Cheng Xi’s heart, turning into a different flavor entirely.

And compared to the annoying awkwardness from earlier, Cheng Xi disliked this current feeling even more.

The surrounding cameras were like countless eyes, capable of finding “candy” for shippers to swoon over, but also capable of finding the cracks that proved a CP was fake.

Cheng Xi looked at Meng Zhijin’s hand gripping her wrist. Her obscure gaze turned into a curved, smiling one before anyone could notice.

“Alright, I’ll remember. Thank you, Teacher Meng.”

Cheng Xi maintained her captivating, multi-faceted charm. Without appearing too deliberate, she slid her wrist out of Meng Zhijin’s grip and sprinkled some crushed peanuts into her small bowl.

Meng Zhijin said nothing. An imperceptible change flickered in her eyes before they returned to their original calm. A white porcelain bowl with a few flakes of cilantro was nudged toward Cheng Xi. Meng Zhijin thanked her in advance: “Thank you.”

Cheng Xi didn’t refuse, letting out a light chuckle: “You’re welcome.”

Preparing dipping sauces didn’t take long. The two of them quickly finished and walked toward the hotpot session that was already beginning.

Cheng Xi snatched a grape and walked behind Meng Zhijin. It was unclear when Meng Zhijin had come down, but she seemed to know exactly where Cheng Xi had been sitting, walking straight toward that spot and taking the seat.

Cheng Xi’s hand holding the sauce bowl paused.

A difficult-to-describe sense of resistance spread through her eyes as Su Miaomiao turned a beaming face toward Meng Zhijin. She wanted to stop it, but it was already too late.

“Teacher Meng, hello! I’m Su Miaomiao, I’m your fan!” Seeing Meng Zhijin sit down, Su Miaomiao looked exceptionally excited, her sparkling eyes full of a deceptive charm. “I realized today that this is the filming location for Daylight. I’ve been excited the whole way here; I didn’t expect to meet you so soon.”

“Hello.” Meng Zhijin remained in her usual distant state, responding to Su Miaomiao’s enthusiasm with cold politeness.

The lights were bright, and the pungent smell of chili oil wafted through the air. Meng Zhijin watched the bubbles rolling in the pot and asked Su Miaomiao, seemingly casually: “Which of my movies do you like?”

“Ah?” Su Miaomiao froze.

She hadn’t expected Meng Zhijin to take the initiative to ask a question. She hurriedly pulled an answer from the script her manager had given her: “Um, your first starring role, Tang Ri. I especially liked that one.”

“That scene where you hold the pipa, turn around, and draw the sword was so beautiful. I was so stunned I couldn’t speak when I first saw it. Teacher Meng must have worked very hard back then? I really, really want to ask for advice…”

The adoration on Su Miaomiao’s face was palpable, and the distance between her and Meng Zhijin narrowed as she leaned in, caught up in what she thought was a perfect performance of excitement.

Bit by bit…

Meng Zhijin withdrew the arm Su Miaomiao was targeting and raised her hand to place a piece of duck intestine into the spicy red oil pot—a flavor she rarely touched.

It didn’t seem intentional, yet it felt entirely so. Cheng Xi, sitting nearby, saw it very clearly.

Su Miaomiao’s plan failed. Before she could say anything else, Sun Ran’s voice drifted over: “Hey, I remember Zhijin had a small accident while filming that shot, didn’t she? It was on the trending searches back then. Xiao Su, you didn’t know?”

Su Miaomiao’s face, filled with feigned excitement and adoration, stiffened for a moment.

Meng Zhijin had been injured, yet this person claiming to be a “fan who likes her super, super much” was excitedly asking for advice without showing any concern for her past injury. No matter how well she acted, the awkwardness was unavoidable.

Su Miaomiao’s mind raced, her smile turning apologetic: “I only joined the fandom recently, I haven’t ‘archeologically’ dug that far back yet.”

“Teacher Meng, please don’t mind…”

The duck intestine curled and changed color in the boiling pot, fished out by the chopsticks at its peak freshness.

“I don’t mind,” Meng Zhijin replied coldly to Su Miaomiao, unhurriedly placing the cooked duck intestine onto Cheng Xi’s plate. “Exactly seven seconds.”

The still-awkward Cheng Xi was somewhat surprised. And then, a bit enlightened.

Actually, she shouldn’t have worried about Meng Zhijin. Meng Zhijin had been in the industry longer than her; if Cheng Xi could see through the hypocrisy, there was no way Meng Zhijin hadn’t noticed.

The dining room lights were softened by the white mist rising from the hotpot. The lips that had been pursed just moments ago now curved upward in the steam.

Cheng Xi’s eyes moved from the duck intestine on her plate to Meng Zhijin, speaking with a meaningful tone: “I didn’t expect Teacher Meng to still remember.”

“It’s not that easy to forget,” Meng Zhijin replied.

The two exchanged words, leaving Su Miaomiao feeling as if there were thorns in her back. One moment she had liked her for a long time, the next she was a new fan. They were all in the industry; whether someone was telling the truth or lying could be determined in just a few sentences.

Sun Ran, a veteran of over a decade in the business, let out a meaningful smile after hearing Su Miaomiao’s contradictory words. But since they were on camera and had no personal grudges, Sun Ran kindly left Su Miaomiao some dignity, trying to bail her out: “True, Zhijin started acting very young. Digging through her past takes time.”

“I saw a video edit of Teacher Meng the other day—I don’t know if it counts as digging—but it reviewed all the key points of her journey. It was very inspiring.” As if overhearing the conversation, Yu Tong, who had been obsessively dropping penguin-shaped fishballs into the pot, chimed in.

Her eyes were full of smiles, and she spoke with a casual familiarity: “And Teacher Meng looked completely different as a kid. Wearing ancient costumes with a red mole painted between her brows, she was like a doll, incredibly cute.”

“Zhijin’s first cameo was when she was only ten, right?” Hearing Yu Tong’s description, Sun Ran seemed to remember something. Recalling as she spoke, she said: “I remember for a while, Teacher Shen took Zhijin everywhere. It must have been then. It seems Teacher Shen started grooming you from a very young age, Zhijin.”

Meng Zhijin lowered her eyes slightly and gave a seemingly humble smile. Simultaneously, an unclear emotion flashed through her eyes.

The people around them were still chatting with interest; the subtle change didn’t catch everyone’s attention. It was only captured for a fleeting second by Cheng Xi.

This was the first time she felt that Meng Zhijin had secrets she didn’t know about.

In this circle of discussion, Su Miaomiao, who kept claiming to “love” her, looked like an outsider. Her love was shallow—merely a pursuit of fame and profit under the glow of a Best Actress award; it was a worthless kind of liking.

Hearing the others talk, Su Miaomiao still wanted to redeem herself: “So Teacher Meng has such a long history. It seems I’ll have to put some effort into my ‘research’.”

Su Miaomiao put on an expectant, studious look, saying to Meng Zhijin intentionally or unintentionally: “I really hope I can be like Teacher Meng was back then. By spending these days with you, I hope to learn some acting skills from you.”

Meng Zhijin unhurriedly put all the remaining crown daisies into the pot. Watching the boiling water wilt the green leaves, she finally looked up at Su Miaomiao. Her dark pupils were shrouded by the rising steam from the pot, hiding an unreadable sense of distance: “I’m sorry. My mother taught me through her own example back then; I probably can’t teach you using that same attitude and way of interaction.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice wasn’t loud, only audible to those nearby.

Hearing this, Cheng Xi bit into her duck intestine to keep herself from laughing out loud. Whether or not Meng Zhijin meant it that way, to Cheng Xi’s ears, the sentence translated to: I don’t want to be your mother.

It was unclear if Su Miaomiao caught the hidden meaning, but being rejected so clearly made her perfectly managed expression nearly crumble.

As the daisies rolled in the pot, Meng Zhijin seemed to have found a spare moment. She said to Su Miaomiao again: “However, if we are to discuss acting techniques, I do have one sentence for you. If you can do it, I can’t guarantee you’ll be a superstar, but achieving a little success is possible.”

“What is it, Teacher Meng?” Su Miaomiao immediately perked up, thinking her luck had turned. Under her standard idol smile, her eyes were filled with desire.

But that smile didn’t last long; it froze halfway in the next second.

“If you want to be an actress, you must be professional. At the very least, you must learn how to get into character. Even if there is no love, you must currently play the role of a couple with the person beside you. Love isn’t something that becomes real just because you say it out loud.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice was cold. She gave Su Miaomiao that one sentence, along with a piece of pointed advice. She spoke calmly, yet with profound meaning.

The sharp reminder pierced right through Su Miaomiao’s ulterior motives—and also reached the ears of Cheng Xi, who had been eavesdropping.

Human emotions always leave inexplicably and arrive unpredictably. Admittedly, Cheng Xi had been reminding herself of this all day, and she was clearly aware of it. But hearing such words spoken so bluntly and frankly by Meng Zhijin was a different feeling altogether.

So, everything she had shown toward me in front of the cameras… was that also a performance?

Yes.

When they reunited a few days ago, this person had been indifferent to her, treating her like a stranger.

The steam from the hotpot filled Cheng Xi’s vision, covering her sight with a layer of blurred mist. She thought she understood Meng Zhijin well. But the Meng Zhijin she knew was only the one from four years ago who filmed Daylight with her—or perhaps, the Meng Zhijin who coexisted with the moon.

A year seemed long, but it was sliced into pieces by busyness and separation. She was ignorant of Meng Zhijin’s past now, just as she had been ignorant back then.

“Oh!”

A small exclamation from Yu Tong pulled Cheng Xi out of her thoughts and drew her gaze over.

The penguin fishball that had been dropped in earlier had floated to the surface, and Yu Tong was standing up to fish it out. But her hair, newly styled today and as smooth as satin, fell forward uncontrollably as she leaned down. It nearly fell into the pot.

In the end, Xu Changyan took the skimmer from Yu Tong’s hand and helped her retrieve a little penguin.

Yu Tong watched with a grin, her curved eyes like delicious cashews: “A-Yan, you’re so nice.”

There was no change on Xu Changyan’s face. She only said: “Eat.”

Yu Tong wasn’t polite, having long been impatient to lower her head and pick up the little penguin. This time, and until she finished eating, her long hair didn’t fall down again. A mint-green scrunchie gathered her long hair, loop by loop, as Xu Changyan secured the disobedient strands.

Cheng Xi’s impression of Xu Changyan was quite ordinary. Although she and Xu Changyan had both been on the “White Side” during the board game earlier, Xu Changyan didn’t talk much. Carrying the natural coldness and aloofness of a model, Cheng Xi found her difficult to approach.

But it was precisely this action that touched Cheng Xi slightly, changing her view of the person. Models weren’t actors; their acting wouldn’t be so masterfully refined as to fool an outsider.

Thinking this, Cheng Xi secretly watched the little couple for a long time.

Suddenly, she felt her own loose hair being lifted. Cool fingers unintentionally touched the roots of her hair, sending fine currents of electricity through the steam-filled space.

Meng Zhijin had found a hair tie from somewhere and was silently gathering Cheng Xi’s loose, long hair together.

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