After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The early summer noon carried a noticeable heat.

The sun shone brightly, its scorching temperature reflecting in Meng Zhijin’s eyes. Not far away, the look Cheng Xi gave her was exactly the same as the one in her memories.

The “Sister” that had slipped out also made Cheng Xi freeze for a moment. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she had addressed anyone by that title.

The flowing river washed over Cheng Xi’s calves submerged in the water; the coolness was tinged with the warmth of midday. Habit is the most devious thing, seizing any opportunity to emerge when one’s defenses are at their lowest.

She shouldn’t have said that.

Just then, Yu Tong ran over excitedly, shaking out her nearly dry clothes: “Wow, that is a huge fish! Sister Cheng Xi! You’re amazing!”

Cheng Xi recovered quickly. She swiftly pulled her uncontrolled gaze away from Meng Zhijin and spoke boastfully to Yu Tong: “I’m still pretty impressive, aren’t I?”

She remained triumphant, showing off the fish she had labored to catch to the cameras: “And this isn’t a female fish going upstream to spawn; it’s a lazy, gluttonous male fish.”

Xu Changyan remarked: “Teacher Cheng seems to know quite a lot.”

“I learned a bit while filming in the past,” Cheng Xi replied.

“Was it for The Forgotten Girl? I remember Liao Ning was a girl from a small fishing village,” Yu Tong said, expressing her admiration without reservation. “I loved Liao Ning! I think Sister Cheng Xi brought that character to life.”

Hearing this, Cheng Xi suddenly smiled. She casually threw the fish into the bucket with practiced ease and spoke openly to the camera: “Saying that only makes me feel more… unreconciled.”

Cheng Xi had always been flamboyant and unrestrained; her emotions came and went quickly. But this time, various feelings were gridlocked in her mind, blocking the exit and forcing out a smile that looked beautiful yet made the person standing at a distance feel a sharp pang in her heart.

“Unreconciled” could be interpreted in many ways—like regret, or a sigh. But Meng Zhijin knew it wasn’t such a light explanation. Things that time cannot erase will always resurface. Both she and Cheng Xi had a thorn embedded in their hearts; whenever one pulled at it, both felt the pain.

The sun was high, and the river temperature had mellowed significantly. After Sun Ran called, the group headed back with their buckets and the fish traps they had set earlier. After a morning of hard work, everyone had a modest harvest. Because Cheng Xi’s fat fish added significant weight, she and Meng Zhijin were currently ranked first in points.

The theme of “Wilderness Survival” meant self-sufficiency. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner for these two days depended on the ingredients the members earned. Sun Ran and her group returned early, and by the time they registered their scores, the kitchen was already fragrant.

“So you didn’t wait for our fish? Sister Sun Ran, you lack faith in us,” Cheng Xi teased as she walked into the kitchen with her fish bucket.

“Not at all! We were just waiting for your fish so we could have a meat dish for lunch,” Sun Ran said, pointing to the oil in a nearby pot. “Teacher Gao didn’t throw away the oil left over from frying the eggplant; he was waiting for the fish to make ‘Carp Leaping Over the Dragon Gate’.”

“That’s right,” Gao Mingtai said, tying on his apron and rubbing his hands together. “Can I pick out today’s ingredients now?”

Cheng Xi, being generous, pointed to the fat fish she caught: “This one. It’s especially plump.”

Sun Ran leaned in to look, her expression full of surprise: “Goodness, such a big fish! Xiao Xi and Zhijin must be first in points, right?”

Cheng Xi didn’t hide it and nodded with a smile: “Mhm.”

“Fine, the winners have the right not to work,” Sun Ran squeezed Cheng Xi’s shoulder. “Go rest with your Teacher Meng. Lunch will be ready soon.”

“Will do!” Cheng Xi replied brightly, pushing open the sliding glass door to leave.

The glass door blocked the kitchen fumes, casting a warm, hazy light on the small space. Initially, Cheng Xi didn’t think Sun Ran and Gao Mingtai had much “CP chemistry,” but seeing their unspoken coordination in the kitchen, the feeling of a middle-aged couple supporting each other emerged. It was the kind of peaceful sight that made one long for the gentleness of passing time.

Cheng Xi lowered her gaze, stole a few more glances, and then left with her hands in her pockets.

Despite it being “survival,” lunch was quite good, with a mix of meat and vegetables and a soup. Aside from Su Miaomiao making a few tactless complaints upon sitting down—which were promptly returned to her by Sun Ran with a plastic smile—the atmosphere at the table was harmonious.

The fat fish was transformed by Gao Mingtai into a beautiful “Dragon Gate” display. As a lover of fried sweets, Cheng Xi took several pieces of her own labor. Respecting the others’ portions, she then turned her attention to the fried eggplant.

Just as Cheng Xi put an eggplant piece onto her plate, a beautiful golden piece of fish followed it. It was placed there by Meng Zhijin.

Although Cheng Xi didn’t show it on the surface, the “Sister” she had blurted out earlier had created a sense of distance, and her communication with Meng Zhijin had lessened. Surprised by Meng Zhijin’s initiative, Cheng Xi turned her head and asked: “You’re not eating it?”

Meng Zhijin neither nodded nor shook her head, only whispering: “Don’t you want to eat it?”

With that, she calmly took the piece of eggplant from Cheng Xi’s plate and moved it to her own.

The table in the Romantic Cabin wasn’t very large, and the two were sitting close. The warm breath from their exchange brushed against each other’s ears, looking exceptionally intimate on camera. The fried eggplant was coated in a golden sugar crust, looking very inviting, but the peppercorns hidden inside required careful handling.

Cheng Xi remembered something and frowned slightly, asking: “In the past, didn’t you always refuse to eat this with me because you couldn’t handle the occasional peppercorn?”

“I’m used to it now,” Meng Zhijin answered softly. She skillfully picked out a peppercorn hidden in the crispy crust right before Cheng Xi’s eyes and added: “You just have to remove the peppercorns. It would be a pity to give up a delicious dish just because of them.”

It was hard to tell if it was the other’s calmness that made things unsettling, or if her changes once again created a sense of discrepancy with her past self. For no reason, Cheng Xi felt a deeper meaning in Meng Zhijin’s calm words—vague and elusive, like an unfathomable sea.

Cheng Xi sighed: “Is that so?” Then, as if possessed, she added: “Is it a pity?”

It sounded like a meaningful counter-question, yet also like a mumble to herself.

After lunch, the sun spilled into the living room, and the world seemed to slow down into a leisurely pace. There were no tasks for the afternoon, as the crew arranged for individual interviews with the members.

Cheng Xi had nothing to do, so she was the first to be interviewed. The questions were mostly designed to strengthen her CP chemistry with Meng Zhijin; she simply answered with the appropriate level of ambiguity. After the interview, Cheng Xi went upstairs to shower.

Less than half an hour later, an “unidentified creature” appeared in the first-floor camera frame with a towel draped over its head. Cheng Xi didn’t like using a hairdryer, so she let the towel absorb the water from her damp hair. She leisurely grabbed a piece of sliced melon from the fridge, thinking she’d eat it while idling outside the interview room.

“This is Teacher Meng’s first time on a variety show. How does it feel?” “It’s quite good, a nice change of pace.”

Cheng Xi didn’t expect that the person sitting behind the door was Meng Zhijin. The frosted glass at the top of the door vaguely outlined the figure inside. Cheng Xi felt she didn’t need to eavesdrop on Meng Zhijin’s interview. Who “ships” their own CP? Besides, they were just in a cooperative relationship; the “tea” coming from her mouth wouldn’t be real anyway. It would be tasteless to listen to.

With that thought, Cheng Xi planned to leave. But her feet, as if having a mind of their own, stayed planted by the door.

The host asked Meng Zhijin: “Teacher Meng and Teacher Cheng must have known each other for a long time?” Meng Zhijin nodded: “Yes, over four years, nearly five.”

The host, being quick-witted, calculated it: “So Teacher Cheng cooperated with you when she was only in her early twenties.” Meng Zhijin seemed somewhat sentimental as she nodded: “Yes.”

“Has Teacher Cheng changed at all from then compared to now?” the host asked. “No,” Meng Zhijin shook her head, her cold gaze softening slightly. “She is as beautiful as ever.”

The host was surprised: “Teacher Meng rarely praises people’s looks.” He then followed the script: “In that case, after filming Daylight, did Teacher Meng ever think about when the next cooperation with Teacher Cheng would be?”

It wasn’t a difficult question, yet Meng Zhijin paused. Her eyes lowered slightly in the frame; a few seconds later, she nodded: “Yes.”

She sounded frank, yet carried an indescribable sense of loss. It felt like an illusion—something that shouldn’t appear on someone as successful as Meng Zhijin. But Meng Zhijin didn’t give the host a chance to catch that moment, continuing: “Cheng Xi is a very talented actress. If possible, I hope good scripts find her so that we can have the chance to work together again.”

The host, looking like a total CP shipper, joked: “Can I reasonably suspect Teacher Meng is helping Teacher Cheng advertise? Isn’t Teacher Meng being a bit too partial toward Teacher Cheng?”

Meng Zhijin pursed her lips slightly and smiled, which didn’t quite count as an answer.

The host didn’t let the atmosphere cool, taking advantage of the ambiguity: “Actually, I heard Teacher Meng calls Teacher Cheng ‘Kid’ in private. I’m curious why you call her that?”

“When we were filming Daylight, she didn’t like me calling her that, but later it became a habit,” Meng Zhijin replied. Her voice held a rare hint of playfulness, as if describing a masterpiece she was proud of. But it was just a nickname.

“I see…” The host nodded thoughtfully and looked at the script. “If you had to choose an animal, which one do you think suits Teacher Cheng best?”

“A fox,” Meng Zhijin said without hesitation.

The host laughed: “Indeed, everyone thinks Teacher Cheng is like a fox. And what animal do you think you are?”

The best answer would have been to pick an animal that paired well with a fox, but Meng Zhijin didn’t follow the plan: “A turtle, perhaps.”

The host was surprised: “Why?” After a pause, he asked as if explaining for her: “Is it because a turtle can endure loneliness?”

Meng Zhijin disagreed, giving an answer that didn’t fit her public image: “Because turtles are quite lazy.”

Cheng Xi, listening behind the frosted glass, smiled at this contrast. But her smile didn’t last long; it froze at the corners of her eyes. The interview room was cramped, and the only light fell on Meng Zhijin’s face, softening the coldness in her features.

Meng Zhijin paused, her lowered eyes lifting slightly to look at the host sitting in the camera’s blind spot. Her calm gaze seemed to pierce through the frosted glass, meeting the eyes of the person standing behind the door.

“I am not a very persistent person, and I’m too lazy to form habits. But once a habit is formed, I’m too lazy to change it.”

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