After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The sun slanted westward, and the world near evening was exceedingly tranquil.

Inside the interview room, the hum of machinery was constant. Meng Zhijin’s words, muffled by the door, weren’t actually that clear. Yet, for some reason, Cheng Xi heard them with perfect clarity—as if those words were specifically meant for her.

It was a calm narration telling her that those unforgotten pasts and lingering habits remained.

But the frosted glass prevented Meng Zhijin from truly seeing the person standing outside. Cheng Xi knew rationally that those words were meant for the lens.

Didn’t you change your habit of not eating certain things already? Like that fried eggplant right in front of you.

Cheng Xi decided this wasn’t something she should dwell on. Holding her half-eaten melon, she turned to leave. But her thoughts uncontrollably followed her footsteps up the stairs, forming a sentence with every stride: When past habits blend into current interactions, does “like” still exist?

Or perhaps, like a long-married couple whose passion has eroded into the “habit” of family, they are no longer lovers.

But… they were never lovers to begin with. This identity in front of the camera was a lie.

Perhaps the morning’s fishing was too exhausting, or perhaps for some other reason, Cheng Xi went to bed early.

When Meng Zhijin finished her interview and a chat with Sun Ran downstairs, she came up to find Cheng Xi already asleep. The moonlight from the skylight was bright and pure, favoring Cheng Xi by illuminating her sleeping profile in the dark room. She looked rare and quiet in her sleep, so well-behaved that one couldn’t bear to disturb her.

Meng Zhijin’s movements were naturally light, but now she walked even more silently. The mountain night quieted down quickly; the Romantic Cabin, like the only star fallen to earth under this night sky, soon went dark.

The soft bed sank slightly as the scent of dampness from a recent shower drifted into Cheng Xi’s dreams.

Cheng Xi’s state wasn’t great when she went to bed, and she woke up feeling an indescribable discomfort. Her eyes were dry, her throat parched, and her head felt dull—as if it were being dragged back and consumed by the chaotic dreams of the night before.

Cheng Xi had dreamed again. And the dream was about Meng Zhijin.

It was a memory from after they got married. Back then, with the boost of the Jade Award for Best Newcomer, many scripts wanted Cheng Xi. She was a bit overwhelmed by the choices, so she brought the scripts home and dragged Meng Zhijin into analyzing them with her.

A corner of the starlight peeked through the high-rise city center; the stars were unusually bright. Cheng Xi habitually leaned against Meng Zhijin to read the scripts, her thick long hair scattered across Meng Zhijin’s lap.

“Sister, I think this one is interesting,” Cheng Xi said after reading for a long while, finally finding one she liked. She held up the script for The Forgotten Girl. “This female lead has real spirit; she feels quite similar to me.”

“Her father is a sexist head of a fishing family. He had several daughters before her, and the lead is the last one. Her mother died of a hemorrhage during her birth. Her father raised her as a son, but she falls in love with a female teacher who comes to the village to teach…”

“Same-sex theme,” Meng Zhijin narrowed her eyes slightly as she listened to the synopsis.

“It’s touched upon,” Cheng Xi didn’t mind the genre. She rested the script on her lap, her dark eyes looking at Meng Zhijin. “It’s just a love story that ends without a result. The main focus is portraying that era. The female lead’s family is labeled as Rightists, leaving her alone to carry the weight of the family.”

Meng Zhijin listened quietly to Cheng Xi’s summary and took the script from her lap. “You like it?”

“Mhm,” Cheng Xi answered without hiding it.

“I’ll look into it for you tomorrow,” Meng Zhijin looked at the lines on the cover, her gaze landing on the director’s name. “It might work.”

“Sister is the best,” Cheng Xi’s eyes curved into a fox-like smile.

Back then, life was truly unbridled. A simple tug on the neck could earn a kiss. Who cared about being “unproductive” or straying from the original goal of reading scripts on the balcony? The warm summer wind passed through the high-rises and through their thin, loose clothing. Lips and teeth met, and gradually, sweat soaked their backs along with suppressed breaths…

“…”

Recalling this dream, Cheng Xi threw her arm over her forehead and let out a frustrated, heavy breath. She really couldn’t understand why she had a dream like that last night. Boring, pointless, and completely nonsensical!

At that moment, Meng Zhijin also woke up. She looked at Cheng Xi and asked, “Did you have a nightmare?”

Cheng Xi looked toward her, her eyes half-covered by her arm. The other party in the dream was sitting up, her rounded shoulder blades peeking out from under her thick long hair. The lingering intimacy of the dream hadn’t dissipated; Cheng Xi subconsciously swallowed, then turned her head back and said meaningfully, “If that was a nightmare, then reality must be hell.”

Meng Zhijin’s gaze paused, but she then replied with composed calm, “It’s late. Get up and wash up.”

Cheng Xi had more than just that one dream last night. The continuous stories had left her with poor sleep, and her head felt foggy. She didn’t want to move. The morning light fell onto the bed from the skylight; Cheng Xi lazily rolled over in her blanket, facing Meng Zhijin with her eyes closed: “Teacher Meng, pull me up.”

The girl’s straight forearm lay across Meng Zhijin’s line of sight, fair and translucent, screaming laziness and roguishness. Meng Zhijin didn’t say anything. She got out of bed and grasped the hand Cheng Xi held out to her.

To be honest, Cheng Xi was surprised. She didn’t think someone as proud as Meng Zhijin would indulge her selfishness like this. But the coolness from her hand was so clear; she really did let Meng Zhijin’s strength pull her up into a sitting position.

“Do you want me to help you put on your shoes?” Meng Zhijin asked.

Her eyelids felt heavy from the lack of sleep. Cheng Xi kept her eyes closed, a smile appearing on her quiet, well-behaved face that didn’t match her expression: “If Teacher Meng is willing, I wouldn’t mind.”

Actually, Cheng Xi didn’t really need help with her shoes—she had hands and feet—she was just talking for the sake of it.

After the words fell, Cheng Xi felt the hand being held was released. There was a long period of silence, as if everything had stopped. It seemed Meng Zhijin was also just talking and had no intention of actually helping her.

It felt like a small pebble had grated against her heart. Thinking that since she was up, she should be professional and wash up quickly for today’s tasks, Cheng Xi prepared to open her heavy eyes.

But before she could, something light and cool landed under her eye, followed by the sensation of a finger smoothing it out with gentle movements. Her thick eyelashes trembled uncontrollably. Cheng Xi sat still on the edge of the bed as a current of electricity zapped through her body from the touch.

“Don’t move,” Meng Zhijin said calmly as she carefully applied an eye mask. “It’s to help with the puffiness.”

Suddenly, the fox who was usually so good at flirting didn’t know what to do. She just let out a dry “Oh” and sat there obediently. After the left eye was done, Meng Zhijin prepared the patch for the right eye.

Even with eyes closed, one could sense the color of the light. The morning room felt peaceful and cozy, as if staying blind was the best choice. But being deprived of sight meant other senses were heightened. When the familiar coolness landed under her right eye again, the light in her vision was blocked by a descending shadow.

The scent of Meng Zhijin was magnified, filling Cheng Xi’s nose. She always had this scent—light, an indistinguishable blend of natural fragrances. It was there in the past, and it was still there now, just like the “habits she was too lazy to change.”

Meng Zhijin’s finger lingered under Cheng Xi’s right eye for a few seconds before withdrawing. A soft tissue was pulled out with a faint sound. She wiped the liquid from her fingers unhurriedly and said calmly: “You can sit for a bit more. Take them off in twenty minutes and wash up.”

“Okay,” Cheng Xi nodded and opened her eyes.

However, the excessively bright light was uncomfortable after having her eyes closed for so long. Amidst the blinding white glare, Cheng Xi saw the figure in front of her crouch down. Before she could react, her ankle was covered by a familiar warmth. Then, the slightly rough texture of linen brushed against the sole of her foot.

Meng Zhijin had put the slippers on for her.

The wind pushed a cloud across the sun—one couldn’t say if it was timely or not. Cheng Xi’s eyes adjusted to the light, clearly seeing Meng Zhijin’s lowered head. She looked as though she were simply fulfilling a promise, her profile with stray strands of hair looking calm.

But the observer did not share that calm. Even when they lived together in the past, Meng Zhijin had never been like this. In Cheng Xi’s memory, Meng Zhijin was always the proud one with her head held high and her back never slumped.

Perhaps the camera lens wasn’t suited to the direct sunlight either; a faint focusing sound rang in the room. Cheng Xi suddenly hated that thing. It made it impossible to tell if reality was true or false.

Actually, there was nothing to be confused about. How could it possibly be true?

The camera seemed to refocus, the lens pointing downward silently. Cheng Xi tucked her peripheral gaze away, her fox-like eyes curving. The moment Meng Zhijin stood up, Cheng Xi leaned in and hugged her, not holding back her sweetness: “Teacher Meng is so good. What if I can’t leave you?”

The sunlight fell unreservedly through the skylight, making Cheng Xi’s sparkling eyes look exceptionally beautiful. Her movement was so fast that Meng Zhijin was caught off guard. As if her heart were unsettled and she didn’t know what to say, Meng Zhijin just ruffled Cheng Xi’s hair. She didn’t answer, yet it felt like she had answered everything.

A new day of wilderness survival began. Today was the turn of Cheng Xi’s group of four to go to the back mountain to harvest vegetables.

Yu Tong, raised in the city, had never seen a vegetable patch or harvested vegetables. She was full of joy along the way: “A-Yan, do you think potatoes are hard to pull? I saw He Chen come back yesterday with dirt in his hair.”

“Teacher Sun told me it hasn’t rained much lately, so the ground is hard. She said to be careful when pulling potatoes,” Xu Changyan noted.

“It’s actually about using a clever trick,” Cheng Xi said, observing the vegetable patches in front of the villagers’ houses. “You use a shovel to pry them up, give it a shake, and they come out.”

Yu Tong found it novel: “Sister Cheng Xi, can I reasonably suspect you’ve lived in the countryside?”

Cheng Xi paused, then smiled: “You forgot, Teacher Meng and I filmed here.”

“It was winter then. The snow was thick, hiding everything on the ground. Coming from where we stayed, there were always some dead saplings in the snow. That day, Teacher Meng tripped, so I dragged the director and everyone else out with shovels to clear those annoying things off the path.”

“Actually, it wasn’t just Teacher Meng who tripped. The assistant director and the producer also learned their lesson on that path,” Cheng Xi added slowly at the end. She spoke without much heart, as if recounting an old story not worth any special meaning.

Sunlight fell through the leaves on one side, dappling the ground. Cheng Xi turned her head toward Meng Zhijin and asked suddenly: “Does Teacher Meng remember?”

Meng Zhijin walked behind, her voice as steady as her pace: “Of course.”

“I was wondering then what those trees would look like in the spring. They are quite lush.”

Hearing Meng Zhijin’s answer, Cheng Xi smiled at her, satisfied.

The group soon reached the Romantic Cabin’s vegetable patch. Yesterday, Sun Ran’s group must have had a bumper harvest; many vine-growing crops had been picked, and the new ones were quite tender. However, they had left behind the difficult but substantial potatoes—likely because they were hard to pull, as broken vines were still lying fresh on the ground.

With Cheng Xi’s method, the four of them—who usually never lifted a finger for manual labor—moved quickly. Within half a day, their small baskets were nearly full. The joy of the harvest meant no one noticed that Cheng Xi hadn’t actually explained why she was so familiar with the work.

“Today is much more tiring than yesterday,” Yu Tong said, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her elbow. She ran over to Xu Changyan and grabbed the straw of the water bottle in her hand. Because of the physical exertion, Yu Tong’s breath was hot.

Xu Changyan looked at the girl, feeling the heat of her breath on her fingers. She pretended to be calm: “Of course it’s tiring. Yesterday you just sat under a tree drying your clothes.”

Exposed so ruthlessly, Yu Tong glared at Xu Changyan with dissatisfaction. Cheng Xi watched from nearby and couldn’t help but laugh.

Then, a wave of coolness touched the side of her face. Meng Zhijin held a bottle of ice water provided by the crew: “Here.”

“Thank you, Teacher Meng,” Cheng Xi took it. As she tilted her head to drink, her eyes paused. Amidst the lush forest, clusters of red dots appeared—wild fruit.

“It looks like there are wild sour jujube trees on the mountain,” Cheng Xi judged. Thinking of something, she turned and asked: “Has Teacher Meng ever eaten sour jujubes?”

Meng Zhijin shook her head: “No.”

Cheng Xi followed up: “Want to try?”

Seeing Cheng Xi looking interested, Meng Zhijin asked: “Are you going to pick them for me?”

“If you want to eat them, I’ll go,” Cheng Xi said, a hint of ambiguity in her curved eyes.

Meng Zhijin didn’t nod or shake her head. She capped the water bottle in her hand and said: “Let’s go.”

“Cheng…” Yu Tong, curious about everything, wanted to go too after hearing their conversation, but was pulled back by Xu Changyan. “The mountain is more dangerous than the river. Don’t go wandering around.” Though she really wanted to go, Yu Tong could only give up and pout.

Going up the mountain from there, Cheng Xi only found a narrow, difficult path. She turned to the cameramen struggling to follow her and said: “Why don’t you wait down here? Teacher Meng and I can go up by ourselves.”

The cameramen weren’t very willing. This was their job; recording Cheng Xi and Meng Zhijin was their mission. But the path up was indeed difficult. They adjusted the heavy machines on their shoulders, feeling hesitant. It would be fine if they fell, but if the equipment broke, they wouldn’t know how much they’d have to pay in compensation.

Cheng Xi knew they had concerns. Having her freedom restricted by cameras wasn’t her favorite thing, so she thought quickly: “Don’t you have handheld cameras? Give me one. I promise we’ll record everything for you.”

This seemed like a good solution. The cameramen consulted each other and nodded: “Then Teacher Meng and Teacher Cheng, please be careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Cheng Xi promised, taking the handheld camera.

Even though it was still a lens, filming yourself feels different from being filmed by others. After being bound by cameras for days, there was finally no one but Meng Zhijin following her. Even with a camera in hand, Cheng Xi’s movements were exceptionally agile. Perhaps this was the feeling of freedom. Cheng Xi couldn’t remember the last time she felt this way.

The interwoven leaves blocked the summer heat, leaving only a refreshing coolness on the face. The wind blew past Cheng Xi’s ears, as if it could blow away all the misfortunes of the past years. In this wind, she felt a long-lost unbridled spirit.

With that thought, Cheng Xi suddenly remembered something and whirled around. She saw Meng Zhijin, not moving as nimbly but still following closely behind, carrying a small basket.

She had almost forgotten her. But Meng Zhijin stood silently behind her.

Cheng Xi didn’t know how to describe her current feelings. She just curved her eyes and smiled: “Teacher Meng’s stamina has improved.”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to catch up with you,” Meng Zhijin replied. Her voice carried a slight breathlessness, yet her tone remained calm. The wind blew her words into Cheng Xi’s ears, splitting them into two paths and raising a wave in her eyes.

Cheng Xi paused for a moment. But within seconds, she held the camera up to her face, looking at Meng Zhijin on the display. Like a voice-over, she asked: “Were those words for the camera, or for me?”

Meng Zhijin was long accustomed to lenses. She had no special reaction to Cheng Xi suddenly raising the camera, only asking in return: “Aren’t you the one who asked?”

“True,” Cheng Xi nodded, letting Meng Zhijin evade the question. She looked up at the jujube tree. “I’ll go up and hit them; you catch them below.”

Meng Zhijin knew Cheng Xi could climb trees, so she nodded with confidence: “Alright.”

Cheng Xi climbed the tree and broke off a branch to hit the jujubes. The ripe red fruits fell from the tree in a flurry; from Meng Zhijin’s perspective, it looked like a red rain falling in summer. Cheng Xi’s movements were agile and her aim precise. Today, for the sake of work, she had tied her hair in a high ponytail. Now, as she leaned down, the ponytail swayed—she didn’t care about her image. What was more important was the youthful energy radiating from her. Because she felt a sense of achievement, that heavy, stagnant air had turned into high spirits.

Meng Zhijin looked up and watched. It was unclear if her gaze was on the jujubes or on the person.

Rustle—!

Suddenly, the camera world spun. The branches shook and leaves fell; crushed leaf bubbles released a bitter, green scent. Cheng Xi had tried to move to another branch but slipped, falling suddenly.

“Kid!”

The basket full of jujubes was tossed to the ground as Meng Zhijin’s expression changed violently.

Cheng Xi was a bit dazed from the fall, but she was still worried about the handheld camera—it was too expensive for her to pay for. “Check if it’s okay.”

Meng Zhijin was a bit angry as she helped Cheng Xi up. “Why are you thinking about that now? Are you okay?”

Cheng Xi rarely heard Meng Zhijin speak so sharply. She froze, feeling a bit wronged: “Why are you being so mean?”

“Don’t you know what I’m like? Of course I’m fine. I just missed my footing.” Saying this, Cheng Xi stood up by herself, wanting to show Meng Zhijin she was unharmed.

But her waist wouldn’t cooperate. As she stood, a familiar, clear pain radiated from her back. She had hurt her waist.

Stubborn and refusing to back down, Cheng Xi pretended to be fine. Looking at the basket and jujubes on the ground, she said: “Look, I actually picked quite a lot. Let’s pack up and go back. We don’t know how much we’ll have to pay if this camera is broken.”

As she spoke the last sentence, Cheng Xi frowned. She wondered if applying a medicated patch back at the house would help, or if her assistant, Xiao Wu, had prepared any for her.

Just as she was worrying, she saw the basket of jujubes held out in front of her. Meng Zhijin was expressionless: “Take it.”

Cheng Xi was confused: “What for?”

Meng Zhijin didn’t explain, only repeating: “Take it.”

The pain in her waist was distracting her. Looking at the broken camera in her hand, she inexplicably felt that Meng Zhijin was dropping the act. Picking jujubes was her idea, so she had to carry the results back.

Her already furrowed brows tightened further. Cheng Xi took the basket and forced a smile: “There’s no camera, you don’t have to be like this.”

“Exactly. With no camera, I can be like this,” Meng Zhijin nodded, then turned her back to Cheng Xi.

Cheng Xi froze. Then, the weightless sensation of being hoisted onto someone’s back traveled from her toes to her head. Meng Zhijin had picked Cheng Xi up without warning. Her voice, coming from her back, was cold and clear: “You can fool others, but can you fool me?”

“You need to take this seriously. Your waist can’t take any more strain.”

Perhaps because she realized her disguise had been seen through, or perhaps because she felt someone’s genuine concern, a long-numbed sadness stirred Cheng Xi’s emotions. It was as if her jar of feelings had been kicked and shattered. A multitude of emotions flooded her head, coalescing into an obscure past she was unwilling to remember.

Cheng Xi paused, her voice low as if struggling to emerge from the dust: “You still remember that the injury on my waist got worse?”

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