After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The black mask was pulled down without permission. In Cheng Xi’s line of sight, only a pair of downcast eyes remained.

Noses brushed against each other; damp breaths fell unreservedly between them. The young woman’s warm lips pressed against hers. The hallway was dim, and for some reason, very few people were passing by at this hour, leaving only the two of them in the empty corridor.

But Meng Zhijin still didn’t dare to relax. Her waist, encircled by Cheng Xi, remained slightly tense until Cheng Xi finally withdrew her lips. Only then did she let out a breath.

That relief didn’t last long, however, as an ambiguous, airy chuckle reached Meng Zhijin’s ear.

Cheng Xi pulled the mask back up over Meng Zhijin’s face. Her fingers slid through the long hair tucked under the baseball cap, gently kneading the other woman’s earlobe. Leaning in close, she whispered, “Sister, your ears are so hot.”

Standing in the darkness, Cheng Xi didn’t pull away. In the weak light, her coal-black eyes held a blatant, mischievous, and rebellious glint. Back then, she had been the bold one while Meng Zhijin was the nervous, stiff one; now, it seemed the roles had reversed.

The stars continued to shine brightly, but they gradually blurred and turned white in Cheng Xi’s vision. The scent of wine permeated their eyes, shattering the coldness into an ambiguous, hazy mist.

Cheng Xi didn’t know if Meng Zhijin felt the same way back then as she did now, but she knew her body was currently stiff as a board against the chair. Meng Zhijin’s kiss was much more substantial than the “dragonfly touching water” style of the past; her soft lips pressed down and rubbed across, picking up the taste of the wine Cheng Xi had just sipped.

Though it was the same wine, Cheng Xi detected a subtle difference on her own lips. Mixed with Meng Zhijin’s personal scent, the wine seemed to gain a hint of sweetness amidst the crispness, landing precisely on the tip of her tongue.

Around them, cameras were pointed at them from every angle. Cheng Xi could imagine how excited the director must be. She couldn’t complain—she didn’t even dare to. She was the one who started the fire. Meng Zhijin was just riding the momentum of the alcohol.

Turning cold in front of the lens would only make her look like a killjoy and ruin the rare “CP feel.” She couldn’t settle past scores in front of the camera either; those hidden, unvoiced secrets should remain buried in the ever-advancing timeline.

Letting things go and passing them over in a blur seemed to have become their best way of interacting now.

The head director of Our Romantic World was very confident in this season. After filming ended, he rushed the editing process to send it for review.

Even though the second season hadn’t aired yet—and the official announcement hadn’t even begun—Cheng Xi felt like she had returned to the time right after filming Daylight. She was unknown, had very little work, and her daily routine had simply shifted from “school to dormitory” to “Chinese medicine clinic to home.” Her life was regular, a simple line between two points.

That afternoon, Cheng Xi finished her acupuncture. As she walked out of the treatment room, stretching her much-improved waist, she saw the old practitioner tying up two large, beautifully wrapped bundles of herbs in the pharmacy area.

To Cheng Xi, the hardest part of Chinese medicine was drinking the decoction—the earthy, dark-brown liquid that made her tongue go numb with bitterness every time. Looking at the increased dosage, she frowned and complained like a child, “Why is there more? Aren’t I almost better, old man?”

“This portion is yours; that portion is for your girlfriend.” The old man stuffed two labeled slips of paper on top of the bundles. “Don’t mix them up.”

Cheng Xi looked at the slip on Meng Zhijin’s bundle and repeated blankly, “…Girlfriend.”

“Did you two have a fight recently?” the old man asked, concerned but unaware of the truth. “You were so anxious to ask about her health, yet you didn’t even ask me to prepare medicine for her?”

“No, we aren’t…”

Cheng Xi wanted to deny it, but the old man took it as an excuse. Pushing the bundles toward her, he interrupted, “I’ve already packed the herbs, and the money has been deducted from your card. These are yours now. Do what you want with them—give them away or throw them in the trash, I don’t care.”

At the mention of money, Cheng Xi—who was carrying a seven-figure mortgage—instantly became sensitive. “I could sue you for forced selling!”

The old man simply pointed to the security camera. “There’s a camera here. You handed me the card yourself when you walked in. Where is the forced selling?”

“Hmph.” Cheng Xi couldn’t out-argue the old man, nor did she actually intend to. He meant well.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, but she actually walked out of the clinic carrying both bundles. By the time she snapped out of it, the driver had already dropped her off at her building. The trash cans at the entrance hadn’t been emptied yet; though the complex handled odors well, the summer heat still pulled a faint, unpleasant scent from them.

“These are yours now. Do what you want with them—give them away or throw them in the trash, I don’t care.”

The old man’s voice echoed in her ears, and her steps faltered as she passed the bins.

The work was temporarily over. There was no need to maintain the “ambiguous intimacy” from the show. They should minimize contact.

But… Meng Zhijin’s body really did need conditioning. And several hundred yuan had already been spent; shouldn’t she at least hear the “clink” of the silver hitting the floor? Throwing them into a stinking trash can seemed wrong. It was practically a desecration of national heritage!

Looking at the trash can, Cheng Xi’s gaze became increasingly righteous. She carried the herbs into the building and pressed the button for the 26th floor.

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound of knocking came from the entryway. Meng Zhijin, who was practicing yoga in the living room, paused. She hadn’t ordered delivery, and Su Jing wouldn’t come at this hour.

Who could it be?

An unrealistic guess flickered in Meng Zhijin’s mind. She threw on her shoes and walked to the door. The screen of the electronic lock showed the visitor outside. Meng Zhijin’s calm eyes widened slightly.

The lock clicked open, and Meng Zhijin appeared in the doorway. She looked at Cheng Xi and called out softly, “Kid?”

Cheng Xi, who had been so righteous and bold on her way up, turned back into a “quail” the moment the door opened. She held up the herbs like a clumsy delivery person. “This is medicine to condition your body. Do you want it?”

Meng Zhijin was surprised. Her gaze fell on Cheng Xi’s hands, pausing for a long moment. This pause made Cheng Xi think she was being rejected. She immediately said, “If you don’t want it, forget it.” She turned to leave.

Meng Zhijin didn’t give her the chance. “I want it,” she said quickly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A breeze blew from somewhere, and the formal exchange made the hallway feel a bit cold. This was the first time they had interacted peacefully without cameras.

Suddenly, Meng Zhijin broke the silence. “Kid.”

“?” Cheng Xi looked up.

“I don’t have anything to brew medicine with in my house,” Meng Zhijin said.

Cheng Xi offered a solution: “You can ask Sister Su Jing or a courier to buy you an earthenware pot.”

“Jing is away on a business trip.” Meng Zhijin looked at the herbs as if thinking. “That courier you mentioned… can they brew the medicine for me?”

She looked up at Cheng Xi as she spoke. There was a hint of being “out of touch” with domestic life after two years abroad in her cold gaze, which felt strangely out of place on her.

Cheng Xi sighed and took the medicine back from Meng Zhijin’s hand. “I’ll be the courier, alright?”

Others might think Meng Zhijin was an all-around genius, but Cheng Xi knew better. That “flawless” appearance in front of the camera was the result of countless trials and practices in private—just as she had sacrificed her health to reach the best state for a role, or like the scar from an oil splash still on the webbing of her left hand.

People called her a detached genius. In reality, she was just clumsy with daily life.

The distance was only across the hallway, so Cheng Xi brought her pot over quickly. Meng Zhijin watched her walk into the kitchen with a practiced ease, her gaze deepening as she watched her back. Then, she closed the door, turning the large house into a private, enclosed space.

Whether it was because the house was pre-furnished or not, Cheng Xi was very skilled with the kitchen stove. She lit the flame and set the pot down, gesturing to Meng Zhijin. “I’ll teach you this once. It’s similar to cooking; since you can cook, this won’t be hard to learn.”

“Set the water first, then rinse the herbs.” Cheng Xi operated skillfully, then asked, “Do you have a water thermometer?”

Meng Zhijin nodded and took one from a nearby cabinet. “Here.”

As Meng Zhijin handed it over, Cheng Xi reached out. The thermometer was between them, a small tool; their fingers touched for a fleeting second before pulling apart. In that brief moment, Cheng Xi felt the coolness of Meng Zhijin’s fingers.

The rising steam brushed past Cheng Xi’s fingers, swallowing that faint, indistinct coolness. Cheng Xi snapped out of it, gripped the thermometer, and placed it vertically into the pot. “By the time you rinse the herbs, the water is at the right temperature. 29 degrees, that’s fine. Remember, 25 to 30 degrees is the ideal range.”

“Then put the herbs in. Watch—the water level should be one finger-width above the herbs, just like cooking rice.”

“When it boils and bubbles, turn it to medium heat. Your medicine and mine both need to simmer for about thirty minutes. Once it boils, you can put the lid on and wait.”

Cheng Xi operated carefully and looked at Meng Zhijin after the final step. “Understand?”

Meng Zhijin stood by and nodded seriously, looking like a well-behaved, diligent student. And very easy to tease.

Cheng Xi leaned against the counter, squinting at Meng Zhijin with a bit of pride. “Teacher Meng is quite smart; you get it instantly.”

Meng Zhijin remained humble as always. “Not that smart. There are some things I’ve thought about for a long time before understanding.”

The curtains in the living room fluttered in the wind from the balcony, as if fighting an invisible force. Cheng Xi looked at the pure white fabric and suddenly laughed. “So there are things even you can’t figure out?”

“Yes,” Meng Zhijin nodded, placing her hand on the counter as well.

Whether it was intentional or not, their hands were very close—if their nails grew just a bit more, they would touch. That pale brown burn scar seemed to follow the memory Cheng Xi had pried open earlier, appearing precisely in her line of sight. Past heartache turned into a present frown.

While Cheng Xi’s attention was on their hands, she heard Meng Zhijin’s voice from above her: “Do you want to know what it was?”

Meng Zhijin’s voice didn’t sound much different than usual, but perhaps because she was near the brewing herbs, her words were wrapped in heat, scorching Cheng Xi’s ears.

Cheng Xi sluggishly shifted her gaze from the fingertips to Meng Zhijin, and her eyes suddenly froze.

Only now did she notice that Meng Zhijin was wearing light, breathable yoga clothes. The tight fabric outlined her body lines without reservation—including the snowy-white skin directly beneath Cheng Xi’s line of sight.

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