After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 42

Chapter 42

From its very first limited screening, The Day demonstrated extraordinary potential. Even before garnering a single official award, it was hailed as a “must-watch of the year.” Following its general release, rave reviews poured in, with audiences returning for second and third viewings.

Very few films managed to strike such a perfect balance between commercial success and artistic merit. It seemed as though the phrase “born at the right time” was coined specifically for this masterpiece.

Soon, the annual Jade Awards began. Carrying the fresh memories of the public, The Day swept the nominations across multiple categories, becoming the most anticipated highlight of the ceremony. From the moment the opening red carpet began, the cameras never left them.

The late summer sun made people feel a bit sluggish. Outside the red carpet, photographers were lazily snapping shots of actors who were lingering too long, until a black Rolls-Royce slowly glided into the entrance area.

As if receiving a silent signal, the previously lethargic photographers suddenly swung their lenses toward the entrance with military precision. As the car pulled up and the door showed the slightest hint of opening, the air was filled with the frantic clicking of shutters. Flashbulbs strobed violently against the car windows like a cluster of cold, blinding suns.

It was Cheng Xi’s first time witnessing such a massive spectacle. Even though Meng Zhijin had warned her, she was still taken aback. While Cheng Xi was staring out the window, she felt a hand rest on her wrist.

Meng Zhijin, as calm and composed as ever, squeezed her wrist and asked, “Scared, kid?”

There was, in fact, a sliver of fear. After all, it was her first time on such a grand stage, and unlike filming, there were no second takes. But the moment Meng Zhijin’s palm touched her skin, the red carpet ahead—which looked like a fiery gauntlet—didn’t seem so terrifying anymore. She skillfully turned her wrist, interlacing her fingers with Meng Zhijin’s, and bargained mischievously, “If Sister can hold my hand later, then I have nothing to be afraid of.”

Meng Zhijin looked down at their joined hands and stepped outside her usual boundaries of protocol. “Alright.”

Although The Day was nominated for eight major awards—including Best Screenplay, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Actress, Best Supporting Actor, Best Newcomer, Best Cinematography, and Best Editing—the red carpet segment didn’t require the entire cast. Only the director and his four nominated actors walked out to satisfy the cameras and the live stream audience.

The director, the lead actor (who played a psychiatrist), and the supporting actor (who played the twisted principal) stepped out first. The car door remained open, allowing more flashes to spill inside where the two women were still sitting in the back.

“Let’s go,” Meng Zhijin said, moving to exit.

The white satin hem of her gown flowed into the camera’s frame as she stepped out. Her long hair, tucked behind her ear, revealed her exquisite bone structure, and her dark lashes shaded her downward gaze. Sunlight spilled from above, draping over her straight back, adding a layer of queenly arrogance to her usual coolness. She looked entirely otherworldly, like a being untouched by mortal dust.

But this time, the hand that usually allowed no one near was holding someone else.

Light rolled over velvet fabric, the shifting lines slightly accentuating the wearer’s figure. Very few people could pull off such a material, but the newcomer appearing in the frame was a rare exception.

Cheng Xi stepped out of the car, lifting her gown unhurriedly. The body-hugging mermaid silhouette made it difficult to disembark, so Meng Zhijin became her crutch. Without needing help from the staff, Cheng Xi stood firm. With red lips, black hair, and a devastatingly beautiful silhouette, she instantly captivated the lenses. Standing next to Meng Zhijin, their auras were a perfect match.

Moving slowly through shouts of “Look this way!” from countless photographers, the group took twice as long as others to reach the interview area.

The host asked the usual questions: Do you have confidence in yourself? In the work? What are your future plans?

Cheng Xi stood tall and obediently by the side, listening. Soon, the microphone was handed to her. “We know Xiao Xi has been nominated for Best Newcomer. Have you thought about winning?”

“Yes,” Cheng Xi said, showing her bold side to the camera for the first time. She nodded, her eyes full of smiles as she faced the lens. “I’ve even written my acceptance speech.”

The host was surprised. It was rare for a newcomer to be so outspoken right after a nomination; even Meng Zhijin, a multi-time Best Actress winner, wouldn’t say such a thing. “It seems Xiao Xi has a lot of confidence.”

As the host marveled, Cheng Xi felt the hand holding hers tighten. It was Meng Zhijin reminding her to be humble.

Cheng Xi understood the hint. Looking at the surrounding cameras, she added, “I still want to thank Director Wang for giving me this opportunity, as well as all the seniors in the cast—especially Teacher Meng, who gave me so much guidance during filming.”

“A strict teacher makes a brilliant student,” the host noted, nodding as Cheng Xi pulled back her boldness. “We look forward to good news for Xiao Xi later.”

Because they had spent so much time on the red carpet, the interview ended quickly, and staff reminded them to enter the venue.

The hall, which didn’t look that large from the outside, was vast once inside. Cheng Xi even wondered how the cameras managed to fit so many people into a single frame. The central air conditioning pumped a steady stream of cold air into the space, brushing against Cheng Xi’s exposed ankles.

The seating area wasn’t spacious; there was only enough room for one person to pass at a time. Her hand, now separated from Meng Zhijin’s, was bitten by the cold air. As the warmth faded, the nervousness she felt back in the car slowly weighed down on her heart again. As she walked, Cheng Xi stared at Meng Zhijin’s back, slowly tightening her own palm to cling to the dwindling sense of comfort.

The ceremony began. The hosts walked onto the main stage under the gaze of the crowd. The first awards were Best Supporting Actor and Best Supporting Actress. Although the actor playing the principal was nominated, everyone knew the nature of that role made a win unlikely, so the atmosphere was relatively relaxed.

Once those two awards concluded, it was time for Best Newcomer.

Newcomers usually lack a large fan base and don’t attract much attention. For the viewers at home, it wasn’t the most exciting award, but for Cheng Xi, it was a mountain of desire she was about to reach. Compared to a “Best Actress” trophy, this peak wasn’t massive—but it was the first star she wanted to pluck from the sky.

The screen was split into four segments showing the nominated newcomers. Their youthful faces betrayed an irrepressible tension. Desire always robs one of composure. As the host made the introduction, Cheng Xi’s anxiety reached its peak.

Suddenly, a slight coolness rested against Cheng Xi’s hand on the armrest.

Meng Zhijin, without changing her expression, had proactively reached out in this solemn setting. Though they didn’t interlace fingers, it was a bold transgression in full view of the public. It felt as though someone had proactively taken half of her burden; the moment that coolness touched her, the crushing weight in Cheng Xi’s heart vanished.

Perhaps because her nerves were so taut, an idea—both ill-timed and perfect—popped into Cheng Xi’s mind: I want Meng Zhijin by my side at every event like this for the rest of my life. I think I can’t live without her.

“The winner of Best Newcomer is…”

“Cheng Xi, The Day!”

Just as her thoughts were drifting, the host’s voice rang through the hall. The surrounding crowd—both acquaintances and strangers—burst into thunderous applause for her.

If you asked Cheng Xi how she felt at that moment, she would honestly tell you her mind went blank. She didn’t even know how she managed to walk up to the stage. The vastness of the venue made her feel tiny and made the moment feel surreal. She realized that the boldness she showed during the interview was just bravado; now that she was actually standing there, even the fearless “Fox” felt a wave of nerves.

Standing on stage, she remembered only one thing: just before she walked up, she had hugged Meng Zhijin tightly. She still didn’t know what brand of perfume Meng Zhijin wore, but that faint, light scent lingered in her palms and nostrils, clinging to the trophy the presenter handed her. It felt as if her “Sister” was standing on stage with her, sharing the award.

“First, I want to thank Director Wang Youbo for giving me this rare opportunity…”

As Cheng Xi spoke, she looked toward the section where the cast of The Day was seated. When her dark eyes met Meng Zhijin’s, her smile was more radiant than ever.

By the end of the long ceremony, The Day had won seven out of its eight nominations—an unprecedented sweep of glory. The press area was packed with reporters, everyone vying for a quote from the cast, especially from Meng Zhijin, who had just claimed the “Triple Crown” of domestic Best Actress awards at such a young age.

Cheng Xi stood at the very end, watching Meng Zhijin answer friendly and difficult questions with effortless grace. She wanted nothing more than to chase away the troublemaking reporters.

Soon, the cast finished their scheduled interviews, but the reporters were relentless, still trying to corner Meng Zhijin. Cheng Xi didn’t like how they followed like a hunting party, and for the first time, she realized that the honor she sought came with the heavy pressure of public scrutiny.

“Sister.”

Finally, the lead team reached the relatively quiet backstage lounge area. Looking at the dim, though not entirely private, corridor, Cheng Xi called out to Meng Zhijin. The voice was soft, but Meng Zhijin caught it instinctively. She stopped and turned with a look of confusion.

To her surprise, in the next second, the “kid” grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from the group toward a side path in the corridor. There was no explanation—it was almost reckless.

Cheng Xi pulled Meng Zhijin outside the venue to find some peace and quiet, grabbing two cans of Coke from a vending machine on the way. Meng Zhijin followed her the entire time, letting her lead and even helping her hold the train of her dress. The velvet swept against her legs as she went against her own rigid sense of propriety—indulgent and free.

The fountains sprayed continuously under the night sky, the falling water creating a gentle, steady sound that cooled the evening air. Cheng Xi kicked off her high heels and sat on the stone steps, not caring about her haute couture gown. She pressed the ice-cold soda can against her skin to cool down while looking up at the stars.

“I think the camera flashes are too much. No matter how glamorous it is, it’s not as beautiful as the stars,” Cheng Xi remarked. She lowered her gaze to see Meng Zhijin standing beneath the starlit sky.

“Is Sister tired?” Cheng Xi asked.

“A little,” Meng Zhijin replied.

The stars and the fountain were behind her, surrounding her in refracted light. Her simple, pure white gown flowed down without a single wrinkle. She always maintained her perfect poise—even when the presenter announced her name as Best Actress, she had remained calm, hugging people unhurriedly, a sharp contrast to Cheng Xi’s own reaction.

“I hope one day I can be just like Sister,” Cheng Xi sighed. Then, without hiding anything, she said to Meng Zhijin, “I really want a Best Actress trophy.”

Meng Zhijin swirled the Coke in her hand. Thinking of something, she gave a soft laugh. “That’s not difficult.”

Cheng Xi didn’t understand and looked at her, stunned.

Meng Zhijin raised her eyes, meeting Cheng Xi’s gaze with a look that was both cool and gentle. The rising fountain couldn’t drown out her steady voice, which sounded both real and dreamlike:

“Don’t you want to be a ‘Best Actress’, kid?”

Her slender hand reached out in the moonlight. Of the rings decorating her hand, only the ring finger was bare. Ambiguity radiated from Meng Zhijin’s outstretched hand. Cheng Xi realized what was happening, and her pupils trembled slightly.

Click.

The Coke used for cooling was finally opened. Dense bubbles rose, appearing as if they would overflow at any moment. The pull-tab, which people usually throw away, was now being held. It shimmered with a silver, metallic luster under the moonlight as it was slid onto the ring finger of the outstretched hand.

Cheng Xi grasped Meng Zhijin’s hand, looking up at her from below. The smile in her eyes was mischievous and rebellious.

“Sister, you don’t have a chance to regret it now.”

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