After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 5

Chapter 54

Lu Jun’s words were like a sudden thunderclap. Cheng Xi clearly felt the makeup artist’s hand pause for a moment.

She and Meng Zhijin locked eyes. The intimacy they had already shared in private became a set of invisible shackles, making the atmosphere indescribably subtle.

Perhaps realizing his excited blurt was ambiguous, Lu Jun shifted his stool and added, “Oh, what were you two thinking? Not that kind of bed scene—just a scene that takes place on a bed.”

With that, Lu Jun handed the prepared script to Cheng Xi and explained with great interest: “This scene takes place after the sect has been overthrown. To protect the sect, you’ve been fighting for days and have finally collapsed, bedridden with severe injuries. Your Senior Sister stays by your side to feed you medicine.”

Cheng Xi flipped through the script as she listened. The “Senior Sister” was a classic “beautiful and strong” character in this martial arts story, playing a pivotal role in the fate of the Little Junior Sister and the entire movie. From the moment the Little Junior Sister first touched a sword to her formal apprenticeship, through her cultivation and breakthroughs, and finally to the point where the sect is slaughtered by villains and she is forced to carry the weight of the sect alone, the Senior Sister is an irreplaceable figure.

The story Lu Jun was describing was the Senior Sister’s final scene in this world. Powerful as she was, she fought a life-and-death battle to protect the sect, dueling enemy masters with her life on the line. In the end, she took down two experts alone at the cost of her own life and a broken sword, saving the sect but sacrificing herself.

Though the role didn’t have much screen time, she was a true “white moonlight”—a pure, unattainable memory shining in the heart of the Little Junior Sister, and undoubtedly in the hearts of Cheng Xi and the future audience.

Looking at the industry, the moment Cheng Xi saw such a powerful character, she thought of Meng Zhijin. Previously, she had felt it was a pity that Meng Zhijin showed no intention of joining this film.

“I was wondering where to find a ‘Mu Liangqiu.’ Yesterday, while I was organizing tapes at home, I saw the film Zhijin made with me a few years ago,” Lu Jun said, slapping his thigh in excitement. “I said to myself, isn’t there a perfect fit right here?”

Cheng Xi couldn’t help but smile at Lu Jun’s enthusiasm. A sense of unspoken relief flickered in her eyes. Meng Zhijin was perfect for it.

The conversation drifted until Lu Jun realized he had veered off-track. He cleared his throat and turned serious again. “Today’s shoot is easy but also not. The bed scene is just to warm you up, increase your familiarity, and get you in sync. The most important part is the Senior Sister’s death.”

“After you get the news, you ignore everyone’s attempts to stop you, rush out of the room, and catch her as she falls.”

“You need to have your own understanding of the Little Junior Sister’s feelings for her Senior Sister, then interpret that for me. I’m very strict. If you don’t want your Teacher Meng to be repeatedly hoisted into the air, study it well.”

Lu Jun’s stern expression was somewhat intimidating. Cheng Xi’s hand tightened on the script. Having just received it, she truly wasn’t prepared. At that moment, Meng Zhijin reached out and patted her shoulder, her voice gentle: “Don’t be nervous. Follow your own feelings.”

Cheng Xi nodded. Perhaps it was because the woman’s hand was so warm, but the tension that had just begun to freeze in her heart thawed slightly. Watching them, Lu Jun shook his head with a smile and walked out of the dressing room with his hands behind his back.

Once Cheng Xi’s makeup was changed, the crew began filming the “medicine-feeding” scene.

It was indeed as simple as Lu Jun had said. Cheng Xi hadn’t expected that after years of not working with Meng Zhijin, the filming chemistry from back then would still be there. This “bed scene” didn’t have many lines; the camera focused entirely on the interaction, which appeared somewhat ambiguous.

A white porcelain spoon pressed lightly against her lips. The “medicine” (made of brown sugar water) moistened her dry lips with a gentle luster. Meng Zhijin held the spoon, her fingers seemingly brushing against Cheng Xi’s cheek in the frame.

It was a subtle feeling. Cheng Xi portrayed the Little Junior Sister’s frail yet stubborn nature perfectly. She leaned weakly against soft pillows; the sweet sugar water reminded her this was acting, but as she watched Meng Zhijin lean in, her downcast eyes filled with a hidden, nervous concern, Cheng Xi’s heart still skipped a beat.

Cheng Xi didn’t know if she was in character or if she had simply succumbed to reality. She knew it was fake, yet she couldn’t help but indulge in the illusion. Those warm fingers hovered near her face, leaving traces of tenderness. With her sickly eyes half-closed, the camera captured the way she involuntarily looked at the person beside her.

Sitting behind the monitor, Lu Jun nodded. The vibe was exactly what he wanted.

Maintaining this state, the crew moved quickly to the Senior Sister’s death scene. This time, however, Lu Jun was a bit disappointed.

Though it was a fall from the sky, Meng Zhijin only needed to be hoisted about a person and a half high for Cheng Xi’s part. Reach out, catch.

Looking at Meng Zhijin in her “battle-damaged” costume, a single tear fell precisely from Cheng Xi’s eye. Her dark pupils first showed blatant disbelief and a total blankness. Then came the heart-wrenching grief of realizing her loved one was leaving her, followed by an intensifying hatred for the killers.

Cheng Xi felt her portrayal was correct. She realized that the Little Junior Sister’s feelings were more than just friendship; that tear was for her Senior Sister.

But Lu Jun shook his head at the screen. “Not quite right. It feels like something is missing.”

“I can see you’ve realized your character is moved by her. But I don’t just want the pain of losing a lover—that’s too surface-level. You need to dig deeper. Grief has a transitional change.”

But some things aren’t math problems. Even when the error is pointed out and guidance is given, it doesn’t mean it can be fixed immediately. Meng Zhijin fell into her arms repeatedly until the tears in Cheng Xi’s eyes were nearly exhausted, but the interpretation was still just a tiny bit off. That “tiny bit” was so subtle that even Lu Jun couldn’t accurately describe it. He was like an old craftsman who relied on “feel” rather than a system, grinding away at it bit by bit.

Lu Jun wanted the bright sun to appear in the shot with Meng Zhijin, so the filming window was only these two or three hours at noon. He looked up at the sun shifting from the center of the sky and stopped pushing Cheng Xi. “Think about it on your own. The sun won’t wait. We’ll film the long shots of the Senior Sister’s fall first.”

As her ambition returned to consciousness, the sense of frustration became more acute. Cheng Xi hadn’t felt such intense failure in a long time. Resentment swirled in her heart, but what could she do? She just couldn’t find the point Lu Jun wanted.

“Don’t worry.”

Meng Zhijin’s voice came from her ear, followed by her hand sliding into Cheng Xi’s loosely clenched fist. Those cool fingers pressed into Cheng Xi’s palm, giving a gentle squeeze—a gesture of comfort and a reminder: “If you really can’t imagine it, try to substitute a past experience. Is there something you absolutely didn’t want to lose, yet it vanished right before your eyes?”

Cheng Xi frowned slightly, looking up as she heard this. Meng Zhijin’s face appeared against the sun.

“Teacher Meng,” a staff member called out, reminding her the harness was ready.

“Okay.” Meng Zhijin nodded to the staff, squeezed Cheng Xi’s hand once more, and then let go to leave.

The sunlight fell blindingly on Cheng Xi’s face. She watched Meng Zhijin rise into the air again. The sun hit her blood-stained white robes; her hanging sleeves fluttered in the wind, creating a sense of exhausted, broken beauty.

She has already been put through this repeatedly because of me.

It would have been better if Meng Zhijin was angry with her. But why couldn’t she have been a bit harsher to me just now?

Cheng Xi’s frown deepened. Under the director’s command, she stood at her designated spot. She was no longer the protagonist focused on by every lens, but a prominent figure among the many witnesses to the Senior Sister’s fall.

Cheng Xi looked up as Meng Zhijin overlapped with the sun, then, at the command, fell rapidly from her sight. The surroundings weren’t silent; through the noise, she could hear the rhythmic calls of the technicians pulling the wires. But Meng Zhijin had the magic to draw everyone’s eyes to her, pressing the mute button on the world.

Blood on white robes. The sunlight melted the wires from view. The human eye is more real than any close-up lens; Meng Zhijin was like a swaying crane, her sleeves fluttering like feathers in the wind. She was so beautiful—beautiful enough to make anyone’s heart move. And ache.

“Is there something you absolutely didn’t want to lose, yet it vanished right before your eyes?”

Meng Zhijin’s words suddenly rang in her ears. The shock of that awards ceremony flashed through her mind. On that day, she not only failed to get the Best Actress title she dreamed of, but she had also let go of the hand Meng Zhijin reached out to hold.

The dull pain arrived belatedly, surfacing in this environment that had been torturing her for hours. It suddenly crushed the hollow part of her heart. What she had wanted to lose the least, she had lost anyway.

Cheng Xi stared up at Meng Zhijin falling toward her, and the tremor in her eyes became real. She finally realized—the moment the Senior Sister falls is the moment the Little Junior Sister realizes, too late, that she loves her. She didn’t know it from the start; living together day and night created the illusion that they would always be this way, preventing her from realizing her feelings were different from those she held for her other sect brothers.

She had just realized she was in love, and in that same instant, she lost her completely.

“Senior Sister!”

Cheng Xi felt it. Regardless of whether there was a close-up on her, a second before Lu Jun called “Cut,” she did something that surprised everyone: she lunged toward the falling Meng Zhijin.

The massive momentum of the fall slammed into Cheng Xi’s arms, but she didn’t even flinch. Meng Zhijin realized Cheng Xi had found the emotion and looked at her as she landed in her arms.

“Sis… Senior Sister…” Cheng Xi caught herself, switching to the character’s title with a trembling voice.

This was the second time she had lost her. But she didn’t want to lose her. Even the first time wasn’t what she wanted.

Watching Cheng Xi’s sudden intervention and the look in her eyes, Lu Jun realized she had found it. He gestured for the cameras not to stop and for the others to move in. Under Lu Jun’s direction, the lenses pushed in, but Cheng Xi didn’t break character.

To get into character, one must be a madman who blends reality into the scene. Sudden grief, belated regret, and even self-loathing coalesced in her mind. Past and plot intertwined, and Cheng Xi wept uncontrollably under the gaze of multiple cameras. That tearing sound in her voice moved even Lu Jun. He watched her hold her Senior Sister and wail for a long time before finally raising his hand to call “Cut.”

Meng Zhijin opened her eyes almost the instant the call was made, reaching up to embrace Cheng Xi back. “I’m back to life, kid.”

Tears blurred Cheng Xi’s vision, leaving only the gentle words in her ear. She felt the responding embrace and held on tighter. Like a naive child, she clung to the treasure she had once let go and had now miraculously found again.

Seeing her unable to let go for so long, Meng Zhijin’s heart felt a sharp pinch of sympathy. But her regret didn’t last long. After Cheng Xi’s sobbing subsided, she heard a sentence amidst the surrounding noise that made her heart stop.

“Sister, if you keep pursuing me just a little longer… I’ll go home with you.”

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