After the Divorce, the Whole World is Waiting for Us to Get Back Together - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The candy melted in the gentle warmth, releasing a burst of sweet milk flavor. Distracted, Cheng Xi accidentally bit down on a piece of the half-dissolved milk candy, sending a sharp twinge through her teeth.

The van started moving slowly after they boarded. The world outside had fallen asleep, cloaked in a darkness so thick it was impossible to tell if they were even moving.

Xiao Wu didn’t seem to notice Cheng Xi’s reaction and continued, “I couldn’t find you earlier, then I ran into Teacher Meng as she was leaving. She told me you were here. She was even worried I wouldn’t find the spot and told me to just walk toward the quietest area.”

“Teacher Meng seems a bit distant at first, but she’s actually quite a nice person.”

Xiao Wu was updating her impression of Meng Zhijin, looking at Cheng Xi as if seeking validation. But Cheng Xi didn’t answer—she didn’t deny it, nor did she agree.

Outside, the streetlights only faintly illuminated the blackness. The window became a mirror, reflecting Cheng Xi’s profile. She sat there with her head against the headrest, her usually flirtatious eyes slightly out of focus. Even the “fox” looked exhausted.

“I’m tired. I’m going to rest for a bit.”

With that, she closed her eyes.

The milk candy melted faster in her mouth, its intense sweetness seeping into the roots of her teeth, causing a dull ache. Her memories followed that sensation, rewinding through time.

In the winter at the end of her sophomore year, Cheng Xi landed the first movie of her acting career—Daylight.

Daylight was a suspense film about a protagonist named Yue, who was forced to give up her ballet career due to a leg injury and returned to her hometown to teach at a ballet school. Under the pressure of mental strain and childhood trauma, she developed a second personality. This split personality manifested as a hallucination of a sixteen-year-old student she taught named Ye—a girl as gifted as Yue once was, but who was also being sexually assaulted by the principal.

When the film was released, discussions were fervent: When did Yue start losing her mind? At what point did Ye become a hallucination? Was it Yue or Ye who killed the principal? Who was the one who actually died in the end? Overnight, Cheng Xi became the center of public attention.

Being cast was a stroke of luck. Director Wang Youbo was notoriously cold; for him, a role was about the perfect fit, never about compromise. He wanted “Ye” to be as pure as possible, so he didn’t consider established actors. Among fresh students, those with a background in ballet were few and far between.

Cheng Xi was that rare lucky girl at the intersection of those requirements.

On the day of the audition, she woke up early. Based on her understanding of Ye, she applied a clean yet slightly somber makeup look. She straightened her wavy hair; due to previous dyeing, the ends had a yellowish, dry texture that looked almost like malnutrition. Her straight posture made her look exactly like a budding, youthful ballerina.

Cheng Xi had never told anyone this, but before she entered the Film Academy, her goal in life had been the National Ballet. She had studied ballet for ten years. Since her earliest memories, teachers had been pushing her legs and pressing her waist; her tears and sweat could have filled buckets.

But then…

There was no use dwelling on it. Starting her acting career with such a role in Daylight was a good way to close that chapter. It didn’t feel like she was betraying the dream that had been buried long ago.

With these thoughts, she arrived at the audition. Despite being “lucky,” there were many competitors. She took the temporary script from her assistant and saw seven or eight girls around her age in the waiting room. Though not late, Cheng Xi was the last to arrive.

As she took her script from the casting assistant, a shadow moved beside her, followed by the heavy, cloying scent of perfume she disliked most. Cheng Xi looked up. Unsurprisingly, it was her classmate, Liu Na.

“Oh, you actually came? The audition starts in five minutes. You’re certainly taking your time.”

Cheng Xi looked up, watching Liu Na look down her nose as usual. “Is the casting director today your distant uncle?”

“Of course not,” Liu Na scoffed. Then, as if realizing something, she narrowed her eyes and sized Cheng Xi up. “Why? Want me to put in a word? If you beg me, I could ask my uncle to get you a role… maybe the fourth female lead?”

“Oh,” Cheng Xi replied flatly, withdrawing her gaze with zero interest.

Liu Na’s smugness vanished. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cheng Xi slowly looked up from the script, a smirk playing on her lips. “I just thought your uncle was the casting director, and that he asked you to help manage the arrival times of the actors today.”

“You!” Liu Na, whose eyes were usually fixed on the ceiling, was livid.

Before she could explode, the casting assistant spoke: “Liu Na, you’re up. Yan Qing, get ready.”

Left with no choice, Liu Na gave her sleeve a sharp tug, straightened her clothes, and walked out with her head held high.

The sound of rustling paper filled the room. The sound of chairs scraping against the tile floor was faint but piercing. Cheng Xi listened to the intermittent whispering of lines around her, feeling as if she were back in a high school morning study session. The clock on the wall ticked away, tightening the atmosphere in the room.

Cheng Xi, always one to follow her own whims, couldn’t stand the tension. She informed the assistant and stepped out with her script.

A light snow had fallen that morning, covering the hedges with a thin white veil. The snow on the bricks crunched underfoot as she walked. She didn’t go far, finding a corner near the waiting room window where she wouldn’t be noticed.

It seemed someone else had the same idea. A figure was already standing under the window of the room next door. The biting winter wind blew from the shadows, mussing the woman’s long, loose hair. The black hair was wavy like seaweed, striking against the snow.

A wisp of white mist drifted from her hair. It wasn’t snow kicked up by the wind, but a cigarette held between her fingers. She didn’t look like she was smoking; it seemed she had lit it just to bring a bit of warmth to the winter day. The slender lady’s cigarette burned silently, the ember glowing a bright red.

As the wind died down, the woman took a puff. Her slightly lowered eyes held a cold, melancholic beauty in this silent world. A second later, as if sensing the gaze from behind, she turned slightly while exhaling. Her wavy hair fell as she tilted her head, revealing a single dark eye that crashed into Cheng Xi’s gaze without warning.

Cheng Xi’s heart skipped a beat. With just that one look, she recognized the woman.

Meng Zhijin. The female lead, Yue, in Daylight, and the actress she would be playing against in the audition.

“Which number are you?” Meng Zhijin asked coolly, seemingly unbothered that her smoking didn’t match her public image.

To this day, Cheng Xi didn’t know how Meng Zhijin knew she was there for the audition, or why her tone carried such familiarity. At the time, she was dazed and answered without thinking: “Last one.”

Meng Zhijin nodded. “Read two lines.”

It was casual yet commanding, like a teacher in a performance class.

Cheng Xi didn’t know what the others’ scripts looked like. Her scene was about Yue starting to hallucinate after seeing Ye being assaulted. During a scheduled ballet tutoring session, Yue sees Ye in the mirror grabbing her hand, expressing a desire to possess her and become her.

Though the script lacked detailed notes, Cheng Xi interpreted the scene as ambiguous. Perhaps even erotic.

Cheng Xi was always bold, especially when she knew the interaction was “acting.” As a teenager, she always wore a mask; if people wanted her to smile, she smiled; if they wanted her to be obedient, she acted obedient. Some called it talent, but for her, it was a survival mechanism from the first half of her life.

The girl’s slender arms unexpectedly circled Meng Zhijin’s neck. In the winter cold, the warmth of the proximity was stark. Cheng Xi didn’t care if the sudden closeness was abrupt; her performance had officially begun.

Cheng Xi’s dark pupils stared intensely at Meng Zhijin. With a seductive, lingering tone, she said: “Teacher, why do you always make that face? Are you showing sadness for me?”

“You don’t need to be sad, because I am you. Don’t you want me to achieve your lifelong dream for you?”

The white snow made Cheng Xi’s lips look vivid red. Her breath was hot, and her slightly upturned eyes had a manic, enchanting quality. She was exactly the “Ye” she had imagined while reading.

But despite this alluring display, there wasn’t a single ripple in Meng Zhijin’s eyes. Her thin lips parted as she gave a simple critique: “You have no desire.”

Cheng Xi froze. Her eyes were full of confusion. This was the type of performance she was best at. No one had ever critiqued her like this.

“Kid, do you know me?” Meng Zhijin asked, turning her head to flick the ash from her cigarette. Those slender fingers tapped out wisps of white smoke that drifted across Cheng Xi’s vision, making her wonder for a moment if the person before her was Meng Zhijin or “Yue.”

“You don’t have to know me well,” Meng Zhijin continued, “but you must have the desire to ‘possess my body’ when you try to understand me.”

“Seduction isn’t just a layer of charm. If you strip away the skin with the exquisite makeup and find the inside is empty, you can only seduce simple lust. Anyone with a bit of acting skill can do that. If that’s all it took, Old Wang wouldn’t be working this hard.”

Cheng Xi indeed had talent. Her initial indignation vanished, replaced by a sudden epiphany. She blurted out to Meng Zhijin: “My desire is to become you.”

The girl’s eyes, which had been full of feigned affection a moment ago, turned brilliant under the sun. Something flickered in Meng Zhijin’s calm gaze. She nodded, stubbed out the cigarette on a nearby bin, and tossed it in.

She seemed ready to head back, but looked at Cheng Xi one last time. Then, something was pressed into Cheng Xi’s hand. Their palms brushed for a split second; Cheng Xi felt the real, physical chill of Meng Zhijin’s fingertips.

Clutching whatever Meng Zhijin had given her, Cheng Xi watched the woman walk away. A feeling suddenly emerged—this Meng Zhijin was very different from the one she knew through news and gossip.

It turned out there wasn’t just desire. There were many kinds of “cold,” too.

Buzz, buzz…

Cheng Xi’s phone rang. The assistant was telling her to get ready. The vibration against her waist pulled her back. She finally opened her palm to see the gift.

It was a White Rabbit milk candy.

She didn’t know if it was a bribe to keep the smoking a secret, or a reward because her answer had pleased her.

The audition room was right next to the waiting room. Because of the script, they had rented a ballet studio. Cameras were set up to capture everything through the wall-sized mirrors, streaming the feed to the director’s monitor. It truly felt like rehearsing a high-difficulty mirror scene.

Cheng Xi changed into her practice gear and looked around. The barre and the large mirrors brought back a long-lost sense of familiarity.

“Cheng Xi, right?”

As she stared into the mirror, Director Wang Youbo’s voice rang out. The man Meng Zhijin called “Old Wang” sat in the middle of the panel, rubbing his face tiredly. It seemed he was dissatisfied with everyone—not just Liu Na. He didn’t seem to hold much hope for Cheng Xi, either.

Wang Youbo forced himself to keep going and turned to Meng Zhijin. “Teacher Meng, why don’t you go up and move around a bit?”

And help me cleanse my eyes while you’re at it?

Meng Zhijin had worked with Wang before and understood his signal instantly. This time, however, she agreed exceptionally quickly. So quickly that Wang Youbo doubted his own eyes.

“Personality transplant?” Wang muttered, pinching the assistant director. Seeing the assistant director’s pained expression, he confirmed it wasn’t a dream.

Cheng Xi stood facing the mirror. She watched the reflection of Meng Zhijin walking closer and closer. To say she wasn’t nervous would be a lie. If the trial in the snow was Cheng Xi’s boldness, then this moment in front of the mirror was Meng Zhijin’s deliberate move.

A cool hand pressed against the thin fabric of her practice clothes from behind, slowly circling Cheng Xi’s waist like a snake. The mirror reflected their faces, brought exceptionally close by the scene. Meng Zhijin spoke into Cheng Xi’s ear in a volume only the two of them could hear:

“We meet again.”

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