Let's Get Married on the First Day of Rebirth - Chapter 37

Qu Ange had already reached Lin Zhenyi’s car when she heard this. She turned her head in shock, staring at Lin Wanzhao.

What kind of development was this?

Lin Wanzhao then approached Lin Zhenyi and asked, “Auntie, may I go on a trip?”

Lin Zhenyi replied, “Do as you please. Aren’t you on vacation anyway?”

Lin Wanzhao turned to Qu Ange, lifted the hem of her skirt, and stepped back on her toes, as if performing some sort of curtsy. “Good morning.”

Qu Ange was momentarily speechless. After a long pause, she stammered, “G-good morning… No, you’ve misunderstood. Mimi isn’t going on a trip. They’re planning to go home.”

Lin Wanzhao looked puzzled. “Huh? Didn’t you just come from home?”

Qu Ange explained, “Back to our hometown, our real home. This place is just a rental.”

“Oh, I see.” Lin Wanzhao turned and asked again, “Then where is your hometown?”

Just then, Xu Mi and the others managed to hail a taxi and were preparing to load their things. Qiu Shuiyi also got out of the car and said, “Don’t take that taxi. Ride in my car—aren’t we going together?”

Tan Zhenzhen replied, “We’ve already bought high-speed rail tickets. You haven’t, and time is too tight. Besides, you haven’t packed anything. Maybe it’s better to just forget it.”

Qiu Shuiyi wore an expression that said, “What’s the big deal?” and insisted, “Forget the high-speed rail. I’ll ask my assistant to arrange a flight. We can take my private jet—it’s faster than the train. As for packing, I don’t get it. Why bother? We can just buy whatever we need when we get there.”

Tan Zhenzhen was stunned by this display of extravagance and fell silent. The taxi driver nearby leaned against his window, sizing up Qiu Shuiyi with a look that seemed to say, “Let’s see how much more nonsense you can spout.”

Seeing this as a great opportunity to travel with Lin Wanzhao, Qiu Shuiyi was unwilling to let it slip away. She blocked Xu Mi and Tan Zhenzhen, refusing to let them leave. The taxi driver grew impatient and snapped, “Are you going or not? You’re holding up my business.”

Qiu Shuiyi waved him off. “We’re not taking it. You can go.”

The taxi driver rolled his eyes and drove off. Qiu Shuiyi then picked up the luggage for Tan Zhenzhen, who seemed to be limping slightly, and said, “Look at you, with an injured person here. Clearly, you need my help.”

Tan Zhenzhen glared angrily. “I’m not disabled. I just haven’t fully recovered from a fracture yet.”

Qiu Shuiyi replied, “Poor thing, little sister. Do you have anything else? Let me help you carry it.”

Tan Zhenzhen: “…”

Although the other party’s words were harsh, there didn’t seem to be any malice behind them. Tan Zhenzhen found it hard to stay angry and even started to think Qiu Shuiyi was quite kind. She nudged Xu Mi and asked, “Shall we go with them? I’ve never been on a private jet before.”

Xu Mi frowned and remained silent.

The situation was making her extremely irritable. Her already fragile mental state felt like it was on the verge of collapse under the intense stimulation. As a result, she gave up caring and said in a resigned tone, “Whatever. Just let’s go quickly.”

Once they arrived, she’d let these two young ladies do as they pleased. She couldn’t be bothered to deal with them anymore.

With her approval, the luggage was quickly loaded into the trunk. Lin Wanzhao bid farewell to Qu Ange and Lin Zhenyi, then got into the passenger seat. The BMW sped off in an instant.

Qu Ange stood there dumbfounded, a sentence stuck in her throat that she couldn’t utter—

“Then… then I want to go too.”

But it was probably for the best that she didn’t say it. Not only did she have important matters to attend to, but Qiu Shuiyi’s car was already too full to fit her anyway.

But it felt as if a piece of her heart had been carved away, and the pain only grew sharper as Xu Mi disappeared into the distance. Lin Zhenyi urged her, saying, “Ange, hurry and get in the car. It won’t look good if we’re late.”

Qu Ange forced a smile and got into the car. Lin Zhenyi glanced at her and remarked, “You don’t look well.”

Qu Ange replied, “I… I didn’t sleep well.”

Lin Zhenyi said, “Health is the foundation of everything. You absolutely must get good rest.”

Qu Ange murmured, “Mm.”

Though she said this, Lin Zhenyi had already sensed something amiss. Initially, out of politeness, she refrained from asking, but once the car was on the highway, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Did you two have a fight?”

Qu Ange wasn’t sure if it could be called a fight. All she knew was that her heart had ached with bitterness and pain that night. Some of Xu Mi’s words had pierced her heart like knives.

But then she thought, perhaps she herself had said such hurtful things in the past—words sharp as blades.

After hesitating for a long time, she finally nodded and said, “Our goals are a bit different.”

Lin Zhenyi seemed thoughtful. “That kind of thing happens often. There’s no helping it—if you can’t let it go yourself, it’ll only weigh you down… By the way, have you read the script? I remember your role has quite a few scenes.”

The topic shifted naturally, and the two soon began discussing matters related to acting.

Strangely enough, Qu Ange noticed that in the script she received, Consort Rong indeed had a significant number of scenes. Yet she distinctly remembered that in the broadcast version of the drama from her past life, Consort Rong had been nothing more than a decorative character with very little screen time.

The actress who played the role in her past life had also been a relatively unknown minor actress who later faded into obscurity.

Could it be that some scenes were cut before the broadcast?

But as she reviewed the entire script, nothing seemed particularly sensitive.

Puzzled, she shared some of her thoughts about the character. Lin Zhenyi, who loved discussing scripts and roles, grew increasingly engaged. Before they knew it, they had chatted all the way to their destination, still feeling like they had more to say.

Their destination was a hotel in the suburbs. Lin Zhenyi explained, “The script reading session is scheduled for three days. Actors who are free can stay here.”

After parking and heading upstairs, Qu Ange carried her luggage into her room first.

Once inside, the composure she had forced herself to maintain finally crumbled. In the full-length mirror by the door, she saw her own face, tense and uneasy.

She took out her phone and sent a message to Xu Mi: “Mimi, what are you up to?”

Xu Mi didn’t reply.

For some reason, Qu Ange found this entirely expected.

She also sent a message to Tan Zhenzhen: “Where have you guys reached? What’s Mimi doing?”

But Tan Zhenzhen didn’t reply either.

She paced back and forth in the room, restless and anxious.

Her mind was filled with images of what Xu Mi and the others might be doing, yet the more she imagined, the less clear it became.

A short while later, her roommate entered the room, greeting her timidly, “Hello.”

Qu Ange quickly composed herself, making sure her unease wasn’t visible.

To her surprise, she realized she actually recognized the person in front of her—Shi Weiyu, who would later become a leading figure among the popular young actresses of the ’90s generation.

In the future, Shi Weiyu would be regarded as a top-tier actress, praised for both her acting skills and her looks, with a massive fanbase and an excellent reputation.

Naturally, Qu Ange had no intention of making an enemy of her. Skillfully using polite social phrases, she quickly bridged the distance between them.

After a brief rest following lunch, they were informed to go to a banquet hall on the second floor. Upon arrival, they saw that long tables had been set up, each bearing name cards waiting for people to take their seats.

As Qu Ange sat down, she finally received a reply from Tan Zhenzhen, which said—

【About to board the plane. First time on a private jet, a little excited.】

At the moment, everyone else was settling into their seats, so Qu Ange felt it was inappropriate to check her phone and had to put it away.

Suppressing her anxiety for the time being, she focused on the matter at hand.

But a flicker of unease still smoldered in her heart, slowly scorching it.

…

In truth, Xu Mi wasn’t faring much better.

She tried to clear her mind, but the surroundings were simply too noisy.

Tan Zhenzhen was already quite talkative on her own, but with Qiu Shuiyi added to the mix, the two hit it off instantly, chattering away like a flock of a hundred ducks.

Tan Zhenzhen was originally supposed to return with her to work, but now she and Qiu Shuiyi were busy looking up travel guides, talking about swimming and deep-sea fishing. Qiu Shuiyi recounted her past experience fishing in Sabah, where the fish seemed foolish, one after another leaping onto her hook.

Not to be outdone, Tan Zhenzhen shared her childhood memories of catching crayfish in ditches and even boasted about how she used to dare to skin toads.

Qiu Shuiyi pondered for a long moment before conceding defeat: “You’re amazing. I wouldn’t dare.”

Xu Mi turned her gaze to the window.

The clouds piled up layer upon layer, like whipped cream on a cake, spreading lightly to the unseen horizon.

The first time Xu Mi ever flew on a plane was when she traveled to Xiamen with Qu Ange.

Before that, all her long-distance journeys had been by train, and she had almost grown accustomed to the stuffy air, noisy crowds, and endless hours on board.

Qu Ange was also flying for the first time, but she feigned composure and said to Xu Mi, “The flight will be quick. We’ll just sleep and arrive in no time.”

Yet, as it turned out, neither of them slept during that trip. They nervously listened to the in-flight announcements, whispering to each other when they heard instructions about lowering the tray tables or closing the window shades: “What did she say? Did you catch that? Are we supposed to pull it down?”

Xu Mi was seated by the window. As the plane ascended, she noticed Qu Ange craning her neck to look outside. Xu Mi leaned back and said, “Do you want to switch seats?”

Qu Ange leaned in, her face close to Xu Mi’s.

“I can see,” she said. “It’s so beautiful, like a painting.”

From such a close distance, a faint, delicate fragrance drifted over from her.

Her skin was flawless and clear, her breathing soft and steady.

The person before her was exquisite and captivating, also like a painting.

Xu Mi felt her heartbeat quicken.

Whether it was due to the weightlessness or not, the pounding in her chest grew so loud it seemed to echo in her ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

Thump, thump, thump.

A strange, unfamiliar impulse suddenly surged within her.

She realized she wanted to embrace the person in front of her.

She realized she wanted to kiss the person in front of her.

So, she averted her gaze, burying these odd, chaotic thoughts deep in her heart.

At the time, Xu Mi didn’t understand what this feeling was.

Later, when they kissed in a bar and woke up the next morning, Xu Mi suddenly realized—it was a crush.

A crush that had no clear beginning, no discernible origin.

For her, it was the first crush of her life.

And so, every time she flew on a plane afterward, she couldn’t help but recall that moment, to the point where it had become somewhat tiresome by now.

She couldn’t help but wonder when she would stop associating flying with her first heart-fluttering moment.

Because every time she thought of it, her heart ached immediately afterward—a strange, lingering, sharp pain that felt even more profound at high altitudes than it did on the ground.

She closed her eyes, and a voice as sweet and soft as honey whispered in her ear, “What are you thinking about?”

That voice could only belong to Lin Wanzhao.

Xu Mi didn’t even twitch an eyebrow, pretending to be asleep and ignoring her.

Lin Wanzhao asked, “Do you want to listen to some music?”

Xu Mi turned her head away.

Lin Wanzhao said, “If you’re going to pretend to sleep, don’t move. It’s obvious you don’t want to talk to me.”

Xu Mi opened her eyes and looked at her. “Is it wrong that I don’t want to talk to you?”

Lin Wanzhao pursed her lips and shook her head. “No, it’s not wrong.”

Xu Mi replied coldly, “Good. I don’t want to talk to you.”

She even regretted a little that she had meddled and bought Lin Wanzhao sanitary pads that day.

She couldn’t understand why the other person had latched onto her like sticky candy because of it.

Lin Wanzhao fell silent for a long time, her gaze dropping to her fingers. Her lips parted slightly as she murmured to herself—

“I thought you were a gentle person.”

“But you speak so harshly.”

“Actually, I still think you’re gentle.”

“An unkind person wouldn’t go out of their way to buy something for a stranger.”

“I just wanted to be friends with you.”

Her voice was very soft, but it still faintly reached Xu Mi’s ears, buzzing like a mosquito’s hum. Xu Mi impatiently covered her ears, but she could still hear it. Unable to hold back, she asked, “Miss Lin, is there something wrong with you?”

Lin Wanzhao widened her eyes, looking as panicked and helpless as a fawn. “I… I had a bit of autism when I was a child, but I’m much better now.”

Xu Mi was momentarily speechless, stunned and unable to respond.

She had only intended to rudely drive the other person away, but she had inadvertently hit a sore spot.

In the brief silence, she heard Lin Wanzhao whisper again—

“Are you this cold to everyone?”

“Or is it just me you find annoying?”

Xu Mi froze slightly, her thoughts drifting away again.

Yes, how had she become like this?

In the past, she wouldn’t have been so indifferent to unrelated strangers. She wouldn’t have been so easily irritated.

She wouldn’t have rudely asked someone if there was something wrong with them.

Thinking about it carefully, she realized she was just tired.

Tired of spending endless time guessing someone’s thoughts.

Tired of expending excessive energy tossing and turning over someone.

Tired of questioning whether she had said the wrong thing or reacted the wrong way.

She was tired.

Now, she didn’t care what others were thinking.

Xu Mi closed her eyes. “Yes, I’m like this with everyone. That day, I was just in a good mood. I’m too tired now. I want to rest. Could you please stay away from me?”

…

As dusk fell, Shen Xinlong announced that it was time for dinner and that they would continue afterward.

That afternoon, Qu Ange had several scenes to film. To her surprise, she realized that Consort Rong was a very important character.

The transformation of the beauty-obsessed Consort Rong—from arrogance to humility, from haughtiness to the realization that beauty fades and favor wanes—was a crucial plotline that deepened the story’s theme.

She was having dinner with her roommate, Shi Weiyu, who looked at her with envy and said, “You must have received formal training, right? Your enunciation and accent are so good—no wonder you landed such an important role.”

Qu Ange replied sheepishly, “I didn’t receive formal training. I practiced on my own.”

Shi Weiyu was surprised. “You managed to achieve this just by practicing on your own?”

“Well, I did take some classes.”

Halfway through the meal, Wang Jia called out to her, “Qu Ange, come over here. Director Shen has something to say to you.”

Qu Ange went over cheerfully.

Being able to stand out in front of so many people was her opportunity.

As she approached, she heard Shen Xinlong saying, “What matters most for an actor is innate talent. It’s hard to explain—some people just can’t act, no matter what.”

When Qu Ange arrived, Shen Xinlong motioned for her to sit and said, “When you delivered your lines today, there was a lot of emotion and strength. There’s just one shortcoming—”

He paused here, as if waiting for Qu Ange’s reaction. Hesitantly, she asked, “Not nuanced enough?”

Shen Xinlong shook his head. “Wrong. It’s a lack of confidence.”

Qu Ange was taken aback.

“You’re not confident. When Consort Rong first entered the palace, she was brimming with confidence. She believed she outshone everyone. Someone as beautiful as you—why aren’t you confident?”

Qu Ange forced a laugh. “It’s probably because it’s the first day. I’m still a bit nervous.”

Shen Xinlong patted her shoulder and said, “Don’t be nervous. I have high hopes for you.”

Dinner continued, and this time Qu Ange relaxed a bit more. Shen Xinlong looked pleased, but she knew she still wasn’t good enough.

Having acted for so many years, she understood her own state better than anyone else. No big-name director or actor could possibly know her better than she knew herself.

She felt hollow inside.

After the gathering ended, she returned to her room, washed up, and got into bed.

Qu Ange leaned against the headboard, reading her script, while Shi Weiyu recited her lines beside her. After a few lines, Shi Weiyu picked up her phone, glanced at it, and suddenly straightened up, looking tense.

Qu Ange turned to her and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Shi Weiyu climbed down from her bed, crouched by Qu Ange’s bedside, and handed her the phone.

“Assistant Director Zhao sent me a message.”

Qu Ange glanced at it and immediately frowned. The message read:

[I noticed some issues with your lines. You can come over tonight, and I’ll help you work through them.]

Qu Ange said firmly, “Ignore him.”

Shi Weiyu looked anxious. “But if I ignore him, won’t he make things difficult for me?”

Qu Ange thought for a moment. “Then forward the message to Director Shen.”

Shi Weiyu hesitated. “If Director Shen reprimands him, won’t he know it was me who reported him?”

Qu Ange couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think he only sent it to you?”

Shi Weiyu looked shocked. “He sent it to others too?”

Her young, pretty face still carried a hint of innocence, like a blank sheet of paper untouched by marks.

Qu Ange felt a momentary daze.

Had she been like that before?

Worrying about gains and losses, cautious and hesitant.

Probably not. She had actually been quite confident back then.

Even at the very beginning, when she hadn’t yet made a name for herself in the entertainment industry and hadn’t met Lin Zhenyi, she had possessed a stubborn, unyielding spirit.

There was one time when a crew member invited her to hang out, saying they were going to a bar where many big-name directors and producers would be.

Qu Ange knew it was likely a trap, but driven by a sliver of hope, she went anyway.

As expected, it turned out to be a wild drinking party. Qu Ange had only been there for a short while before she decided to leave. Someone grabbed her and said, “Why are you leaving so soon? We haven’t even gotten started. Ange, I’m telling you, you must be a little… a little slow in the head. How could you dress like this for a night out drinking?”

It was winter. She was wearing an army-green down jacket, a white cashmere scarf, and wool gloves—the only part of her exposed was her face.

Qu Ange replied, “I don’t want to drink. I have a cold and took some medicine.”

The person handed her a glass of whiskey and insisted, “Come on, have a drink. Just do it for my sake. A little won’t kill you.”

The bar was stuffy and hot, and Qu Ange had long been feeling restless. She took the glass and poured the drink over the person’s head, saying, “Drink this, you asshole.”

She ran out of the bar, and the person chased her halfway down the street, panting and shouting, “You’re really something, Qu Ange! You’ll regret this one day!”

Thinking of this, Qu Ange suddenly remembered how Xu Mi had poured coffee over Bei Tian’s head.

She couldn’t help but laugh out loud, realizing that both of them had guts. But Xu Mi was smarter than her because the person knew who she was, whereas she had acted recklessly. To this day, Bei Tian still had no idea who had poured coffee on her head.

Back then, she really was arrogant. She didn’t even know where that confidence came from.

But it was also truly tough; she couldn’t even remember how she had managed to get through it.

Her sudden laughter confused Shi Weiyu, who asked, “Why are you laughing all of a sudden? Are you sure it’s okay if I report him? Are you sure he didn’t send it to anyone else?”

Qu Ange said, “Definitely not.”

Shi Weiyu was still worried. “Did you get one? Should I ask around?”

Qu Ange glanced at her phone. At the top of her messages was Xu Mi, and the last message was still the one she had sent: “What are you up to, Mimi?” Xu Mi hadn’t sent her anything.

“…No, I didn’t get one. Probably because I was talking with Director Shen during dinner, so he didn’t dare.”

Shi Weiyu said, “But it could also be because you performed so well that he had nothing to ‘guide’ you on.”

Qu Ange laughed. “Oh, my dear, do you really think he wanted to guide you through the plot?”

Shi Weiyu blushed and, without another word, returned to her bed.

Qu Ange lay back down as well. After all, it was someone else’s business, and she didn’t want to interfere too much.

Staring at her phone, she suddenly wondered why she hadn’t told Xu Mi about what happened today. So, she started typing:

The script reading is in the suburbs. The hotel is really nice seems like a five-star but the food is just average, not as good as what you make…

Everyone says I have a solid foundation and thinks I’m a trained actress. Hilarious…

The assistant director sent a message to the girl I’m rooming with. It felt shady, but he didn’t dare send one to me. I’m still pretty impressive, right…

…

She sent five long paragraphs in total.

But after sending them, it felt like throwing stones into the sea—there was no response.

Qu Ange smiled bitterly, turned off her phone, and closed her eyes.

Qu Ange didn’t know if Shi Weiyu had reported the incident, but someone definitely had. The next day, Shen Xinlong was furious and fired the assistant director, Zhao Xin. Before the script reading began, he gave a speech, warning that anyone who disrupted the harmony of the crew would face severe consequences.

Qu Ange flipped through the script, lost in thought.

The story had reached the midpoint, where Consort Rong had fallen out of favor. A highlighted passage in the script read—

“When he still cared about you, he would pluck the stars from the sky if you asked. But when he no longer valued you, even a single word from you felt like a nuisance.”

She thought she understood why she lacked confidence.

Even after so many years apart from Xu Mi in her past life, Qu Ange still believed Xu Mi loved her.

Not showing up, not seeing her—it was out of love, because she couldn’t let go.

The thought that someone loved her always gave her something to hold on to.

But now, despite constantly trying to convince herself, she felt a faint uncertainty deep in her heart.

Before she knew it, night had fallen again, and Qu Ange began writing another long message.

[…My condition was much better today than yesterday. My character in the early stages is a favored concubine, but by today’s plot, she’s starting to fall out of favor…]

[…In the evening, they invited us to play cards. My roommate went, but I didn’t. Honestly, in their eyes, I’m someone who got in through connections, so it’s better not to interact with them too much. It’ll just give them more to gossip about…]

[…Mimi, am I talking too much? Do you find me annoying?]

A brief hesitation.

In the end, she still clicked send.

…

The phone vibrated by her ear.

Xu Mi stared blankly at the ceiling.

After returning yesterday, she had slept for a full day and night, feeling utterly exhausted as if she had been in a coma.

When she woke up, her mother had said with a panicked expression, “If you hadn’t woken up soon, I would’ve called an ambulance.”

She was truly exhausted, though she didn’t know exactly why—she just couldn’t get up and didn’t want to do anything.

Meanwhile, Tan Zhenzhen and the others had gone to the beach. In just one day, they came back sunburned all over, red as lobsters, shouting and laughing like a bunch of monkeys.

Tan Zhenzhen claimed she wasn’t just there to have fun. She had gathered material for her future videos.

For now, they were staying in a hotel, with plans to look for a cheaper place nearby tomorrow so they could settle in quickly.

Xu Mi had a lot to do herself.

Besides dealing with things here, there was still the apartment in S City and everything inside it. Back then, she had naively thought that if Qu Ange didn’t successfully terminate her contract, they could bring everything back together.

Now that she had returned alone, she would have to clean out that apartment by herself.

When she woke up in the evening, she saw Qu Ange’s messages.

So many paragraphs. They made her dizzy just looking at them. She remembered how Qu Ange used to struggle to fill the required 800 words for essays back in the day. Now, if you gave her 800 words, it probably wouldn’t be enough.

The thought made her smile, but the smile quickly faded.

A sharp pain pierced her heart, and she curled up on the bed, unable to hold back.

Now her phone was vibrating again. She glanced at it—Qu Ange’s name once more.

Somehow, she felt both happy and pained, the emotions tangled together like the sticky, humid summer weather—stifling and damp, yet refusing to release any rain.

Mixed in with Qu Ange’s messages were texts from Tan Zhenzhen, inviting her out for a late-night snack. Tan Zhenzhen raved about how cheap the crayfish was here, how fresh the grilled squid tasted, and how the cool sea breeze made it the perfect weather for skewers.

Xu Mi replied—[…I’m a local.]

Since she had already opened WeChat, resisting the urge to read Qu Ange’s messages was nearly impossible.

Xu Mi tapped on them, reading through the messages again, laughing and crying as she lay on her side, tears soaking into the pillow.

Her eyes lingered on the last line—

[Do you find me annoying?]

Her fingers instinctively moved to type a reply, typing out a line before deleting it.

She didn’t know what to say.

Countless words were stuck in her heart.

She wanted to say, “Qu Ange, even if you said a thousand words, ten thousand words, I would never find you annoying. I would feel happy, and I would wish to listen to you forever.”

But what if I get used to it, and one day you stop talking?

I would go mad.

Xu Mi stared for a long time at Qu Ange’s profile picture.

It was a photo of a little dog—a smiling Samoyed with a small flower tucked behind its ear.

The more she looked, the more it resembled her.

After staring for who knows how long, Tan Zhenzhen sent another message: “Our Weibo post got shared by a big name in the foodie community! Go check it out. There are more collaboration requests in the backend—don’t reply just yet!”

Xu Mi forced herself to snap out of her emotional state and opened Weibo to browse through the comments. After skimming through them briefly, she continued scrolling and unexpectedly came across a post:

“@GettingMarriedTomorrow: First day without seeing my wife, missing her.”

Xu Mi stared at the post.

She remembered—this was Qu Ange’s alternate account.