My Aloof Rival Seems to Like Me - Chapter 4

“Don’t… it tickles…”

A series of soft, delicate touches brushed against her neck. Song Jin’s muddled brain couldn’t quite figure out what it was for a moment.

Amidst her hazy consciousness, Song Jin slowly opened her eyes, only to see the top of a head moving up and down.

The kissing continued, deepening, as red lips crushed unspoken emotions, kneading them into her veins through skin-to-skin contact. It flowed through her systemic circulation all the way to her heart, until the other party could feel her intense, hidden love.

Wen Yu cautiously traced the curve of Song Jin’s neck upward, pausing for a moment when she touched her red lips, before gently grinding against them.

As she had done countless times before, Song Jin instinctively reached out to push her away, but unexpectedly, she actually succeeded this time.

The sensation of her thumb and forefinger catching Wen Yu’s jaw was so real—warm and delicate. When her palm pressed against the neck, she could even feel a slight swallow.

A look of confusion appeared on Wen Yu’s face, as if she didn’t understand Song Jin’s reaction.

Seeing that she wanted to lean down again, Song Jin didn’t have time to ponder why she could move now. Using their current posture, her arms acted like a riot fork to isolate Wen Yu from herself; after closing her separated legs, she gave a top-ward shove, pushing Wen Yu to a safe distance.

Wen Yu looked a bit aggrieved, her deep pupils filled with mist as if she might cry the next second: “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

No, you’re totally OOC (Out of Character), aren’t you?!

Song Jin shrieked internally. How could Wen Yu possibly show such rich expressions? Still, she braced herself to deal with it: “I need to pee.”

“I’ll help you.”

“?”

Sister, do you even hear what you’re saying?

Who would have thought that the Wen Yu in her dream was a woman of action. Before Song Jin could react, she felt her body lighten—she was actually picked up by Wen Yu in a princess carry.

Seeing them getting closer and closer to the bathroom, Song Jin’s psychological defenses were collapsing. On the spot, she broke down and made a sound like a boiling tea kettle—

“Ahhh—”

“Buzz— Buzz—”

At 6:30 AM, just as the phone alarm vibrated, Song Jin bounced straight up from the bed.

She pressed the alarm off with lingering fear, still unable to recover from the “Wen Yu’s” shocking behavior just now. Lying back down irritably, Song Jin pulled the quilt over her head; the familiar scent created an invisible nest. She took several deep breaths in a row, and her racing heart finally returned to a normal frequency.

She pulled off the quilt and rolled out of bed.

Inside the nanny van, Song Jin held the breakfast Du Bing had prepared for her. The usually delicious food now tasted like wax. She sighed and casually placed the items on the table tray.

“Sister, do you have no appetite?” Du Bing, who was chewing on a fried dough stick, asked indistinctly. Her other hand never stopped sliding across her phone screen; it was hard for her to pay attention to Song Jin’s survival while slacking off.

Song Jin looked tragic: “What should I do if the OOC in a fanfic is too severe? Can I call the police?”

“Huh?” Du Bing’s movements paused, a bit dazed by Song Jin’s nonsensical sentence, but she still said seriously, “The police probably can’t handle that, right? Anyway, I don’t care, after all, you don’t hit the chef when you’re eating—What’s wrong, Sis? Did you get traumatized by the content?”

“Haha, maybe…” Song Jin gave a weak, dry laugh and didn’t answer the question.

She didn’t want to talk, but Du Bing was already excited, immediately leaning over to press for more: “What setting? Which CP? Is it tasty? Is it tasty?!”

Song Jin paused for a moment. Her brain uncontrollably relished the content of the dream, playing it back like a slideshow, even causing her lips to replicate that gentle touch.

“…It was okay.”

The nanny van followed the navigation, driving all the way toward the film set. The scenery outside the window sped by, making her head a bit dizzy.

Li Hang was impatient; working under her meant being prepared for a schedule packed to the brim. They had just finished the promotional photos yesterday, and today they had to go and test the camera positions.

Winter in Qingshi was cold but didn’t snow. Moreover, the cold here was damp, completely different from the feeling in Jinshi. Especially in the early morning, the stinging pain of the wind on the face was no different from needle pricks, the chill nimbly snaking into the body through the sleeves.

Song Jin shivered as soon as she got out of the car, and her originally sleepy head was instantly woken up by the ice. She tucked her coat tighter and quickened her pace toward the set, only feeling the frozen sensation in her limbs ease slightly after entering the hall.

It was now 7:30 AM, and the set was already filled with people. Song Jin took her phone out of her pocket, following the map for a while before finding the shooting point.

There were three scenes to shoot today. She and Wen Yu had one scene each, and there was an outdoor night scene for both of them in the evening. Song Jin looked inside and saw Li Hang with her hands on her hips, several staff members standing beside her, repeatedly adjusting the lighting and sound equipment. Wen Yu had also changed her clothes and was rehearsing lines with Li Jiu, the actress playing her mother.

She wore a thick, misty blue pure cotton pajama, her hair draped softly over her shoulders. The makeup on her face was very plain, looking as if she hadn’t applied any at first glance. The eyes under her thick eyebrows were like they were acting spoiled, and the corners of her pale pink lips curled into a smile. Her physical movements were very close to the opposing actor, perfectly portraying the intimacy of a normal mother and daughter.

Well, she took back that sentence about “Wen Yu being unable to show such rich expressions.”

Song Jin couldn’t help but observe for a while longer, until Wen Yu inadvertently turned her head and met Song Jin’s gaze.

Perhaps due to the plot’s needs, the smile on Wen Yu’s face didn’t fade; it even became more radiant.

Song Jin subconsciously looked away.

Li Hang noticed her from the side and was a bit surprised: “Why are you here now? There are no scenes for you this morning.” When she used to work under her, she would always arrive exactly on time.

“I came to adapt to the venue in advance. After all, it’s my first lead role, so I have to be more dedicated.” Song Jin moved toward Li Hang using her inquiry as an excuse, naturally leaving Wen Yu’s range of vision.

“Alright, then find a place to sit first,” Li Hang smiled and turned back to continue her work.

Many red plastic round chairs were stacked outside the set. Song Jin stepped on the footrest with the tip of her shoe and, with a light pull of her hands, detached the top chair. She found a corner far away from Wen Yu to sit down and openly looked in her direction.

Dawn was a dual-female lead detective drama. Song Jin and Wen Yu had equal billing. In the story, their characters were initially university classmates who joined the same police station after graduation, though they were led by different people.

The character Song Jin played was named Chu Yun. In school, she was a “troublemaker” who constantly broke school rules by climbing over the wall to eat late-night snacks. But she was naturally brilliant; although she didn’t follow the rules, she could always precisely rub against the edge of the bottom line. Following her original trajectory, she would have become the new second-in-command after the old captain retired. However, during a mission to capture a cross-border fugitive, Chu Yun suddenly disappeared without a trace, only to reappear in everyone’s sight five years later.

The other female lead was named Jiang Huaiyue. After Chu Yun disappeared, she replaced her as the captain. A person who originally didn’t talk much became even more silent and taciturn; her daily life consisted of solving cases and searching for Chu Yun’s tracks, completely living like a machine.

A machine whose mind was entirely filled with Chu Yun.

The sound of the clapperboard rang out from a distance, pulling Song Jin’s drifting thoughts back. She shifted her butt back a bit, her originally slightly curved waist becoming ramrod straight as she seriously appreciated Wen Yu’s performance.

This scene took place on the eve of Chu Yun and Jiang Huaiyue’s university graduation. At that time, Jiang Huaiyue was still a little girl who would act spoiled with her mother. The photographer pulled the lens from a long shot to a close-up, and following the lines, appropriately cut to a close-up of Wen Yu’s face. The light softly brushed against her face, her exquisite features carrying a hint of youthfulness.

“Mom, I plan to develop my career in Linjiang,” Jiang Huaiyue said, her eyes bright as if full of expectations for the future.

Mother Jiang frowned in surprise, putting the hot tea back on the table: “Why so sudden? Didn’t we agree before that you’d stay with your dad and me for a lifetime?”

“And Linjiang is quite chaotic over there. It’s not safe for a girl like you to go.”

“Mom—” Jiang Huaiyue laughed a bit: “I’m a police officer. Naturally, I go wherever I’m needed.” She tried to persuade her: “Besides, I’m not even leaving the province. Not to mention Linjiang isn’t far from here; I can take the high-speed rail back to see you anytime.”

“Nonsense! Your dad is busy all day and can’t be seen. It’ll be even worse if we let you go to another city.”

Despite saying so, Mother Jiang still began to think about the feasibility of the matter. She picked up the cup from the coffee table again, blew lightly on it, and the rising steam cast a layer of haze on her glasses: “Linjiang… isn’t your cousin doing her PhD there? You can ask her if there’s anything you don’t understand, be smart—Hey, don’t you have a roommate whose hometown is Linjiang? What was her name? Chu… Chu—”

“Chu Yun,” Jiang Huaiyue said, a hint of an undetectable smile flashing in her eyes.

“Right, that’s the name.” Mother Jiang nodded, finally matching the face in her memory with the name. “She should be going back to her hometown to work too, right? Oh, it would be great if you two could be colleagues; you could look out for each other.”

Jiang Huaiyue lowered her head and chuckled softly: “That’s hard to say.”

“Cut!” Li Hang shouted. As soon as the voice fell, the tense spirits of all the staff operating the instruments immediately relaxed. Song Jin instinctively clapped her hands, and under her lead, other staff members on the field also cheered for those who had finished their hard work.

They had filmed from morning all the way until noon, changing two sets of clothes during the process. Li Jiu stretched her arms wide, her lumbar spine making a slight “crack” sound with her movement.

“Good acting, little sister,” Li Jiu smiled at Wen Yu, very satisfied with her state and lines.

Li Jiu was fifty-two this year, but due to good lifestyle habits and regular fitness, she looked only in her forties.

Hearing she was to play mother and daughter with Wen Yu, Li Jiu watched all the dramas Wen Yu had filmed during her spare time. Originally, she was worried whether Wen Yu, who usually had no expression, would be unable to let go when acting out scenes of acting spoiled with a mother, but now she saw she had worried needlessly.

Once out of character, Wen Yu returned to her taciturn self. Facing the praise, she smiled a bit shyly and said “no” several times. After responding to Li Jiu, Wen Yu’s gaze instinctively projected into the distance.

The range of this movement wasn’t large, but Li Jiu, sitting next to her, still noticed. She followed Wen Yu’s gaze, only to see an empty red plastic chair: “Are you looking for someone?”

The hand gripping her sleeve tightened and then loosened. Wen Yu shook her head: “No, just looking around casually.”

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