My Aloof Rival Seems to Like Me - Chapter 5

Song Jin worked until very late to finish filming her segments.

It wasn’t because her performance or her co-star’s cooperation was lacking, but rather because of a mishap on set. Halfway through filming, a crow from the neighboring set flew in, circled the area three and a half times, and finally performed a dive-bomb that knocked over the camera. It took the crew ages to chase it down and bring it to “justice.”

Taking advantage of the break for meal distribution, Song Jin stretched her sore neck, finally feeling a bit of relief. However, the thought of having to film with Wen Yu after resting for a bit made her heart sink completely.

The air was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of food, prompting a low rumble from her famished stomach. Song Jin swallowed hard, her dignity giving way to the desperate urge to charge straight to the meal servers.

There was no helping it; the food on Li Hang’s set was just way, way too good.

The queue moved like thick, bubbling curry—or like a highway during rush hour—viscous and slow, with no end in sight.

Song Jin stood in line, scrolling through her phone, and after what felt like an eternity, it was finally her turn.

Tonight’s menu featured noodle soup. Song Jin, a seasoned regular, ordered a bowl of tomato and beef noodles, politely declining the auntie’s offer to add onions and cilantro. Beaming, she took her bowl and moved to the side to grab some chopsticks.

“Sweetie, what would you like?”

“The same as her.”

A familiar voice came from beside her. Song Jin’s hand froze mid-reach for the chopsticks, and she reflexively turned her head. She had no idea how long Wen Yu had been standing behind her; she hadn’t noticed a thing.

Seeing Song Jin look over, Wen Yu greeted her politely first: “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon,” Song Jin replied, but feeling that was a bit stiff, she struck up a conversation. “Why aren’t you back resting? I remember you only had filming scheduled for the morning.”

Personally, if she had work in the morning and evening but was free in the afternoon, she would definitely go home for a nap.

Wen Yu shook her head, pulling utensils from the storage box. “It’s too much trouble to run back and forth. I’d just be reading the script at home anyway; it’s the same doing it here.”

“Whoa, so hardworking.” Then again, every time she saw Wen Yu, the woman was flipping through a script, sitting as still as a life-sized wax figure.

A large ladle of tomato broth was poured over freshly boiled udon noodles, sending up a cloud of hot steam. The auntie held the bowl, smiling. “Sweetie, do you want some cilantro and onions?”

“Onions are fine, no cilantro.” Song Jin cranned her neck and answered crisply. Her movements were fluid until she finished grabbing her chopsticks and turned to leave—only then did she realize something was wrong.

Wait… the auntie wasn’t asking her, was she?!

She stiffly turned her neck back inch by inch, only to see Wen Yu holding her bowl, staring at her with an inscrutable expression.

“Ah, haha, my brain just glitched for a second and I thought she was asking me,” Song Jin stammered, trying to cover for herself, unable to think of any other reason for her bizarre behavior.

She couldn’t exactly tell her: Because I cooked for you in a dream, so I know your food preferences—though whether those “preferences” were real or just fabricated by the dream-chef, Song Jin didn’t actually know.

Fortunately, Wen Yu simply gave a slight nod and didn’t dwell on it.

Under her gaze, Song Jin bit the bullet and found an empty seat. To her surprise, as soon as she sat down, the “haunting” voice of the woman sounded from above: “Is anyone sitting here?”

No, but I can go find someone for you.

That was the thought in her heart, but her face maintained a mask of kindness, upholding the spirit of “colleague camaraderie”: “No one. Go ahead and sit.”

A slender, straight leg hooked a plastic stool over. The sound of it scraping against the concrete floor was quickly swallowed by the surrounding noise. Wen Yu sat down, pulled a hair tie from her pocket to bunch up her long hair, and then slowly began to eat.

Song Jin had assumed Wen Yu followed her to the table because she had something to say—perhaps to discuss the script, or to bring up yesterday’s trending searches. But after waiting for a long time without the other woman opening her mouth, Song Jin finally accepted that she just genuinely wanted a place to slurp noodles.

With things weighing on her mind, even the rich, delicious broth began to taste bland. Song Jin ate with her head down, occasionally stealing glances at Wen Yu.

Today, Wen Yu was wearing a loose wine-red sweatshirt with a black sketch of a fox on the chest, which complemented her complexion beautifully. She ate very seriously, not looking at her phone, just chewing small mouthfuls slowly.

Song Jin involuntarily slowed down her own chewing.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Suddenly, Wen Yu broke the silence.

Her thin, crimson lips were stained with the color of the tomato broth. Song Jin’s gaze lingered for a moment before moving up to Wen Yu’s eyes. She bluffed: “Nothing, I was just wondering why you’re eating at the canteen.”

“Is it strange?” Wen Yu paused, seemingly puzzled. “I’ve heard people say Director Li’s catering is good, so I wanted to take the chance to try it.” As she spoke, she popped a beef ball into her mouth, her right cheek instantly bulging out. “It really does taste good.”

Pfft.

She looks so dorky.

Song Jin couldn’t help a low chuckle, quickly suppressing the corners of her mouth once she realized. After picking through the noodle soup with her chopsticks and biting into a piece of lettuce, Song Jin heard Wen Yu’s voice again: “Are you free in a bit? How about we run through our lines together?”

Her movements faltered. Song Jin looked up from her noodle soup, sounding somewhat aggrieved: “Please, don’t tell me we’re starting on business already?”

“Ah, sorry.” An air of apology appeared in Wen Yu’s eyes, appearing genuinely troubled that she might be bothering Song Jin.

Song Jin stuffed another roll of fatty beef into her mouth, her voice muffled: “It’s fine, it’s fine. We’ll run the lines after we finish eating.”

There were still two hours before the next shoot. Subtracting the time for hair, makeup, and equipment setup, they had about an hour of free time.

Since the dressing room was empty at this hour, Song Jin suggested they just run their lines there. That way, they could wait on-site for the stylists to start their shift, saving them the back-and-forth trip.

However, she soon realized this was a mistake.

The dressing room was well-insulated; the noise and the sunset were shut out by the glass windows. This made the room terrifyingly quiet, leaving only the sound of turning pages and the ticking of the wall clock.

The atmosphere was completely different from the canteen.

While they were sitting face-to-face then too, at least there were other people around. Now, it was just two women alone in a room, and it felt genuinely awkward. The tension crawled from Song Jin’s toes all the way to her throat, making it hard to speak.

Song Jin stole a glance at Wen Yu, praying she would break the silence. Unfortunately, the other woman was reading the script so intently that she didn’t notice Song Jin’s movements at all. Helpless, Song Jin cleared her throat and said, “Shall we begin?”

“Okay.” She nodded, putting down the script she already knew by heart.

Tonight’s rehearsal was for the scene where the two female leads reunite after five years. There weren’t many lines, but the scene relied heavily on eye contact and subtle details. The character Jiang Huaiyue, in particular, was much more difficult to perform than Chu Yun.

Song Jin wasn’t classically trained; her understanding of acting was mostly subjective. She liked to build a character after interpreting the script, generating an image of the persona in her mind, letting “her” move according to the needs of the scene, and then mimicking all of “her” reactions.

Song Jin stood up from her chair and crouched on the ground in a grappling pose—after all, when the protagonists meet again, they are both in the middle of catching the same pickpocket on the street. Wen Yu reacted quickly, sliding over to Song Jin’s side and kneeling nimbly on one knee, pretending to be breathless after a fight.

The moment their eyes met, both showed varying degrees of shock.

“Chu…” Wen Yu seemed lost for words as she looked at that face. Years of longing choked her throat, making it impossible to say the full name.

At this point in the script, local police arrive to help subdue the criminal, breaking the subtle atmosphere between them. Song Jin mimed a hand-off, attempting to walk away while Wen Yu talked to the “officers,” only to have her hand gripped tightly before she could take two steps.

She turned around, looking at Wen Yu guiltily, and forced a laugh: “Hello, hello, hello.”

“I am not fine.” The words were almost spat through gritted teeth. Wen Yu stared at her for a long time, her eyes turning from a slight red back to normal. She took a deep breath, still refusing to let go: “Where did you go? Do you have any idea how worried your mother has been these past few years?!”

“I—” Song Jin’s eyes darted around; her guilt left her speechless. She tried to pull away from Wen Yu’s grip, but she couldn’t budge.

Song Jin widened her eyes, stubbornly maintaining her stance: “That doesn’t seem to be any of your business, does it?”

Wen Yu glared at her, her heart a whirlwind of emotions. she wanted to scold her, to question her, to pour out all the resentment accumulated over five years. But her personality wouldn’t allow her to vent those feelings, forcing her to swallow the words that were on the tip of her tongue.

“Let go.” Song Jin gritted her teeth. The pressure on her hand loosened, and she took the chance to pull her arm away.

Unexpectedly, in the next second, her shoulder was shoved back. Song Jin stumbled back several steps. Just before her head could hit the wall, Wen Yu’s hand moved behind her head, acting as a cushion.

That familiar scent of hair wafted into her nose again. Song Jin was pinned against the wall in this ambiguous “kabedon” pose, her brain instantly short-circuiting.

Wait, this part isn’t in the script?!

“Chu Yun, can you stop always keeping things from me?” Wen Yu’s eyes reddened again, even welling up with tears, losing her composure completely. “It was like this five years ago, and it’s still like this five years later! You just won’t trust me, you always shoulder everything yourself, and you never care how much I worry about you! Chu Yun, do you even have a heart?!”

Song Jin suddenly realized: this was the scene from the mid-to-late part of the story where Chu Yun acts alone and almost gets hurt, and a furious Jiang Huaiyue corners her against a wall to settle both old and new scores. It was also after this scene that they began to rethink their relationship.

Whoa, no wonder everyone who works with her calls her a ‘frugal actor’ who never wastes an emotion; so this is how she ‘saves’ them.

Song Jin thought to herself while quickly recalling the scene in her mind. She froze for a moment, then reached out, using her thumb to gently brush away the tear at the corner of Wen Yu’s eye: “I promise, I won’t do it again.”

“Xiao Song, about our— yikes?!”

Li Hang pushed open the dressing room door and saw this exact scene, her voice jumping an entire octave. Song Jin and Wen Yu turned to look at her at the same time. To their surprise, it wasn’t just Li Hang standing at the door; there were other actors, stylists—about a dozen people in total.

Before Song Jin could even explain, Li Hang’s gaze had already gone vacant: “Are you two… already dating?”

Song Jin: “?”

Wait, this is a huge misunderstanding!!

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