Never Forget - Chapter 4

The person she had longed for appeared before her without warning.

She was even paler, thinner, and more beautiful than on the big screen. She also seemed more elegant, noble, and utterly distant.

Ye Zhuyi forgot to breathe. Her mind went blank as she froze in place. The surrounding noise faded away, and her world came to a standstill in that single moment.

A single glance felt like an eternity.

But in an instant, Qin Zhizhen averted her gaze without a trace of hesitation.

As their eyes met and then parted, the invisible barrier shattered. The chaotic noise rushed back into her ears, and the hall erupted into a cacophony of voices. Ye Zhuyi let out a long breath and stared deeply at Qin Zhizhen’s retreating figure. Only after the door closed did she turn and walk away.

Finding a secluded corner, Ye Zhuyi’s hands trembled as she placed a cigarette between her red lips. Her fingers were icy and shaking so much that it took two tries to light it.

She took a deep drag and slowly exhaled the smoke. Only then did her racing heart begin to steady.

That indifferent gaze was the look one gives a stranger.

So it was true. She really didn’t remember her. She didn’t recognize her at all.

Even without that incident, they would have drifted apart. In the end, Qin Zhizhen would have forgotten her anyway, given enough time.

For Ye Zhuyi, however, Qin Zhizhen was the one she yearned for day and night, the one who haunted her dreams, the one she could never forget.

But for Qin Zhizhen, she was nothing more than a… friend from their younger years.

It was only natural. Ye Zhuyi had known it for a long time and had already braced herself. There was no reason to feel disappointed or heartbroken.

Ye Zhuyi squinted her reddened eyes as the smoke curled around her.

It’s okay, she thought. If we don’t know each other anymore, we can just get to know each other again. Before, she couldn’t even see her. Now, she had the chance to meet her and even a chance to audition for a role opposite her. Everything would get better.

The audition! Qin Zhizhen was here now. That meant she would be there during the audition, seeing Ye Zhuyi from very close range.

All her melancholy vanished, replaced by a whirlwind of nerves and anxiety. Ye Zhuyi’s mind was a tangled mess.

She wanted to see Qin Zhizhen. She wanted Qin Zhizhen to see her. She wanted to be close to her. But the more she thought about it, the more terrified she became of losing this opportunity. The more scared she got, the more nervous she became, until her arms and legs felt weak.

As her cigarette burned down to the filter, Ye Zhuyi stubbed it out in the ashtray on the trash can and took two deep breaths.

Calm down.

After composing herself, Ye Zhuyi prepared to return to the lobby. She took a few steps but slowed down when she saw Xiao Qiao and Jin Yue bickering in a nearby corner.

In April, the dramas Jin Yue starred in were released one after another, dominating the screens. Coupled with a constant stream of scandals and trending searches, she shot to fame in just one month.

Ye Zhuyi had known her even before she became a star, all because of Xiao Qiao.

Though Xiao Qiao was a quiet person, she was exceptionally attentive. To put it crudely, she was like a new partner who had been perfectly trained by an ex. Of course, Xiao Qiao wasn’t Ye Zhuyi’s partner, but Jin Yue, the artist Xiao Qiao had previously served, was indeed her “ex.”

Back then, even though Jin Yue was popular, Ye Zhuyi was still more successful. She had asked Xiao Qiao, “Why don’t you work with Jin Yue anymore?”

Xiao Qiao had made a face of indescribable pain and said, “She is my nightmare.”

Ye Zhuyi still remembered last winter when she took Xiao Qiao to Hua Jin’s house to celebrate her birthday with Yu Wei and Song Muran. That day, Xiao Qiao got drunk and fell asleep on the sofa. She had a nightmare and curled up in a ball, crying until her face was covered in tears. She kept sobbing, “Jin Yue, please let me go.”

Xiao Qiao’s fragile state at that moment had struck Hua Jin’s heart. If she hadn’t been busy dealing with the Hua family’s affairs, Hua Jin would have probably made her move on Xiao Qiao long ago.

Ye Zhuyi pulled herself back to the present and sent a quick message to Hua Jin. Then, she walked over to Xiao Qiao with a steady, unhurried pace.

Jin Yue was gripping Xiao Qiao’s wrist tightly. Xiao Qiao struggled against her, but her soft, childlike voice lacked any real force. “Teacher Jin, please show some restraint.”

“I’ve already humbled myself enough. What more do you want—” The sharp female voice cut off abruptly. Jin Yue’s gaze shifted past Xiao Qiao to Ye Zhuyi, her frown deepening.

Compared to Ye Zhuyi’s striking beauty, Jin Yue’s looks were plain and unremarkable, the kind of face perfect for a pure and innocent female lead in an idol drama. But right now, her eyes held a fierce, menacing glint.

Ye Zhuyi remained unfazed. She met Jin Yue’s gaze calmly before slowly scanning her from head to toe. Immediately, Jin Yue released her grip, leaving clear red marks on Xiao Qiao’s arm.

As soon as she was free, Xiao Qiao tried to turn and leave. But when she saw Ye Zhuyi, her expression soured. She looked flustered and embarrassed, as if a private secret had been exposed, but she quickly regained her usual stoic, expressionless mask. “Sister Ke told me to find you.”

“Right, let’s go.” Ye Zhuyi nodded and walked away, treating Jin Yue like thin air. She turned to Xiao Qiao as the other woman caught up. “Which number is it now?”

“Number 10 was just going in when I came out,” Xiao Qiao replied. “It should be 12 by now.”

Behind her, Jin Yue stared intensely at Ye Zhuyi’s retreating back. Her fingers clenched tighter and tighter as she ground out each syllable through gritted teeth, “Ye. Zhu. Yi.”

Back in the main hall, the director was just calling out the next number. It was already time for number thirteen.

Ye Zhuyi sat back down in her original spot.

The actress who had just finished her audition seemed to have performed poorly. She was a sobbing mess, her voice trembling as she said, “When Qin Shen glanced at me, my legs went weak and I just collapsed on the floor.”

“Pfft, you’re the one who got nervous, so don’t blame Qin Shen. Alright, alright, stop crying.”

Someone sighed, “Sigh, I wish I’d been number one or two. It’s better to get it over with early. Qin Shen wasn’t even here back then.”

“The afternoon session feels much harder than the morning. Everyone comes out looking like a wilted eggplant. I’m getting more and more depressed just waiting.”

Ke Shu agreed wholeheartedly. She glanced sideways at Ye Zhuyi and noticed that her friend’s hand on her lap flinched at the mention of “Qin Shen.” She seemed just as nervous.

“Just relax when it’s your turn,” Ke Shu advised. “We’re not aiming for a perfect performance. Just try not to make any mistakes.”

Ye Zhuyi nodded absently.

Number fourteen was Jin Yue. She must have done well, as she emerged with a triumphant smile. The assistant director leaned against the door and called out, “Number fifteen, Ye Zhuyi.”

“Here,” Ye Zhuyi said, standing up.

As Ye Zhuyi approached the door, she crossed paths with Jin Yue. Jin Yue held her head high, her posture radiating confidence.

It was a clear power move. By projecting such success, the previous candidate aimed to pressure the next one.

Ye Zhuyi pretended not to notice. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, brushed past Jin Yue, and walked straight into the audition room.

The room was sparsely furnished with a simple performance stage and no props. A camera stood to the left, while the judges’ panel sat below. A long table before them held the scripts for the random draw and a viewfinder.

Ye Zhuyi glanced up briefly. Qin Zhizhen was leaning toward Zhou Wen, speaking to her. His suit jacket was draped carelessly over his shoulders, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbone.

Suddenly, Qin Zhizhen turned and caught her eye. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

Ye Zhuyi bit her lip, her heart racing uncontrollably.

Zhou Wen’s eyes lit up when she saw Ye Zhuyi enter. She turned to Qin Zhizhen and said, “I saw a fan edit of you two the other day. You actually look like a great couple!”

Qin Zhizhen chuckled, her eyes teasing as she looked at Zhou Wen. “Aunt Zhou, you’re getting more and more hip.”

Zhou Wen was nearly fifty, but she had the heart of a child. She loved surfing the internet and knew more online slang than most young people. She shot Qin Zhizhen a glance, her smile widening as she leaned forward to ask Lu Buping, “Old Lu, what do you think of this girl?”

“Her materials aren’t great,” Lu Buping replied seriously. “How many idols these days can actually act?” She glanced at Ye Zhuyi and added flatly, “I’ve seen a dozen girls in heavy makeup. It’s rare to see one with a bare face. Visually, she’s okay.”

Zhou Wen huffed in dissatisfaction and turned back to chat with Qin Zhizhen, ignoring Lu Buping.

As Ye Zhuyi walked toward the long table, the conversation between Zhou Wen and Qin Zhizhen grew clearer.

“You’ve seen that video too?” Zhou Wen asked. “That’s why I wanted to see how she’d act with you.”

Qin Zhizhen’s lips curved into a smile. “She’ll have to pass the first round of auditions first.”

“We’ll see,” Zhou Wen said.

…Qin Zhizhen has seen the video too?!

Ye Zhuyi’s heart was pounding with anxiety, but her face remained impassive. She didn’t dare look up again. Instead, she quickly grabbed the script and moved aside to prepare.

Qin Zhizhen’s deep gaze swept over her reddened ear tips.

Earlier, every actor who left the audition had been asked about the script. Some said there was a dance, others said there were many lines, and some said there were no lines at all. The accounts varied wildly, but they all agreed on one thing: it was extremely difficult.

Now that she had the script, Ye Zhuyi realized just how hard it truly was.

The scene followed Shen Manqing, the second daughter of the Shen family, who had lost her home and family. She had found work as a dancer at the Grand Ballroom. Proud and unwilling to perform provocative or seductive dances, she had inadvertently caused the other dancers to be reprimanded on her first day. The next day, the other dancers, furious after their own scolding, subjected her to a barrage of ridicule and insults. Throughout it all, Shen Manqing remained silent, suppressing her emotions and enduring the abuse. Bored by her lack of reaction, the other dancers eventually left, leaving her alone backstage.

Then, the music began. Shen Manqing rushed onto the stage before the other dancers could. Her performance was so stunning that it instantly made her the star of the Grand Ballroom.

The audition required the actress to portray Shen Manqing silently enduring the insults, her isolation backstage, and the dance itself.

The actress was left to figure out the emotion herself, and the choreography of the dance was entirely up to her.

Five minutes later, Lu Buping said, “Let’s start.”

Ye Zhuyi rubbed her sweaty palms and took a deep breath to steady herself.

The assistant turned off the room lights, and the stage lights flared to life. Ye Zhuyi glanced up to confirm the camera’s position, then positioned herself halfway sideways to the lens.

Lu Buping looked surprised. “She looks inexperienced, but her instincts are good. She doesn’t stare at the camera, but she doesn’t ignore it either. Not like those other idiots who either overact for the lens or keep trying to find it.” She sighed with a hint of mockery. “These so-called A-list and B-list ‘actors’ these days are so overrated. Their acting skills have gone to the dogs.”

The worst thing in filmmaking is when an actor looks directly at the camera. Their expressions and movements already feel fake, and staring into the lens only makes it worse. This was a common flaw among idols and TV actors.

“She’s pretty good, isn’t she?” Zhou Wen said with a touch of pride. After all, she was the one who had chosen Ye Zhuyi.

Lu Buping scoffed and twirled the pen in her hand. “Good instincts don’t equal good acting.”

Qin Zhizhen watched the viewfinder with an expressionless face.

Ye Zhuyi lowered her head, her pale neck curving, yet her back remained ramrod straight. Her hand, clenched into a fist at her side, tightened slowly until the veins on the back of her hand stood out. It looked as if she were truly facing a crowd hurling one insult after another.

From the side, her long eyelashes trembled. Her full lips were a focal point, her lower lip quivering.

So far, her acting was decent, but not yet breathtaking.

Suddenly, her red lips pressed together, her lower lip bitten hard. Ye Zhuyi took two steps and faced the camera. She leaned back slightly. Though there was nothing behind her, it felt as if she were leaning against a wall.

This was the moment when the other dancers had left, leaving Shen Manqing alone backstage.

She gripped her right arm with her left hand in a self-protective gesture, her eyes squeezed shut. Leaning against the “wall,” she neither slid down nor stood completely upright. Her back curved slightly, as if she were using the wall to keep herself standing, proud and stubborn.

Her long eyelashes fluttered more rapidly, and her nostrils flared with each deep breath. Her lower lip, bitten even harder, looked more vivid as a faint trace of blood seeped through. She was trembling, shaking with suppressed emotion, yet not a single tear fell.

Ye Zhuyi slowly lifted her eyes to the camera as her back straightened.

It was a simple act of opening her eyes, yet it felt like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

When her gaze was lowered, she looked fragile. When it was half-open, she showed resentment and unwillingness. But when she fully opened her eyes, they were bloodshot, devoid of tears or any other emotion.

Yet, it conveyed an endless sorrow.

In this moment, the old Second Miss Shen died.

Lu Buping’s pupils constricted, her eyes gleaming. She waved her hand, signaling her assistant to start the music.

The music began abruptly, but Ye Zhuyi didn’t flinch. She raised her hand, untied her hair tie, and let her long hair cascade down like a waterfall.

Qin Zhizhen raised an eyebrow at her movement. He leaned back in his chair, shifting into a more relaxed posture.

She couldn’t dance before, but now she can? A single dance will make her the star of the show? This can’t be just any dance. It must be the kind of performance that leaves you wanting to watch it again and again.

I will use every ounce of my charm to make you restless whenever you are not with me in the future.

Ye Zhuyi pressed her lips together, smudging the blood she had drawn earlier and making her lips look even more alluring. She found the rhythm and began to dance, her movements perfectly timed to the beat.

Her slender waist swayed like a willow branch in the wind, and her hair whipped through the air. Every twist of her body exuded pure seduction, yet her expression remained cool and detached. Only the occasional flutter of her eyelashes revealed a hint of charm, keeping her dance from becoming too overtly provocative.

She was like a swaying poppy, tempting anyone to pluck her.

But she also served as a constant reminder that she was untouchable.

Qin Zhizhen watched her, and her deep, pool-like eyes rippled as if a stone had been thrown into them.

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