After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 104

When people get older, they become cautious with love. They’re no longer like the young—fearless, wholehearted, willing to leap without thinking. Perhaps that’s how adult love is: always tangled with one kind of interest or another. Zhao Xunyin had always known this, but the moment she saw Shi Nanbei express her feelings in such a sincere, clumsy, unmistakably-her way, she suddenly wanted to be reckless for love one more time.

Someone once said that love is like a glass of wine—once hurt, half of it spills out. And when you’re ready to meet the next person, you top the glass off with water. It still looks full, but the taste is never the same.

She couldn’t remember where she read it. At the time, Zhao Xunyin had been at her lowest—disheartened, disappointed, stumbling through life. Maybe that was why the line had resonated so deeply. But after meeting Shi Nanbei, she realized something: with certain people, simply being together is like running your heart through a distiller. They don’t just remove the water from your diluted wine—they refill your glass, patiently, tenderly.

A love that grows richer upon meeting—one you’ll savor for a long, long time.

She wouldn’t let herself miss it again.

Almost without hesitation, Zhao Xunyin decided to return to Chengdu—to the city where the person she loved lived. To see that spirited, fiery little girl.

She asked the director for leave, and as soon as she got into the nanny van heading for the airport, her manager was already nagging beside her.

“Weren’t you just saying to stay calm? To not overreact? And what happened? You took leave and rushed straight to your wife.”

Her manager was honestly jealous.

“Is post-marriage slow-burn love really this sweet? I seriously don’t know what kind of love potion she fed you to make a notorious playgirl like you turn back. Ugh, watching you like this almost makes me want to get married.”

Zhao Xunyin scrolled through Weibo. When she heard her manager say that, something crossed her mind and she let out a small laugh, not bothering to deny anything.

Seeing that ridiculous lovestruck expression, the manager didn’t nag further. Zhao Xunyin was already half-retired and moving toward behind-the-scenes work. Soon enough, she wouldn’t be able to control her even if she tried.

The driver took them toward the airport. Knowing how badly Zhao Xunyin missed her wife, the manager booked her the earliest flight back to Chengdu. At the airport, she pulled aside the young assistant who would be accompanying Zhao Xunyin back.

“Keep your eyes open and watch your Sister Zhao closely. She’s knee-deep in love and completely lost in it. Her brain’s running hot and she’s ready to throw everything aside. This trip is sudden, and we don’t know if paparazzi will follow—things are messy right now, and those guys can smell drama a mile away. Be careful, okay? I really don’t want to drag the PR team into another disaster.”

Only God knew the trauma Zhao Xunyin gave her manager the last time she accidentally revealed her alt account on Weibo.

The assistant nodded earnestly, looking so serious she practically needed a notebook. Xu-jie was deeply satisfied, already wondering if she should give the new assistant a little bonus.

But really, this was all Zhao Xunyin’s business. Why was she stressing over it like a worried parent?

The flight back to Chengdu took barely three hours. As soon as she got off the plane, the eager-to-return Zhao Xunyin ignored whether any fans had come to pick her up and went straight through the VIP channel, exiting the airport smoothly.

The assistant who had stayed in Chengdu knew she was coming back today, so she’d already parked outside. Zhao Xunyin got into the car, and before the assistant could even ask where to go, she said impatiently:
“West China Medical School at Sichuan University.”

The assistant froze, then nodded and drove out.

It wasn’t the first or second time she’d driven Zhao Xunyin there. Of course, she knew what Zhao Xunyin was going for. But usually, it was planned ahead of time. Today’s impulsiveness was a first.

She glanced at Zhao Xunyin through the rearview mirror.

Hmm, she looked pretty calm. Didn’t seem like they had argued.

“Miss Zhao, do you miss Nanbei?” the assistant asked cautiously, unable to resist teasing her.

Zhao Xunyin was caught off guard. All the way here, she’d been acting purely on instinct, not fully aware of her own motivation. But hearing the question made everything click into place.

She missed Shi Nanbei.

She missed her very much.

She was already past thirty, nearly forty. She was no longer young. By logic, she shouldn’t be the type who could no longer eat or sleep because of missing someone—not like a lovesick teenager.

People her age usually thought of practical matters first. But today, no, not just today. For a long time now—ever since marrying Shi Nanbei—she had started changing.

She looked forward to life more. Her mindset grew lighter, younger. Like a tree that had long been withered receiving a spring rain—coming back to life all at once.

Shi Nanbei was that spring rain.

Just admit it, Zhao Xunyin—you’re hopelessly in love.

Your heart is only so big, and yet this girl named Shi Nanbei has taken over every corner without an ounce of restraint.

“Yes, I miss her,” Zhao Xunyin said with a bright mood, watching the scenery slide past outside the window.

She rarely talked about her love life in front of others. That one reckless public relationship in her youth had hurt her too deeply, so afterward, no matter how much she liked someone, she kept it to herself.

But when it came to Shi Nanbei, she was willing.

The assistant drove quickly. By the time they reached Nanbei’s university, only about forty minutes had passed. From the moment Zhao Xunyin saw that Weibo post until she was now standing outside Shi Nanbei’s dorm room, only five hours had gone by.

Five hours. Over two thousand kilometers.

A long stretch of longing suddenly felt close enough to touch.

At this hour, Shi Nanbei was either in evening classes or still at the library. Zhao Xunyin thought for a moment, then sent her a message.

Yin: What are you doing?

Shi Nanbei took more than ten minutes to reply to her WeChat message: “I’m at the library reading. What about you? Are you done with work?”

Sitting in the car, phone in hand, Zhao Xunyin typed back, her expression unconsciously softening. “Yeah. When are you heading back to your dorm?”

“It’s only a little past seven. I’ll read for another two hours—around nine I’ll go back. Want to video call then?”

She couldn’t remember when it started, but at some point they’d formed an unspoken routine. On nights they weren’t together, no matter how late it was, they always carved out an hour or two to video call. They didn’t always talk much—sometimes they just watched each other read, run lines, or work. Two phones, two screens—modern companionship, but companionship all the same.

“The things I bought for you have arrived at the entrance of your dorm building. They need you to sign. If you can, could you go down and pick them up?”

Zhao Xunyin wanted to give her a surprise, so she phrased it like that.

“Right now?”

Shi Nanbei sent a sticker, then asked, “What did you buy? Is it urgent?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, tell the delivery guy I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Alright.”

After sending the message, Zhao Xunyin suddenly felt an unexpected flutter of nerves. She lifted her phone and switched to the front camera to check her makeup.

Not bad, still fairly perfect. Despite the bumpy trip, her makeup artist was competent—nothing had smudged. She had rushed out, though; she hadn’t even gone home to change. She was still in the casual outfit she always kept at the film set.

She wondered privately if she looked pretty enough.

Even so, she didn’t forget to keep her eyes on every person passing by the dorm building outside the car window.

Afraid she might miss that little miracle of sweetness—afraid she wouldn’t meet her spring the moment it arrived.

She didn’t know how long she’d been waiting—maybe a minute or two, maybe half a century—but then she finally saw her. The girl who had been visiting her dreams night after night.

Autumn had arrived, and Chengdu was beginning to cool. Shi Nanbei wore a light blue hooded baseball jacket, skinny black jeans that revealed her delicate ankles, and white sneakers. A backpack over her shoulders, earbuds in, her expression serious and focused as she walked slowly from the teaching building.

People came and went under the dorm building, but the moment Zhao Xunyin laid eyes on her, her gaze fixed and refused to move. She watched her walk closer and closer—the girl’s hair seemed longer than last time. It had just reached her shoulders during National Day, and now the ends nearly brushed her chest.

She’d gotten thinner, less round than she was last holiday.

She must be exhausted. There were faint shadows under her eyes.

School must be tiring for my little girl, Zhao Xunyin thought, her heart tightening.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. A voice message from Shi Nanbei:

“I’m here. Where’s the delivery guy?”

Zhao Xunyin looked at the message but didn’t reply. Instead, she pushed open the car door, stepped out, and walked straight toward her.

Shi Nanbei was looking down, typing—probably because she hadn’t replied. Zhao Xunyin, smiling, quickened her pace, planning to surprise her. But before she even closed the five-meter distance, Shi Nanbei lifted her head as if drawn by a wire of intuition. Their eyes met—completely unprepared, yet perfectly in sync.

A second later, the girl whose expression had been so serious just moments ago broke into the brightest, most radiant smile. She rushed toward her.

The “Did you miss me?” on the tip of Zhao Xunyin’s tongue never made it out.

The younger girl swept her into an embrace, arms strong and warm.

Her breath brushed Zhao Xunyin’s ear as she inhaled deeply, drinking in her scent. Then, with the softest, most contented sigh:

“I missed you so much.”

Zhao Xunyin wrapped her arms around her in return.

“I missed you too.”