After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 105 EXTRA 1

After marrying Shi Nanbei, in their second year together, Shu Yu once again tried to meet Zhao Xunyin. If she remembered correctly, this was probably the seventh or eighth time the other woman had asked to see her.

Zhao Xunyin herself didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until Shi Nanbei found out that she said Zhao Xunyin should probably go.

“Huh? You’re telling me to meet my ex and you’re not even jealous?” Zhao Xunyin asked.

Shi Nanbei rolled her eyes, holding a book as she read. “I just think, based on her personality, she’s not the type to cling endlessly. If she wants to see you, it’s probably just to put a proper period on the past.”

It sounded surprisingly reasonable.

But Zhao Xunyin couldn’t help asking, “Since when do you understand her so well?”

When did her wife get close enough to Shu Yu to speak up on her behalf?

Her wife was being this magnanimous now? Zhao Xunyin suddenly felt unexplainably sour.

Shi Nanbei didn’t notice that her wife was jealous again—not because she didn’t care, but because she was in her fifth year of university now, busier than ever. Before, during breaks, they could travel together. Now, even during vacations, she was stuck at home studying. She barely had energy to think about anything else.

“How could I possibly understand her?” Shi Nanbei replied without lifting her head. “I just understand you. With your taste, anyone you’ve dated must’ve been excellent.”

Whatever Zhao Xunyin thought of, it made her burst out laughing. “Your evaluation of me is that high?”

Shi Nanbei finally lifted her eyes from the book and calmly said, “That’s one reason.”

“And the other?” Zhao Xunyin asked.

Shi Nanbei nodded, very serious. “The other reason is that your romantic history is excessively colorful.”

Before she could finish the sentence, Zhao Xunyin immediately raised a hand. “Stop. Okay, I get it. You don’t need to continue.”

She looked magnanimous, but in reality, she still minded those past stories just a little. And to avoid unnecessary disasters, Zhao Xunyin very wisely ended the topic.

“Well, I’ll see about it. If I have time next time, I’ll meet her.”

Then she couldn’t resist asking, “Do you want to come with me?”

“No.” Shi Nanbei rejected her instantly. “If I go, neither of you will be able to act normal.”

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

Why did that sound weird?

“But come to think of it,” Zhao Xunyin asked, “don’t you have any exes? You never liked anyone? No one ever liked you?”

She was always quite proud of being her wife’s first love. But she had her doubts. Honestly—her wife’s looks, personality, figure, and brains? There was no way she went through childhood to adulthood without a single person crushing on her.

She could believe Shi Nanbei never liked others.

But no one liking Shi Nanbei?

Even if you beat Zhao Xunyin to death, she wouldn’t believe that.

Her wife had that “first love / everyone’s type” kind of face—there had to be admirers.

“Does liking you count?” Shi Nanbei asked. “Besides you, I don’t think I’ve ever had special feelings for anyone.”

That line alone was enough to brighten anyone’s mood.

Zhao Xunyin smiled. “But back then you only liked me as a fan likes an idol, right? I mean the budding kind of teenage affection. You studied for so many years—you never met someone you clicked with? Someone you wanted to spend time with?”

Once she framed it like that, Shi Nanbei actually thought seriously—and came up with someone.

“Then, probably my senior.”

The moment she heard the word, Zhao Xunyin’s eyelid twitched violently. “Senior?”

“Yeah,” Shi Nanbei honestly said. “I met her in my sophomore year. She was really nice, always took me to club activities. I even helped her rank up in games.”

This was Zhao Xunyin’s first time hearing her mention anyone outside the dorm. But from her tone, nothing seemed to have happened.

“That’s it? You two never did anything else?”

“Oh, we did. Senior used to invite me to run laps at night. On weekends we’d go shopping, watch movies.”

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

This sounded like the senior was either courting Shi Nanbei.

Or was just an overly friendly straight girl.

Straight girls could be terrifyingly good at flirting.

Once the box was opened, Shi Nanbei’s evaluation of the senior was glowing. She talked about how wonderful she was, how she defended her during club troubles—her wife was practically bouncing with excitement, telling stories with sparkling eyes.

At first, Zhao Xunyin maintained composure.

But the more she listened, the more wrong it felt.

These two absolutely sounded like they had something.

Finally, Zhao Xunyin had to stop her. “You really never dated her?”

“No? Why would you think that?” Shi Nanbei blinked.

“Because my sixth sense tells me—she wanted to date you.”

Shi Nanbei looked stunned. Her eyes widened, and her face suddenly flushed. “What are you talking about. Senior is so pretty and amazing, how could she like me?”

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

Why did she sound surprised, even faintly pleased?

Zhao Xunyin instantly soured. “Why not? She might’ve been secretly in love with you. Wouldn’t be surprising.”

Shi Nanbei blinked again. “Secretly in love with me?”

“Yes.” Zhao Xunyin said flatly. “From your description, she was absolutely crushing on you. No question.”

“But she never confessed.” Shi Nanbei suddenly sounded regretful. “She was the campus belle! Was I really that charming?”

Zhao Xunyin stared at her: “…”

She suddenly understood why the senior never confessed.

With this level of obliviousness, her wife might have been impossible to pursue.

Maybe because they talked too much about exes that night, Zhao Xunyin had a strangely vivid dream.

She dreamed she was back in the autumn of her twenty-fourth year, the day she first met Shu Yu. But in the dream, they weren’t meeting for the first time—they were familiar, close even. Yet the familiarity carried a strange sense of distance.

She knew clearly who she was. The real her at twenty-four would never have been this calm or elegant.

Back then, she’d been insecure, sensitive, fragile—desperate for trust and reassurance.

Dream-Shu Yu looked exactly as she used to: calm, poised, unshakably composed. The two of them strolled around the track field, chatting leisurely about everything that had once happened between them in reality.

She said she finally understood why Shu Yu had left back then.

“I suppose, I really wasn’t a very good lover,” she murmured with a soft sigh.

Back then, she had truly, wholeheartedly loved her. But at the same time, she wanted too much—she wanted the company of a lover, the support of a thriving career, and the peace of a stable life. Yet she was too selfish to give up anything she already had.

The world is fair. For everything gained, something must be lost; every reward demands an equal cost.

She paid nothing at the time, but the price had long been marked. In the end, everything was collected from her lover—Shu Yu.

Shu Yu left her.

In her dream, she recalled Shu Yu asking her, many years later, whether she would be willing to retire from acting and step away from the spotlight. She had thought long and hard back then, yet never gave a clear answer.

At that time, she wanted fame, wanted fortune, wanted love, she wanted everything, and refused to give up anything.

Perhaps Shu Yu understood—understood all of it. And that was why she chose to leave at the peak of her brilliance. Gains and losses in life are always too difficult to balance.

“I wasn’t much better either.” Dream-Shu Yu spoke in that same cool, distant tone of hers.

“Looks like neither of us were very good,” she said with a faint smile.

Shu Yu turned her head, gazing at her steadily. After a long pause, she said, “Maybe so.”

What Shu Yu couldn’t do then, Shi Nanbei could now.

Shi Nanbei might be scatterbrained at times, but she was always radiant and bright. When it came to the longevity of love, she understood far more clearly than she ever had. After marrying her, Shi Nanbei remained herself—still Shi Nanbei, still Dr. Shi.

“You know, in many ways, I don’t really understand my wife.” She didn’t remember how long it had been since that dream, only that one evening, Zhao Xunyin finally put down the knot in her heart and agreed to meet Shu Yu again, to talk about the years they had missed.

“So many times, I thought young people were supposed to behave a certain way, but she wasn’t like that. And just when I thought she’d surprise me, she’d do something entirely ordinary, something utterly simple.”

Shu Yu’s gaze was the same as it had been all those years ago, the same as in her dream—calm, quiet, steady.

“These past years, I’ve slowly stepped back from the spotlight. Learned filming, learned directing. Sometimes I’d even visit her school, watching her step onto the operating table with a scalpel in hand.”

“You once asked me if I was willing to marry you. I think, I actually was.” Zhao Xunyin’s voice softened. “But back then, I couldn’t give up what I had. I couldn’t throw everything away to follow you.”

Shu Yu’s eyes lowered with a small, knowing smile. She was a smart woman—she understood. “And now? Would you be willing to give up everything for her?”

“No,” Zhao Xunyin said, shaking her head slowly, openly. “No matter who it is, I don’t think I could give up everything for someone. It’s hard to admit, but after all these years, I’ve finally learned to accept this selfish version of myself.

Shu Yu, can you accept it too?”

Shu Yu simply watched her, letting her finish.

“You want a love that burns fiercely, that clings without reservation—a love that abandons everything else. I can’t give you that. And I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Shu Yu whispered. “There’s no need to be sorry.”

Zhao Xunyin looked at her. “All these years, I’ve wanted to let go of you. I really tried, but I just couldn’t. Even after marrying Shi Nanbei, there would still be moments where you suddenly crossed my mind. I thought about it for a long time. Eventually, I told her honestly. And do you know what she said?”

“What?”

Zhao Xunyin smiled—a smile far brighter than anything from the years before she married Shi Nanbei. She was no longer the aloof, distant Zhao Xunyin of the past.

“She said, ‘That’s normal. I often think about other actresses too.’”

Even Shu Yu, usually so composed, couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. She had asked around; Zhao Xunyin’s wife truly was a remarkable woman.

She had always wanted to see Zhao Xunyin again—not to rekindle anything, of course. Zhao Xunyin was married now. She should offer her blessings.

She wanted to meet simply to speak earnestly about their past—about the love they had once given, wholeheartedly, before they parted so abruptly. She had always regretted not explaining herself properly.

She knew Zhao Xunyin’s temperament. She knew the other woman would brood over that farewell. The one who tied the knot must untie it. She had arranged their very first meeting—so she should also be the one to bring their final closure.

“You see, she’s so honest. To her, everything I once was is simply a part of who I am now. She accepts it all, without hesitation, without burden. With her, I’ve somehow become both the simplest and the most complex version of Zhao Xunyin,” she said quietly.

Shu Yu listened for a long moment before she finally understood.

In the end, they had both been too proud. Zhao Xunyin had been too proud to show any of her wounds, while she had been too proud to watch Shu Yu struggle for her dreams and get hurt.

Zhao Xunyin couldn’t face the imperfect version of herself back then, and she couldn’t accept the powerless version of herself at the time.

If you cannot be honest with yourself in front of the one you love most, then the relationship is doomed to be lost.

“I understand now,” Shu Yu said softly. “Perhaps a little late. But, I wish you happiness.”

“And I wish myself happiness too.”

“We will both be just fine.” Zhao Xunyin looked into Shu Yu’s eyes as she spoke.

Then she stood, slung her bag over her shoulder.

With her back to Shu Yu—to the person she had once loved most—she walked away, step by step, toward her own light.

The class bell rang.

Students poured out of the teaching building, and for a moment, it felt like she had returned to that year—when she was in her early twenties, still in university, catching a fleeting glimpse of someone under the classroom corridor.

And she remembered that fleeting moment for ten years.

And now, she had finally let go.

Under the sweltering summer sun, she stood beneath the cool shade of a tree. She lifted her gaze—and there, among the passing crowd, she saw her: the soon-to-be surgeon in a white coat, holding a parasol, walking slowly toward her.

What beautiful sunlight.

What a beautiful woman to love.

“There you are.” The woman reached her, took her hand, and smiled. “I found you.”

She smiled back. “And I found you.”

It was an encounter meant to happen—just like that early summer day, when she carried her photo and went to the café to meet her for the very first time.

“Hello, Shi Nanbei. I’m Zhao Xunyin,” she had said.

And the girl had laughed, her eyes filled entirely with her.

Hello, Zhao Xunyin.