After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 38

When it came to Qi Yu’s borderline-obsessive approach to making money, Zhao Xunyin had more or less figured her out over the years.

Still, there was one thing she could never quite wrap her head around. The Qi family was practically swimming in wealth—so much that even if Qi Yu did absolutely nothing, their fortune could still sustain several generations of lavish living. So why on earth was she, of all people, not a spoiled rich second-generation heir, but someone who worked herself half to death chasing more money every day?

“You think I don’t want to know what’s wrong with her?” An He had once said, her expression uncharacteristically fierce. “Before we got married, I thought I was marrying a rich second generation too. I imagined she’d take me traveling around the world, buying villas, manors, yachts—you know, enjoying life. But what happened? Aside from the three days of marriage leave, she hasn’t taken a single day off since! It’s been, what, seven or eight years now? She’s never missed a day of work! You think I’m not in despair? One time I tried to talk nicely with her, told her since we’re married, she should at least take me abroad once. Guess what? She saved up her annual leave and took me abroad—just to sign contracts!”

The more An He talked, the more aggrieved she sounded. “So tell me, did I marry into wealth or did I marry a workaholic?”

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

Truly, comparisons could kill. Not only was Qi Yu better than others—she was also far more hardworking. While Boss Qi spent every day scheming how to make money, Zhao Xunyin could only think about eating three square meals in peace. Compared to her, Zhao Xunyin couldn’t help but feel utterly ashamed.

Clearly, some people were destined to be successful—heaven had its reasons. That was Zhao Xunyin’s only conclusion after hearing An He’s rant.

After hanging up, Zhao Xunyin glanced at the time. There was still more than an hour before Shi Nanbei’s exam would finish.

The weather in Chengdu was lovely that day—bright blue skies and fluffy white clouds. Wandering through the university campus, she felt as though she’d grown younger by several years. Time seemed to slow down here, softened by the sunlight and laughter of students.

Moments of solitude like this inevitably stirred up her memories.

In the past, Zhao Xunyin had been a true workaholic, almost to a self-destructive degree. She was always racing against time—filming for months on end, day and night blurred together, sleeping only four or five hours a day. Those years produced several acclaimed films and earned her a solid reputation with the public, but along with success came an unshakable loneliness.

Zhao Xunyin had always been afraid of being alone. You could see that even in her youth—that was, after all, how she’d come to know Shi Nanbei’s grandmother.

Back then, she was just a teenager, living alone. It was a small act of kindness from that elder that gave her a rare sense of warmth. She never forgot it.

She’d always wanted a home of her own. But in the adult world, wanting something doesn’t mean you’ll get it—in fact, the more you yearn for it, the more elusive it becomes.

The internet wasn’t entirely wrong: after Shu Yu, Zhao Xunyin truly did lose part of her ability to love—or perhaps the ability to be in love. In the years after Shu Yu, she’d loved a few people, resented a few, but never truly hated anyone.

Adults didn’t need dramatic breakups; everything ended with civility and composure. And yet, for reasons she couldn’t explain—whether fate or punishment—she kept circling through the same pattern, moving from one bed to another, until finally, she was alone again.

As for home, she’d never really had one.

Many years ago, she thought she would build one with Shu Yu. During that time, she had loved her with everything she had.

But time changes everything. Love fades, the sea turns to dust, and nothing lasts forever. They were too similar—two sharp blades clashing instead of complementing each other. After the sweetness came the coldness, then the quarrels, and finally, the separation.

Meeting Shi Nanbei was pure accident.

Back then, her life was neither good nor bad. During a chat with an elder she deeply respected since youth, she’d mentioned her unmarried status. The elder had always liked her dearly, treating her almost like a granddaughter, and had half-jokingly suggested she meet her real granddaughter.

“You could give it a try—for my sake,” the old lady had said warmly. “If I know she’s with you, I can rest easy.”

At that time, the elder was already ill. Her tone carried a subtle sense of entrusting something precious.

Zhao Xunyin wasn’t someone easily swayed by sentiment—she was cold by nature. But because this woman had been her greatest source of comfort in her youth, she didn’t refuse outright. She only said, “We’re too far apart in age. I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“It’s fine. She really likes you. Just think of it as meeting a fan,” the elder had chuckled over the phone.

Elders always had that gentle wisdom about them—knowing exactly how to melt through her pride and indifference, just as she had done all those years ago when Zhao Xunyin was still rebellious and untamed.

“Why don’t you come by my house sometime?” the old lady had said, smiling. “My granddaughter’s adorable.”

At sixteen or seventeen, Zhao Xunyin lived alone. One night, after another heated argument with her parents over the phone, she’d hung up and sat there feeling hollow, desperate for a kind of affection that never seemed to come.

When she looked up, she caught sight of the grandmother next door watching her quietly—kind eyes full of understanding.

Who knew how long she’d been listening?

Even now, in her thirties, Zhao Xunyin still felt awkward whenever someone caught her showing weakness. Back then, at seventeen, that embarrassment was tenfold.

“Have you eaten yet?” the old lady asked calmly. “Why don’t you come over for dinner? My granddaughter’s very cute.”

At that, Zhao Xunyin tilted her head—and as if on cue, saw a tiny figure crawling out of the next-door apartment.

The child was hopelessly clumsy, dressed adorably but completely lacking self-sufficiency. She had drool on her chin, yet when she saw Zhao Xunyin, she beamed, eyes curving into crescents, and stretched out her chubby little arms as if demanding a hug.

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

“She seems to really like you.”

The elder bent down to pick up the little girl, then lifted her up toward the delinquent-looking teenager and said with a smile, “Come on, Beibei, call her ‘jiejie,’ okay?”

The child couldn’t speak yet, but that didn’t stop her from being delighted at the sight of such a beautiful young woman. She waved her chubby hands and grabbed at the girl’s clothes. Zhao Xunyin, unable to handle the child’s enthusiasm, could only follow the grandmother into her home.

And from that moment on, their fates slowly began to intertwine—though she didn’t realize it at the time. That was why, when the grandmother later tried to set her up on a blind date, her first instinct had been to refuse.

She really had meant to refuse. The words were on the tip of her tongue—until she saw the photo.

In the picture was that same little girl who used to cling to her leg, the same proud and spoiled child, now grown into a graceful young woman. At that, Zhao Xunyin’s heart gave a faint, involuntary stir.

Maybe she just wanted to see what the child looked like now. Maybe her heart truly had gone quiet after all these years. Just as the grandmother had said—she could treat it as meeting an old fan who once liked her.

After all, back then she had broken her hand, and the autograph she gave that child had been a crooked scrawl. The grandmother once told her that Beibei hadn’t looked very happy when she received it. Zhao Xunyin had always remembered that. She wanted to give her a proper signature one day. That was the real reason she didn’t turn down the invitation.

Just meet, she’d told herself. Make up for that imperfect autograph from years ago, and that would be enough.

But then she walked into the café—and saw Shi Nanbei.

The little girl she remembered was gone. In her place stood a young woman in a black cardigan, fair-skinned and lovely, her dark hair tied into a ponytail. When she smiled, a deep dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth, her eyes curving sweetly, her every expression bright and charming.

Perhaps it was in that moment that Zhao Xunyin’s heart began to move again.

She was long past the age of sleepless nights over love. Now, past thirty, all she wanted was a home—a steady companion to stay by her side.

And Shi Nanbei had appeared before her right at that time.

So, she chose to marry her. To build a home together.

Outside the car window, young college students walked along the tree-lined path, their faces glowing with youth. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering dapples of gold across their clothes.

It had been a long time since Zhao Xunyin had sat waiting like this. Perhaps that’s why her mind drifted back—back to years ago.

It was around her university days. She had debuted early, and attending college was more of a formality, a golden veneer. Even so, she had once hoped to experience a few real days of campus life.

It was during that time that she met Shu Yu, who had come to give a guest lecture at the school.

That woman—young, accomplished, a prodigy of the business world—had personally led a major acquisition, toppling a company even more powerful than her own. Overnight, she became a legend, the uncontested queen of the entertainment industry. Naturally, such a figure was often invited by top universities to give talks to aspiring students.

A queen of commerce met a rising queen of film. Their eyes met once—and sparks flew.

Zhao Xunyin would never deny that, back then, she had truly loved Shu Yu. Nor would she deny that much of her success today came from the unwavering support and devotion Shu Yu had given her.

She could still picture it vividly—Shu Yu at twenty-six or twenty-seven, sitting in her car with the window rolled down, smiling at her with that quiet charm. She could still remember the morning they broke up, the dawn light painting the sky with soft hues.

She had loved deeply, and she had remembered. But now, looking back, it was clear—some people are just fellow travelers in one’s journey.

They had both been that to each other—passing through, and then gone.

After marriage, Zhao Xunyin’s attitude toward life began to shift. Much of that was because her wife, Shi Nanbei, was someone who always went with the flow—cheerful, open-hearted, never one to dwell on things.

Since their wedding, Zhao Xunyin had stopped treating work as the center of her world. She began to save her energy for something else—for nurturing their bond. Like now, waiting in her car early in the morning beneath Shi Nanbei’s apartment, just to pick her up after class.

A year ago, she would never have imagined herself doing something like this.

It was romantic, yes—but time did seem to stretch endlessly when one was waiting.

It had been so long since she’d waited quietly for anyone like this. Zhao Xunyin didn’t check the time. She simply gazed out the window, watching people pass, watching the years play across her thoughts.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when someone knocked on the passenger-side window.

Turning her head, she lowered the window and looked toward the sound.

There stood Shi Nanbei—her young wife—wearing a backpack, her ponytail swaying. When Zhao Xunyin looked up, Shi Nanbei raised her brows with a grin, her eyes bright as she said,

“Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear wife.”

Once again, that familiar yet somehow new flutter of warmth rose in Zhao Xunyin’s chest.

Her heart—once frozen like an iceberg—had long since been thawed by this woman.

She sat there, looking at Shi Nanbei through the car window, and couldn’t help but smile.

“If it’s you,” she said softly, “I don’t mind waiting forever.”

Yes—after all these years, after all that time, she had finally found someone who could make her smile without even trying.

For someone like that, waiting—no matter how long—was worth it.