After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 41

That was a memory from long ago—so distant that parts of it had already begun to fade. Over the years, Zhao Xunyin rarely thought about Shu Yu when she was alone. Perhaps people are born with an instinct for self-preservation; when it comes to painful memories, the mind simply chooses to forget.

There was no denying that her time with Shu Yu had been sweet. But the humiliation and heartbreak that came with their separation were something Zhao Xunyin never wanted to revisit for the rest of her life.

Getting used to another person always takes time. Yet when she had finally grown accustomed to Shu Yu’s presence, that same person had cruelly walked away. During their time together, they had built countless dreams for the future—where to hold their wedding, what kind of dress to choose, how to decorate their home, which city to settle in, whether to travel to Europe or America. Naturally, they had also talked about whether they wanted children someday.

“I don’t really like kids,” Shu Yu had said coolly. Her expression gave no hint of affection, and only the Zhao Xunyin of that time could have had the patience to love someone like her. Anyone else might have been frozen solid by Shu Yu’s frosty demeanor.

“Why not?” Zhao Xunyin, back in her youth, hadn’t been particularly fond of children either. But maybe she had mellowed with age—or maybe it was because she’d once met an annoyingly clingy, arrogant kid who had left an impression.

Either way, when the topic of children came up, she found herself smiling. “I’d actually like to have one.”

Shu Yu didn’t even look up from the tablet in her hands. She was always busy—so much so that even mealtimes were spent reviewing reports. “Marriage and motherhood have a big impact on an actress’s career,” she said lightly.

That was Shu Yu—always calm, composed, and unshakable. No matter what happened, she remained unruffled. Yet it was precisely because of her that Zhao Xunyin had been able to steady herself and focus on improving her craft.

At the time, Zhao Xunyin was a scandal-ridden celebrity—hated by the entire internet. Whatever she did, people would tear her down. She had cried in secret more than once, but Shu Yu would only tell her coldly, “Crying won’t help. Use your strength to shut them up.”

To refine her acting skills and find her footing again, Shu Yu personally took her to visit major figures in the entertainment industry, asking them to mentor Zhao Xunyin privately. She had her act in stage plays to build experience. Since

Zhao Xunyin’s company had no real plans for her and only wanted to market her as a pretty face, Shu Yu swallowed her pride, went to her friend Qi Yu, and got Zhao Xunyin signed under a new agency—repackaged and reintroduced to the world.

Most of Zhao Xunyin’s later success came from Shu Yu’s efforts—her guidance, her resources, her unwavering support.

She had once loved Shu Yu with burning passion—and Shu Yu had once been the flame she’d chased without hesitation.

“You’re probably right.” Zhao Xunyin had laughed, not really objecting to Shu Yu’s words. “Then how about this—after I’ve won every Best Actress award there is, we can secretly get married and have a kid? What do you think?”

Hearing that, Shu Yu finally set down the report in her hands and looked up at her. She couldn’t help but laugh softly. “If, by then, you still want to.”

“Of course I will,” Zhao Xunyin had said confidently, full of certainty.

Perhaps she had spoken too easily, too absolutely—and that was why things later went so wrong. Maybe youthful promises were always like that: beautiful but fragile, leaving only a bittersweet ache when remembered years later.

After their breakup, Zhao Xunyin often asked herself if she had done something unforgivable—if there had been some mistake she never realized.

No.

No.

No.

Apart from the long separations caused by their careers, there had been little friction between them. When things were good, they were so in love that they had even announced their relationship on Weibo.

No matter what others said or thought, back then, they had loved each other with reckless abandon.

Of course, they had their quarrels too. But every fight ended the same way—neither could bear to see the other upset. If it wasn’t Shu Yu who yielded, then it was her. Shu Yu, one of the three heirs to the entertainment industry’s top empires, would lower her pride and compromise for love. Zhao Xunyin had been deeply moved.

She had never doubted her feelings for Shu Yu. By their third year together, when she was twenty-six and at the peak of her career, she had been ready to give it all up—just because Shu Yu had asked, “Do you want to marry me?”

For an actress who had just won a Best Actress award, marriage could easily mean the end of her momentum. But because it was Shu Yu, she hadn’t hesitated.

“I do.”

She’d looked her straight in the eye and said firmly, “I want to marry you.”

Upon hearing that, Shu Yu had smiled—a soft, fleeting smile. “I want to marry you too.”

She had said want, not will.

Zhao Xunyin, sharp and perceptive as she was, should have caught that subtle difference. But blinded by love, she’d refused to see or hear anything that might shatter her illusion.

And that was why, when Shu Yu finally said the words “let’s break up,” she had been utterly shattered.

Even now, years later, well into her thirties, whenever Zhao Xunyin remembered that moment, a sharp pain still cut through her chest.

People always say that time heals all wounds—that eventually, you let go, and you forget.

But she never did.

Years had passed, countless days and nights had gone by, yet whenever she thought of Shu Yu, her heart still ached.

She had loved her deeply. Shu Yu had loved her too. But love alone had not been enough to carry them to the end.

Call it fate, or call it the fickleness of the human heart—either way, the outcome was the same. Shu Yu was gone, and that fact had long since become unchangeable.

Because she had once loved so fiercely, so completely, Zhao Xunyin spent years trying to unlearn that love—years trying to let it go.

And though others came after her, though there were people who stirred her heart again, and others who loved her sincerely.

None of them were Shu Yu.

All of them were good people. But every time she caught a fleeting glimpse of someone who resembled Shu Yu, she was reminded—painfully—that she had never truly let go.

Yet she was proud. Faced with a lover who was now someone else’s wife, all she could do was let go, and forget.

Year after year, the seasons passed—spring, summer, autumn, winter—until one morning, she found herself standing by the window, watching a yellowed leaf drift down from the treetop. For some reason, that quiet scene brought Shu Yu to mind once more. But unlike before, her heart felt light. There was no ache, no bitterness—only release.

She couldn’t remember which book she had read it in, but it said that someone you once loved will always become a part of your life. You don’t have to deliberately forget, nor do you have to force yourself to remember. When enough time has passed, the one left behind will finally find peace.

She thought she had indeed made peace with that old love. After Shu Yu, she hadn’t lost the ability to love again. She had loved a few people, had been in relationships, but for one reason or another, they had all come to an end.

And then, later on, she met Shi Nanbei.

At the thought of Shi Nanbei, Zhao Xunying snapped out of her memories. The phone was still connected. Recalling the question from the other end, she finally opened her mouth and replied softly:

“Yes, I regret it.”

The person on the line didn’t seem surprised—just as Zhao Xunyin knew Shu Yu, Shu Yu also knew her.

“But you don’t sound like someone who feels regret.”

“So what?” Zhao Xunyin countered. She didn’t know why Shu Yu had called today, nor how she should even speak to the woman who had once been the love of her life.

Shu Yu chuckled lightly. “I didn’t call to argue with you.”

That simple sentence stirred something deep in Zhao Xunyin, her expression flickering with discomfort.

“I just wanted to see you,” Shu Yu said. “Let’s talk in person.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left for us to talk about.”

“There is.” Shu Yu’s voice over the phone was calm and assured—confident, as always. Even now, when speaking to her former lover, she remained composed.

“Saturday night at seven. Same place.”

And with that, Shu Yu hung up cleanly and decisively.

Zhao Xunyin stood there for a long time, phone in hand, unsure what she was feeling, unsure even what expression to wear.

If she was honest, years ago she had longed desperately for a moment like this—for Shu Yu to call her, to reach out, to talk about the past. She had waited so many years for that phone call that never came. And when it finally did, it was already too late—she heard from others that Shu Yu had married.

The cruelest joke life plays is giving you the wrong thing at the right time. Just like how Zhao Xunyin, now a married woman, found herself answering a call from her ex-lover.

Yes, once upon a time she had waited for that call—but that was long ago. So long that she could barely remember how she had lived through those years.

Shu Yu.

Shu Yu.

Zhao Xunyin still remembered that spring, when the blossoms were beginning to bloom. Shu Yu had taken her horseback riding at the family estate. The woman’s eyes had always been cool and distant, yet when she looked at Zhao

Xunyin, there was a rare gentleness that broke through her usual reserve.

Zhao Xunyin had never doubted that Shu Yu loved her. She was certain of it—because she knew what Shu Yu looked like when she was in love. And precisely because she knew that, she could tell when that love was gone.

The same face, the same expression—only colder now.

“Let’s break up, Zhao Xunyin.”

Perhaps it was disbelief—because it seemed impossible for those words to come from the lips of her lover—but Zhao Xunyin stood frozen for two full minutes before she finally understood.

“What did you say?” she asked, her voice trembling.

From as far back as she could remember, Zhao Xunyin had suffered countless nightmares. Each time she woke, she was grateful that it had only been a dream. But later, whenever she recalled the moment Shu Yu broke up with her, the proud woman could only wish—desperately—that this, too, had been nothing more than a bad dream.

If only she could wake and find things as they were—no breakup, no sharp words, no marriage to someone else.

If only they could have remained the same—two people, still in love, still at their happiest.