Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 35

As March approached, Quancheng wasn’t quite so cold anymore; it felt like a frozen limb gradually regaining sensation by a fire. With the arrival of spring, her little cat, Xiaoyu, seemed to have entered heat, let out restless yowls as it paced around Yin Yunzhu’s legs.

Yin was currently sitting at her desk, replying to a message from Director He Ping.

Jiang Menghe’s earlier encouragement had worked. Countless authors envied the chance to cross the threshold into the film and television industry; now that the olive branch had been extended, Yin Yunzhu wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip away.

However, He Ping was a major director, and since Yin was new to the field, there was much she didn’t understand. He Ping didn’t have the energy to teach her everything from scratch. While discussing publication details and contract terms with her editor, a green WeChat notification popped up in the bottom right corner of her computer screen.

He Ping: How about this: I’m visiting a friend’s set in a few days. Why don’t you come along and learn the ropes?

Despite having been out of the limelight for years, He Ping’s connections remained top-tier; major production crews still vied for her guidance. Yin Yunzhu hadn’t expected He Ping to be so patient with her, and she felt a surge of excitement.

Student Xiao Zhu: I will study hard!

Her thumb was still trembling as she sent the reply. She scrambled up from her desk, stacking her various screenwriting books and reviewing her meticulously kept notes.

The day of their meeting was clear and bright. The flight from Quancheng to Pingcheng landed near midnight. After getting enough sleep on the plane, Yin Yunzhu waited for the others at the luggage carousel.

In the past two months, she had been flying back and forth between three cities in the province. Knowing she was coming to Pingcheng, she intentionally didn’t tell Jiang Menghe, wanting to surprise her.

Since that vague confession, their relationship had fallen into a state of subtle awkwardness. It turned out that moving from insecurity to a sense of safety only required those three little words.

When one person gives too much in a relationship, they eventually want to take something back to reach a balance. Just as Yin Yunzhu, as a bed partner, had seen the most intimate side of Jiang—a side others couldn’t reach—she was no longer satisfied and wanted more.

Previously, she had hidden her feelings for fear of being looked down upon or pushing Jiang further away. But the whispered “I like you” against her ear had acted like oil on a fire.

Paradoxically, she had become more reserved, initiating chats less often. Jiang Menghe, even more composed, hadn’t even sent a basic greeting for three days.

Is this how “ambiguity” works? Yin Yunzhu was baffled.

She followed He Ping into a car and headed toward the film base. On her last visit, she had only seen the rime ice covering Pingdan Mountain; now that peak tourist season had passed, only bare branches and exposed rocks remained.

The film base was vast. The shuttle followed the vermilion, antique gates, winding through the grounds until they reached the set. Yin Yunzhu sat in the back, listening to He Ping talk with her assistant.

“Go buy some afternoon tea for the crew later, but don’t say it’s from me,” the woman said, leaning back as deep smile lines appeared. “Xiao Yin.”

“Yes?” Yin Yunzhu put down her phone and sat up straight.

“The crew has a dedicated on-set screenwriter. Just follow her to learn how to adapt a script and understand the general process. I’ve already given her a heads-up; ask her anything you don’t understand.”

He Ping possessed the patience and kindness of an elder woman. Perhaps she felt a kindred spirit in Yin Yunzhu from the moment they met, as she looked out for this newcomer exceptionally well.

“Thank you, Director He,” Yin Yunzhu replied respectfully. She heard the assistant in the passenger seat tease her.

“Calling her Director He already? There will be plenty of opportunities to join our crew in the future.”

The words implied that Yin was moving up in the world. She peeked at He Ping, and seeing that she didn’t contradict the assistant, Yin suddenly felt nervous. Does this mean I’ll have the chance to work with them in the future?

After getting out of the car, Yin Yunzhu wanted to keep her camera with her, but staff informed her that no photos were allowed.

He Ping’s friends were naturally high-caliber professionals. Based on the sets and the actors’ lines, this appeared to be a Xianxia (fantasy) drama. Yin Yunzhu finally understood why Jiang Menghe didn’t fall for her co-stars. Seeing the layers upon layers of camera positions and the lighting crew nearby, any romantic notions were instantly dispelled.

Amidst the noise, she found the on-set screenwriter. She looked like the stereotypical artist: a low braid draped over her chest, wearing loose, simple sportswear, and holding a rolled-up script with dog-eared pages.

The girl looked up at her. Her greeting wasn’t exactly warm, but she moved a plastic stool for her. “Sit.”

“No, I’m fine standing,” Yin Yunzhu said, being too shy to take someone else’s seat.

“Director He recommended you?” the screenwriter asked, then began explaining the basics. “This crew is relatively relaxed, so there’s not much to adapt. A beginner won’t feel too overwhelmed here. Ask if there’s anything you don’t understand; I’m preparing tomorrow’s scenes.” She flipped open the script.

“Aren’t these set in advance?” Yin Yunzhu asked.

“Of course not,” the screenwriter said as a staff member brought over a small camp stool. “For example, if a scene has too many NGs (No-Gos) and we can’t use a stunt double, we have to change the scene on the fly without cutting the main plot. Or if an actor takes leave, we have to bridge the segments.”

As the words fell, the image of Jiang Menghe’s face appeared in Yin Yunzhu’s mind. She remembered that Jiang often took leave for her, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty. She had only known that scripts were much more concise than novels, with most actions, tones, and positioning requiring the actors to improvise. She hadn’t expected an on-set screenwriter to work so hard.

The screenwriter suddenly remembered something. “By the way, Director He said you write novels?”

“I write web novels. I figured if I adapt them for film later, this knowledge would come in handy.” Yin Yunzhu’s attitude was humble but not overly self-deprecating; she was, after all, a top performer in her own field.

“Then I advise you to give up. Switching to screenwriting requires seniority and connections. At most…” The screenwriter scanned her up and down. “You could be an on-set writer, working from dawn to dusk, which isn’t any easier than being a production assistant. And ultimately, this industry depends on the client’s whims—it’s much more painful than writing whatever you want.” She shrugged helplessly.

The words were harsh but not malicious, and Yin Yunzhu nodded in agreement.

She sat on the stool, watching the executive director shout at the staff while He Ping chatted with the director nearby. Her gaze drifted and suddenly caught a familiar figure.

The woman was dressed in heavy, floor-length palace robes, her crown dazzlingly bright. An assistant followed behind, helping her adjust the fit and gathering the train to make walking easier.

As if sensing something, the woman’s gaze pierced through the crowd and locked onto Yin Yunzhu’s. Sunlight reflected off her face, emphasizing her vivid charm. Her narrow, upturned eyes squinted slightly. Compared to the somber black clothes she wore last time, the intricate and delicate robes suited Jiang Shiyun much better.

After a brief glance, the woman calmly looked away as if she no longer remembered her.

Yin Yunzhu’s finger had mostly healed; the bruising had faded, and even the dainty nail was peeling as it grew out. It still hurt occasionally if pressed. The events of that day were still vivid. Although not directly related to Jiang Shiyun, if the woman hadn’t misunderstood her, she wouldn’t have been mistaken for a sasaeng (obsessive) fan. Her pent-up resentment had nowhere to go, so it naturally landed on her.

“You know her?” the screenwriter asked, seeing Yin’s drifting thoughts. “Right, Jiang Shiyun. One of the popular young actresses, though she can only play supporting roles in this drama.”

“She’s not the lead?” Yin Yunzhu was surprised. No wonder she hadn’t heard Jiang Shiyun’s name when the assistant discussed this play. With her status, she should at least be the female lead in a minor hit drama.

“How could she be the lead?” the screenwriter asked incredulously. “Art films aren’t like commercial films; they’re aimed at winning awards. Stuffing too many ‘idol’ stars into them makes people think you’re just out for a quick buck, so they only get cameos at most. She usually relies on her backers and loves to act like a big shot on set. She probably heard He Ping was coming today and wanted to show her face to get noticed.”

The girl’s tone was full of disdain. Many stars have two different faces for directors and staff. Having worked hard to get a role in this film, Jiang Shiyun didn’t dare offend the director, so she took her temper out on the crew.

“No wonder,” Yin Yunzhu agreed. She didn’t look like a kind senior, and being a pure Alpha, she was always arrogant and biting toward others. Who on earth likes her?

On the other side, Jiang Shiyun adjusted her costume and walked toward the director. “Sorry, I’m late because of a last-minute schedule. I hope I didn’t hold up the crew?”

The executive director responded warmly, “It’s okay, Shiyun. It’s not your turn yet. Why don’t you go sit in the shade for a while?” He pointed in Yin Yunzhu’s direction.

The sun was high in the sky, its light spilling through the winding corridors. Yin Yunzhu’s spot happened to be a rest area, with a sunshade providing ample shade. Many production assistants, sweating profusely, were idling nearby.

“Thank you,” Jiang Shiyun said with a faint, polite smile. She hadn’t forgotten her public persona.

As she prepared to leave, the head director, who was chatting with He Ping, frowned. “Come earlier next time. Renting the venue is expensive. Spending time perfecting a few more shots is better than sending water and food all day.”

She disliked Jiang Shiyun’s tendency to get ahead of herself, but since the investors had told her to look out for her, she couldn’t be too harsh. Jiang Shiyun’s face turned awkward. She glanced at He Ping, who was also looking at her, and whispered, “I understand.”

Watching from afar, Yin Yunzhu didn’t know what had happened, but she saw the woman walk over with a terrible expression. Her assistant set up a chair, but Jiang Shiyun waved her off with a glare.

“Sister Shiyun, would you like some water?” the assistant asked cautiously.

The woman sank into the chair, leaning her head on her hand and letting out an impatient “tch.” Her gaze crossed her assistant’s shoulder toward Yin Yunzhu, and she suddenly smiled. “Buy two bottles. Give one to the lady next to us.”

The assistant was stunned. Jiang Shiyun rarely cared about staff, usually only buying afternoon tea for everyone to win hearts. Although she didn’t understand, she followed the instruction.

After she left, Yin Yunzhu pondered. What is this, an apology?

“Is there something on my face, or why else would you keep staring?” Jiang Shiyun stroked her cheek, her long, ornate nail guards shimmering in the light.

Yin Yunzhu’s tone was far from warm. “You’re quite different from how you appear on TV.”

The comment didn’t just refer to her looks, but more to the personality she displayed.

“What of it?” Jiang Shiyun said dismissively. “Do you really think all celebrities are the same inside and out?”

She stood up and leaned down, whispering into Yin Yunzhu’s ear. An intense, intoxicating perfume wafted over, and the dangling ornaments of her headpiece brushed against Yin’s forehead, the chill sending a jolt through her.

Caught off guard by the sudden proximity, Yin Yunzhu leaned back hurriedly, her body staggering slightly.

She heard the other woman say, in a volume only the two of them could hear, “Take Jiang Menghe, for example. Don’t you agree?”

The shadow looming over her receded like a low tide as Jiang Shiyun sat back down, sneering. “So little courage. Her taste is truly terrible.”

The two sat side-by-side under the parasol. The screenwriter had just been called away by the script supervisor, and for the moment, no one was paying them any attention.

A sense of shame from being toyed with welled up in Yin Yunzhu’s heart. For a split second, she thought her affair with Jiang Menghe had been exposed, dragged out to bleach under the glaring sun.

Seeing the other woman’s composed demeanor, Yin’s heart felt stuck in her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Just then, the assistant who had gone to buy water returned, handing her a bottle of ice-cold mineral water. “For you.”

With a third person present, the tense atmosphere evaporated. Jiang Shiyun unscrewed the cap and drank gracefully, as if the preceding conversation had been nothing more than Yin Yunzhu’s hallucination.

“How should I address you?” She placed the water on the ground.

Realizing she was being asked, Yin Yunzhu spoke softly. “Yin Yunzhu.”

She held the bottle, its surface beaded with condensation, but didn’t move.

“What is your relationship with Teacher He? I saw you arrive in her car.” The woman turned her head, her smiling face framed by the shadows beneath the parasol.

This successfully dispelled the assistant’s doubts. She had been worried Jiang Shiyun was suddenly taking an interest in a strange young girl; if the person “above” found out, there would be another outburst of rage.

So she’s someone Director He brought along. No wonder Shiyun is suddenly acting hospitable.

“Director He asked me to join the crew to learn screenwriting.” No matter how much she disliked Jiang Shiyun, Yin Yunzhu wouldn’t show it publicly. She represented He Ping’s reputation, so she remained polite.

Upon hearing this, Jiang Shiyun showed intense interest. “Screenwriting? Is she about to film a new movie?”

Rumors were everywhere that He Ping was focusing on her first film since returning to the country, but not even a whisper of the genre had leaked. Many entertainment companies and investors were watching, hoping to squeeze their artists into the production to achieve the kind of success seen in The Flying Petal Code.

“Perhaps,” Yin Yunzhu gave an ambiguous answer.

Small spots of light filtered through the gaps in the trees onto the ground. Many people were exposed to the elements, looking wilted as they tried to stay alert, making the few people huddled in the shade seem all the more comfortable.

The tip of Yin Yunzhu’s nose was beaded with sweat, and her tissue was soaked. Her throat was parched; she fanned herself with her hand, but the bottle of water remained untouched beside her.

Jiang Shiyun tilted her phone, displaying a QR code. “Add me on WeChat. It’ll make it easier to stay in touch?”

Seeing Yin remain unmoved, the woman’s alluring eyes lowered in a bitter smile. “Regarding what happened last time, it was my misunderstanding, Miss Yin. I was in a hurry and didn’t look into it. By the time I realized the truth, you were nowhere to be found.”

“I should be the one to pay for my fans’ misconduct.”

She changed her tune faster than one flips a page.

Yin Yunzhu happened to be soft-hearted and didn’t dwell on such small matters. Seeing the other’s sincere attitude, she decided to let bygones be bygones.

[Sangen Xueleng has requested to add you as a friend]

She clicked accept and set her permissions to “Friends Only.”

Jiang Shiyun clicked into her Moments and wasn’t surprised to see a blank horizontal line. Even if there were updates, they wouldn’t be about Jiang Menghe, so it wouldn’t be interesting anyway.

Recalling the threatening words from a few nights ago, her gaze darkened, and she let out a light huff.

Since Jiang Menghe wants to control me, I’ll start by controlling her little lover.

“Let’s stay in touch. While I’m not a top-tier star, I’m at least a useful contact.” The woman was a completely different person than before.

Seeing Yin Yunzhu didn’t respond, she found it boring. She handed her phone back to her assistant and gazed into the distance at the actors surrounded by cameras.

The on-set screenwriter was leaning over, talking to the script supervisor. The executive director was focused on the lens. Most of the props and lighting were gathered there, leaving Yin Yunzhu’s side empty and quiet.

Whispered discussions came from behind.

“The extras from that studio aren’t enough. Go to the neighboring set and borrow a few.” “Where’s the accountant? We can’t leave; let her go.” “She was called away by the assistant director just now and hasn’t come back yet.”

It sounded like they were short on extras for the next scene.

Every second spent with Jiang Shiyun was an ordeal for Yin Yunzhu. Realizing the screenwriter wouldn’t be free anytime soon, she volunteered. “I’ll go borrow them.”

She remembered Jiang Menghe’s set wasn’t far from here.

Several people looked over. The woman who had been speaking frowned. “You are… the person Director He brought?”

The news that He Ping was coming to consult had spread through the crew yesterday. The group that stepped out of the car this morning had been the center of attention, and even Yin Yunzhu was a somewhat familiar face.

“I am,” she said, packing her things to leave the area saturated with Jiang Shiyun’s perfume. “I happen to know someone in the neighboring set. It’ll be more convenient if I go.”

Hearing this, Jiang Shiyun, who was touching up her makeup, looked up. She shifted her mirror slightly to catch Yin’s face, a peculiar smile playing in her eyes.

The woman frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then relented, telling her the general process and the requirements for the crowd scene.

Before Yin left, Jiang Shiyun’s eyes crinkled. “Miss Yin, come back soon.”

The words felt odd. Beyond just acting hospitable, Yin Yunzhu felt there was another layer of meaning.

The film base was large enough to accommodate multiple crews simultaneously. She encountered many familiar faces along the way. She followed her navigation up the steps, and upon reaching the top, she saw a vast space teeming with people.

Compared to art films, commercial films were much more lavish. It was said that tens of millions could be spent on sets within two months. On the barren, withered grass, low bamboo groves had been planted, rustling in the wind.

Clashing with this were the large equipment and trailers parked nearby. As the director raised a hand and shouted “Wrap,” the prop masters ran forward to help clear the scene.

Yin Yunzhu found the executive director and explained her purpose. He readily pointed out a few people to go help. While waiting, she looked around for that familiar figure.

Among the crowd, one woman stood out. Her tall frame fit the costume perfectly, her robes fluttering like a celestial being descending from the moon. Currently, she was holding a bottle of water, head tilted back as she drank, clearly having stood in the sun for a long time.

Beside her, Ye Xiyang held a parasol and handed her some sunscreen.

Yin Yunzhu’s lips curled up instinctively. She sent a message to Jiang Menghe.

Student Xiao Zhu: Guess where I am right now? [tongue poke]

Jiang Menghe took a deep breath, felt her phone vibrate, and looked down. She couldn’t help but frown.

Ever since she had unintentionally bared her soul that morning, she had felt a lingering fear. Seeing the bright eyes of the person above her and the ripples of affection in them only made her feel more trapped in pain.

She had snapped out of her daze immediately.

It shouldn’t be like this. Once boundaries collapse, they are difficult to rebuild.

Outside of the bedroom, Jiang Menghe was conservative and independent; she disliked others interfering too much in her private life. She had lowered her standards for Yin Yunzhu time and again, and by the time she realized something was wrong, the other woman had already squeezed into her life.

The industry was full of scandalous news about patrons and “caged birds.” She looked down most on those in power who bowed for love, seeing it as a spineless loss of dignity. Even if her feelings for Yin Yunzhu were mutual, the one who caught feelings would always be the lowlier one.

And it had to be at a time like this.

Jiang Menghe hated her emotions being controlled; it was like a nail driven into her heart—pulling it out would inevitably be bloody. She had thought a lot during her time alone; she should break things off with Yin Yunzhu as soon as possible.

Unlike the kind and enthusiastic Yin Yunzhu, Jiang Menghe was a master at feigning benevolence, forcing others to make decisions while she stood on the moral high ground offering comfort.

She wanted to let the relationship go cold slowly, so that Yin Yunzhu would be the one to give up.

So, seeing the message, she only felt a headache and irritation.

Juhe: ?

Yin Yunzhu stared at the question mark for a long time, unable to decipher its meaning, so she stopped being cryptic.

Student Xiao Zhu: Look up.

She put down her phone and indeed saw Jiang Menghe look up, then quickly look back down.

Jiang probably thought she was joking.

Yin Yunzhu chuckled to herself and crept around behind the bamboo grove. The dense greenery felt fresh and lush, tinting the hem of her clothes a light green.

Looking at Jiang Menghe’s back, she approached and tapped the woman’s left shoulder, seeing the expected surprise in her eyes.

“Surprised?” Yin Yunzhu leaned forward, her round eyes crinkling into two thin crescents.

The other actors had gone inside to rest, leaving only busy staff on the field. Since the spot was secluded, few people would notice them.

However, Yin Yunzhu did not see the joy she had anticipated.

The white robes were cold and elegant, giving Jiang Menghe an air of detachment. Her usually gentle eyes, now backlit, were dark and devoid of light.

“What are you doing here?”

Her tone was so cold it was as if Yin Yunzhu had caused her immense trouble.

Snapping out of her impulsive enthusiasm, Yin Yunzhu forced a smile. “I came here. Aren’t you happy?”

Just then, the director in the pavilion seemed to call Jiang Menghe’s name.

In the next moment, her wrist was seized by an inescapable force. Jiang Menghe led her directly into the depths of the bamboo forest.

The sunlight filtered through the branches above, piercingly bright. Yin Yunzhu looked at the woman’s profile; it was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over her.

She didn’t know what she had done wrong. Thinking about it, there were many eyes around just now; she really shouldn’t have appeared then.

“Jiang Menghe, wait for me.” Her wrist was being held so tightly it hurt. Yin Yunzhu whispered a reminder, her voice as weak as a newborn kitten.

When the path they had come by was almost out of sight, Jiang Menghe finally let her go and turned to question her. “Who told you to come?”

Knowing she was being abrupt, Yin Yunzhu stared at her toes. Silence filled the air between them.

Finally, she was the one to break the eerie quiet, tentatively reaching out her index finger to hook Jiang Menghe’s hand. Her voice was as thin as a mosquito’s buzz.

“I’m sorry. I was so excited to see you that I didn’t think it through.”

“I just missed you so much.”

She thought Jiang was angry because she was afraid of being discovered, even though her tone was only slightly harsher than usual.

Jiang Menghe hated it most when Yin Yunzhu gave her that silly smile. Her heart full of anger, and her previous resolve to give her the cold shoulder, vanished in an instant.

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