Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 36

The bamboo shade was secluded, its sharp leaves swaying gently, filtering the dust dancing in the sunlight.

Yin Yunzhu stood bashfully before Jiang Menghe. Seeing no reaction from the latter, she used her finger to poke Jiang’s palm twice, attempting to reclaim her attention.

“I listened to you and contacted Director He Ping. She didn’t say I passed, but she let me join the crew to learn from the screenwriters. So, I came to the Pingcheng filming base to visit,” she said. Her tone was sincere and obedient, carrying a hint of someone seeking credit and playing the good student.

The woman scrutinized her face, a heavy darkness surfacing in the depths of her eyes. After about half a minute, she lowered her gaze, seemingly out of guilt, and clasped Yin Yunzhu’s fingers in return.

“Is your hand better?” she asked, pulling it up to inspect.

The nail of the right ring finger had peeled away, replaced by a newly grown, pinkish-white crescent. Jiang Menghe rubbed it with her thumb, her touch exceptionally light. “Does it hurt?”

Being touched on a sensitive spot, Yin Yunzhu pulled her hand back. Ever since she had heard the word “like” from the woman’s lips, she had become increasingly bold.

“Is the only thing you ask about when you see me my hand?” She rubbed her wrist, which was marked with red from the grip. “If it never got better, you’d probably just pat your skirt and walk away.”

“And you said you wouldn’t find it distasteful…”

She grumbled a long list of complaints, effectively painting Jiang Menghe as a “scumbag” woman who only wanted to enjoy physical desire.

Jiang Menghe was momentarily speechless. Stripped of her usual social polish, her speech carried a touch of confusion and clumsiness. “Your hand is injured; naturally, I am concerned about the wound.”

“If you had injured your forehead, my heart would ache for you too.” The woman raised her hand to flick Yin’s forehead gently, then stroked it as if to comfort her.

The phrase “heart would ache” felt branded onto Yin Yunzhu’s soul. She knew Jiang Menghe was emotionally reserved; the sweet talk and tenderness in bed were one thing, but in the daily life of their relationship, such moments of soft affection were rare.

It was devoid of lust—a focused, devoted kind of love where her eyes were full of no one but Yin.

Yin Yunzhu had never been in a relationship. Having seen so many vow-filled romances in novels, she mistakenly assumed the two of them were falling into a fresh, passionate love. Her heart bubbled with sweetness.

“Then I must protect myself well from now on, so your heart won’t ache,” she said with a shy smile. Then, she suddenly remembered something else. “By the way, I saw Jiang Shiyun on set today.”

“The one who caused me to get pinched last time. She changed her look, and I almost didn’t recognize her,” Yin Yunzhu complained in a low voice, looking down to play with her own hands.

Thus, she missed the flicker of unnaturalness that crossed the face of the woman before her.

“And then?” Jiang Menghe’s tone was tight, her gaze never leaving Yin Yunzhu’s face for a second.

“She saw that I was brought by Director He and started acting all hospitable for no reason. Not only did she apologize, but she also wanted to add me as a friend,” Yin Yunzhu replied obediently.

Jiang Menghe pursed her lips, her hand resting against Yin Yunzhu’s cheek, stroking it gently. “And you? Did you give it to her?”

The gesture was as soft as an instinctive habit; her cool fingertips tucked a stray lock of hair behind Yin’s ear, over and over. It was a repetitive, meaningless act to mask her true internal emotions. Her deep eyes were like bottomless abysses, peeking at Yin’s true feelings through the darkness.

A sense of oddness surfaced in Yin Yunzhu’s mind. “She was pushed in by the investors, after all. Even the director has to show her some respect. I couldn’t make everyone unhappy just for my sake.”

The explanation was seamless, but Jiang Menghe fell silent. She pressed her thumb against the corner of Yin’s eye, her voice husky. “Stay away from her.”

“Jiang Shiyun is not a good person. Don’t believe a word she says.”

Unable to hear the true meaning behind this sentence, Yin Yunzhu thought she was being jealous. She leaned into Jiang’s hand appreciatively. “You can get jealous over this? I haven’t even forgiven her yet.”

Jiang Menghe smiled faintly. “If you say so.”

It was so direct and honest that it was unexpected, making Yin Yunzhu feel embarrassed instead. “What is wrong with you today?”

Her attitude was no different from before, yet it felt perfunctory and distant. It was as if a thick layer of glass stood between them; when they reached out, they weren’t touching each other’s warmth.

Jiang Menghe curved her lips. “If I say it, you’ll doubt me again. I won’t say it next time.”

“No!” Yin Yunzhu protested, only for her mouth to be covered.

“Lower your voice. Do you want everyone to find us?” Jiang Menghe leaned in, her familiar, refreshing fragrance filling the air.

Through her palm, she left a light, fleeting kiss. Their eyes met, reflecting Yin Yunzhu’s blushing face. Love blinds people; especially when emotions run high, sharp intuition fails completely, unable even to distinguish between false affection and sincerity.

Yin Yunzhu didn’t know the calculations in the other woman’s heart. As the shadow looming over her receded, Jiang Menghe spoke to her.

“The director is looking for me. You should head back early too.”

At noon, the staff distributed lunch boxes to the actors. Jiang Shiyun sat inside a room, sunlight pouring down from the open vermilion wooden door. From her vantage point, she could see people passing by. Seeing Yin Yunzhu sitting in the shade from earlier, eating with Director He Ping, the woman gave her assistant a look and proactively walked over.

The crew’s lunch was a standard meal of three dishes and a soup. Yin Yunzhu was picking out the green onions and ginger when Jiang Shiyun arrived with her assistant. The low round table wasn’t suitable for sitting for long. Yin was leaning over listening to He Ping’s critique of the morning performances when she saw someone sit beside her.

“Director He, Xiao Yin, may I join you?” Jiang Shiyun lifted her skirt, showing none of the cold, detached image she held during work.

This behavior was far too purposeful. For a while now, many actors had been glancing in this direction. There had been no time during the morning shoot; only the midday break offered a chance to strike up a conversation with the great director. However, among those with such strong initiative, Jiang Shiyun stood alone.

“It’s too sunny here, and it’s noisy being so close to the set. Why didn’t you stay in the lounge?” He Ping asked while picking at her food. She didn’t treat this actress differently just because her friend had scolded Jiang Shiyun a few times.

“Eating alone is boring. Since Xiao Yin and I know each other, I thought I’d join her table.” The woman’s excuse was reasonable.

Yin Yunzhu: ?

She looked at the woman in surprise, unable to understand how someone could be so thick-skinned as to say they “knew each other” without blushing. At most, they had exchanged WeChat details two hours ago, and prior to that, they had even had a conflict.

Realizing she was being used as a stepping stone, Yin Yunzhu spoke calmly. “She bought me a bottle of water during the shoot earlier. Thank you.”

These words drew a clear line between them. He Ping, being clever, slowed her chewing and gave Jiang Shiyun a meaningful look.

Jiang Shiyun, unfazed by being seen through, slowly ate her salad. “I saw you were out in the harsh sun and the production assistants were busy. My assistant happened to be free; it was just a small gesture.”

The woman held an elegant posture. When her alluring, beautiful eyes looked over, the aggression was palpable. Yin Yunzhu didn’t like sharp people; she herself was “round” in personality, and getting along with someone so angular required long-term adjustment, which was too tiring.

Someone easygoing like Jiang Menghe was perfect—she would break everything down and explain it patiently rather than being extreme and stubborn to the point of constant arguing.

No one picked up Jiang Shiyun’s thread, so He Ping used the opportunity to ask, “Did you learn anything from the on-set screenwriter today?”

Yin Yunzhu thought for a moment and summarized, “I have a general understanding of the daily work, but I’m still not quite sure how to actually start adapting the script.”

Hearing this, He Ping sighed, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepening. “There’s no helping it. Not every crew needs an on-set writer; I can’t exactly change the script just for you to learn.”

“It’s okay. Gaining some insight is the greatest harvest.” She patted Yin Yunzhu’s shoulder, seemingly treating her as a junior who could truly push the boundaries. “Study hard and try to sell your work for film.”

“Thank you, Director He,” Yin Yunzhu said humbly.

“By the way, did you go to the neighboring set today?” He Ping asked. “I want to go check it out later. You stay here and continue learning.”

At the mention of the “neighboring set,” Jiang Shiyun’s hand holding her fork froze for an instant before returning to normal.

Thinking of her conversation with Jiang Menghe in the bamboo forest, Yin Yunzhu felt guilty. “Yes, to borrow some extras.”

He Ping’s ability to judge people had always been good. Beyond observing domestic filming techniques and seeking inspiration, she also intended to find artists to nurture. Many artists in the industry have good relationships with directors; even if they don’t work as actors, they occasionally make cameo appearances as a favor. Like Cong Peien and Ren Yu—the latter was personally mentored by the former.

“I remember there was a rising actress the year before last, named…” He Ping frowned in thought. “Named Jiang Menghe?”

She wasn’t sure. After all, she hadn’t been back from abroad long, and many people she used to know had retired behind the scenes. The entertainment industry was full of new faces.

Hearing that name, Jiang Shiyun pursed her lips. She knew He Ping favored talented actors and disliked “vases” who chased fame without skill—and Jiang Menghe happened to be the former. If the director took a liking to Jiang Menghe, given her own history with her, it would be difficult to get a role in a He Ping film later.

It was a difficult situation.

No matter how unhappy she felt inside, she wouldn’t show it openly. She only looked at Yin Yunzhu with a hint of strangeness in her eyes.

Seeing that she mentioned Jiang Menghe, Yin Yunzhu nodded. “Yes. The youngest Best Actress. She’s a Beta.”

“That impressive?” He Ping was surprised. She knew how much discrimination those who couldn’t differentiate into a second gender faced, especially given how young Jiang Menghe was. “It seems I really must go meet her,” she laughed.

The meal ended. Afterward, Jiang Shiyun didn’t interject again. She seemed to fulfill her words—she really was just accompanying the two for lunch.

Two o’clock in the afternoon was the time when the sun was most punishing. The dark bricks, faded by years of exposure, added a sense of ancient history to the set. As a guest star, Jiang Shiyun didn’t have many scenes; she finished her work and left early with her assistant.

The film base was large, but when two people who knew each other met, they realized just how small it was.

Beside the steep, narrow steps were craggy rocks, with evergreen pines and cypresses blocking the light. Jiang Shiyun, wearing inconvenient high heels, looked at Jiang Menghe, who stood before her blocking the way. She curled her lips into a mocking smile.

“Oh, if it isn’t Best Actress Jiang. Long time no see.” her tone was far from friendly as she looked down at the woman coming up the mountain. “Please move aside. I’m finished for the day.”

Jiang Menghe stepped aside, creating a narrow path for one person to pass. Throughout, she remained silent and modest, as if she didn’t consider Jiang Shiyun worth her attention at all.

This caused a spark of irrational anger to rise in the latter, jealousy surging like a tide. As they brushed past each other, she finally lost her patience.

“By the way, I met that little lover of yours today. I assume you two have met as well? She was so sweet when she returned, completely dazed by being coaxed,” Jiang Shiyun turned her face, revealing a malicious smile. “It’s so nice, isn’t it? Just moving your lips and someone comes running to serve you.”

“Who doesn’t know how to pretend? Wouldn’t you say?”

Jiang Menghe listened quietly, her expression unreadable. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy. If you’ve finished, I’ll be heading to work.”

Her composure only made Jiang Shiyun look like a clown; a sense of powerlessness, like a punch landing on cotton, washed over her. She ground her teeth in hatred, not forgetting to leave one last remark before she left.

“I don’t believe you can pretend for a lifetime, you pervert.”

Jiang Menghe curved her lips. A beam of light, mixed with dancing dust, fell before her eyes. Her thick, long eyelashes cast shadows beneath her eyes, hiding the cold, extinguished light within.

Once the others were gone, Ye Xiyang spoke up disapprovingly, “Anyone can have fans these days. It’s a good thing you’re the one here; if it were anyone else, being insulted like that, they wouldn’t be speaking to her so politely.”

She was aware of the situation between Jiang Menghe and Yin Yunzhu, so she naturally assumed Jiang Shiyun’s remark referred to their “unseemly” hidden relationship.

However, she only heard a soft sigh from beside her. Jiang Menghe leaned her head on her hand, her tone sounding quite helpless. “She’s just a twenty-something newcomer who hasn’t settled into herself yet. Sister Ye, you’re being too harsh.”

“Forget it, let’s go. The director is waiting for you.”

Night fell over Huangcheng, a gray sky blanketed by thin clouds. Since they had traveled with He Ping, the group was staying in the same hotel.

Yin Yunzhu, completely unaware of what had transpired between the two women, walked out of the bathroom drying her hair. She saw her phone screen light up on the bed.

He Ping: Come to my room for a moment.

For an instant, her mind flashed through countless industry scandals of directors preying on young starlets. As if sensing the potential double meaning, the other woman added another message.

He Ping: Bring the notes you took today.

Yin Yunzhu breathed a sigh of relief. She grabbed the small notebook where she’d recorded her thoughts alongside the screenwriter, took a black pen, and knocked on He Ping’s door next door.

The director seemed to have just returned; a faint warmth emanated from the room’s heater. She took off her coat, hung it on a wooden rack, and motioned toward an armchair.

“Don’t be stiff. Have a seat.”

Yin Yunzhu placed her things on the coffee table as a glass of warm water was set before her.

“You came right after your shower?” He Ping looked at her damp hair, her eyes holding a trace of apology. “If I’d known, I would have had you come tomorrow morning, but I figured you young people like to sleep in.”

“I’m here to learn. Even if I wanted to sleep, I wouldn’t stay in bed,” Yin Yunzhu replied awkwardly, her hands resting obediently on her knees.

He Ping burst into laughter and picked up the notebook, flipping through it carefully. Yin Yunzhu’s back immediately tensed; she sat bolt upright like a student being quizzed by a teacher.

In the quiet room, the sound of paper rustling was clear. After a long while, the director closed the notebook and said approvingly, “You’re making progress very quickly.”

She moved to the opposite sofa and sat down. “During the day, I talked to that friend of mine about the genre you write. I think it’s quite good. There’s a real chance for a film adaptation.”

Yin Yunzhu thought she had misheard. Her hands clenched together in excitement. “You mean…”

“It’s a go.”

Those three words made her hovering heart settle firmly. But Yin Yunzhu knew that for a famous director to be willing to adapt her novel, there would surely be conditions.

Sure enough, He Ping spoke again: “However, the direction of the main plot and the character designs—those will have to follow my lead.”

Hearing this, Yin Yunzhu’s heart sank. Sensing her worry, the director added, “Don’t worry, I won’t butcher it. I’ll consult with you based on censorship requirements. After all, the genre you write is quite sensitive.”

“I’ll have my assistant send the contract in a few days. If you’re sure, sign it. From now on, I’ll be buying out the film and television rights for this book.”

“What do you think? Is that acceptable?”

Things had moved in an unexpected direction, leaving Yin Yunzhu stunned. Seeing her reaction, He Ping thought she still had doubts. “If there’s anything else you need from me, you can ask now—”

“No,” Yin Yunzhu shook her head hurriedly, her speech stammering. “I… I’m just too happy. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”

“I’ll send you the address for the contract in a bit.”

“Good. Then I’ll wait for your good news. We’ll discuss the script details later.” The conversation ended, and He Ping saw her to the door.

The surprise had come so suddenly it caught Yin Yunzhu off guard. It wasn’t until she was back in her own room that she regained her senses, clutching her rapidly beating heart. Years of hard work had finally led to this moment.

She leaned against the door to calm herself, then picked up her phone to share the news. She instinctively tapped on Jiang Menghe’s chat box.

Student Xiao Zhu: I want to see you.

A thousand words converged into those five. A phone call couldn’t possibly convey this joy. Yin Yunzhu thought: If Jiang Menghe knew about this, she’d be happy for me, wouldn’t she?

In the past, Jiang wouldn’t have been the right person to confide in; they were just a superficial, physical arrangement. But Yin’s boldness and willful nature had grown alongside her feelings, fueled by Jiang Menghe’s indulgence.

Meanwhile, at another hotel.

The crew had arranged for the actors’ stay. Because Jiang Menghe had a heavy filming schedule, she was in a spacious, bright suite. People came and went in the corridor, their muffled conversations indistinct.

No lights were on in the room. Cold air surged in through the window, greedily snatching the remaining warmth. The city lights reflected on the floor-to-ceiling window, overlapping with the woman’s silhouette.

Jiang Menghe held a long, thin cigarette between her lips. The orange flame reflected in her eyes as the wisps of smoke scattered before they could gather, blurring her expression. Her phone buzzed with a message. She swiped it open, saw the contact, and crushed the cigarette into an overflowing ashtray.

She had been smoking a lot lately.

With the crew staying nearby, the chance of running into someone she knew was high. Jiang Menghe didn’t want to take the risk. In truth, she still hadn’t figured out how to face Yin Yunzhu.

Her emotions felt like being roasted over a fire; get too close, and she’d be burned to ash, sinking into deep pain. Jiang Menghe despised herself, nearly driven mad by the burden on her shoulders and Yin Yunzhu’s earnest gaze.

I can’t let this go on.

She tapped the input box. The words “I’m busy” hadn’t been sent before the other side beat her to it.

Student Xiao Zhu: Come downstairs. Student Xiao Zhu: I’m on the tree-lined path next to the parking lot [Image] Student Xiao Zhu: Jiang Menghe, I’m so cold QAQ

Her finger stopped above the send button. That last sentence, in particular, made it impossible to refuse. The emotional blackmail was too obvious. She could easily have been a cold-hearted, heartless woman.

Early spring temperatures were low. A few insects hovered around the streetlights, casting a cold glow on the gravel path.

Yin Yunzhu had just showered, her hair blown dry. Her hat was making the back of her neck itch. She paced back and forth along the edge of the green belt.

Some people are born with a bit of a rebellious streak. She had always been well-behaved; while she wouldn’t say she followed Jiang Menghe blindly, she was usually compliant. After being scolded for going to see her this morning, she should have kept her distance, but she couldn’t help it.

She wanted to see Jiang Menghe so badly. Once this craving took root, it grew like a sprout bursting through the soil. Her thin clothes couldn’t keep out the chill, so she tightened the drawstrings of her hood, wrapping herself up tightly. After waiting in the cold for nearly twenty minutes, the fire in her heart began to dwindle.

Just as she thought the other woman wouldn’t come, a figure emerged from the hotel.

She rounded the revolving glass doors, the hem of her open trench coat swaying with her fast pace. The woman stood on the steps, scanned the area, and only after spotting Yin Yunzhu did she start walking toward her.

Her tall frame cast a long shadow. Jiang Menghe still carried the lingering warmth of the indoors. As she drew near, Yin Yunzhu caught the scent of rich rose mingled with a faint, pleasant smell of tobacco. The woman had rarely changed her perfume, and under the moonlight, her features appeared even more alluring.

“What is it?” Jiang Menghe tucked her hands into her coat pockets. Her voice, husky from the smoke, was low and enticing.

Yin Yunzhu was sensitive to the smell of tobacco. She leaned in, her nose twitching like a puppy’s, tilting her head to investigate.

“You’ve been smoking?” she asked.

Jiang Menghe didn’t have a heavy habit. Since knowing her, Yin only knew of three times: once in the Art Center parking lot, once beneath her apartment, and now.

Perhaps because she was a writer, Yin Yunzhu was exceptionally sensitive to emotions. The impulse to share her joy was suddenly diluted.

“Not much,” Jiang Menghe cleared her throat.

Yin Yunzhu didn’t know exactly what “not much” meant, but she felt that when someone else was sad or lost, she shouldn’t just focus on her own happiness. Her heart felt both soft and pained; Jiang Menghe was older, and she always carried things alone. Thinking this, she grabbed both sides of Jiang’s coat and inched closer.

“Jiang Menghe, if you encounter any difficulties, you must tell me.”

In the dim light, her eyes caught the glow of the streetlamps, shining with a clear brilliance. A flicker of emotion crossed Jiang Menghe’s face; her lips parted, but she hesitated.

At that moment, voices approached, footsteps drawing near. A private meeting on a tree-lined path was not something to be publicized, especially with a national film star involved.

In her haste, Jiang Menghe pulled her behind a roadside tree. The tree, still dormant from winter, shook as a few lonely leaves fell. Jiang’s trench coat wrapped around Yin Yunzhu’s shoulders, trapping her in a narrow corner. Their eyes met, and Yin saw the complex emotions in Jiang’s gaze.

It was dark and devoid of light, yet it reflected her image perfectly. Their noses brushed, their hot breaths intermingling in the air. Ambiguity swirled between them.

A passerby walked past, saw them tightly embraced, assumed they were a couple on a date, and hurriedly left in embarrassment.

Yin Yunzhu was too nervous even to maintain eye contact, her arms loosely circling Jiang Menghe’s waist. Even through the heavy clothing, she could feel how slender it was.

“They’re gone,” she whispered.

Lips touched soft warmth; the cool air made her feel flushed. This wasn’t like the frantic biting in bed or the long, soothing kisses after intimacy. Jiang Menghe just patiently let her tongue slide in, broken syllables escaping during their embrace.

“Wait a little longer.”

With her heavy breathing, Yin Yunzhu’s heart trembled. She opened her arms and held her tight, as if trying to melt the other woman into her bones.

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