Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 37

The two embraced and kissed for a long time so long that Yin Yunzhu’s tongue felt numb. Finally, she pushed at the woman’s shoulders, signaling her to exercise some restraint.

As they pulled apart, a thin, transparent thread of silver stretched between them. Thick clouds obscured the moon, leaving half of Jiang Menghe’s face hidden in shadow, though her eyes remained bright. Her long lashes cast soft curves, lending an air of deep affection to her gaze.

“Why are you wearing so little?” The grip on Yin’s waist loosened as Jiang asked the question.

“I was in such a hurry to see you, I didn’t think about it,” Yin Yunzhu replied like a child who had made a mistake, staring down at her toes.

Hearing this, Jiang Menghe’s brows knitted tightly. She truly disliked how the girl was becoming increasingly reckless with boundaries. Quancheng was one thing, but the Pingcheng film base was a hub of activity; one could run into a colleague at any moment. To her, the mere excuse of “missing someone” didn’t justify making a special trip in the middle of the night.

“Don’t go running around like this in the future,” she warned, though in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to be truly harsh.

“I know, I know.” Yin Yunzhu grabbed the hem of Jiang’s coat, swaying it back and forth.

The sight of her acting spoiled and seeking favor made Jiang’s heart melt. Yin was always like this listening to whatever she said, quietly and without rebuttal. Even if Jiang was sharp with her, Yin would just hold her anger inside and be silently upset.

Jiang Menghe suddenly felt her throat tighten, a suffocating sensation washing over her. She knew her current state was poor. Given Yin Yunzhu’s keen sensitivity, the girl would realize something was wrong sooner or later. Jiang wanted to maintain her dignity; if they ever parted, she wanted to remain “gentle and noble” in the other’s memory.

It was frustrating—like a tangled mess of yarn with no end in sight.

Seeing Jiang Menghe remain silent, Yin Yunzhu felt curious. “You still haven’t told me why you suddenly started smoking?”

Her voice carried a hidden trace of anxiety. She feigned nonchalance as she slipped her hand into Jiang’s coat pocket to keep warm. Standing outside for so long had left a thin layer of frost on the fabric. Under the mixed light of the streetlamps and the moon, a layer of flickering fuzz appeared on the coat.

“You certainly worry about a lot,” Jiang Menghe teased, her hand finding Yin’s inside the pocket.

Neither of their hands was particularly large, so they couldn’t fully envelop the other. Instead, their thin, slender knuckles intertwined, almost as if illustrating a resolve to walk forward together. Despite the woman’s playful tone, the underlying message wasn’t lost on Yin Yunzhu.

Yin felt around in the pocket and touched a hard, square box. Hesitantly, she pulled it out; it was a pack of lady’s cigarettes. The slim cigarettes were tightly packed, though the box was nearly half empty.

“Then…” she paused. “Even if not for me, do it for your own health. Otherwise, how will you deliver your lines?”

Most movies used the actors’ original voices, and Jiang Menghe’s delivery had always been top-tier in the industry. Yin Yunzhu sensed the woman’s recent low mood. Having enjoyed the sweetness of being held in high regard, it would be a lie to say she didn’t feel a difference now, but she merely chalked it up to the adjustment period of a newly confirmed relationship.

In the past, she would have disdained a relationship without a formal, sincere confession, but all her principles had crumbled where Jiang Menghe was concerned. Perhaps she should pamper her a little, too.

Anyone could offer trivial worries. Jiang Menghe just gave a faint smile and took the cigarette pack back from Yin’s palm. “You’ve seen me now. Go back and sleep.”

“And you?” Yin Yunzhu asked.

“I’m going back to sleep, too,” Jiang Menghe replied without any novelty.

Seeing the fatigue in her eyes, Yin Yunzhu thought that perhaps a full day of work had been too exhausting, and she felt guilty for forcing this meeting.

“Alright then. Get some rest.” She let go, said her goodbyes again, and turned to leave.

Her shadow was trodden underfoot, merging and parting with the shadows of the trees. Yin Yunzhu walked slowly. The warmth and perfume that had enveloped her were quickly carried away by the wind.

Sensing something, she stopped and looked back.

The woman stood there with her back to her, fiddling with a light lighter. The swirling smoke was like ink dropped into clear water, masking her face in irregular patterns.

Jiang Menghe was smoking again.

For a moment, Yin Yunzhu felt that the distance between them was much greater than just a few steps.

By the time she returned to the hotel, she was exhausted. Even the next morning, she hadn’t quite recovered, leaning wearily against the bathroom sink. The woman in the mirror looked haggard, her lively eyes having lost their luster. Yin Yunzhu seemed to have lost weight; the flesh on her cheeks didn’t look as pinchable as before.

She splashed water on her face to rinse. After clearing the foam, she stepped out of the bathroom and saw a message from He Ping about meeting downstairs. She hurriedly put on the outfit she had coordinated two days ago.

The gray clouds of an overcast day pressed down heavily, swallowing the peak of Pingdan Mountain. The clumps of miscanthus grass huddled together as if frozen; from a distance, it was a scene of bare, suffocating stillness. The weather forecast predicted rain, so Yin Yunzhu made sure to bring an umbrella.

In front of the hotel steps, the assistant was already waiting by the car. Seeing the two women come down together, she instructed the driver to open the door.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” Even He Ping noticed Yin Yunzhu’s lethargy. She glanced at the dark circles under the girl’s eyes and spoke with concern.

“It’s okay,” Yin Yunzhu rubbed her eyes. “I was just so excited about signing the contract that I only slept for a few hours.”

This made He Ping laugh, pleasant wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes. She looked rejuvenated. “If you’re already too excited to sleep now, won’t you be even worse when the box office is a hit later?”

“I’m just very happy it can be adapted.”

He Ping patted her shoulder with gravitas. “Young people should look to the distance. One should hope that things keep getting better.”

“I’ve learned a lot. Thank you, Director He.” Yin Yunzhu bowed slightly; she had always been respectful of seniors in the acting world.

The car drove smoothly toward the film base. The assistant in the passenger seat handed back two purchased breakfasts.

Yin Yunzhu still had many urgent matters back in Quancheng. Although she had left Xiaoyu in Bei Jiali’s care for a while, she still couldn’t stop worrying. Therefore, today was her last day of learning from the on-set screenwriter.

The breakfast in the plastic bag was clouded with condensation. She rolled down the window to let the smell out and poked a straw into her warm millet porridge.

“Director He, I still have to go back and discuss things with my editor. After the contract is signed, roughly when will filming start?”

Yin Yunzhu was a signed author under a website, so many things had to be cleared with her editor. For a major event like a film adaptation, the editor usually wouldn’t refuse.

“Very soon. This is my first film since returning to the country. I have a good relationship with the investors, so there’s no need to worry about funding. The main things are the props, the venue, and the actors.”

He Ping seemed to have a poor appetite, taking only a few bites before settting her bag aside.

“Do you handle all of this personally?” Yin Yunzhu asked curiously. For a senior director like He Ping, the people in her studio usually handled such arrangements after it was established.

At this mention, the woman’s tone turned proud. “Of course. Anything handed to me, the investors won’t interfere with—including casting.”

The assistant in the front seat looked through the rearview mirror. “Otherwise, why do you think Director He’s films are of such high quality?”

There were no messy “nepotism” hires from the clients, filtering out many unqualified actors. Combined with sufficient funding, the only uncontrollable factor was the script.

Yin Yunzhu felt the weight on her shoulders grow heavier, yet she felt relieved. “Then who do you think would be suitable for the female lead of this book?”

“You’re the author. When you were writing, did you have anyone specific in mind?” He Ping asked with interest, her hands folded over her lap.

“I did have someone…” Just not a star.

When Yin Yunzhu started this book, she hadn’t met Jiang Menghe yet, and she had only a superficial understanding of the acting world. She had shaped the characters entirely based on her mood.

Jiang Menghe’s face flashed in her mind, only to be quickly dismissed. The woman was noble and dignified; her intellectual and gentle nature easily won the audience’s favor. However, the protagonist of her book was decisive and ruthless, with a temperament leaning toward dark and fierce, which didn’t quite fit. Ultimately, Yin Yunzhu loved her characters and wanted to treat them with responsibility.

She had only seen clips of Jiang Menghe playing various roles online and had a preconceived notion that she wasn’t a good fit.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly after some thought. “Books and reality are different.” The difference between the 2D and 3D worlds was far more than just two dimensions.

He Ping nodded and set the question aside. “We’ll talk about it when the time comes.”

Around seven or eight in the morning, the set was filled with busy staff carrying heavy props and equipment. The actors were likely still in the lounge getting their hair and makeup done. Yin Yunzhu swallowed the last of her breakfast before slowly getting out of the car. The morning temperature was comfortable. Sunlight pierced through the haze, lining the surroundings with gold, though it couldn’t penetrate the heavy clouds.

She looped her umbrella strap around her wrist and looked around. She didn’t see the screenwriter, but she did happen to see Jiang Shiyun.

The woman was trying far too hard to be hospitable. She was usually the one to arrive late and leave early, yet she had made a special effort to get up early today. She was sitting in a chair nearby, chatting and laughing with her assistant.

Seeing He Ping, her eyes lit up instantly, and she greeted her warmly. “Good morning, Director He.”

He Ping looked up at the sound and nodded. “You’re early, too.”

After speaking, she followed her assistant toward the lounge. Watching her back, Jiang Shiyun yawned. “I wonder how many days Director He is staying. I’m so sleepy—” She had been on the phone with the person “above” last night, not getting to sleep until two or three in the morning.

“Just these couple of days, apparently. I heard her next drama is finalized, and she’s going back to Quancheng to start preparations.” The assistant handed her a makeup mirror.

This cleared away much of her sleepiness. The woman sat up, her face full of disbelief. “Really? That fast?”

“I was at the restaurant last night and heard her assistant talking to the assistant director,” the assistant replied.

“Was casting mentioned?” Jiang Shiyun gripped the armrests, her vivid face showing a hint of tension.

The assistant shook her head. “No. I assume she’s going to the lounge now to say her goodbyes to the director.”

The woman relaxed her grip and sank back into her soft chair, lost in thought. After a few minutes of hesitation, she stood up and walked toward the rest area. “Watch my things. I’m going to go take a look.”

In the restroom, He Ping turned on the faucet and carefully washed her hands. She said to the assistant beside her, “That steamed roll I ate upset my stomach. I don’t know what it was made of.” She had felt nauseous after just a few bites. She naturally had a sensitive stomach and followed a strict diet.

After washing her hands, she pulled out a paper towel and wiped them, then adjusted her hair in the mirror.

“Selling food at the film base is a lucrative business; many people don’t put any heart into it.” The assistant handed over her bag.

“It’s okay. Anyway, I’m going back to Quancheng soon, and I’ll be busy again.” The woman sighed.

“Miss Yin mentioned casting earlier. Does the studio have any ideas?” He Ping’s work consisted almost entirely of original scripts, with very few adapted from novels. The studio was also curious about what kind of book could catch her eye.

“The script isn’t finished yet. There’s no rush; we’ll take it slowly.” She walked out of the restroom with her assistant following behind.

“I was watching Jiang Shiyun on set yesterday. I felt her acting wasn’t as bad as the rumors say.”

The assistant’s words made He Ping stop in her tracks. The two of them stood in the corridor, weak light reflecting off the floor from a window at the far end.

“Jiang Shiyun?” He Ping frowned, searching her memory for the name.

The other woman quickly reminded her, “The one who seems quite close with Miss Yin.”

She had seen her chatting with Yin Yunzhu in the rest area yesterday. Judging by their mannerisms, they were clearly far from strangers likely long-time friends.

“Ah, her,” He Ping said, crossing her arms as realization dawned. “She’s alright, average. Letting idol stars act often leads to all sorts of messy trouble. Fans get obsessive, and the reputation can collapse easily.”

“True. So, what about Jiang Menghe? She’s in the neighboring crew.”

“I haven’t seen her award-winning drama yet. I’ll look into it when I get back.” He Ping seemed disinterested; clearly, thinking too far ahead made her anxious.

The adaptation of Yin Yunzhu’s book was still just an intention. Although she was confident in her work, she wasn’t about to pop the champagne before the deal was done.

As they chatted while walking, they bumped into Jiang Shiyun at a corner.

The woman looked composed, as if she had just happened to be passing by. She gave a slight bow. “Hello, Director He.”

The assistant’s earlier remark had left an impression on He Ping. She scrutinized her for a moment, her gaze lingering on the actress’s face. Her long, upturned eyes held a touch of haughtiness; her aura was alluring and vivid. Unlike the “approachable” beauties, she was the type a passerby would see and immediately comment on how beautiful she was.

Unfortunately, she was too sharp, making it difficult for people to feel close to her.

“Hello,” He Ping nodded in response and brushed past her.

Once they were further away, the assistant noticed the director looked pensive. “Director, is there a problem?”

He Ping sighed, offering a critical assessment: “Jiang Shiyun won’t do.”

A face that leaves such a strong impression makes it difficult to shed a previous role and build a new persona. This wasn’t something to be rushed; with so many people in the industry, there would eventually be a fit. They just had to take it slow.

After finishing her two-day learning stint as an on-set screenwriter, Yin Yunzhu set off on her journey back to Quancheng. Having gradually grown accustomed to the weightlessness of the flight, the exhaustion of her travels finally caught up with her, and she drifted into a heavy sleep.

By the time she woke up, the plane was nearing its descent.

She had wanted to see Jiang Menghe one last time before leaving, but none of her messages received a response. Yin Yunzhu was perceptive; having troubled the other woman twice already, she feared being a nuisance and decided to drop the idea.

Walking out of the airport and parting ways with He Ping’s group, she spotted a familiar car in the distance and quickly waved from the roadside.

The car came to a steady stop, and the rolled-down window revealed Bei Jiali’s face. She moved a cat carrier from the passenger seat to her feet and slapped the steering wheel grandly. “Get in! I’m taking you for a spin!”

Yin Yunzhu didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Once inside, she unzipped the carrier, and a small yellow head poked out. Usually a little terror at home, Xiaoyu was currently looking around timidly. The cat stared at Yin Yunzhu with round eyes for a long time before finally leaning in to catch her scent.

“Finally remembered who she is?” Bei Jiali held the kitten’s head with one hand, playfully pushing it back into the bag.

“Meow—!” Xiaoyu headbutted her in protest, trying to squeeze out.

“Why are you scaring her?” Yin Yunzhu quickly comforted the cat, looking reproachfully at the woman in the driver’s seat.

Bei Jiali giggled. “Aside from Yin Xuan, the most fun thing in your house is this cat.”

“If Yin Xuan heard that, she’d hit you again,” Yin Yunzhu said, cradling the cat and shooting a glance at her friend.

“Can she beat me? I’d bully her to death.” Bei Jiali held the wheel with one hand, checking the traffic in the rearview mirror. “Forget about her, let’s talk about you,” she said, making a U-turn and merging into the road. “Running off to other cities every few days—your face looks all dried out.”

Yin Yunzhu touched her cheek. “Really?”

“Pingcheng isn’t like Quancheng by the sea; the wind here carries moisture. Why is a writer running around like a business consultant every day?” Bei Jiali was talkative—give her one sentence and she’d give you eight back.

She didn’t know about Yin Yunzhu’s collaboration with He Ping; otherwise, with her “loudspeaker” personality, the whole world would know within two days.

There was no reason to hide it, but since she hadn’t managed to tell Jiang Menghe, Yin Yunzhu’s enthusiasm for the matter had faded significantly. “I went to the film base to learn about on-set screenwriting.”

Bei Jiali, who was concentrating on driving, turned her head slightly while keeping her eyes on the road. “You’ve changed careers?”

“An adaptation. With Director He Ping.”

“Huh?” Bei Jiali was stunned. After processing the sentence, she followed up quickly, “Are you serious? At the film base?”

“I met a lot of stars, too,” Yin Yunzhu added.

If they hadn’t been on a busy road, Bei Jiali might have slammed on the brakes right then and there to interrogate her childhood friend.

“I remember Jiang Menghe has a movie filming there. Did you ask her for an—” Her voice cut off abruptly as she suddenly remembered Yin Yunzhu’s subtle attitude at the Western restaurant.

Guessing her thoughts, Yin Yunzhu replied, “It’s fine. I actually quite like her.”

The word “like” rolled off her tongue lightly. She looked out the window, the glass reflecting her slightly reddened cheeks. She was still not good at expressing emotion in front of others, even if it was just about dating. Compared to Bei Jiali’s terrifyingly vast social circle, she was hesitant even when caring for her partner.

She preferred actions over sweet words.

As she spoke, realization dawned on Bei Jiali. “No wonder your face was so sour when those hotel photos of her and Ren Yu leaked last time.”

“Who would’ve thought? You’re actually pretty wild. With all those AO actresses in the industry, you don’t stan them—you fall for a Beta. You’ve got character,” she said with mock gravity.

“What are you talking about?” Yin Yunzhu, knowing the truth, retorted quickly, “Those photos were clarified later. The two of them were never a thing.”

Her personality was mild, as Bei Jiali had known since they were kids. Now, her urgent and agitated tone made her look exactly like a cat that had its tail stepped on.

“Maybe the PR was just strong. I think they looked real; the CP (Couple) threads went crazy,” Bei Jiali said, refusing to budge. “That was Jiang Menghe’s first-ever rumored girlfriend, right?”

“I’ll be angry if you keep talking,” Yin Yunzhu couldn’t bear to hear it. She reached out to shove her but remembered she was driving and pulled back.

“Look at you, getting all worked up. Anyone would think you two were actually dating.”

Bei Jiali’s casual remark hit the bullseye of Yin Yunzhu’s heart. Her hands rested unnaturally on her knees, fingers twisting together. Her most secret, most frightening relationship had been laid bare in a joking tone.

She answered nonchalantly, “And why couldn’t we be dating?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried a trace of stubbornness.

“Then date! Who’s stopping you?” Bei Jiali replied with a grin, taking it as a joke. “If Auntie Shan finds out, let’s see how she breaks your legs.”

Yin Yunzhu didn’t doubt that sentence. Given Shan Songyue’s personality, Yin giving up a stable nine-to-five job was already the most rebellious thing she had done. Even so, the stifling atmosphere at home during that period had made her want to escape. She grew up in a home full of maternal love but little paternal presence. She saw how hard Shan Songyue worked from dawn till dusk. When she had cut off contact with home before, it wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about compromising. It took years of success before she was finally accepted.

She should have seen the rugged path between her and Jiang Menghe long ago. It was like traveling slowly through deep mud, leaving tracks that were hard to erase, only to have to struggle to pull herself out and start over. Yin Yunzhu gripped the hem of her clothes. She understood everything but chose to avoid the future where no light could reach, enjoying only the warmth and thrill of the present. Just being by the other’s side was enough to bring her comfort and satisfaction.

Seeing her silence, Bei Jiali thought she had spoken too carelessly and hurt Yin’s feelings. She quickly comforted her, “Just kidding. Auntie Shan is all bark and no bite; she loves you too much to actually do anything. Besides, you still have me, don’t you?” She patted her chest loyally.

The car entered the city center, surrounded by traffic and sharp honking. Stopping at a crossroad, the traffic lights flashed as pedestrians surged across the crosswalk.

“Forget dating a female Beta even if you dated ten, I’d support you with both hands and feet!”

Yin Yunzhu managed a smile. She could hear the comfort was more than the reality, but she didn’t want to dampen her friend’s spirits. “I won’t date ten, that’s an exaggeration,” she lowered her eyes. “But if that day ever truly comes, I hope you’ll support me.”

The red light counted down. The flashing lights mingled with the neon of the surrounding skyscrapers, adding a touch of color to the city before nightfall. Seeing that Bei Jiali didn’t quite grasp the deeper meaning of the sentence, Yin Yunzhu said no more. Bored, she opened her phone to check the latest updates.

Her Weibo homepage pushed content based on her preferences mostly pet-related or writing-related until a startling post refreshed at the top. The title and format looked like a social news piece, clashing with the usual feed. She was about to scroll past, but she accurately caught the keyword.

Jiang Menghe.

Seeing the familiar name, Yin Yunzhu’s thumb froze. She clicked in to see the details. It was a very blurry photo. Beside a vacant street overgrown with weeds stood two men next to a yellow wall. Their facial features were completely indistinguishable.

[Can someone tell me if this is real? Rumor has it that’s Jiang Menghe’s father?]

The post included text and images. Yin Yunzhu had seen many of these clickbait titles before, but most were just stories made up from pictures. The shares and comments were few, and there weren’t even any tags. If she hadn’t stumbled upon it, it would have been buried in the feed.

[Excuse me? You can just make things up now?] [Is this how you start an account? What about your ancestors’ graves?] [@Yunyu Culture, are you going to handle this? Send a lawyer’s letter.]

Below was a uniform chorus of mockery and skepticism, as if declaring it all a farce. It should have been a trivial matter, but a sentence from the person at the recent class reunion flashed in Yin Yunzhu’s mind:

“Jiang Menghe used to come from a poor family. She entered the entertainment industry to pay off her father’s debts.”

Support