Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 42.2

Seeing that Yin Yunzhu was about to launch into a long speech, Bai Jiali quickly cut her off. “Stop, stop, stop. I don’t want to hear your deep writer thoughts. This heartbreak has turned you into a philosopher.”

“It’s not like I wanted to talk… Forget it. Let’s not discuss this.” Under the influence of alcohol, psychological defenses were easier to breach. Tipsy, Yin Yunzhu wanted to just fall into bed and sleep, but she had to stay alert, so she kept rambling.

The driver brought the car over, the headlights casting a bright arc in front of them. She stood up, shook out her legs which were numb from crouching, and scrambled into the back seat.

The car was scented with a light perfume. Yin Yunzhu rested her forehead against the back of the front seat and rolled down the window to let the air circulate. On the long journey home, drowsiness swept over her. She maintained her awkward posture and fell into a brief sleep.

When she woke up again, the car happened to be passing through the city center. The first thing she saw was the “peace knot” hanging from the rearview mirror, swaying with the bumps in the road.

Whether it was fate or mere coincidence, as the car passed the Commercial Plaza, she looked up instinctively and saw the advertisements looping on the giant outdoor screen.

Jiang Menghe had many endorsements in recent years, mostly high-end brands she carefully selected. From jewelry to perfumes, she had a presence in every sector. Naturally, the mall’s big screen prioritized the brands housed within, which meant Jiang Menghe’s silhouette was everywhere.

In the ad, the woman wore a lotus-root-colored classical qipao; her intellectual aura added a sense of “still waters run deep.” Her middle finger lightly dabbed a vibrant red lipstick, and shadows from a lattice window fell across her face.

She really is beautiful, Yin Yunzhu thought, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.

The sight made it difficult to distinguish reality from dreams. This woman, who now felt as distant and unreachable as the stars, had once lain beside her, stroking her hair. She had once kissed Yin Yunzhu’s reddened, tearful eyes and called her softly: “Yunyun.”

It was like a nebulous dream. When she woke up, the bedsheets beside her were exactly as they had always been: cold and smooth.

For the next few days, Bai Jiali stayed with Yin Yunzhu constantly. Although they spent most of their time huddled on the sofa playing games, having an extra person to talk to helped distract Yin Yunzhu from her thoughts.

After “calming down” for nearly half a month, Yin Yunzhu seemed to have fully emerged from the shadows of the breakup. She spent her days at home coding and reading, or cuddling Xiaoyu while catching up on the latest TV dramas.

Big data algorithms are persistent; you have to click “not interested” many times before they stop pushing certain content. Online, she couldn’t avoid news about Jiang Menghe, but whereas she used to be dazed at the sight of her name, she could now click “exit” without her heart skipping a beat.

There is no such thing as “love as deep as the sea”; time eventually fades everything. Yin Yunzhu never knew she was such a fickle, ordinary person.

Since the exposure of her father’s criminal record, Yunyu Culture had handled the PR swiftly. Combined with Jiang Menghe’s sincere open letter, many passersby were moved, and her popularity actually surged higher than before.

Yin Yunzhu was currently lying back in her ergonomic chair, snacking. The little orange cat poked its head out from her lap, staring intently at the bag of beef jerky on the desk.

After Jiang Menghe had unilaterally deleted her, Yin Yunzhu had spent days hesitating before finally, under Bai Jiali’s pressure, deleting the contact herself. Even if it was just a hollow name in a list, getting rid of it was the only way to truly “ring out the old and ring in the new.”

With no reminders left, she finally achieved a clean slate.

Of course, her contact list was now filling up with new people, such as the group chat for the new drama started by He Ping, and another screenwriter she had added two days ago named Mi Ying.

Logically, as the original author, Yin Yunzhu only needed to stay home and make revisions. But since this was her first adaptation, she took it very seriously, worrying over it just as much as an on-set writer. She was headed to the studio today to iron out the final details of the script.

The April temperature was high enough that she had shed her heavy coat. Yin Yunzhu wore a long, milky-orange hooded sweatshirt and light-colored distressed jeans that made her legs look long and slender. She looked like a bright, youthful college student; it was hard to imagine she was going to discuss a major project.

Clutching the latest draft of the script—the result of several all-nighters—she took the elevator upstairs.

He Ping was playing mahjong on the first floor. Four people were gathered around the square table. Aside from the familiar faces of Mi Ying and the assistant, the fourth person was a stranger.

The crisp clacking of tiles and the sounds of triumphant laughter filled the room. The atmosphere was so lively that Yin Yunzhu felt awkward interrupting and stood hesitantly at the door.

The assistant spotted her first and waved her over. “Quick, come here! Xiao Mi is playing so poorly we can’t take it anymore. We need a fourth.”

Mi Ying stood up and collapsed onto the sofa, waving her hands helplessly. “You guys are too good. I can’t keep up at all.”

“You’ve just learned the rules; playing like that is actually quite good,” He Ping encouraged. She was never one to dampen someone’s enthusiasm.

Yin Yunzhu was ushered toward the mahjong table. She said stiffly, “I don’t know how to play mahjong.”

Her usual entertainment was sparse; she rarely touched mahjong or poker. Rules for different variations tended to scramble in her head after hearing them a few times. Bai Jiali had tried to teach her many times but eventually lost patience, telling her to figure it out herself.

“It’s normal for young people not to know how to play. I’ll teach you.”

The speaker was the stranger—a woman with gold-rimmed glasses and a sophisticated hairstyle. She looked to be about the same age as He Ping. She pulled out the chair next to her and signaled for Yin Yunzhu to sit.

The assistant, realizing they hadn’t met, introduced her warmly. “This is the film’s lead investor, Zhao Zhenfang. She’s an old friend of Teacher He and is very kind to the younger generation. Don’t be nervous.”

“But the script…” Yin Yunzhu gestured to the thick stack of papers in her arms, hesitating.

“If business can be discussed at a dinner table, why can’t it be discussed at a mahjong table?” Zhao Zhenfang waved a hand and pressed Yin Yunzhu down into the seat.

The grip was firm. For He Ping’s sake, Yin Yunzhu had no choice but to sit down. She stared at the dizzying patterns on the tiles, desperately trying to recall what Bai Jiali had taught her.

“Xiao Yin, have you adapted a TV series before?” Zhao Zhenfang chatted while organizing her tiles.

“No, this is my first time,” Yin Yunzhu replied. She wasn’t good at small talk or flattering elders, sitting with her neck stiff like a startled quail. “If I do anything wrong, I hope you can guide me.”

This made Zhao Zhenfang laugh out loud. “Don’t worry. I trust Xiao Mi’s abilities. Having her lead you into the industry will save you from a lot of detours.”

Mi Ying sat up and tapped the corner of the table. “The problematic plot points from last time are mostly sorted. Give me the revised script to look at.”

Yin Yunzhu hurriedly handed over the script. As she watched the other woman flip through it, her heart hammered. Being talented at writing didn’t necessarily mean she could adapt it just as brilliantly. Stripping away the flowery prose to see the core—the ups and downs of the plot—was crucial. Emotional expression relied heavily on the actors’ portrayal, which was exactly why He Ping was agonizing over casting.

As they played, the group continued to chat, and the conversation soon turned to that very topic.

“The casting for the role of Xia Yue hasn’t been decided yet. Does Teacher Yin have any thoughts?” The assistant pulled a tile and placed it in the center, looking across at Yin Yunzhu.

Xia Yue was a vital female supporting character. Even in the script, her screen time was significantly more than others. With her likeable, lively personality and her intricate connection to the lead, the role was a “hot commodity.”

“I don’t really understand these things. I can only judge based on who looks right,” Yin Yunzhu said with a forced smile, clumsily trying to sort her mahjong tiles.

“Don’t you usually follow the industry?” Zhao Zhenfang asked the same question He Ping had asked before. “Which female stars do you have a good impression of?”

To ease the pressure, she added, “Don’t worry, picking a role is just about narrowing down a general range. We still have to see their performance in auditions later.”

Yin Yunzhu’s hand froze. She lowered her eyes and said flatly, “No. I don’t really have an impression of stars.”

She hid her reaction well; almost no one noticed. The silent assistant suddenly spoke up: “In terms of the ‘sweet and clear’ type, I think Ren Yu would be quite suitable.”

Yin Yunzhu’s hand jerked, nearly knocking over her tiles and exposing her hand to the others. She still remembered Ren Yu’s previous antics. Between her and Jiang Shiyun, she had become completely disillusioned with the “personas” celebrities created.

“Didn’t we say we’d avoid too many ‘idol’ stars?” Zhao Zhenfang frowned in disapproval. “Ren Yu is close to Cong Peien; it might not be a good idea to snatch people from her.”

“An idol star? I remember she used to be considered a serious actress,” He Ping noted, her memories stuck in the time before she went abroad. Back then, Ren Yu was a mid-tier star who had grown up in the spotlight. With Cong Peien’s backing, while she couldn’t reach the absolute top tier, her foundation was good.

“That’s a thing of the past. Her acting has been stagnant for years,” Zhao Zhenfang noted. “Lately, she’s been doing nothing but marketing herself to stay relevant, and she’s been taking nothing but idol dramas. Her reputation with the general public isn’t what it used to be.”

Because Zhao Zhenfang was the investor, she could offer such sharp critiques. In the entertainment industry, everyone crosses paths eventually, so few people would be this blunt. “Cong Peien actually asked me to invest in her new drama recently. I said no,” she chuckled. “She really thinks she can become the second He Ping of the mainland.”

As the words fell, she pushed her tiles down with a smile. “Hu (I win).”

“Tch,” He Ping grumbled, pushing her tiles away. “I’m done. Your technique is too good; I can’t beat you.”

“Admit defeat then?” Zhao Zhenfang stood up, kicked her stool under the table, and leaned back on the sofa. “We’ll talk about casting in a few days. We’ll invite Xiao Yin to join us then. For now, we have the lead coming in to audition tomorrow afternoon.”

Yin Yunzhu, who was discussing script details with Mi Ying, looked up at those words. “The lead is auditioning? You’ve already made a choice?”

The assistant was moving the square table to the corner. she looked back and raised her voice: “Oh! I’ve been so busy these past few days I forgot to tell you—Director He has a preferred candidate!”

“Your protagonist’s persona is very specific; not many in the industry can pull it off,” Mi Ying revealed. “Director He just returned to the country and isn’t familiar with a lot of the usual names, so she wants fresh blood.”

“The investor recommended Jiang Menghe to the Director. Her side looked at the audition clips and said she’s free tomorrow afternoon to come and try out.”

The sentence was like a bolt from the blue, leaving Yin Yunzhu’s head spinning. A buzzing sound rang in her ears, and for a moment, she lost all her composure.

Jiang Menghe. A name that hadn’t been mentioned by anyone around her for so long that it sounded foreign. She had finally managed to excise her from her life, a process as painful as carving out her own heart and now the woman was barging back into her line of sight.

It turned out that self-deceptive forgetting didn’t count.

Yin Yunzhu, usually so mild-mannered, actually spoke up in protest, her voice rising: “But she’s not suitable!”

Mi Ying was startled by her reaction. She leaned in and whispered, “Whether it’s ‘suitable’ or not doesn’t matter. If the investor thinks it’s okay, it’s okay. In this crew, we listen to those two.”

“What’s the use of you objecting?”

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