Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 43

On the way home, Mi Ying’s words continued to echo in Yin Yunzhu’s mind.

It was true. Even if she objected, what use would it be? She was just a minor screenwriter. No matter how much weight her words carried as the original author, could she truly overrule the director and the lead investor?

Setting aside the plot requirements of the original book, Yin Yunzhu’s opposition was fueled by personal bias. Back when she was immersed in their sweet romance, she had hoped that one day, Jiang Menghe would play the female lead of her story.

Now that the fire had been extinguished, she wanted nothing more than to avoid her. But fate seemed intent on working against her; even in the shadowed corners where the sunlight didn’t reach, the woman’s silhouette managed to squeeze in.

Her chest felt tight, and each breath drew in a chill that settled heavily in her heart.

The greenery along the roadside was lush and vibrant, having survived the early spring chill to grow even more tender and alive. Yin Yunzhu leaned dejectedly against the steering wheel until the impatient honking from behind forced her to look up. Seeing the traffic light nearly timed out, she hurriedly stepped on the gas.

When she arrived home, a message from the He Ping Studio group chat popped up.

He Ping: @Student Xiao Zhu, can you come watch the audition tomorrow afternoon?

Browsing through the chat history, she saw that several staff members had already responded. Since she had been driving, she hadn’t noticed the notification until now.

Refusing at this point would be improper. Yin Yunzhu already had very little say and low visibility in the crew; if she skipped the audition, people would inevitably gossip about her acting like a big shot.

After an internal tug-of-war, she replied.

Student Xiao Zhu: I’ll be there.

At the end of the day, it was just someone she had a past with. Showing fear would be equivalent to backing down. If she had truly moved on, she should be able to go there with a clear conscience. Perhaps she could even greet her with a smile and wish her a bright future.

However, Yin Yunzhu had overestimated her own endurance. When the day of the audition actually arrived, she found herself lingering in bed, unwilling to get up.

Her phone was on speaker, and Bai Jiali’s mocking voice filled the room.

“It really is a small world. Every bit of bad luck finds its way to you. When you were dating, you spent every day creating opportunities to meet. Now that you’re apart, you’re forced to see each other. It’s a cursed fate.”

As Yin Yunzhu’s self-appointed “emotional mentor,” Bai Jiali had already heard the news on WeChat, her tone laced with a sense of schadenfreude.

“Why wouldn’t you go? She’ll find out you’re the screenwriter sooner or later. Besides, it’s not like you’ll see her every day—just once in a while,” the woman lectured. “Not only should you go, but you should also dress up glamorously. Let her know how well you’re living without her.”

“Yes, you should say something like, ‘Thank you for making my career possible; my luck turned around the moment I left you.’ You don’t have to be too obvious, just imply she was a jinx.”

When it came to bad ideas, Bai Jiali had a deeper well of them than anyone else.

“I’m not doing that. The more I try, the more it shows I care. Jiang Menghe isn’t a fool; she and her manager would probably laugh behind my back about me acting like a peacock.”

Yin Yunzhu curled up on the bed like a snail, the messy quilt tucked between her legs. In her arms, a trapped Xiaoyu let out an annoyed meow, struggling to escape her grasp.

“This won’t work, that won’t work… then just go and reconcile with her so you can stop bothering me,” Bai Jiali grumbled.

“I don’t want that either,” Yin Yunzhu muttered stubbornly.

A good horse doesn’t turn back to eat old grass. Besides, Jiang Menghe was a hard nut to crack. Pleading for mercy would be a thankless effort and would only crush her remaining dignity into the mud. Since she had made up her mind to cut off the past, she wouldn’t go back on her word.

“I just purely don’t want to go, the same way you don’t want to go to work.” Yin Yunzhu rolled over on the bed, lying spread-eagled and accidentally tossing Xiaoyu to the corner of the mattress.

Orange cats are famously fond of food and lazy, and Xiaoyu was no exception. Since being neutered, its weight had ballooned. When those fifteen pounds of cat kicked off her stomach to jump away, Yin Yunzhu nearly lost her breath.

She clutched her stomach, listening to Bai Jiali sigh over the phone.

“Honestly, your relationship wasn’t even that deep. You were entangled for less than six months and have been broken up for nearly one. How are you still acting like the world is ending and drinking yourself into a stupor?” The other woman’s voice was muffled as the rustling of plastic bags sounded—she was likely throwing away takeout boxes. “Stay there. I’m coming over to drive you, and while I’m at it, I’ll help you fix your image.”

Bai Jiali moved fast. By the time the knock sounded at the door, Yin Yunzhu had only just managed to drag herself out of bed, move to the door to let her friend in, and drift back toward the bathroom.

The entire atmosphere was thick with a gloominess unsuited for someone her age. Bai Jiali placed a bag of sliced roast duck on the table and headed straight for the master bedroom. Passing the bathroom, she called out, “I’ll find you some decent clothes to wear. We can’t have you looking messy and childish.”

“No need,” Yin Yunzhu replied through a mouth full of toothpaste, but the other woman had already disappeared into the walk-in closet.

Bai Jiali’s years of looking after her had become a habit. Unlike Shan Songyue’s hands-off parenting, Bai Jiali believed a person should be exquisite from head to toe—down to the last strand of hair. Even little Yin Xuan, seeing them together, would cheekily remark, “Sister Jiali is Sister’s real mom.”

And then she would inevitably get a smack.

Yin Yunzhu’s clothing style was uniform: mostly fresh, sweet knee-length skirts or various macaron-colored hoodies. Even her winter coats had to have fluffy faux-fur trim. Consequently, amidst the common styles, a set of sexy, mature lingerie stood out like a sore thumb.

“You’re this hot in private?” Bai Jiali stood before the full-length mirror, holding up a bra against herself.

Yin Yunzhu was just wiping the water from her face. Entering the room and seeing this scene, she hurriedly snatched the bra back, her face flushed with annoyance.

“Give it back!” Her tone was sharp, as if someone had stumbled upon her most private secret.

This lingerie had been bought early in the year. Back then, it had been chewed up by Xiaoyu, nearly leading Madam Shan to discover her affair with Jiang Menghe. She had thought the woman might stay over often, so she had even bought matching sets of pajamas. After the breakup, she had stuffed it all into the back of the closet and ignored it. Now, having it suddenly unearthed brought back a flood of memories.

Yin Yunzhu smoothed the lace edges and hung it neatly on a hanger, placing it alongside her own. To prevent Bai Jiali from misunderstanding, she explained, “This isn’t mine.”

“I guessed the size wasn’t yours,” Bai Jiali waved her hand. “Forget it. If you ask me, you should just throw these things away so you don’t keep reminiscing.”

“At least let me keep a memento.” Yin Yunzhu cautiously touched the fabric; the soft cotton was comforting.

“A memento? Even being stingy has its limits. Fine, after you finish work, I’ll take you to the mall. Pick whatever you want; stop wearing that old stuff. And purple? It looks neither here nor there.”

Yin Yunzhu could hear the deep resentment her friend held toward Jiang Menghe, but she knew she was in the wrong. She had seen many posts on relationship bots where couples fight and make up while the supportive friends are left looking foolish. Although she didn’t agree with every criticism, Jiang Menghe’s ambiguous attitude toward their relationship didn’t change the fact that she was an excellent actress and role model.

In any case, since they would have no intersection in the future, she didn’t bother to correct Bai Jiali’s views.

In the end, Yin Yunzhu wore her regular clothes out. On the way to the designated location, she carefully reviewed the audition clips many times.

To say she wasn’t nervous would be a lie. Especially since the person she had parted with on such bad terms a month ago was about to stand before her again; it was bound to stir up some feelings.

The audition location was a community hall near the primary school. Compared to the Art Center, it was small but quiet. Usually, parents would bring their children here to visit. Since it was the start of the school term, the hall was empty.

Because Jiang Menghe was the only one auditioning today, the directing team took it very seriously—especially He Ping. Having had Jiang Menghe recommended to her by so many people, she was curious about this rising star.

Most people arrived half an hour early. Yin Yunzhu walked into the classroom and saw the theme written on the blackboard in beautiful chalk calligraphy. Tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls, leaving a large open space in the center for the actor to perform.

Mi Ying was focused on the script, while He Ping and the assistant director discussed the rental duration of the venue. The rest of the crew were scrolling through their phones. Seeing Yin Yunzhu standing at the door, the assistant brought a stool to the window side and signaled for her to sit.

Yin Yunzhu thanked her, but after sitting down, she didn’t know what to do.

In their past relationship, Jiang Menghe had been the dominant, scrutinizing one. Now, Yin was the one holding a veto power over her career. The feeling was bizarre. Her heart felt squeezed, her palms were sweating, and she couldn’t sit still.

Mi Ying, noticing her state, looked over hesitantly. “Teacher Yin, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”

Caught, a look of embarrassment and distress crossed Yin Yunzhu’s face. She touched her nose and muttered vaguely, “A little. I… I think I’ll go to the restroom.”

Mi Ying gestured toward the left side of the hallway. “Turn left at the end, it’s near the entrance. If you get lost, look for the signs.”

Leaving the classroom, the stifling atmosphere faded. The display racks in the hall showed recent activities; children’s doodles were everywhere, which, if stared at too long, gave off a strangely eerie feeling.

Yin Yunzhu adjusted her collar. Her back was already soaked in a light sweat, the inner shirt sticking clammily to her skin. She was the one who chose to come, yet the thought of seeing Jiang Menghe soon filled her with a rising panic and resistance. She was afraid that one look would make her unable to stop missing her in secret. A month had passed; she should have locked that impossible person in a dusty box long ago. What did this lingering attachment even count for?

Yin Yunzhu’s feelings for Jiang Menghe were a complicated mess, dominated mostly by resentment. Looking back on those few months of crossing lines, she realized she had been recklessly obsessed. The other woman had led her into an unprecedented experience, only to turn and leave without mercy once she was fully submerged.

By what right?

Water flowed through her fingers into the sink. She looked up at the mirror and realized her eyes had turned red without her knowing. she hurriedly wiped them with her sleeve.

Tidying her emotions, she retraced her steps, only to see a familiar figure on a wooden bench not far from the classroom. Ye Xiyang was holding a coffee cup, looking left and right. Because the hall was vast and quiet, she spotted Yin Yunzhu walking toward her immediately.

An old acquaintance met; for a moment, they were both speechless. The other seemed to know about the breakup between Yin Yunzhu and Jiang Menghe; she gave a slight nod and forced a faint smile.

Seeing the manager here meant Jiang Menghe couldn’t be far away.

Yin Yunzhu wanted to flee, yet her legs felt like lead, pinning her to the spot. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen her; after all, it wasn’t Ye Xiyang she had a conflict with.

“Hello, Sister Ye.”

She greeted her stiffly, only to see the other woman’s gaze cross her shoulder to look behind her. A bad premonition rose in her heart. That gaze seemed to materialize into something sharp, scrutinizing her before casually withdrawing.

“I couldn’t find it. It might be left in the car.”

The woman’s voice was as clear and cold as ever. In this weather where it was just starting to warm up, it held an airy, wavering quality. She was the same in private whether coaxing or praising, her voice was laced with a lazy drowsiness that made her seem easygoing.

This was Yin Yunzhu’s greatest misunderstanding of Jiang Menghe. Because the latter never showed her emotions on her face, it had given Yin the illusion that no matter what she did, the woman would tolerate her without limits.

In reality, any emotion is quietly worn away in every passing moment. The addition and subtraction of love within Jiang Menghe’s heart was an impenetrable mystery.

The light, elegant scent of gardenia brushed past Yin Yunzhu. Jiang Menghe didn’t even spare her a glance, treating her entirely like a stranger she had never met.

Yin Yunzhu’s heart plummeted to the bottom of a lake, stung by the freezing water where no light could reach. She clenched her teeth, refusing to let her emotions leak out and embarrass herself in front of them.

Bai Jiali was right: tears would not be a weapon to make Jiang Menghe empathize; instead, they would be a trophy for the victor of the relationship.

“Go look for it later. I’ve already cleared it with the director. Let’s get inside; they’re filming an ad over there tonight,” Ye Xiyang instructed. Seeing Jiang Menghe making a move to leave, she cast a profound, secretive glance at Yin Yunzhu.

Seeing that she remained still, Jiang Menghe followed her gaze.

Softly curved almond eyes lowered slightly, her pupils so dim they didn’t reflect a single spark of light. The woman’s thin lips were tightly pursed; when she wasn’t smiling, she radiated a sense of heartless indifference. It was a coldness like snow falling on one’s shoulders; once melted, the bone-chilling frost seeped deep into the fabric, leaving dark stains.

She seemed no different than before, which only made Yin Yunzhu’s consecutive days of heartbreak look like a joke.

Yin Yunzhu expected Jiang Menghe to ignore her as she had just done, but the woman looked at her deeply and said flatly, “What a coincidence, meeting you here.”

Her nails dug into her palms, the resulting pain acting as a constant reminder. Don’t retreat.

She took a deep breath and feigned nonchalance. “It’s not a coincidence. I came with Director He.”

Jiang Menghe’s interest was finally piqued. She turned slightly, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “So, you knew I was coming?”

The sentence immediately branded Yin Yunzhu as “clingy,” as if she had rushed here the moment she heard Jiang Menghe was auditioning just to catch a glimpse of her.

“You’re flatterring yourself. Actually, I don’t approve of you as the female lead.”

Returning the words from that day in full, Yin Yunzhu felt a surge of relief, as if she had finally vented her pent-up frustration. Having listened to Bai Jiali’s advice and tactics before leaving, she had learned how to strike back.

Hearing this, Ye Xiyang, who had been standing silently behind, turned pale. She knew the history between them. This film was Director He’s first project back in the country, and one of the few adapted scripts; the potential was clear from the original work. If the author spoke up now and caused a scene, the deal might fall through.

Jiang Menghe seemed amused by the remark, her lips curving into a pleasant arc. Unlike her usual social maneuvering and perfunctory smiles, this expression was one of pure indulgence and pampering toward a junior. It made Yin Yunzhu daze for a moment before anger surged in her heart.

Her negative emotions weren’t being taken seriously. The woman was treating her with the same tolerance one shows a pet cat or dog, which gave her a profound sense of defeat.

“How have you been lately?” Jiang Menghe began to offer polite concern.

To have hurt someone and still act as if nothing happened, putting on that mask of benevolence again… She didn’t realize that when a knife enters a chest, even if it’s pulled out, it takes bloody flesh with it.

“Quite well. You look good too,” Yin Yunzhu replied. It was the truth.

Jiang Menghe seemed no different than before without her.

“Thanks,” Jiang Menghe looked at her phone and gestured toward the classroom with her chin. “Going in together?”

“No.” Yin Yunzhu used almost all her strength to squeeze out those two words before walking ahead.

The afternoon sun poured in, carving square grids onto the raw wood tabletops. It was the time of day when drowsiness hits hardest; upon entering, many people’s faces were written with exhaustion.

Mi Ying organized her materials and asked casually when Yin Yunzhu returned, “That was a long bathroom break.”

“I washed my face. I’m a bit sleepy,” Yin Yunzhu lied, propping her head on her hand as she leaned over the desk.

“Just hang in there. She’s at the door; it’ll be over soon. Here.” Mi Ying pulled out the specific audition scene and slid it in front of her.

The moment Jiang Menghe entered, she drew everyone’s eyes. Most people’s faces lit up, but He Ping remained leaned back in her chair, her expression calm. She had seen too many people with both beauty and talent; to her, Jiang Menghe was just one of the many outstanding stars of recent years.

Yin Yunzhu peeked at He Ping’s reaction and breathed a secret sigh of relief. she had been afraid that before the scene even started, the director would slam the table in excitement and shout, “It’s you!” A normal reaction meant there was still a chance.

She gripped her black pen tightly, sweating. Regardless, she didn’t want too much entanglement with Jiang Menghe; if they were on the same crew later, they would inevitably have to meet.

Jiang Menghe gave a brief greeting and began performing as the female protagonist according to the prepared script.

When Yin Yunzhu originally created the character, she gave the lead a decisive, courageous, and bold personality. Her dislike for Jiang Menghe was partly personal, but also because she felt the woman was too “soft” and couldn’t switch temperaments so quickly.

As it turned out, she didn’t know Jiang Menghe well enough.

Having seen the seductive, cold, and intellectual versions of Jiang Menghe on screen, she found the woman was equally perfect at handling a ruthless and dark character. Her pitch-black pupils were so deep they seemed to swallow all light, acting like a whirlpool that drew in anyone who met her gaze. In the final shot, she slowly knelt on the ground, looking as desperate and helpless as if she were standing amidst ruins.

In a fluid motion, Jiang Menghe unintentionally glanced at Yin Yunzhu. With just that one look, Yin’s heart skipped a beat, followed by a thick wave of sadness. She remembered that on the night they truly broke up, Jiang Menghe had gazed at her with that exact same look.

Whispers broke out around her. Mi Ying nodded repeatedly, leaning in to whisper, “I think she’s great.”

“She’s just alright.” Yin Yunzhu deliberately raised her volume—not enough to be piercing, but enough for Jiang Menghe to hear her dissatisfaction. Her pen drew several zeros over the evaluation form, the lines tangling together like a mess of yarn.

She had only intended to grumble, but Jiang Menghe looked directly at her, adopting a humble posture of seeking advice. “Teacher, could you be more specific? Which parts were not good?”

She was as cunning as a fox, always laying traps. At those words, every eye in the classroom snapped toward Yin Yunzhu.

Flustered and not daring to look up, Yin Yunzhu forced herself to speak. “After all, novels and reality are different. We haven’t seen any improvisation yet.”

The excuse was weak, and murmurs broke out around her. “I thought it was great. The author is being a bit nitpicky…” “She’s the ‘mother’ of the character, after all. It’s natural her standards are high.” “If even Jiang Menghe can’t pass, there’s no one left in the industry.”

Amidst the discussion, He Ping remained with her arms crossed, silent. When it was time to announce the result, she spoke up. “Xiao Yin is right. Whether she’s suitable depends on the improvisation.” she gave her assistant a look, who handed a slip of paper to Jiang Menghe.

Yin Yunzhu looked at He Ping gratefully and straightened her back.

Jiang Menghe opened the slip. With three minutes to prepare, she had to perform a randomly selected plot point perfectly. The minutes ticked by until the timer suddenly beeped.

“Teacher Jiang, time’s up.” The assistant took the paper and signaled for her to step forward.

For someone truly talented and exceptional, a slight effort is already beyond what ordinary people can reach. Yin Yunzhu realized this profoundly after watching Jiang Menghe’s performance.

A mix of surprise and resentment caused her pen to poke a dark little hole through her paper. Amidst the thunderous applause, the assistant director stood up first. “Excellent!”

Excellent my foot.

Yin Yunzhu frowned and looked away, her profile looking like a puffed-up, angry pufferfish. Her skin was pale, so the blush on her cheeks—whether from anger or embarrassment—showed clearly.

He Ping stood up as well, shaking Jiang Menghe’s hand with a satisfied smile. “Teacher Jiang, go back and wait for our news.”

Although the result wasn’t official, judging by everyone’s reaction, it was practically set in stone. The rebuttals were stuck in Yin Yunzhu’s throat; she ultimately swallowed her anger.

As the assistant collected the feedback forms, Mi Ying stretched and said to Yin Yunzhu, “Want to go check out the snack street nearby?”

“No thanks, my friend is waiting outside.” Yin Yunzhu stood up. She was already “full” from anger.

The hall was sparse, mostly filled with staff members leaving the classrooms. Yin Yunzhu stood on the front steps and saw Bai Jiali already parked at the entrance, honking at her.

“Driver Xiao Bai is online! Which mall are we going to?” Bai Jiali walked around to open the passenger door, asking for Yin’s opinion.

“Anywhere. Whichever is closest.” Yin Yunzhu climbed in and obediently buckled her seatbelt.

The windows were open, and the hot sunlight shone on the staggered steps like dancing gold. Sensing something, she turned her head and saw Jiang Menghe walking out of the main entrance with Ye Xiyang.

Their gazes met, and Yin Yunzhu nervously looked down. Jiang Menghe’s gaze was too aggressive, completely at odds with her usual soft and easygoing aura; it felt as if she would tear her apart in the next second. Yin Yunzhu had seen her “craziness” in bed—a stark contrast to the Goddess the public saw. She was like a lion breaking out of a cage; her soothing tone was the polar opposite of the way she would roughly tug at Yin’s hair.

Right now, the woman was standing quietly at the edge of the shade.

Bai Jiali was currently picking out music, completely oblivious to the dark undercurrents beside her. “How about the one at Tiancheng Apartments? The lingerie there is comfortable and fits well. They have sexy ones too.”

Her voice was loud, clearly audible from a few paces away.

Yin Yunzhu’s heart skipped a beat. She instinctively looked at Jiang Menghe to see her reaction. The woman stood tall and elegant, her deep eyes even more unreadable in the shadows.

After a long silence, she suddenly offered a shallow smile, her voice so light it was scattered by the wind.

“Congratulations.”

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