Shadowed Love: A Lover Who Refuses to Let Go - Chapter 46.2

She leaned against the sink in the restroom, her handsome and heroic features reflected in the mirror. The makeup artist had intentionally reduced the negative space on her face to give her a sharper, more piercing look.

Footsteps echoed behind her as Ai Xue entered, removing her heavy headpiece.

“Sister Menghe, what a coincidence.”

Whether it was truly a coincidence or intentional was unclear. Jiang Menghe knit her brows slightly, a subtle expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“I just came to wash my hands,” Jiang Menghe said, reaching toward the sensor.

Ai Xue bit her lip and moved slowly toward her side, her tone sounding as if she were fishing for a compliment. “Sister Menghe, how was my performance just now?”

She was accustomed to using work as an excuse to get close to Jiang Menghe, a motive she barely bothered to hide. Having acted for so many years, Jiang Menghe saw through it with ease.

It was just that such excessive persistence became annoying when it turned into clingy behavior. Yet, no matter how much she disliked it internally, she showed none of it on the surface.

“Not bad. Very few newcomers dare to fight for their own camera time. You are very brave.” Jiang Menghe shook the water from her palms and took a paper towel to dry them thoroughly.

Missing the underlying irony, Ai Xue took it as a genuine compliment. To be praised by the senior she admired caused the tips of her ears to flush red. she gave a silly smile. “It’s all because you taught me well, Sister Menghe.”

Jiang Menghe preferred dealing with smart people. Seeing that the girl was oblivious, she offered a subtle reminder.

“Just try to add fewer lines next time. It’s easy to make mistakes. It’s better for newcomers to focus on gaining experience.”

The bathroom was chilly, and the coldness seeped into her voice, adding a touch of distant frost.

In the final scene, Xia Yue was supposed to hide behind Xun Qianyi in fear after the assassin was killed. However, Ai Xue, perhaps emboldened by her success in stealing the spotlight, had rushed forward during the frantic scramble as if she intended to crash directly into Jiang Menghe’s arms.

The scenario was a classic. Having read countless scripts, Jiang Menghe could even guess what would come next: the girl would cry in her arms and deliver some melodramatic line like, “Sister Qianyi, I’m scared.”

Fortunately, Jiang Menghe had been quick enough to grab Ai Xue’s wrist and pull her directly behind her, avoiding further physical contact.

“Mm-hmm, I understand,” Ai Xue nodded obediently. “I have scenes tomorrow too. I’ll strive to improve.”

She hesitated on her next words, peering at Jiang Menghe’s face. “Tonight, can we go over our lines together?”

Jiang Menghe tossed the used paper towel into the trash and smiled faintly. “Sorry, I have something to attend to over the next two days. My scenes might be rescheduled.”

Ai Xue froze. “Huh? But I didn’t hear the director mention that.”

“I’m heading there now. I’ll go ahead.” The woman nodded, her relaxed features hiding a hint of dismissal.

Returning to the dressing room, Jiang Menghe removed her sword and returned to the set.

A dense crowd of people and equipment surrounded the open space in the middle, where bored extras sat cross-legged on the ground chatting. She bypassed the cameras and walked toward He Ping.

The director was staring at the raw footage in deep thought. Noticing a shadow in her peripheral vision, she looked up.

“Menghe, you didn’t go to rest?” She moved a moon chair next to her, signaling for the woman to sit.

Jiang Menghe gathered her skirt and sat without ceremony, getting straight to the point. “Director, I want to adjust my filming schedule.”

He Ping’s attention moved from the screen to her face. The woman’s expression was indifferent, radiating a steady aura vastly different from that of a newcomer.

“How so?” She paused the footage and faced Jiang Menghe.

“Something came up at home and I need to head back urgently. Please help me out.”

Even when asking for a favor, Jiang Menghe remained neither humble nor arrogant. With a reasonable excuse provided, He Ping found herself in a bit of a dilemma.

Sensing the hesitation, Jiang Menghe added, “It won’t delay the progress much. Just two days.”

He Ping sighed helplessly and tilted her chin toward Yin Yunzhu. “Go ask the screenwriter yourself to see if the scenes can be adjusted. If they can’t, then there’s nothing I can do.”

“Thank you, Director.”

At this moment, Yin Yunzhu was unaware of the trouble heading her way, busily scribbling on the script as she compared it to the original novel.

Repeatedly revising the same manuscript was tedious work. She finally understood why, back when she was learning to be an on-set screenwriter, she had been warned about the difference between creation and adaptation.

Everything was dictated by the client. After too many revisions, the words seemed to lose their soul.

Mi Ying had been called away by the finance department to print documents. Yin Yunzhu was passing the time by folding the corner of a page when a shadow fell over her.

A familiar, pleasant fragrance swirled around her, growing more intense with each warm breath. She looked up to see Jiang Menghe standing before her.

Seeing Jiang Menghe in costume up close so suddenly was something she wasn’t quite used to. The ink-colored robe was embroidered with subtle gold patterns that flowed with the hem of the garment as she moved, giving the woman an air of elegance and nobility.

After their final words at the elevator a few days ago, the two had barely communicated. Meeting face-to-face now, Yin Yunzhu felt awkward.

Not wanting to show weakness, she looked up. “Is something wrong?”

She was as hard and cold as a shard of glass, something that could neither be bent nor touched. Compared to her cute, fur-bristling angry self, this version was much better at keeping people at a distance.

“I’m looking for you. Help me move tomorrow’s scenes to the day after next,” Jiang Menghe said, sitting in Mi Ying’s seat as if it were the natural thing to do.

Her anger was hard to detect. It was only because Yin Yunzhu had been by her side for so long that she could barely distinguish whether her silence was out of resentment or if she simply couldn’t be bothered to talk.

Judging by this attitude, she likely hadn’t moved on from the emotions of their last encounter.

Yin Yunzhu lowered her head, acting as if she didn’t care. “Go see Director He.”

“She agreed,” Jiang Menghe paused, studying her profile. “Screenwriter Yin, I’m just waiting for your word.”

Her tone was slight, like a teasing provocation. She was a master at using this kind of trap to corner people, making it impossible for them to refuse her proposals.

Whether it was coaxing her for more in bed or a situation like this, Yin Yunzhu found it very difficult to say no.

“It’s not easy to change.” This time, however, she managed to speak up.

She didn’t want to be led by the nose by Jiang Menghe anymore. Even if it was a work matter, Mi Ying could handle it; there was no need for her to get involved personally.

Yin Yunzhu was an emotional person, and she found it hard to completely separate her private life from her work. Especially when the person she was serving was the one she wanted to escape, she wanted nothing more than to retreat into her shell and not budge an inch, regardless of anyone’s persuasion.

Jiang Menghe’s eyes shifted. In the light, her pupils appeared as a clear, shallow amber. “Not easy to change, or you just don’t want to?”

She rubbed her lower lip with her fingertip, her airy tone delivering a heavy blow.

Yin Yunzhu hated this the most: the suspicious way she acted as if everyone should revolve around her. “Jiang Menghe, please don’t bring personal matters into work. This isn’t directed at you personally; it really is difficult to change.”

“Screenwriters are human too. Did you love causing trouble for people like this in the past as well?”

“How I was in the past—don’t you know that best?”

Faced with that pointed question, Yin Yunzhu was momentarily at a loss for words.

She remembered how Jiang Menghe used to bunch her scenes together just to clear time to see her. Back then, they were in the honeymoon phase, blending together as if they were meant to be one.

Those blissful, peak moments felt like yellowed old photographs when remembered after the breakup—sentimental yet ironic. Although Yin Yunzhu was not a sentimental person, those words sounded like a plea for reconciliation.

Her emotions were knotted tight with no outlet, a suffocating feeling that left her unable to relax. They shouldn’t have reached this point; she had just been too sincere.

Jiang Menghe took in Yin Yunzhu’s reaction and looked down in thought.

“Will you change it?” she gave a final ultimatum. “If you won’t, I’ll go find the other screenwriter.”

“Then go!”

Yin Yunzhu wasn’t going to indulge her. She glanced in the direction Mi Ying had gone. “She’ll probably be back in a while. You should go attend to your own business first.”

After saying that, she continued writing, treating the woman beside her as if she were thin air.

The air grew so thick it almost felt physical, as tense as a rope being pulled from both ends; whoever let go first would lose completely.

The wind rustled through the busy set, but the tent where the two sat was isolated from the rest, forming a strange vacuum.

Yin Yunzhu’s mind wandered, tracking every move of the person beside her, her attention nowhere near the script. People say the most awkward relationship is being half-acquainted, but their “broken mirror” style of interaction made her want to flee even more.

After an unknown amount of time, Jiang Menghe was the first to yield in this confrontation.

“Yin Yunzhu.” She let out a long breath and called her name.

Unlike the coldness of a stranger, this call sounded more like a helpless compromise after intense self-restraint. Jiang Menghe had always been steady and composed—even when being secretly photographed, she was proper—but she rarely lost her composure like this.

A long silence was the only reply.

Just as Yin Yunzhu was about to ignore her, a cold wind suddenly blew through, and her wrist was gripped so hard she felt as though her bone might snap.

She couldn’t help but look up.

“Yin Yunzhu,” Jiang Menghe said each word slowly, her emotions hovering on the brink of an explosion. “Why are you being so difficult with me?”

The grip on the black pen loosened, and it rolled from the pages of the script onto the floor.

Yin Yunzhu’s gaze shifted from the woman’s tightly pressed lips to her eyes. In that dim light, there was a sense of dejection and grievance, drowning her own reflection in a humidity like midsummer.

She thought she must have misseen it. How could Jiang Menghe feel aggrieved? She was supposed to be gentle, refined, and glamorous.

The pain in her wrist intensified. She had never imagined a woman could possess such strength. Unable to break free, she fell into a state of uncontrollable panic.

Her mind suddenly flashed back to the Jiang Menghe of the past, who loved to talk about death. Yin Yunzhu had always thought it was just something she said to provoke her when their emotions were running deep.

With people coming and going on the set, she was afraid of being seen. She hissed in a low voice, “If this continues, we’ll both be in trouble. Let go!”

Realizing her behavior was excessive, Jiang Menghe looked away, lifting her chin slightly to process the jumble of emotions inside. Then, she turned back again and gave a mocking laugh. “I’ve become a trouble in your eyes, yet you’re happy to accept whatever she does, aren’t you?”

“What kind of delusions are you suffering from?!” Yin Yunzhu slapped away the hand on her wrist.

Once the grip was released, she looked at Jiang Menghe, only to see the woman stand up, a gloomy pressure looming over her.

“Yin Yunzhu, you truly are biased.”

She had regained her gentle appearance, slowly smoothing out the sleeve that had been ruffled during the struggle. Only her smile failed to reach her eyes.

Leaving those words behind, she cast a condescending glance at Yin Yunzhu and turned to walk away.

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