She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“Stand by! Echo, Scene 32, Take 1. Action!”

The clapperboard snapped. Through the curtain of rain, Xi Jisheng held a black umbrella and walked into the deep alley. The rim of the umbrella was pressed low, shadowing most of her face, leaving only her tightly pursed lips and pale chin visible.

At the other end of the alley, Lou Ningyu approached, also carrying an umbrella. Hers was transparent, offering a clear view of her face—thirty years old, makeup exquisite, yet exhaustion etched into every line of her features. This was Zhou Yin’s state: returning to her hometown to reunite with Shen Su after eight years of marriage.

The two met in the middle of the alley.

According to the script, there was to be a ten-second gaze. After ten seconds, Shen Su would be the first to speak: “You’re back.” Zhou Yin would reply: “Mhm, I’m back.” Then, the argument would begin.

But in the first take, as soon as Xi Jisheng said “You’re back,” her voice caught. It wasn’t that she forgot her lines; it was as if her throat were blocked by something, making it impossible to produce the next sound. She looked at Lou Ningyu, her eyes swimming with too many things—panic, and even a sliver of fear.

Lou Ningyu failed to pick up the cue as well. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Cut!” Peng Ke frowned. “The emotion is wrong. Again.”

Second take. Xi Jisheng forced the lines out, but her voice was as dry as sandpaper. Lou Ningyu’s response was mechanical. The whole scene felt like two puppets reciting lines, devoid of any emotional flow.

“Cut!” Peng Ke stood up and walked into the rain. “What are you afraid of?!”

Neither of them spoke. The rain soaked their hair, strands sticking to their cheeks, making them look disheveled and vulnerable.

“This scene is an explosion!” Peng Ke’s voice erupted over the sound of the rain. “Shen Su searched for Zhou Yin for eight years! Eight years! Xi Jisheng, do you understand what eight years feels like?!”

Xi Jisheng’s fingers tightened abruptly, the handle of the umbrella digging painfully into her palm.

“Lou Ningyu! Zhou Yin waited for Shen Su for eight years! She wasn’t waiting for a ‘How are you,’ she was waiting for ‘I still love you’!” Peng Ke’s eyes swept over them. “Now! Give it to me!”

The air solidified. The rain, the breathing of the staff, the distant city sounds—all faded into a blur. Xi Jisheng closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her gaze had changed. It was no longer Shen Su looking at Zhou Yin; it was Xi Jisheng looking at Lou Ningyu—full of pain, guilt, and every unspoken word accumulated over seven years.

“Why didn’t you come looking for me?” Lou Ningyu spoke first, her voice trembling.

Xi Jisheng looked at her, lips trembling, finally squeezing out: “I did.” Her voice was as light as a sigh.

“You did?!” Lou Ningyu—or rather, Zhou Yin—stepped forward, her umbrella tilting, rain soaking her shoulder. “Then why didn’t you call me?! Why didn’t you ask me?! Why did you let me think… think you really didn’t want me anymore?!”

In the script, Zhou Yin was supposed to roar. But Lou Ningyu didn’t shout. Her voice was low, almost drowned by the rain. Yet that suppressed agony was sharper than any scream.

Xi Jisheng’s tears fell without warning, mixing with the rain until they were indistinguishable. Her voice began to tear, each word sounding as if it were being clawed from the depths of her throat:

“I went to New York three times… The first time, I saw you and him coming out of a gallery. You were smiling so happily. The second time, at the foot of your office building, I saw you carrying a cake, probably going to celebrate something. The third time…” She choked, gasping for air. “The third time, in Central Park, I saw you pushing a stroller.”

With every “I saw,” her voice grew more hoarse. By the end, it was barely a breath.

Lou Ningyu froze. These weren’t the lines in the script. In the script, Shen Su only says “I went to New York three times” without the details. But Xi Jisheng had said them—so specifically, so vividly. It was too real to be acting.

“Then why didn’t you call me?!” Lou Ningyu’s voice shook. “Why didn’t you ask me who ‘he’ was?! Whose child was in that stroller?!”

Xi Jisheng looked at her, tears flowing wildly. “Because… I was afraid to hear that you were happy.”

The words fell, and the set went dead silent. No one moved. No one spoke. Even the rain seemed to quiet down. Everyone held their breath, watching the two women trembling in the center of the alley.

The director didn’t call it “Cut.”

The camera slowly pushed in, capturing a close-up of Xi Jisheng’s tear-streaked face, then Lou Ningyu’s red-rimmed eyes.

Then, Lou Ningyu did something that stunned everyone. She dropped her umbrella.

The transparent umbrella hit the bluestone with a splash. She walked forward until she was right in front of Xi Jisheng, close enough to see the water droplets clinging to her lashes.

“Then hear it now,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I’m not happy. In these seven years, I haven’t been happy for a single day.”

This line, too, was not in the script.

Xi Jisheng looked at her, watching the rain slide down her cheeks, looking into those eyes—the eyes that once held the stars, now filled with the tears of seven years. Then, she broke.

It wasn’t Shen Su breaking; it was Xi Jisheng. She leaned against the wall, her body sliding down until she sat collapsed on the wet bluestone. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking violently as suppressed sobs escaped through her fingers like the cries of a wounded animal.

Lou Ningyu stood there, watching her cry. Her eyes were red, tears falling one by one, but she didn’t crouch down, didn’t embrace her. She just stood there, watching Xi Jisheng weep.

A long time passed before Peng Ke said softly, “Cut.” Her voice was gentle, as if afraid to disturb the moment.

Only then did the crew dare to move. Assistants rushed forward to wrap Xi Jisheng in a towel. Lou Ningyu’s assistant ran over to hand her an umbrella. But Lou Ningyu didn’t take it. She knelt down in front of Xi Jisheng. Her hand rose, hovering over Xi’s back, as if wanting to pat her, to hold her.

But at the last moment, her hand dropped—not onto Xi Jisheng’s back, but onto the wet ground beside her. Between them was the distance of a single hand.

A distance of a hand that could not be crossed.

…

9:00 PM, Xi Jisheng’s Hotel Room

Peng Ke knocked on the door. Xiao Tang opened it and froze upon seeing the director. “Director Peng, Teacher Xi is…”

“I’ll just chat with her for a bit,” Peng Ke said. “Ten minutes.”

Xi Jisheng emerged from the inner room. She had showered and changed, but her eyes were still swollen and her face was as pale as paper. She managed a weak smile. “Director.”

They sat in the suite’s living room. Peng Ke didn’t mince words. “Jisheng, in today’s performance… how much of it was real?”

Xi Jisheng looked down at her hands, fingers unconsciously picking at the fabric of her pajamas. After a long silence, she whispered:

“One hundred percent. But it was all Shen Su’s reality.”

“And your own reality?”

“Hidden away.” Xi Jisheng looked up, her eyes still damp. “I hid it well seven years ago.”

Peng Ke sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if letting you play Shen Su was too cruel.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too similar.” Peng Ke lit a cigarette—a rare sight. “Shen Su spent eight years punishing herself; you spent seven. Zhou Yin waited eight years; Lou Ningyu waited seven. This play… it’s not just a play for you two.”

Xi Jisheng said nothing, looking out the window at the blurred lights of the town.

“Jisheng,” Peng Ke’s voice was warm. “As a director, I need you to be in character. But as an elder… I don’t want you to hurt yourselves too deeply in this play.”

“I won’t,” Xi Jisheng said softly. “I know the boundaries.”

Peng Ke nodded and stood to leave. At the door, she turned back. “By the way, about Ningyu… I’m going to talk to her as well.”

“Director,” Xi Jisheng called out. “Is she… okay?”

Peng Ke saw the worry in her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be better to ask her yourself?”

Xi Jisheng looked down. “No. It’s not appropriate.”

The door closed. Xi Jisheng was alone. She walked to the window, thinking of Lou Ningyu’s line in the alley: “I’m not happy. In these seven years, I haven’t been happy for a single day.”

Was it true? Or was it just a line? She didn’t know. She didn’t dare to know.

…

At the same time, Lou Ningyu’s Room

Peng Ke sat across from Lou Ningyu, watching her calmly brew tea. Her movements were elegant and composed, showing no trace of the breakdown in the rain.

“Ningyu, you changed the lines,” Peng Ke said.

Lou Ningyu’s hand paused as she poured. “Mhm. Because Zhou Yin wouldn’t roar. Someone who has waited eight years doesn’t have the strength to roar anymore.”

“And Lou Ningyu?” Peng Ke watched her. “After waiting seven years, do you have the strength to roar?”

Lou Ningyu smiled. It was a faint smile, yet tears shimmered in her eyes. “Yes. But I can’t bring myself to roar at her.” She pushed a teacup toward Peng Ke. “Director, don’t worry. Jisheng and I… we know the boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” Peng Ke took a sip. “I didn’t see any boundaries in that scene today. I only saw two people, using the names of their characters, finally saying everything they’ve held in for seven years.”

Lou Ningyu remained silent.

“Ningyu,” Peng Ke set the cup down. “If you still want a future with her, you can’t keep doing this. You need a real conversation, not one through the voices of Shen Su and Zhou Yin.”

“I know,” Lou Ningyu whispered. “But she isn’t ready yet.”

“And you? Are you ready?”

Lou Ningyu looked out at the dark, rainy night. After a long time, she said:

“I’ve been preparing for seven years. Every single day.”