She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 13
Chapter 13
At 10:00 PM, Weibo exploded.
@EntertainmentDetectiveShuQin posted a long-form article with a startling headline:
【In-Depth】The “Discord” Mystery of the Echo Dual Leads! A Seven-Year Secret Care?
The article spanned three thousand words, complete with photos and text:
The first section detailed the “Stomach Medicine Incident”—how Lou Ningyu’s assistant inquired about Xi Jisheng’s diet every day and how she sent specialized millet porridge with pickled vegetables when Xi’s stomach flared up.
The second section included a blurry audio clip. Two assistants could be heard whispering: “Teacher Lou remembers Teacher Xi’s business better than her own.”
The third section analyzed: “If, as the world says, these two became enemies over competition and haven’t spoken in seven years, why does Lou Ningyu remember Xi Jisheng’s dietary habits? Why does she care every day if she has eaten? This level of meticulous care goes beyond the scope of ordinary colleagues—or even ordinary friends.”
The final section posed the ultimate question: “What is their relationship, really? Was the ‘Battle of the Two Queens’ seven years ago truly just a rivalry? Or… is there a hidden story?”
Within ten minutes of posting, the article had over ten thousand shares. The hashtag #LouNingyuXiJisheng soared to the top of the trending list once again.
Public opinion split rapidly:
The Fan Camps: @JadeCarving: 「“It’s normal for staff to look out for each other! Some paparazzi have no bottom line for the sake of traffic!”」 @ShadowFollower: 「“Focus on the work. Please do not over-interpret the actors’ private lives.”」
The Passing Bystanders: 「“Wait, Lou Ningyu remembers that Xi Jisheng likes millet porridge and pickled vegetables when her stomach hurts? That’s incredibly specific…”」 「“Why does this feel kind of sweet? Are the seven-year rivals actually in a love-hate relationship?”」 「“Lou Ningyu checks every day to see if she’s eaten? What kind of idol drama plot is this?”」
The Anti-Fans: 「“Xi Jisheng is clingy! Faking illness to get sympathy!”」 「“Lou Ningyu is blind; why be so nice to a washed-up actress?”」 「“Obvious hype. Echo is about to be released, after all.”」
…
At 10:30 PM, both teams held an emergency video conference.
On Xi Jisheng’s side, Lin Wenxun advocated for the cold treatment: “Responding now will only make it worse. Let the heat die down naturally.”
On Lou Ningyu’s side, Publicity Director David wanted to strike back: “We must send a lawyer’s letter and sue for defamation. We can’t tolerate these unscrupulous reporters.”
Xu Chu, as the producer, chaired the meeting, rubbing her aching temples. “The problem is that everything Shu Qin said is a fact—Ningyu does care about Jisheng’s diet every day, and she does remember her habits. If we deny it aggressively, she might release more evidence.”
“Then what do we do?” Lin Wenxun asked.
Lou Ningyu, who had been silent, finally spoke: “Issue a joint statement.” Everyone turned to look at her. “Neither admit nor deny. Just say we are university classmates; that while there was competition, there has always been mutual respect. Say that caring for one another during filming is basic professional etiquette. Tell them not to over-interpret.”
David frowned. “That’s too mild. It won’t suppress the noise.”
“But it’s safe.” Lou Ningyu looked at Xi Jisheng on the screen—Xi had her head down, her expression unreadable. “I don’t want her to be attacked anymore.”
Xi Jisheng looked up, her eyes red. “I’m fine. Let’s do as Ningyu suggests.”
At midnight, both official studios posted the joint statement:
“Teacher Xi Jisheng and Teacher Lou Ningyu are university classmates. Despite having engaged in healthy competition, they have always maintained mutual respect and appreciation. Caring for one another during filming is a basic professional courtesy between actors and reflects a professional spirit of cooperation. We ask netizens not to over-interpret and to return their attention to the work itself.”
The statement calmed the waters slightly, but the seeds of doubt had been sown. People wondered: was such “care” really just “basic etiquette”?
…
An hour later, Xu Chu knocked on Xi Jisheng’s door.
“Jisheng, I need a favor.” Xu Chu looked grave. “Three media outlets are coming for a set visit tomorrow. They’re legitimate, but they will definitely ask about today’s trending topic.”
Xi Jisheng’s heart sank. “Mr. Xu, I…”
“I know you don’t like this,” Xu Chu interrupted. “But you must cooperate this time. You two need to interact ‘naturally’ in front of the media to break the rumors of discord.”
“How should we interact?”
“Like normal colleagues,” Xu Chu said. “Chat, joke, look at the monitor together… essentially, make the media feel like your relationship is normal and there’s no ‘scandal’.” She handed over a document. “This is the interview outline. You two should sync your stories tonight so you don’t contradict each other.”
“Sync stories?” Xi Jisheng froze. “With whom?”
Xu Chu looked at her steadily. “With Lou Ningyu.”
…
11:30 PM, Hotel Conference Room
Only Xi Jisheng and Lou Ningyu were in the room. They sat at opposite ends of a long conference table, separated by three meters of space. The interview outline lay between them, the questions printed in stark black and white:
- How is the experience of collaborating?
- Any interesting stories from your university days?
- How do you view each other’s acting?
The silence was filled only by the hum of the air conditioner and the pitter-patter of rain outside.
Lou Ningyu spoke first. “For the first question, the standard answer: ‘Very pleasant, Ningyu/Jisheng is a very professional actor.'”
Xi Jisheng nodded. “Mhm.”
“The second…” Lou Ningyu’s finger traced the paper. “Do we tell an ‘interesting story’?”
Xi Jisheng stared at the wood grain of the table. “Let’s rehearse together until dawn.’ It’s safe.”
“Okay.”
Silence returned. Lou Ningyu suddenly looked up. “Jisheng.”
Xi Jisheng’s heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”
“Does your stomach still hurt?”
The question was too personal. It shattered the “safe” agreement. Xi Jisheng’s fingers tightened, her nails digging into her palms. “It doesn’t. Thank you for the medicine.”
“You’re welcome.” Lou Ningyu watched her. “I remember you used to—”
“The past,” Xi Jisheng interrupted, her voice hurried. “Don’t talk about it.”
The air froze. Lou Ningyu looked at her with a deep, wounded gaze. After a long moment, she whispered, “Okay. I won’t.”
She lowered her head and picked up a fountain pen, writing on the back of the interview outline. The scratching of the nib was loud in the quiet room. Xi Jisheng watched her profile, her lowered lashes, and her pressed lips. She wanted to ask what she was writing, but she didn’t. She just sat there, watching the pen flow with a mix of restraint and a nearly tragic tenderness.
When she finished, Lou Ningyu folded the paper into a small square and put it in her pocket. She stood up. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
After Lou left, Xi Jisheng sat alone for a long time. She looked at the empty room and felt an overwhelming exhaustion. She wanted to tell everyone: Yes, we loved each other. We loved each other for three years, been apart for seven, and now I don’t know what’s left. But she couldn’t.
…
Back in her room, Lou Ningyu took out the folded square of paper. She unfolded it and looked at her own handwriting:
I remember everything. I remember you need millet porridge and pickled vegetables for your stomach. I remember you need the sound of rain to sleep. I remember you pick at your fingers when nervous and your eyes smile first when you’re happy…
I remember, but I won’t say it anymore.
Because you said: “Don’t talk about it.”
She stared at it for a long time, then clicked her lighter. The flame licked the edges of the paper. It curled and blackened, turning into a small pile of ash in the ashtray. A silent funeral for unspoken words.
…
Late Night, Wen Biexu’s Room
Wen Biexu was sorting through footage. She stopped on a frame from today’s shoot—the two of them sheltering from the rain under the eaves. They were three feet apart, but Xi was looking at Lou’s silhouette, and Lou was looking at Xi’s reflection in the curtain of rain.
That look… wasn’t between colleagues.
She scrolled further. More “forbidden” frames: Xi Jisheng unconsciously mimicking Lou’s mouth movements; Lou tapping her fingers to the rhythm of Xi’s lines; the stiff, frozen hesitation when they passed each other. And the close-up of Lou’s script, with “XS”—Xi Jisheng’s initials—scrawled in the margins.
Zhu Jinhe walked in, dripping with rain. “Watching the ‘voyeur’ tapes, aren’t we?”
Wen Biexu ignored her. “How do you plan to use these?”
“As they are,” Zhu Jinhe said, stripping off her wet jacket. “To record the truth.”
“But this truth is too private.” Wen Biexu closed the screen. “You’ll destroy them. Xi Jisheng spent seven years building a wall; Lou Ningyu spent seven years maintaining her dignity. One shot from you could shatter it all. You call it ‘truth,’ I call it ‘violence.'”
“Is hiding it forever not a form of harm?” Zhu Jinhe countered. “They’ve been in pain for seven years! If someone had exposed the truth back then, maybe they would have—”
“What would you do?” Wen Biexu stared at her. “Been happy? Reconciled? You aren’t them. Sometimes, concealment isn’t a lie—it’s protection.”
“Protecting whom? Themselves? Or the audience’s fragile eyes?” Zhu Jinhe sneered. “I thought you were an idealist, Wen Biexu. Turns out, you’re just a coward.”
The words stung. Wen Biexu’s face went white. “This is my film. I have the final cut. These frames stay out.”
“Fine.” Zhu Jinhe’s smile was nice. “Film it yourself, then.” She grabbed her camera and headed for the door. “By the way, you asked why I filmed them. I’ll tell you: because they showed me that sometimes the deepest love isn’t being together—it’s living in the other person’s shadow even after you’ve parted. But a shadow,” she paused, “is still just a shadow.”
The door slammed shut.
Wen Biexu sat back, looking at the “XS” on the screen. She remembered a senior telling her once: “You think the truth heals everything, but sometimes, the truth only makes it hurt more.”
She was beginning to understand. Some loves are more beautiful buried in the earth than dug up. But who had the right to decide what stayed buried?
She didn’t know. All she knew was that when she saw the way they looked at each other in the rain, she hesitated. She hesitated to turn those unspoken words into a picture the whole world could see.
The rain continued. In the alleys of the ancient town, the echoes of the afternoon’s lines seemed to linger:
“Why didn’t you come looking for me?” “I did.” “Then why didn’t you call me?” “Because… I was afraid to hear that you were happy.”
An echo of a seven-year rain that had yet to stop.
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