She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Every single comment was like a knife.

She scrolled down one by one, her fingers growing colder. Those malicious words bored into her eyes, turning into needles that pricked at her brain. The nightmare of seven years ago was repeating itself, and even worse—this time, it involved her mother.

Suddenly, the phone was snatched from her hand.

Xi Jisheng looked up to see Lou Ningyu standing before her. She hadn’t even heard her enter; perhaps she had been too immersed in the screen to hear the door open. Lou Ningyu turned the phone off immediately and tossed it onto the bed.

Then, she grabbed Xi Jisheng’s wrist, pulled her up from the chair, and gathered her forcefully into an embrace.

“Let go…” Xi Jisheng struggled.

Lou Ningyu held her tighter, her arms like iron bands. “I won’t.”

“Let go of me!”

“No.” Lou Ningyu’s voice was right against her ear, warm and steady. “I let go seven years ago, and I’ve regretted it ever since. Xi Jisheng, you can beat me to death this time, but I am not letting go.”

Xi Jisheng’s resistance snapped. She froze in Lou’s arms, then, slowly, her fingers bunched into the fabric of Lou’s shirt behind her back. Like a drowning person clutching a piece of driftwood.

“…Why…” her voice was muffled against Lou’s shoulder. “Why is loving someone so hard…”

Lou Ningyu’s heart took a heavy blow at those words.

“It’s not hard.” She tightened her grip, encircling Xi Jisheng completely within her protection. “Just nod your head, and leave the rest to me. I’ll carry the infamy, I’ll block the filth. You only need to do one thing—trust me.”

Xi Jisheng finally broke down. She cried without any pretense of composure, as if pouring out seven years of grievance, fear, and loneliness. Lou Ningyu didn’t speak; she just held her, one hand patting her back, the other cradling the back of her head.

This was the first time in seven years they had embraced with such raw intimacy. It wasn’t a “staged” scene, nor a polite greeting—it was a real, unreserved holding.

After an unknown amount of time, Xi Jisheng grew tired and her sobbing slowed to a halt. Lou Ningyu pulled back slightly to look at her—eyes swollen, nose red, face a map of tear tracks.

“Ugly,” Lou Ningyu said, though her tone was infinitely tender.

Xi Jisheng tried to glare at her but let out a hiccup instead. Lou Ningyu smiled, led her to sit on the edge of the bed, and went to the bathroom to wring out a hot towel. When she returned, Xi was still dazed, looking like a rain-soaked cat that didn’t know where to go.

“Look up,” Lou said.

Xi Jisheng obeyed. The hot towel felt wonderful against her face. Lou’s movements were gentle, wiping her eyes, cheeks, and chin. She went back to change the water and then pressed the towel into Xi’s hands.

“Wipe your neck yourself. I’ll go pour you some water.”

Xi Jisheng held the warm towel, watching Lou busy herself around the room—boiling water, washing a cup, taking out a sachet of calming lavender tea from her own supply.

“When did you prepare all this?” Xi asked, her voice raspy.

Lou Ningyu spoke with her back turned. “I prepared it the first day I arrived on set. I knew you were prone to insomnia.”

The water boiled. Lou steeped the tea and brought it over. Xi took it, sipping slowly. The tea had a faint scent of lavender; the warm liquid flowed into her stomach, warming her entire body.

“I’m sleeping here tonight,” Lou Ningyu said, her tone brook no argument.

Xi Jisheng nearly choked. “No…”

“Yes.” Lou was already calling the front desk. “Please send an extra blanket and pillow to Room 308. Yes, now. Thank you.” She hung up and looked at Xi. “I’m not comfortable leaving you alone.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’.” Lou cut her off. “Seven years ago, I respected your ‘buts’ too much, and let you shoulder everything alone for so long. Xi Jisheng, I’m changing my strategy this time.”

There was a strength in her eyes that Xi had never seen before—the assertiveness of a mature woman who knows what she wants and has the power to fight for it. The thirty-year-old Lou Ningyu was no longer the girl who panicked when her lover retreated.

The blanket arrived. Lou spread it out on the sofa, turned off the main lights, and left only a small reading lamp on.

“Sleep,” she said. “I’m right here.”

Xi Jisheng lay in bed, watching Lou on the sofa. Lou’s back was turned; she seemed to be asleep. The room was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner. Xi stared at that silhouette for a long, long time.

Then, she whispered, “Ningyu.”

“Yeah?” Lou responded instantly; she hadn’t been asleep either.

“…I’m sorry.”

Lou rolled over, looking at her in the dim light. “Sorry for what?”

“Seven years ago,” Xi’s voice was faint. “When I pushed you away, I said a lot of terrible things. I said you were just acting on a whim, that we could never last, that you were a burden to me… None of it was true.”

Lou was silent for a moment. “I know,” she said. “When you pushed me away, your eyes were redder than mine. Xi Jisheng, you were never a good actor—at least not in front of me.”

Xi Jisheng’s mouth twitched into a bitter attempt at a smile.

“Come here,” Lou suddenly said.

“What?”

“Come here.” Lou shifted toward the back of the sofa, making a bit of space. “The sofa is big enough if we squeeze.”

Xi Jisheng hesitated for three seconds, then grabbed her pillow, climbed out of bed, and squeezed into the sofa. It was spacious, but for two adults, it was still a tight fit. They had to lie on their sides, curled toward each other. The distance was so small she could feel Lou’s breath.

Lou Ningyu reached out and took Xi’s hand, interlacing their fingers just as they had done in the scene earlier that day.

“Sleep,” she closed her eyes. “We have to film tomorrow.”

Xi Jisheng closed her eyes too. The warmth from Lou’s palm traveled through her skin, warming her all the way to her heart. That night, they slept deeply on that narrow sofa, hands held tight.

…

On the other side of the ancient town, another goodbye was unfolding.

Zhu Jinhe was organizing her footage when she got the call from her mentor. A project in an African wildlife preserve had been moved up; they needed her there within a week. The contract was already signed, and the cancellation fee was astronomical.

“I know you’re filming a documentary,” her mentor said. “But this is a rare opportunity. Three months following the migration of endangered species. The work could go straight to exhibition. You know how important this is.”

“I know,” Zhu Jinhe said, her voice dry. “When do I leave?”

“Three days. I’ve already booked your flight.”

After hanging up, Zhu stared at her screen. It was a clip she had just edited—Wen Biexu squatting by the riverbank filming the morning mist, her profile looking incredibly focused in the dawn light. She reached out to touch the face on the screen, but her fingers stopped just before the glass.

Wen Biexu didn’t return until 10:00 PM. She had spent the day following Lou and Xi’s scenes and was exhausted.

“Not asleep yet?” She saw the light on in Zhu’s room and peeked in.

Zhu Jinhe closed her laptop. “Waiting for you.”

Wen Biexu raised an eyebrow and walked in, sitting naturally on the edge of the bed. “Waiting for me for what? Missed me?” She always spoke with a hint of flirtation, making it hard to tell if she was being sincere or just habitually charming.

Zhu Jinhe looked at her for a long time, until the smile on Wen Biexu’s face faded.

“What’s wrong?” Wen asked.

“I’m leaving,” Zhu said.

The room went still. “Where to?”

“Africa. A wildlife preserve project. I leave in three days. It’s for three months.”

“…Are you coming back?”

“After the project… we’ll see.”

Wen Biexu nodded, silent. She stood up and walked to the window, pushing it open. The night breeze rushed in, carrying the humidity of the ancient town.

“So,” Wen said, back to Zhu. “This is… the end for us?”

Zhu Jinhe’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed. “Wen Biexu, I like you.”

Wen Biexu turned around, her face expressionless.

“But I also love freedom,” Zhu continued. “I love running around the world with my camera, chasing light that disappears in an instant, waking up on unfamiliar soil. Wen Biexu, I won’t stay for you.”

“And I won’t change my life plans for you,” Wen Biexu finished for her. “I still have to climb up in this industry, film more work, and win awards. So—”

“So we are just ‘pleasure for the moment’,” Zhu Jinhe said.

Wen Biexu smiled bitterly. “Right. Pleasure for the moment.”

With that phrase, the last bit of warmth in the room dissipated, replaced by the sober understanding of two adults—we met, we loved, we part. No promises, no future, only the now.

“Last night,” Wen Biexu walked back and stopped in front of Zhu. “Let’s go have a good meal. The best restaurant in town. My treat.”

They went. The restaurant was by the river, lanterns reflecting in the water like warm yellow shards. Wen Biexu ordered the most expensive dishes and a bottle of red wine, acting like a normal couple.

“Be safe in Africa,” Wen said. “I heard there’s a lot of malaria. Did you get your vaccines?”

“Yes.”

“What about equipment? Do you have enough long lenses? I know a brand rep, I could borrow the latest—”

“Wen Biexu,” Zhu interrupted. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t act like an old friend seeing me off. We aren’t friends.”

Wen Biexu’s hand, holding her glass, froze in mid-air. Then she laughed, her eyes crinkling, but there was no warmth in them.

“Right. We aren’t friends.” She tilted her head back and drained the wine. “We are bedmates, a fleeting romance, adults having a bit of fun.”

The meal was strangely peaceful. They talked about movies, photography, and industry gossip—everything except feelings, the future, or “what ifs.”

When they returned to the hotel, everything happened naturally. When Biexu pinned Zhu against the door to kiss her, her movements were fierce. Zhu responded just as intensely, as if trying to fold the other woman into her body. Clothes were scattered from the door to the bed. They were frantic, silent, as if it were the last night of the world.

Afterward, Wen Biexu leaned against the headboard smoking. Zhu Jinhe lay on the other side, staring at the ceiling.

“The question you asked me before,” Wen suddenly said. “About whether idealists and realists belong together.”

Zhu turned her head.

Wen Biexu squinted through the smoke. “I have the answer now—they do. But only on the condition that they are willing to occasionally intersect on each other’s orbits.”

“Like a comet and Earth?” Zhu asked.

“Exactly. A meeting once every few years, passing by, leaving a bit of light, and then continuing on their own trajectories.” Wen flicked her ash. “No clinging, no lingering, no trying to change the other.”

Zhu Jinhe fell silent. She knew this was Wen Biexu’s answer. It was also the best ending for them.

By dawn, Zhu woke up to find the spot beside her empty. When Biexu’s luggage was gone, not even a stray hair was left behind. On the nightstand sat a new box of Band-Aids—Zhu had scratched her hand filming the day before, and Wen had mentioned buying some.

Under the box was a note.

[Message me when you get to Africa to let me know you’re safe. Take care.]

There was no signature.

Zhu Jinhe sat on the bed, clutching the note for a long time. Then she opened her laptop and added one final line to her documentary notes:

“Some people meet only to say goodbye. But the light from that goodbye is enough to illuminate many long nights.”

Outside, the ancient town greeted a new day.