She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Her phone vibrated; it was a WeChat message from Lin Wenxun:

“Finished reading? The kind of performance Peng Ke wants is one of bone-deep honesty. Are you ready?”

Xi Jisheng did not reply.

She stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and stood on her tiptoes to retrieve the peachwood box.

Where was the key?

She thought for a moment, then pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk. Beneath a stack of old bills and documents, she felt a small brass key.

The key slid into the lock with a soft click.

Seven years.

The moment before she opened the box, her phone vibrated again.

This time, it was a notification from a WeChat group.

She had several work groups muted, one of which was a private “Entertainment Gossip Group” for industry insiders. She rarely spoke, but she checked it occasionally—to see how the industry talked about her and Lou Ningyu.

Right now, the group was buzzing:

Casting Director Sister Li: “I heard Echoes is contacting both Xi Jisheng and Lou Ningyu at the same time?”

Producer Mr. Wang: “Impossible, right? Can those two even be in the same frame? Back then, they fought over the role of Zhou Ping in the graduation play Thunderstorm so fiercely the department head had to intervene.”

PR Specialist Xiao Yang: “For real? I thought they were sworn enemies who never crossed paths?”

Marketing Account ‘Octopus’: “@Everyone I need confirmation! Why exactly did they have a falling out? I’ll pay!”

Anonymous User A: “I’m from the Class of ’15 at the Film Academy. They really did fight a lot back then. Xi Jisheng won the role, and Lou Ningyu flat-out refused to perform. They haven’t interacted since.”

Director’s Assistant Xiao Ke: “But a Peng Ke film… if it’s really the two of them, it’s going to explode.”

Xi Jisheng looked at these messages expressionlessly.

When she broke up seven years ago, the explanation she gave Lin Wenxun was “incompatible personalities, affecting career development.”

After Lin Wenxun spread that version, combined with the fact that the two indeed never crossed paths again, the “Two Queens Can’t Share a Throne” rumor became more “true” as time went on.

How true?

So true that some media outlets seriously analyzed their “incompatible facial features,” so true that fans dug up the “role-stealing” grudge every time they argued, and so true that even she almost believed it herself—that perhaps there was only competition between them, and nothing else.

She exited WeChat and opened her browser.

Her recent search history showed:

“Analysis of Director Peng Ke’s style”

“Research on the prototype of Shen Su”

“Reviews of the original novel Echoes”

“Market prospects for arthouse films”

Not a single search related to Lou Ningyu.

This had been her habit for seven years: never proactively search that name, never check her updates, and never allow herself to fall into the quagmire of memory.

Even if she occasionally saw her on the trending searches, she would quickly swipe past, like avoiding a wound that hadn’t yet healed.

But tonight, she couldn’t.

Driven by a strange impulse, she typed “Lou Ningyu recent status” into the search bar.

The page loaded. The latest news was the coverage of the Cannes red carpet, featuring that stunning photo in the red dress.

Scrolling down, there were trailers for her new movie, brand endorsements, charity events… Lou Ningyu’s thirty was a thirty spent at the top of the pyramid, surrounded by spotlights and acclaim.

And she, Xi Jisheng, twenty-nine, was an actress in the National Theatre praised for “good acting” but “lacking a bit of luck”—the “lost pearl” in the eyes of fans, a synonym for “what a pity” in the industry.

The distance between them was even greater than it was seven years ago.

Xi Jisheng closed the webpage, her gaze falling back onto the wooden box.

This time, she didn’t hesitate and lifted the lid.

There wasn’t much inside.

Two faded movie stubs for The Assassin, dated December 3, 2015—the day of their first official date.

The writing on the stubs had blurred, but Xi Jisheng remembered everything about that day—Lou Ningyu wearing a black coat and a red scarf, stamping her feet at the cinema entrance while waiting for her. The first snow in Beijing that year had just happened to fall that day.

An old key, belonging to the small apartment Lou Ningyu rented back then.

After the breakup, Lou Ningyu moved out, but the key stayed with her.

Xi Jisheng had tried to return it, but Lou Ningyu said, “Throw it away.” She didn’t; instead, she locked it in the box.

At the very bottom was a folded sticky note. The paper had yellowed, its edges slightly curled.

Xi Jisheng unfolded it.

The handwriting was Lou Ningyu’s—dashing and spirited, carrying her characteristic boldness:

“Jisheng, be brave.”

Just those four words.

It was handed to her by Lou Ningyu in the middle of a crowd after they watched Carol together seven years ago.

Back then, they weren’t together yet; they were in that ambiguous phase, cautiously testing each other’s boundaries.

Xi Jisheng stared at those words, her eyes beginning to sting.

The phone rang then, the screen displaying “Teacher Ai.”

Ai Ye, her acting teacher from university, was a mentor deeply respected by both her and Lou Ningyu.

Now sixty-eight, she lived a quiet life in retirement but remained a revered titan in the industry.

Xi Jisheng answered: “Teacher, you’re still awake?”

“You aren’t the only one suffering from insomnia.”

Ai Ye’s voice was warm and peaceful, like aged Pu’er tea. “Have you seen the script for Echoes?”

Xi Jisheng was stunned: “How did you know…”

“Ningyu asked me for the script three months ago,” Ai Ye said casually. “She said she wanted to see if the role of Shen Su suited you.”

Outside, the sky was beginning to turn pale.

In Beijing at 5:00 AM, early-rising sanitation workers were sweeping the streets; the rustling sound drifted faintly through the glass.

Xi Jisheng gripped her phone, her fingers tightening: “Why would she…”

“She said, ‘If Jisheng plays Shen Su, she is Shen Su.'” Ai Ye paused. “But she wasn’t sure if you would dare to take it.”

The air was silent for a few seconds.

Xi Jisheng heard her own heartbeat—one, then another—heavy thuds against her chest.

“Did you tell her?” she asked. “Did you tell her I’m taking it?”

“Not yet. But I knew you would.” There was a hint of a smile in Ai Ye’s voice. “You are my student; I know you. A good script is like a drug; you can’t quit it.”

“And her?” Xi Jisheng felt her voice tremble. “Will she take the role of Zhou Yin?”

Ai Ye didn’t answer directly, instead saying, “I asked her if she dared to play Zhou Yin. Do you know what she said?”

Xi Jisheng held her breath.

“She said—” Ai Ye spoke slowly, “‘I have been waiting for a chance to look back.'”

Tears surged without warning.

Xi Jisheng jerked her head back, trying to force the tears back, but they still slid down uncontrollably, dripping onto the sticky note in her hand and blurring the word “brave.”

Seven years.

Lou Ningyu had waited for seven years.

And she had been hiding for seven.

“Jisheng,” Ai Ye’s voice came through the line, gentle yet firm. “You’re twenty-nine. Are you still running away?”

Xi Jisheng couldn’t speak. She gripped the note tightly, her knuckles turning white from the effort.

“Back then, you had your reasons; I understand that,” Ai Ye sighed softly. “But time cannot flow backward. Some opportunities, if missed once, may be gone for a lifetime. The story of Shen Su and Zhou Yin—do you want it to be a regret, or a completion?”

After the call ended, Xi Jisheng stood by the window for a long time.

The sky brightened, and the city’s silhouette gradually became clear in the morning mist. A new day had begun, and she stood on the third day after her twenty-ninth birthday, facing a decision that could change her life.

The items from the wooden box were spread on the table like a trial seven years in the making.

Xi Jisheng washed her face; the cold water cleared her mind a bit. The person in the mirror had swollen eyes and a pale face, looking utterly wretched.

She went to her desk and reopened the script for Echoes. This time, she skipped the painful plot points and flipped directly to the last few pages.

[Scene 78: Stone Bridge · Day · Exterior] came into view once more.

Forty-nine-year-old Shen Su stood at one end of the stone bridge, looking at the fifty-year-old Zhou Yin at the other.

Between them lay twenty years of time, countless sleepless nights, and the regret of “if only.”

But they had reunited nonetheless.

Xi Jisheng closed her eyes and imagined the scene. She imagined the tone when Shen Su says “You’re here”—was it a relief? Was it a reflection? Or was it twenty years of deeply hidden longing?

She didn’t know.

But she knew that if she played Shen Su, then when she said “You’re here,” she would definitely think of Lou Ningyu.

She would think of the twenty-two-year-old Lou Ningyu backstage at their graduation play, holding her hand and saying, “Jisheng, we must collaborate on a show together in the future.”

Back then, they still believed in the future, still believed in “later.”

The phone screen lit up, showing 6:15 AM.

Xi Jisheng opened WeChat and found Lin Wenxun’s chat box. She held down the voice message button, paused for three seconds, and then spoke:

“Sister Lin, I’ll take it.”

Her voice was raspy, like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

“But there are three conditions: first, absolutely no hyping up the past between her and me; second, zero private contact outside of work during filming; third, all promotional materials must be confirmed by both parties in advance.”

Sent.

Almost immediately, Lin Wenxun replied with a text message:

“Have you thought it through?”

Xi Jisheng typed back:

“Yes. But you have to promise me—if there is any hesitation or difficulty on her end, we withdraw.”

Lin Wenxun sent a grimacing emoji:

“You’re still the same. Always considering others first.”

“It’s not considering others,” Xi Jisheng typed slowly. “It’s what I owe her.”

The chat showed “typing…”, lasting for a long time, until finally, Lin Wenxun replied with just two words:

“Understood.”

Putting down her phone, Xi Jisheng looked back at the wooden box on the table.

She put the movie stubs, the old key, and the sticky note back one by one, her movements as gentle as if she were handling fragile artifacts.

Finally, her fingertip brushed over the words “Jisheng, be brave.”

This time, she didn’t lock the box. Instead, she put it back on the bookshelf, not on the top shelf, but on the second shelf, within easy reach.

Outside, the first ray of sunlight pierced through the clouds and into the room.

Golden patches of light fell on the floor, moving slowly until they finally stopped at Xi Jisheng’s feet.

She looked down at the light and whispered something, her voice so soft it was barely audible:

“Zhou Yin… I’m playing Shen Su.”

In the morning light, her profile was etched with a soft outline. Twenty-nine-year-old Xi Jisheng had finally made a decision after this sleepless birthday night.

A decision that might tear open old wounds again, but might also finally let them heal.

She knew the road ahead would be difficult—facing Lou Ningyu, facing her seven-year-old self, and facing the inquisitive gaze of the entire industry.

But she also knew that if she ran again this time, she might never leave this lonely island that had trapped her for seven years.

The phone vibrated; it was a new message from Lin Wenxun:

“Director Peng Ke wants to meet tomorrow afternoon to talk about the script. I’ve sent you the address.”

“Also… Lou Ningyu’s side has confirmed. She will play Zhou Yin.”

Xi Jisheng stared at that last sentence for a long time, then replied with one word:

“Okay.”

She put down her phone and walked to the window.

Beijing was fully awake.

Traffic began to surge, and the clamor of the morning rush hour drifted in faintly. This city was always like this—no matter how many people lost sleep or how many hearts were broken the night before, a new day would always arrive on time.

Xi Jisheng took a deep breath, feeling the early summer morning breeze brush against her cheeks.

At twenty-nine, she decided to stop running.

Even if what lay ahead was Lou Ningyu, even if it was the unfinished conversation from seven years ago, even if it was potential heartbreak again.

She wanted to be brave, just this once.