She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 21

Chapter 21

In a corner of the restaurant, Wen Bixu finished her last glass of wine alone.

The wrap party had wound down, and the crew members were clearing the remnants of the feast. She sat by the window, staring at her phone.

Zhu Jinhe had sent another photo.

It was the starry sky of the Sahara—the Milky Way spanning the heavens, the desert appearing as silver-grey waves under the moonlight.

The caption read: “The moon here is just as bright as it was in the ancient town.”

Wen Bixu zoomed in on the photo. In the bottom right corner, she saw Zhu Jinhe’s hand holding the camera; around her wrist was the woven bracelet they had bought together at a stall in the ancient town.

She smiled, but as she did, her eyes welled up.

“Drinking alone in self-pity?” Peng Ke walked over and sat across from her.

Wen Bixu wiped her eyes. “Director Peng, you haven’t left yet?”

“I’m old; I can’t drink like I used to. Just sobering up.” Peng Ke glanced at her phone screen. “Is that from Zhu Jinhe?”

“Yes. The Sahara.”

“Beautiful,” Peng Ke remarked. “How is your documentary coming along?”

“In editing.” Wen Bixu put her phone away. “But I’ve been thinking… how much of the ‘truth’ should I keep?”

Peng Ke poured herself a cup of tea. “All of it. The responsibility of art is to record the truth.”

“But what if the truth hurts?” Wen Bixu asked. “For instance… those candid shots, the private arguments, the vulnerabilities people don’t want seen.”

Peng Ke looked out the window.

Across the river, the lanterns were still lit, a few swaying in the wind.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, “a wound needs to be seen before it can heal.”

Wen Bixu fell silent.

“Do you know why I filmed Echoes?” Peng Ke asked, not waiting for an answer. “Because when I was young, I also lost someone. Because of pride, because of misunderstandings, because I thought ‘there’s still time.’ By the time I wanted to turn back, she was gone.”

She took a sip of tea; it had gone cold.

“So I made this movie, filming twenty years of Shen Su and Zhou Yin. I want to tell the audience—don’t wait. Don’t assume there is always time. Some echoes, once missed, are gone for a lifetime.”

Wen Bixu gripped her teacup tightly.

“Your documentary,” Peng Ke looked at her, “if it’s about love, then be honest. Love contains sweetness, but also pain; bravery, but also cowardice. Recording all of it is the only way to make it complete.”

She stood up and patted Wen Bixu’s shoulder. “I’m heading back. Get some rest yourself.”

…

Wen Bixu sat alone for a long time.

Back in her room, she opened her laptop and inserted her hard drive.

Inside was all the footage from the past three months—official takes, behind-the-scenes clips, candid shots, and those “rehearsal” scenes Zhu Jinhe had recovered.

She clicked on a folder titled “Rooftop.”

In the frame, Xi Jisheng and Lou Ningyu stood side by side, their hands clasped. Lou Ningyu was speaking, while Xi Jisheng kept her head down, her shoulders trembling. Then, Lou Ningyu pulled her into her arms and held her tight.

There was no sound, but Wen Bixu could imagine the words.

She clicked another folder: “Hospital Corridor.”

Xi Jisheng sat on a bench. Lou Ningyu knelt before her, holding her hands, looking up at her as she spoke. Xi Jisheng’s tears fell, landing on the back of Lou Ningyu’s hand.

Wen Bixu closed her eyes. Then, she opened a new document and began writing the narration:

“What is the shape of love?”

“It is the tears in eyes meeting at opposite ends of a stone bridge under the moon; it is the tightly gripped hands in a hospital corridor; it is the glass of wine intercepted for another at a wrap party.”

“It is the twenty years spanning between ‘You’ve come’ and ‘I’m here’.”

“It is that thin line between ‘What if’ and ‘No regrets’.”

She wrote late into the night.

Outside, the ancient town had grown completely still. Moonlight filtered through the wooden lattice window, falling across the keyboard and her hands.

Wen Bixu opened her phone and messaged Zhu Jinhe: “My documentary will keep the full truth. Including you, including me, and including our three months of living for the moment.”

Zhu Jinhe didn’t reply immediately. It was likely an evening in Africa; she might be photographing the sunset.

Wen Bixu continued typing: “But I will present it in the gentlest way possible. Because love itself deserves to be treated with gentleness.”

Sent.

She closed her laptop and walked to the window. Across the river, the last lantern flickered out. The town submerged into true night, leaving only the silent moonlight to shroud everything.

…

Meanwhile, in another corner of the internet, the wrap photos for Echoes had ignited social media.

The official Weibo crew posted a set of photos at midnight. The main image was a still of Xi Jisheng and Lou Ningyu facing each other from opposite ends of the stone bridge—Shen Su and Zhou Yin, aged forty-nine and fifty, separated by twenty years of time, tears glistening in the sunset.

The caption: “The story of Shen Su and Zhou Yin has ended. But some echoes have only just begun.”

The comment section exploded.

“The official account is leading the ship? This copy!”

“The way they look at each other… is that really acting?”

“I’m crying. Shen Su and Zhou Yin must be happy in a parallel universe.”

“So what about the real people? What about off-camera?”

In the CP (Couple) Super Topic, fans began analyzing leaked wrap party footage frame by frame. Someone caught Lou Ningyu blocking a drink for Xi Jisheng; someone else captured their silhouettes standing together on a balcony. Another person zoomed in on a blurry photo—when Xi Jisheng turned to look at Lou Ningyu, her gaze was soft enough to melt.

However, the “solo” fans began their counter-attack.

@Jade-Perfected: “It’s just a promotion during the movie’s publicity period. Looking forward to Ningyu’s next independent work! Please focus on the actor’s craft and do not disturb her private life!”

@Following-The-Voice: “Jisheng is beautiful on her own! Focus on the work, stay away from her private life!”

On the trending lists, #EchoesWrap reached #7, and #ShenSuZhouYin reached #12. There were no dual-name trending topics or scandal tags—the teams were strictly controlling the narrative to prevent public focus from shifting too heavily onto their real-life relationship.

…

Lin Wenxun called David.

“The control is good,” Lin Wenxun said. “The current level of heat is just right—it promotes the movie without forcing them into a position where they have to respond.”

David sighed on the other end. “But how long can we control it? The state they were in at the wrap party today… anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Control it for as long as we can,” Lin Wenxun said. “At least until Jisheng’s mother’s surgery is over.”

“The surgery is tomorrow?”

“Yes. Will Lou Ningyu… go?”

David went silent for two seconds. “She booked the earliest flight.”

Lin Wenxun fell silent as well.

“Then let her go,” she finally said. “Some things simply cannot be stopped.”

…

8:40 AM. VIP Waiting Area, Peking Union Medical College Hospital.

Xi Jisheng sat on a corner sofa, hands clasped over her knees, her fingers unconsciously picking at her skin—a nervous habit she’d had since childhood.

The red light above the operating room door was on. It had been on for forty minutes.

Before her mother was wheeled in, she held Xi Jisheng’s hand and said, “Don’t be afraid, Mom will be fine.”

How could she not be afraid?

Footsteps echoed in the corridor—light, but Xi Jisheng heard them. She looked up to see Lou Ningyu walking around the corner.

White shirt, jeans, hair tied in a simple low ponytail. No makeup, with faint dark circles under her eyes; clearly, she hadn’t slept well either. In her hand, she carried a deep blue thermos—an older model.

Seeing Xi Jisheng, Lou Ningyu quickened her pace.

“Is your aunt in surgery?” Lou Ningyu asked softly.

Xi Jisheng nodded. “Yes, she just went in.”

Lou Ningyu placed the thermos on the side table and unscrewed the lid. Steam rose, carrying the scent of millet. “I made some millet porridge. You should eat later.”

Xi Jisheng stared at the thermos—deep blue, with slight paint chips at the corners.

As Lou Ningyu handed her the bowl, Xi Jisheng’s fingertips brushed Lou Ningyu’s hand. Neither of them pulled away.

The porridge was hot. Xi Jisheng held the bowl, the steam stinging her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice raspy.

Lou Ningyu sat in the seat next to her, leaving one empty chair between them. This distance was heart-wrenchingly polite, but Xi Jisheng knew it was Lou Ningyu giving her space—if she wasn’t ready, Lou Ningyu wouldn’t push.

“What did the doctor say?” Lou Ningyu asked.

“An 80% success rate.” Xi Jisheng stared at the porridge. “But… there’s a 20% chance that…”

She couldn’t finish.

Lou Ningyu’s hand clenched at her side before she finally reached out, placing it over the back of Xi Jisheng’s hand. Her hand was very warm.

“She will be fine,” Lou Ningyu said. “She’s such a strong woman.”

Xi Jisheng’s tears fell into the porridge. She didn’t wipe them; she just let them fall. Lou Ningyu didn’t speak again, keeping her hand there in silent accompaniment.

…

Time stretched like a taut rubber band.

The first hour: They sat like that, one seat apart, with only brief exchanges. “Do you want water?” “No.” “Do you need the restroom? I’ll watch it here.” “Later.”

The third hour: Lou Ningyu stood up. “I’ll go get some drinks.” When she returned with two coffees, she handed one to Xi Jisheng. “No sugar, extra milk, right?” Xi Jisheng froze. Seven years later, she still remembered her order. “Yes.” She took the coffee, her fingers brushing Lou Ningyu’s again.

The fifth hour: Xi Jisheng began to tremble slightly. It wasn’t cold; it was the terror of time eroding her physical control. She grit her teeth, trying to hide it, but the shaking was undeniable. Lou Ningyu saw. She moved over, sitting directly beside Xi Jisheng, and naturally took her hand. This time, she didn’t just rest her hand on top; she interlaced their fingers tightly. “I’m here,” Lou Ningyu said. Always those two words. Xi Jisheng didn’t pull away. Instead, she gripped back like a drowning person clutching at a piece of driftwood.

The sixth hour: Night fell. Streetlights flickered outside, and the corridor lights dimmed automatically. Xi Jisheng was exhausted. After six hours of high-tension stress, her body had reached its limit. Her head began to nod; her eyelids felt heavy.

Lou Ningyu leaned her shoulder in.

“Lean on me and sleep for a bit,” Lou Ningyu whispered. “I’ll stay awake. I’ll wake you the moment there’s news.”

“I can’t…” Xi Jisheng shook her head.

“Listen to me.” Lou Ningyu’s voice carried an undeniable tenderness. “You need to save your strength. Your mom will need you to take care of her when she wakes up.”

Xi Jisheng struggled for a few seconds before finally leaning over slowly. Lou Ningyu’s shoulder was a bit broader and firmer than she remembered, but the warmth and the scent were exactly the same.

She closed her eyes. Tears welled up again, sliding down her cheek and into the collar of Lou Ningyu’s shirt. Lou Ningyu felt it. She didn’t say a word; she just adjusted her posture to make Xi Jisheng more comfortable and began patting her back gently, as if soothing a child.

Xi Jisheng fell asleep. In the eighth hour outside the operating room, on Lou Ningyu’s shoulder, she slept.

She dreamed of it seven years ago. She dreamed of graduation day, Lou Ningyu finding her backstage, eyes sparkling as she said, “Xi Jisheng, let’s be together.” How had she answered then? She smiled and said, “Okay.”

Then the dream shifted to the day they broke up. Lou Ningyu stood beneath her apartment in the rain, asking, “Why?” She had said so many hurtful things, ending with: “I don’t love you anymore.” Lou Ningyu’s eyes had gone from bright to dark in the span of a single sentence.

“I love you…” Xi Jisheng murmured in her sleep.

Lou Ningyu heard it. She looked down at Xi Jisheng’s sleeping face—brow furrowed, lashes wet, lips pressed into a thin line. Even in sleep, she was anxious.

She raised her hand, wanting to touch Xi Jisheng’s face, but stopped just a centimeter away. Then she withdrew her hand and simply squeezed Xi Jisheng’s hand tighter.

…

8:17 PM. The operating room door opened.

The surgeon walked out, removing his mask. Lou Ningyu immediately shook Xi Jisheng gently. “Jisheng, the doctor is out.”

Xi Jisheng practically bolted upright, rushing over before her eyes were fully open. “Doctor, my mother…”

The doctor smiled—a tired but relieved smile. “The surgery was a success. The tumor was completely removed with clean margins. Now she just needs to recover and have regular check-ups.”

Xi Jisheng’s legs gave way.

Lou Ningyu caught her from behind instantly. “I’m here.”

Xi Jisheng turned and practically slammed into Lou Ningyu’s embrace. She buried her face in Lou Ningyu’s shoulder and finally let out a wailing sob.

It wasn’t a whimper; it was a gut-wrenching cry, releasing eight hours of terror, seven years of suppression, and every tear she had been afraid to shed.

Lou Ningyu held her tightly, one arm around her waist and the other pressing the back of her head, allowing her to bury herself completely in the embrace.

Lou Ningyu cried too, tears streaming down her face and dripping into Xi Jisheng’s hair.

This was their first real embrace in seven years. It wasn’t a staged angle for a camera; it wasn’t a polite touch. It was real, desperate, a bone-deep hug as if they were trying to merge back into one another.

They were both shaking—from the crying, and from something else entirely.