She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Three Years Later

Early autumn, Beijing.

When Xi Jisheng woke up, the pillow beside her was already empty. She reached out to touch it; the sheets still held the warmth of Lou Ningyu’s body and the faint, woody scent of her perfume. She rolled over and saw the silver bracelets on the nightstand, shimmering softly in the morning light. They had worn these bracelets for three years, never taking them off.

The sizzling sound of frying eggs drifted in from the kitchen.

Xi Jisheng sat up, padded barefoot across the floor, and stood at the kitchen doorway. Lou Ningyu was busy at the stove, her white shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows and her hair tied in a loose, low ponytail. The morning sun streamed through the window, edging her silhouette in gold.

Three years ago, this woman had stood outside an operating room with a thermos, dark circles under her eyes. Today, her complexion was healthy and glowing, and a faint smile lived permanently at the corners of her mouth.

“Awake?” Lou Ningyu didn’t turn around, but she seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. “The eggs are almost ready. Go wash up.”

Xi Jisheng walked over, hugged her from behind, and pressed her face against her back. “What’s the schedule for today?”

“Studio meeting in the morning,” Lou Ningyu turned off the heat and slid the eggs onto a plate. “Theater rehearsal in the afternoon. How about you?”

“Script reading for the new movie,” Xi Jisheng let go and took the plate. “Director Jiang’s film. You know how strict he is.”

Lou Ningyu turned around, wiped her hands, and cupped Jisheng’s face. “Director Jiang is strict, but you love that. Didn’t you want to work with him again ever since the last collaboration?”

“Mm,” Xi Jisheng nodded. “This time it’s a biopic about a female judge. It’s very challenging.”

Over the past three years, Xi Jisheng’s transformation has been profound. She had established her own personal studio and stopped taking every role offered to her, focusing instead on high-quality arthouse films and theater. For her role as Shen Su in Echoes, she had won the Golden Rooster Award for Best Actress—that was three years ago, but she still remembered the final line of her acceptance speech:

“Finally, I want to thank my light. Lou Ningyu, thank you for illuminating me.”

At the time, the live camera had cut to Lou Ningyu in the audience, who was crying even harder than Xi Jisheng.

During breakfast, they sat at opposite ends of the table, checking their schedules on their phones.

“By the way,” Lou Ningyu set down her coffee cup, “Teacher Ai Ye’s 80th birthday is next week. Director Peng is organizing a small gathering. We should go.”

“Okay,” Xi Jisheng nodded. “I’ve already prepared the gift. It’s that silk scarf you brought back from Paris; she mentioned she liked it.”

Their lives had settled into a rhythmic, unspoken harmony. Xi Jisheng focused on acting, while Lou Ningyu had reduced her on-screen work to one project a year, focusing more on the behind-the-scenes. She had founded her own production company, “Sheng-Ning Film & Media.” Their first project was an adaptation of the real-life story of Ai Ye and her late partner, Jiang Yanan.

“The third draft of the script is out,” Lou Ningyu said. “Chu Jin wrote it beautifully. I stayed up until 3:00 AM reading it and cried several times.”

Xi Jisheng reached out and squeezed her hand. “Need me to take a look?”

“I do,” Lou Ningyu smiled. “Tonight, let’s read it together.”

…

At 9:00 AM, Lou Ningyu appeared in the meeting room of her company. It was a small team of about a dozen people, all hand-picked professionals.

“Director Lou, here is the budget for The Depths of Time,” the financial director said. “As per your request, we aren’t going the ‘blockbuster’ route. We’re keeping the budget under ten million.”

Lou Ningyu flipped through the files. “What about the actors? Have we cast the younger version of Teacher Ai Ye?”

“A few candidates,” the casting director said. “All newcomers, but with solid acting chops. Look…”

Lou Ningyu studied the headshots, finally pointing to one. “This girl. Her eyes look exactly like Teacher Ai Ye’s when she was young.”

“Her name is Chen Ling. I just graduated from the Central Academy of Drama.”

“Invite her for an audition,” Lou Ningyu said. “Remember, I don’t want an imitation. I want to understand. Understanding of women from that era, and the love that couldn’t be spoken.”

…

Meanwhile, Xi Jisheng was at the theater rehearsal hall. Director Jiang Wen required all leads to undergo two weeks of script reading and performance training before filming began.

“Teacher Xi,” a young actor playing opposite her, asked nervously, “how should I handle the emotions in this courtroom scene?”

Xi Jisheng put down her script and spoke gently: “Don’t think about ‘acting’ the emotion. Think about this judge—she’s facing a young man she knows is innocent, yet she might have to find him guilty due to lack of evidence. What is her struggle? Is it loyalty to the letter of the law, or loyalty to human nature?”

During a break, Xi Jisheng walked to the window and messaged Lou Ningyu: “In rehearsal. Miss you.” Lou Ningyu replied instantly: “In a meeting. Miss you too. What’s for dinner?” “You decide.” “Let’s cook at home. Buy a fish?” “Okay.”

…

That evening, Lou Ningyu returned home with a grocery bag and a bouquet of sunflowers. “I passed the flower shop and saw these. They reminded me of you.”

Xi Jisheng took them and put them in a vase. “Smooth talker.”

“Only for you.” Lou Ningyu hugged her from behind, resting her chin on Jisheng’s shoulder. “Smells good. What are you making?”

“Steamed fish, garlic broccoli, and your favorite corn and pork rib soup.”

“My wife is so virtuous.”

Xi Jisheng blushed. “Who’s your wife?”

“You are,” Lou Ningyu kissed her cheek. “I said it in that interview three years ago. You can’t run away.”

After dinner, they sat on the sofa reading the script for The Depths of Time. The story began in 1968. In that era, love was an unspeakable secret. They used gazes to communicate and used lines from scripts to convey their hearts.

“This part,” Xi Jisheng pointed to a line of dialogue, “where Ai Ye says to Jiang Yanan: ‘If only we were born in another era…’ and Jiang Yanan interrupts her: ‘Don’t think about “if only.” Think about now.'”

Lou Ningyu nodded. “Chu Jin said Teacher Ai Ye told her that herself. Teacher Jiang was that kind of person—no regrets, no hypotheses, just living in the present.”

They read until late into the night. The final scene was in 2018, with Jiang Yanan gravely ill in the hospital. Ai Ye sat by the bed, holding her hand, whispering: “Yanan, if there is a next life, let’s meet again.”

Xi Jisheng’s tears fell onto the script. Lou Ningyu, her eyes also red, pulled her into her arms.

…

In another corner of the world, Wen Bixu was in her studio editing the final shots of the third part of her documentary. Three years ago, she had accepted Zhu Jinhe’s invitation to Antarctica. Those three months had changed her perception of freedom, love, and the balance between idealism and reality.

The resulting film, Meeting at the End of the World, had won awards at various film festivals, making her one of the most prominent documentary directors in the country.

“Finished editing?” On the video call, Zhu Jinhe was in an Icelandic guesthouse, the glow of a fireplace behind her.

“The final sequence,” Wen Bixu rubbed her eyes. “The third part, The Far Side of the Moon, goes for review tomorrow.”

“Congratulations,” Zhu Jinhe smiled. “The trilogy is complete. Any thoughts?”

Wen Bixu considered this. “My thought is… idealism and reality were never opposites. Like the moon, the side we see is the ideal, and the side we can’t see is the reality. But it’s all one moon.”

“How philosophical,” Zhu Jinhe took a sip of wine. “I’m coming back to Beijing next month for three weeks.”

“Good,” Wen Bixu nodded. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

Their relationship was unique—no marriage, no cohabitation, each with their own career and focus. But they had an agreement: every quarter, Zhu Jinhe would stay in Beijing for a month. And every year, Wen Bixu would travel to a filming location with her. They called it “Orbit Intersecting.”

“By the way,” Zhu Jinhe said, “I’ve decided on the dedication for my new photography book.”

“What is it?”

“For X, my eternal sixpence and the moon.”

Wen Bixu’s eyes grew warm. She knew the reference—The Moon and Sixpence. Zhu Jinhe was once the one looking up at the moon, while Wen Bixu was the one looking down for sixpences. Now, they were both to each other.

“Cheesy,” Wen Bixu said, though her voice was thick.

“Only for you. See you tomorrow—even if it’s through a screen.”

Wen Bixu continued working. The final shot of the third part was one she had filmed in Beijing three years ago—the moment during the curtain call of the play Twin Stars, where Lou Ningyu kissed the back of Xi Jisheng’s hand.

It was the first play they had collaborated on after going public. At the end of every performance, as the actors bowed, Lou Ningyu would turn, take Xi Jisheng’s hand, and kiss it under the spotlight.

Wen Bixu typed the final subtitles:

“Idealism and reality, freedom and responsibility, solitude and love.” “All these seemingly opposing things find a way to coexist in love.” “Because love itself is the greatest idealism—” “The belief that two independent souls can walk toward the horizon, side by side.”

She clicked save. The trilogy was finished.