She Got Revenge on Her Ex-Girlfriend Through a Kiss Scene - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Yunnan, three kilometers outside Dali Ancient Town, a secluded Bai-style courtyard.

On the third day after Xi Jisheng arrived at the ancient town, the numbers on the scale were four kilograms less than a week ago.

In the mirror, she wore a loose linen shirt; her collarbones were prominent, and her jawline was as sharp as a blade. This was part of her preparation for Shen Su—the woman who had withered away twenty years in a small-town library ought to have a thinness air-dried by time.

At 4:00 AM, she woke up from a dream once again.

In the dream, they were back in the Film Academy dorms seven years ago. Lou Ningyu was leaning over her bed, eyes sparkling: “Jisheng, when we become famous, let’s act in a dual-lead drama together. The kind about… a love that spans many years.”

How had she replied then?

She seemed to remember laughing and ruffling Lou Ningyu’s hair: “Who wants to act in a romance with you?”

And then the dream shattered.

Xi Jisheng sat up, groping for the melatonin on the nightstand. The bottle was half-empty, the foil pack riddled with small holes like a cryptic distress signal. She ultimately didn’t take the medicine, instead walking barefoot to the window and pushing open the wooden lattice.

The morning in Yunnan was misty. The distant Cangshan Mountains were hidden behind a veil of grayish-white, and the nearby bluestone road was damp, reflecting the red lanterns under the eaves. The town hadn’t fully awakened; only an elderly woman was drawing water from a well, the sound of the wooden bucket hitting the stone echoing through the fog.

Xi Jisheng took out her thick notebook and opened it to the latest page. Her ink-blue handwriting was neat to the point of being rigid:

[Shen Su · Day 9 Observation Notes]

“Granny Wang at the library, 65 years old, has guarded the books for 40 years. When she organizes them, her fingers brush the spines like she’s stroking the back of an old friend. She said: ‘Books are like people; keep them long enough and there’s affection. You can’t bear to throw them away.'”

“Shen Su’s loneliness isn’t forced; it is her chosen sanctuary. She uses books to build walls and silence as a lock, keeping herself at a safe distance—because beyond that distance is the Zhou Yin she dares not touch.”

When she wrote the name “Zhou Yin,” her pen nib hesitated, leaving a small blot of ink on the paper.

…

8:30 AM, a temporary meeting room converted from the Ancient Town Cultural Center.

Xi Jisheng arrived thirty minutes early. It was her habit—arriving early to any potentially nerve-wracking situation to ease her anxiety through familiarity with the environment. But when she pushed open the heavy wooden door, she found someone was already there.

Lou Ningyu stood by the window with her back to the door, talking to Director Peng Ke and screenwriter Chu Jin. She wore a simple white linen shirt and khaki trousers, her hair tied loosely behind her head.

“Jisheng’s approach is very subtle,” Peng Ke’s voice drifted over. “That restraint of Shen Su’s isn’t performed; it seeps out from her bones…”

Lou Ningyu turned her head.

Time seemed to stretch thin in that instant. Xi Jisheng saw her eyes—seven years had passed, and they were still bright, though filled with a depth she couldn’t quite read. The fine lines at the corners were faint, only becoming apparent when she smiled.

“Jisheng.” Lou Ningyu spoke first, her voice calm and natural, as if they had just met yesterday. “Long time no see.”

Xi Jisheng’s throat tightened. All the polite pleasantries she had prepared evaporated the moment she heard “Jisheng.” She could only squeeze out a stiff: “Teacher Lou.”

Lou Ningyu smiled, set down her script, and walked over. Her gait was composed, worlds away from the girl who used to come skipping toward her seven years ago. She stopped in front of Xi Jisheng and extended her hand. “Just call me Ningyu. It’s been seven years; we’ve grown distant.”

Xi Jisheng looked down at the hand. The fingers were long, the nails clean and unpolished. She remembered the warmth of this hand—how it had held hers countless times, hugged her, and warmed her freezing hands and feet on winter nights.

She reached out and took it. Lou Ningyu’s hand was warm and dry; her own was cold and slightly trembling. The contact was brief, perhaps only two or three seconds, but it felt like a century.

“Take a seat,” Peng Ke broke the subtle silence. “Today we’re mainly going over the first thirty scenes.”

The seating was natural—Lou Ningyu sat first, leaving Xi Jisheng with the seat beside her. There was one chair’s worth of space between them—neither too far nor too close, a proper professional distance.

…

10:30 AM, the script reaches Scene 78.

This was the emotional core of the film—the reunion of 49-year-old Shen Su and 50-year-old Zhou Yin on the stone bridge after twenty years. Peng Ke asked everyone to set aside their scripts and just listen to the two leads read their lines.

“Start from ‘Your hair has turned white’,” she said. “Don’t act. Just say it. Feel the weight of the words.”

The room went silent. Xi Jisheng looked at the paper; the black printed characters began to blur and overlap. She took a deep breath and spoke:

“Zhou Yin,” her own voice startled her—it was so raspy, so heavy. “Your hair has turned white.”

After finishing the line, she instinctively looked up at Lou Ningyu. Lou Ningyu was looking at her. Not as “Xi Jisheng,” but as “Shen Su.”

“Shen Su,” Lou Ningyu’s voice was soft, as if afraid of disturbing a dream. “You haven’t changed a bit. You still don’t dare to look me in the eye.”

Xi Jisheng’s heart jolted. This line was just a row of text in the script, but coming from Lou Ningyu’s mouth, it felt like a judgment. She didn’t dare to look her in the eye—not seven years ago, and not now. She looked down at the script, trying to find her next line, but the words were a blur.

She needed to say “I looked for you for many years,” but her throat felt blocked.

Three seconds. Five seconds. Ten seconds.

Xi Jisheng closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her lashes were wet. She didn’t look at the script but at a point in the void, her voice trembling with genuine raw emotion:

“I looked for you for many years.”

That wasn’t Shen Su speaking. That was 29-year-old Xi Jisheng, speaking to her seven-year-younger self, to the Lou Ningyu she had pushed away, offering a long-overdue confession.

Lou Ningyu’s breath hitched noticeably. Her fingers tightened on the script, the paper crinkling. Then, in a voice almost inaudible yet agonizingly clear, she said:

“I know. So this time, it’s my turn to come find you.”

Silence fell over the room. No one moved. The cicadas outside stopped chirping. A tear finally escaped Xi Jisheng’s eye, landing on the script and blooming into a small damp stain. She quickly looked down and wiped it away with the back of her hand, moving as if trying to hide a crime.

“Cut.”

Peng Ke broke the silence. Her expression was complex—shocked, excited, and slightly worried. “That’s the feeling. Twenty years of waiting, regret, restraint… and yet, hope. That is exactly what I want.”

Lou Ningyu recovered first. She took a sip of water and turned to the director. “Director, regarding the line ‘It’s my turn to come find you,’ I want to adjust the tone. When Zhou Yin says it, it shouldn’t be sad. It should be… a release. Like finally fulfilling a promise.”

“Agreed,” Peng Ke nodded. “You two should chat more about this scene in private. The emotional logic of Shen Su and Zhou Yin is intertwined; when one moves, the other follows.”

The words “chat in private” were like a stone tossed into a still pond. Xi Jisheng felt Lou Ningyu’s gaze fall on her once more. She didn’t look up, merely stared at the tear stain on the script, and whispered:

“Okay.”