Spring Night of Misty Rain - Chapter 1

It had rained the night before, and the air was thick with damp mist. In the biting chill of early spring, Shen Zeyu stood tall at the hospital entrance, clad entirely in black with a matching flat-topped hat. Clutching a twenty-inch brown suitcase, she looked less like a departing patient and more like a grim reaper arriving at a morgue to collect a body.

But she wasn’t there to collect anyone. On the contrary, today was the day of her discharge.

It was nearly ten o’clock. The sun hid behind leaden clouds, casting a halo of golden light along their edges. The morning radiance fell upon the dew clinging to the new buds of the evergreen cypress in the nearby flowerbed, refracting into a spectrum of colors.

After Shen Zeyu had waited at the entrance of the inpatient department for a while, a low-profile Mercedes-Benz S-Class pulled up in front of her.

The window rolled down, revealing a face that epitomized the classic beauty of Suzhou. “I was dropping Doubao and the others off at school this morning; the traffic was a bit backed up on my way here.”

The speaker was Chen Ci, Shen Zeyu’s senior from the drama club at Yinguang University and one of the protégés of Shen’s grandmother, Yang Feixia.

As she spoke, Chen Ci unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out of the car. “Let’s go. Put your luggage in the car first. We can talk once we’re home.”

“Mm,” Shen Zeyu nodded. She carried her suitcase to the rear and loaded it with Chen Ci’s help. Moments later, they were back in the car, driving out of the hospital grounds.

The facility where Shen Zeyu had been staying was a renowned national mental health center. Roughly two years ago, following a series of incidents, she had been sent here for treatment and had remained ever since.

Built deep within the mountains, the location was remote—at least a hundred kilometers from the city center. To ensure the best environment for recovery, patients were typically limited to one family visit per month and were largely cut off from the outside world, let alone the internet.

Consequently, as soon as they were on the road, Chen Ci handed her a phone. “Your old phone was badly damaged. I bought you a new one and had someone migrate all the data. I didn’t set a password; you can handle it yourself.”

Shen Zeyu took the phone and said respectfully, “Thank you, Senior.”

Her voice was hoarse, sounding like a dilapidated bellows filled with dust—weary and aged.

Driving through the shaded mountain roads, Chen Ci gave a light chuckle. “It’s too early for thanks. Once we get home, you’ll have plenty more to thank me for.”

Shen Zeyu offered a faint smile of her own, swiped the screen open, and entered.

Before her old phone had been destroyed, she had deleted a significant amount of data. Thus, when she opened the empty gallery, she only paused for a moment before navigating elsewhere.

Perhaps fearing she might be triggered, Chen Ci hadn’t pre-installed any social media apps. Shen Zeyu cycled through the few available applications and opened a document folder. A row of files titled Plucking the Moon appeared before her.

After a brief hesitation, she clicked the latest version—Draft 21. A line of text caught her eye:

Title: Plucking the Moon > Screenwriter: Shen Zeyu

Starring: Shang Qiuchi, Qin Feiyue

Production: Xinghai Film & Culture & Lehe Film & Culture

Shen Zeyu’s gaze lingered on the name “Shang Qiuchi.” A sensation both foreign and familiar surged in her heart. She frowned slightly, searching through the ruins of her collapsed memory, eventually capturing a flickering image.

It seemed to be a misty spring night. In a study lined with books, she had been wearing glasses, sitting upright before a computer, the keys clacking rapidly under her fingers.

Amidst the faint blue glow of the monitor, a woman dressed in white silk pajamas approached her, carrying a glass of milk. “Zeyu, stop writing. Drink this and go to sleep.”

Shen Zeyu looked up at her. Perhaps due to the side effects of her ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy), she could no longer clearly recall the woman’s features.

In the hazy memory, she remembered herself reaching out, pulling the woman onto her lap. “Don’t sleep yet. Help me look at the new script.”

She rested her chin on the woman’s shoulder. The woman turned to the screen, looking somewhat surprised. “A new script? A Republic-era drama?”

Shen Zeyu nodded, her tone full of excitement. “It’s a story about a Peking Opera star and a female warlord. It’s a genre I’ve never tackled before; I want to finish it in one go.”

Sensing her fervor, the woman turned and cupped Shen’s face. Her voice was soft, yet carried a hint of stern authority: “No. The doctor said you can’t stay up late anymore. Go to bed, now.”

“But—”

Before Shen Zeyu could finish, the woman pressed an index finger to her lips and said coaxingly, “Be good~”

Even now, in the echoes of memory, Shang Qiuchi remained that gentle and considerate woman.

Yet, it was this very person who would later wound her the deepest.

Shen Zeyu suddenly felt her breathing tighten. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Shang Qiuchi… Shang Qiuchi…

She would never forget that day on the set of The Carefree. Everyone had been clutching their phones, looking at her with hidden, startled eyes—filled with prying curiosity and malicious glee.

Her phone had rung; it was her boss, Gu Ji. “Zeyu, turn off your phone immediately. Don’t come back to the country yet. Let me figure this out first—”

Before Gu Ji could finish, a young script supervisor nearby gasped loudly: “Shang Qiuchi spotted entering a hospital with a wealthy businessman for a check-up. Suspected pregnancy… Will she secure her place in a wealthy household through her child? A marriage into the elite on the horizon?!”

Shen Zeyu’s head began to buzz. The static of a noisy television screen became a permanent fixture in her mind at that moment.

Amidst the white noise, she turned, phone in hand, to look at the young script supervisor. It felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest, thrown to the ground, mauled by hands, and crushed underfoot. The pain was so intense she could barely stand.

She took a staggering step forward. “What did you say? Say it again…”

Perhaps her expression was too terrifying; the young assistant was startled and began to stammer.

Before she could react, Shen Zeyu suddenly collapsed, still clutching her phone. As she hit the ground, she heard Gu Ji’s panicked shouts and a chorus of screams…

Memories of the past began to flood back. The emotional overload caused Shen Zeyu to tense up, her breathing turning shallow and rapid.

Chen Ci, driving beside her, quickly noticed her distress. She glanced over, her eyes landing on the name “Shang Qiuchi” on the screen. Her expression shifted to one of slight alarm. “Zeyu…”

Shen Zeyu looked at her, struggling to regulate her breathing and force herself into a state of calm. “What is it, Senior?”

Chen Ci reached out with one hand and quickly covered Shen Zeyu’s eyes. “Don’t look at it.”

Shen Zeyu felt the world go dark as the scent of pine enveloped her. “The past is a ghost; it can no longer hurt you. You’ve escaped that place. You need to run toward the light and start a new life.”

Chen Ci was only two years older than Shen Zeyu, but she was already a mother of two. As a mother, she possessed a heart of profound compassion for the world.

Over the last two years, many had cut ties with Shen Zeyu following her desperate suicide attempt in a bathtub. Only Chen Ci, who had grown up with her, remained by her side as family.

She trusted her. She protected her.

A surge of warmth ignited in Shen Zeyu’s chest, making her heart feel hot. She let out a series of soft chuckles. “Heh…”

Chen Ci was puzzled by the laughter. “What are you laughing at?”

Shen Zeyu reached up and removed Chen Ci’s hand from her eyes. Smiling, she said, “As expected of the former drama club president. Your consolations are as poetic and moving as a Shakespearean sonnet.”

Chen Ci winced at the cheesiness and spat playfully, “I’m warning you, don’t tease me, Great Screenwriter Shen. You’ve written plenty of sappy lines yourself.”

“Hahaha…”

Diverted by Chen Ci’s banter, Shen Zeyu no longer had the luxury of wallowing in melancholy. She turned off the phone and decided to ask about family matters instead.

Chen Ci currently taught porcelain carving at Qile University, so she spoke of her students’ issues. Along the way, she joked with Shen Zeyu: “If you don’t want to write scripts anymore, come to my studio and fire some kilns. Your basic skills are decent enough; a set of your work could still sell for four digits.”

Shen Zeyu shook her head, remarking that she hadn’t touched a kiln in years and her craft had likely withered.

When the conversation turned to Chen Ci’s twins, Chen Ci complained that while the girl was fine, the five-year-old boy was at an age where even a dog would find him annoying. He was so troublesome she wanted to throw him out every day.

Chen Ci grew more “aggravated” as she spoke. “If I had known raising kids was this much trouble, I never would have kept them.”

Shen Zeyu saw that despite the harsh words, Chen Ci was smiling. It was clear she loved this life, and Shen Zeyu felt a sense of relief.

Talking and laughing along the way, the car entered the city and stopped before a small red building on the bustling Jinwu Avenue.

Amidst the modernized cafes, tea houses, and restaurants, this three-story western-style villa—surrounded by its own courtyards—seemed entirely out of place in the heart of the city.

Chen Ci tossed the keys to Shen Zeyu, letting her open the courtyard gate before driving inside.

The two parked and carried the luggage toward the red house. The moment they pushed open the front door, the first thing they saw was a painted porcelain plate depicting the “Peach Blossom Spring” sitting atop a mahogany shoe cabinet.

This was a work by her grandmother, Yang Feixia. This three-story villa, along with many other gifts, had been a birthday present to Shen Zeyu.

Seeing the object brought back memories of its owner. Shen Zeyu couldn’t help but reach out to stroke the carvings on the plate, her expression gradually softening.

Chen Ci followed behind her. While changing her shoes, she said, “After paying off the debts, the only assets left under your name are the Lehe company and this villa your master gave you.”

“The house is old, but fortunately, you renovated it once before. You’ll have to make do with living here for now. If you can’t get used to it, I have a small apartment you can move into.”

Two years ago, Shang Qiuchi—who had always been seen by the public as pure and ethereal—was exposed for a secret pregnancy and a whirlwind marriage. This left her management company, Lehe, burdened with astronomical contract termination fees.

As the actual controlling shareholder of Lehe, Shen Zeyu had refused to bow to those trying to ruin her despite being besieged from all sides. She sold all her personal assets to pay off the debt.

When Chen Ci learned the truth, she was furious, calling Shen Zeyu a “useless thing” who should have thrown rotten eggs at her ex-girlfriend instead of playing the “noble martyr,” ending up with nothing and nearly losing her life.

But time had passed, and none of that mattered anymore.

At the thought of this, Chen Ci sighed. Stepping into a pair of brand-new slippers, she stood at the entrance, hands on her hips, and called out, “Zeyu…”

Shen Zeyu turned, only to see a sachet being tossed her way. “Pomelo leaves to cleanse the body. From now on, may your bad luck be dispelled, and may you be safe, healthy, and sound.”

Shen Zeyu caught the sachet, smelling the sharp fragrance of pomelo.

She looked up at Chen Ci again, her gaze drifting to the elm tree planted in the courtyard. It was the peak of spring; everything was beginning anew, and tender buds were blooming.

Shen Zeyu smiled and nodded. “Mm.”

“Safe, healthy, and sound.”

Though the red villa was old, it was exceptionally clean and tidy thanks to Chen Ci’s meticulous care.

Shen Zeyu carried her luggage up the familiar spiral staircase to a room in the southeast corner of the second floor. She turned the handle and stepped inside.

In the dimly lit room, an intricately patterned Bohemian rug stretched out before her, leading toward a European-style grand bed against the wall.

Shen Zeyu’s gaze swept over the bed covered in soft, white sheets. Her pupils shrank slightly when she saw the row of stylized Polish painted porcelain plates hanging on the wall above the headboard.

Chen Ci followed her in. Standing behind her and following her gaze, she immediately understood. “Oh… those were from your old house. I saw the artist’s seal on the bottom and thought they might appreciate in value, so I took the liberty of keeping them.”

Shen Zeyu sighed and turned to her. “But these were gifts from Shang Qiuchi.”

In her first month at the hospital, Shen Zeyu’s only request to Chen Ci had been to sell or destroy everything related to Shang Qiuchi.

Chen Ci reached out and gave Shen Zeyu’s shoulder a playful smack. “Oh, don’t be so picky. You’re so broke right now; why turn your nose up at money?”

The woman, who was only slightly smaller in stature than Shen Zeyu, brushed past her and walked to the window. She pressed the button for the curtains. With a hum, the blackout curtains slid open, letting in the clear spring light.

Chen Ci turned to face Shen Zeyu. “I’ve cleared out all the digital data in the house. Anything truly unusable, I replaced with new stuff…”

Shen Zeyu stood at the door, watching her in silence.

Seeing this, Chen Ci quickly walked over and pushed Shen Zeyu toward the door. “Alright, alright. I didn’t know they were from Shang Qiuchi; I thought you collected them yourself. I’ll find someone to take them down later.”

“Don’t look at them. Go look at the rest of the house.”

Being pushed along, Shen Zeyu’s mood actually improved. “Mm.”

Though she called it a tour, there wasn’t much to see. Because her father had died young and her mother had remarried, Shen Zeyu was raised by her grandmother. She had lived in this red villa for nearly fifteen years. It wasn’t until her grandmother passed away and she went away for school—and began dating Shang Qiuchi—that she left.

All told, it had been twelve years since she had stepped foot inside this place.

Revisiting old haunts inevitably brought back memories of people long gone. Especially when she saw the exquisite porcelain her grandmother had left behind and thought of her current situation, she couldn’t help but sigh a couple of times.

Chen Ci took her around, explained everything that needed explaining, and then took her to a Sichuan restaurant next door for her first meal of the day.

While they ate, Chen Ci briefly summarized the situation with Lehe. “When the scandal broke with Shang Qiuchi, I followed your wishes and sold the copyrights held by Lehe to Gu Ji’s Xinghai Entertainment for twenty million to pay off the debts.”

“But because you had a three-year gambling agreement with Giant Whale at the time, and you dropped out of the production due to ‘illness,’ the Carefree trilogy couldn’t be released on time. According to the contract, you owed five hundred million in penalties.”

“There was no other way. I had to sell all the real estate under your name just to fill that hole.”

Shen Zeyu took a bite of duck blood vermicelli and nodded. “Mm. Thank you for your hard work, Senior.”

She had heard this a year and a half ago. Hearing it again now, there was no trace of the former indignation or resentment. Her emotions were as calm as if the person who had been nearly crushed to death wasn’t her at all.

Chen Ci sighed. “Haa…”

She didn’t know what else to say.

In Shen Zeyu’s case, for anyone else, it might have just been a bad breakup. After all, the situation was simply that her girlfriend of ten years had cheated on her and given her a “green hat.”

But no one expected that Shen Zeyu carried a hereditary condition. Like her father, who had committed suicide, she suffered from severe bipolar disorder. During her youth, because of Shang Qiuchi’s companionship, it hadn’t been as apparent.

Once she lost Shang Qiuchi, Shen Zeyu’s world collapsed, and all the hidden cracks were exposed.

At first, she tried to hold on, even negotiating with Shang Qiuchi to cover the debts. But not long after, she was stabbed in the back again, and she completely snapped.

When a person goes mad, they are capable of anything. She had filled a hotel bathtub with red wine and slit her wrists. If her young assistant hadn’t been conscientious enough to find her in time, Shen Zeyu would have drowned in that wine.

The incident caused a massive stir in the industry. Combined with her debt to Giant Whale, rumors began to swirl that the company was driving people to their deaths.

Xu Qingyue, the boss behind Giant Whale, valued her reputation. Hearing the rumors, she promptly terminated the partnership and reached a private agreement with Shen Zeyu, ultimately requiring her to return only half the production costs—one hundred and fifty million.

After paying it off, Shen Zeyu was effectively penniless. Furthermore, the suicide attempt had a massive impact; almost no one wanted to work with an “unstable mental patient.” Her network of connections had largely severed.

However, she had operated in this circle for ten years. Putting profit aside, there were still those who genuinely appreciated her talent.

People like Chen Ci, and their teacher at Yinguang University, Zhou Qingyang.

Chen Ci chewed on a piece of spicy chicken before saying to Shen Zeyu, “I told Professor Zhou about your situation.”

“Your situation is still quite daunting. Your old partner Gu Ji and your big investor Giant Whale won’t invest in you again. Plus, your ex-girlfriend married so well—she married the eldest daughter of Jintian. Jintian controls fifty percent of the domestic cinema chains and they went all out to ruin you before. I doubt other companies will dare invest in you.”

“If you still want to make movies, you likely won’t be able to be a producer. You can only get a credit as a screenwriter.”

Life in the mental hospital had been simple. Most of the time, Shen Zeyu lay in bed in a daze, watching the sun move from east to west. In her moments of clarity, she would reflect on her past and consider her future direction.

These developments were within her expectations; she wasn’t surprised.

Shen Zeyu nodded, slowly eating a peanut. “Mm. So, what did Professor Zhou say?”

Chen Ci smiled, her eyes curving into crescents. “She wants you to come back to Yinguang to see her.”

With her senior’s message in mind, Shen Zeyu retrieved a blue wide-mouthed vase—personally fired by her grandmother—from the storeroom as a gift. She placed it in a black leather gift box and set off for the capital the next day to visit her mentor.

Shen Zeyu usually wore black, but because she was seeing her teacher, she took a rare white shirt and matching trousers from the closet. The shirt was silk, featuring a cluster of red and white camellias embroidered on the chest using Suzhou techniques—a look full of spring vitality.

Layered with a light green wool coat, she looked like a handsome, slender bamboo—poised and elegant.

It was a rare lively look for her. Yet, the moment they met in Zhou Qingyang’s office, the teacher rushed over to take her hand, her gaze full of concern and heartache. “You’ve thinned. You’ve lost so much weight.”

Shen Zeyu felt helpless and patted her teacher’s hand to comfort her. “Haven’t I always been like this?”

Zhou Qingyang gave her a disapproving look. She pulled Shen Zeyu toward a small tea table in the office. “Sit down first.”

“Mm.”

As Shen Zeyu sat, Zhou Qingyang poured her a cup of tea. Adjusting her glasses, she asked, “When did you get out? Why didn’t you let me know before coming over?”

Shen Zeyu picked up the teacup and replied with a smile, “Yesterday. Senior Chen said you wanted to see me, so I came.”

As she spoke, Zhou Qingyang scrutinized her carefully. Seeing that she was only a bit thin but mentally sound, she let out a sigh of relief.

No one wanted to ask about Shen Zeyu’s past, and no one wanted to mention it. Zhou Qingyang thought for a moment and offered a comforting word: “The past is in the past. Life is all about experience; just consider it material for your work.”

“Mm.”

The two reminisced for a while, with Shen Zeyu asking about Zhou Qingyang’s health and discussing trivial matters. Once they had warmed up, they finally got to the point.

Zhou Qingyang said, “I heard the gist of it from Chen Ci. If you have time, why don’t you come back to the school? As you know, our university produces three or four ‘mission’ films every year, and the ones made recently haven’t been very good.”

“If you were to help oversee them, they might actually win some awards.”

Given Shen Zeyu’s semi-blacklisted status, collaborating with a film academy was indeed an excellent path forward.

Shen Zeyu considered this for a moment and was about to answer when a knock sounded at the door.

Accompanied by the knock was a voice as clear as cold water. “Professor Zhou, I’ve brought the group research papers.”

It was a beautiful voice, inexplicably reminiscent of a late-spring or early-summer night—slightly warm, but with a cool breeze rustling through the leaves.

A very spirited voice.

Shen Zeyu couldn’t help but turn toward the door.

Zhou Qingyang replied, “Come in.”

The office door was pushed open, and a girl wearing a greyish-white round-topped hat, carrying a stack of A4 papers, walked in.

Shen Zeyu looked up, and the moment her eyes met the newcomer’s, she froze.

The girl had incredibly beautiful eyes—shaped like those of a phoenix, with pupils as dark as ink. They were clear, transparent, and bright.

At this moment, she was staring at Shen Zeyu, her eyes widening slightly like a startled deer in the forest, revealing a look of surprise and hesitation. “Shen Zeyu?!”

Suddenly addressed by her full name, Shen Zeyu blinked, momentarily unable to react.

This girl… knew her?

Before Shen Zeyu could respond, the girl quickly pursed her lips, biting them with a look of sudden regret.

Oh dear…

Shen Zeyu realized the situation and a smile appeared on her face. “This must be another student of yours, Professor Zhou.”

She sat poised in her chair, looking up at the girl with a gentle gaze. “May I ask how I should address this Junior?”

The embarrassed girl looked up and met Shen Zeyu’s eyes. Encouraged by that look, the regret on her face gradually faded, replaced by a soft warmth.

The girl smiled, a bit shyly, but with a trace of joy. “Xu Luosu.”

“Senior Shen, my name is Xu Luosu.”