The Person I Love Who Has Been Missing For Three Years - Chapter 1

Chapter 1: She Dreamed of Ming Jin Again

M club. Neon lights flickered to the rhythm of the music, and men and women bounced in the dance floor.

Cao Xin squeezed through the crowd and immediately spotted the woman in the champagne-colored sequined dance dress.

Her makeup was exquisite, her phoenix eyes were captivating, and delicate sequins were pasted on the corners of her eyes, making the small, rouge-red beauty mark look vibrant and bright.

Cao Xin walked over, grabbed her arm, and pulled her out of the dance floor: “My dear, if you jump like this, aren’t you afraid of being on the hot search tomorrow?”

Song Xiangwan’s forehead was covered with a fine layer of sweat. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the enthusiastic dancing, and she was breathing lightly, looking as gorgeous as a wild rose.

“It’s fine. This is a VIP-only venue; not just anyone can get in. No one is paying attention to me,” Song Xiangwan mumbled.

She then took the orange juice handed to her by the bartender and drank it in one gulp. The ice-cold liquid traveled down her throat all the way to her stomach.

Her vibrant lips, now slightly moist, looked attractive and full, and her phoenix eyes held a smile, so dazzling that people couldn’t look away.

After chugging the glass of orange juice, Song Xiangwan asked, “Sister Cao, why are you here? Are you here to have fun too?”

Cao Xin quickly snatched the orange juice from her hand: “It’s so cold. Gulping it down like that, you’ll get stomach pain again.”

“I know, I know,” Song Xiangwan replied, her tone full of perfunctoriness. “It won’t happen next time.”

Cao Xin didn’t believe a word she said. In all her years as an agent, Song Xiangwan was definitely the most difficult artist she had ever managed. She acted on impulse, couldn’t be controlled, and was arrogant and unruly in public, causing countless problems for Cao Xin.

Generally speaking, such an immature artist wouldn’t last long in the industry. Yet, Song Xiangwan seemed to have some kind of magic; when she first debuted, she had one hit drama after another, and an endless stream of good scripts came knocking on her door.

She graduated from the dance department of the Central Academy of Dance. Her figure and looks were first-rate, and her acting skills were passable. Although her personality was a bit difficult, fans nowadays have diverse preferences, and many liked her flamboyant nature.

Not only did Song Xiangwan establish a firm foothold in the entertainment industry, but she also thrived. When Cao Xin took her on, she was at her peak. Cao Xin thought she had a cash cow, but the situation had worsened in the last two years.

Now, to secure a good script, Cao Xin had to attend social gatherings everywhere. But this ‘grand-mistress’ maintained her original temperament; the scripts Cao Xin brought to her might not even be deemed worthy.

Cao Xin said: “President Wu saw you and wants you to go say hello and be a bit more restrained. $Qīng Chéng (Allure) is a major script aiming for awards. If you get it, you can move up another level.”

“I don’t want to go…” Song Xiangwan muttered, glancing at President Wu out of the corner of her eye.

He was in his forties or fifties, pot-bellied, and balding—the standard appearance of an old man. When he looked over, his eyes were clearly lustful.

“My dear, don’t you know you haven’t received any good scripts this year?”

“Without another respectable award under your belt, entertainment reporters are going to mock you for having exhausted your talent.”

“This is a great opportunity for transition. I worked very hard to secure it for you, so give me some face.”

“I’m not asking you to sleep with him, just go say hello and then leave, alright?”

Cao Xin’s tone inevitably carried a hint of pleading. This grand-mistress didn’t respond to threats, so a softer approach might yield better results. In this business, everyone is cautious and greets these investors with a smile, but Song Xiangwan was aloof, leaving Cao Xin utterly worn out.

Seeing that she didn’t outright refuse, Cao Xin quickly continued: “Just do it for me, out of pity. How many social gatherings did it take to get this one chance to meet?”

“Fine,” Song Xiangwan conceded, but stressed, “I’ll accompany him for one drink and then leave. Don’t expect anything else.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Cao Xin was overjoyed and immediately pulled Song Xiangwan towards that area.

The moment President Wu saw Song Xiangwan, his eyes were brimming with smiles: “Miss Song, I didn’t expect such a coincidence today.”

“It is quite a coincidence. Sister Cao said President Wu appreciates me, which is quite flattering,” Song Xiangwan raised the wine glass in her hand. “I toast you.”

“I’m the one who is flattered by Miss Song’s toast,” President Wu said, lifting his glass and drinking it down.

With a beaming smile, his gaze wandered over Song Xiangwan: “Since we have this opportunity today, I’d like to have a good chat with Miss Song…”

“No need to chat. I have something else to do later. Let Sister Cao drink a couple more with you,” Song Xiangwan cut him off directly, showing no mercy.

Without waiting for President Wu to say anything, she picked up the wine bottle, poured three more glasses, and chugged them down one after the other: “Consider that my apology.”

Finally, without waiting for President Wu to respond, she turned and left.

Cao Xin offered a couple of apologies and quickly followed her: “You can’t just leave like that, can you? You didn’t give him any face!”

“I said I’d have one drink, and I’ve already had four. I’m tired, and I’m going home to sleep.” Song Xiangwan didn’t care who he was; if she was tired, she was going to sleep.

Song Xiangwan stepped outside. The early spring weather was a bit cold. Wearing a short dress, she was instantly chilled and couldn’t help but rub her arms.

Cao Xin quickly took off her jacket and draped it over Song Xiangwan’s shoulders: “Why don’t you go back inside and wait? The car will take a while.”

Song Xiangwan had come out by herself today without informing the company, so there was no car service. Cao Xin had just called a car for her.

Cao Xin also pulled a mask out of her pocket and handed it to her: “Put this on later, and don’t talk much in the car so the driver doesn’t recognize you.”

“I know, I know…” Song Xiangwan said, feeling the alcohol starting to hit her. She gently rubbed her temples.

Her alcohol tolerance wasn’t great. She had already had some drinks before dancing, so she didn’t dare drink more afterward, feeling she was close to her limit. However, meeting President Wu meant she had forcefully drunk four more glasses, and her vision was now a bit blurry.

Cao Xin was a little worried: “Should I take you home?”

“Forget it. Don’t you still need to accompany President Wu?” Song Xiangwan said casually. “It’s fine. The car will stop at the door, and once I open the door, I’ll be home.”

Meeting Cao Xin’s insistent gaze, Song Xiangwan still put on the mask, not forgetting to add: “After we finish filming $Qīng Chéng, I’m not taking any jobs for the second half of the year. Don’t go finding me any random shows; I won’t appear on any of them.”

“You truly have no career ambition,” Cao Xin sighed helplessly.

In her twenties, the peak age for fame, other actresses would be desperate to film one show after another, but Song Xiangwan was different.

“I suspect you’re deliberately trying to spite me. Before I managed you, I heard you were a workaholic. Are you holding a grudge against me now?” Cao Xin was almost laughing out of frustration.

She took over Song Xiangwan’s work two years ago and had researched her beforehand. Everyone said she was the entertainment industry’s model worker, spending nearly 360 days a year on set, not even going home for the New Year.

After taking over, she found that was not the case at all. This grand-mistress acted entirely according to her mood, filming one drama a year, skipping variety shows, and turning down endorsements.

Cao Xin had good reason to suspect that the people who said she was a model worker were lying to trick her.

“It has nothing to do with you. I just lost the drive myself,” Song Xiangwan said flatly. Seeing the car arrive in the distance, she waved her hand. “I’m off.”

The chauffeur was a middle-aged man in his forties. After verifying the phone number, he drove off directly and didn’t recognize Song Xiangwan.

Clearwater Bay, twenty-third floor, a large apartment with one unit per floor, located in one of the most expensive areas in the South City.

Song Xiangwan opened the door, kicked off her high heels, and immediately threw herself onto the sofa.

The alcohol hadn’t worn off, and her mind was fuzzy. She couldn’t help but hug a pillow and curl up slightly.

She wanted to sleep, but her stomach hurt as if it were being pricked by needles. After curling up for a while, a fine layer of sweat broke out on her forehead.

The stomach pain had started in the car. She thought lying down at home would make it better, but the pain intensified.

She pressed her hand against her stomach, pressing down hard, trying to suppress its unrest, but it was useless.

Song Xiangwan hunched over and stood up to rummage through the medicine box in the coffee table drawer. Stomach pain was a common occurrence for her, and painkillers were always stocked in the medicine box.

After searching for a long time, she finally found the medicine box. Pulling out the aluminum blister pack, Song Xiangwan couldn’t help but frown—it was empty.

She didn’t know when she had finished the medicine. Perhaps the last time her stomach hurt, she couldn’t stand it, and taking one pill at a time didn’t work, so she took them all.

Song Xiangwan answered her phone, curled up on the carpet, trying to fight the pain, and said softly, “Hello, what is it now?”

The background noise still contained rhythmic beats; Cao Xin was still at the club.

Her voice was raised a few decibels to overcome the music: “Are you home? Should I call Cheng Cheng to look after you?”

Cheng Cheng was Song Xiangwan’s assistant, usually responsible for her daily needs. But she had taken leave for the past two days because her mother was suddenly diagnosed with a tumor and hospitalized. Since Song Xiangwan wasn’t on set, she gave the assistant an extended vacation.

“Forget it. I’m home. I’m fine. I’m just getting ready to wash up and sleep. Don’t call her,” Song Xiangwan mumbled softly, her voice carrying a slight nasal tone.

Under normal circumstances, Cao Xin would have immediately noticed the change in her voice. But the background music was too loud today, and she couldn’t hear clearly. Hearing that she was home, Cao Xin felt relieved and hung up the phone.

Song Xiangwan endured the pain for a while longer, feeling her consciousness getting hazy. She forced herself to remove her makeup, take a hot shower, and lie down in bed.

After bearing it for a bit, she decided to get up and search again to see if there was any medicine left in the house.

Pulling open the bottom drawer of the bedside table, Song Xiangwan’s gaze froze slightly—there really was a small medicine box here.

It was an ordinary white plastic box, and when opened, it was neatly filled with various medicines. Most prominent was a row of different kinds of stomach medicine.

Song Xiangwan remembered: This medicine box was prepared by Ming Jin. It had been placed here years ago. She usually didn’t clean; the housekeeper was responsible, and she hadn’t opened this drawer for years.

The medicine box was full, with most of the medication unopened.

Her stomach problem dated back to middle school; if she wasn’t careful, the pain would make her unable to stand up straight.

Ming Jin managed her: she wasn’t allowed to drink alcohol or eat cold food. In the summer, she could only have one bite of ice cream. When filming on set, Ming Jin would assign her a dedicated chef who cooked light, stomach-friendly meals that left her palate completely bland.

She didn’t like Ming Jin controlling her like that. She secretly ate cold drinks a few times and ended up curled up in pain in bed at night.

After Ming Jin lectured her, she prepared this medicine box for her.

Later, Ming Jin controlled her so strictly, almost having someone watch her 24 hours a day, that the medicine box was barely used.

Thinking about it, the medicine box had been here for seven or eight years, so the medicine inside should be expired.

Song Xiangwan didn’t care. She casually popped a few types of stomach medicine, swallowed them, and then lay down on the bed, drifting off to sleep.

Because of the stomach pain, she didn’t sleep soundly. Perhaps it wasn’t just the pain; it was because she dreamed of Ming Jin again.