The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 15

The duo’s hashtag climbed to the top of the trending charts just like that—magnificently and effortlessly.

Did I miss you?

Perhaps this was a question that didn’t require an answer, and one that certainly lacked a standard one. Whether she missed her or not—wasn’t that already fully reflected in the series of subtle actions Dong Huaci had just displayed?

Dong Huaci took the lipstick from Zhong Qing, saying only a brief “thank you,” but she merely tucked it back into her bag.

She forgot to touch up.

She was too busy being overwhelmed by emotion. Zhong Qing: an artistic genius, a fool for love.

The intersection and fusion of these two traits in Zhong Qing fascinated her. It had granted her a dream that she had been unwilling to clarify or completely end ever since their high school graduation. Zhong Qing always persisted in wanting a definitive answer from Dong Huaci, but Dong Huaci—whether at that moment in the past or this moment right now—was simply incapable of giving her one.

Yet Dong Huaci had completely forgotten that she herself was nothing more than a hunter of emotions, a coward of reality.

The breakfast ended amidst their respective states of internal chaos. They went about their own business. If one were to say they held a grudge, they didn’t really. If one were to say things were cleared up, it was still awkward.

Before the crowd dispersed, Zhong Qing asked Dong Huaci one last thing: “By the way, is my new song good?”

Dong Huaci originally wanted to ask: How did you know I listened to it?

Then she realized that when she had fallen on the podium, Zhong Qing must have seen her phone screen.

Zhong Qing would surely find it hard to accept that Dong Huaci had opened that page back then not out of curiosity, but rather to spite Zhao Xuanxuan. Dong Huaci had always believed that in balancing emotion and reality, she was far more rational than Zhong Qing, and better able to see which path led to a better future for them. In truth, they had both been walking their own paths for a long time.

Dong Huaci used the act of reapplying her lipstick as an excuse for the silence that followed the question.

Why don’t you understand? You should be able to understand. Last night, regarding the matter of knocking on the door—even if Yusheng Media had pressured her further, if she truly didn’t want to do it, the company couldn’t have held a knife to her throat to make her knock on Zhong Qing’s door. She had feigned composure and acted deliberately just to have a little more entanglement with Zhong Qing.

Yes, she was the one who fell, she was the one who added her on WeChat, and she was the one who knocked on the door.

She was just that kind of person. She couldn’t be with Zhong Qing again, but she didn’t want to be completely unrelated to her either.

Thus, Dong Huaci half-reluctantly accepted this “lowly emotional position” between her and Zhong Qing. Indeed, listening to an ex’s song after a breakup and insisting on following the company’s lead to stir up entertainment news with an ex—how could that not be considered a form of “lingering feelings”? Rather than feeling wronged or flustered by Zhong Qing’s assumption of her lingering affection, Dong Huaci felt a dilution of her guilt. She was suddenly willing. This position, this role. She really was better suited to being an actress.

So, her actress’s instinct led her to hide the fact that she had only opened the song to compete with Zhao Xuanxuan for a makeup artist’s attention. She snapped the lipstick cap shut, her mouth open just the right amount—an expression of oblivious, youthful brightness—and let out a faint, non-committal “Ah?” She pursed her lips, the lipstick covering them evenly, every curve perfect. Looking dazed, she said, “What new song?”

Under Dong Huaci’s series of movements, Zhong Qing continued to gaze at her. It was hard to tell if it was an overt gesture of goodwill or a belated revenge. Her dark eyes hid a thousand tangled emotions, which eventually condensed into a pure black hole: “You know which one.”

I know.

I—know—it.

Dong Huaci flipped through those words in her heart and stood up. By now, she was completely full, and a sluggish sleepiness began to wash over her. Still acting dazed and slow, she replied, “Ah. Qing You Du Zhong (Infatuation).”

Zhong Qing smiled subtly: “Is that the title, or your critique?”

Dong Huaci was unable to answer again. At this moment, her blushing and avoidance spoke louder than any redundant reply.

The breakfast buffet was getting crowded.

The clamor of reality can always swiftly drown out the rising voices of the heart. Although most of those coming and going were crew members, the flow of people signaled the point where they had to part. It was always Dong Huaci who took the first step; she had grown accustomed to fearing crowds, especially when she was with Zhong Qing. Dong Huaci remembered that she felt as though she were entering a state bordering on drunkenness. She forgot if she had even replied to Zhong Qing; she just waved her phone, seemingly signaling: Message me if there’s anything. Finally, her pleated skirt fluttering, she disappeared into the woods like a pink-and-white butterfly.

She swiped her card, returned to her hotel room, and fell into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

The alarm dragged her back to the filming set in the afternoon. Today was another scene with Zhong Qing, and word was that Liu Miao was coming as well. Shi Xiaonan arrived on set and gave the assistant, Qiao Yi, the afternoon off. Dong Huaci was clearly easy for Shi Xiaonan to handle; the two of them ate instant food together in the motorhome. It’s worth mentioning that the standby motorhome was shared—or more accurately, sponsored by Guan Feili. By the second half of the day, the vehicle would be gone.

While slurping noodles, Shi Xiaonan said, “I’ve helped you suppress the news.” Coming from this girl, even with her simple, makeup-free face immersed in noodles, those words gave Dong Huaci a sense of security as if a “domineering CEO” had decreed it so.

Dong Huaci: “Nan, I love you.”

Shi Xiaonan waved her hands repeatedly in mock horror: “I can’t accept that from a girl, I really can’t. I’m afraid of dying from some mysterious ‘Area of Effect’ (AOE) damage.” She added, “Actually, it’s mainly because our company couldn’t reach an agreement with Xingtu. Zhong Qing is about to release a new album, and her manager put their foot down against any rumors. They don’t want any unnecessary complications. They take this album very seriously; her being in this production is just to return a favor.”

Dong Huaci didn’t register much after that; once she heard “the news has been suppressed,” even the standard actress’s lunch of plain boiled cabbage seemed flavorful. She wanted to be famous—massively famous and wealthy—but she wasn’t quite at the point where she wanted to step on Zhong Qing to get there. It’s just that sometimes, when there’s no other path to take, it’s hard to care if the stepping stones beneath your feet are dignified. The entertainment industry is full of such examples.

With this good news as a safety net, Dong Huaci’s mood brightened for the afternoon shoot. Her mindset improved significantly, and even Liu Miao’s personal presence didn’t cause her performance to falter.

The assistant director, mindful of yesterday’s situation and wanting to keep the schedule on track, put Zhong Qing’s scenes later and let Dong Huaci’s solo scene go first. Thus, a crowd from the Huang Jue crew gathered to watch Dong Huaci’s Seventh Princess cry her heart out to thin air.

This was a monologue for the antagonist, the Seventh Princess. In the final edit, it could be kept or cut, depending on the effect.

Director Liu Miao watched the monitor for a long time. Dong Huaci over-delivered today; her crying was pitiable yet made one’s teeth itch with hatred. “I hate the heavens for being unfair! I hate the earth for being powerless! From now on, the court is wrong, wrong, wrong! From now on, my heart is gone, gone, gone! I am… Father, I want to go home.” The final act was the Seventh Princess actually taking her own life on the way to a political marriage. She collapsed on the green-screen floor in a twisted posture. After slitting her throat, she reached toward the camera. In that final moment before death, the ignorant cruelty of a spoiled royal, her foolish charm, and her aristocratic cold-bloodedness reached a peak of brilliant bloom. She was cold-blooded even toward herself. She would rather be overtly wicked, die beautifully, and lose grandly than live ignobly or under the thumb of others.

As her hand got closer to the lens, her face blurred—like the loss of focus in a dying person’s eyes—leaving only that exceptionally beautiful hand reaching for the camera. Her nails were a vibrant crimson. In the words of the art director, who was proudly boasting to Liu Miao, it looked like “the residual blood of an ancient opportunist on a battlefield.” In short, the shot was stunningly beautiful.

Liu Miao sat in the director’s chair, wearing sunglasses like she was in a trance. She watched for a long while without saying a word. Only when Dong Huaci’s shot was completely finished did she speak: “Xiao Shu, come here. See? This is excellent.”

As soon as the director spoke, the assistant director and the rest of the crew breathed a sigh of relief. Before Dong Huaci could even share the good news with Shi Xiaonan, she stood smiling beside the legendary young female director, leaning down to chat and review the footage.

“It’s all thanks to the assistant director’s guidance.” Dong Huaci pointed, her posture relaxed, even radiant and self-satisfied. “He gave us so many pointers yesterday. We weren’t in the right state then, but today everything is much better.”

All of this, naturally, fell into the eyes of Zhong Qing, who was sitting not far away waiting for her turn.

It must be said that compared to the lively circle around Liu Miao, Zhong Qing’s spot could almost be described as desolate.

However, before they could finish discussing the shot, Shi Xiaonan walked into the inner set. She greeted everyone first, then leaned in to whisper a few words to Dong Huaci. Instantly, the color drained from Dong Huaci’s face, like a flower suddenly wilting. Even if one could still see traces of its former brilliance in the drooping petals, it was now devoid of life.

By rights, Dong Huaci had been an “idol vase” and was now an actress; emotional control should be a basic skill. But she likely hadn’t expected that—forget Zhong Qing, who knew her so well—even a random stranger on set would have to think twice before daring to speak to her after seeing her current expression.

Zhong Qing, who had been observing from a distance, feigned composure by carefully studying her script. In reality, she had long since opened her phone, hoping to see if Dong Huaci would send her a message. Yet, she refused to open WeChat first, stubbornly cycling through other social media platforms instead. After waiting a while, she was met with disappointment. Instead, her manager, Fu Hong, sent her a notification.

Fu Hong: Check Weibo when you have a moment. Don’t forget the company’s online meeting after you wrap today.

Fu Hong: (Following the previous message) Don’t post anything on Weibo today. Don’t even log into your account.

Whether it was fate or a curse, there was no doubt that what was currently gripping both Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing was the same Weibo post. The protagonist who posted it was an old acquaintance—Zhao Xuanxuan, the “trending starlet” who was in the same cohort as Dong Huaci, was her competitor, and yet insisted on maintaining a “best friends” persona with her. She was also the one who had been so bothered when Dong Huaci won that minor award at the ceremony where she tripped and bumped into Zhong Qing.

“The countdown for Zhong Qing-laoshi’s new album has begun~! The title track is really beautiful, ‘You are the infatuation of my countless moments~’ (Heart) A few of my good friends also love it very much (Blow kiss)(Blow kiss)(Blow kiss). Cheering for Zhong Qing-laoshi!”

Indeed, looking at this copy alone, there was nothing wrong with it.

The problem was that Zhao Xuanxuan, while promoting Zhong Qing’s new song, just had to mention that “a few good friends also love it.” As everyone knew, the last “entertainment industry sisterhood” Zhao Xuanxuan had promoted was her intimate photo with Dong Huaci after the awards ceremony. It was a classic case of “the leads are avoiding each other, but the friend is blowing things up.” As a result, Zhao Xuanxuan’s comment section was filled with three types of comments: “Protect our girl,” “Focus on Xuanxuan, she is kind and innocent and doesn’t know the situation,” and “@DongHuaci Guess you like this.” Zhong Qing’s fans were even more extreme—they stopped trying to control the comments entirely, opting for an “ultra-cold treatment” to avoid giving the promotion any engagement.

And so, shortly after the “Zhong-Shu” duo hashtag from the set had reached around the 12th spot on the trending list and was quickly pushed down, and after Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing had both exerted great effort to kill any thoughts of mutual hype or mud-slinging—just like that, with a push from Zhao Xuanxuan’s Weibo, the Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing CP hashtag effortlessly bypassed the red carpet displays and magazine features of other stars, kicked aside all sorts of strange social news, and magnificently claimed the #1 spot on the trending charts.