The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 23

One kiss is enough to kill a person.

Yes, that was the first kiss.

It was pure, yet unchaste; it was fatal, yet life-giving; it was abrupt, yet anticipated; it was shallow, yet it sucked the very marrow from the soul. Their lips pressed together without an inch of aggression, but Dong Huaci shrank back and opened her eyes, much like any small animal with high alertness and low lethality. She stared intently into Zhong Qing’s eyes, as if trying to discern some hidden pattern within them.

As for Zhong Qing, she was dazed.

Dong Huaci, the one who had initiated the kiss, was still halfway pressed against her, yet Zhong Qing’s face flushed so deeply that she instinctively tucked both hands behind her back, her eyes suddenly unsure of where to land. Looking up, she met Dong Huaci’s beautiful eyes; looking down, she saw certain “wonderful” places that might have been acceptable to look at before the kiss, but were strictly off-limits after it. The culprit, meanwhile, was a master at feigning innocence. As if she had just performed a clever trick, Dong Huaci leaned in again, pressing her cheek against Zhong Qing’s. Caught off balance, Zhong Qing nearly tumbled onto the bench while holding her.

Dong Huaci possessed an innate, untaught talent for certain things. She didn’t mention their relationship at all; instead, she merely narrowed her eyes and smiled. “Then you aren’t allowed to be angry anymore, Zhong Qing.” She climbed onto the other woman again, acting as if she were drunk, saying whatever came to mind, though she hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol before coming. “Zhong Qing, I’m a little cold. The wind on the rooftop is so strong. Accompany me back.”

At that moment, Zhong Qing was nearly drowning in the pervasive fragrance of Dong Huaci’s hair. Her eyes held the image of a cold moon, but her hands, acting on instinct and habit, slowly climbed up Dong Huaci’s back. She thought to herself: she was falling. This was the “predestined fate” from the opening of the play A Dream Under the Southern Bough—one look, one handkerchief, a pledge of love, a commitment unto death. After just a few hugs and a few dances with Dong Huaci, she was trapped; it was as if Dong Huaci had been sent by the heavens specifically to be her undoing. Dong Huaci didn’t say she liked her, didn’t ask if Zhong Qing liked her, and didn’t ask when Zhong Qing started or stopped liking her. Her mastery as a goddess of love was far too brazen when directed at Zhong Qing. By the time Zhong Qing regained her senses, she was already engaged in a second kiss with Dong Huaci—a deep kiss. The dew was heavy on the rooftop, and Dong Huaci was like a moth plunging toward Zhong Qing’s burning body heat. This was merely a kiss, yet it was worlds apart from the first one. This second kiss carried a much more obvious sense of demand. Zhong Qing remained beneath her, yet she became the sole medium preventing Dong Huaci from touching the stone bench; those hands that played the guitar were now tangled in Dong Huaci’s hair and waist.

In the intervals between breaths, Dong Huaci murmured, “Zhong Qing, you can’t hide from me either.” She smiled with a flushed face. “I always know what you’re thinking, and I’ll always find you.”

Then and there, here and now—the “Southern Bough” dream is always hard to wake from. There are moments of happiness so phantasmal they make one wish to die; consequently, all other moments of reality must serve as a painful, lingering, agonizing repayment for that singular instant of bliss. Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing were no longer the eighteen-year-old and nineteen-year-old they once were. Six years of time lay between them, yet they were currently in an identical posture, sharing a nearly identical sensation. The twenty-four-year-old Dong Huaci had wrapped herself up in a disguise and rushed over—abruptly, romantically, crazily, recklessly, and without any official status—to comfort Zhong Qing. Zhong Qing couldn’t tell if Dong Huaci was comforting her or if she was comforting Dong Huaci; she had almost forgotten that she was the one who had been insulted to her face on stage, yet Dong Huaci had resolutely taken that responsibility upon herself.

In the backstage dressing room of this event, Dong Huaci knelt on the floor, looking up at Zhong Qing. Within a minute, they were entwined in each other’s arms again. Zhong Qing loved seeing Dong Huaci take the initiative, but she didn’t like seeing her in a lowly posture. She pulled the woman into her embrace. The “rose” makeup on her face was being bitten and nibbled away by Dong Huaci’s kisses. If things continued this way, Zhong Qing thought that if she shed even a few tears, Dong Huaci might actually ask: “How about we sleep together? Would that make you feel better?” It was the kind of thing that was both idiotic and terrifying—and exactly the kind of thing she was truly capable of doing.

Fortunately, back then, it was Dong Huaci who had struck Zhong Qing, and it was Dong Huaci who had dumped her. But Zhong Qing was hard-hearted; though she hadn’t said a single cruel word or retaliated physically, she had reclaimed some ground through the proactive deletion of contact info, prolonged cold violence, and active avoidance. In a way, this had provided them with a period of isolation to cool down. Thus, that unhealthy relationship—and its subtle possibilities—actually laid the groundwork for them to heal their emotional dysfunction. Had they broken up without cutting ties or ceasing intimate contact, that would have been the true depletion, the true end.

Their mirror had not yet shattered; they had simply each taken back their own half. Cautious of their pride, each feared being the first to bring it out, only to find that after paying such a heavy price, the other’s mirror was already broken or fitted into a different frame, leaving no room for the original piece. Neither of them likely expected that their careers would flourish so brilliantly or that their supporters would grow so numerous. Before they could decide who would be the first to test the waters with their mirror, reality had bound them further and further apart. Each was busy, each was avoiding suspicion. While both knew full well that a slight “show” of their relationship would make their entertainment careers even more radiant, the problem was precisely that they had truly loved each other. Because of this, they couldn’t be polite, they couldn’t “operate” as a fake couple, and they ended up in a situation where they were afraid to hold a gaze for more than a second in public. Each other’s names became taboos within their respective fan circles. That love appeared even more tragically vivid as a result, making it impossible for either to let go, yet each believed the other either hated them intensely or had moved past hate into boredom—like a jar of expired candy.

Ah, Fate, you are quite eccentric enough for everyone, because love itself is a most eccentric thing. It can cause a person’s thoughts to scramble, make them say the opposite of what they mean, breed jealousy, and turn them into a laughingstock.

Dong Huaci cried.

At twenty-four, she was still so prone to tears. If fate hadn’t arranged for her to stumble, or prompted her to take that role, she likely wouldn’t have had the courage to appear here today—having to pretend to be greatly pleased yet deeply sympathetic during company meetings regarding that scandal. Love is too complex. Dong Huaci found it hard to let go of the comments from Zhong Qing’s fans that hurt her, or the rumors that shamed her, during countless late nights. Yet, the moment she thought of Zhong Qing suffering the same treatment, her feelings for Zhong Qing became even harder to abandon. She was certain she no longer loved Zhong Qing; when she made that decision back then, it was surely because the sense of novelty had faded, the adjustment period was too painful, the flaws were too many to count, and her youth was vast—she wanted to pursue more important dreams. She had weighed her love for Zhong Qing against those things. So, by appearing here now, was she intending to love Zhong Qing once more, or to harm her once more?

Zhong Qing held her. Dong Huaci couldn’t see her expression, but she could feel Zhong Qing patting her back, over and over, as if soothing a distressed infant.

“Didn’t I already delete Zhao Xuanxuan? That… that competitor of yours? I really never followed her, I didn’t know before.” Zhong Qing didn’t know what else to say. “Oh, right, right. A lot of people say you two are the same ‘type,’ that you look alike. I don’t think so at all! She’s ugly as sin… uh, well, I don’t know her so I’m not intentionally judging her, but since things have come to this, you be the magnanimous one, Sister… (Zhong Qing’s voice turned into a mumble at this part)… anyway, she just has a mean vibe. Maybe she had plastic surgery.”

This string of words made Dong Huaci laugh.

Crying one moment and laughing the next—Zhong Qing had always been unable to handle her. Both were artists; while Zhong Qing was considered emotionally sensitive and abundant, Dong Huaci seemed to be an entire level above her. Zhong Qing said kindly, “Alright, Teacher Dong. We’ve hugged, and you’ve succeeded in comforting me. Stop crying, stop crying. If the two of us were discovered in this state, I’d definitely be the one getting scolded.”

“How could it be you?” Dong Huaci asked with a sob still in her voice. “The ‘burden’ is mine. Who likes a delicate flower these days? Everyone likes someone like you—the aloof, abstinent, high-visual monster. It’s so annoying. You have no idea how fierce your fans are. I… I read some of those long posts, and my god, I felt like I could go to jail for ten years.”

Zhong Qing lowered her head and thought for a long time before she couldn’t help but say, “Your fans said I committed domestic violence against you and wanted to claim ‘restitution’ from me. I was too embarrassed to say who actually hit whom. They also said I’m emotionally unstable, a narcissist, self-centered, in league with the company, the ‘boss’s daughter,’ a ‘privileged royal,’ and even said my face has gotten pointier and that I’ve had plastic surgery.”

Dong Huaci stopped crying. She suddenly sat back two steps, the movement appearing somewhat comical. “Ah! How would I know? Why are you more focused on my fan circle than I am?”

Zhong Qing didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Half of the “rose” on her face had been smudged away by the kissing. She instinctively pulled a handkerchief from her performance costume to wipe the ruined makeup—a gesture that was strikingly vintage. Who carries a handkerchief these days? It was only because this handkerchief was one she had bought together with Dong Huaci long ago. Dong Huaci might not even remember it, but Zhong Qing couldn’t bear to throw it away. In all those years of no contact, physical items related to Dong Huaci had become increasingly rare in Zhong Qing’s life. After wiping for a while, she finally said, “It’s hard not to pay attention. We’re more like a ‘community of shared interests’ than some celebrity couples.”

Yes, how could they not be? Sometimes they wished the other would disappear along with their fans, yet both knew clearly that if the other truly vanished, their own careers wouldn’t soar; instead, they would lose their edge and their talking points, becoming exceptionally mediocre. A past they were unwilling to mention was the first step to success. Once again, one had to sigh: Fate, all people in this world are likely nothing more than your playthings.

Dong Huaci sat up straight. “So, you aren’t that sad anymore, right?”

Zhong Qing stopped her hand. She shook her head and said something that seemed entirely unrelated: “Dong Huaci, in the future, you can just send me a message first. That way, you won’t have so many problems, or so many strange, risky moves that leave you owing people favors.”

Dong Huaci understood Zhong Qing’s words perfectly. Her meaning was nothing more than a complaint: Why did Dong Huaci take the initiative to ask for her WeChat in the Phoenix Decree set dressing room, only to never send a single message?

How very aloof.