The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 33

One would think we were having an affair in the restroom.

“What’s wrong with her?”

At this fashion show, the red carpet was laid out, brilliant and shimmering. The cameras flashed in a chaotic rhythm, converging into a galaxy of stars upon the floor. In stark contrast, the backstage was a mess of disorganization—people coming and going, discarded installations, and shouts rising one after another.

The person asking the question was Zhong Qing, who was having her makeup done in a relatively private area of the inner chamber. She was looking over the runway order, and when she noticed that Zhao Xuanxuan was the finale, she voiced that question.

According to her sources, this minor show was supposed to be closed by Dong Huaci. Even if it wasn’t her, Zhao Xuanxuan hadn’t had a new project recently; how could she compete with Dong Huaci, whose popularity was currently unrivaled thanks to The Legend of Huangjue?

Fu Hong followed behind her, standing tall in her high heels. “You’re asking about that lady? What else could it be? She offended someone.”

The hairstylist was still behind them, so Fu Hong and Zhong Qing acted in sync, not mentioning names, yet understanding each other perfectly, as if speaking in riddles.

Zhong Qing lowered her eyes, flipped through a few more pages of the roster, and asked, “Who did she offend?”

“On the surface, it’s that female director who just won an award. Apparently, the director felt she wasn’t a fit and took back a role. That kind of talk only fools outsiders. An actor refusing a famous director’s role based on ‘subjective opinion’ is no different from someone holding a winning lottery ticket and choosing not to claim it for the sake of ‘safety.'” Fu Hong lowered her voice, leaning down toward Zhong Qing’s ear. “Word is, she skipped a dinner party she was specifically called to attend. She’s offended them to the point of no return.”

“They won’t even mention a name? They love hiding that much?” Zhong Qing let out a cold laugh. This smile actually startled those around her, as the pressure she exerted when her expression turned cold was immense. “It seems she really did offend the ‘dead.'”

Fu Hong frowned. “You know as well as I do, she isn’t like you.”

“Yes, so different. I almost thought my parents were her parents—their tempers are certainly identical.” The moment Zhong Qing thought of Dong Huaci’s family, her anger vanished, replaced by a sense of pity. Once someone starts to pity another, they are likely already under that person’s spell. Zhong Qing seemed frustrated, speaking in a very low voice: “Actually, they were supposed to be her parents.”

Fu Hong fell silent. She had nothing left to say. As an old-school manager with vast resources in the industry, the reason she could work peacefully for so long with this “artistic-dream-chasing” young lady—who was equally stubborn and socially uncompromising—was naturally out of respect for Zhong Qing’s parents.

As the old saying goes: the first generation builds the empire, the second handles the finance, and by the time it reaches the third generation like Zhong Qing, who was pampered since childhood, they usually go off to “pursue art.” History truly follows a pattern.

Zhong Qing quieted down, silently allowing her hair to be styled.

An artist’s life, stripped of the adoration of fans, is actually just a job that isn’t very modest. Since becoming famous, Zhong Qing felt as if she were trapped in a cycle of repeating days: traveling, makeup, the recording studio, the dance studio, performing for different people, smiling, and traveling again. Even love and hate were cyclical—secretly caring for Dong Huaci while avoiding her in public, keywords being banned, and fans’ screams being heard. It wasn’t until five years later, when the frenzy surrounding them had relatively faded and the “Zhong-Shu” CP fans proved their persistence by “rising from the dead,” that the space for public discourse surrounding Zhong Qing and Dong Huaci seemed to finally crack open. Since The Legend of Huangjue, both sides had a tacit understanding to stop being so opposed to appearing in the same frame or occupying the same space. Even if Zhong Qing was confronted by fans during a roadshow, she would only remain cold on the surface for a while. The restlessness in private, however, became even harder to suppress.

In the end, it was restlessness.

Fu Hong flipped a page beside her and suddenly said, “You’re leading the formation for today’s walk. There are a few people from the rap circle behind you; no need to interact.”

Zhong Qing replied flatly, “Got it.” She added, “Are the actors all at the very end?”

“Yes, you won’t run into them.” Fu Hong knew who she was concerned about. “In the inner hall, you’re sitting at opposite ends. As for walking around, it’s hard to say. This isn’t an awards ceremony; you’ll probably just watch a few rounds of models, take some photos, and then you can clock out.”

Zhong Qing gave an “Mm,” then suddenly said, “Hey, I deleted her.”

The hairstylist had finished with Zhong Qing, but the urge to eavesdrop was so strong that they lingered, unnecessarily rearranging props nearby.

Deleted who? Did she delete that Dong Huaci? Did they get back together and break up again? Hurry up and say it!

Even Fu Hong couldn’t help herself: “Who are you talking about?”

“Zhao Xuanxuan.” Zhong Qing aimlessly tapped her phone screen with her beautiful hands, though she was really just scrolling through her WeChat interface without purpose. “I was bored the other day and deleted her while clearing my list. She probably won’t come looking for a photo later, right? That would be too awkward.”

Fu Hong suddenly felt a sense of relief. “You underestimate the social climbers in this industry. It’s hard to say.”

Then I’ll just ask her, ‘Who are you? A rapper?’ Zhong Qing thought. After saying it, she seemed quite mischievous, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. This allowed her to remain relaxed through the entire boring interview and signing process, and she no longer found it tedious.

Once they entered the inner hall, Zhong Qing arrived early and secured a good seat, giving her a clear view of everyone entering. She naturally noticed Dong Huaci’s awkward standing position upon entry. Outside, reporters were asking Zhao Xuanxuan if she was preparing to star in Liu Miao’s new drama. By contrast, Dong Huaci’s surroundings suddenly seemed pathetically cold. In the morning’s public opinion, labels like “ungrateful” and “playing the big shot” had already been pinned on her.

Zhong Qing stared at the distant figure from afar, appearing as though she was waiting for the new models to arrive. Dong Huaci didn’t glance toward Zhong Qing even once. One could only see her tightly wrapped in a shimmering green mermaid dress. Her beauty remained intact; though she stood at a distance, her grace was still captivating. But before the second line of models could enter, Dong Huaci suddenly left her seat.

Five or six minutes passed, and she still hadn’t returned. Zhong Qing checked her phone; there wasn’t a single message. Something seemed to occur to her, yet her expression remained impassive. She simply said “excuse me” to the row and walked toward the restroom.

The show had just begun, and it was the time for everyone to compete for attention, so the artist-only restroom was deserted. Zhong Qing heard a sound from inside and knew that something she had hoped wouldn’t happen was likely occurring.

“Wasn’t your new drama supposed to be a meteoric rise? How did you end up like this?”

Zhong Qing pushed the door open.

The stall door was open, and from a distance, the hem of a green dress was visible. Zhong Qing stared at the reflection of Dong Huaci’s face in the mirror. She was in the stall, gasping for breath, her face pale as she forced a fake smile. “If I do better, I can pay you back sooner, Teacher Zhong.”

“You’re purging again.”

Zhong Qing’s tone was bordering on hostile.

Dong Huaci froze in place, like a child who had done something wrong, caught in a flashback of being chased and beaten by a father who just came home drunk while her mother watched helplessly. Right now, the restroom stall partition was her only support.

Zhong Qing had already closed the main restroom door and didn’t forget to kick the “Cleaning in Progress” sign into place outside.

“Don’t come over.” The golden highlighter on Dong Huaci’s face was shimmering, which only made her look more like a hollow porcelain doll. “Let me… let me do it… myself…”

Before she could finish, Dong Huaci rushed back into the stall, leaning over and vomiting in waves.

Seeing this, regardless of their past, basic human conscience was enough to make Zhong Qing rush over and pat Dong Huaci’s back. By the end, Dong Huaci had nothing left to throw up; she was just shivering and dry-heaving. She flushed the toilet and said with a trembling voice, “Go away, Zhong Qing.”

Zhong Qing didn’t speak; she just slowly and rhythmically shifted to stroking her back.

“I told you to go away!”

Dong Huaci erupted with a hysterical scream that didn’t match her delicate face. She didn’t care if she was heard or caught; she turned around and shoved Zhong Qing hard against the partition. She didn’t hold back at all. The door panel let out a loud bang, but Zhong Qing didn’t make a sound, only drawing in a sharp breath of cold air. Dong Huaci suddenly seemed to realize something: “Zhong Qing?”

“I’m fine,” Zhong Qing said succinctly.

“I just… I just…” Dong Huaci was exhausted from vomiting, and coupled with the turmoil of the show, she couldn’t stay upright. She began to sink slowly toward the floor. Zhong Qing supported her, leading her out of the stall and letting her lean against the sink. Dong Huaci was extremely dizzy, and physiological tears still hung from her eyelashes. With that face that inspired such pity, it seemed any great mistake she made could be forgiven.

But having lived together day and night, no matter how beautiful the face, Zhong Qing was clearly immune to it. Her reaction wasn’t about pity; rather, it was a heartbreak she could no longer contain: “Aren’t you thin enough already?”

“Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me… I know I’m wrong, I know… no.” Dong Huaci dry-heaved over the sink again. Finally unable to hold herself up, she started to collapse toward the floor. Zhong Qing instinctively used her foot to cushion her. Dong Huaci leaned low, hugging Zhong Qing’s thigh, and pressed her face against the slit of Zhong Qing’s dress. “I didn’t mean it. I just… I had a flashback. I’m sorry.”

After saying this, Dong Huaci seemed to become a different person, standing up with extreme exhaustion.

Zhong Qing looked at her, seemingly accustomed to this, yet still inevitably uneasy. “You’re still not better… regardless of anything else, you really are meant to be an actress.”

It was Dong Huaci’s turn to be silent.

Zhong Qing asked: “Why do you still need to purge? You’re not dancing anymore. You’re not in a girl group.”

Dong Huaci said weakly, “I… I’m afraid… I’m afraid I won’t get any more roles. And I’ve… I’ve been eating a bit much lately. Because when the pressure is high, I just want to eat…”

Zhong Qing couldn’t bring herself to scold her. She hadn’t come to interrogate her, but for some reason, because Zhong Qing was so anxious, Dong Huaci always assumed she was there to condemn her. Sometimes, for reasons unknown, Dong Huaci was simply terrified of Zhong Qing. When she was afraid, she would strike out first—a form of excessive self-defense. When they were dating, Zhong Qing knew about her childhood and never blamed her. On the contrary, it was Dong Huaci who had always harbored guilt over it.

Zhong Qing asked, “Are you feeling better now?” What she meant was: Can you go out and face the cameras?

“Wait a little longer, just a little longer.” Dong Huaci waved her hand. Her rationality had returned slightly. Her eyes were red as she was helped up, and she reached out to touch Zhong Qing. “Your back… how is your back? I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I will never hit you. Never. But if you hit me, I don’t care, as long as you don’t hit my face.” Zhong Qing didn’t answer the question at all, but this sentence turned Dong Huaci’s physiological tears into genuine sobbing. Dong Huaci turned away and wiped her tears for a long time, the shimmering scales of her gown swaying with her movements.

“I’m a bit better.” Dong Huaci turned back, her head lowered, her voice lower than a whisper. “Do you want to go out first, or should I?”

“It’s fine. It’s boring out there anyway. If you want to go, you go first.” Zhong Qing suddenly smiled. “Every time you say that, I feel like we’re having an affair in the restroom.”