The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 36

Original sin falls into the web.

Inside the car, the playback of an entire album had come to an end.

Dong Huaci’s face was flushed, her breath unsteady as she pushed open the car door, hurriedly re-tying the knot of her overcoat into a bow. Zhong Qing remained in the driver’s seat, opening the center console storage to pull out a wet wipe and clean her hands.

Shortly after, Zhong Qing also stepped out of the car. Dong Huaci was leaning against the door on the other side, staring blankly at the black ceiling of the parking garage.

Her breathing gradually steadied, but the redness in her face did not fade.

Zhong Qing walked around the car. She wasn’t in a hurry; she simply leaned beside her, using a handkerchief to wipe her hands a second time. Dong Huaci didn’t say a word, merely staring at Zhong Qing’s movements in the night.

Without looking back at her, Zhong Qing suddenly asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Dong Huaci remained silent.

“Are you dissatisfied?” Zhong Qing sensed a hint of the absurd. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she tucked the handkerchief into her trench coat, realizing she hadn’t even unbuttoned her own coat—it seemed a bit too negligent. “Sorry, I just, for a moment…”

“I’m very happy,” Dong Huaci said, enunciating every word.

As soon as she spoke, Dong Huaci leaned against Zhong Qing’s shoulder. A small portion of her straight black hair and Zhong Qing’s long brown curls inevitably intertwined. Like comrades-in-arms, they leaned against the car, savoring a rare moment of synchronized tranquility.

“You are a very gentle person, and very capable of making people happy.” Dong Huaci spoke softly again, her expression blank. Since she had stepped out of her acting roles, she rarely had a space where she didn’t need to present the image of a “bright and radiant” starlet. She was constantly crashing into walls between hysterical pain and the high-energy persona of an idol; at this moment, however, she blossomed freely like a flower in the dark night, her wavy curls becoming subtle tentacles.

Despite having lost control just moments ago, Zhong Qing stood beside Dong Huaci now, impeccably dressed and elegant, yet finding the situation even harder to endure.

“Is that a compliment?” Zhong Qing asked.

“Yes.” Dong Huaci didn’t look at her, instead gazing at the soft ribbon bow at her waist. Her gaze was like one observing the germinating stamen of a flower, filled with warmth. “Every time, you ask me: Are you sure you’re willing? Even six years later, when I’m no longer your girlfriend. Zhong Qing, you are so worthy of love.”

Dong Huaci finished this last sentence with a certain swagger, as if she were the one who had taken full advantage of Zhong Qing.

Zhong Qing took a starry-sky lollipop out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth without a word.

“Is that your post-sex cigarette?” Dong Huaci teased her.

“I don’t smoke. Drinking is only for when my inspiration withers—you know that. I have a obsession with cleanliness; I can’t just casually date someone to find emotions, that’s no good.” Zhong Qing spoke lightly, hiding a subtle hint of seeking credit. “It’s not like you don’t know; my psychological obsession with cleanliness is even more severe than my physical one.”

Oh.

Dong Huaci gave a meaningful response, accepting her formal report.

The two froze outside the car again, this time looking like they were standing in time-out.

“Am I really that worthy of love?” Zhong Qing bit through the lollipop.

“You’re beautiful, talented, rich, and you only treat one person well when you’re in a relationship. Your ‘mourning period’ after a breakup is longer than those in ancient times.” Dong Huaci clutched her stomach and laughed, unsure if she was laughing from pain or genuine amusement. “And your technique is perfect. How could you not be worthy?”

Halfway through the sentence, Zhong Qing supported her again. This touch was lingering and soulful. It was as if their physical contact had been suppressed for too long by public opinion and their respective pride; once released, it became endless.

By the time they reached the first floor of Zhong Qing’s villa, they had kissed nearly the entire way. Their coats were dropped haphazardly. Zhong Qing’s obsession with cleanliness seemed to vanish instantly; she even knelt by the shoe bench at the entrance to help Dong Huaci take off her shoes.

Dong Huaci had originally intended to just kick her heels off, but when Zhong Qing grasped her ankle, she sat still like a schoolgirl. They were truly a perfect match, capable of making something incredibly pure feel erotic, and something incredibly erotic feel pure.

“What happened to the wound on your heel?” Zhong Qing was actually observing it.

“Just some pair of shoes rubbing against it.” Dong Huaci tilted her head back and laughed, adjusting her dress to cover herself. “What exactly are you focusing on, Zhong Qing?”

Things became a bit more serious afterward. This was likely Zhong Qing’s bedroom. Zhong Qing rarely came to this villa; some rooms were pathetically empty, with even the mattresses being brand new. In this bedroom, which seemed to be the only one with signs of life, Dong Huaci buried her head in a very soft pillow. In her moment of greatest pain, hallucinations uncontrollably emerged.

Zhong Qing’s hair tangled around her again, the fragrance now overwhelmed by sweat. She looped back to that convenience store night when they first got together—the end of a dance performance, a few words at eighteen, and a cup of green bean shaved ice. She had been rash yet determined, unswerving and irreversible, binding her life completely to another person’s. They couldn’t be separated.

Even if torn apart by external force, they would still be connected by bone, blood, and scars.

Zhong Qing narrowed her eyes, about to stuff the handkerchief into Dong Huaci’s mouth.

At the last moment, she hesitated. She propped herself up, her black hair cascading down like a waterfall, and asked in a beautiful whisper, “Is this okay?”

She is so beautiful.

Being enemies with such a beautiful person was worth it; being someone she hated so much she couldn’t forget was the most, most, most worth it.

Dong Huaci smiled slightly and nodded.

Their respective fanbases had become the greatest of enemies. Behind their individual search terms, there were always the jarringly inseparable names of the other. No matter who landed or took off, the other side would offer nothing but ridicule and belittlement. At this moment, however, it seemed like a carving of destiny. It had all started when Dong Huaci had caught a glimpse of an advertisement one afternoon and harbored a tiny daydream, sitting before a shared, old computer, calculating the skyscrapers of Shanghai and the splendid future she was about to plunge into.

Dong Huaci’s voice was swallowed, imprisoned; she was back in that small classroom.

She subconsciously reached to organize her schoolbag, wanting to go home to see her mother.

When she snapped back to reality, the sky outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was turning the color of a fish’s belly. Dong Huaci sat up abruptly, suddenly realizing that during the most vulnerable night—after the double blow of her career and her family—she had engaged in round after round of such absurd behavior.

She stood up, only to see Zhong Qing sitting on the sofa directly facing the head of the bed, wearing pajamas, silently watching her.

Dong Huaci froze on the bed—it was instinct, but she didn’t actually find it frightening, purely because she knew Zhong Qing too well. “Can’t sleep when you’re with someone?”

Zhong Qing chuckled twice. Knowing Dong Huaci’s predicament, she took a robe from the closet. “Wear this. I’ll head out, or you can just sleep in my bed.”

Dong Huaci gave an “um,” then added, “It’s nothing, you don’t have to leave—I just realized I haven’t showered.”

Zhong Qing said, “It’s fine. I couldn’t sleep, so I took the liberty of giving you a quick wipe-down.”

Dong Huaci sighed, then noticed the handkerchief in Zhong Qing’s top pocket. “Do you still have insomnia?”

Zhong Qing smiled bitterly; she also understood Dong Huaci’s emotions. “It’s not because of you.”

After these few words, Dong Huaci couldn’t sleep either. She threw on the bathrobe and went to shower. When she came out, Zhong Qing was nowhere to be seen. She pushed open the door of the master bedroom and went straight downstairs to look for her. There were so many rooms; she pushed open a door and, though the person wasn’t there, she saw that while the furniture was sparse, there were many items—even a row of camera lenses.

This time, Dong Huaci truly froze.

Because she also saw a wall covered entirely in photos of her. The timeline basically started after their breakup: “goddess-tier” shots of her. There were some from her “eye-candy” roles, some red carpet stills, and some from her Weibo updates. All were printed out, appearing casual yet arranged methodically by color blocks on the wall.

Opposite the wall sat a sofa.

To say Dong Huaci was moved would be a complete self-deception.

She was afraid.

She finally understood the reason she had insisted on breaking up with Zhong Qing back then. It was because she felt that in this relationship, Zhong Qing’s influence on her destiny was too great; she no longer felt like a complete person. Inequality in money could be balanced by emotional devotion, but the imbalance in career development caused Dong Huaci to break down due to inferiority and self-doubt. In the end, during their arguments, she had even begun to over-defend herself and strike Zhong Qing because of Zhong Qing’s habitual dominance.

Zhong Qing took the hits without fighting back, precisely because she was certain Dong Huaci would feel guilty and wouldn’t have the heart to leave.

And so, and so…

Yes, she didn’t want to become a doll for someone to admire—not as an idol, not as an actress, and not as a lover.

The problem was, by the time she realized this, she still loved Zhong Qing.

She loved how Zhong Qing always extended a helping hand when she was at a dead end; she loved her obsessive and devoted sacrifice; she loved her go-it-alone, self-talking brilliance and unparalleled grace; she loved that expression of hers where everything was a trifle; and she loved the urgency and helplessness in her voice when, at the time of her mother’s death, Zhong Qing had inappropriately said, “I will be your only family, don’t cry.”

But she also distorted her name, fixed her image, and ignored her ambition.

She was always saying: “Xiaoshu, do you really want to leave the group? Don’t. If you leave, where will you go?”

The sound of a door opening rang out.

Dong Huaci turned around to meet Zhong Qing’s expressionless face.

Dong Huaci forced her emotions down. “Zhong Qing, you’ve bought so much photography equipment.”

Zhong Qing nodded, showing no sign of embarrassment. “If I can’t make it in the entertainment industry one day, I’ll go be a photographer.”

They stood face to face. Then, Zhong Qing took Dong Huaci’s hand and led her to the sofa.

“Why are you standing here like a fool?” Zhong Qing sighed, subconsciously asking, “What are you worrying about now?”

Dong Huaci didn’t speak.

“If it’s about your father, I can promise you: he will never affect you again,” Zhong Qing said, observing Dong Huaci’s expression.

“What did you do this time?” Dong Huaci asked.

“Called the police, asked for some favors, used burner phones, or used the various low-lifes around him to give him all-around hints: either leave the country or get caught.” Zhong Qing spoke these words softly, in a rhythmic, broadcasting tone. “Xiaoshu, I am just an ordinary person with no special privileges, using the most basic methods.”

Dong Huaci flashed a smile, like the final bloom of a flower before it withers—the height of prosperity leading to decay, one petal already teetering on the edge.

She said, “Zhong Qing, do you want to do it again?”