The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 48

Director Zhong Qing VS Streamer Xiao Shu

Two years in the entertainment industry is enough time for the world to turn upside down.

The names of the popular “Little Flowers” had changed in a full circle, while the evergreen “Big Flowers” remained the same few. Because of their unique romance exposure back then, Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing, who had chosen to retreat from the spotlight together, only had their names mentioned in certain mysterious internet forums.

After the photos of them staying overnight together were leaked, Zhong Qing hadn’t said a word; she simply issued an apology letter, quit the industry, and never appeared in public again, choosing instead to study in the UK. Dong Huaci, on the other hand, made a relatively gentler exit. She simply didn’t take on—and couldn’t get—any TV dramas or variety shows for a long time. For two years, with the help and guidance of Guan Fei, she only released a few vlogs and did occasional livestream sales. It was as if she had been banned by the mainstream, suffering a slight sense of desolation as she was forced to step down from being an actress to an internet celebrity.

Fortunately, Dong Huaci actually found joy in her busyness. After Zhong Qing went abroad, she poured all her energy into self-media and rescuing cats. Zhong Qing never appeared in her content; she simply displayed her own life, possessing an air of self-contentment, as if she couldn’t care less if the world outside was flooded.

It was a very ordinary day.

She no longer had a company, a manager, or an assistant; she had become a temporary little star shining in the depths of the internet. Without makeup, she brewed some black tea, put on black-rimmed glasses, and started an emotional counseling livestream to listen to melodramatic and lingering same-sex love stories, thank people for gifts, and occasionally daze out at one particular ID. That ID was SEVEN-ONE. The profile picture was a very “art student style” meaningless color-graded landscape. Dong Huaci knew in her heart that only Zhong Qing could create that kind of vibe.

Today, Dong Huaci continued to pretend she didn’t know who the account belonged to, smiling brightly as she thanked “SEVEN-ONE” for the small gifts. She chatted with her fans about her daily life as if they were old friends. Unfortunately, “Zhong Qing” remained a banned word in her livestream room. Some fans would be more “clueless” and hint at her recent love life. Dong Huaci would just smile, take two sips of tea from her cute giant water bottle, and eventually say unhurriedly, “Oh, being with all of you every day makes me very happy. This streamer isn’t looking to date right now; I’m busy watching short dramas every day.”

Shortly after, Dong Huaci saw the account “SEVEN-ONE” send another large wave of gifts.

Dong Huaci enriched her life through daily livestreams, satisfying Zhong Qing’s subtle desire for control. She pretended not to know who the account was, and Zhong Qing pretended she hadn’t been discovered.

When the news first broke years ago, they truly spent a period of time as “birds of the same fate.” Dong Huaci hid in Zhong Qing’s house; her daily routine consisted of eating with Zhong Qing, playing single-player games with Zhong Qing, and sleeping with Zhong Qing at night. They lived a short-lived, disconnected-from-the-web life in a “Peach Blossom Spring” built upon sufficient wealth. Occasionally, Dong Huaci would pull Zhong Qing to dance in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows—not K-pop dances, but the lyrical, gentle style of ballroom dance. Zhong Qing was a natural talent; she could dance anything well. She wouldn’t speak, almost indulgently raising her hand. The perfect arc of her long arms allowed Dong Huaci to appreciate the charm of dance for the first time. It wasn’t about selling smiles, hints, the pain of a bridge-back, or the soreness of leg stretches; it was a guidance of emotion. Because Zhong Qing’s K-pop dancing was so good, people often overlooked her mastery of the essence of dance—it wasn’t just about hitting a move or following a rhythm, but truly blending into a certain feeling, a feeling that belonged to Zhong Qing. Under this sensation, Dong Huaci felt a genuine sense of inferiority. She would place her hand in Zhong Qing’s and gaze at her from an admiring perspective. The question regarding “Was it you who exposed Zhao Xuanxuan’s tax case?” would get stuck in her throat, unable to be asked. Instead, she peacefully allowed herself to get drunk in this brief fantasy dream.

One month later, during a very ordinary dinner—Dong Huaci still remembered that meal. Zhong Qing had cooked, making a fish. Dong Huaci sat there picking the bones out of the fish for Zhong Qing while saying, “Zhong Qing, TV dramas and movies might be out of the question now. I want to try filming short dramas.”

Zhong Qing was scooping rice for Dong Huaci.

She shut the rice cooker with a heavy thud, and the divinity she possessed while dancing vanished instantly. Her tone now was almost biting: “To go and act out intimate scenes with various men for the down-market industry? Is this the end of the so-called career you fought for by leaving me, Dong Huaci?”

Dong Huaci lowered her head and continued to pick out the fish bones. The pieces of fish were placed one by one into another bowl; for some reason, she felt she shared a common fate with the fish meat at that moment.

Dong Huaci paused and asked, “Are we going to hide like this for the rest of our lives?”

Zhong Qing laughed. “Is that not okay? What’s wrong with it? Tell me… you just have to be self-reliant? What do you want to prove? That you are better than me… or that you will eventually fall for someone who can help you with your acting… regardless of whether they are a man or a woman…”

Seeing that Zhong Qing’s paranoia was worsening, Dong Huaci realized deeply that their current way of being together was not a healthy one. She seemed completely unable to understand Zhong Qing; she was still so afraid of her, even though she was the one who proposed the breakup and the one who had struck her.

Zhong Qing walked over and looked at Dong Huaci, seemingly realizing the harshness of her tone just now. “You just want to act, I understand. Wait until they fall from power… the wheel of fortune always turns. What are you in such a rush for? Your status is easy to lose but hard to regain.”

Dong Huaci shook her head. “I’m just very afraid.” She gently pushed the bowl of fish meat in front of Zhong Qing. “Zhong Qing, you have a family background and you have talent. Aside from my influence, I have nothing.”

Zhong Qing stared at her. “You have me.”

Dong Huaci looked back at her. “And when will you get tired of me?”

Zhong Qing frowned. She skipped the meal entirely, seemingly to avoid further arguing with Dong Huaci, and went upstairs to play the guitar for half an hour. Dong Huaci sat downstairs in silence for that half hour; it was the first time she felt lonely even while Zhong Qing was home. Finally, unable to bear it, Dong Huaci went upstairs and knocked on Zhong Qing’s door.

“Stop playing, don’t your hands hurt? You’re still like a little girl; you were like this back then too, always running off to the rooftop without a word,” Dong Huaci said, forcing a cheerful tone.

Zhong Qing couldn’t help but retort: “And you’re the one who saw a photo of my former roommate and starved yourself for three days. I almost thought I had amnesia and had actually dated her—I was simply standing up for her because of the unfairness.”

Talking about the past always brought a sense of softness. Dong Huaci smiled. “I was afraid of you being liked by others. So many fans love calling you ‘wife’.”

“Your fans call you that any less?” Zhong Qing was still in an angry mood, her guitar plucking out several notes that sounded almost crumpled and noisy. “Regardless, you are not allowed to go act in short dramas.”

“That is my ideal, Zhong Qing.” Dong Huaci suddenly plucked up her courage and looked into Zhong Qing’s eyes very seriously. “And of course, it is also my guarantee of survival.”

Zhong Qing grabbed Dong Huaci’s wrist, pulling her a bit closer, gazing at the marks on her skin from the past few days. Suddenly, her brow unfurled. “I’m not stopping you from acting. I want you to act in something better. These past few days, I’ve thought about it too. If it really doesn’t work out, my days as an idol are over anyway, so I’ll go learn to be a director.”

Dong Huaci’s wrist hurt from the grip. She suddenly had a premonition that she would be entangled with Zhong Qing until the day she died.

Zhong Qing continued to observe her expression. “If I go abroad, will you come with me?”

Dong Huaci instinctively shook her head. “If going abroad means only accompanying you, I think… I’m unwilling. I am my own person.”

Zhong Qing felt a bit of regret, yet also a touch of admiring appreciation—she always loved this about Dong Huaci, though sometimes she hated it too: this life force that was fatal and eye-catching, including her independence, self-strength, and ceaseless vitality. She said, “Then we will have to separate for a while. But—you have to live here.” She was almost unreasonable. “And you aren’t allowed to act in short dramas; anything else is up to you. You can study, or do anything else you want. I understand that actors inevitably have romantic plotlines, but I don’t want you to appear in certain types of romantic lines for the sake of vulgarity and traffic.” Zhong Qing’s wording was as restrained and refined as possible, causing Dong Huaci to pointlessly imagine that if Zhong Qing hadn’t entered the entertainment industry and had instead inherited her mother’s career, she would surely have been someone with an impressive degree from a business school.

In the end, Dong Huaci smiled. She said, “Zhong Qing, don’t be afraid of being apart from me.”

Zhong Qing was always decisive. She left the house to Dong Huaci, and within six months, she had passed her language exams, secured her visa, applied, and found a school. A prestigious school might just be an extra title, but during her remaining time in the country, Zhong Qing very frequently—one could even say pathologically—took many photos of Dong Huaci. There were photos that could be posted and those that couldn’t. Dong Huaci had always had reservations about this; she used to think that being captured in beautiful photos was a pleasant experience, until she met Zhong Qing.

The day before she went abroad, they had a huge fight over a trivial matter. In fact, Dong Huaci understood that it was likely just Zhong Qing’s anxiety acting up. She could no longer remember the cause; she only remembered Zhong Qing grabbing her phone, cutting off her internet, and preventing her from contacting the company. Dong Huaci started hitting Zhong Qing with pillows, but eventually, Zhong Qing’s physical strength won out. She didn’t hit Dong Huaci; she simply spent the latter half of the night pressed against her, somewhat regardless of Dong Huaci’s wishes. Dong Huaci wished she could pull out all of Zhong Qing’s hair, while Zhong Qing silently pinched her. Consequently, when Zhong Qing left the next day, Dong Huaci deleted all of her contact information immediately.

She cried a long time and spent three months trying to be an ordinary person without Zhong Qing, reconnecting with some friends. Back at her old company, she had hardly left any friends behind—including He Xizi—partly because of Zhong Qing. Fortunately, things were different now. She slowly began posting daily updates on Weibo, discussed a peaceful contract termination with her company, and learned that Qiao Yi had successfully graduated after stopping her work as an assistant and had joined an advertising agency as a management trainee. Shi Xiaonan always hoped she would make a comeback; in whatever form, being gay wasn’t a death sentence in the entertainment industry. As long as they didn’t officially announce a marriage registration abroad, there would only be a “soft ban,” and there might be a turning point later.

Dong Huaci was very grateful to Shi Xiaonan; true friendship is found in times of trouble. Her manager hadn’t enjoyed much glory following her, and she had always felt a sense of guilt. The only benefit of being a “frozen” artist was that terminating the contract was convenient. After the peaceful termination, she just kept the company’s name as an affiliation, occasionally helping them with sales and doing her daily livestreams.

Two years. For these two years, the connection Zhong Qing provided her was through Alipay transfers, mysterious gift packages arriving at her house, and tips received in the livestream room. Sometimes Dong Huaci wondered if Zhong Qing would fall in love with someone else in Europe; other times, she felt that although they were separated by thousands of miles, Zhong Qing was always watching her. She was forever paying attention, forever loving her—to the point where Dong Huaci couldn’t tell if this was her own narcissism or her intuition.

It was another ordinary night.

Dong Huaci changed her clothes, put on her rimless glasses, and sat in Zhong Qing’s massive living room to livestream. The screen was full of comments saying “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and Dong Huaci suddenly realized what day it was. That specific ID hadn’t shown up. Feeling a strange sense of loss, Dong Huaci looked toward the front door.

She thought: If only Zhong Qing were here.

She nervously touched her neck, her face showing a strange flush caused by the warm air conditioning. The doorbell rang—likely another gift from Zhong Qing. Dong Huaci almost couldn’t wait to end the stream. After saying goodbye to everyone, she hurried past the sofa in three steps to open the door.