The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 51.1

She smiled sweetly, set down the microphone, and dashed toward the audience seating, just as she had done countless times after performances when she was eighteen.

On the night of the Golden Flower Awards, the air was thick with the clamor of voices. Nominees and crew members appeared one by one on the red carpet, posing for flashes that burst and scattered like staggered fireworks.

Dong Huaci walked among the final group of people on the red carpet, wearing a grand princess dress that bloomed like a flower.

As early as a few weeks ago, Dong Huaci’s team had not only received the nomination but had even received hints regarding the award itself. Dong Huaci didn’t ask much about how Zhong Qing had pulled off this miracle—allowing a “pretty face” actress to have the chance to win such an honor in the first art-house film of her youth. In any case, her vast plaza of fan photos and stacked marketing had already announced her formal return. After the counter-cyclical release of The Flower Decided to Become a Tree at Thirty achieved a near-miraculous result of 700 million at the box office for an art film, this actress, Dong Huaci, had officially returned to the entertainment industry. She had the title of a “Huadan” (lead actress), and she had her rightful place on the red carpet.

The days when she would have her center position snatched by similar female stars at a fashion show were long gone.

Success nurtures one’s aura. Clad in her finery, Dong Huaci’s face radiated a full, healthy glow. She had moved away from the fixed styles of girl-group makeup and internet-celebrity aesthetics. Since the movie’s release, she had abandoned heavy eyelashes and “aegyo-sal” highlights, focusing instead on the watery, expressive spirit of her eyes.

Dong Huaci had eyes that, despite having weathered a thousand sails, remained as sweet as a child’s.

She was not cold, nor did she specifically adopt the self-pitying posture of her film character, “Little Flower.” Throughout almost the entire process, she smiled fervently, greeting people left and right and engaging in brief, fixed conversations, as if she wanted to flaunt her current triumph to the entire world.

During the outdoor host’s signing segment, the crew stepped aside, leaving Dong Huaci alone to conduct a simple interview with the host in front of the backdrop.

The host, dressed in a formal suit, said: “On behalf of everyone, I’d like to ask in advance: when Teacher Dong learned the news of the nomination, who was the first person you shared the joy with?”

Everyone naturally wanted to hear Zhong Qing’s name.

Dong Huaci smiled and glanced toward the crowd. She and Zhong Qing had rehearsed this question countless times in a room with bright lights. Dong Huaci could naturally play another person in front of Zhong Qing’s camera, and she could look into Zhong Qing’s eyes without changing her expression and say: “It’s okay, Zhong Qing. I can accept all the pressure you bring.”

Zhong Qing would take photos of her; Zhong Qing would secretly record her; Zhong Qing would madly want news of her every day.

Dong Huaci had fallen in love with Zhong Qing’s love, and naturally, she fell in love with this “Night of the Stars”—a night that was her destiny as an actress and a celebrity.

The bright lights dimmed. During the rehearsal, Dong Huaci remembered Zhong Qing’s gaze suddenly becoming heavy. She pressed her face against Dong Huaci’s, her hands restless. She said, “Little Tree, you have to say the answer one more time.”

Flawless.

Dong Huaci snapped back to the present; she knew Zhong Qing had been watching her from the crowd for a long time.

She said: “I received the news along with the crew, and I was naturally surprised. But strictly speaking, the first person close to me who was unaware and whom I told was my mother.” She closed her eyes, paused for two seconds, and then opened them, her eyes glistening with a slight hint of tears. “She is very happy for me. She lives forever in my heart, and I believe she will repeatedly fall in love with all the different versions of me and will always support—” Dong Huaci made the signature “Little Tree” greeting gesture from her girl-group days before returning to her original posture, “—all of my decisions. And my audience friends are the same; thank you for your constant companionship and support.”

The sound of camera flashes erupted. In the inner press area, there were cheers from fans who had actually purchased those seats.

Such an answer for this brief interview segment was of sufficient length and sufficiently decent. Under the host’s blessings, Dong Huaci then picked up a pen and signed her name.

However, the host did not let her go as she expected: “Teacher Dong, please stay, stay for a moment. We have one more question to ask Teacher Zhong Qing.”

The commotion nearby grew even louder.

Zhong Qing was not here as an actress today, but in a strict sense, a director could indeed accept interviews.

For this Golden Flower Awards red carpet, compared to Dong Huaci’s grand attire, Zhong Qing was dressed exceptionally low-key. She wore a pair of black-and-gold low heels and, as if attending someone’s funeral, had styled a very tasteful, fully-wrapped black gauze mermaid dress that didn’t even expose her arms, with only a white flower brooch as a simple accent. She had her hair pinned up, exposing her entire forehead, without a single stray strand needing adjustment, allowing that face—which seemed to brush away the floating light—to become the most perfect crowning jewel of her entire ensemble.

Tap, tap-tap-tap.

She stood beside the host almost calmly, facing Dong Huaci with a half-smile, and then acted as if she had just clumsily remembered to greet them: “Hello, hello.”

This was Zhong Qing’s trick; she loved to act cool or innocent when she cared deeply about something. Dong Huaci was already laughing internally; she always felt that when she was with Zhong Qing, it was very easy for her to return to being eighteen.

The host, feeling the pressure of the gaze, said: “Teacher Zhong Qing, it is rare to have a personal interview segment with you outside of a film promotion event, as you seldom accept private interviews to answer detailed questions about a movie. Among those behind the scenes, you are always humble, pushing the screenwriters and even the makeup artists to the front line… I remember, Little Guan, did she also serve as a unit leader for the film? This is all an embodiment of Teacher Zhong Qing being ‘heavy with affection and righteousness’ (Zhong Qing Zhong Yi).”

The scene erupted in another round of supportive clamor.

“Little Guan” was the new nickname for Guan Feili. Zhong Qing always remembered the care she had shown to Dong Huaci and herself back then, as well as her die-hard friendly support during Dong Huaci’s time as a streamer.

Back then, it was always thought to be a low point, but thinking about it now, why did it all seem like a kind of warmth? She had watched Dong Huaci’s livestreams every day; at that time, Dong Huaci seemed more genuine, unrestrained, and reckless as a streamer than as a minor actress.

Human hope, as it turns out, only remains within—waiting and hoping.

Thinking of this, Zhong Qing was willing to give a small concession on this festive day: “I don’t deserve such praise, I don’t deserve it.” She smiled. “I may have been an entertainment worker for too long. The identity of a director is not only a challenge to the secular world—requiring time for everyone to digest—but I have actually reflected for a long time on whether such a transition would ultimately turn into a farce, making everyone who likes me feel disappointed in me.”

Hearing these words, Dong Huaci also lowered her head slightly, her gaze downcast.

Her heart ached.

The whole world wanted to see their scandalous romance; they wanted them entangled, hating, and deeply in love; they wanted them to succeed, to slap others’ faces, or to fail miserably. But eighteen-year-old Dong Huaci and nineteen-year-old Zhong Qing, in the beginning, only hoped the other could be truly happy.

Afterwards… how did it come to today?

Another overwhelming wave of shouting ensued. Dong Huaci snapped back to reality, realizing that Zhong Qing was continuing her speech after a question she had missed due to being lost in thought.

“However, some things are very hard to compromise on.” Zhong Qing was, as always, able to show great charisma at certain moments. “It is hard for a person to refuse the guidance of the heart. I love my past career, and I love my current career just as much. Through both, I have harvested happiness.”

The definition of this “happiness” was ambiguous, causing the entire venue to become even more restless. Zhong Qing did not look at Dong Huaci; she simply handed the microphone back to the host.

Or perhaps, Zhong Qing didn’t dare to look.

Even though the award was almost a certainty, Zhong Qing was still unwilling to throw out a clear expression in this setting, consciously blurring her original intention.

Her restraint was… because she was afraid.

She wanted Dong Huaci to succeed.

The host’s goal was halfway achieved, just like the relationship between Dong Huaci and Zhong Qing. Everyone knew, everyone acknowledged it, and the internet could admit it, but in an official public setting, there was no admission whatsoever.

This predicament belonged to the environment and the collective unconscious.

Dong Huaci seemed to think of nothing; she just kept her large eyes open, smiling as she listened. Zhong Qing and Dong Huaci left the stage one after the other. Zhong Qing walked in those high heels with extraordinary haste, while Dong Huaci only felt some secret pain.

So, you would use any means to eavesdrop on her, film her, observe her… Zhong Qing, you are the one who is more afraid.