We Are Filthy, Born From Mud - Chapter 55

Chapter 55: Yes, She Suffers. She Doesn’t Want to See Her Own Face Anymore…

Zong Liangu never appeared again. She never contacted Zong Yougu once, as if she had completely vanished from Zong Yougu’s life force. Yougu even called Ge Ya, but Ge Ya claimed to know nothing at all, and her confusion didn’t seem feigned.

Zong Liangu had simply disappeared; not a shred of information could be found. Consequently, for a long time, Zong Yougu doubted whether Zong Liangu had ever truly existed. They had never taken a single photo together, nor had they ever appeared before a camera at the same time. Neither Zong Yougu nor Zong Liangu were romantic people; they had never exchanged gifts or written things for one another. It could be said that Zong Liangu had left no mark on Zong Yougu’s life.

Does Zong Liangu really exist?

In the dead of night, Zong Yougu couldn’t help but wonder. Perhaps it was all just her delusion—because she was too lonely, too stifled, so she had imagined such a person to comfort and deceive herself. It wasn’t until that photograph appeared that her wild thoughts were scattered.

Ever since seeing that photo of Zong Liangu, Zong Yougu couldn’t stop searching her own name on various social media platforms, looking for posts about “accidental encounters.” Was this because she missed Zong Liangu? No, of course not. How could she miss Zong Liangu? Zong Liangu had abandoned her, and she had abandoned Zong Liangu. She only wanted to track Zong Liangu’s movements to determine if the other woman posed any threat to her. That was all.

Searching by keywords actually revealed quite a few encounter posts. However, most were cases of mistaken identity—people mistaking someone else for her, resulting in a farce. But after careful screening and identification, among the scattered photos, Zong Yougu did indeed find traces of Zong Liangu.

Zong Yougu’s brows knit tightly together, the soft flesh between them forming a deep furrow. Is Zong Liangu really this careless?

Zong Yougu was not entirely ignorant of Zong Liangu’s abilities. She had heard Zong Liangu talk about her past life more than once. Dangerous operations had forced Zong Liangu to develop the habit of being cautious in everything. Zong Liangu’s prudence had amazed Yougu, and her exquisite disguises had left her in awe. So, why was Zong Liangu being photographed? Had her current life numbed her nerves, making her less vigilant than before? Or was this something Zong Liangu was doing intentionally?

There were three confirmed photos after the screening. One was inside a grocery store, with Zong Liangu carrying two cases of drinks. The second was on the street, with Zong Liangu carrying a small folding stool. The third was the one Zong Yougu had seen that afternoon: Zong Liangu holding an umbrella, walking hurriedly.

As Zong Yougu observed the details in the photos, they became more familiar the longer she looked. The grocery store, the streets, the familiar curbs. This was the street near the film studio. What was Zong Liangu doing there?

Forget it. Whatever Zong Liangu did had nothing to do with her anymore. As long as she didn’t disturb or hinder her, Zong Liangu could do whatever she liked.

She slumped heavily onto the sofa, the soft cushions enveloping her and letting her sink in. There were many mirrors in the suite; as soon as Zong Yougu lay down, the mirror at the entrance foyer faced her directly. She stared at herself in the mirror, lost in thought. She placed her fingers on her shoulder, her thumb moving in circles to rub her shoulder blade—Zong Liangu used to like doing that.

Last year, also in a hotel, they had fooled around on the sofa in the room. Back then, caught in the throes of intense stimulation and pleasure, had she ever expected that in just one short year, she and Zong Liangu would have abandoned each other?

Zong Yougu sighed and hugged a pillow tightly. Previously, she had been so grateful that Zong Liangu looked exactly like her; she felt lucky to have met another “her” in this world. Their identical appearance had allowed her to quickly accept Zong Liangu’s presence, and the consistency from the outside in made her fall uncontrollably in love with Zong Liangu.

But now, she began to hate this identical appearance. Every time she looked in the mirror, every time she saw herself in a photo, she would think of Zong Liangu. She and Zong Liangu had left behind nothing for her to remember her by—no photos, no letters, no gifts… but every time she saw the mirror or herself in a camera, she would involuntarily think of Zong Liangu.

She had moved into a new home where every living facility was provided and all appliances and furniture were the best. Only the best was worthy of her. However, she specifically did not install mirrors, and even the glass windows were chosen to be frosted and matte. She didn’t want to see her own face anymore. At least for now, she didn’t want to be reminded of Zong Liangu.

Zong Liangu, Zong Liangu. Why did Zong Liangu haunt her life so relentlessly?

There was an important shoot tomorrow—Lu Ting’s first time singing. It was an extremely vital scene, and she couldn’t let her state be affected. Better sleep. Everything would be better after a night’s rest.

Clutching the cushion, Zong Yougu lay half-reclined on the sofa and fell asleep like that. Her sleep was shallow; she woke several times during the night, sleeping fitfully.

The next day, Xu Lianxia arrived right on time to pick up Zong Yougu. She wasn’t in a hurry because she knew Zong Yougu would definitely come downstairs later than her. After a few days of adjustment, she had already discovered the artist’s lifestyle habits and had roughly figured out Zong Yougu’s personality.

Xu Lianxia leaned over the steering wheel with some distress, her brows tightly knit. How could she be so unlucky as to become Zong Yougu’s new assistant? Initially, she had been quite happy. Having been in the industry for so long, most of the artists she followed had little fame. The less famous the artist, the more fragmented the work, forcing the assistant to run around everywhere every few days. Such busy work had exhausted Xu Lianxia.

But this time was different. This was Zong Yougu—an artist who had just won an award. Being her assistant meant Xu Lianxia’s own future would become bright and expansive. Of course, her friends had warned her that Zong Yougu’s personality wasn’t great. But so what? The salary was significantly higher than before; for the sake of the pay, she could endure it. Besides, Xu Lianxia was naturally thorough; there was no task she couldn’t complete and no artist she couldn’t please. She had started the job quite happily.

But…

Indeed, Zong Yougu was outstanding; everyone in the crew praised her. Her professional skills were solid—it seemed there was no scene she couldn’t perform well, and every performance was perfect to the extreme. What was even more commendable was that after receiving so much praise, she remained so diligent and humble. She would patiently listen to various voices, and even in the face of blunt criticism, she could still smile and nod. No one in the crew failed to praise Zong Yougu—except for her new assistant.

Xu Lianxia felt she must have committed some sin in her past life to be assigned as Zong Yougu’s assistant. Zong Yougu’s temperamental and caustic nature was well-hidden on the surface, but as soon as they were in private, she would become a different person, making no effort to hide her malicious fault-finding. Sometimes Xu Lianxia wondered how a person could be so contradictory.

Over the past two days, she had finally managed to get Hu Yinghua’s contact information—not for anything else, but just to find someone to vent to. Only Hu Yinghua could empathize with her. However, what puzzled her was that Hu Yinghua’s response speed was very slow, and there were many typos in the chat box, as if they were sent while she was semi-conscious. Perhaps Hu Yinghua had been mentally broken by Zong Yougu’s torment—this must be the aftereffect. Xu Lianxia silently expressed her sympathy for Hu Yinghua in her heart.

The car door opened, and Zong Yougu got in. While starting the vehicle, Xu Lianxia peeked at Zong Yougu through the rearview mirror. Zong Yougu didn’t seem to have rested well. Her eyes were slightly swollen, and several obvious red blood vessels streaked through the whites of her eyes. Zong Yougu frowned, her expression exhausted, with obvious displeasure written all over her face.

Must be extra cautious today; absolutely do not provoke her, Xu Lianxia thought secretly.

“Teacher Zong, the director said there will be a music consultant on-site to give you a brief explanation later. He wants you not to go to the dressing room first.”

“Mm.” Zong Yougu gave a soft grunt, rubbing her temples with her thumbs.

In fact, the upcoming scene was not easy for Zong Yougu. Strangely enough, Zong Yougu was good at everything, except for music—she was completely tone-deaf. She couldn’t hear pitch and couldn’t distinguish instruments. Even though the company had arranged training for her in the two months after she took the role, and she had studied a lot of material on her own, she had memorized music theory by heart, but everything else remained stagnant. She still couldn’t hear pitch or distinguish instruments. Fortunately, her voice was naturally pleasant, so even being slightly out of tune wouldn’t sound too terrible.

“Teacher Zong, over here!”

Zong Yougu opened the car door. She didn’t get out and walk toward the set until Xu Lianxia held the umbrella for her. The director waved, and the props team handed a guitar from the rack to Zong Yougu.

“Teacher Zong, this is the guitar for the shoot later.”

Zong Yougu frowned imperceptibly; the guitar was truly a bit dirty. The strings were covered in dust, and the tuning pegs were somewhat rusty. But she didn’t show it; she merely smiled and nodded.

“The music teacher we invited has also arrived. I’ve adjusted the filming; your scene has been moved to the afternoon. Practice with her for a bit.”

Zong Yougu’s eyes crinkled as she said, “Director, I’ll do my best.”

She picked up the guitar, weighed it in her hands, and then sat down on a plastic stool. Carefully recalling her training, she crossed her legs, rested the guitar on her lap, and cradled it with both hands. Her white, slender fingers lightly plucked the strings.

“One look and I can tell you’ve put in the work. Very standard,” the music consultant said, patting Zong Yougu on the shoulder.

Zong Yougu lowered her head slightly, appearing a bit embarrassed. She said, “Teacher, once you hear me sing later, you won’t be able to smile.”

Zong Yougu’s fingers continued to pluck the strings. If it weren’t for this shoot, she felt she would never have had anything to do with music in her entire life. Her fingers plucked one by one; the strings varied in tension. With each pluck, the tightened string continued to vibrate, vibrating against Zong Yougu’s finger.

“Teacher, this string seems too tight. It’s cutting into my hand.”

The consultant smiled and patted Zong Yougu on the back. She said, “I just tuned the notes. The thickness and tension of each string are different; that’s only normal.”

“Is that so?”

Zong Yougu felt slightly relieved and continued to play. The crisp sounds echoed in the blazing sun. The teacher frowned.

“Not right.”

“What’s not right? I shouldn’t have played the wrong note.”

“The pitch is wrong. It’s too high.”

The consultant’s eyes widened slightly, and she reached out to take the guitar.

Twang—

The guitar string snapped instantly. The severed metal wire quivered and danced in the air, its sharp broken end brushing across Zong Yougu’s eyeball and drawing a line of blood beneath her eye. Sharp pain radiated from the wound.

The screams here attracted everyone nearby, followed by the sound of an ambulance. Zong Yougu was pushed into the ambulance amidst the chaos.