Chapter 41: “Leave a Scar” Part 1

“Wen Shijia follow-up is here!”

The Guide with the limp, sitting in the passenger seat, was idly scrolling through short videos. The shrill AI-generated female voice typical of clickbait accounts kicked off the clip in her usual piercing tone.

The weather was fine, with warm sunlight rolling across their faces like heat radiating from sun-baked leather.

It seemed as if the next line would bring a dramatic close to this explosive gossip. But the Guide tsked and swiped it away, clearly uninterested in showbiz drama.

Fu Tingli rested her head against the still-chilly car window. Dazzling daylight rolled over her face before spilling onto her phone screen like scattered pearls.

She replied absentmindedly to the flood of concerned messages on her phone: assuring Qiao Lipan she was safe, updating Li Weili on the crew’s schedule, briefing Wen Yingxiu on the status of all the sculptures, reminiscing about these past few idle yet packed days, and chatting with Xia Yue about the fun incidents that had cropped up.

Beside her sat two colleagues from the art department who had come to pick her up—or rather, to collect the car full of sculptures and props.

Now, sparked by the short video the Guide had just skipped, they fell into casual chatter:

—“This whole Wen Shijia thing is probably over now, right? A full denial?”

—“Yeah, her company issued a statement debunking it. Wen Shijia’s not gonna go against them and pipe up, is she? You think this is some novel? Where the Film Queen gets outed with hard proof?”

—“True. For all the hookups flying under the radar in this industry—guys and girls alike—if it ever goes fully public, no one knows if they’ll win that gamble. One misstep, and your career’s done for life…”

—“Exactly. Look at how bold Wen Shijia usually is, picking fights with trash directors right on Weibo. But now? Radio silence.”

—“Proves there’s a ton of backroom wheeling and dealing. If she actually spoke up, who knows what mess would erupt? Weren’t there rumors her next film recast her? Now with the denial, not only does the movie announce her as lead, but even if the netizens are convinced, as long as she and her company don’t admit it, give it a month or two and it all blows over. Hell, her status as the lesbian fandom’s top catch might even get louder than before.”

—“So this hype actually works out for her in the end…”

The voices around her buzzed chaotically. It had only been a few days without a phone or internet, but Fu Tingli already felt disconnected from it all.

She felt like some nameless savage emerging from the frontier, the outside world having transformed into something utterly alien to her.

And yet, it had only been three days. Why did it feel so jarring?

Fu Tingli leaned her aching back against the seat and let out an inexplicable sigh. Her finger accidentally jabbed the screen.

When she looked down again, it was no longer the WeChat chat interface but a Weibo post that had popped up right in front of her.

It was a clickbait account reposting Wen Shijia’s company denial of the romance rumors, trailed by a string of snarky comments:

【Boring. Thought Chinese showbiz finally had an open lesbian couple. Nope, same old vague denial, another one in hiding.】

【Didn’t they dig up that ordinary girl? Jiang Mou or something, works as a high school teacher. Wonder if she got suspended for this. Kinda tragic.】

【Tragic my ass. Dating Wen Shijia and she’s tragic? Girl played her cards perfectly, landed the Film Queen to foot the bills. Some office drone worrying about her? Spare me.】

【Way too harsh. You just assume she’s living off Wen Shijia? No such thing as love in your world?】

【Who said it’s love? Wen Shijia (and her company) already said they’re friends, just got drunk and confused. Girls do that sometimes, right? Totally normal.】

【You buying that? I’m not. Wen Shijia stayed silent for the longest time—probably cut a deal with Jiang Mou before responding.】

【Gotta say, this pair’s handling it classy. At least no messy back-and-forth like those past scandals, no screenshots or lawyer letters flying, no one humiliated.】

【That’s just ’cause the payout was fat. Bet Jiang Mou pockets a nice sum, quits her job, and becomes a mini-influencer. She’s decent-looking anyway.】

【Anyone see Jiang Mou’s real face pic? So this is the off-screen girlfriend of a top-tier Film Queen? /doge. Anyone else thinking ‘I could pull that off too’? /doge】

The final comment showed 7,845 replies. Fu Tingli’s finger hovered over it, but in the end, she didn’t tap. She didn’t need to open it to know the replies would be crammed with scrutiny of “the top Film Queen’s off-screen girlfriend.”

—Dissections of her looks, shoehorning every feature into narrow beauty standards, just like what Xia Yue had endured; judgments on her past life, every hardship picked apart from every angle; speculations on her love life, twisting desire and affection into something sordid amid the online clamor.

Maybe there was never any love between them, but these voices had already tainted it; maybe there had been a profound romance, small and sweet in its purity, only to be magnified, trampled, and reduced to this burdened wreckage.

As the snowy road stretched smoothly ahead, Fu Tingli thought: So that simple line in dramas—“lovers eventually unite”—becomes such a grueling ordeal in reality, especially in this circle.

She cracked the window for some air. Amid the sliver of wind squeezing through, she couldn’t help thinking of the girl dubbed “Jiang Mou.”

They’d never met, but Fu Tingli imagined: If their love was real, how heartbroken would Jiang Mou be amid these true and false barbs? How aggrieved to be a Film Queen’s secret girlfriend. And if it wasn’t love, how much turmoil and pressure was upending her life right now?

She wondered what it would be like if she were Jiang Mou…

—Her thoughts jammed to a halt there. She forbade herself from going further.

She glanced at her now-darkened phone screen and realized she at least didn’t want to be one of those prying eyes. So she swiped back out of Weibo, even deleted the app, locked the phone, and tossed it into her bag.

Her gaze flicked to the window. The car rounded a bend, passing the rescue station fully sheathed in corrugated metal.

A figure in a white coat emerged from inside, wrapped in a faded red plaid scarf.

Doctor Mu leaned against the wall, puffing on a curling cigarette, smiling faintly as she watched the car depart. The whole figure looked weathered, like a faded photo from the early 2000s.

—It was Doctor Mu.

Fu Tingli suddenly recalled what Doctor Mu had said when they left the station: “Next time, I’ll tell you.”

Before she could decide whether to ask to stop, the car sped past, leaving Doctor Mu’s silhouette at the distant intersection—a tiny white speck.

The off-roader churned through the thick pine snow, its tires mercilessly grinding the pristine white into filthy gray slush.

Fu Tingli pressed close to the window, watching for a long time before withdrawing her gaze in quiet disappointment. She knew they were almost out of Hewatu Village territory.

She knew too many regrets lingered here—she’d never ridden the Hewatu cable car, never watched a sunrise or sunset, hadn’t even heard the opening of Doctor Mu’s story.

Three days, and it was already rushing impatiently to an end.

As the scenery and houses faded into the distance, Fu Tingli spoke up.

“Can we stop the car for a sec?”

The car fell silent. Her art department colleagues turned to her with concern. “Did you forget something?”

“What’s up?” The driver was the other Guide who had arrived in a new vehicle: Aishan.

Their previous car still wasn’t fixed, so they’d transferred over with the trunk full of sculptures and gear.

Aishan hit the brakes and glanced back at her. “If you forgot something, we can turn around. No rush.”

“It’s nothing.” Fu Tingli shook her head. Facing their caring, friendly stares, she smiled, hurriedly unbuckled her seatbelt, and said,

“I’ll just hop out here.”

She stepped out of the car then, ignoring the stunned looks from inside, and jogged a few steps back until she stood on Hewatu Village soil. She took a careful, wide stride to the roadside and pulled out the beverage bottle the Guide had given her when she boarded.

She chugged the contents in a few gulps, her nose reddening. Then she crouched down and scooped handfuls of the soft, pristine snow, painstakingly packing it into the bottle.

She jogged back, climbed in, rebuckled her seatbelt—her fingers still stiff and red.

Facing the curious stares in the car, Fu Tingli curved her eyes in a smile and held up the bottle. The snow inside was packed solid, not even shifting.

Sunlight filtered through the thick snow layer onto her face, like a brief moment of blankness. In that blankness, there was only the vast snowy wilderness and two open, unburdened lives.

“Take some snow with you, as a memento.”

She said it honestly. In truth, if she could, she would take the entire Hewatu Village with her.

Aishan let out a hearty laugh, then floored the accelerator with one foot. “You artists are such romantics.”

Her colleagues from the art department smiled at her too. “See, I told you this place had staying power. It’s only been three days, Tingli.”

Fu Tingli smiled.

“What’s up, little sister?” The limping guide in the front passenger seat piped up, turning his head to check on her with concern. His mop of curly hair was still a tangled mess.

Fu Tingli smiled and shook her head. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“Exactly, it’s not a big deal at all. Let me tell you, the snow in Kanas is way more stunning than this little village in Hewatu. That’s when you really hate to leave.” As Aishan spoke, he slapped the limping guide’s thigh and winked exaggeratedly.

“You know it, right, Azati?”

Azati’s hooked nose was red from the wind, and his laugh made him look just like Pinocchio. After hearing Aishan’s words, he grumbled a bit in dissatisfaction but still turned around and asked Fu Tingli in his halting Mandarin,

“You’re really gonna miss Hewatu, huh, little sister?”

“A little bit.” Fu Tingli smiled, not denying it.

“No problem then.” Azati waved it off with a cheerful grin, then pointed at the road ahead.

“The village where your crew is staying is super close to Hewatu. The main road goes right through here, so you can just flag down any car on the side of the road and come visit. The locals are all super friendly—if it’s convenient, they’ll give you a ride no problem.”

He casually smoothed down a stray curl as he comforted her.

“If you wanna come back, just come next time.”

Fu Tingli clutched the bottle of snow in her hand, feeling the quiet melting of the snow inside. She responded softly,

“Sure, next time.”

~~~

The crew had arranged a spacious wooden cabin for Kong Liyuan. It had neat gray wooden floors, warm golden lighting, and a massive glass window that took up two-thirds of one wall, offering a clear view of the thin layer of snow piled up outside.

With her back to the window, she ended the live stream with a smile on her face. Once it was over, Rong Wu showed her a few trending search terms:

Kong Liyuan Stranded in the Northern Border#

Kong Liyuan Live Stream#

Kong Yan Squats Award Ceremony for Kong Liyuan Live Stream#

Looking closely at the entries, there were only a few news photos from the media squatting outside after she arrived at the crew’s location, plus some leaked shots from fan cams. Nothing from her time in Hewatu had leaked yet in photos.

Someone had protected her very well, always standing in front of her, sincerely communicating with every person who saw her face.

The simple locals, and those two tourists whom Fu Tingli had called “sisters,” hadn’t said a word even after singing and dancing with them all night.

That was what Kong Liyuan thought as she gazed out at the snow beyond the window.