Chapter 62: Ceremony

It was the cusp between spring and summer, and the night air remained comfortably cool.

After pedaling a few kilometers, Jiang Qingmeng wasn’t drenched in sweat, but she wiped her face with meticulous care anyway. A faint smile played on her lips, and her eyes held a gentle glow.

The media swarmed them both. Jiang Zhizhou was long accustomed to the scorching stares and blinding flashes of cameras, but she wasn’t used to such tender treatment in front of a crowd.

Her heart melted into softness, yet reason reminded her that affection had its proper time and place.

And right now wasn’t it.

Jiang Zhizhou schooled her features into neutrality, gripped Jiang Qingmeng’s wrist, snatched the tissue from her hand, and wiped the sweat from her brow herself. Then, playing the roles of both assistant and bodyguard, she parted the throng. “Please make way, everyone. We’ll have interviews set up shortly—let her through first.”

Jiang Qingmeng allowed herself to be led along, though her smile dimmed just a touch.

She wasn’t the only one held up.

Two or three more celebrities trickled in shortly after—a trendy young idol arriving on a tricycle, an industry veteran pedaling a shared bike. They dismounted glancing awkwardly about, tinged with embarrassment and unease.

Tonight’s awards ceremony was hosted by one of the nation’s most prestigious art associations. With its reputation for professionalism, no artist dared risk arriving late.

The prizes themselves were among the TV industry’s top honors. Jiang Zhizhou hadn’t attended one in her previous life, but the format was much the same across events: production teams entered one by one, with the male and female leads walking the red carpet arm in arm, signing the backdrop, posing for media shots, and exchanging a few words with the host.

Jiang Zhizhou cleared a path through the crowd and escorted Jiang Qingmeng into the venue.

A staff member spotted her and hurried over to guide them.

After scrutinizing Jiang Qingmeng’s makeup and finding it flawless, Jiang Zhizhou directed her to rejoin the cast of At Least There’s You.

Jiang Qingmeng hesitated for a moment, then gave the palm of Jiang Zhizhou’s hand a quick pinch.

Jiang Zhizhou tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Be good and go on ahead. I’ll be waiting for you at the other end of the red carpet.”

Her tone was just like coaxing a child off to kindergarten.

Jiang Qingmeng pinched her palm once more, let out a soft hum, released her hand, and turned toward the crew. She exchanged greetings with the group before politely looping her arm through that of the male lead, ready to make their entrance.

At Least There’s You was a teen idol drama that had aired the previous summer. Jiang Zhizhou had forced herself to watch it back then, contributing her minuscule slice to Jiang Qingmeng’s viewership numbers.

At the time, she hadn’t yet recognized her own feelings. Watching Jiang Qingmeng romance someone else on screen had left her deeply unsettled, a sour and bitter frustration bubbling up that she could only blame on the trashy plot, the eye-searing male lead’s performance, and his pretty-boy looks that lacked any real masculinity.

In her frustration, she’d slapped the show with a one-star rating on Douban.

Now, eyeing the male actor in his sharp suit—tall, handsome, far from a mere pretty boy—she reconsidered.

She glanced at Jiang Qingmeng, her arm linked with his.

Under the flashing lights, the pair struck glamorous poses—handsome man, beautiful woman, a sight for sore eyes.

Out of professional courtesy, Jiang Zhizhou tamped down the twinge of jealousy in her chest. It was just work, she told herself. Leads linking arms was standard procedure. No need to turn green with envy; she’d have to get used to it eventually.

Her self-pep talk faltered toward the end, though—a bit of sourness lingered all the same. Jiang Zhizhou rubbed the spot in her palm where Jiang Qingmeng had pinched.

Let her stew in it, then. She was a jealous soul reborn.

Tonight, Jiang Qingmeng wore a sleek black gown that made her skin gleam like jade. With her fiery red lips and eyes brimming with allure, she shed her usual ethereal innocence for a sultry vibe that turned heads and stunned the crowd. The media clamored for solo shots.

She glanced back at the line.

The next crew was waiting. With a nod and a smile, she agreed—but urged them to make it quick.

Jiang Zhizhou caught the female co-star from At Least There’s You rolling her eyes at Jiang Qingmeng.

Bai Zhen, the show’s second female lead.

Jiang Zhizhou had loathed her acting back then, too.

Truth be told, Jiang Qingmeng’s skills weren’t exceptional either, but Jiang Zhizhou viewed her through rose-tinted glasses, habitually overlooking those minor flaws. She’d powered through the drama and eventually bumped its rating up to two stars.

After striking a couple of poses, Jiang Qingmeng gave a gracious nod to the cameras and strode off, clearing the way for the next group.

By the time she reached the front, the opening ceremony hadn’t officially begun. Fellow stars who’d already walked the carpet spotted her and dragged her into chats and photo ops.

Little Ai hadn’t arrived yet, so Jiang Zhizhou stepped in as her temporary assistant. Once Jiang Qingmeng had handled the greetings and settled into her seat, Jiang Zhizhou worried she might be hungry and fetched some bread and pastries to tide her over.

Jiang Qingmeng parted her lips expectantly, as if waiting to be fed by hand.

Cameras were everywhere, and as the center of attention, Jiang Qingmeng drew endless eyes. Jiang Zhizhou didn’t dare risk anything too intimate. She simply handed over the bread and let her eat it herself.

Jiang Qingmeng pursed her lips, a hint of grievance flickering in her eyes. “My assistant used to feed me.”

Jiang Zhizhou was both exasperated and amused. “I’m not your assistant.” Even so, she couldn’t stand seeing that aggrieved expression. She shifted slightly to shield her, tore off a small piece of bread, and held it to her lips.

This time around, the At Least There’s You production crew had snagged a nomination. Jiang Zhizhou asked, “You aiming to win anything this time?”

Jiang Qingmeng knew her place. “I did some digging—it’s just a nomination. That’s plenty for me. If I actually took home an award, everyone would point fingers and call me undeserving.”

She paused, then added, “My fans aside. They’d probably say even an Oscar would be par for the course.”

Certain domestic award shows came with their unspoken rules. Stars who knew they had no shot at winning skipped the event rather than play runner-up. They only showed up when victory was all but guaranteed.

Lately, the trend had snowballed. Organizers, terrified of a star-starved red carpet, bent to ratings pressure. With big money pulling strings, they handed trophies to hot idols, watering down the prizes until their credibility tanked and their reputation lay in ruins.

Jiang Zhizhou flicked Jiang Qingmeng’s nose. “You’re young. Plenty of shots ahead of you.”

Jiang Qingmeng nodded, then turned to her. “The live stream’s about to kick off. Check my lipstick—is it still good? Did I eat any off?”

“You got a little on it. Here, let me fix that.” She fished the lipstick from Jiang Qingmeng’s bag, crooked a finger under her chin to tilt it up, and carefully traced the curves of her lips with the other hand.

Those lips were plump and rosy. Jiang Zhizhou stared for a few seconds, her mind drifting unbidden to their days of constant closeness. Heat crept into her ears. She looked up, locking eyes with Jiang Qingmeng, and caught the soft, watery affection shimmering there. Without thinking, a flicker of her own feelings slipped through.

Two seconds of silent gazing—then a barrage of camera flashes erupted.

Jiang Zhizhou released her and stepped back, shooting a cold glare in that direction. There stood a reporter with a media badge, snapping away at them.

Jiang Qingmeng offered the lens a faint smile, then strolled over. She hooked a fingertip under the staffer’s badge, noting the name and outlet. “New media outfit, right? I’ve met your Manager Wu. Before you drop that press release, shoot a copy over to my team. Someone’ll sort things out with you.”

The reporter grinned and nodded, then asked if he could grab a few more shots of her solo.

Jiang Qingmeng smiled and gave the go-ahead.

Once every celebrity had paraded the red carpet, the ceremony kicked off proper. Little Ai and a few team members hustled in just in time.

Jiang Qingmeng dispatched her PR folks to handle that reporter, then claimed her seat. She fixed a polite smile in place and tuned into the host’s spiel.

Jiang Zhizhou stuck with her own crew, trading light chit-chat.

Everyone on the team had some inkling of her tie to Jiang Qingmeng but kept it zipped. They treated her with the same courteous distance they’d give any agency colleague—professional to a fault.

Jiang Zhizhou knew the heavy hitters on that team cold. Pull any one at random, and they were industry names. A couple even outranked her past-life creds; she’d be calling them “sis” or “ma’am” at any networking gig.

Half an hour in, intermission hit.

Stars sipped water or freshened makeup.

Jiang Qingmeng itched to summon Jiang Zhizhou up front for a touch-up and a drink but figured that’d look off. Instead, she scampered backstage for a peek.

Jiang Zhizhou flicked her nose with a helpless smirk. “Clingy much? I’m here with you—I won’t bail early.”

Lovebirds got mushy; that was par for the course. But trekking down here mid-break, in public? That was next-level.

Stung by the clingy jab, Jiang Qingmeng’s pride smarted. She shook off her hand and bolted back upfront.

Little Ai kept her gaze firmly down, mum, though inwardly she griped: Miss Shen, you’re riding high on that favor! Half the town begs for a glance from my boss, and she won’t waste a blink.

Jiang Zhizhou shrugged it off.

No soothing required here.

One offhand line wouldn’t truly rile Jiang Qingmeng.

Real anger meant no hand-shakeoff—instead, a icy smirk followed by frosty politeness.

Besides, clinginess had limits. Their world meant long separations; she’d adapt. Spotlights never dimmed; restraint was key.

The hall sweltered with bodies and stale air. Midway through the second half, Jiang Zhizhou slipped out for a breather.

Her bodyguards shadowed her every step.

Jiang Qingmeng had Jiang Dong pass the edited recording and raw evidence to Xiang Ya. Naturally, it was all “accidental”—a feigned slip-up for her to snag.

She had devoted herself to charity all these years, hoping to wash away the guilt she’d accumulated from her past sins. Seeing that Shen Xinghe had truly lost her memory, forgotten all those events, and become like a completely different person, she let out a temporary sigh of relief and chose a hands-off approach.

Jiang Zhizhou glanced at the bodyguard and thought to herself: I need to talk this over with Qingmeng. We shouldn’t have him shadowing me every step of the way. Sure, it felt safe, but it left no room for freedom.

In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had bodyguards too, but they hadn’t stuck quite so close.

Besides, these were people arranged by someone else—not ones she’d hired herself.

He drew a salary from both her and Jiang Qingmeng. If she wanted to know Jiang Zhizhou’s every move, he would report it all faithfully.

It was like having a human surveillance camera planted right by her side.

Outside the venue, brilliant lights sparkled here and there, with a handful of staff and volunteers patrolling for safety and handling logistics.

Jiang Zhizhou sat down on the highest step and gazed at the fountain in the nearby square.

She had come to this venue many times in her previous life, attending grand ceremonies and walking all sorts of red carpets. Back then, she’d only seen the glamour and excitement, never realizing how desolate it could feel out here.

Footsteps approached from behind—not the click of high heels, but the sound of leather shoes.

Jiang Zhizhou made a quick judgment: a man.

“Hello, may I sit next to you?” The voice was mild and courteous, low and magnetic, like a gentle spring breeze brushing past.

Jiang Zhizhou knew it all too well: Wen Xun.

She sighed inwardly and said, “Of course, please have a seat.”

She had never imagined crossing paths with him again—especially not at a ceremony Jiang Qingmeng was attending.

Wen Xun tactfully left a meter of space between them before sitting down. He looked at her and said warmly, “Miss Shen, my name is Wen Xun. I’ve watched your TV drama, Injustice Cleared. Your performance was outstanding.”

Jiang Zhizhou offered a polite smile. “Thank you.” Only then did she turn to take a proper look at him.

He wore a black suit with a white shirt and a sea-blue tie. His eyes were as gentle as a lamb’s, his nose bridge high and straight, his lips curved in a smile. The once jade-like gentle youth had matured over the years into someone even more reserved and steady.

Jiang Zhizhou only studied him for two seconds before looking away. She stood up and said her goodbyes. “I’ll head inside now. The fountain here’s pretty nice.”

Take your time enjoying it.

Wen Xun asked, “Did I disturb you?”

Jiang Zhizhou shook her head with a smile. “Not at all. It’s just that my wife gets jealous easily. If she saw me out here alone with a man, watching the fountain, she’d throw a fit. See you around.”

Especially since this man was her old flame.

Wen Xun nodded with a smile of his own. “I see. You two must be very much in love. My blessings to you.” He stood as well and handed her a business card, cutting straight to the chase. “I know a good director who’s looking for an actress—apparent age nineteen to twenty-two, height over one-seventy but under one-seventy-five, with a background in dance or martial arts. I think you fit the bill perfectly, Miss Shen. It might be worth auditioning.”

Jiang Zhizhou took the card. “Director Li Ze, right?”

The height restriction to within five centimeters—that was his signature quirk.

“Yes.” Wen Xun admitted it readily. “He’s a talented director. I could make an introduction for you.”

“Thanks for the kind offer,” Jiang Zhizhou said as she pocketed the card, though she turned down the introduction. “I’ll look for audition opportunities on my own. No need to trouble yourself.”

Her refusal was direct, but Wen Xun betrayed no awkwardness. He simply nodded and said warmly, “Sorry for bothering you.”

Even after all these years, he was still so unfailingly polite.

Jiang Zhizhou said nothing more and waved goodbye. “See you.”

Wen Xun nodded. “See you.” He watched her retreating figure, and after a moment, a trace of unmistakable sorrow crept into his gaze.

Jiang Zhizhou clutched the business card and thought: I should probably tell Qingmeng upfront about running into a guy named Wen Xun tonight. The last thing she wanted was some clichéd drama—”You hid it from me, so you must have a guilty conscience!” “I didn’t say anything to avoid a misunderstanding!”

Her conscience was clear; she walked upright and sat straight. What was there to misunderstand? Better to head off trouble at the pass—be upfront whenever possible.

The awards ceremony wrapped up. Just as Jiang Qingmeng had predicted, she only earned a nomination, no win.

When the reporters asked how she felt, she responded politely and gracefully: the seniors were all so accomplished, she still had many shortcomings, and she hoped to take them as role models and learn from them.

Once the interview ended and they were back in the car, Jiang Qingmeng flung herself straight into Jiang Zhizhou’s arms.

Jiang Zhizhou had been scrolling Weibo; the sudden bear hug nearly sent her phone flying.

Jiang Qingmeng pinched her earlobe and whispered, “You were so cold to me tonight.”

Jiang Zhizhou held up her phone screen. “The me in these photos was plenty enthusiastic toward you.”

The number one spot on Weibo’s trending topics bore Jiang Qingmeng’s name. A quick tap revealed videos and photos of Jiang Zhizhou giving her a ride on her bicycle, a shot of her holding Jiang Zhizhou’s wrist, and another capturing the intimate moment when she applied lipstick to her lips as they locked eyes in a deep, lingering gaze.

Of course, apart from the CP fans, no one read any romance into it. Even the ones screaming “I’m totally shipping this!” were mostly just kidding around.

Jiang Qingmeng’s solo fans still dominated the top comments, lavishing her with nonstop flattery while hyping up her latest endorsement deal and new drama.

“Don’t worry, nothing will get out of hand. My studio keeps a twenty-four-hour watch on public opinion and will steer things in the right direction.” Jiang Qingmeng gently rubbed Jiang Zhizhou’s earlobe, staring intently at her. Abruptly, she tilted up her chin, her gaze turning dark and predatory as she asked, “Are you… really that scared of them finding out about us?”