Chapter 74: Fourteen

Ye Can’s eyes widened at those words. “Why don’t you want to see me? Is my face that ugly?”

She pulled Lin Zixi’s hand away from her face and leaned in close. “Take a good look. I’m not ugly at all, right?”

This had nothing to do with ugly or not!

Lin Zixi stared at Ye Can’s beautiful face magnified right in front of her eyes, at those slender lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Her heart felt like it was being lifted by a thousand butterflies, and everything around her suddenly turned dreamlike and enchanting, leaving her a little dizzy.

Gazing at that face, she couldn’t help but think of that tragic love story. She even felt like the Ye Can before her was the king Gantang would meet in her next life.

Lin Zixi finally understood why some actors, after immersing themselves in a heart-wrenching romance, ended up in dating rumors with their co-stars. They’d date briefly, then break up quickly.

In the end, it was because the story’s pull was too strong—they couldn’t snap out of character right away.

Lin Zixi felt herself trapped in that exact state. She was Calamity Nation‘s screenwriter, after all; she should know better than anyone that it was just a story.

But Ye Can’s acting was too good. Every time she appeared before Lin Zixi, she became You Wang in her eyes.

Lin Zixi knew full well that tragedy worked by taking something beautiful and shattering it utterly, creating endless regrets in the process—regrets that became another form of beauty.

That was why so many sequels focused on fixing tragedies. Audiences craved them to give those heartrending stories a happy ending, mending past regrets.

Calamity Nation was just too heartbreaking. As its creator, Lin Zixi found herself slipping into the mindset of a character or reader, yearning for a perfect resolution.

Just like You Wang had said in the story—they’d promised a next life.

But in real life, there was no next life. People only got one shot at it; once you died, that was it forever.

The past stayed buried, with no room for do-overs.

Reality was that cruel, which was why people poured their hopes into literature, film, and other creations—spinning beautiful, absurd tales.

That’s exactly why, after Calamity Nation‘s past-life story ended, Lin Zixi had written Gantang as a lingering soul seeking He Chuan’s help to retrieve You Wang’s lost spirit from the darkness.

That was the allure of tragedy, and it had ensnared Lin Zixi herself. Facing Ye Can, she inevitably fell into a false romance.

She knew perfectly well she was treating Ye Can as You Wang’s incarnation, projecting her feelings onto her. But the clearer she saw it, the harder it was to resist Ye Can’s pull.

If this kept up, she might end up like those actors who couldn’t break character—diving into an unnecessary romance, only to realize they weren’t their storybook selves and part ways.

She reached out again to block Ye Can’s face. “It’s not about whether you’re ugly or not. It’s just…”

She lowered her head, took a deep breath, and said to Ye Can, “If this goes on, I’m afraid I won’t be able to snap out of it. I might actually fall for you.”

Ye Can sucked in a sharp breath. She stumbled back a full step, yanked up her collar to cover her face, and threw up her hands in a defensive posture. “Then I’ll vanish! You won’t have to see my face. I swear I won’t show up in front of you!”

“So you absolutely… absolutely can’t fall for me!”

This was as dangerous as life itself!

Lin Zixi watched Ye Can leap back what felt like ten feet away, and the dreamy haze that had tangled her heart for days evaporated in an instant.

She gazed at Ye Can, who had buried her face in her collar from a distance, and let out a self-mocking laugh.

How could this little nutcase of a Ye Can possibly be the mad, powerful, tender, and devoted You Wang from the story?

And hey, her own conditions weren’t half bad, were they? Would it really be so awful to be liked by her? Was her affection poisonous or something? Why did Ye Can always recoil like it was the plague whenever the possibility came up?

Lin Zixi’s temples throbbed, her head pounding. An unfamiliar anger mixed with a faint, barely noticeable grievance filled her chest. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned into the darkness.

In the frigid winter night, with her back to Ye Can, Lin Zixi said, “I’m heading out. Go back.”

“Don’t worry—as long as you stay out of my sight, I definitely won’t fall for you.”

“Liking a puppy like you? I’d rather like my keyboard.”

Ye Can kept her collar over her face and crept forward, cautiously stepping on Lin Zixi’s shadow. “You mean it?”

Lin Zixi didn’t look back. “What, you think I’m lying? What about you—other than being good-looking, knowing martial arts, and being a little smart—is there anything else to like?”

Ye Can trailed behind, nodding vigorously like a chick pecking rice. “You’re right. Someone useless like me wouldn’t attract anyone, so definitely don’t fall for me.”

Lin Zixi halted, realizing her words had been pure spite. She took a deep breath and resolved to ignore Ye Can from then on.

They walked back in silence. Once at the hotel, Ye Can proactively asked the front desk about spare rooms and smoothly moved out of Lin Zixi’s.

After a month of sharing a bed—even through arguments, impossible to chase away—Ye Can had fled Lin Zixi’s side in panic over one “I might fall for you.”

That night, Lin Zixi lay alone in the cold sheets and suddenly realized Ye Can really did have psychological issues.

She treated Lin Zixi like her most cherished lover, cradling her close—yet couldn’t accept that affection when it might be returned.

The more Lin Zixi thought, the more tangled it got. She grabbed her phone and aimlessly Baidu’d everything.

Like a girl awakening to first love, she floundered through web pages, scouring for clues on shaking off her immersion, sexual orientation, and more.

Amid the chaos, she linked Ye Can’s name to “one-sided love.”

And she began to sadly think that if she ever truly fell for her, she’d have to bury it deep underground, never letting it see the light of day.

Because Ye Can, like You Wang, was the type to lavish gentleness but stingily withhold reciprocation.

Lost in wild thoughts all night, Lin Zixi barely slept. With Calamity Nation‘s scenes wrapped, she had nothing to do on set, so she slept straight through till noon.

When she woke, sunlight bathed the winter scene outside in a warm glow.

Sitting up, she checked her phone—Ye Can had sent several WeChat messages.

Starting at 7:30 a.m., one every hour.

One explained she’d gotten up early to shoot Yu Yuan’s scenes and run extra extras. Another reminded her to eat breakfast and not go hungry.

Pretty thoughtful—if not for the last one.

Ye Can’s final message was infuriating; Lin Zixi could almost hear the cautious tone through the screen: “Lin Zixi, do you still might fall for me today?”

Lin Zixi decided to ignore her all day. With a cold face, she typed impassively: “I might still fall for you today.”

Sure enough, after sending it, she didn’t see Ye Can all day.

Lin Zixi even thought this could be her go-to trick to make Ye Can vanish whenever she wanted space.

The pattern held for days, even after Ye Can wrapped Yu Yuan’s scenes—they still hadn’t met.

Without seeing her co-star for days, Lin Zixi gradually pulled out of Gantang’s role in Calamity Nation through reading and watching dramas.

You Wang’s hold on Ye Can faded, but Lin Zixi was startled to find Ye Can’s influence on her hadn’t diminished at all.

Those indefinable feelings for Ye Can grew clearer. Lin Zixi dimly realized something had turned impure.

That day, Ye Can’s WeChat arrived as usual. Lin Zixi hesitated but replied the same: “Today, I might still fall for you.”

Ye Can, probably on her phone, replied instantly: “Can you not have that possibility? Don’t fall for me, okay?”

This was Ye Can’s first real response. Lin Zixi paused, then typed: “Why? Liking someone happens naturally, doesn’t it?”

Ye Can: “Because I’m worthless. You shouldn’t like me.”

Lin Zixi stared at “worthless,” falling into prolonged silence. Another message pinged, placating: “Don’t like me today. Just today, okay?”

Lin Zixi: “Why?”

Ye Can: “Because I want to see you today. If you might still like me, I won’t dare show up.”

Lin Zixi stopped replying. She sat at her computer, staring blankly at her desktop, lost in silence.

She sat alone until night fell. With a sigh, she resignedly stood, changed clothes, and headed out.

On the cab ride to the set, she messaged Ye Can: “Okay, I don’t like you today.”

“I’m coming to pick you up at the set.”

When she arrived, Ye Can was still filming. Lin Zixi stood in a corner amid the bustling crowd, watching the radiant Ye Can in the lens. Hands in pockets, she buried her face in her collar and breathed out a puff of cold air.

After some time, the director yelled “Cut.” Ye Can, in her extra’s costume, whipped around with a beaming smile and shouted, “Lin Zixi!”

Then she ran toward her.

In the darkness, Lin Zixi watched the girl dash from the bright lights—the gloomy yet brilliant eighteen-year-old—and her heart pounded uncontrollably.

Thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…

Like the apple that hit Newton, Ye Can hurtled into her arms under gravity’s pull.

Lin Zixi lifted her heavy arms, resting her cheek gently on the other’s shoulder. In her daze, she finally heard her heartbeat clearly.

In that moment, Lin Zixi understood: it was the thunderclap awakening spring, the start of every damp rainy season.

It was her… belated… unforgettable first love.