Chapter 3

Zhongqing_Belle [V]

For whom the bell tolls

Having silently read the Weibo account’s details on her screen four or five times over, Zhou Siyou’s eyes curved—still looking like a smug puppy with its tail held high.

Startled by that look, Fang Ming shook her head hard. “…Quit grinning like an idiot. She was just being polite, following back.”

Zhou Siyou paid the words no mind at all, only brushing her off. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Fang Ming sighed and let it drop.

In truth, when she’d first glimpsed that notification on Zhou Siyou’s screen, she’d gotten quite a shock herself.

As for Zhong Qing herself—newly arrived in the domestic industry—Fang Ming had no idea what her temperament or tastes were like; she’d only heard through the grapevine that the woman was cold, even somewhat strange.

So now Fang Ming instinctively assumed it was merely a courteous follow-back, nothing worth fussing over. Besides, Zhou Siyou got carried away so easily that Fang Ming had grown used to being the one to pour cold water on her.

“Zhou Siyou,” Fang Ming said then, “it’s just a follow-back…”

Zhou Siyou cut her off. “Keep singing the contrary tune and I’ll fire you.”

It was a threat, but her tone was unmistakably smiling.

Fang Ming pursed her lips.

…Zhou Siyou was being far too strange tonight, Fang Ming thought.

She’d lost the award, the hit pieces were flying everywhere, netizens were having a field day mocking her online—and all she cared about was whether Zhong Qing had followed her back?

What even was this? Love at first sight turning her into a love-brained fool?

Before she could grumble further, Zhou Siyou reached up and tugged the back of the driver’s seat. “Little Qu—drop Sister Ming off at her place, then take me to the nursing home—”

Zhou Siyou had a relative who lived in a nursing home year-round, and she visited regularly. That in itself was nothing unusual.

But—

Fang Ming’s eyes went huge. “Ancestor, it’s the middle of the night!?”

“What about it being late?” Zhou Siyou was unbothered. “The caregiver told me on the phone that Auntie sleeps all day but is actually awake in the small hours. So I’m going to see her.”

She glanced at Fang Ming and added, “Oh, right. Send me copies of those three GIFs from earlier.”

“…What GIFs?”

“The ones where they say I’m desperately pining after Zhong Qing. Nice captures—the lighting’s flattering.” Zhou Siyou smiled without a trace of embarrassment. “Remember to send them.”

Then she turned to fix her eyes on the driver. “Little Qu, let’s go.”

Driver: “Got it.”

Fang Ming: “…”

The nursing home lay deep in night, lit only by a few dim lamps along the corridor.

Leaving the driver to wait in the car, Zhou Siyou moved on quiet feet, navigating with practiced familiarity toward the innermost room on the lower floor.

Beside the hospital room’s window, a gray-haired woman sat in a wheelchair, staring out at the night, silent and still.

The caregiver in the room, catching sight of Zhou Siyou, greeted her awkwardly.

“Same as always?” Zhou Siyou asked softly.

“…Mm. Same as always.”

“Her hearing?”

“Also the same.”

“…”

While they spoke, the woman never turned her head—as if she couldn’t hear a word.

Zhou Siyou asked again: “Has anyone else come by?”

“Anyone else?” The caregiver blinked. “No…”

Zhou Siyou nodded to her.

Light on her feet, Zhou Siyou stepped forward in a few quiet strides, bent slightly at the wheelchair’s side, half-kneeling, and called softly, “Auntie Yurou.”

The woman ignored her, still staring blankly into the night.

The caregiver murmured a reminder, “Auntie doesn’t remember her own name anymore.”

At those words, Zhou Siyou pressed her lips together and called again: “…Mom.”

Only when that syllable fell did the woman seem to gather a flicker of spirit.

With effort, she raised her head toward Zhou Siyou, her clouded pupils glimmering faintly.

But her eyes were still strangers’ eyes.

Zhou Siyou was used to that look by now; she didn’t lose heart.

She only said, “Zhong Qing is back.”

Zhong Qing.

Those two words brushed lightly over the woman’s aged face, deepening a few of the wrinkles.

Her eyes froze for a beat, and lines rippled out layer by layer from the corners of her brows.

“Zhong Qing…” Her pale lips moved, and the woman slurred out those two syllables.

“Zhong… Qing…”

Zhou Siyou watched her quietly, not daring to make a sound and interrupt.

Murmuring those two words, the woman slowly turned back—but the moment her gaze touched the flickering night beyond the window, the sound died away.

She sank back into her earlier wooden blankness.

The name “Zhong Qing” sank down inside her, swept past in a light brush, a few more murmurs…

There was no telling whether any of it had been carved into her heart.

After a long silence, Zhou Siyou sighed, rose to her feet, and looked at the caregiver. “Thank you for continuing to look after her.”

The next afternoon.

At a studio on the city outskirts, several equipment trucks were parked along the city’s coastline.

Dusk was approaching, the streets sparse with people, and the shoot crew secured the location as they’d hoped.

Zhou Siyou had run her placeholder race and made no splash, so her resources remained the same middling assortment as ever.

This magazine shoot—the photographer and magazine she was working with—counted as some of the better resources within reach of someone of Zhou Siyou’s tier.

The van was a bit cramped. The makeup artist adjusted the brushes in hand while Zhou Siyou leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, napping.

“Sister Siyou, this look is a little intricate, so the makeup will be a bit… a bit heavier.” The makeup artist murmured as she worked; with each pass of the brush, she unconsciously layered extra powder beneath Zhou Siyou’s eyes.

To cover the two huge dark circles there.

She asked, “Sister Siyou, did you not sleep well, or are you in a bad mood?”

Zhou Siyou turned her face away and answered with half a yawn.

The makeup artist tactfully went silent.

Inside the van, only the hum of the heater remained, brushing gently against her face, a little dry.

The makeup artist’s touch was soft; Zhou Siyou was drifting hazily toward sleep.

Then, at some point, a clatter rang through the van.

Someone had come in from outside, hands apparently incapable of staying still, fidgeting with a bottle opener, scraping it against the makeup table.

This was Zhou Siyou’s model partner for the shoot—a young woman with narrow, elongated eyes, tall and thin.

The makeup artist turned slightly and said in the tiniest of voices, “Shh… Teacher Zhou is napping. Can you keep it down?”

The model shot her a glance—and completely ignored her.

If anything, she made even more noise with that metal bottle opener.

“Uh…” The little makeup artist felt awkward, but didn’t dare let things escalate. She turned back, picked up her brush again, and just wanted to finish quickly.

‘Less trouble is better than more’ was a maxim carved into most people’s bones; when something happened, their instinct was to give way and compromise. After all, enduring for a moment brought calm seas, while impulsiveness could bring incalculable consequences.

—Unfortunately, in Zhou Siyou’s heart, she genuinely might not know how to spell the word “endure.”

“I told you to keep it down. Is that hard to understand?” she said coldly, raising her voice.

The surroundings abruptly fell quiet—and that quiet curdled into oppressive tension within seconds.

The brush swirled in loose powder, tapping against its plastic case; even those leaked sounds felt smothered.

But the model still ignored her.

As if in challenge, she pressed the metal bottle opener down and dragged a grating screech across the wooden tabletop.

What she scored wasn’t the tabletop.

It was everyone’s eardrums.

Zhou Siyou vaguely recalled that this model was related to someone at the magazine—young and carrying her own funding into the job—which was why she was arrogant in this baffling way.

Zhou Siyou just laughed inwardly. The production crew really knew how to arrange things. Everyone in the industry could see it plainly: Zhou Siyou’s temper was foul and her conduct mediocre at best—when would she ever genuinely put up with anyone?

The moment the makeup artist swept on the setting powder, Zhou Siyou tilted her face slightly toward the model, her tone halfway between a smile and its opposite. “Would it kill you to stop making noise? Are you deaf when I tell you to be quiet?”

“Hey—! Zhou Siyou!”

Fang Ming’s eyes went huge, but before she could intervene, the model had already retorted, “A scandal-ridden has-been like you—since when do you get to order me around?”

With a clatter, Zhou Siyou rose from her seat.

She had looked drowsy and listless, but when she lifted her eyes, her gaze was cold enough to kill.

“You—”

“Okay, okay—no fighting, no fighting, no fighting.”

Fang Ming hurried over in a few strides and pulled them apart, plastering a smile on for the model and offering a few apologies, then turned back to glare at Zhou Siyou—half in jest—and said in a low voice, thick with exasperation, “This is work. Rein in that temper! Why are you clashing with people everywhere these past two days!”

Zhou Siyou shifted her gaze away, sulking.

Seeing her fully in costume and makeup, Fang Ming signaled to the people around them, brought the photographer over early, and kicked off the shoot.

Out of the van, the earlier scuffle was papered over in a hurry. The people around them had no interest in inviting embarrassment either, and all quieted down and got to work.

The little model fidgeted a bit but did follow their lead, taking her position on set.

This look was European vintage, borrowing from nineteenth-century old Paris aristocratic gown silhouettes, but designed to be as everyday-modern as possible.

Fluffy lace trim, a pale fluttering skirt—at the seaside at dusk, it took on a hazy layer of afterglow.

Peach-red eyeliner, scarlet lips.

The makeup artist’s skill was good: the makeup on Zhou Siyou’s face was stunning enough, yet clear enough.

Clicking her tongue in admiration at Zhou Siyou’s looks, the photographer swiftly drafted a long list of shots, directing the actress and model through their poses on set.

Their condition was neither good nor bad, but at least for the first few shots, the photographer’s shutter pressed without hesitation.

Then, partway through, she called a halt.

The two of them looked up, uncomprehending, to see the photographer frowning.

She looked at the model first. “Little Xing, you’re fine. It’s Teacher Zhou, though…”

She said to Zhou Siyou, half in jest, “Teacher Zhou, since when did you become a poker-faced actress?”

The model gave a gleeful little smirk. Zhou Siyou glanced at her, her face still cold.

The atmosphere hung heavy and stuffy. The photographer tugged up the corners of her mouth in embarrassment and decided to cut straight to the point. “‘Sea Breeze and Heartbeat’—the flutter of a young heart. Teacher Zhou, this shoot’s theme is heart-flutter—flutter!“

She turned to her assistant and played a short piece of instrumental music on a little speaker. “Listen to the music, find the feeling. Come on, Teacher Zhou—be happy, be giddy, be head-over-heels!”

Zhou Siyou took a deep breath and sighed. “Okay.”

The slanting sun’s afterglow, the sea breeze feather-light. In the Celtic-style music, a piccolo sounded faintly.

The beach shimmered with color.

When she faced the camera again, Zhou Siyou’s eyes glistened like rippling water.

But the photographer still scratched her head and shook it. “Still not quite right.”

She smiled at Zhou Siyou. “One more set. One more set.”

A few minutes in, set after set—the rejects became an endless river, crisp banknotes burning away by the handful.

Peering at the rejects on the camera, Fang Ming and the photography assistant asked in unison, “What exactly is wrong?”

Looks on point, light in her eyes, expressions landing… wasn’t it all perfectly fine?

The photographer rubbed her fingers together. “Something’s still missing. Has to be.”

At that, the crew burst out laughing, saying that was the client’s classic nitpicking script.

After several rounds of this, it was the photographer who ended up apologizing to Zhou Siyou over and over.

Zhou Siyou smiled and repeated the poses without complaint—patient, for once.

—Because she knew perfectly well that she herself was the problem.

Her thoughts were a mess; her condition was shot.

She couldn’t settle inside; even for a still shoot she had to prop herself up on acting, dangling a smiling face.

Last night, an illusory pearl had fallen to the ground. A few hours ago, inside the makeup van, a bottle opener had rasped across a tabletop.

These sounds gathered in her head and refused to stop, long and long.

Leaving the nursing home in the small hours, the woman’s desolate, aged gaze seemed carved into her heart. The joy of reuniting with an old friend at the film festival could never have lasted—back home, lying in bed, all she tossed and turned through were nightmares.

And right now, in front of the camera, her stomach—filled only with two iced lattes chugged on an empty stomach that morning—was churning like a stormy sea, bitter as death.

Sensing that something was off with Zhou Siyou’s mood, the photographer hesitantly shot Fang Ming a look, mouthing: Should we… call a pause first?

Fang Ming glanced at the sky, troubled.

The sunset was about to fade. And natural light was the one indispensable part of the shoot.

If they paused now and left the rest to post-processing after the natural light died, the results would certainly suffer badly.

“I think we should still—”

But before the few of them could settle on a plan—

Someone on the crew let out a soft cry of surprise, a few murmurs of commotion—some uninvited guest had apparently arrived.

With a touch of deference, they cleared a narrow path for the newcomer.

Zhou Siyou followed the sound and looked over as well.

At the far end of her sight stood a figure in a low-pulled baseball cap, long hair spilling down her back, face bare of makeup, a Bluetooth earpiece glinting faintly at her ear.

And it was exactly that faint glint that shone like a star amid the dim, blurred crowd.

…It was Zhong Qing.

Zhou Siyou stared, her gaze sweeping hastily over the crowd before hesitating a moment on Zhong Qing’s glinting earphones.

Along with the inaudible notes, it was as if her heart, too, began to beat lightly.

Only in this moment did Zhou Siyou truly hear the sea wind carried in on the Celtic piccolo.

Beside her ear, the shutter burst open, mixed with the photographer’s overjoyed exclamations. “Yes—that’s the look—that exact look—”

A gaze of fluttering heart, of leaping joy.