Chapter 28: Kiss Part 3

“Hm? Sure.” Jiang Zhizhou seemed to snap back to the present. She smiled faintly, picked up the porcelain-white flute, recalled the fingerings in her mind, pressed down on the holes, and brought it to her lips.

An ethereal melody filled the air, laced with a faint thread of sorrow.

Hometown’s Original Scenery.

Jiang Zhizhou’s hometown lay in the gentle waterside towns of Jiangnan. Every summer, the ponds brimmed with connected lotus leaves and blooming lotuses.

At nineteen, she’d spotted a pool of lotus pods in the hospital courtyard below. Reminded of the ponds back home, she’d leaned on the railing and chattered to Jiang Qingmeng in the ward about her childhood memories. On a whim, she’d even skipped downstairs to pluck one and bring it to her.

Back then, Jiang Zhizhou could never have imagined they’d reunite years later—let alone that one day after reuniting, she’d fall for her.

Truth be told, the faint stirrings of affection had begun long before.

At that banquet, she’d drowned her sorrows in drink, and Qingmeng had left her a business card with words of encouragement:

Jingzhe arrives, peaches begin to blossom, orioles sing, all things come to life.

She could still vividly recall the mix of emotions upon reading those lines—complicated, touching, joyful.

After all those years, someone else remembered that movie and that line of dialogue as deeply as she did.

Jingzhe had been her first film at seventeen. First times were always special. Unfamiliar with acting techniques and formulas back then, she’d poured her heart into perfecting it, making it profoundly meaningful.

But what had prompted Jiang Qingmeng to write down that line at the time?

And what had kept her from acknowledging their connection?

Words, music, film—these three arts all delved into the soul-stirring depths of others’ hearts, either catalyzing or soothing one’s own emotions.

By the end of the piece, the weight on Jiang Zhizhou’s heart had lightened considerably.

Jiang Qingmeng glanced over from the driver’s seat and said softly, “You play beautifully. It reminded me of some old memories.”

“What memories?” Jiang Zhizhou asked.

Jiang Qingmeng just smiled without replying.

They were merely youthful reminiscences.

Back in their youth, someone had once leaned on a railing with a bright laugh, basking in the sunlight as she shared tales of her hometown, all to make her smile.

Those stories carried a vivid freshness, that smile an immense warmth—that person had been the first ray of sunlight to pierce her heart.

She wanted to be a gentle person.

No more letting negative emotions take hold. She would be gentle, just like that person.

A phone call came in. Jiang Qingmeng slipped on her wireless Bluetooth earpiece. “Good evening. What is it?”

“. . . Got it. You and the team keep a handle on public opinion. Stick to the plan. Sorry to make everyone work late tonight.”

After that succinct exchange, she hung up and turned to Jiang Zhizhou. “Open Weibo and check the hot searches.”

Jiang Zhizhou did as told.

The top trending topic: “#Jiang Qingmeng New Romance Suspected Exposed#”, marked with an “explosive” tag.

Clicking in—

“@Gossip Entertainment: [#Jiang Qingmeng New Romance Suspected Exposed#] Recently, media captured Jiang Qingmeng in an intimate kiss with a same-sex friend on a hotel balcony amid New Year’s fireworks. Their behavior was ambiguous—suspected same-sex romance exposed.”

Nine photos accompanied the post.

The first was the most sensational: on the hotel balcony under the cross-year fireworks, Jiang Zhizhou’s calf had cramped, nearly toppling her. Qingmeng had caught her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The image was blurry, and the angle distorted their eye contact and conversation into Zhizhou’s hands around Qingmeng’s neck, Qingmeng’s hand on her head, leaning down for a kiss.

The second was from yesterday’s production kickoff ceremony, where Qingmeng had led her through the crowd by the wrist.

The third was older, from half a year ago: Qingmeng hospitalized with a high fever, Zhizhou at her bedside, reaching to test her forehead’s temperature.

The rest were solo shots of the two: one elegantly beautiful, the other warmly refined. They actually looked quite the pair.

The comments section had exploded.

Public opinion roughly split into four camps—

First, the casual melon-eaters: shocked on one hand, offering blessings on the other, while marveling that the gentle and pure Jiang Qingmeng had been the one initiating the kiss;

Second, the fan moderators: some vigorously promoting her new drama, while a small faction cursed the no-name starlet for shamelessly riding Sister’s coattails!

Third, the self-proclaimed rationalists, who instantly saw it as pre-promotion hype for her new drama Nine Songs—plus rival fans slyly slamming the marketing accounts as shameless for stirring up hype yet again!

A fourth group consisted of a small faction blinded by the two leads’ stunning beauty. Their yuri shipping fervor ignited like wildfire, and they started shouting regardless: a kiss under fireworks—what could be more romantic? I’m all in!

Scrolling further down, netizens dug up the name of the C-list actress Shen Xinghe. Their past professional relationship as artist and assistant was exposed in full, and someone even unearthed Shen Xinghe’s black mark from a month earlier, when she’d shamelessly ridden Film Empress Jiang Zhizhou’s coattails for attention.

Jiang Zhizhou tapped into the original host Shen Xinghe’s Weibo account and scrolled through a flood of direct messages and comments.

Before she could open any, Jiang Qingmeng spoke up nervously. “Don’t look at the DMs. Some of my fans get out of hand and might curse you out.”

In both her past and present lives, Jiang Zhizhou had weathered plenty of online abuse. A little more didn’t faze her. Still, she appreciated the gentle concern in that warning.

With a smile, Jiang Zhizhou humored her and skipped them, logging into her alt account instead.

The alt’s original ID had been “Happy Little Contrarian.” Lately, though, she’d taken a dislike to Xu Sheng and found herself feeling petty and sour at the drop of a hat, so she’d changed it to “Walking Lemon Fiend.”

Jiang Zhizhou zeroed in on the hate comments and switched into full contrarian mode, firing off clapbacks left and right.

By the time she was done, she felt utterly refreshed, all her pent-up frustration evaporated. That’s when she spotted another comment—

Qingmeng’s Girlfriend: Whimper whimper, stop talking nonsense! Sister is mine QAQ

Recalling a meme she’d seen while doomscrolling Weibo, Jiang Zhizhou typed out a deadpan reply: Do you have any idea how long Qingmeng held me in her arms and cooed just because of your comment?

She hit send, then grimaced in secondhand disgust at her own shamelessness. Setting the phone aside, she glanced at the woman beside her.

Jiang Qingmeng explained patiently, step by step. “Last night, He Jia called to say a pap had snapped our balcony hug. We were going to block the press release, but I decided to turn it to our advantage. Let them leak it first, then we’ll drop the one with me and Xu Sheng, and cap it off with the crew’s official photoshoot pics from the daytime shoot. Mix truth and fiction, keep ’em guessing, and piggyback on the hype to promote the new drama.”

Petty as she was, Jiang Zhizhou’s focus snagged on Xu Sheng. “So how long were you out with him last night?”

Jiang Qingmeng paused for a beat before answering. “Less than twenty minutes. The reporters were pre-arranged; we just posed for a few shots.” She hesitated, then added, “He’s gay. He has a boyfriend.”

She was explaining herself—and the very fact that she was meant she cared.

Sensing it, Jiang Zhizhou ducked her head with a smile. She coughed to cover it, schooled her expression, and studied Jiang Qingmeng’s profile. “Then why didn’t you reply to my text last night?”

It had left her tossing and turning, waiting far too long.

“You said you weren’t interested.”

Jiang Zhizhou’s ears turned pink. Her usually quick wit faltered. “I-I meant…” Unable to come up with a good excuse, she mumbled, “Just pretend I said the opposite, okay…” Chagrined, she turned away to stare out the right-side window.

Jiang Qingmeng let out a soft laugh, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. After a moment of silence, she murmured, “I fell asleep later and didn’t see it.”

Jiang Zhizhou nodded, seemingly accepting the explanation, and wisely let the subject drop.

Truth be told, she could sense it: Jiang Qingmeng didn’t like her all that much.

If she truly cared, she wouldn’t have left her hanging so long.

The realization stung, but the simple fact remained—she did care, at least a little.

And that was enough to make Jiang Zhizhou want to keep on liking her.

Three hours later, everything unfolded exactly as Jiang Qingmeng had planned. The paid influencers she’d lined up began leaking “ambiguous” photos of her and Xu Sheng, followed by the production crew’s official stills from the daytime shoot.

Jiang Qingmeng posted on Weibo: “Thanks for the concern, folks—no romance here!”

Her studio reposted: “Our fellow labelmate Miss Xinghe twisted her ankle, and Qingmeng just happened to help steady her~ Here’s another angle of the totally normal assist.” They attached a photo from a innocuous vantage point.

Xu Sheng’s studio chimed in too: “Just good friends going over the script together!”

The frenzy had blown up all night. The next morning, Little Ai—fresh off an all-nighter and yawning her head off—invited Jiang Zhizhou to Jiang Qingmeng’s car, per the usual routine.

Jiang Zhizhou followed without a second thought.

Sun Li, watching from behind, smiled in quiet satisfaction. She glanced at the “36 Ways to Tame Your Girlfriend Illustrated” she’d forwarded earlier and tucked it away with a sense of a mission accomplished.

Life on set was actually pretty monotonous: shoot, sleep, repeat.

In the mornings, the director would gather the writers and leads to run through the scenes. The shooting schedule never followed the script’s order. You might film an intense kiss scene in the morning, then jump back to their first meeting in the afternoon. They’d throw in ad-libbed bits too, so until the final edit, even the actors often had no clue what the full story was.

Feng Shangxian announced, “This morning we’ve got scenes between the female lead and the second female lead—that’s Yuan Zhi and Yin Yue. It’s you two sulking and avoiding each other, then finally making up…”

“These scenes have few lines, so what you need to focus on is eye contact and body language…”

What a coincidence—this was exactly their state over the past couple of days.

Feeling a bit guilty upon hearing this, Jiang Zhizhou raised her eyes and glanced at Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng happened to be looking at her as well. Their gazes met, they stared at each other for two seconds, then quickly looked away.

The next second, they couldn’t help but lift their heads to meet each other’s eyes again, only to look away once more. She lowered her head, pretending to read the script.

But these two times weren’t out of a desire to avoid each other; instead, it was a bit… embarrassing…

Her eyes were too beautiful—clear, pure, brimming with a gentle smile. Anyone who saw those eyes of hers would instantly understand the meaning of the phrase “gu pan sheng hui” (a glance that captivates).

In the past, Jiang Zhizhou had been open and straightforward, able to gaze at her without a care. But now, every look stirred faint ripples in her heart.

“Last night, inspired by those trending photos, I revised the script and added a scene for you two. You wouldn’t mind, right?” The head of the scriptwriting team, Bai Momo, said as she handed an A4 sheet of paper to the two actresses.

What kind of scene could trending topics inspire?

Jiang Zhizhou grumbled inwardly, took the paper, and looked—

[Scene Six

Setting: Interior/Night, Bedside

Characters: Yuan Zhi, Yin Yue]

A bed scene?

She read on—

[Yin Yue (eyes closed, lying on the bed, lips pale)

Yuan Zhi (in male attire, sitting by the bed, holding a bowl of immortal herb medicine, hesitating for a long time): Sorry, please pardon my rudeness. (Determined, drinks the medicine, leans over, feeds it mouth-to-mouth)

Yin Yue (slowly awakens, shocked, shy, incredulous, they lock eyes, she flies into a rage): What are you doing? (Slaps him hard across the face)

Yuan Zhi (clutching his face, stands up aggrieved and at a loss): You’ve been unconscious for so long. I-I just wanted to feed you the medicine…

Yin Yue (lips pursed, face red, turns her head away, weakly): Get out…]

Jiang Zhizhou read it expressionlessly, glanced at Bai Momo, and thought: Can you make it any more melodramatic? I’m a celestial fairy from the heavens—if I faint, just channel some immortal energy into me. Why mouth-to-mouth feeding?

“No problem on my end. What about you?” came a question laced with amusement by her ear.

Jiang Zhizhou reined in her complaints and said flatly, “No problem here either.” She didn’t mention a word about the plot being unreasonable.

Jiang Qingmeng nodded with a smile and asked further, “I’ll arrange for a kissing stand-in to prepare. What about you?”

The words caught her completely off guard. Jiang Zhizhou was stunned for a moment before saying, “I won’t use a stand-in.”

Jiang Qingmeng’s eyes darkened slightly, then she smiled again. “Then you’re more professional than me.”

A bitter emotion slowly fermented inside her. Jiang Zhizhou lowered her eyelids. “It’s nothing. It’s just work.”

The smile at the corners of Jiang Qingmeng’s lips stiffened a little. “Do you want me to arrange a stand-in for you?”

“Thanks, no need.” Jiang Zhizhou rejected her outright. “I never use stand-ins.”

It was a matter of principle—non-negotiable.

Jiang Qingmeng nodded and said no more.

Jiang Zhizhou touched the gauze and red rope on her wrist, falling silent as well.

If you don’t care, then I care even less.