Chapter 36: Baring the Heart

Little Ai happily booked a flight home.

Jiang Qingmeng also told her grandfather abroad that she wouldn’t be going back for New Year’s this year. She politely turned down travel invitations from other friends as well.

Little Ai asked, “Boss? If you’re not heading home, where are you planning to go for fun?”

Jiang Qingmeng didn’t answer. Instead, she asked, “What are some fun places in the country?”

“If you want a warm winter, head south—Hainan’s pretty great. If you want to play in the snow, go north; Harbin’s ice sculptures are nice too.”

Jiang Qingmeng committed it all to memory.

A little while later, she instructed Little Ai, “I want to learn how to swim. Go find the hotel manager and book the pool from eight at night until eight in the morning—no one else allowed in. Whatever it costs, make it happen.”

Little Ai hurriedly jotted it down. “Should I arrange a professional swim coach for you?”

Jiang Qingmeng shook her head. “No need.”

She had a free coach.

After wrapping the all-nighter shoot, it was nearly dawn by the time they called it a day.

With a full day off tomorrow and no schedule, Jiang Zhizhou had pulled an all-nighter. Terrified of keeling over from exhaustion, she planned to sleep through the morning before hitting the gym.

Before drifting off, afraid Jiang Qingmeng might come running downstairs barefoot again, Jiang Zhizhou sent her a text:

【Asleep yet?】

These days, most people used WeChat for work or personal chats, messages piling up to 99+ with ease. Jiang Zhizhou was one of the rare few who still preferred texting.

It was a habit from her early days. When she first debuted, WeChat didn’t exist, smartphones were a pipe dream, networks ran on 2G or 3G, and communication meant phone calls or texts.

【Not yet. Blow-drying my hair.】

Jiang Qingmeng replied quickly this time, without keeping her waiting.

Jiang Zhizhou remembered the last time she’d lain awake until midnight waiting for a single message from her. Back then, she’d wrongly assumed Jiang Qingmeng and Xu Sheng were a couple—that she was off on a date with him, wearing Jiang Zhizhou’s own scarf. Furious and suffocated, she’d snatched the scarf back and stormed off.

【What are you up to?】

Before Jiang Zhizhou could even respond, another message popped up from Jiang Qingmeng.

A smile tugged unbidden at Jiang Zhizhou’s lips. She typed 【Thinking of you】, hesitated for a moment, then deleted it. Better to play it subtle, she thought. Instead, she replied:

【I just showered and blow-dried my hair, washed my clothes, brushed my teeth, washed my face, messed around on my phone for a bit. Now I’m lying in bed, trying to sleep, but I can’t, so I figured I’d chat with you.】

Three simple words, stretched into a whole paragraph.

She’d never been much of a talker before, but with Jiang Qingmeng, the words never seemed to end.

Jiang Qingmeng didn’t reply right away.

Figuring she must be busy, Jiang Zhizhou scrolled through Weibo for a bit.

She’d been up all night and should have been dead tired, but the anticipation of her reply had her wide awake, her eyes gleaming with vibrant energy.

Weibo’s hot searches were full of those romance topics—”What does it feel like to love someone?” “How long does it take to get over a breakup?”—the kind Jiang Zhizhou used to dismiss as cheesy drivel. She’d skip straight to social news or entertainment gossip. But now she tapped on one: “What it’s like to crush on someone ridiculously hot.”

Jiang Qingmeng’s face floated into her mind, and Jiang Zhizhou smiled. She dove into the comments. The top one read “Inferiority complex” followed by a sad-face emoji. Jiang Zhizhou paused. She’d never really known that feeling. In her career, sure, some industry veterans had looked down on her when she started out—but the award from her debut film alone outshone their entire lifetimes of work. In love? Whoever she set her sights on always reciprocated. Like that event years ago when she’d taken a liking to Wen Xun’s looks; the next day, flowers arrived from him.

Even now, Jiang Qingmeng hadn’t made her feel inferior—not truly. At most, she adopted a slightly humbler stance now and then.

Like someone more, and your posture dips a little. It was natural.

It was still within what Jiang Zhizhou could handle. She just had to accept it.

After ten minutes or so of scrolling, she exited and checked her messages. Still no reply.

A faint pang of disappointment settled in her chest.

She was probably still busy. Once she wrapped up, the reply would come.

Better to sleep now and wake up to it. Perfect.

With that thought, Jiang Zhizhou set her phone aside.

No sooner had she done so than the screen lit up with an incoming call.

It was Jiang Qingmeng.

Her heart skipped. She snatched up the phone.

“Aren’t you the one who wanted to chat? Open the door. We’ll talk in person.”

That same gentle voice as always. Jiang Zhizhou bolted from the bed without a care for her disheveled state and flung open the door.

She pulled her inside, took her wrist in hand, gazed into her eyes, then ducked her head with a smile before looking up again. In a soft voice, she asked, “Can I hug you?”

Jiang Qingmeng gave a faint smile but didn’t reply. Instead, she reached out and wrapped her arm around Zhizhou’s waist, pressing her body close and pinning her gently against the door as they embraced, necks entwined.

An embrace could make someone feel truly loved.

As children, they felt love in their parents’ arms. As adults, they sought love and security in their lover’s embrace.

In conveying love and trust, it was more eloquent than any words.

Their bodies fit together intimately, each sensing the other’s warmth, softness, and heartbeat.

Blissful. Intoxicated.

No words, no thoughts—just holding her like this, never wanting to let go.

No matter what the future held, at least in this moment, they had each other.

Five minutes later, Jiang Zhizhou lightly kissed her hair and said, “Time to rest. I remember you have a night scene tonight.”

“Mm.”

Perhaps her mood was just too elated, but as they lay in bed, Jiang Zhizhou turned on her side, propping her head on her hand as she faced Jiang Qingmeng. “I like you. Do you like me?”

Now they were embracing and sharing a bed like lovers, yet she’d never once heard those words from her lips.

Jiang Qingmeng averted her gaze, sinking her head into the soft pillow and staring at the ceiling. She dodged the question and asked instead, “What do you like about me?” Deep down, she couldn’t fathom what there was about her worth liking.

Jiang Zhizhou answered earnestly, “Your eyes, your eyebrows, your nose, your personality, your aura, your looks, and even your little mischievous streak… From head to toe, inside and out, I like it all.”

“What if I grow old and ugly? Would you still like me then?”

“By the time you grow old, I’ll be old too—wrinkles on my face, hair turned white—and I’ll still like you.”

Jiang Qingmeng let out a soft laugh. “So you can be smooth-talking after all.”

Jiang Zhizhou replied, “Only with you.”

Those words were indeed something she’d only ever said to Jiang Qingmeng.

The old Jiang Zhizhou hadn’t been one to wear her affections on her sleeve. She was a bit flighty about it, keeping her likes and loves tucked away in her heart, voicing them only occasionally.

But with Jiang Qingmeng, it was different. Her personality was too sensitive, and her upbringing hadn’t taught her how to voice love or affection.

So Jiang Zhizhou had no choice but to lead by example, over and over, using straightforward words to teach her personally how to express her true feelings.

“Only with me? Have you liked anyone else before?”

The question left Jiang Zhizhou momentarily silent.

“Hm?” Jiang Qingmeng turned her head, a hint of suspicion crossing her face.

Not wanting to deceive her, Jiang Zhizhou scratched her forehead and admitted, “Yes, but that was a long time ago. I don’t like them anymore.”

Jiang Qingmeng let out an “oh,” her emotions unreadable.

Suddenly struck by the awkwardness men felt when their girlfriends grilled them about exes, Jiang Zhizhou tried to change the subject—only for Jiang Qingmeng to press on. “Was it a guy or a girl? Did you date?”

“A guy. We dated, but we broke up ages ago… Qingmeng, right now, I only like you. It doesn’t matter if you’re a guy or a girl.”

“Why did you break up?”

There were many things she could confide in her about, but the real reason for the breakup? That she couldn’t share.

Back then, everyone in the entertainment industry knew about the feud between Jiang Zhizhou and Wen Xun’s parents. During an interview, Wen Xun’s mother had bluntly stated: “I won’t let some actress marry into the Wen family—unless Miss Jiang decides to quit the business.”

Those two words—”quit the business”—had infuriated Jiang Zhizhou so much that she’d ripped up the entertainment magazine on the spot. When the media asked for her response, she’d smiled and shot back: “I’ll never set foot in a family that doesn’t even know the meaning of ‘respect’—unless Mrs. Wen bows to me in apology and hand-copies the Eight Honors and Eight Shames a hundred times to build a proper socialist sense of honor and disgrace, and learns that all people are equal and should love one another…”

Her words had instantly spiked Mrs. Wen’s blood pressure.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Did I hit a sore spot? Can’t let go, huh?” Jiang Qingmeng asked softly, her tone laced with a sourness she hadn’t even noticed herself.

“There’s nothing to let go of,” Jiang Zhizhou replied firmly. “If I couldn’t move on, I wouldn’t have fallen for anyone else. I cleared my heart out completely before I could love you. We broke up because… we weren’t compatible.”

“Oh? How so?”

“He was too much under his mom’s thumb. Soft ears and all.” Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t bring herself to mention the conflict with Wen Xun’s mother.

“You’d already met the parents. Sounds like you were talking marriage.” Jiang Qingmeng’s tone stayed sour.

Jiang Zhizhou grew anxious, practically itching to leap up and explain. “No, it wasn’t like that. We hadn’t gotten that far—just holding hands and hugging at most.” It was Wen Xun’s parents who’d spotted her in the gossip rags. She hadn’t even set foot in the Wen family home before clashing with Mrs. Wen.

Jiang Qingmeng gave a soft hum and asked, “What did you like about that guy?”

“This… do you really want to hear it?” Wen Xun was soft-natured, but that was his only real flaw. Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t badmouth him, especially since what she’d liked were all his good points.

“Of course. What’s there I can’t hear?”

“Okay…” Jiang Zhizhou thought back for a moment before hesitating. “He’s pretty mild-mannered and kind, hardly ever picks fights with anyone. He’s got a touch of talent—plays the piano beautifully. And he’s somewhat good-looking, with a vibe that really appeals to me.”

Jiang Qingmeng let out another soft hum. “You can list so many good points about him. You must have hated to break up, right?”

Jiang Zhizhou denied it at once. “No way. I dumped him. If it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. There’s nothing to regret.”

“If he wasn’t right for you, how can you be so sure that I am?”

Her string of piercing questions left Jiang Zhizhou breaking out in a cold sweat. She bit her lip, utterly at a loss for an answer.

How could anyone be sure? Emotions weren’t like formulas or theorems, something you could derive step by step.

Seeing the composure drain from her face, her eyes brimming with anxiety, Jiang Qingmeng smiled gently instead. She leaned closer and brushed away the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. “Is that question so tough? You’re all worked up.”

Jiang Zhizhou seized her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. In a small voice, she said, “I… I really don’t know how to answer. I’m scared that if I say the wrong thing, you’ll pull away from me… Qingmeng, I did like someone else before, but… please believe me, you’re the only one in my heart now. Really, only you…”

She had finally tasted the bitterness of uncertainty.

Jiang Qingmeng clasped her hand in return, pushed back her sleeve, and planted a soft kiss on her wrist. “I get it. You don’t have to be so tense.”

The answer itself didn’t matter. What she craved was a promise.

A promise that she alone occupied her heart.

Only such a promise could set her mind at ease and soothe all those prickly little emotions.

Jiang Zhizhou drew her into her arms and held her gaze for a long moment. Then she kissed her forehead. Her eyes drifted to Jiang Qingmeng’s lips. After a brief hesitation, she leaned in, wanting just to brush against them.

But Jiang Qingmeng turned her face aside. In a quiet voice, she said, “Your heart is clean. Mine isn’t.” It still harbored someone else.

So Jiang Zhizhou merely grazed the corner of her mouth. Generously, she said, “That’s fine. I’ll wait for you.”

Wait for you to forget the me from when I was nineteen… and fall for the me I am now.

After basking in her own past glow, Jiang Zhizhou had now unlocked the achievement of “becoming her own love rival.” She couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly. She decided to turn the tables, giving Jiang Qingmeng a dose of her own medicine. “What is it you like about her? Surely I’m better to you than she ever was.”

Back when she was nineteen, her feelings for Jiang Qingmeng hadn’t been like at all—only pity.

She hadn’t cared one bit, so any promises she’d made were forgotten the instant they left her lips.

“I don’t know. Don’t ask.” Jiang Qingmeng shut her down bluntly, burying her face in the crook of her neck to cut off any further questions.

Jiang Zhizhou wanted to say, You sound like such a player.

But the warm breath against her neck stole her words away. Her heart pounded wildly, as if it might leap right out of her chest.

With the curtains drawn tight, the room’s darkness magnified every flicker of desire.

Even through the bathrobe, Jiang Qingmeng could feel her body heat rising. She reached out to caress her left ear. Her cool fingertips trailed over the tip, glided along the rim and behind it, then lingered on the lobe.

She pinched the soft flesh of her earlobe, rubbing it lightly and slowly. In a husky murmur, she said, “Your ear’s so hot it’s practically burning.”

Every cell in her body screamed for closeness, for intimacy. Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t take the teasing any longer. She pushed her away gently, turned her back, shut her eyes, and fell silent.

Jiang Qingmeng prodded her waist. “What’s that about? Why are you ignoring me?”

Jiang Zhizhou shot back irritably, “You know exactly what. I’m reciting the Eight Honors and Eight Shames to myself.”

Jiang Qingmeng blinked in confusion. “What’s that?” She’d spent so much time abroad that she wasn’t well-versed in China’s revolutionary traditions.

Jiang Zhizhou recited them aloud: “Take pride in loving the motherland, shame in harming it. Take pride in serving the people, shame in betraying them… Take pride in hard struggle, shame in extravagance and debauchery.”

She rattled off all eight without missing a beat, her voice rising and falling like an actor delivering lines. She put extra emphasis on “extravagance and debauchery.”

The charged atmosphere evaporated in an instant. Jiang Qingmeng fell quiet for a moment before remarking, “You’ve got a good memory.”

Of course she did. Jiang Zhizhou had appeared on CCTV once, filming a public service announcement where she’d recited the Eight Honors and Eight Shames—over and over, hundreds of times. She could sooner forget how to breathe.