Chapter 66: Life

Silence reigned.

The quiet carried a hint of oppression.

Jiang Zhizhou pretended not to notice the heavy atmosphere. She pinched off a small piece of tuna and turned to hold it to Jiang Qingmeng’s lips.

“Want to try it?”

Jiang Qingmeng stared at Jiang Zhizhou without blinking.

Jiang Zhizhou met her eyes steadily. “Not going to eat?”

Jiang Qingmeng said nothing.

Jiang Zhizhou popped the tuna into her own mouth and washed her hands. “Feeling like cursing me out as a busybody again? Snapping at me with ‘Mind your own business—who the hell do you think you are?'”

She had hit the mark. Jiang Qingmeng lowered her eyelids, struggling to rein in the storm of emotions churning inside her.

For nearly a year now, she had often lost control of her feelings, blurting out hurtful words she couldn’t hold back.

With outsiders who meant nothing to her, she managed just fine—charming and composed, effortlessly gliding through conversations, her sharp edges hidden away perfectly.

This unraveling happened only in close relationships. More precisely, only with Jiang Zhizhou.

Love stirred up her shadows: possessiveness, the urge to control, jealousy, oversensitivity, selfishness, obsession… All the dark feelings born of love tormented her—and her beloved—plunging them both into pain.

How could a love that inflicted suffering on one’s partner not grow exhausting?

Jiang Zhizhou slipped her hands under the dryer. Once they were warm to the touch—not cold enough to chill—she placed one against her own neck to double-check, then reached out to embrace Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng went rigid, rooted to the spot. Images flashed through her mind: endless tirades, suffocating control, chilling indifference that cut to the bone, wounds that drew blood.

She had watched such twisted affections play out since childhood, vowing never to become like her parents. She had fought to suppress the darkness within, striving to be gentle and kind—the woman Jiang Zhizhou deserved. Yet in the end, she had become the very person she despised most.

The powerlessness was beyond words.

Sensing her turmoil, Jiang Zhizhou kissed her hair and pulled her closer, her voice gentle but resolute. “Qingmeng, don’t be afraid. We’re not them. We won’t follow their path. Our starting points might look similar—maybe even identical—but we won’t end up there. I won’t let you.”

The kitchen filled with the savory scent of canned tuna and the warm, toasty aroma of bread. The milk kitten caught wind of it and came pattering in, circling Jiang Qingmeng’s feet with eager mews, rubbing its fluffy head against their legs.

Enveloped in the cozy bustle of daily life and the warmth of that embrace, Jiang Qingmeng slowly lifted her arms and hugged Jiang Zhizhou back.

They fell silent, holding each other without words.

They had shared countless embraces over the years. As children, they were simple, soothing cuddles to drift off to sleep. Their first as adults came on New Year’s Eve.

On the hotel balcony.

She had held her as fireworks lit the sky.

Back then, Jiang Qingmeng had simply craved the warmth of her body; those hugs always stole away her anxiety, if only for a moment.

An embrace offered more reassurance than any words.

Surrounded by her breath and body heat, it felt like bundling up in a thick down comforter during the depths of winter—every point of contact soft and yielding.

She wanted it to last forever.

But it was interrupted.

Ignored, the milk kitten latched onto Jiang Zhizhou’s pant leg and began to chew.

Jiang Zhizhou frowned and reluctantly released the warm, fragrant softness in her arms. She nudged the kitten with her foot, pretending to kick it away.

The milk kitten let go and clung to her calf instead, yowling loudly.

Jiang Qingmeng bent down at once, prying it free and scooping it up. “Hungry again? Craving some tuna?”

“Too little for that. Soak some milk cake for it instead.” Jiang Zhizhou washed her hands again and went back to making sandwiches.

They needed to save that fish for Jiang Qingmeng. This little pest could wait its turn.

Jiang Qingmeng stroked the kitten’s head and smiled. “My girlfriend wants the fish—gotta feed her first. I’ll fix you some milk cake. Once you’re bigger, I’ll buy you a whole case.” She shot Jiang Zhizhou a glance and carried the kitten out.

Jiang Zhizhou: …

Who was the one who wanted the fish?

They spent the entire day at home.

Jiang Zhizhou lounged on the sofa watching a movie while Jiang Qingmeng sat with her laptop, handling some work matters. In between, she hauled over stacks of contracts and snacks. “Which ones do you like? Pick your favorites—I’ll endorse them.”

When celebrities endorsed products, merchants showered them with gifts.

Jiang Zhizhou had once endorsed a coffee brand, and the supply had lasted her two full years.

Jiang Zhizhou sampled every snack, selected a few for Jiang Qingmeng, then pulled up the manufacturers’ info online. She checked food safety certifications and scanned for any violation records, confirming everything was up to standard before rattling off the names.

Next, Jiang Qingmeng dragged over a pile of scripts. “Pick a role you like. I’ll act it out for you.”

The little girl’s way of spoiling her was kind of adorable.

Jiang Zhizhou rubbed her head and buried herself in the pile of scripts, helping her select roles.

She always read scripts with complete focus, rarely influenced by the outside world.

Jiang Qingmeng could also concentrate intently on directing her team.

She needed to resolve Star Source Entertainment’s troubles as quickly as possible; only once everything was settled could she truly relax.

None of this required Jiang Zhizhou’s involvement.

She would play the villain and be the bad guy; her beloved would remain the pristine star of the film industry, untainted by even a speck of dust.

That night, as usual, Jiang Zhizhou held Jiang Qingmeng as they fell asleep.

Jiang Qingmeng usually slept soundly in her arms, but tonight she was restless with dreams, her forehead beaded with cold sweat and accompanied by a few low murmurs.

Jiang Zhizhou didn’t dare sleep and gently patted her shoulder rhythmically.

Home—for some people, it was a warm word; for others, it was a cruel, icy prison.

How much time and love would it take to repair the damage from one’s original family?

She didn’t know.

She wasn’t the one who had experienced it firsthand, so she could never tell her to just let it go.

She only hoped this wouldn’t become a lifelong nightmare that the little girl could never escape.

Words like “salvation” and “healing” were too heavy; the weight of one soul lifting another—Jiang Zhizhou didn’t know if she could bear it. She just wanted to love her to the best of her ability, stay by her side, and help her redefine the word “home.”

Actually, Jiang Zhizhou was afraid too.

Afraid that the little girl would learn to love with her, only to turn around and love someone else. But she never said it, couldn’t say it; between the two of them, only one could show fear, while the other had to remain unwaveringly steadfast.

Someone always had to hold things together; they couldn’t both collapse at once.

Maybe one day in the future, they could lean on each other.

But not now.

Right now, she just wanted to make her little girl happy.

On the last day of vacation, Jiang Zhizhou got her wish and went out with Jiang Qingmeng.

In the morning, they visited the theater and happened upon the Chinese tour of Phantom of the Opera, but tickets weren’t available through normal channels at that time.

Jiang Zhizhou looked at the poster, a trace of regret crossing her face.

Jiang Qingmeng glanced at her, said nothing, and made a phone call. Ten minutes later, the theater manager came out, ushered them inside, and guided them to the best seats.

For such blockbuster shows, theaters usually reserved prime seats for leaders, their relatives and friends, or prominent figures.

Phantom of the Opera was a classic musical. Jiang Zhizhou had rehearsed it countless times as a student—for final exams, New Year’s galas, and off-campus charity performances—every line was etched in her memory.

Back then, she was already a little famous and had experience in traditional theater performances, so her year group always cast her as the lead. After playing Christine, the female lead in Phantom of the Opera several times, the male classmate who portrayed the second male lead, the Viscount, developed real feelings from the role and came to confess to her.

The Jiang Zhizhou of that time didn’t hold back in teasing him: “You haven’t even done professional acting yet; a few musicals and you’re falling in love from the play? If you get into TV dramas and movies later, will you fall for one per production?”

The male classmate thumped his chest and vowed that in this lifetime, he’d marry no one but her; she was the only one in his heart and eyes.

That year’s Jiang Zhizhou was under twenty and rejected him on the spot after hearing those cheesy lines.

The dejected classmate asked, “Do you prefer the senior who played the ‘Phantom’? He’s the male lead on stage—is he the male lead in your life too?”

When he pressed her to be his girlfriend, Jiang Zhizhou waved him off and declared them brothers instead: “Cut the nonsense, big brother. I’m not Christine. I just want to study hard and act well; I don’t want to date.”

She forcefully transformed budding romantic tension into revolutionary brother-sister camaraderie.

The curtain fell, and the crowd dispersed.

Jiang Zhizhou and Jiang Qingmeng went for lunch.

They chatted idly about musical theater lighting, costumes, makeup, and sets compared to those in film and TV—the similarities and differences. As they talked, the topic shifted to characters, and Jiang Qingmeng suddenly asked, “Do you prefer the Phantom or the Viscount?”

In the story, the Phantom was the obsessively devoted one, a ghostly figure, while the Viscount was gentle, handsome, and romantic—a knight who protected the female lead and ultimately ended up with her.

Jiang Zhizhou thought for two seconds and said, “You’re setting a trap for me again. I’m not the female lead; I don’t choose either. If I had to pick…” She turned her gaze to Jiang Qingmeng and smiled. “I have you—what do I need them for? Ten of them aren’t worth one of you.”

She forcefully turned the loaded question, brimming with undercurrents, into a sweet sugar-coated compliment.

They ate lunch out, and in the afternoon, they browsed an art exhibition.

Jiang Zhizhou’s appreciation for painting was quite average; at most, she could draw on her film studies experience to note that a painting had good composition and nice colors, but she knew nothing about the background stories.

Jiang Qingmeng had some knowledge of art and explained the story behind each painting to her, along with the meaning of every brushstroke of color. She took her to see Lady Godiva on Horseback. No great appreciation skills were needed to instantly recognize the beauty of that figure.

Jiang Zhizhou loved the way Jiang Qingmeng looked when she lectured earnestly—speaking in a soft, gentle voice, narrating with elegant poise.

When she gazed at her, light shimmered unconsciously in her eyes, tenderness brimming within.

After a full day immersed in artistic pursuits, night fell, and Jiang Zhizhou dragged Jiang Qingmeng through streets and alleys. She led her to the overpass stalls overflowing with cheap literature—tattered books going for five or ten yuan apiece, boasting the strangest titles imaginable: I Ching, Quantum Mechanics, Qigong Compendium, How to Conquer Handsome Young Men, How to Conquer Beautiful Girls, Get Rich 888 Secrets, How to Win the Favor of Rich Women, How to Get Along with Idiots… Astronomy and geography, humanities and history, social philosophy—it was all there.

With a mischievous glint, Jiang Zhizhou made Jiang Qingmeng flip through an urban romance novel laced with steamy erotic scenes. She watched as Jiang Qingmeng’s ears flushed crimson under the glow of the streetlamp, struggling to stifle her laughter. Then she bought How to Conquer Beautiful Girls and presented it to Jiang Qingmeng, teasing her to study it diligently once she got home.

Jiang Qingmeng opened the table of contents and glanced over it, reading aloud with a laugh: “Seven Techniques for Chasing Girls, Gentle Flower Language, Peering into a Girl’s Heart…” She trailed off, unable to continue, and headed back to the stall to buy How to Get Along with Idiots. She handed it to Jiang Zhizhou.

Jiang Zhizhou took the book and eyed the title, her laughter turning teasing. “Is this for me? Teaching me how to deal with idiots?”

“No,” Jiang Qingmeng replied. “It’s for me. Just hold it for now.”

Jiang Zhizhou darted back to the stall and snatched up How to Win the Favor of Rich Women.

They fooled around until nine o’clock—it was time to head back.

Jiang Qingmeng called for the driver.

In the car, bathed in the glow of the interior lights, they pored over their miscellaneous purchases.

Beyond the stall finds, Jiang Zhizhou had also popped into proper bookstores to pick up some leisure reads.

She gifted Jiang Qingmeng Wang Zengqi’s Human Plants and Trees. “This is one of my favorite essay collections,” she said. “For you.”

Jiang Qingmeng took it and cradled it against her chest, smiling softly.

She had read the book before.

Jiang Zhizhou had shared it on her blog once.

One month, some tabloid had run a fabricated scandal about her. Jiang Zhizhou hadn’t noticed and that very evening posted an enthusiastic reading note for her fans: Gardenias are rough and oversized, their fragrance so thick you can’t wave it away. Elegant folks shun them, deeming their character lacking refinement. The gardenia retorts: “To hell with you—I bloom to be fragrantly, gloriously myself. What business is it of yours?”

The next day, it hit the papers. The media pounced, accusing her of veiled insults and decrying her crude language as unbecoming of a public figure.

Jiang Zhizhou had been utterly aggrieved back then—grieving even as she fought back, firing off retorts laced with more quotes from Wang Zengqi.

Remembering those old escapades, Jiang Qingmeng chuckled to herself.

Jiang Zhizhou eyed her. “What’re you laughing at? I give you a book and you crack up like this? You’re way too easy to please, you rich lady.”

Jiang Qingmeng buried her laughter in the crook of Jiang Zhizhou’s neck.

Helpless, Jiang Zhizhou ruffled her hair.

Let her laugh. A smile was infinitely better than tears.

“I’m so happy today,” Jiang Qingmeng murmured, still nestled against Jiang Zhizhou’s neck. Her soft words came with warm breath that tickled her skin—both soothing and itchy.

Jiang Zhizhou held her close and smiled. “Good. As long as you’re happy.”

These days, her greatest wish was for Jiang Qingmeng to live carefree, shaking off the shadows of her past.

“Does this count as you taking me out to experience life?” Jiang Qingmeng asked.

Jiang Zhizhou shook her head. “Not quite. At most, it’s just a glimpse.”

Actors had to appreciate highbrow elegance as well as earthy folk tales, mingling with all walks of life. They observed attire and accessories, speech patterns and mannerisms, the tiniest flickers of expression—details others overlooked. They stored it all away, fodder for future roles.

“Then next holiday,” Jiang Qingmeng said, “we go experience life for real?”

“When’s the next one?”

“August.”

“That’s a ways off.”

“Not really. I want to give the Nine Songs production crew a surprise.”

“What kind?”

“You’ll find out by the end of July.”

“Teasing me again.”

July arrived swiftly. Before month’s end—in early July, in fact—the surprise Jiang Qingmeng had mentioned landed squarely on the Nine Songs creative team.

The drama Nine Songs, originally slated for a winter break premiere, had been bumped up to August during summer vacation.