After a brief two-day rest at home, Ning Ke was heading to set.
The Republican-era drama Without Her, which she’d auditioned for, was officially starting production. Her role—second female lead, Shen Guhong—didn’t have a lot of screen time, but her part carried real weight, with many crucial scenes. It was also the first proper drama she’d truly landed. Ning Ke took it very seriously. She’d confirmed that the next episode of Perfect Partner wouldn’t start filming for another month, so she headed to set early.
The drama was shooting at the Yulin Film Studio in the neighboring city, Yulin—only a two-hour drive away. If she wanted to come home, she could at any time. But Ning Ke packed two or three suitcases, looking completely ready to live out of a hotel.
Sister Lu sighed as she packed for her.
This young couple—they’d finally had some time together around the new year, growing closer by the day. How could they be separated again so soon?
Deliberating, Sister Lu couldn’t help asking, “Miss Ning, does Azhi know you’re leaving this time?”
“Not yet,” Ning Ke said, pausing in putting on her earrings. She remembered how Yan Yunzhi had said she wanted her to remember her kindness, and to say goodbye before leaving next time.
In the past two days, Yan Yunzhi had also been busy going out. Her teacher, Professor Lu Dazhao, was turning seventy and wanted to hold a tour concert before officially retiring. As his prize student, Yan Yunzhi naturally had to put in work for her mentor’s tour.
Ning Ke finished packing, got into the car, and finally sent Yan Yunzhi a message: “I’m heading to set. Leaving today.”
Yan Yunzhi replied quickly: “How long will you be gone?”
Ning Ke said she didn’t know, and didn’t look at the messages again.
Bored on the road, she logged into her long-neglected alt account, @DidNingEatStrawberriesToday, and scrolled through Weibo.
Her DMs and mentions were flooded with people asking about the truth behind those photos on the forum a few days ago. It had just been a picture of them standing by the roadside; Xu Jian had handled it, and it hadn’t caused much of a stir.
On her feed, she spotted a new post—the fan girl she followed had reposted a confession blog submission. The repost read: 【Straight girls, keep your hands to yourself.】
Ning Ke clicked into it and read it, and as she read, she remembered how Yan Yunzhi had looked at her with a smile last night and patted her cheek. Her finger slipped and hit the repost button.
Soon, comments appeared under the post:
“OMG, Teacher Strawberry, didn’t you say you were straight before?”
“Your heart is moved, hahaha”
“This is love, damn it! Sis, are you dating? Who’s the wife?”
Ning Ke: “…”
Love my ass.
Ning Ke didn’t delete the post. She just enabled comment filtering.
She’d have to tell Yan Yunzhi sooner or later: stop touching her.
Closing Weibo, Ning Ke called Tao Zi. “You ready? I’ll pick you up soon.”
Director Zhang of Without Her needed a batch of Republican-era qipaos, and Ning Ke had mentioned it to Tao Zi. Unexpectedly, Tao Zi had actually negotiated a deal with Director Zhang and was delivering the costumes this time.
The call connected just as Ning Ke spotted Tao Zi waiting by the roadside.
Tao Zi wore a dark blue coat over a brightly patterned qipao, with curled hair, a silk scarf, and a top hat. It wasn’t ugly, but it really didn’t suit her age.
Ning Ke took one look at her outfit and couldn’t help sighing. “You just wear whatever.”
Tao Zi: “You’re insulting me again, just like my brother.”
Ning Ke: “I do have the same nature as him. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have bothered calling you over.”
“Him,” Tao Zi said, remembering the little secret she’d accidentally discovered about her brother but holding it back. “He started his hospital internship a couple days ago. He’s being tortured.”
Ning Ke: “He’s already at the hospital? He never mentioned it.”
Tao Zi: “You didn’t have time.”
Ning Ke was stunned.
What had she been doing recently? Filming a variety show with Yan Yunzhi. Going shopping and running into Yan Yunzhi, so accompanying her to a checkup. Going to her house because her mother had returned…
Somehow, her life had been completely filled by Yan Yunzhi.
Tao Zi was still chattering. “You don’t know, my brother has been so annoying at home. He looks at me like I’m a problem all day, and then there’s my mom…”
Ning Ke snapped back to reality, endured Tao Zi’s babbling for a moment, then issued a blunt order. “Talk less. I’m resting.”
Tao Zi muttered, “So many rules.”
But the car finally went quiet.
Ning Ke closed her eyes and ran through the Without Her script in her mind. It wasn’t until the car stopped at Yulin Film Studio that she surfaced from that meditative state.
An Yu got out first and spotted a familiar face. “Brother Jian and President Xu are both here.”
Ning Ke hummed, quickly stepping forward to greet them. “President Xu, Brother Jian.”
She’d gotten this drama partly due to her strong audition and partly because of Xu Yinlou—Xu Yinlou was an old acquaintance of Director Zhang. She’d read the Without Her script and loved it, so she’d invested a sum, making her one of the financiers. Today she’d been invited to the kickoff ceremony.
Xu Yinlou wore a haute couture qipao, draped in a snow-white mink coat, holding a black handbag, in stiletto heels—like a woman stepping straight out of a Republic-era misty rain.
She had cold, elegant features: long, narrow eyes, slightly arched willow-leaf brows, a high nose bridge, and thin lips pressed together—a look of cool detachment and lofty disdain.
She gave Ning Ke an indifferent nod, then noticed she’d brought someone and gave a tiny nod of greeting. “I’ll go on ahead.”
After she left, Tao Zi asked, “Ning Ke, who was that?”
“My boss,” Ning Ke said, seeing the dazed look on her face. “Don’t go bothering her.”
Tao Zi stared at that dignified, slender retreating figure, then down at her own clothes. “Her qipao is gorgeous. I want to ask where she got it, whether she’d be interested in visiting my shop.”
Ning Ke: “Forget it. Hers are all custom-made.”
“Then I can customize for her too,” Tao Zi finally tore her gaze away. “Just send me her WeChat contact.”
Ning Ke: “In your dreams.”
With that, she ignored Tao Zi, handed her off to the costume director, and went over to the director’s group.
Xu Yinlou was speaking with Director Zhang Yu, a small smile on her face. “Ning Ke’s here.”
No sooner had she spoken than Ning Ke walked over. “Director Zhang, it’s a pleasure to work with you again.”
Director Zhang, with his tousled hair, laughed. “Haha, President Xu’s ranks have no weak soldiers. Ning Ke, give it your all!”
Ning Ke smiled and exchanged a few pleasantries, then greeted the drama’s male and female leads. She nodded to the rest of the cast one by one.
What was infuriating was that Chen Xian—who had auditioned for the second male lead—had still gotten into the cast. Word was an investor had arranged it. Director Zhang wasn’t satisfied with him, but there was nothing he could do. Ning Ke felt a surge of irritation at the thought of acting opposite him, but she had no choice—the director’s team had to balance the interests of all the investors.
After meeting everyone in the crew, Ning Ke walked Xu Yinlou out.
Xu Yinlou happened to be in Yulin on business and had stopped by on the way. She drew her coat closer. “I ran into your uncle yesterday and chatted with him a bit. I told him to stop trying to persuade you to give up your career and come home. After all, your career is your security.”
Ning Ke: “Thank you.”
Xu Yinlou hummed. “I’ll head back first.”
Ning Ke suddenly asked, “President Xu, could I ask you a favor?”
“What?”
“I have,” Ning Ke thought for a moment before saying, “I have an acquaintance, a girl. She hasn’t been in good shape for the past two years and hasn’t released any new songs. I wanted to ask Director Zhang if she could sing the theme song for Without Her.”
Xu Yinlou raised an eyebrow. “Jing Luoluo, who’s on your show?”
Ning Ke: “Her.”
Xu Yinlou gave an noncommittal nod, indicating she’d noted it.
Ning Ke didn’t say anything more. People like Xu Yinlou—if she felt like it, a word to Director Zhang was normal; if she didn’t want to, no one could persuade her.
They walked out while talking, and just as the bodyguard opened the car door, a voice called from behind: “President Xu!”
Xu Yinlou stopped, turned, and saw the young woman approaching.
She recognized her as the girl who’d come with Ning Ke, and vaguely, as the no-good youngest daughter of the Tao family.
She quirked her lips slightly and got in the car.
Just as Tao Zi reached them, the door slammed shut in her face.
“President Xu! Could you…” Tao Zi panted as she ran up, only to have the door closed right in front of her. The rest of the sentence came out in the car’s exhaust fumes. “…add me on WeChat…”
Ning Ke couldn’t help laughing. “Hey.”
Tao Zi watched the black sedan drive away. “That President Xu has way too much attitude…”
Ning Ke shot her a look. “You’re the one with ulterior motives.”
Tao Zi: “I don’t…”
She said she didn’t, but her gaze stayed fixed on the departing car until it vanished. She didn’t ask Ning Ke for the contact again, either.
Watching her crane her neck, Ning Ke asked, “Are all the costumes counted?”
Tao Zi: “Don’t worry, they’re quite satisfied. I didn’t embarrass you.”
Ning Ke: “I’m not worried about you embarrassing me. You’d only embarrass yourself—you’ve been running that shop for over half a year. Look how much you’ve lost.”
Tao Zi: “Well… I’m still in my startup phase. And my family has plenty of money, so it doesn’t matter if I burn a little. Who’s like you, with your head stuck in the money jar, all you know is making money, money, money.”
“You—” Ning Ke shook her head with a laugh, but the smile faded as she walked away. She threw back a final line. “I’m not like you. I fight for myself. If I don’t become my own tree, am I supposed to wait around for someone to shelter me from the rain?”
Tao Zi fell silent.
She suddenly remembered that when Ning Ke had been at odds with her family, during the time she was blacklisted and had to pay a massive contract penalty, Ning Hui had stood by and watched. Ning Ke was hard-headed enough not to ask her family for a single cent. She’d worked as an extra, lying in the snow all day playing a corpse—a story that some people in the industry later used as a joke.
Ning Ke was walking further away now. She looked back and tossed out, “You head back. I won’t see you off. I’m busy.”
Tao Zi: “Alright, I’m going, then.”
Ning Ke waved without turning around, dismissing the noisy girl.
That evening, the director organized a table reading for the main cast.
Tonight’s script was the first act.
The leading lady, code-named “Lady Nightingale,” hosted an upper-class ball, inviting many dignitaries.
A woman in a dark rose gown, her figure graceful, danced in succession with several high-ranking officials. Even as she played along, she gripped her knife.
Just then, the uniformed female police officer, Shen Guhong, arrived. Expressionless, she fired a gun at the ceiling. After the deafening boom, she smiled slightly. “Apologies. I’m late.”
Amid screams of “Ah!”, chaos erupted.
Lady Nightingale smiled sweetly at the obese middle-aged man, but her hand moved with ruthless speed—a sharp dagger plunging into his abdomen, blood splattering!
She flipped over and leaped from the window. Officer Shen, with cold, fierce brows, shouted to chase—but at the very moment she could have caught her, she slashed one of her subordinates behind her, then looked at her companion’s retreating back and stabbed herself.
As she fell, she quirked the corner of her mouth.
Ning Ke had done her homework, and she slipped easily into character while reading.
The role she was playing this time was a madwoman—she didn’t hesitate to hurt even herself, yet she was sensitive and gentle inside, waking in the night with choked sobs over the blood on her hands.
After finishing the first act, her heartbeat and breathing had accelerated. She took three deep breaths to regain control.
Director Zhang was impressed by her emotional sensitivity and empathy. He gave an approving nod and moved on to the next part.
After her section was done, Ning Ke relaxed a little.
Flipping through the script, she saw that a supporting character had the surname Yan, and just like that, she thought of Yan Yunzhi.
With her not at home, what would Yan Yunzhi be doing alone in the house?
Her work came one after another, but Yan Yunzhi’s didn’t.
Maybe this was what people called the difference between an actress and an artist.
Her thoughts drifted for a moment, but she quickly refocused and continued reading.
After the table reading ended, Ning Ke walked out quickly. “Director Zhang, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“The theme song matter? President Xu called me this afternoon. I said I’d consider it.”
Ning Ke hadn’t expected Xu Yinlou to move that fast. She’d only nodded before, but apparently she’d already paved the way.
She said immediately, “How about I have her come over to talk with you? What do you think?”
Director Zhang: “Sure. President Xu’s recommendation, I’ll trust it.”
Ning Ke set a time with Director Zhang, then messaged Yan Yunzhi: “Do you have Jing Luoluo’s number?”
The reply came: “Yes.”
Soon, the phone rang.
There was a lot of noise on the other end, but Yan Yunzhi’s voice came through clear. “Little Ning, Jing Luoluo is right next to me. Do you want to talk to her directly?”
Their teacher’s circle had gathered recently to prepare for the tour, so it wasn’t surprising that Jing Luoluo was there. “Okay.”
Jing Luoluo took the phone. “Sister Ning Ke.”
“To make a long story short,” Ning Ke said without preamble, “I’ve taken on a new drama recently. The director is Zhang Yu. Are you interested in singing the theme song?”
Jing Luoluo: “Director Zhang? Me?”
—Zhang Yu’s dramas had all been ratings champions in recent years, and the OSTs were sung by top-tier singers with massive popularity. Singing a theme song for his drama would undeniably boost a singer’s profile.
Ning Ke: “We’ve set a time. Get ready and come over.”
Jing Luoluo choked up. “Thank you… I…”
Ning Ke: “Don’t thank me. Add my WeChat later.”
She walked down the stairs. An Yu, knowing she was on a call, deliberately kept a distance.
The moon hung bright and full in the sky. Poets wrote about it so often that the moon was always linked to homecoming and longing.
Ning Ke didn’t hang up. For no particular reason, she wanted to say a few more words to Yan Yunzhi.
The phone passed back to Yan Yunzhi. She asked, “Will this filming take long? Are you coming back anytime soon?”
“I’m in Yulin. If anything comes up…” Ning Ke was mid-sentence when she suddenly heard someone on the other end call out, “Senior Sister.”
Xia Linsheng.
She always liked to call her that. Senior Sister, senior sister.
Xia Linsheng and Yan Yunzhi had studied violin together since childhood. Back when Ning Ke used to go to the piano room to find Yan Yunzhi, she would smile sweetly and block the doorway, saying in her gentle tone: “Sorry, Senior Sister is practicing with me. You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”
And she had waited.
Until eleven at night. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep. When she woke, the lights were off, the room pitch black. No one was there.
Ning Ke fell abruptly silent.
Her hand tightened around the phone, knuckles white from the force.
“Little Ning?”
“Ning Ke.”
“I’m not coming back.”
She coldly dropped those words and hung up.
