Chapter 42: “You Can Take a Look.” Part 2

and along those same lines, she felt she, too, had become a different person. Now she realized Qu An’ge hadn’t actually changed at all. She still got so anxious and worried over her, and was still just as reckless and careless.

This realization gave her a sense of peace.

It was a long-lost feeling.

Her heart, which had felt like a broken strand of spider silk drifting in the air, suddenly seemed to find a place to land, returning to a stable state and reattaching itself within her chest.

She almost wanted to ask if Qu An’ge still remembered that time in university, but then Qu An’ge’s phone rang. She saw Qu An’ge turn and walk out to take the call.

The call was from Qu An’ge’s mother.

As soon as the line connected, it was a direct, blunt question: “Did you see Mimi?”

Qu An’ge made an affirmative “Mhm” sound. Qu An’ge’s mother then asked, “Where are you? Are you coming home today?”

Qu An’ge made another non-committal sound, not answering immediately. Mainly because she instantly realized her first instinct was not to go home. Yet, recognizing that this wish wasn’t exactly filial, she hesitated. Her mother let out a cold laugh. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Qu An’ge hurriedly said, “Home, home, I’m coming home.”

Qu An’ge’s mother: “No need. Just take good care of Mimi.”

Qu An’ge was surprised. “You don’t want me to come home and explain?”

Three months ago, her mother had demanded she come home and explain in person. She was indeed about to return then, but Aunty Qin Peiyao was waiting to make trouble for her on set, and Wang Jia told her to join the crew quickly, so the matter got delayed.

She remembered how emotional her mother had been then, making her feel like going home would definitely unleash a storm of blood and fury.

Three months later, her mother seemed to have undergone some psychological change. Now, her words were: “The explanation can wait. Come and explain together when Mimi is better.”

Qu An’ge was immediately on guard. “You can’t make things difficult for Mimi.”

Qu An’ge’s mother snorted coldly. “You’re overthinking it. The only person I want to make things difficult for is you.”

Qu An’ge: “…Then I’m not coming home.”

Qu An’ge’s mother: “Fine, don’t come back then.”

Qu An’ge: “…Isn’t that a bit too heartless?”

Ending this heartwarming “motherly love, daughterly duty” dialogue, Qu An’ge went to the kitchen, poured a glass of hot water, and returned to the room. She saw Xu Mi bent over the desk, writing something in a notebook. Leaning closer, she saw some ingredient names and seasonal notes. Qu An’ge felt a pang of sympathy. “You should rest first.”

Xu Mi closed the notebook. “I really don’t feel bad anymore. You should go home.”

Qu An’ge placed the hot water beside Xu Mi’s hand. “Drink some hot water.”

Steam curled from the glass, drifting towards the window. Xu Mi didn’t know where to look, so her eyes fell on her fingers. She noticed her fingers were clutching the notebook cover so tightly they were white, and she quickly let go.

Her heart was racing.

She knew she was nervous, but didn’t know what exactly she was nervous about.

She and Qu An’ge had known each other for ten years, been together for five. There was really no reason to be this nervous.

The only explanation could be that they hadn’t seen each other for too long.

But was there really a need to be so nervous?

This internal question sparked a flicker of competitive spirit. She took a breath and lifted her head, about to speak, when another needle-like stab of pain shot through her lower abdomen. Her face changed color, and she collapsed onto the desk.

Qu An’ge, as if claiming victory, made a fuss. “I told you! You definitely need more rest. Get back to bed, quick.”

…

It was truly baffling how, with all the advances in science, the problem of menstrual cramps still couldn’t be solved.

And she’d already taken a painkiller that morning.

She felt a bit better by lunchtime, but the pain intensified again after eating. She picked up the hospital-issued painkillers, saw “One tablet daily” on the instructions, hesitated, and put it back.

If she valued her life, better to follow the doctor’s orders.

She lay back down. Qu An’ge put a TV drama on her laptop. At first, they discussed the plot, but then Qu An’ge went quiet. Xu Mi turned her head and saw Qu An’ge had fallen asleep against the chair back.

It made sense; after a full day and night of flying, she must be exhausted.

Once Qu An’ge was asleep, Xu Mi suddenly dared to look at her face. She then vaguely realized why she hadn’t dared to look at Qu An’ge. There was unease and guilt in her heart. The unease naturally stemmed from the fear that Qu An’ge might leave. The guilt came from the happiness that Qu An’ge had actually come back.

Yes, she was very happy Qu An’ge was back, yet she felt guilty for this happiness.

Because she knew her happiness came at the cost of Qu An’ge’s dream.

If a person feels joy because their partner gives up their dream for them, isn’t that too base and shameless? Xu Mi wasn’t quite ready to deeply ponder this question right now.

Qu An’ge was sleeping soundly. The afternoon autumn sun settled on her thick, curled lashes, a brilliant gold. The golden sunlight fragmented her face into patches of gold and white, almost like a deity’s statue. Xu Mi reached her finger out, hovering over Qu An’ge’s face, tracing her features in the void. Her finger suddenly brushed against a stray curling hair. She pulled her hand back. Right then, Qu An’ge lost her balance and nearly toppled over.

She woke up, wiping the corner of her mouth with her hand. “Did I fall asleep?”

Xu Mi’s throat felt tight. She struggled to keep her expression neutral. “Yeah…”

She actually wanted to tell Qu An’ge to just come sleep on the bed. But as the words were about to leave her mouth, they somehow got stuck in her throat and came out as: “…Go home and rest properly.”

Qu An’ge felt a little dejected.

Since she’d returned that morning, Xu Mi had been telling her to go home. It was hard not to suspect that Xu Mi was getting annoyed with her.

She sat on the chair, hands braced on the seat, looking at Xu Mi pitifully. “But my eyes are practically closing. Can’t I just sleep here? Just in a tiny little corner?”

She stared at Xu Mi’s face, trying her best to make her eyes look pitiful and delicate. She didn’t know if her expression management was working, but after a five-second standoff, Xu Mi, though silent, slowly shifted her position a little. She moved to the left side of the bed, leaving the right side empty.

Qu An’ge was overjoyed, but fearing that showing it too clearly would earn Xu Mi’s disdain, she quickly began peeling off her jacket and pants. Xu Mi froze, her face flushing. “What are you doing?”

Qu An’ge said, “I’ve been traveling all this way, getting dusty. It’s not right to get directly into bed like this, is it?”

The reasoning seemed sound.

But something still felt a little off.

Xu Mi turned her head aside. Qu An’ge stripped down to just a small camisole and slipped under the covers.

Xu Mi finally realized what was wrong.

Qu An’ge was practically bare and sharing a blanket with her. The scorching heat instantly transmitted from the other side, making a thin layer of sweat break out on her skin. She wanted to tell Qu An’ge to get another blanket from the cabinet, but Qu An’ge had already closed her eyes with a smile, her breathing quickly evening out, seemingly asleep.

Xu Mi tested the waters softly: “Qu An’ge?”

“Hmm?” Qu An’ge responded.

So she wasn’t asleep, but her eyes were still closed, as if she was very tired.

Xu Mi couldn’t bear to make her get up. She sat up in bed and played on her phone for a bit. After about ten minutes, Qu An’ge’s breathing was even. This time, when she called her name, there was no reaction. Xu Mi quietly got out of bed and fetched another blanket from the cabinet.

After spreading the blanket, she went to shut down the laptop. While unplugging the charger, she noticed Qu An’ge’s phone screen light up. There was a message from Lin Zhenyi:

【Look at the script and think it over again.】

Xu Mi stood frozen.

Her stomach started aching again faintly, but other thoughts overcame the sensation of pain. She sat down on the chair, dazed, remembering the first time Qu An’ge got a role, rolling on the bed in delight, clutching the script.

That night, Qu An’ge had said that besides acting, she didn’t know what else she could do.

Xu Mi pretended she had forgotten.

But the truth was, she remembered it deeply.

White edges of A4 paper peeked out from Qu An’ge’s bag. Xu Mi pulled them out and saw the title page read—

Time Flies

Unconsciously, she opened to the first page and saw the first line—

【Scene One—

1999, at the seaside…】

…

When Qu An’ge woke up, it was probably dusk. As consciousness slowly returned, she remembered where she was and quickly looked to her left, only to find the left side of the bed sheets slightly wrinkled, but empty.

Disappointment and panic immediately flooded her heart. She looked to the other side and saw the setting sun streaming in behind Xu Mi. Xu Mi was surrounded by a golden halo, her head lowered, her fine hair looking fluffy.

The backlighting made it hard for Qu An’ge to see Xu Mi’s expression at once, but she saw something glittering on Xu Mi’s cheeks, sparkling like the fire of diamonds. She quickly realized it was tears.

Xu Mi’s head was lowered, tears like pearls dropping pat-pat-pat onto a thick stack of A4 paper—the movie script called Time Flies that she’d gotten from Lin Zhenyi.

But in that moment, Qu An’ge wasn’t sure exactly why Xu Mi was crying. Her first instinct was that Xu Mi was angry with her again, that she’d made her sad again. Based on this, she guessed a reason and quickly said, “Mimi, listen, let me explain. This isn’t my next project. I… I’ve already turned it down. Sister Lin just told me I could take a look.”

Xu Mi looked up, her voice as fragile as melting snow, tinged with a cool vulnerability. “Did you look at it?”

Qu An’ge shook her head. “I haven’t had the chance yet.”

Xu Mi said, “You can take a look.”

She held it out, suddenly noticing her own tear stains on it. She used her sleeve to dab them dry, sniffing. “Sorry, there are tear stains on it. It’s just too moving.”

Qu An’ge let out a confused, “Huh?”

Xu Mi moved a little closer. Qu An’ge saw her reddened nose and swollen, red-rimmed eyes. Sniffling, Xu Mi said, “Read it. Will you act in it?”

Qu An’ge was still a bit lost. “No… no, right? Weren’t we going to leave showbiz?”

Xu Mi didn’t speak, just shoved the script into Qu An’ge’s arms.

Curious, Qu An’ge opened the script. After reading about five or six pages, a memory lit up in her brain like a bolt of lightning.

She remembered this movie, and also remembered why she hadn’t recalled it immediately.

Because this movie was later renamed, for various reasons, to That Year’s Summer and Sea. Even so, that didn’t change its fate of never making it to theaters.