Chapter 43: My Mom Knows About Us Part 1

In the latter half of 2013, a major scandal shook the entertainment industry: actress Jiang Yuan, a three-time Hundred Flowers Award nominee, caused a malignant traffic accident while driving drunk, resulting in three deaths and one injury.

The victims were a family of four, a middle-class household in their forties. Their fourteen-year-old son had shielded his four-year-old sister in the back seat, but the little girl had still died from smoke inhalation. In the end, only the fourteen-year-old son survived, and he still lost his right arm.

In that era when the internet was just starting to rise, this incident garnered massive attention. However, Jiang Yuan, who had destroyed a happy family, only received a fourteen-year prison sentence. The public was outraged and boycotted her works en masse. Time Flies, which was about to be released, was thus buried in the river of history.

Because one of the lead actors was Jiang Yuan.

The director, Fan Yu, was indeed a good friend of Lin Zhenyi’s. Fresh off winning Best Debut at the Venice Film Festival, she was a new female director everyone had high hopes for. She threw all her energy and savings into shooting this film with soaring passion. The film had just finished post-production editing and was about to enter the promotion stage. No one expected this utterly undeserved calamity. All her painstaking effort went down the drain. They later renamed it and cut the plot, but even that couldn’t change the outcome of it being shelved.

Later, Qu An’ge had dinner with Fan Yu. By then, Fan Yu had given up on film and switched to TV dramas. At that dinner, she didn’t drink a single drop, claiming she had alcohol-related PTSD. As the atmosphere grew lively, she talked about the matter, still choking up and wiping away tears. “Who can I blame? I can only blame myself for poor judgment. I looked at over a hundred actresses back then, and I chose Jiang Yuan myself…”

At that time, Jiang Yuan had great popularity and a good reputation. Her fans felt her three nominations without a single win were all due to bad luck, crafting a whole “beautiful, strong, miserable” persona for her.

And Fan Yu said, “I also thought her acting was good. Actually, I did have a slight concern at the time. I thought she complained too much, liked to drink too much. But I didn’t take it seriously. I thought, a talented actor, unrecognized talent—it’s normal to have some personality. Ah, but truly, virtue and moral character are what matter most.”

Qu An’ge, hearing this at the time, secretly spat the sip of beer she’d taken back into her glass and then poured it into the trash.

She received quite an education from that.

Sometimes, what looks like a tiny, trivial matter can lead to consequences that spread like a small crack in glass, expanding until the whole pane shatters. This story even had an epilogue ten years later, and this epilogue was known only to their insiders. In 2020, Jiang Yuan was granted early release for good behavior, only to be stabbed to death at the entrance of her apartment building. The perpetrator was a young man who hung around the apartment complex often, looking like a homeless vagrant. Upon arrest, he was discovered to be very young, but missing a right arm.

He was the boy who had survived back then.

No one knew how he had lived through those ten years, but from this outcome, one could tell that not a single day had passed without him nursing his hatred. After stabbing Jiang Yuan to death, he waited at the crime scene until the police arrived, clearly embracing a death wish.

This incident was quietly suppressed and didn’t cause widespread public commotion, but it served as a cautionary tragedy for everyone who knew the inside story.

Later, the web series that made Qu An’ge famous was directed by Fan Yu. Flipping through the script now, Qu An’ge noticed Fan Yu’s current style was vastly different from her future one, clearly leaning more towards art-house cinema now. The story roughly followed the female lead witnessing her best friend’s death one night, but without seeing the killer’s face. The police ruled it a suicide the next day. Even though the female lead brought up seeing the murderer, it was dropped for lack of clues and evidence. The female lead herself was even suspected of mental illness. To avoid being committed to a psychiatric hospital, she had to stop mentioning it. The following years were agonizing because of this, and years later, she decided to reopen the investigation…

The script contained many lengthy flashback sequences, depicting their youth and delicate young girlish feelings. The female lead in her youth was optimistic and cheerful, while the grown-up female lead, due to long-term dependence on medication, was erratic and rambling. These two periods were to be played by one person, undoubtedly a massive challenge for any actor.

Honestly, the story was gripping. At first, the audience would surely think the female lead was just seeing hallucinations due to mental illness, only to discover as the investigation deepened that a real murderer existed. The two then got locked into a deadly cat-and-mouse game. At the final moment, the female lead escaped by jumping into the sea. She recalled her last summer with her best friend, the two of them embracing underwater. Some unspeakable emotion suddenly became clear to her then. The female lead cried as she swam, tears and seawater mingling together.

Qu An’ge reached the last page, exhaled a long breath, and felt her own eyes sting. She looked up, only to see Xu Mi slumped over the desk, already asleep.

Her nose was red, her eyelids were swollen, her small face pitiful like a little rabbit’s. Qu An’ge reached a finger out and poked the soft, fleshy cheek. Xu Mi frowned slightly and turned her head to switch positions.

Qu An’ge was still immersed in the script, thinking to herself: if they’d lost contact right after high school graduation, would she, like the female lead, only realize years later that she’d liked Xu Mi since high school? But this train of thought felt too ominous. She quickly shook her head, trying to shake the thought away, and then quietly leaned over, wanting to steal a kiss on that cheek.

That cheek was pinkish, radiating a faint warmth, covered with fine, downy hair like a fresh peach. As she got close, it was as if she could smell the sweet scent of peach, stimulating her taste buds to the point of salivation. She swallowed. Just as she was about to kiss it, Xu Mi suddenly lifted her head, and the back of her head smacked right into Qu An’ge’s nose.

They both cried out at the same time, one clutching her nose, the other the back of her head. Xu Mi’s mother called from outside, “What are you yelling about? Are you awake? Come out and eat.”

The two exchanged a glance. It took Xu Mi a few seconds to guess what Qu An’ge had just been attempting. She turned her head away, her ears bright red. “Let’s go eat.”

Dusk had already fallen. Xu Mi’s father came home from work and, seeing Qu An’ge, naturally engaged in another round of reminiscing about the past. That evening, Qu An’ge expressed her intention to stay the night, saying Xu Mi was still having stomach pains and she was worried and wanted to keep her company.

Xu Mi’s mother gladly agreed. Then she added, “The other room is too cluttered with stuff. Why don’t you squeeze in with Mimi?”

Qu An’ge was naturally more than eager and quickly said, “No trouble for you, Auntie. I absolutely won’t crowd Mimi—”

She glanced at Xu Mi as she said this, remembering how, during their last separation, Xu Mi had still refused to share a room with her. Indeed, Xu Mi’s face was dark, as if she wasn’t too happy about it. Qu An’ge added, “I can sleep on the floor too.”

Xu Mi’s mother laughed. “What floor? The bed’s so big, and you’re such a thin little girl.”

Qu An’ge blinked her eyes at Xu Mi. Xu Mi said, “If it’s too uncomfortable to sleep, then just go home…”

Before she finished, Xu Mi’s mother spoke up on Qu An’ge’s behalf. “What kind of talk is that? An’ge is clearly just worried about you.”

And so, Qu An’ge was allowed into the room.

After they both washed up, Qu An’ge, wearing Xu Mi’s old pajamas, sat on the bed with her legs hugged to her chest. “These pajamas look exactly like the ones from high school. They still totally fit.”

Xu Mi mumbled, “What’s so strange about not growing since high school?”

Qu An’ge stretched out her limbs. The sleeves and pant legs rode up, revealing a length of her forearms and calves. “They’re a little short on me.”

Xu Mi didn’t reply, crawling directly into her blanket.

She had already laid out the two separate blankets that afternoon. When Qu An’ge noticed this, she had sighed almost blatantly, but by now, she’d accepted it. She propped her laptop on her lap, searched for a more lighthearted variety show, and had Xu Mi watch one episode with her. After the episode, Xu Mi got up to work. Qu An’ge pulled her back, turned off the light directly, and announced she was going to sleep immediately.

But naturally, she couldn’t fall asleep.

Tossing and turning.

Her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness. By the moonlight filtering through the curtains, she could now faintly make out the furnishings of the room. She recalled those nights sleeping over at Xu Mi’s house in high school. Back then, they hadn’t awakened to their feelings yet, sharing one blanket, even linking arms.

Thinking about it now, the treatment had actually regressed.

Qu An’ge turned over again, facing Xu Mi. Xu Mi had her back to her, the blanket covering most of her head, only a bit of the top showing, dark and fuzzy. Qu An’ge’s arm itched with the urge to reach over and hold her but didn’t dare. Her thoughts were pulling back and forth when she suddenly heard Xu Mi’s breathing grow heavier. Qu An’ge whispered, “Mimi?”

Xu Mi didn’t answer. Qu An’ge asked again, “Does your stomach hurt?”

The darkness made the world vague and unclear, like a tangled cluster of squirming worms. Qu An’ge felt her guess had to be right. She threw off the covers and sat up. “I’ll go get you some hot water.”

Xu Mi finally made a sound. “No need, it’ll pass in a bit.”

Her voice was trembling slightly.

Qu An’ge grew anxious. “How can that be? You’re hurting so badly.”

Xu Mi revealed a bit more of her head, lying on her back, a pair of eyes visible. “Not drinking any. I don’t want to have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

Qu An’ge: “…”

That logic was sound, actually.

But her heart was truly anxious. She wanted to do something. Her nerves felt like a brittle dead twig, about to snap if she did nothing. Qu An’ge recklessly thrust her hand into Xu Mi’s blanket and grabbed her hand.

The palm was ice-cold and clammy with cold sweat.

Xu Mi had initially wanted to shake her off but lacked the energy. And for some reason, after holding Qu An’ge’s hand, the pain seemed to genuinely lessen a bit. Perhaps it was because the warmth of Qu An’ge’s palm distracted her more. She couldn’t help but think of those intimate days when they’d fallen asleep holding hands. Qu An’ge’s hands always seemed to have a higher temperature than hers, giving her a sense of comfort and peace.

In her moment of distraction, Qu An’ge lay down, pressing tightly against her back, her hand moving further forward to rest against her stomach.

The warm palm against her belly felt inexplicably hot.

Time seemed to suddenly stop. Xu Mi recalled a line from the script—She finally realized she was trapped in time; perhaps she had died too, five years ago.

Xu Mi’s feelings were complicated, but Qu An’ge was blissfully happy.

She felt the current situation was a good one. The two of them nestled together, acting completely like a normal couple. Xu Mi’s belly was soft, her body heat seeping through the thin fabric. The scent of shampoo lingered at her nose. She thought about that peach-like cheek from the evening, feeling her only regret was not having successfully stolen that kiss.