Chapter 25: The Secret Behind the White Moonlight Part 2

“Ming Li!” Receiving no response, Zhu Hanxing shouted her name. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” Ming Li paused. “I just don’t know how to answer.”

Zhu Hanxing was indeed her best friend, but Ming Li was used to being alone. Unlike Ming Xi, Ming Li had been introverted since childhood. She didn’t like sharing her thoughts, though she rarely had many “troubles” to speak of back then. She rarely desired things she couldn’t have and had never been in love.

When her family fell apart, she had no one to complain to, and she knew complaining was useless anyway. She had to keep moving forward. Her father was dead; she couldn’t afford to collapse. Instead of wasting time venting, she needed to earn money.

Looking back, Ming Li realized she had become this person. No matter what Zhu Hanxing asked, her reflexive response was always I’m fine, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.

Being my friend must be exhausting, Ming Li thought.

“Just say whatever you’re thinking right now. Didn’t it make you angry to see Gu Qingshuang and Shen Lideng standing together?” Zhu Hanxing asked. “Ming Xi was so angry she cried.”

Ming Li was stunned for a moment, then laughed helplessly. “Starry, aren’t you tired? You finished comforting the little sister and now you’re moving on to the big sister?”

Zhu Hanxing stiffened. “I enjoy it! Besides, I only comforted Ming Xi so she’d take my sister out to play. I had an ulterior motive.”

“Well, I don’t enjoy it,” Ming Li said. “I’m not a child. I don’t need to be coddled. If I’m truly hurting, I’ll seek you out without you even asking. I’m just afraid that when that day comes, you’ll find me incredibly annoying.”

“Never!” Zhu Hanxing thumped her chest. “As long as you need me, Zhu Hanxing will always be your most patient listener.”

“Ah,” Ming Li sighed softly.

“What?”

“I’m so moved I’m about to cry.”

There was no sob in Ming Li’s voice, only teasing laughter. Realizing she had been played, Zhu Hanxing pretended to be angry. “I’m not talking to you for three days.”

“Don’t,” Ming Li immediately coaxed her. “I was wrong.”

“That’s better,” Zhu Hanxing said. “Ming Li, you know I can’t help you in other ways. I have no money or power. If I can’t even give you emotional support, I’ll die of guilt.”

“You provide plenty of emotional support. You’re the best friend in the world,” Ming Li praised.

Zhu Hanxing went quiet.

Ming Li knew Zhu Hanxing was worried about her. Ever since that day at the hospital when her physical symptoms were diagnosed as anxiety, Zhu Hanxing had been messaging her much more frequently. Before, if Ming Li didn’t reply for a while, Zhu Hanxing wouldn’t mind, knowing Ming Li would get back to her eventually. But now, if Ming Li didn’t reply within ten minutes, she would call.

Yet, Zhu Hanxing never mentioned the hearing loss. She never asked if she was feeling better. She simply stayed by her side in this way.

Ming Li often felt that friendship was built on invisible, intangible bonds. She and Zhu Hanxing were like two sides of the same coin. Both were experts at hiding things. When Zhu Hanxing’s father was critically ill, she never said a word. When she was bullied on set, she never complained. Zhu Hanxing never brought negative energy to her.

Likely stunned by the sudden praise, Zhu Hanxing remained silent for nearly a minute.

In the silence, Ming Li spoke again. “It’s not that I’m keeping things from you. It’s just… I haven’t figured it out myself.”

Ming Li explained that seeing Gu Qingshuang and Shen Lideng together didn’t make her angry. She felt a bit of sadness, but she didn’t feel wronged. She simply felt that while Shen Lideng was beautiful, she wasn’t a good match for Gu Qingshuang.

It wasn’t just because she had a despicable brother. It was because Shen Lideng appeared arrogant and glorious on the outside, but was actually deeply insecure. Gu Qingshuang was also a person who lacked a sense of security. How could two people like that be together?

They were incompatible.

Ming Li rarely spoke ill of people behind their backs. If Zhu Hanxing hadn’t been pushing so hard—to the point where it felt like their friendship depended on it—Ming Li wouldn’t have said these things.

Before meeting Shen Lideng, she had felt a slight dislike for her because everyone constantly compared them. But after seeing her, and especially after seeing her dance, that dislike had vanished. She felt that Shen Lideng was a woman with a story, living her life behind a mask.

In truth, everyone was. Ming Li was, Chun Liuyi was, and Shen Lideng was. In this world, only those who are sufficiently pampered can afford to be reckless and do as they please.

Like Shen Chang.

Ming Li was inherently empathetic, especially since she was certain she and Shen Lideng were nothing alike.

Listening to her, Zhu Hanxing couldn’t help but smile. “And you, Sister Li? Do you have a sense of security?”

“A little, but not much,” Ming Li admitted. “It’s just a feeling I had.”

Zhu Hanxing pressed for more details. Ming Li confirmed that she wasn’t hurt by the news of Gu Qingshuang sending flowers every year. Instead, she had felt more pain in the afternoon, when Gu Qingshuang reached out to stop her from teaching Shen Chang a lesson.

Zhu Hanxing fell silent for a few moments, then laughed. “Sister Li, you actually have a very strong sense of security.”

Before Ming Li could ask for an explanation, she heard someone calling on the other end. “Teacher Zhu, are you ready?”

A crew member was urging Zhu Hanxing back to the set. Zhu Hanxing covered the receiver and replied, and Ming Li didn’t keep her. She told her to work hard and hung up.

***

It was another late-night shoot.

In seven out of ten scenes, Zhu Hanxing was required to cry. This time, she was struggling to find the right emotion and had to do take after take.

Chun Liuyi remained her scene partner. In an arthouse film like this, there was a heavy focus on dialogue between the two leads. By the time they finished, it was four in the morning.

As the staff packed up, Chun Liuyi threw on a coat and headed toward her trailer. Zhu Hanxing hurried after her, calling out in a tearful whisper, “Hu Jia.”

Chun Liuyi froze and turned around. Zhu Hanxing’s eyes were as red as a rabbit’s—sad and glazed over.

“Zhu Hanxing,” Chun Liuyi called her name sharply, trying to pull her out of the character.

Zhu Hanxing looked up. “I know. Just… let me breathe for a second.”

Tears streamed down her face. She looked tragically beautiful. To be fair, though Zhu Hanxing had transitioned from singer to actress, she was incredibly gifted. Her face was perfect for the big screen, naturally carrying a sense of history. However, she had lost too much weight for this role. Her jawline was sharp, her cheeks hollow.

Her voice was still trembling. “I have something to tell you.”

Chun Liuyi checked her watch, cold and indifferent. “It can wait until tomorrow.”