Does this even count as being together?
For several days straight, the question lingered in Zhong Jia’s mind.
Her parents had provided the ultimate template—from the movie star marrying down to a humble hairdresser at the start, all the way to the dramatic courtroom showdown at the end. It had been one explosive event after another. Zhong Kefei’s wiki page even listed Qiao Yingqiu as his ex-wife, and the scandal back then had the internet exploding with gossip. These days, even the standard press releases about celebrity couples getting together or breaking up felt downright boring by comparison.
It wasn’t that she needed to experience that ceiling-level drama of past-life debts being repaid in this one, or that they had to be as inseparable as Chen Kuang and Ju Zai, who had been like conjoined twins for over twenty years without ever getting tired of each other. But shouldn’t there be at least a little more lingering passion?
Things between her and Xie Yingnian hadn’t changed at all from before. If anything, it was too calm, so much so that Zhong Jia sometimes felt like she was still nursing a one-sided crush. Even their off-screen moments of intimacy came across as Xie Yingnian forcing herself to put on a fan-service show just to comfort her—fleeting touches that ended as soon as they began. It made that night’s impulsive biting feel like she’d been possessed by a ghost.
Zhong Jia, who had been the one bitten and left sore, had instead been enveloped by that rare moment of mutual understanding, giving her a sense of solid ground. But come morning, it was all gone again.
She kept replaying Min Conglu’s recent media interview over and over. The A-list actress had always been just shy of peak luck, missing out on major awards despite her widely acknowledged talent and good looks. Her announced marriage partner was the well-known screenwriter Xie Mei.
Gossip about behind-the-scenes figures just didn’t have enough juice, so one reporter, chasing KPIs, had imprudently brought up her ex.
“Xie Yingnian?” Min Conglu had a gentle face, but she was strong-willed at heart, always taking the lead in both her career and family matters. The wedding details had mostly followed her preferences.
Her current partner was the screenwriter for this very film, and the press conference venue had fallen deathly silent the moment the question dropped amid the usual clamor.
The actress, dressed in a striking red dress with a square collar, smiled. “So what if they share a surname? They’re both women, after all.”
Xie Mei stood beside her, exuding scholarly elegance in a navy-blue traditional robe. She took the microphone with grace. “We could call it fate. I’ve collaborated with Teacher Xie before, and we’ve already sent an invitation to her studio…”
Zhong Jia closed the video there, swiping a bit too hard and scratching the screen. As a not-quite-famous actress who was still miles from striking it rich, she instantly regretted damaging her cheap tempered glass protector that had cost her a tenner.
What bothered her most was Min Conglu’s assessment. Xie Yingnian wasn’t just “nice”—she was exceptionally wonderful, and she couldn’t possibly be inferior to anyone.
Of course, Zhong Jia sighed as she crossed her legs. Min Conglu might not have felt that deep intimacy, but neither had she.
People really were greedy. Being content with acting alongside Xie Yingnian in the same drama had evolved into a desire to get even closer—not on screen, not as characters, not as some distant mentor figure. She wanted to walk through life with her, spend the rest of their days together. Or, more bluntly, she wanted to sleep with her.
But how was she supposed to bring that up? Zhong Jia had seen those anonymous online posts. Was a dead bedroom a sign of no real feelings? The top comments all urged breaking up. Did liking someone truly mean having zero desire?
Xie Yingnian wasn’t some actual nun, even if Jujiu had mentioned last time that her closet still held a Breezy Temple daoist robe, ironed perfectly flat, as if she might head back to Xin Ting Mountain for a retreat at any moment.
When Zhong Jia had probed sideways about it, Xie Yingnian had just laughed it off casually. “What kind of nonsense is that? With my level of education, I’d probably get kicked out of the temple these days. Undergrad’s the baseline now.”
Everything publicly available online about Xie Yingnian’s education and schooling was already common knowledge to Zhong Jia at this point. Even Shi Cainran’s identity, which she’d thought was a rare insider secret, had been fully exposed after they followed each other on Weibo and Shi Cainran openly confirmed it. No longer her special little thrill.
As for everything else, Zhong Jia remained in the dark. Xie Yingnian showed no curiosity about her either. If they hadn’t actually slept together, they might as well have been sliding toward friends-with-benefits territory. She’d agreed, but it felt like she hadn’t. They were stringing each other along, stuck in limbo, both thinking about it without committing.
It all felt so superficial, like a brief physical attraction that would fizzle out.
What a headache. Were they really dating?
Someone knocked on the resting room door. A Cha answered the field recordist’s call from outside, then turned back to Zhong Jia, who was sprawled on the sofa frowning. “Tiantian, are you feeling unwell? Should we ask for a break?”
Even the person involved didn’t think they were dating, so an outsider like A Cha naturally wouldn’t go there.
“Huh?” Zhong Jia snapped out of it. She was holding her phone, open to her chat with Xie Yingnian, who had just said she’d switched locations and was on her way over.
They didn’t have many scenes together lately, and they were shooting in separate groups. By the time they crossed paths, it was nearly wrap-up, and everyone was exhausted. It wasn’t the right moment to air these frustrations. On the ride back to the hotel, they’d take the elevator to the same floor before parting ways. She’d rather use that time to just be together properly. What if there was no “after” once filming wrapped?
Zhong Jia was naturally optimistic, but this rare pessimism was weighing on their fledgling relationship. With Qiao Yingqiu as a precedent, anyone could see how one-sided devotion ended.
She lacked that confidence in an everlasting bond. She couldn’t blame Xie Yingnian for not offering it; she was the one asking for too much. Maybe “forever” wasn’t even in Xie Yingnian’s vocabulary.
But a fling would do too—as long as it was with her, she was willing.
“I’m fine, just need to splash my face.” She handed her phone to A Cha and headed to the bathroom next door.
The moment the door clicked shut, A Cha’s palm buzzed nonstop. Zhong Jia’s phone was ringing with an unknown caller, a strange number.
A little while later, Zhong Jia returned. A Cha immediately passed the phone back. She chuckled. “Didn’t I tell you? You can answer it. My personal life’s squeaky clean.”
The little assistant had probably been traumatized by her previous celebrity client and was handling things timidly, shaking her head like a rattle drum. “Nah, you take it. It’s rung a bunch of times—they sound pretty urgent to reach you.”
“Mm, okay.” Zhong Jia had a pretty good idea who it was.
Her skin was fair, giving her an overall clean look. The hair on her forehead was damp from the water, tousled and clinging to her smooth brow, lending her an air of fragility that her clear, resolute gaze quickly dispelled.
A Cha slipped out and gently closed the door behind her.
This number started with a different area code. Zhong Jia steeled herself, swiped across the flashing screen, and held the phone to her ear. A low male voice came through. “This is Zhong Kefei.”
Zhong Jia wasn’t surprised at all. “Oh. What is it?”
The man who had given her his surname and bloodline hadn’t expected such indifference—not even a hint of resentment. His secretary, who had failed to reach her earlier, stood trembling to the side until the newly appointed president shot him a look. He scurried out of the spacious, brightly lit office.
“Zhong Jia, I’m your father.”
Zhong Kefei, who made lightning-fast decisions for his company, hadn’t anticipated fumbling so badly. He frowned, glancing at the thick file on his desk—a comprehensive dossier on his daughter from birth to now, which he’d never bothered with before.
Whether it was her ear surgery, studying music abroad, or even starting a music company for her, Zhong Kefei figured he’d find some inroad to win the girl’s trust.
But things had gone south from the start. She showed zero interest in even talking, throwing him off balance first.
Zhong Jia casually brushed back her bangs and crouched down, letting out a laugh. “I know. So, what do you want? I’m working—super busy.”
She still harbored a bit of feeling for Qiao Yingqiu, after all. They’d spent time together and had expectations. From stories she’d heard from Xie Yingnian and Nong Siqing, she could somewhat forgive her.
As for Zhong Kefei? Sorry, nothing. She even wanted to laugh remembering how Xie Yingnian had kicked him face-first into the dirt at the funeral.
Not to mention how, back when she’d swallowed her pride to contact him for her grandmother’s sake, her messages had vanished into the void. She’d hated him for it once, but that was in the past. If she was fated to have no relationship with her parents, fine—live and let live.
“Your ears…”
“None of your business.”
“…The music academy’s reputation isn’t as good as…”
“None of your business.”
There was silence on the other end. Zhong Jia pictured Zhong Kefei’s darkened face and found it amusing. Revenge? A little, but she wouldn’t bother initiating it herself—it was too much effort.
Still, since he’d come knocking, why not?
Zhong Kefei pressed on. “You’ve signed with a company as an artist, but it’s small, and their music division is lacking…”
“None of your business.”
This deadbeat dad routine—irresponsible guy shows up years later to claim family—was straight out of every cheesy soap opera. Zhong Jia was wide awake to it. He’d ditched her before because she was a daughter; now what, sudden nostalgia? She hadn’t had a sex change.
Late-blooming affection was usually a trap. She wasn’t dumb enough to fall for it.
“Just spit it out. What do you want?” Zhong Jia figured her mom’s taste in men must be off—this guy was all hesitant dithering, and he wasn’t even as good-looking as Xie Yingnian.
The girl on the floor suddenly stood up, swinging the drawstrings of her hoodie hood as she walked forward. Just then, Xie Yingnian stepped in from the doorway.
She switched over to this set thinking that filming had already begun. The equipment was sliding along the tracks—this was Kong Can and Gou Jiaxun’s scene, and the plot was reaching its climax. Jiang Fuwen had his hair blow-dried into a collaborator’s slick-back, while the props master was pasting blood packs onto his abdomen. But one of the leads was missing. When she went to ask Nong Siqing, the director said something had come up.
What could it be? Thinking of He Lifu, who had shown up uninvited, Xie Yingnian hurried over. She feared Zhong Jia was being bullied or something, completely forgetting that her new girlfriend was only ever a cat that rolled over belly-up for her to pet and tease.
But the one before her now was all claws out. Her tone wasn’t outright mocking, but it left her opponent speechless all the same—no need for Xie Yingnian to step in at all.
Zhong Jia gazed out the window. Everyone was waiting for her, and patience was wearing thin. She cut straight to the point. “Are you sick and in need of my bone marrow or organs? Is that you, He Lifu? Or is it for the sake of the company’s image—and yours—that you need me to shut up and play the doting father-daughter act with you?”
“No matter the reason, I’m not interested. And I won’t cooperate.”
“That’s it.
Zhong Jia didn’t give the no-doubt dumbfounded Zhong Kefei a chance to argue back. She simply hung up.
She turned around—and there was Xie Yingnian, clapping with an expression of pure admiration. “Wow, who is this? Such sharp eloquence.”
Xie Yingnian let out an exaggerated tsk-tsk, her playful tone making even Zhong Jia blush. The girl’s aggressive edge vanished in an instant. Head down, she shuffled over to Xie Yingnian. “It’s your girlfriend.”
“When did you get here?” Zhong Jia opened her arms to her, tilting her head back with a smile. Her eyes were half-lidded, and her voice softened without her even realizing it. “Hug?”
Xie Yingnian reached out and pulled her into an embrace. She couldn’t help but find it hilarious—and deeply satisfying—how quickly this girl switched faces.
Why is she only like this with me?
Her softest, most harmless side… Was it because she trusted that Xie Yingnian wouldn’t hurt her? Those thorns of hers were pricking so fiercely now that Xie Yingnian could barely hold back her own affection—a wild tangle of brambles.
“Zhong Kefei?” Xie Yingnian guessed. She’d arrived late and only vaguely caught the other end of the conversation.
Zhong Jia nodded in her arms.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much.”
Xie Yingnian looked down at her. “Unhappy?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly. Zhong Jia paused for a long moment, wondering if admitting it might earn her some extra coaxing…
Feeling a pang of guilt, she revised her response. “A little.”
Xie Yingnian smiled, seeing right through the little scheme, but she played along. “How should I coax you?”
Head still lowered, her smile sent strands of not-quite-dry hair brushing across Xie Yingnian’s cheek. Zhong Jia’s heart itched unbearably. From the oversized sleeve of her shirt, she slowly extended one finger and hooked it gently, giving a little shake. “Can we sleep together tonight?”
“Mm…?” Xie Yingnian’s eyes widened slightly, her smile turning meaningful. “Isn’t that a bit fast? Is that what you want?”
Her foot was stomped on in shy annoyance. Zhong Jia buried her face in Xie Yingnian’s chest, the tips of her ears turning pink. “What do you think I want…?”
She felt so frustrated. What kind of image must she have in Xie Yingnian’s mind after those wolfish words the other day?
“Just normal sleeping. I want to spend more time with you.”
“Oh? And there’s a non-normal kind?”
Zhong Jia let out a plaintive whine. “…Xie Yingnian…”
Xie Yingnian’s chin tapped lightly atop her head. “Alright. A perfectly ordinary sleep.”
