Chapter 5

From two years ago, when Shi Youwan first heard Chi Yumo speak, she was captivated by her melancholic, ethereal, yet crisp voice line, like a babbling brook in the woods—smooth yet powerful.

She had heard Chi Yumo’s sobs, her joy, and even her murmurs whispered in her ear.

She couldn’t remember when it started, but Chi Yumo always managed to say words of love that made her heart tremble.

She loved hearing them, yet she also feared them.

What she feared most was hearing Chi Yumo say she loved her.

During the Spring Festival that year, Shi Youwan took Chi Yumo to a city even farther north during her Heat Period, and they spent three days in secluded bliss at a hot spring.

But during that time, perhaps due to excessive excitement, Chi Yumo’s Susceptible Period hit her fiercely.

The two demanded each other day and night, without shame or restraint, drawing out all the love buried deep in their hearts amid their lingering entanglements.

Once she regained her senses, Shi Youwan detected the danger and immediately gave both Chi Yumo and herself a shot of Inhibitor.

She told Chi Yumo, “In a few more months, you’ll graduate. If there’s someone you like at school, you must seize the chance. Just tell me honestly—I won’t make things difficult for you. Xiao Mo, you’ve always been free.”

At that moment, she plummeted from the clouds, speaking the cruelest words in her softest voice. Chi Yumo measured with kisses, crawling upward, listening to her heartbeat in the darkness.

—”Sister, I don’t like anyone. Even if I did, I’d only like Sister. Of course, if Sister likes someone, or wants to date and marry, please tell me. I’ll know my place and leave quietly, vanishing from Sister’s world without a trace. I won’t cause you any trouble.”

In the months after returning to Yinzhou, she reduced her meetings with Chi Yumo.

She kept thinking that Chi Yumo should have her own life, her own path, and her own fated partner. She shouldn’t waste her prime years on her.

“Xiao Mo.”

Shi Youwan looked up, caressing Chi Yumo’s face. She wiped away the lipstick Chi Yumo had just gotten from her lips, pulled back, and said seriously, “You have a bright future ahead. Don’t let fleeting youthful infatuation make you miss your opportunities. Pursue your dreams steadfastly. A wider world awaits you. Only by flying high and far, seeing more, will you truly understand what you want, what you can have, what you like, and what you should love.”

The wind stopped, the words fell, and the study fell silent.

The heart that had been pounding wildly with eager anticipation suddenly calmed.

In the silence, Chi Yumo heard her own heart shatter, and she seemed to foresee the end for her and Shi Youwan.

Pretending to be strong, she replied, “Okay, Sister. I understand.”

She understood that what she wanted was something she couldn’t have, and what she liked was something she shouldn’t love.

That evening, after confirming that the most difficult part of Shi Youwan’s Heat Period had passed, Chi Yumo left the Old Mansion without eating dinner, fleeing like a refugee.

Shi Youwan didn’t stop her.

It was just Inhibitor, after all.

Hadn’t their positions been clear from the start?

From the suburbs to the suburbs—the Old Mansion and the old house, one word’s difference, worlds apart.

The cramped six-square-meter room was no bigger than the Old Mansion’s bathroom. Chi Yumo leaned against the window, her mind heavy, her gaze piercing through the tangled branches to stare blankly at the endless night sky.

The bright moon above waxed and waned, each phase beautiful enough to captivate the mortal world.

With a bitter smile, Chi Yumo closed the window and drew the curtains.

In view were worn furniture, yellowed walls, a 1.2-meter iron frame bed… This was her “home.”

Over four years of university, she never lived in the dorms. The first two years, she rented with Grandma; after Grandma passed, she shouldered the “mortgage” for this rental and sold herself—body and soul—to Shi Youwan.

The house was filled with traces of Grandma’s life, but no matter how hard she tried to preserve them, Grandma’s scent inevitably faded.

She picked up the photo frame by the bed, stroking the kind face, her eyes gradually reddening.

Grandma, did I do something wrong?

From the beginning, I shouldn’t have reached for things beyond my grasp. And now, I shouldn’t delusionally covet someone who can never be mine.

…

As an outstanding graduate of Jinhuai Drama Academy’s drama and film performance major, Chi Yumo’s exceptional skills were obvious to all, and she was unanimously chosen as the female lead in their class’s graduation play, Dream in a Dream of Me.

Before she knew it, Friday arrived. All morning, Chi Yumo rehearsed in the practice room.

The female second lead in the play was Cheng Xiangxiang.

Since that phone call last Sunday afternoon, Cheng Xiangxiang could no longer smile at Chi Yumo.

Just hearing that sister’s indulgent words, she knew their relationship must be unusually close. That tone, that intimacy—what else could it be but lovers?

Dream in a Dream of Me told the story of two girls from parallel timelines who met, encouraged each other, grew close, and cherished one another in dreams—but their love was hopeless.

Rehearsals had gone smoothly until this week, but the last two sessions were plagued by mistakes. Either Cheng Xiangxiang zoned out and was half a beat slow, or Chi Yumo forgot her lines and missed her mark.

“Stop, stop, stop!”

After the third mistake that day, the mentor and director, Chen Pingsheng, finally lost his temper. “Chi Yumo, Cheng Xiangxiang, do you two think this is a game? If you don’t want to perform, say so now, and I’ll find replacements. The class is full of actors with more conviction than you. Don’t think this play can’t go on without you.”

During Monday and Wednesday’s rehearsals, he’d noticed their off states and had heartfelt talks with each separately.

Yet today, mistakes piled up one after another. With the performance looming, the leads were out of it—who wouldn’t be furious?

“I’m sorry, Teacher Chen.” “Sorry, Teacher Chen.”

Everyone on and off stage held their breath as Chi Yumo and Cheng Xiangxiang bowed in apology one after another.

Chen Pingsheng waved impatiently. “Twenty-minute break. If this scene isn’t perfect next time, none of you eat.”

The other classmates comforted them briefly before heading backstage, leaving space for the two to readjust.

The leads were the soul; most supporting roles were just foils.

Supporting roles couldn’t replace leads or bask in their glory, yet they suffered alongside them.

“Go sit in the back.” Chi Yumo looked at Cheng Xiangxiang in the audience seats and said.

“Okay.” Cheng Xiangxiang agreed.

The room had three rows of seats. They grabbed their phones and water bottles and sat in the darkest corner of the last row.

In reality, they were like-minded friends; in the play, they were fellow light-chasers whose bond was more than friendship but not quite love. They should have been able to talk about anything, with perfect chemistry and a spiritual connection.

But overnight, both their hearts had been upended by an unattainable person, and they couldn’t find their groove.

With the performance imminent and the graduation play being the hard work of many, including them—how could they let it fail because of this?

“Xiangxiang.”

“Hm?” Cheng Xiangxiang turned and met Chi Yumo’s calm, serene gaze.

“If you’ve been hung up these past days over that unanswered question from the weekend, harboring resentment, then I can answer you now. No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

She had a woman she liked very, very much, but no girlfriend. That wasn’t deceitful, was it?

Chi Yumo’s gaze remained still as water, but Cheng Xiangxiang’s eyes began to flow again, even curving with a smile.

Then she lowered her head guiltily. “Sorry, Yumo. It was my overthinking and personal emotions dragging you and everyone down. I apologize too.”

“It’s not just your fault.”

Chi Yumo stopped there, revealing no more about her and her sister. “Right now, the priority is nailing this play everyone has high hopes for. Once it’s perfectly curtained, we can talk about other things, okay?”

“Mm.” Cheng Xiangxiang had always had smooth sailing, but her first crush ended in defeat, leaving her tangled in sorrow and dejection.

With the knot in her heart undone, she returned to form when acting opposite Chi Yumo.

Acting opposite scenes was mutual elevation. As actors, their fortunes in the play were tied—one thrived, both did; one faltered, both suffered.

They finished smoothly, but it was past mealtime.

Chen Pingsheng called everyone together. “Don’t rush off after eating. Two p.m. sharp, back here to discuss promotion. Last push before the show—paper invites print this weekend…”

He didn’t normally handle this, but with rehearsals faltering this week, he had to lead and rally the group’s cohesion.

“No problem, Professor Chen.”

“Director Chen, don’t worry. If anyone skips, I’ll break their legs first.”

The classmates chimed in enthusiastically, buzzing with anticipation for the performance. The morning’s tension eased.

People trickled out to eat. Chi Yumo wasn’t hungry or in the mood, so she sat in the audience seats playing a mindless match-3 game.

“Not eating lunch?” Cheng Xiangxiang grabbed her bag and checked the time. “Come nap in the dorm with me?”

The four-person dorm, by senior year’s second semester, had two roommates renting outside, leaving just her and one other.

“I’m not tired or hungry. You go rest.” Chi Yumo smiled and declined.

Cheng Xiangxiang sat beside her. Only in the practice room could she borrow discussions of script and characters for slightly closer interactions with Chi Yumo, without fear of photos being twisted into gossip.

Even if recent “intimate photos” leaked accidentally, they’d pass as rehearsal shots or candids.

Where there were people, there was drama.

To avoid dragging Chi Yumo into gossip and making her a target for her suitors, Cheng Xiangxiang always kept a proper distance, sparing her the bullseye.

“It’s been over half a month—who knows when the Provincial Drama Troupe interview results will drop.” Cheng Xiangxiang opened their official site.

The page loaded, and she gasped. “The announcement’s out!”

“What?” Chi Yumo paused her game and looked over.

They exchanged glances. Cheng Xiangxiang hesitated, then shoved the phone in front of Chi Yumo. “You tap.”

Chi Yumo took a deep breath and tapped the top notice in the bulletin.

Jinhuai Provincial Drama Troupe’s proposed hires for fresh graduates—both Chi Yumo and Cheng Xiangxiang’s names were listed! They’d both been accepted!

Overjoyed beyond words, Cheng Xiangxiang turned and hugged her. “That’s great, Yumo! We’re colleagues now.”

Chi Yumo froze for seconds, then gently pushed her. “Xiangxiang, congrats to you—and to me. Go share the good news with your parents and brother. I’ll hit the bathroom.”

Out of the practice room, Chi Yumo finally broke into a genuine smile and eagerly messaged Shi Youwan: [Sister, I got into the Provincial Drama Troupe.]

I’m a step closer to you now.

Wait for me a little longer. Give me a bit more time.

Once I become a shining star, can I stay by your side forever?

Will loving you then no longer be a delusion?