Chapter 7: Dendrobium

After lunch, the women went from taking pulses and asking about their health to chatting about wellness, family matters, and the importance of having a career. Then Wu Wei suddenly asked Qi Banxia, “Banxia, there was talk a while back that you’d star in Director Zhang’s The End, which he’s been preparing for two years. But I heard you turned it down?”

Wu Wei had, of course, gotten approval from both talent agencies and the production team behind The End before raising the question. It gave them a chance to promote the film and let both sides save face.

Qi Banxia smiled and shook her head. “We couldn’t come to an agreement. We did discuss it, but Sister Shi Zhen was a stronger choice.” After she turned down the leading role, the producer and director had immediately approached Shi Zhen. At least that way, the film could count on a decent box office and a good reputation. By the next day, entertainment accounts were already drumming up publicity.

The fans, however, had their own opinions:

[Not interested. We’re taking President Shi and going home.]

[Please don’t stir things up before anything’s officially announced.]

[Our veteran artist isn’t competing with a newly crowned TV Queen, and she won’t be taking over anyone else’s role.]

[The Bitter Buckwheat fans support Sister Qi’s decision.]

Shi Zhen offered a polite explanation. “I think Xia’s schedule was just too full, and she couldn’t make time. I was lucky enough to get the part.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about what to do next after we finish filming the show. I might take a break from TV and movies.” Qi Banxia wanted to prepare her fans for the news through the program. She didn’t want to spring everything on them at once and risk some of them taking it badly. She had chosen to do things her own way, against all conventional wisdom and without caring about the consequences. All she could do now was hope to minimize the damage.

Wang Man looked puzzled. “Xia, your career’s taking off. Why would you give it up halfway through?”

The other women found it hard to understand, too. Shen Yuyang joked, “What, are you secretly married and planning to have a baby?”

“I—I—how could I…” Secretly married, yes. Qi Banxia felt a faint blush creep over her face, and her expression turned a little awkward.

Jiang Baizhi curled her right hand into a loose fist and rested it against her upper lip, hiding her smile. Even she didn’t know why she suddenly said, “Teacher Qi, if you’d like to get your health in order, you can message me on WeChat privately.”

Qi Banxia: “…” She gave a small cough. She wanted to playfully rough Jiang Baizhi up the way she had when they were kids, but she was more eager to explain herself. “It has to do with the direction I want my career to take. I’ll think it through carefully.”

Wang Man had weathered plenty in her younger years, and she had more life experience than the younger women. Her expression softened. “Everything a celebrity does gets picked apart and discussed. Some people even try to dictate what you should and shouldn’t do. But we’re ordinary people, too. We have our own reasons for making our choices. As long as you don’t cross an ethical line or hurt the interests of most people, that’s what matters. Xia, I support you.”

Lang Yiqiu looped her arm through Qi Banxia’s and gave it a squeeze. “We all support you, Sister Banxia.”

By late morning, the women had finally found time to take pictures of the old buildings at Jinshi Residence, with their simple, classical architecture from the Ming and Qing dynasties. They clutched their phones and tried to capture every corner as a keepsake.

Jiang Baizhi, who rarely took pictures, had her phone out, too. Qi Banxia didn’t have the energy to go wandering around, so she sat by herself, scrolling through her Moments. One photo made her stop.

[Jiang Baizhi, out and about.]

Three minutes ago.

Someone who hadn’t posted to Moments in half her life had just shared six photos in a row. The last one had been taken while Lang Yiqiu was linked through her arm. Why had Jiang Baizhi cropped out Yiqiu? All that remained was an arm…

Qi Banxia stared at the comment beneath the picture, posted by Naughty Qi Fuzzy: [Happy honeymoon! Our (your) Bean is adorable.]

Jiang Baizhi wasn’t the sort to do something like that.

But she remembered one night when she was curled up in Jiang Baizhi’s arms. She had asked the same question she’d asked countless times before, and Jiang Baizhi had answered with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“When did you realize you were in love with me?”

“Is that really so important?”

“Of course it is.”

“You don’t need to know about the past. You only need to know that I love you now, and I’ll love you in the future. All right?” Jiang Baizhi’s soft lips had parted, and her warm tongue had silenced Qi Banxia’s gentle bite.

Jiang Baizhi had invited her to lose herself in their dance, and Qi Banxia had forgotten to ask anything more.

So could it be…

If Jiang Baizhi really had been the first to fall for her in their previous life, then the more Qi Banxia thought about it, the warmer her cheeks grew. A faint, uncomfortable feeling stirred in her, too. Why, then, had she been the one to make the first move?

But as she looked up at Jiang Baizhi’s tall, graceful figure, she remembered what Jiang Baizhi had once said: “I’m afraid I’ll be too busy to spend much time with you when you finally get a break.”

That was why Jiang Baizhi had never dared to confess.

The trouble was, Qi Banxia remembered everything. Every word Jiang Baizhi had ever said was engraved deep in her heart.

Her eyes grew misty. She tightened her grip on her phone and bowed her pale head, praying that Jiang Baizhi wasn’t in love with her yet, and that she was only reading too much into the photo. Surely Jiang Baizhi had cropped it because the people in that Moments group wouldn’t recognize Lang Yiqiu.

That had to be it. Besides, if Qi Banxia hadn’t made the first move in their previous life, they probably wouldn’t have grown any closer.

“Banxia! Sister Banxia!” Lang Yiqiu called from beside her.

“Hm? Yiqiu, are we heading back?” Qi Banxia forced down the emotions rising inside her before lifting her head. If she could, she would rather never have been reborn. She would rather have fallen asleep with her regrets than go through that pain all over again.

She had loved Jiang Baizhi with every fiber of her being. She had known she didn’t have much time left, and the pain had cut to the bone. Could heaven be a little kinder to her in this life?

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lang Yiqiu asked with concern.

Qi Banxia managed a soft smile. “No.”

At noon, Jiang Baizhi brought over three dishes. Qi Banxia accepted them with a smile, but after lunch, she lay in bed, tossing and turning. The program team had scheduled pre- and post-interviews. When her turn came, she said whatever came to mind, and by the time she got back, she’d already forgotten what it was.

Jiang Baizhi’s interview took the longest. The production team hadn’t done a pre-interview, so they changed the backdrop twice, and she changed outfits twice as well. She couldn’t figure out why they’d suddenly insisted on doing the pre-interview, so she waited for them to reset the camera, stifling a yawn that wouldn’t quite come out.

“Doctor Jiang, ordinary people who appear on celebrity variety shows usually become background characters. We’d love to know why you agreed to come on the show with Sister Shi Zhen.”

“She messaged me on WeChat, and I said yes without thinking it over.” Jiang Baizhi paused for a moment. “If I have to give a reason, I’d say I wanted more people to learn about traditional Chinese medicine. It isn’t the scam that charlatans have made it out to be. Western medicine can treat some acute illnesses quickly, but traditional Chinese medicine can treat chronic illnesses. It can also help ease the side effects of chemotherapy after surgery for cancer patients.”

Jiang Baizhi spoke sincerely, her expression gentle. She rarely talked so much, but she knew the show would cut plenty of it in the final edit. At least now she could say everything she wanted to say.

On their second afternoon in the village, a torrential downpour forced the production team to move the outdoor games inside. Since everyone had already visited Jinshi Residence, the team and the village chief agreed to hold the activities there instead.

They wanted to test the women’s literary knowledge.

The game had two rounds. As long as no one lost both, they should have enough ingredients to cook dinner.

The first round was simple. Each team sent one representative to write as many characters with the water radical as possible before time ran out. Shi Zhen gave Jiang Baizhi a gentle shove toward the table. “You know my Chinese was never any good.”

Lang Yiqiu would represent the other team. Qi Banxia, who had barely eaten anything at lunch, didn’t have the energy to compete, so she stood to the side as a strategist.

In only thirty seconds, Jiang Baizhi had written twenty characters.

“Yiqiu, Shen and Yang,” Qi Banxia reminded her.

“What? What about Sister Yang?” Lang Yiqiu didn’t understand, but Wang Man, standing on her right, caught the hint.

Qi Banxia gave up. With two game disasters on the same team, it was a wonder they ever won anything.

“Oh, I get it! Shen from Shen Yuyang, and Yang from Shen Yuyang’s name.”

Shi Zhen had been watching Jiang Baizhi’s brushwork, which was as lively and free as a flying dragon. She looked up abruptly, wondering if this girl might be a little slow.