Chapter 12

The fine drizzle gradually turned into big drops, smashing against the car window glass without any rhythm.

The outside world blurred bit by bit. Jian Shichu sat leaning back with her eyes closed, a face mask applied to her face. The edges of the white sheet mask stuck to her stray hairs with essence, and her index finger tapped slowly on her knee.

Xiao Yang tilted his head slightly to glance at her through the rearview mirror, then turned back and said, “Doudou-jie, you rushed back in such a hurry but aren’t going in—what’s goin’ on?”

Jian Shichu lifted her eyelids, slowed her breathing, and touched the mirror before asking, “Wrapped up yet?”

“Probably still early.” Xiao Yang didn’t pry further. Ever since the last time a store clerk called Jian Shichu by her nickname, all the employees in the shop had started doing the same.

Jian Shichu pinched the corner of the mask at her chin and peeled it off from bottom to top. Xiao Yang held the plastic bag, restrained by the seatbelt on the driver’s side.

This forced Jian Shichu to lean forward to toss the trash, though the fatigue on her face had eased considerably during the masking process.

Without makeup, she looked even more translucent. She wiped away the excess essence from her face, pulled out a fresh wet wipe to clean her hands, and said, “Refund the deposit Qingcheng paid earlier. As for contract compensation, we’ll go through the procedures step by step.”

“Huh?” Xiao Yang was surprised. “I remember Qingcheng booked the whole venue for the car show for a week in early November. By then, the crew should’ve finished filming no matter what.”

Jian Shichu tossed the wet wipe from her hand. “From what I see, they might not even wrap up by mid-November. Refund it now—we’re not taking the job. Canceling last minute would cost even more.”

She lowered her head to tie up her hair, the hair tie on her wrist snapping with a sound.

Only after finishing did she pick up her phone. As she looked down, her half-dry stray hairs still carried a damp sheen, sticking to her fair skin.

Jian Shichu opened WeChat, and a series of dings followed as messages poured in one after another.

She’d rushed back first thing in the morning without even changing clothes, her luggage still stowed in the trunk.

Jian Shichu rubbed her brow while checking the messages.

【Doudou, I’ll save another copy of the store surveillance for you. Next time you come by to eat, just let me know.】

Jian Shichu’s fingertips tapped away as she replied: 【Thanks, let’s grab a meal another day.】

Seeing the other side send back an emoji, Jian Shichu finally exited the chat. It had been twenty minutes since she’d sent the video.

She switched to Weibo. The hot search had already been pulled. She scrolled through but saw no more posts about the incident—only some fan discussions with no real traction.

As long as the hot search was down, people would forget in a few days. The internet’s attention span for any topic wasn’t that long.

The wiper slid across the front windshield, letting out a sound.

Xiao Yang asked, “Doudou-jie, you still waitin’ now?”

“Got addicted to callin’ me that, huh?” Jian Shichu’s reply came quick and crisp. She wasn’t opposed to the nickname—just not used to it yet.

Jian Shichu replied to messages on her phone, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she asked lazily, “When’re you joinin’ the crew?”

At the question, an embarrassed smile floated onto Xiao Yang’s face. He scratched his head with his left hand and replied, “Aunt Wang said early next month. These few days, I can go check out the set.”

The server role didn’t have many lines anyway, and Wang Yun had given them permission to visit. Jian Shichu kept paying wages as usual—she was always generous with her employees. That was why Xiao Yang had stuck around at the shop for as long as it had been open.

“Doudou-jie, when the drama airs, ya think we could set up a screen in the store to broadcast it live?” Xiao Yang gestured the size of a screen, as if he’d already figured out the perfect spot.

Jian Shichu pocketed her phone. “Good idea. Act well, and I’ll loop your scenes on repeat.”

Jian Shichu’s tone stayed even throughout, even when joking. As she spoke, she grabbed the umbrella, pressed the button to open it, and pushed the car door open, stepping out with her left foot.

Jian Shichu didn’t hurry to close the door. She propped the black umbrella on her shoulder, fished the keys from her pocket, and tossed them into the back seat. Leaning in toward Xiao Yang, she said, “Help me drop the luggage at home.”

—

It was just past six when the lead actress Ke Yixuan left early—she’d treated the entire crew to coffee on the first day.

It was Ke Yixuan’s usual style: footing the bill herself on day one of joining. She even brought her own personal makeup artist and was fully self-equipped. She was also the first to wrap up and leave.

Before going, Ke Yixuan had said goodbye to Wen Zhixu, with her agent personally delivering the coffee.

After Wen Zhixu’s novel blew up several actors’ careers, those folks still made a point to send holiday greetings.

She had her own reader base and a behind-the-scenes fan club, all handled by her editor and the club president without her needing to get involved.

Wen Zhixu set her notebook aside, then slid open her phone to upload a file to her cloud drive for safekeeping.

A message popped up at the top of the screen.

【Big writer done yet? I’m right around here—come pick you up.】

Wen Zhixu frowned tightly. Those words left her feeling unsettled. She hadn’t told the class monitor she was here—probably they’d seen the news online.

Wen Zhixu typed back quickly: 【No need, I’m just leaving.】

She didn’t like this kind of thing—it made her feel like she owed someone. Interactions between people should stay in the most comfortable zone.

Wen Zhixu packed her notebook into her bag when someone leaned in close with a smile. “Teacher Wen, could you send over that photo from earlier?”

Wen Zhixu looked up and realized it was a crew assistant. A few years back, during the adaptation of her debut novel, this girl had been on that crew too.

The industry wasn’t that big—people kept running into each other. The assistant had asked for a photo together today, snapped on Wen Zhixu’s phone.

“No problem. I’ll send it—open yours.” Wen Zhixu’s voice was soft and light, so even when upset, it wasn’t easy to tell.

Wen Zhixu quickly selected the photo and AirDropped it over. She leaned in to check. “Got it?”

“Nope.” The girl looked puzzled. “Try again?”

Jian Shichu stood outside the glass window, glancing leisurely toward Wen Zhixu before lowering her eyes to her phone. Her album now had a few extra photos of Wen Zhixu.

Among the five group shots was a slipped-in solo photo—probably a mis-tap—plus a casual home snap. The room lighting wasn’t bright, so the image wasn’t super clear.

Wen Zhixu propped her chin, her long hair covering the sides, her expression lazily languid. The vibe spilled across the screen along the dim light’s contours.

Jian Shichu gazed leisurely at the photo, her eyes sweeping over Wen Zhixu’s wrist. Suddenly, she noticed something—the silver chain was half-hidden by long hair, only the pendant visible.

Her finger zoomed in on the screen, extremely careful and cautious, her full attention on Wen Zhixu’s wrist.

She wouldn’t mistake that bracelet. The inscription was blurry, but the pendant was a slender rectangle with a notched corner.

Jian Shichu slowly relaxed her furrowed brow, but the thin air plunged her back into peril. She hated this feeling—that suffocating pain of oxygen deprivation without the mercy of death.

It was only after sending it a second time that Wen Zhixu realized the previous photo had been the wrong one—and the other side had received it.

The girl smiled politely in thanks after getting the photos. “Teacher Wen, thanks for the trouble. Mind if I post it to my Moments?”

“Go ahead.” Wen Zhixu gave a light smile, busy packing up her things with her bag already slung over her shoulder.

The crew had a group dinner that night—everyone except Ke Yixuan was going, though she’d planned not to join from the start. The rain outside grew heavier, a downpour blurring the distant high-rises.

Wen Zhixu watched the crew wrap up. Everyone else headed to the dinner, and her umbrella by the door had been taken by who-knows-who.

Waiting out the rain would make her late for sure. Wen Zhixu figured she’d head home first to change—her pants had dried with mud spots, and wearing this outfit just felt off.

Jian Shichu came down from upstairs. She walked straight over, popped open the umbrella, gripped Wen Zhixu’s wrist to pull her down the steps, then drew her into an embrace while holding the umbrella. “Class reunion? I’m headin’ that way anyway.”

“Let go.” Wen Zhixu jumped in fright. When her shoulder bumped Jian Shichu, her heart raced amid the shock, a faint fragrance brushing her nose.

Jian Shichu just held her there in the rain, her tone light and airy. “Not lettin’ go.”

The surroundings were noisy then—rain sounds mixed with the lighting techs and props crew arguing.

Wen Zhixu paused her words, her face flushing red.

She had to tamp down the panic to face Jian Shichu, her breath laced with tension. “Jian Shichu, let go!”

Wen Zhixu kept her volume low, trying not to draw attention. Everyone was watching the lighting techs’ spat and wouldn’t pay much mind to the pair under the umbrella.

Jian Shichu stared at her without any intention of loosening her grip, countering, “What if I don’t?”

The rainy light made her gaze soft and sticky, like a rebellious kid aggrieved by some injustice.

Wen Zhixu took a deep breath, her sleeve slipping slightly on her forearm as she asked, “What exactly do you want?”

“Nothin’.” Jian Shichu’s hand shifted to rest on her shoulder. “I’m goin’ too.”

“You… don’t get handsy on set.” Wen Zhixu felt a bit wronged, blurting it out in a low voice.

Jian Shichu ignored her, leading her outward as she said offhandedly, “When did I touch your feet?”

Back when Wen Zhixu first met Jian Shichu, the girl had always talked like this—straightforward like a Chongqing lass, yet with a gentle edge. This Jian Shichu was different, and it made her feel different too.

Rain splattered water bubbles on the ground. Held by Jian Shichu, Wen Zhixu felt deeply unsettled with every step, her heart pounding. With so many crew around, if word reached Wang Yun’s ears, it’d make things awkward down the line.

Rainy days made cabs hard to snag. Jian Shichu had called a ride on her phone ahead of time. Earlier, she’d gotten the class monitor’s friend verification. She’d hesitated for days—if not for the hot search mess, she wouldn’t have come back, let alone gone.

After Wen Zhixu got in the car, Jian Shichu folded the umbrella and sat beside her. The rainwater once again soaked her trouser cuffs.

Jian Shichu saw her staring out the window, only the back of her head visible, so she deliberately said, “When we get off later, hug it back.”

Wen Zhixu didn’t reply. The car drove forward, the road turning blurry. Her mood was already at rock bottom from the rain.

The taxi carried a faint smell of machine oil. Neither of them spoke. The trip from Ziwei Road to Guanyinqiao was short, so the awkward atmosphere didn’t linger.

Jian Shichu opened the car door. The rain had eased a little, water streaming down the roadside steps. She held the umbrella by the door, waiting for Wen Zhixu to get out.

As soon as Wen Zhixu stepped forward, the jacket draped over her arm slipped into the sewage. She hurriedly bent down to pick it up. The black jacket was smeared with mud.

Jian Shichu was about to speak when she caught sight of two men not far away out of the corner of her eye. Cameras hung around their necks as they got out of a taxi, glancing toward them from time to time.

She vigilantly tilted the umbrella and immediately realized someone had started targeting Wen Zhixu!

Wen Zhixu was still shaking the water stains off the jacket when she grabbed Wen Zhixu’s wrist and dragged her behind the wall in two or three steps to hide.