Chapter 20

The shadow slanted across the checkered floor, golden light pouring in through the glass. Jian Shichu put away her phone without a word, the screen locking with a click.

Wang Yun stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words after her initial remark. The atmosphere grew tense as Jian Shichu stood there and called out dryly, “Mom.”

Wang Yun didn’t know about Jian Shichu’s college matters. Now that their relationship had collided head-on like this, it felt too sudden. Her eyes ached from staring, but she refocused and asked, “What’s your relationship with her now?”

“No relationship.” Jian Shichu replied.

“No relationship, and you still keep her photo?” Wang Yun said. “All that tugging and pulling on set—do you think I don’t know?”

Jian Shichu was speechless, lowering her gaze obediently as Wang Yun scolded her.

Wang Yun glanced at her. “Watch your image out there. How old are you? That mess with Ke Yixuan blew up so big—do you not go online? I don’t want to see your name on the hot searches. Behave yourself.”

Jian Shichu listened quietly. Her phone screen lit up. Remembering she needed to taste the dishes, she said, “Mom, hold off on the scolding. I have something to handle first.”

Jian Shichu turned toward the kitchen, her hand brushing Wang Yun’s shoulder.

Wang Yun’s words caught in her throat. She turned to see only a lingering shadow, the sound of high heels fading into the distance.

—

The crew’s main creators were invited to dinner today, and the producer had called Wen Zhixu, who would arrive late.

Wen Zhixu had no actual duties on set—after all, she wasn’t the screenwriter, and her contract explicitly stated she couldn’t participate in filming. But any major script changes later would need her approval.

She arrived right at six, paying the cab driver in cash. She pocketed the change— a few coins.

By then, everyone was already seated in the private room. Wen Zhixu stepped in and moved aside to let the server with the dishes pass. Her seat was next to Tang Qin.

“Teacher Wen is here.” The screenwriter on the other side lit up with apparent delight, pulling out a chair to make space for her.

Wang Yun glanced over, her expression flashing with surprise, though it went unnoticed by the others.

Ke Yixuan, as the lead actress, sat beside producer Xu Ting. The seating had been arranged in advance, so everyone knew their spots before entering.

Xu Ting and Wang Yun were old classmates. After greeting her, the two dove into shop talk.

The glasses held wine. Wang Yun and Xu Ting kicked things off, clinking glasses symbolically once the dishes were served.

Tang Qin was the youngest, after all—whatever she was thinking showed plainly on her face. The two of them didn’t speak.

The atmosphere was casual. Wen Zhixu barely touched her food, listening as they discussed the story’s direction. The actors’ conditions post-filming start were all good.

Wen Zhixu had messaged Jian Shichu, but got no reply. Under the table, she checked her phone—the messages still stuck on that afternoon when she left. Days had passed.

After finishing her work that day, she’d gone over once, waiting at the door until eleven without seeing Jian Shichu return. Instead, she’d run into Ni You.

What was her relationship with Jian Shichu now? Wen Zhixu couldn’t figure it out, and it left her feeling deeply stifled.

Jian Shichu’s hot-and-cold attitude was inexplicable, especially those words from that afternoon—they shouldn’t have led to this. Thinking of it, she directly slid the contact into her blacklist.

“Xiao Xu, do you like watching sunrises?” Midway through, the screenwriter teacher suddenly turned to ask Wen Zhixu.

Wen Zhixu snapped back to attention. In this setting, she felt like an outsider. She’d been told to come review the script direction, but now everyone was chatting about side topics.

She blanked for a moment. The nickname made them sound close. All three waited for her answer.

Wen Zhixu parted her lips. “It’s alright.”

Sunrises—she’d written about them before. It was the gentle encounter with nature, the romance of Chang’e accidentally spilling her rouge.

The topic had shifted to this, inevitably reminding Wen Zhixu of Jian Shichu. She lifted her glass and took a sip.

The screenwriter teacher leaned in closer, and the three of them chatted about sunrises—but it was for staging a scene with Tang Qin and Su Yun.

They wanted to film the sunrise at Jinyun Mountain in Beibei, incorporating local culture into the story. It was a great idea; Wen Zhixu had no objections—in fact, she thought it elevated the script.

As they talked, toasts kept coming—one for every topic. Wen Zhixu chatted along while occasionally glancing at her phone under the table. Each sip of wine had nothing to do with the conversation; it was more like numbing the knot in her heart.

The frozen text screen lingered not just in the room—Jian Shichu took a call and unconsciously opened Wen Zhixu’s messages again.

Her right hand still held chopsticks. Xiao Yang brought over the freshly made dessert—a square-patterned plate of small cakes dusted with osmanthus.

“Doudou-jie, the spoon.”

Xiao Yang’s reminder pulled her back. Eighteen dishes now crowded the table, filling every inch. All the restaurant’s tableware had been personally selected by Jian Shichu—no duplicates.

She put away her phone, acting normal as she took the spoon. Xiao Yang’s lips twitched slightly, observing her expression.

Jian Shichu’s spoon hit the dessert, the osmanthus-flecked bite intensely sweet with rich milk fragrance, but not cloying.

“Did the new dessert chef make this?” Jian Shichu asked, her gaze elsewhere.

Xiao Yang smiled. “Yeah, it’s her new creation. She made two portions today.”

She circled the table slowly, Xiao Yang following behind. Tasting dishes was meticulous work; aside from signatures, the menu rotated monthly.

After tasting a round, Jian Shichu held the dessert plate—white porcelain with daisy patterns—and took two more bites before asking, “Where’s the other one?”

“In the back kitchen.”

“Pack it up. Send it to Teacher Wen later—find some excuse. Just get it delivered.” Jian Shichu eyed the item in her hand.

Wen Zhixu preferred sweet flavors; the other’s habits were etched in her mind.

“Huh?” Xiao Yang looked stunned. “How do we send it? Do gifts need excuses? You send stuff to President Song without reasons.”

Jian Shichu’s spoon clinked crisply against the plate edge as she leaned back. “It’s her birthday—what excuse does she need? Besides, she’s my friend. It’s different.”

Xiao Yang scratched his head, confused. “How’s it different?”

She looked at Xiao Yang, her expression growing awkward. Normally, friends didn’t need excuses for gifts, but she and Wen Zhixu had no legitimate reason that would fly.

Jian Shichu thought for a moment. “Put Song Yi’s gift in my car. I’ll deliver it myself. Also, check if they’re done.”

She changed the subject. By her calculations, dinner should be wrapping up. Moonlight blurred the distant mountains; from here, faint stars circled the moon.

Xiao Yang stammered an acknowledgment, his face full of doubt. He pulled Song Yi’s business card from his pocket—the address was her company.

Jian Shichu thought it over and called him back. “Forget it, I’ll go myself.” Rising, she pocketed the card too.

By now, it was ten o’clock.

Jian Shichu’s heart raced as she stepped out the door. Ever since learning it was a frame-up, her chest had felt stuffy. Her attitude had been wrong; she wanted to apologize to Wen Zhixu.

Faint murmurs drifted from the private room down the hallway. Jian Shichu slowed, approaching while silently counting steps.

She didn’t know what they were discussing inside, but the door was ajar, light spilling out onto the potted plant at the entrance.

Jian Shichu stood there without entering, breathing shallowly to calm herself. As she turned to leave, a force slammed into her arms, throwing off her balance and sending her stumbling back.

Her back hit the door with a thud, shoving it open. Wen Zhixu crashed into her embrace, the motion reeking of alcohol, swiftly pinning her against the door inside the room.

All eyes turned. Wang Yun stood, chin raised, gaze sweeping the table to the scene on the floor—her face darkened instantly.

Wen Zhixu’s breath carried wine. Jian Shichu, recognizing her, pulled her closer and tilted her head to check.

“What happened?” Xu Ting circled the table and approached.

Only now did the others recover from the shock, several standing up.

Wang Yun stepped forward. “How’d she get so drunk?”

She glanced at the screenwriters. She hadn’t missed it—they’d done this on purpose.

“Let’s get Teacher Wen home first.” Tang Qin looked over; Wen Zhixu’s face was flushed, unsteady on her feet, supported by Jian Shichu.

Ke Yixuan came over too, gripping Wen Zhixu’s arm. “I didn’t drink…”

“No need. I’ll take her.” Jian Shichu cut her off directly, glancing at Wang Yun, who nodded in acquiescence.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Jian Shichu scanned the room, her gaze landing on Tang Qin.

A glance laced with faint contempt, then shifting back to Wen Zhixu amid the commotion. Only then did she lead Wen Zhixu away.

Drunk, Wen Zhixu didn’t make a fuss or cry—just leaned quietly against her, like how Jian Shichu had leaned on Wen Zhixu during her IV drip that day.

“I must be drunk.” Wen Zhixu murmured softly, her voice so quiet only she could hear.

Jian Shichu turned to look at her, brushing the hair from her face. For now, she said nothing.

The drive home was long. Chongqing’s nights brimmed with stories, history and future crisscrossing in the mountain city. She would describe the other as the once-ideal fireworks.

Jian Shichu passed the journey lost in memories. Wen Zhixu’s home was impeccably tidy—every piece of clothing ironed before being put away.

She couldn’t free up a hand to turn on the bedroom light. Jian Shichu found a towel in the bathroom, rinsed her palms with cool water, washed the towel clean, and only then carried it into the bedroom.

Wen Zhixu lay curled up on one side like a little cat, soft and pliant. The alcohol carried a faint fragrance, different from her usual scent. Her skin was flushed a light pink. She first used a makeup remover wipe to gently clean her cheeks, then went over them a second time with the towel.

She wiped from her cheeks all the way to her jawline, not daring to rub too hard. Wen Zhixu’s hair was pressed against her neck; after setting the towel aside, Jian Shichu reached out, her fingers lightly lifting the strands away.

She went into the bathroom a second time to wash the towel. Jian Shichu sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to check if it was clean. Just as the towel brushed Wen Zhixu’s eyebrows, her eyelashes fluttered, tickling her knuckle with a tingly numbness. Wen Zhixu looked at her without a word.

The distance between them had closed, and she could hear each other’s breathing. The dim yellow light magnified the softness in Wen Zhixu’s eyes. As their gazes locked, Jian Shichu’s heart began to race.

With a breath, Wen Zhixu parted her lips slightly and said, “Hug me. I miss you so much.”