Chapter 39

Wen Zhixu was sitting in a spot where she could see the roadside at a glance. The table was against the wall, and Jian Shichu, afraid she couldn’t handle spicy food, had ordered a yin-yang hotpot.

Chongqing had heavy dampness, and the hot, spicy hotpot was perfect for sweating it out and dispelling moisture. Of course, that was only part of the reason—the main factor was the inherited dietary habits.

Jian Shichu had eaten here with Bai Xue a few times, so the auntie remembered her name. By the time the pot base arrived, Wen Zhixu had already ordered the dishes.

She looked at the fermented glutinous rice added to the broth and raised her head to ask, “What’s that for?”

Jian Shichu glanced at her, then replied, “To enhance freshness, generate saliva, and reduce the spiciness of the pot base.”

She listened to the answer, stirring her bowl with chopsticks to mix the vinegar and sesame oil at the bottom. Wen Zhixu had always preferred mild flavors, but since coming to Chongqing, she had been slowly adapting to the city.

When the dishes arrived, the auntie asked where she was from, but Wen Zhixu didn’t catch it because she spoke too fast.

Jian Shichu answered for her, “Suzhou.”

“No wonder. Doudou’s such a good girl, and wow, her girlfriend is pretty too.”

Wen Zhixu only half-understood, but she got the gist. Jian Shichu just smiled faintly without responding.

Wen Zhixu looked at her. Jian Shichu twirled the pen in her hand once, then ticked the last dish. She didn’t feel embarrassed at all.

A few seconds later, Jian Shichu noticed and handed over the menu, asking her, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Wen Zhixu took a sip of iced tea. “Did the auntie mean you’re well-behaved and pretty?”

Jian Shichu smiled slowly. Wen Zhixu got her answer from that smile and said, “So that’s exactly what she meant.”

Compared to before, Jian Shichu’s appearance hadn’t changed much; it was just her demeanor that had gained some maturity.

“Do you think I’m well-behaved?” Jian Shichu’s gaze slowly closed in on her, a smile playing at her lips. The oil in the hotpot slowly melted, sending up a wisp of faint steam that the breeze blew toward Wen Zhixu’s brow.

Wen Zhixu looked at her again, her expression calm as she replied, “You’re very obedient.”

Jian Shichu smiled at the answer, her amusement undiminished. Her brows twitched slightly as she pressed, “In what ways?”

Wen Zhixu thought for a moment before replying after a short while, “When we’re dating.”

This person had always been like this, back then and now—no change there. She was very well-behaved; no matter who said it, the word fit her perfectly.

Jian Shichu smiled, about to say something more, when the dishes arrived, and she swallowed her words.

The auntie spoke in thick Chongqing dialect, her energy surpassing many young people. Wen Zhixu envied that vitality, though she couldn’t achieve it herself.

A city’s prosperity and clamor hid in every corner. Her regrets weren’t just that one year—the bridge lights that went out at ten, the evening breeze wrapped along the Jialing River banks. The promises from back then were too fragile, scattering with a single gust of wind.

Wen Zhixu didn’t eat much of the spicy broth. The first few bites weren’t too bad, but it got harder to handle later. She even deliberately checked if the white T-shirt Jian Shichu wore underneath had any oil stains.

After looking around, she saw it was spotless. Jian Shichu hadn’t paid it any mind either—what she came in like was how she left.

After finishing, Wen Zhixu got a call from the crew. The writing team wanted to adjust Tang Qin’s scenes based on the market and asked her to come discuss it.

The parking garage was dim. The seatbelt clicked into place with a ‘ka’ sound, and the screen’s light projected onto Jian Shichu’s face. She leaned over halfway, looking at Wen Zhixu.

“I’ll drop you off at the set first.”

Wen Zhixu asked, “Are you busy today?”

As she buckled her seatbelt, she spotted a pink bow in the gap. She looked at Jian Shichu and hooked it out with her index finger.

Jian Shichu pulled up the navigation, her eyes on the phone screen. “Not busy today, but hard to say in a few days.”

Suddenly, Song Yi’s name popped up at the top of the screen, and the phone vibrated noticeably in the quiet car.

Wen Zhixu heard the sound and glanced at her screen, casually placing the bow in the door pocket.

Jian Shichu swiped the screen and held the phone to her ear.

Because it was so quiet, Wen Zhixu could hear the electronic tone leaking from the call.

“I’m outside,” Jian Shichu replied, her eyes shifting to Wen Zhixu.

~~~

“I have time.”

~~~

Wen Zhixu held her breath, listening intently. She couldn’t make out what was said on the other end, but from the tone, Song Yi sounded both anxious and angry—not a small matter.

After a few seconds, the electronic tone stopped. Jian Shichu’s brow furrowed slightly. She exhaled steadily and said, “I’ll go check it out. Don’t worry.”

After that, there were a few fragmented words, then the call ended. The car fell silent. Jian Shichu started the engine, her expression changing.

Wen Zhixu asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Song Yanling got into a fight at school. The teacher wants the parent there right away, and Song Yi hasn’t made it back yet.”

Wen Zhixu immediately said, “Then you go to the school first. I’ll take a cab to the set.”

Wen Zhixu had heard Jian Shichu mention Song Yanling last night—first some touching words the girl had said, then how wild she was, though likable. Song Yi calling Jian Shichu meant she had no other options.

“Then I’ll drop you off outside to catch a cab, and pick you up at the set after I’m done.” Jian Shichu’s expression softened as she reached out to tuck Wen Zhixu’s hair behind her ear.

Wen Zhixu agreed. Just like that, she got out after they left the garage.

National Day holiday lights hung high with red flags along the roads. Amid the dry heat, cool breezes passed occasionally. The weather was strange that day—both cold and hot.

She arrived at the set at 1:30. Everyone was on break. After reconciling with Jian Shichu, seeing Wang Yun made her feel a bit awkward.

She didn’t know if Jian Shichu had told Wang Yun or when—or if she even would. She hadn’t asked.

Wen Zhixu sat with them at a long table in the cafeteria, the atmosphere serious and formal. Tang Qin sat next to her, squeezing Su Yun to the edge.

Su Yun wasn’t from a proper acting background and struggled with performing. After the last incident, Wen Zhixu had distanced herself from these girls, but today at the set, she vaguely sensed something off in the vibe.

They were discussing adding scenes when Tang Qin said, “We could release some behind-the-scenes clips of me and Su Yun to keep the buzz going.”

Su Yun said nothing, as if she didn’t care either way. It was like her contacts were too dry today—her eyelids ached, her gaze fixed on the table.

“We already released a clip before, so no need to add more now,” Wang Yun said. “Su Yun, when you act, I hope you can make your character more assertive. It’ll create stronger CP vibes.”

Wen Zhixu was flipping through the script and only vaguely heard Su Yun agree. She said, “We can just add this one scene. It’s not an idol drama—doesn’t suit adding too many.”

Wang Yun looked at her, a subtle shift in her eyes, then lightly closed them in agreement.

But the director agreed, and Tang Qin wasn’t happy. Her face fell instantly as she looked at her manager.

Wen Zhixu had blocked Tang Qin’s paths multiple times, naturally drawing the manager’s attention, who now stared at her slowly. But she couldn’t worry about that.

Tang Qin had brought investment into the crew, pressuring the producer. They’d already switched directors once before shooting. Most directors didn’t like working with investment-backed actors who threw tantrums easily.

Wang Yun had some say, but she couldn’t overpower capital. Decisions now meant trouble later.

Ke Min walked in just in time to hear, her voice rising sharply. “The crew assigned leads for female lead and female second. If female second gets more scenes than female lead, does that make sense when it airs?”

“Ke Min, if you’re counting like that, it’s endless,” Tang Qin’s manager spread his hands. “We’re all actors in a collaborative shoot for the whole drama. Adding opponent scenes—how is that more than your artist?”

“Why are you arguing with me?!” Ke Min shot back unceremoniously, her voice pitching higher. The two were evenly matched, neither backing down.

“Enough, stop arguing,” Wang Yun interjected, setting her script on the table.

With Wang Yun and Xu Ting there, they exchanged a couple more barbs and stopped. Wen Zhixu didn’t chime in—her stance was clear.

When she turned her attention to Su Yun, she noticed the girl seemed troubled; sitting there, her eyes had reddened.

The impromptu meeting ended predictably—not amicably. One side wanted more scenes, the other refused. Wang Yun finally slammed the table and decided per Wen Zhixu’s suggestion.

It was bold in the moment, but the fallout was uncertain. Everyone held their breath. Wen Zhixu could guess the outcome. With shooting halfway done, they wouldn’t switch directors, and Xu Ting was backing from above.

It was just some fussing, making things unpleasant. Her head buzzed from the noise. As she left the cafeteria, she grabbed a bottle of mineral water and stood under a tree.

She’d just twisted it open when she saw Su Yun pass by, hands in her pockets, skirting the lighting tech, her shadow crossing Wen Zhixu’s.

Wen Zhixu called out, “Su Yun, want some water?”

She stopped her. Su Yun was the youngest on set, uncomplicated—much better than those steeped in capitalist thinking.

The crew’s mineral water was stacked under the tree. Wen Zhixu hadn’t brought her tumbler today and handed the opened bottle to Su Yun.

Su Yun took a few seconds to turn around before forcing a smile. “No thanks, Teacher Wen.”

As she said the latter half, tears suddenly fell without warning. Once they started falling, she panicked and hurriedly wiped them from her face with her sleeve.

“What’s wrong?” Wen Zhixu vaguely sensed something was off.

It was heartbreaking. Who wouldn’t ache seeing such a delicate, pretty girl cry?

Su Yun didn’t explain. A layer of watery film covered her eyes. When she pulled her left hand out of her pocket, she also brought her phone along.

She lowered her head and swiped a few times, then slowly turned the phone toward Wen Zhixu. The screen was paused on the chat window.

【What do you mean by your current attitude?】 Red exclamation mark.

This message was one Su Yun had sent to Ke Yixuan, and Ke Yixuan’s last message above it used some rather ambiguous words. The timestamp was three days ago.

So without any other words, she had blocked Su Yun—just using that attitude to tell her they were done.

Such a farewell was truly awful, abrupt and without closure.

“Then you…”

“I’m fine. I just can’t figure it out.” As Su Yun said this, the tears pooling in her eyes could no longer be held back. “We’re on the same crew. We see each other every day, but she won’t even talk to me.”

Wen Zhixu didn’t know how to comfort her. Ke Yixuan had seemed utterly indifferent. Wen Zhixu glanced in the direction where Ke Yixuan had been resting earlier, but she was no longer on set.

Su Yun’s chest heaved as she pocketed her phone and said her goodbyes. “I’ll head out first, Teacher Wen.”

Wen Zhixu nodded. Her phone in her bag kept ringing nonstop, so she could only hurriedly tell her to be careful on the road.

She fished her phone out of her bag. The sun was glaring, making the screen too dim, so she cupped her hand over it to check the incoming number—a strange one, from Chongqing.

Wen Zhixu swiped to answer and held it to her ear as she walked forward. “Hello? Who’s this?”

—

“Is that Wen Zhixu?”

—

Wen Zhixu heard the unfamiliar female voice and lightly furrowed her brows. She looked down at the road beneath her feet, her shoes grinding the gravel with a crunch.

“Who is this?”

Once she got confirmation, the other woman’s attitude flipped instantly.

—

“What? You little homewrecker don’t even know who I am?! Think it’s fun being the third wheel? So starved for love you’re out here doing shameless shit?!”

—

Wen Zhixu’s heart thudded hard. Her face drained of color, her fingertips gripping the phone grew damp, and her steps slowed unconsciously.