The half-month vacation passed quickly. Shen Qu returned to Beijing and started a new round of work. This time, she had pushed off quite a few engagements. Now that she was back, Gao Jie presented her with a list detailing everything she needed to do in the next six months, with more to be added.
She had become an A-list young actress, earning more and more money, yet she felt increasingly unhappy. She couldn’t show it publicly; the feeling only surfaced clearly when she was alone.
She was suppressing herself too much, so she chose a way to de-stress—asking Zhuang Changchang to screenshot Chi Shuo’s Moments for her.
Zhuang Changchang was very surprised by this. Shen Qu’s reason was simple: “If she’s not doing well, I’ll feel better.”
Zhuang Changchang: “……”
Zhuang Changchang didn’t contact Chi Shuo often; distance was a factor. Their past relationship wasn’t as good as Chi Shuo’s with Shen Qu. But just screenshotting Moments wasn’t troublesome, so Zhuang Changchang always sent them over.
Besides, Chi Shuo didn’t post frequently, making it even less inconvenient. It was just that every time Zhuang Changchang sent a screenshot, she felt puzzled, because Chi Shuo’s Moments showed she was doing very well. In fact, Zhuang Changchang had even asked about Chi Shuo’s company benefits, which were much better than her own current company.
Shen Qu always expressed her gratitude, not just with words, but also with tangible gifts, like autographs from actors Zhuang Changchang liked.
Because Zhuang Changchang didn’t know how important each screenshot was to Shen Qu.
It wasn’t just a screenshot; it was her medicine.
But this also deepened her desire to contact Chi Shuo. Time flew; three years had passed since their breakup. Shen Qu was already teetering on the edge of contacting Chi Shuo, just hesitating and debating. Until Zhuang Changchang sent her a screenshot of Chi Shuo’s Moments post about being on a business trip in Beijing.
Shen Qu hesitated no longer, stepping firmly into the territory of contacting Chi Shuo.
She called Chi Shuo, maintaining her usual indifferent attitude. They exchanged only a few words before Chi Shuo hung up. Shen Qu wasn’t upset at all, even smiling at her phone.
Her assistant was very confused but didn’t dare ask, just watching Shen Qu bubbling with happiness. The assistant quietly reported this to Gao Jie, worried that Shen Qu might be dating someone and affect her career.
After Gao Jie found out, she had a talk with Shen Qu. Shen Qu’s eyes curved. “I just saw a really funny joke, can’t I be happy?”
She seemed to have become a money-making machine. Chenyue Film and Television valued her more and more.
Gao Jie said plainly, “Fine.” She paused. “Shen Qu, you should know better than me how to develop your career better.”
Of course, Shen Qu knew. It meant relentlessly filming and attending promotional events. Only by staying constantly active in the public eye could she achieve better development. She couldn’t afford to mess up a single drama or promotional event.
She had a drama called Urban Love Chronicle. Personally, she didn’t feel anything special while filming it, but when it aired during the summer break, the response was unexpectedly good. The ratings climbed day by day, and audiences eventually predicted it might become the drama king of the year. Its ratings, discussion volume, and online viewership soared. Shen Qu gained more and more fans, but she wasn’t very concerned about it.
She just wondered if Chi Shuo would watch her drama, watch her movies, maybe even be one of her fans?
But she realized she was thinking too much, because every call she made to Chi Shuo was hung up on and then blocked.
Shen Qu felt it didn’t matter. Just hearing Chi Shuo’s voice seemed enough, even though she knew she wanted far more than that.
Again, she watched the time and dialed Chi Shuo’s number—today was Chi Shuo’s twenty-third birthday.
She had already missed wishing her well for the past two years. She didn’t want to miss it this time, so she timed the call perfectly, delivering her wishes in her usual style—Happy birthday to my ex-girlfriend, Chi Shuo.
As Shen Qu said this, she remembered the last time she wished Chi Shuo a happy birthday. She had pulled a banner that read “Happy Birthday to my bestie, Chi Shuo.” She felt she must have been crazy back then, an idiot, to write such a phrase.
Were the words “bestie” that great? Shen Qu had questioned herself countless times, wanting to slap herself each time.
Regarding her relationship with Chi Shuo, besides the company’s unfeeling work machines, only the two of them knew. Why did she have to add the word “bestie” just to cover things up?
Chi Shuo’s later response was within her expectations: “Shen Qu, is there something wrong with you?”
Hearing this, Shen Qu chuckled inwardly, thinking she was quite clever. She had anticipated Chi Shuo asking such a question. That way, she could smoothly play the victim and tell Chi Shuo about her depression.
She didn’t expect Chi Shuo to feel sorry for her; she just wanted to gain some presence in Chi Shuo’s life. But after saying it, she regretted it and quickly added, “You didn’t believe that, did you?”
The call was hung up again. Shen Qu’s feelings were complicated. Eventually, wearing a mask and hat, she walked the streets of Yun Cheng, streets Chi Shuo might have walked.
Her depression was real. She was already taking medication and undergoing treatment as per the doctor’s advice, but she felt she wouldn’t recover so quickly.
The day she left Yun Cheng, Shen Qu cried in the car for a long time. By the time she arrived in Beijing, she was the perfect Shen Qu again.
Fortunately, she got the chance to meet Chi Shuo again because Chi Shuo was responsible for her interview. She thought about it for a long time, ultimately deciding to be shameless. In front of so many staff members, she brought up their past friendship and pressured Chi Shuo’s superiors to get Chi Shuo to add her on WeChat.
She was so shameless, yet she felt so happy.
The production team took two days off, so she rushed to Yun Cheng and called Chi Shuo, wanting to invite her out. But Chi Shuo still seemed somewhat resistant and even asked if she had some misunderstanding about her.
“I don’t think so,” Shen Qu replied lightly.
“If dating two people at once doesn’t count as scum, how many does it take?”
Chi Shuo was still bothered by her “cheating.” This was normal.
“More than seven, I guess. Seven means one for each day of the week. Any more than that, and I really wouldn’t have time.” Shen Qu’s reply was as heartless as ever. Perhaps this way, Chi Shuo would dislike her a little more.
Even though she hoped Chi Shuo could treat her a little better, she couldn’t reveal her own difficulties. She could only play her role according to the persona Chi Shuo had in mind, acting until the very end.
She was a professional actress, after all; she had awards.
She finally managed to invite Chi Shuo out. They met at an internet cafe private room. She deliberately chose a couple’s room, wanting to see Chi Shuo’s speechless expression.
But Chi Shuo didn’t comment on it, just wanted her to get to the point.
Shen Qu finally became serious. She talked about wanting to leave the entertainment industry.
This wasn’t something she made up on the spot; she had been thinking about it for half a year. Because she had already been diagnosed with depression, this illness tormented her frequently. If she stayed in the industry, she likely wouldn’t have a good ending.
She wouldn’t be able to act well, her career would decline, and so on.
She still chose not to hide her depression from Chi Shuo. She still wanted Chi Shuo to know, wanted Chi Shuo to feel a little sorry for her, even just for a second.
“I knew you weren’t joking,” Chi Shuo said to her.
Hearing this, Shen Qu almost burst into tears. Chi Shuo was still such a gentle person; she wouldn’t think her previous denial of depression was a joke.
Shen Qu held back her thoughts, outwardly showing no flaws, even starting to probe about Chi Shuo and He Lindi.
He Lindi was a photographer she had met half a year ago. They got along well. She had also discovered that He Lindi and Chi Shuo knew each other; they interacted on Moments. But every time she mentioned He Lindi to Chi Shuo, Chi Shuo acted like she didn’t want to know her.
Shen Qu had always been smart, but she didn’t want this kind of intelligence.
But what could she do?
Chi Shuo would eventually like someone else, date someone else; these were things she couldn’t control.
But Shen Qu still felt wronged. On New Year’s Eve, when she had dinner with He Lindi, she deliberately played some mind games. She didn’t know if He Lindi would guess that the person she liked most was Chi Shuo, but she felt saying it was enough.
She felt she was terrible because her goal was to disrupt Chi Shuo and He Lindi’s relationship. She even gave this act a title: “The Test.”
Testing Chi Shuo and He Lindi, and also testing herself.
After returning from Yun Cheng, she discussed leaving the industry with the company again. In the three-plus years she had been with the company, she had earned them a lot of money. Precisely because of this, the company wouldn’t agree to her leaving, at most allowing her a two-year break. They firmly believed Shen Qu’s depression would be well-treated within two years.
Shen Qu herself didn’t quite believe it, even feeling her condition had worsened. She discussed it with the company again, finally settling on a five-year break.
She was too tired. She wanted to leave the public eye. Those gazes felt like they carried a sinister light, staring at her, making her scalp crawl.
Finally, the day before New Year’s Eve, Shen Qu personally announced the news.
After posting on Weibo, she uninstalled the app, not paying attention anymore.
Her tears flowed uncontrollably again. She suddenly felt lighter, as if her shoulders were relieved of a burden. Never mind whether she’d return to the company five years later; at least for now, she was finally liberated.
Her mother saw her like this and asked again what was wrong.
Shen Qu smiled at her mother. “It’s nothing, Mom. I’ll have more time to spend with you guys from now on.”
Chi Shuo was the most brilliant light in her life. She had once selfishly wanted to grasp it, but in the end, she could only watch this light disappear before her eyes, appearing in someone else’s sightline.
She sincerely hoped that Chi Shuo’s future would be wonderful.
If it had nothing to do with her.
That would be even better.
