July, midsummer.
Shen Qu called, saying she was in Yun Cheng.
She called He Lindi. Chi Shuo was right there and He Lindi had even put it on speakerphone, so Chi Shuo heard everything.
Shen Qu was silent for a few seconds before saying, “Want to have hot pot together?”
The question was clearly directed at Chi Shuo. He Lindi didn’t seem unhappy; she replied for Chi Shuo, “Sure.” She smiled. “Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow was Saturday, perfect timing.
“Okay.”
Chi Shuo quickly found a highly-rated hot pot restaurant on her phone and showed the page to He Lindi. He Lindi said into the phone, “Let’s book XX Hot Pot then.”
Shen Qu’s voice held a hint of amusement. “Okay.”
After hanging up, Chi Shuo touched the back of her head, looked at He Lindi, and asked with some doubt, “Don’t you feel something’s off?”
He Lindi scrolled through her phone. “What’s off?”
“She…” Chi Shuo swallowed. “Really was my ex-girlfriend.”
He Lindi glanced at her and said calmly, “So what?” The corners of her lips curved slightly. “The word ‘ex’ says it all. I’m your current girlfriend.”
She emphasized the word “current.” Chi Shuo heard it; He Lindi wasn’t unconcerned, but extremely confident, because she and Shen Qu were indeed in the past tense.
Dwelling on past relationships would only make life unhappy, and more importantly, Chi Shuo and Shen Qu hadn’t had any contact after breaking up.
Soon, it was Saturday evening, their agreed-upon hot pot time.
Chi Shuo and He Lindi arrived first. They had already given the private room number to Shen Qu.
They were supposed to meet at 6:30. With over ten minutes left, He Lindi kept checking her watch. Chi Shuo was much calmer. “Are you nervous?”
This restaurant used scan-to-order. Chi Shuo had already told the staff to only come in when serving the food.
Only the two of them were in the room. He Lindi turned to look at her. “Do I look nervous?”
“Yes.”
He Lindi lowered her head slightly, not denying it. “Can’t lie, I really am a bit nervous. Don’t know why.”
Chi Shuo took a sip of tea, clicked her tongue, and just as she was about to say something, there was movement at the door.
Chi Shuo also held her breath.
Shen Qu had retired from the entertainment industry for half a year, and it had been a full seven months since Chi Shuo had last seen her. She pressed her lips together and exchanged a glance with He Lindi.
The person outside first revealed a shoulder, and with the door opening wider, soon her whole figure appeared.
Shen Qu had arrived.
Compared to seven months ago, Shen Qu had changed quite a bit, mostly in her eyes—they hadn’t seen her face yet, as Shen Qu was wearing a mask.
Before, Shen Qu’s gaze had carried a casual indifference, as if “nothing in the world matters.” Now, she seemed calmer and steadier.
The July sun was scorching. Even though it was dinnertime, the sunlight still beat down relentlessly. All three of them were in T-shirts and shorts. Chi Shuo was even wearing the same T-shirt she’d worn all day, too lazy to change into a clean one and risk smelling like hot pot afterward.
They exchanged glances for two seconds. He Lindi spoke first. “Shen Qu,” she called out, even though they were the only ones in the room. She gestured towards them. “Over here.”
Chi Shuo: “…”
Shen Qu curved her eyes and said while taking off her mask, “I have eyes.”
Her voice hadn’t changed, still carrying a hint of casual coolness. Chi Shuo relaxed slightly, saying nothing.
He Lindi smiled at Shen Qu. “It’s been so long, I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize us.”
Her use of “us” was very natural, but Chi Shuo could tell He Lindi still cared. She recalled He Lindi’s earlier question, asking if it had been that easy to stop liking her. That question wasn’t just about Ding Miaoran, but about Shen Qu too.
Shen Qu sat down unceremoniously. Under the bright light, she looked even more radiant than before.
Just half a month ago, a TV drama starring Shen Qu had premiered. Despite her absence from promotional platforms and programs, the drama had excellent ratings, starting at 2.6 and now steadily at 3.5, with impressive online viewership and discussion. Shen Qu’s portrayal of the female lead was very popular.
Chi Shuo hadn’t wanted to watch the drama, since she had blacklisted Shen Qu. But He Lindi had insisted on watching it together, and since Chi Shuo had told Zeng Guai not to mention Shen Qu in front of her, Zeng Guai, despite passionately discussing the drama online, remained silent in Chi Shuo’s presence. It wasn’t until Chi Shuo couldn’t stand it anymore that she finally lifted her self-imposed ban, admitting, “I’m watching it too.”
Shen Qu had a large fanbase, with a significant portion being fans of her work. After another hit drama, her popularity soared. However, some expressed sadness, because she wouldn’t be filming any new dramas for five years, and her existing works were dwindling.
On TV, Shen Qu looked slightly rounder than she did now, although she had been strictly managing her figure before. Now, it seemed she had lost some weight; at least her jawline was more defined with each word she spoke. “Alright, then I don’t recognize you.” She started joking. “Who are you two? Why are we at the same hot pot restaurant?”
She pretended to have amnesia.
Chi Shuo hadn’t liked watching Shen Qu’s dramas before, but since Shen Qu was so popular, she had been forced to see clips of her acting and always felt Shen Qu was a good actress.
Now was no exception. She really looked like she had amnesia.
Chi Shuo tossed the menu towards Shen Qu. “Order.”
Shen Qu didn’t protest, picking up a pen and looking at the menu. Her fingers were slender and fair, the pen twirling between them freely, the motion as casual and cool as Shen Qu herself.
There was more than one pen. He Lindi also took one, placing it between her fingers and twirling it, putting on a nonchalant look. Not to be outdone, she asked, “Shen Qu, how long have you been twirling pens?”
“Since university.” Shen Qu looked up at her. “I was bored.”
The corners of He Lindi’s lips turned up. “I’ve been doing it since high school.”
Chi Shuo couldn’t stand it anymore and sent He Lindi a WeChat message: 【Childish.】
He Lindi shot back: 【I am not.】
At this point, Shen Qu looked up. “Not sure what you want to eat, take a look?”
“Okay.” Chi Shuo took the menu back.
Five minutes later, the waitress came in carrying the hot pot base, followed by other waitresses with dishes. Shen Qu had put her mask back on and kept her head down the entire time, so no one recognized her.
Only after the waitresses left did Shen Qu take off her mask. She exhaled. “Why did my drama become a hit again? So annoying.”
Now it was Chi Shuo and He Lindi’s turn to be speechless. Chi Shuo couldn’t help retorting, “Are you even human? Don’t you know how hard it is for other actors to have a hit drama?”
Shen Qu blinked. “I know, that’s why I’m annoyed. Why is another drama I starred in going to be the drama king of the year?”
He Lindi quietly took out her phone. “Can I record this and post it on Weibo?”
Shen Qu’s lips curved upwards. “Go ahead.”
He Lindi was actually tempted. She looked at Shen Qu, across the steaming hot pot, and asked, “Seriously, can I post about you on Weibo?” She stared at the dishes. “The day you announced your five-year break, many of your fans commented saying they wanted to see us collaborate again. It’s not possible in the short term, but personally… posting a photo should be fine, right?”
Shen Qu had said she wouldn’t update her Weibo for a few years. She took a sip of juice, considered it, then nodded. “Mm-hmm, no problem.” She added with a smile, “Remember to make me look good. I rely on my looks for a living.”
Chi Shuo looked at the boiling hot pot and asked tentatively, “Why don’t you try burying your face in it? That would be really relying on your looks for a living.”
“Get lost,” Shen Qu retorted without hesitation.
He Lindi was already writing the caption. Chi Shuo glanced at her phone screen and saw four words: “Long time no see.”
Chi Shuo offered her opinion. “I think it’s a bit simple.”
He Lindi looked at her, puzzled. “Really?”
Shen Qu said, “Let me see?”
He Lindi turned her phone screen to show Shen Qu. Shen Qu studied it carefully for a moment, then said, “I think it’s fine.”
Chi Shuo made an “okay” gesture, then changed her mind. “I think not adding anything would be better.”
He Lindi asked, “Why?”
Shen Qu said, “Just listen to Chi Shuo. She’s a contrarian, always has to argue.”
He Lindi chuckled, deleted the caption, and posted it.
The picture didn’t show Shen Qu’s full face. He Lindi had angled the phone slightly higher, capturing her long, thick eyelashes. But since Shen Qu hadn’t appeared in public for so long, some people couldn’t immediately recognize her, even speculating it was He Lindi herself.
Chi Shuo smiled looking at the comments. He Lindi was speechless. “What kind of fake fans are these?” She clicked into one account and saw the user’s feed was filled with Shen Qu posts. “Shen Qu, your fans didn’t even recognize you.”
Shen Qu shrugged. “What does it matter to me? I’m just a model.”
Finally, someone tentatively asked, “Shen Qu…?”
The comments immediately exploded. Shen Qu’s fans even found pictures from the same angle for comparison to confirm it was her.
It really was Shen Qu. Some commented, saying they had burst into tears seeing the picture.
He Lindi sighed. “Do you really need to take five years off? There are still over four years left. I really like watching your dramas.”
She felt the same regret.
Shen Qu nodded. “Mm-hmm, I’ll go back after five years, even if everyone has forgotten me.” A bitter smile touched the corners of her lips. “What else can I do? If I continue working now, my depression won’t get better.”
“Mm-hmm.” Chi Shuo hummed in agreement and put some ham in He Lindi’s bowl.
Shen Qu raised an eyebrow. “Chi Shuo,” she called out with a smile. “You seem more affected than Didi.”
Chi Shuo glared at her. “You don’t have to speak if you have nothing to say.”
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