Chapter 57 p2
After dinner and a shower, alone in her hotel room, knowing that Xin Yao was just a few doors away, yet unable to see her, the thought of their forced separation for the next few weeks was unbearable.
But Xu Jingyu wasn’t one to follow rules.
Agreements could be broken. If they couldn’t meet in person, they could at least talk on the phone.
She sat on her bed and called Xin Yao, eager to see her face, her heart filled with a warm anticipation.
But after three rings, the call was answered, and instead of Xin Yao’s face, a furious Director Gao appeared on the screen, her voice a booming roar.
“I knew you wouldn’t listen! Calling Xin Yao already! I’ve been waiting all night for this…”
Director Gao, using her directorial authority, had bribed Xue Ning, Xu Jingyu’s agent, into swapping the contact information and profile pictures for Xin Yao and herself on Xu Jingyu’s phone.
Xu Jingyu, not expecting such a blatant betrayal from Xue Ning, her desire to talk to Xin Yao clouding her judgment, had fallen right into their trap.
Seeing Director Gao’s face, she instantly understood, her frustration mounting.
She hung up, her fingers gripping her phone tightly, her eyes narrowed dangerously.
Xue Ning, you’re dead.
Director Gao’s relentless efforts to keep them apart made their lives a living hell, their days filled with a constant, agonizing longing.
And their suffering paled in comparison to the two women in the film, their love a forbidden flame in a world of darkness.
Lu Duanjing knelt in the ancestral hall, her face pale, her body swaying slightly.
After being dragged away by her father, she had been confined to the ancestral hall, forced to kneel, denied food and water, her punishment a cruel reminder of her transgression.
Her mother, hearing the news, had rushed to plead for her daughter’s release, only to be slapped by her furious husband, a vase shattering on the floor beside her.
“Look at her! This is the daughter you raised!”
And then she had learned the truth, the reason for her daughter’s punishment: she had fallen in love with a woman.
And the Lu family, steeped in tradition, her husband a staunch conservative, had been horrified.
He had believed his daughter was possessed, her love for another woman a sign of madness.
He had hired a Taoist priest to perform an exorcism.
That day, the winter sun had been unusually bright.
Lu Duanjing, weak and emaciated after days without food or water, had been dragged into the courtyard and forced to kneel, her face pale, her lips cracked and bleeding, her body trembling, as if she would collapse at any moment.
The priest’s chanting, the rhythmic clanging of his bell, had been like a swarm of ants crawling beneath her skin, making her want to scream.
She had looked up at the priest, his ridiculous robes and chanting, his absurd ritual, and had thought: This world is insane!
She had simply fallen in love with someone, a kindred spirit, and they called her mad?
They were the crazy ones!
And then they had forced her to drink a foul-smelling concoction, pinning her down, their hands gripping her limbs, their fingers forcing her jaw open, pouring the dark liquid down her throat as she struggled and choked.
The Lu family’s cruelty, their rigid adherence to tradition, was mirrored by the seemingly more open-minded Wen family.
Wen Sigu, returning home, had been punished by her father.
He had beaten her with a cane, the blows landing on her back, her skin breaking, the blood soaking through her clothes. But she had endured it in silence, her back straight, her teeth clenched.
Knowing her stubborn nature, her unwavering defiance, her family had decided to send her abroad.
For treatment.
There was a famous clinic overseas, specializing in “curing” people like Wen Sigu.
Wen Sigu, a doctor herself, knew what that meant. It wasn’t treatment, but a chemical lobotomy, a slow erasure of her memories, her emotions, her very self.
They would inject her with a drug that would gradually dull her senses, her thoughts slowing, her mind emptying, until she was left with nothing but a blank slate.
She would be alive, but her mind would be empty, her heart a void.
She wouldn’t even be able to remember who she loved.
After days of silence, Wen Sigu had finally spoken, her voice filled with a quiet despair, her gaze fixed on her father’s face.
“If I become like that, am I even alive? I’d rather die.”
They had simply fallen in love, and now one was considered mad, the other sick.
As the two families struggled to contain the scandal, Lu’s mother had fallen ill.
She had always been frail, and while her health had improved recently, the shock of her daughter’s forbidden love, and the subsequent violence, had been too much for her to bear.
Her daughter, her quiet, obedient daughter, had fallen in love with a woman! How could this be…?
Still reeling from the shock, she had been slapped by her husband, and that night, she had coughed up blood.
The emotional trauma, combined with the cold winter weather, had weakened her further.
But she had still managed to visit Lu Duanjing in the ancestral hall, her heart aching for her daughter, still kneeling there, her face pale and her body trembling, her defiance unwavering.
Lu’s mother had returned to her room and sat on her bed, tears silently streaming down her face.
After a long while, as if having made a decision, she had stood up and poured the medicine she had been carefully warming into a nearby flowerpot.
She wasn’t educated, having only recently learned a few characters with Lu Duanjing’s help, unable to even read properly.
She didn’t understand grand pronouncements of love and freedom, but she knew, with a mother’s intuition, that her daughter wasn’t happy in this house, in this life.
Only with Wen Sigu had she seen a spark of joy in Lu Duanjing’s eyes, a newfound confidence and a bright, cheerful smile.
Even the other women in the household had been inspired by their love, their eagerness to learn a testament to its power.
And she herself, hadn’t she also felt a flicker of hope, a sense of purpose she had never known before?
Perhaps all the women in this house were suffering, their lives a silent, unending torment.
She had spent her entire life trapped in this house, her days a monotonous cycle of duty and obedience, her spirit slowly withering.
Even in death, she would be buried in the Lu family’s ancestral graveyard, her name on the tombstone a simple “Mrs. Lu,” her own identity erased.
She couldn’t let her daughter suffer the same fate, her life also defined by duty and obedience, her own identity lost in the shadows of the Lu family.
After Lu Duanjing collapsed in the ancestral hall, she had been confined to her room, the doors and windows locked, her freedom restricted.
Days passed, the sun rising and setting, until finally, the door opened, the winter sunlight streaming into the room.
Her mother had died.
Lu Duanjing, standing there, her face pale, her body weak, had felt like she was in a dream, the news too absurd to be real.
The nanny, her eyes red from crying, had handed her a letter.
Lu Duanjing, her hands trembling, unfolded the letter, her mother’s crooked handwriting barely legible in the bright sunlight.
[Duanjing, when you read this letter, I’ll be gone. But I’m free now. And happy…]
Lu Duanjing, standing there in the sunlight, her gaze fixed on the letter, had felt as if her mother, her quiet, unassuming mother, was standing before her, her voice a soft, sad whisper.
“This house… it devours people.”
“When I first arrived, I thought it was so big, so grand. Then, after a few years, it felt small, its rooms and corridors familiar. But now, it feels too big, too vast, a prison I can never escape.”
Lu’s mother had been consumed by the house, her identity reduced to a name on a tombstone: Mrs. Lu.
She couldn’t let her daughter suffer the same fate.
Married off to another family, her life also confined to the four walls of a house, her spirit slowly withering, her own identity erased.
Especially after learning to read and write.
Lu’s mother had tasted freedom, had glimpsed a different kind of life, a life beyond the confines of the Lu residence.
And she had longed for it, her heart aching for a world she could never experience.
But she knew her time was short, her body failing her.
So, she had stopped taking her medicine, her quiet act of defiance a final, desperate attempt to save her daughter.
Her death would force the family to release Lu Duanjing from her confinement, and during the funeral, she had arranged for the nanny and the other women in the household to help Lu Duanjing escape.
It was her final act of love, her sacrifice a path to freedom for her daughter.
The last words of her letter, written in her shaky handwriting, echoed in Lu Duanjing’s mind.
[Duanjing, don’t grieve. Don’t look back.]
Lu Duanjing’s tears had flowed freely, her hand reaching out, as if to grasp her mother’s fading image.
But her mother had pushed her away, her voice a fierce, defiant roar, the loudest sound Lu Duanjing had ever heard from her.
“Don’t be Lu Duanjing!”
“My daughter doesn’t have to be demure! Or obedient! Be who you want to be! Live your own life!”
“Don’t grieve for me. Leave this place! Walk away! And take me with you!”
“From now on, what you see, I see.”
“Be brave. Move forward. Don’t look back.”
“Go, Lu Duanjing.”
“Run, Lu Duanjing!”
Director Gao had envisioned this scene as a dream sequence, a vision of Lu Duanjing’s deceased mother urging her to escape.
So, they had filmed it on location, Wen Xin, the actress playing Lu’s mother, standing before Xin Yao, her voice a tearful cry, her words a desperate plea, her performance a powerful portrayal of a mother’s love and sacrifice.
And in that moment, Xin Yao had felt the full force of her emotions, the raw, unfiltered grief and the fierce, unwavering love, a powerful wave that had washed over her, her heart aching, her body trembling.
It was the magic of acting, the power of a truly gifted performer.
Even after the scene ended, Xin Yao had remained in character, her tears flowing freely as she clung to Wen Xin, her voice choked with emotion.
“Mom, I miss you! Don’t leave me!”
Wen Xin, who had grown fond of Xin Yao, her heart melting at her vulnerability, had held her close, her voice a soft murmur.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving.”
Seeing Xin Yao’s tears, Xu Jingyu, unable to bear it, her heart aching with sympathy, had started to walk towards her, forgetting their agreement to stay away from each other.
But Director Gao, ever vigilant, had intercepted her.
“Ms. Xu! We agreed! No contact! And you were already calling her! I haven’t even mentioned the video call incident…”
Xu Jingyu had glanced at her, her expression cold and impassive, her eyes like chips of ice, silencing Director Gao, her words frozen in her throat.
Even the usually oblivious director had been intimidated by that look, a shiver running down her spine.
Xu Jingyu, her gaze returning to Xin Yao, continued walking towards her.
Just then, Xin Yao, having finally calmed down, wiped her eyes and looked up, her gaze meeting Xu Jingyu’s.
And in that moment, seeing the person she had missed so much, her longing, long suppressed, erupted, her heart aching.
She stumbled towards Xu Jingyu, her movements clumsy and unsteady.
And Xu Jingyu, also drawn to her, quickened her pace.
They were like magnets, their bodies pulled towards each other, their reunion inevitable.
Director Gao, seeing them, her eyes widening in alarm, yelled, “Separate them! Quickly!”
The assistant director, grabbing her arm, said, “Director, you’re like an evil mother-in-law! Calm down!”
Director Gao couldn’t help but retort, “I’m just trying to protect my family!”
Finally, seeing Xin Yao’s tear-streaked face, she relented, calling out, “Just one hug! Only one!”
But before she could even finish her sentence, Xin Yao had already thrown herself into Xu Jingyu’s arms, like a lost bird returning to its nest, her tears soaking Xu Jingyu’s shirt, her body trembling with a mix of relief and longing.
Finally, enveloped in Xu Jingyu’s familiar scent, her racing heart calmed, but her tears flowed even more freely.
And Xu Jingyu, while not crying, her trembling fingers betrayed her own emotions, her grip on Xin Yao tightening, as if afraid she would disappear.
She couldn’t bear being separated from Xin Yao, not even for a day, not even for a night.
Their longing was a shared burden.
But their embrace, on set, in full view of the crew, had to be brief.
And their forced separation only intensified their longing.
And to make matters worse, that night, Xin Yao discovered that Director Gao, in her infinite wisdom, had moved them to different hotels.
Twenty kilometers apart, a forty-minute drive.
Only the director of the zombie movie next door could rival her level of deviousness.
Lying in her new hotel bed, Xin Yao had finally recovered from the emotional intensity of the afternoon’s scene, but her eyes were still slightly swollen.
Physical discomfort and emotional longing combined to create a restless energy that made her toss and turn in bed.
She missed Xu Jingyu.
She missed her so much.
She wanted to see her.
But the director, having caught Xu Jingyu trying to video call Xin Yao, had forced them to delete each other’s contact information, forbidding them from communicating until filming was over.
Xin Yao couldn’t even call her.
Just as her longing became unbearable, her phone, lying on the nightstand, buzzed.
A new message.
Xin Yao, who had been wallowing in self-pity, sat up and grabbed her phone, her eyes scanning the message from an unknown number.
[Look outside.]
She paused, confused, then, a sudden realization dawning on her, she rushed to the window, throwing it open.
The cool night air and the starlight streamed in.
Below, standing beside a streetlight, was Xu Jingyu, her figure elegant and graceful even in the dim light.
Seeing Xin Yao, she raised her hand and waved.
It was her lover, braving the cold night, having come to see her.
Xin Yao grabbed a coat and ran downstairs.
As she reached Xu Jingyu, the soft glow of the streetlight illuminating her face, tears welled up in Xin Yao’s eyes, and she threw herself into Xu Jingyu’s arms.
“What are you doing here?”
Xu Jingyu’s arms, already outstretched, wrapped around Xin Yao, holding her close, inhaling her scent.
She felt like she could finally breathe again.
“I missed you, so I came.”
“But it’s so cold! And you’re so far away! And the director made us delete each other’s numbers! How did you get here?”
“It’s not cold. And it’s not far. I remember your number. Nothing can stop me from seeing you.”
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