Entertainment from Divorce

His shoulders slumped slightly, as if weighed down by something heavy. The night wind lifted a corner of his black coat, revealing a faded gray T-shirt underneath—a gift she had bought for him for his birthday two years ago. When he received it, he smiled like a child, insisted on wearing it, and looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, treasuring it and saying he would save it for important occasions.

It turns out that in his mind, sending her a meal that she might not accept even if he traveled two thousand kilometers was considered an important occasion.

This realization, like a rusty needle, unexpectedly pierced the softest spot in her heart, bringing a dull pain. Qi Xue slammed the script shut; the crisp sound of the plastic cover clattering against the metal was particularly jarring in the quiet carriage, startling Xiao Lin into looking up. She shouldn't have felt this way. From the moment she signed the divorce papers three months ago, she should have completely severed these lingering emotions, like cutting off a useless thread, cleanly and decisively.

"Teacher Qi?" The production assistant's voice sounded from outside the car, tinged with a hint of caution. "The director asked you to go over and rehearse. The lights are all adjusted. We just filmed an establishing shot, and the effect was excellent."

"Understood." Qi Xue took a deep breath and gave herself a standard smile in the rearview mirror. The woman in the mirror had slightly upturned eyes, bright red lips, and meticulously drawn eyeliner that outlined a charming curve. There was no trace of the hidden emotional storm she had just weathered half an hour ago. This was a skill she had honed over ten years in the entertainment industry: always glamorous in front of the camera, hiding all her hardships, exhaustion, and weakness in the weariness after removing her makeup, in the quiet of the night when no one cared.

As the figure in the cheongsam walked across the film set, several crew members were gathered around small stools in a corner, dividing up the remaining spare ribs in a thermal container. Chef Wang, toothpick in hand, chewed on the meat while praising, "This cooking is amazing! Northerners really know how to cook; the sweet and sour sauce is so thick it clings to the bowl! Look at these ribs, the outside is fried to a crisp, and the meat inside is still tender and juicy—much better than what you get in restaurants. My husband always burns the outside of the ribs, leaving them bloody inside."

“You can tell, the guy who delivered the stuff looked pretty ordinary, his clothes were unremarkable, and there were even some snow stains on his black windbreaker. I never expected him to be a hidden culinary genius.” Another young worker chimed in, holding a half-eaten flatbread, which he was carefully wrapping in a tissue. “This flatbread is amazing, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with a wonderful aroma of wheat. My grandma used to make flatbread like this, using lard to make it flaky, and the aroma was so enticing.”

"Are all of Teacher Qi's friends this skilled? I'll have to ask him how he fries those ribs sometime. They're crispy on the outside and tender on the inside; my kid loves them. Maybe I should ask him to show off his skills when I visit the set next time?"

The whispers were like tiny needles, densely pricking Qi Xue's ears, making her cheeks burn.

She quickened her pace past the backdrop, the wooden frame bearing the slogan "Year 26 of the Republic of China," the edges of the paper already curled and faded, held together by transparent tape to prevent it from falling off.

In a daze, I felt that the faded words were mocking her hypocrisy—in the play, she played Shen Manqing, who was willing to risk everything for love in a chaotic world, crying out "I'll wait for you to come back" to the departing ship at the dock, but in real life, she didn't even have the courage to admit to a marriage, like a coward.

The director was hunched over the monitor, replaying the footage from earlier, tapping and drawing on the screen with his fingers, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones with the assistant director beside him.

The director was hunched over the monitor, replaying the footage from earlier, tapping and drawing on the screen with his fingers, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones with the assistant director beside him.

Seeing Qi Xue approach, he immediately raised his chin, his tone full of approval: "Xiao Xue, come and take a look. That scene was so well done, especially that last turn. It brought Shen Manqing's despair and resentment to life. Look at that look in her eyes. When the camera zoomed in, her pupils were contracting. The sense of depth was amazing!"

On the screen, she was wearing a moon-white cheongsam, standing in front of a dock scene from the Republican era. The wind had messed up her hair, and a few strands of hair clung to her pale cheeks. Tears fell silently onto the delicate buttons, creating a small, dark stain.

Qi Xue stared at the woman in the shot, suddenly feeling utterly unfamiliar—she could no longer distinguish which tears were Shen Manqing's and which were Qi Xue's own. Those suppressed emotions were quietly revealed through the guise of the character. Just like now, Shen Manqing was gazing in the direction the ship had disappeared, the emptiness in her eyes clearly mirroring Qi Xue's own expression whenever she looked at Tan Yue's silent back.

"Will this be okay?" she asked softly, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the agate button on the collar of her cheongsam.

It was specially made by the props team; the cool touch came through the thin fabric, which calmed her down a bit.

"What do you mean, 'take it'?" The director tapped the monitor screen, his tone resolute. "She's in such great shape, we have to do one more take! Lighting crew, brighten the side lighting a bit, add some depth to her face, and emphasize the emotion in her eyes. Sound crew, listen up, there was some wind noise earlier, bring the microphone closer for this take."

When the stadium lights came back on, Qi Xue closed her eyes. The warm beam of light fell on her eyelids, like a soft, warm blanket, much like the sunlight streaming through a glass window on a northern winter day.

She recalled the winter after she got married, when heavy snow was falling outside the window, covering the entire city in white.

Tan Yue turned the heating up high and laid a thick cashmere blanket on the living room floor. She snuggled in his arms watching an old movie, while he roasted oranges in a small pot next to her. The sweet and sour steam mixed with the faint scent of his aftershave filled the small living room.

He always said, "Roasted oranges cure coughs. You use your voice a lot when filming, so eat more of them." Back then, the orange peels were charred, but the flesh was so sweet it was almost cloying. It was the most comforting and warmest taste of her entire youth.

As she became more and more famous, she filmed night scenes more and more often. Every time she finished work and returned home, no matter how late it was, a warm yellow light would always be on in the entryway, like a star waiting for its owner to return.

There are always warm dishes on the dining table, covered with delicate porcelain bowls, and steaming hot when you lift them.

Tan Yue always wore that blue plaid apron, leaning against the kitchen door frame, dozing off. Her eyelashes were still covered with steam droplets from cooking, like a layer of fine frost.

She went over to wake him up, and he would always ask groggily, "Did the filming go smoothly today?" Then he would pull her to the dining table, lay out the dishes one by one, and say, "Eat quickly, I've reheated them three times already, they won't taste good if you reheat them any more."

Why didn't she realize then that even stability has an expiration date? Just like milk in the refrigerator, no matter how carefully it's stored, it will eventually spoil. (End of Chapter)