After the Breakup, the Crazy Movie Queen Clings to Me Every Day (GL) - Chapter 25.3

Tan You returned to her desk and gently began to play the guqin. Her expression remained serene, yet her slender fingers danced across the strings like jade butterflies in flight. The music flowed like clear water, as if a celestial maiden from Tianshan were playing a timeless melody, a song that would scatter the clouds and resonate across the world.

For some reason, Lan Jingli found this spring unexpectedly cold. The sparse lights along the mountain road made the silence even more profound.

The sky, now that all things had revived, was utterly devoid of brilliance. She couldn’t see anything, and it was terrifying.

Yet she also felt there was nothing left to fear. The worst had already happened, hadn’t it?

In the countless nights since parting with Tan You, she had lain in the darkness, listening to the breathing sounds on her MP3 player. One moment she worried that her sister wouldn’t remember her when they met again, the next she clung to the hope that her sister might accept her hopeless, secret love.

Now her fears had come true. There was truly nothing left to fear.

How wonderful. The person who never belonged to you has left, so you don’t have to worry anymore.

Her eyes stung as she stumbled down the slope, her steps unsteady. She accidentally stepped into a puddle of rainwater.
A car roared past, its headlights illuminating the splashing puddles and revealing a distorted, sorrowful face.

The face was so twisted, so wretched, reflecting the despair of betrayal by someone she had trusted and admired. Yet she couldn’t even muster a fierce, resentful expression.

Because she didn’t deserve it.

A fool who had been deceived had no right to resentment.

People really shouldn’t be greedy with their wishes, she thought. On the winter solstice, watching fireworks, she had wished for “this day every year, this moment every year.”

Now her wish had come true. Every year, every month, every day, Tan You would be with Wei Xueyin.

She struggled to her feet and continued stumbling forward.

The vibration of her phone rang loudly in the deserted street.

It was Wei Yixi calling.

“Xi Xi, what’s wrong?” she answered, hearing the nasal quality in her own voice.

Wei Yixi’s voice was cautious. “Jingli, are you okay? You’re night-blind, and it’s midnight. Should I come pick you up?”

“I’m fine,” Lan Jingli replied, unable to articulate what she was feeling. A cold emptiness lingered in her heart, as if she were no longer herself—neither happy nor sad, neither hurting nor numb. “Let’s go get some Little Pudding and hotpot. My treat. Are you hungry? I am.”

“Are you really okay? You’ve been saving up forever. Aren’t you worried about spending so much on hotpot? With your monthly income of 2,000 yuan, saving even 200 yuan is a miracle. Why splurge on hotpot? Just eat at the cafeteria.”

Wei Yixi asked suspiciously. She knew how stingy Lan Jingli was. If Lan Jingli could get by on steamed buns and stir-fries, she’d never waste money on something like hotpot, which wouldn’t even fill her up.

In the darkness, Lan Jingli stumbled, unable to see the path ahead. The distant yet familiar words echoed in her mind again:

Tan You, be with Wei Xueyin. She’ll make you happy for a lifetime.
She suddenly remembered the letters she had written to Tan You, letters that had never received a reply.

If only those ninety-nine letters could spontaneously combust and turn to ash.

Then they wouldn’t have to become wandering ghosts like her.

The thousand unopened bottles of ramune had evaporated, the thousand unspoken declarations of love had shattered, and the thousand visions she had once painted in her mind had vanished beyond recovery.

Lan Jingli was just someone who loved ramune.

And now, even the last bubble had burst.

“I don’t want to save anymore,” she said abruptly.

She finally understood: bubbles were meant to burst.

*******

In a 24-hour hot pot restaurant, steam billowed as servers glided across the marble floor, efficiently delivering dishes to customers.

Through the haze, Wei Yixi glanced at Lan Jingli, who was silently eating, a bruise from a fall visible on her wrist.

“Is the tripe good?”

Lan Jingli paused, realizing she had indeed picked up a piece of tripe. She chewed carefully, but couldn’t taste anything distinct.

“It tastes about the same as everything else,” she replied.

Wei Yixi choked on her drink, finishing her third bottle of soy milk before continuing. “What’s the situation between you and her… now?”

“What do you think it is?” Lan Jingli said, feigning nonchalance. “I wish her and Wei Xueyin all the best with their engagement.”

“Huh?” Wei Yixi was astonished. “I never expected you to be so… magnanimous? What about her? I mean, how does Tan You treat you?”

A splatter of hot pot oil seemed to have landed on Lan Jingli, her fingers twitching uncontrollably as she desperately tried to banish the woman from her thoughts.

Tan You remained unchanged from their first meeting, her gaze fixed elsewhere, her expression utterly indifferent. It was as if she would never allow herself to be swayed by emotion, nor did she truly care about anything.

“That’s it, then. Unless something unexpected happens, we’ll never see each other again.”

“You’re probably right. Even though Yunshu Entertainment belongs to the Tan Family, it’s not their main business,” Wei Yixi agreed, but she still sensed something was off with Lan Jingli. “If you’re hurting, just cry. I won’t laugh at you. There’s no shame in genuinely loving someone, and there’s no shame in crying either.”

“I don’t want to cry,” Lan Jingli said, her fair, pretty face blank behind the warm steam.

I can’t cry. I’m not even that upset. How upset could I be? Someone who’s never been loved is just being unloved again. What’s the big deal?

Wei Yixi kept nagging, urging her to cry it out, saying that crying would help her forget Tan You, that a good cry would make her feel so much better…

“No… I don’t want to cry. Why?”

Wei Yixi was bewildered. Then, noticing the graze on Lan Jingli’s wrist again, it suddenly clicked. This girl wasn’t refusing to cry—she was refusing to show weakness.

She didn’t want to be looked down on.

In this relationship, she had become the delusional one, a poor student dreaming of swan’s flesh, an annoying third wheel between childhood sweethearts.

Did she even have the right to cry?

Lan Jingli probably hadn’t cried either when her mother sent her to the countryside all those years ago.

A stubborn child with eyes like thorny thickets, she neither begged nor wept, simply accepting her fate and her mother’s abandonment with quiet resignation.

When someone has made up their mind to reject you, no amount of tears, pleading, or tantrums will change their mind.

Better to pack your bags and focus on living well alone.

“There’s nothing to cry about,” Lan Jingli murmured, head bowed. She looked up. “Want a drink? My treat.”

“Wow, you’re really splurging today, huh? So generous!” Wei Yixi watched Lan Jingli pay the bill before swaying toward the convenience store. “Alright, alright, I’ll sacrifice myself and keep my girl company.”

For the first time, Lan Jingli bought beer she considered expensive, skipping the marble-sealed soda bottles. She sat on the edge of a flowerbed, drinking under a streetlamp where insects swirled around the light.

She wasn’t addicted to alcohol; she just felt tonight was too long to bear alone.

“Is it good?” Wei Yixi popped open a can and took a sip.

“It’s not good,” Lan Jingli said, her gaze distant, as if she couldn’t see what was in front of her or perhaps didn’t need to.

“Oh, and I told the company the band can only be you and me. No Wei Xueyin. I can’t stand people who betray their friends.”

“Do you think the manager will agree?”

“I don’t know. They just said we have to do a radio variety show this Saturday—sing two songs, chat with fans online, and do a live Q&A.” Wei Yixi paused thoughtfully. “Just rest up these next few days. Come Saturday, we’ll get to work.”

She knew Lan Jingli had a standing date with Tan You every Saturday at 7 PM. More than once, she’d mentally scoffed at how it felt like Lan Jingli was seeing a mistress.

“Okay.”

“Also, they’re bringing in a member from a new girl group to join us on the show. You know, for the whole ‘fake couple’ thing. It’s all for show, but just play along. It won’t hurt.”

The manager had suggested this several times before, but Lan Jingli had always firmly refused.

“Oh,” Lan Jingli murmured, tightening her grip on the beer can. Her heart felt even emptier.
“What I mean is, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Opening yourself up to meeting new people can’t hurt.” Wei Yixi pulled out her phone and sent Lan Jingli a WeChat message. “I just sent you her contact. Add her quickly—it’s for work.”

Lan Jingli mechanically opened her phone. Her WeChat was practically empty, filled only with messages she’d sent to one person.

She tapped on the contact card Wei Yixi had sent her. The person’s WeChat name was “noctilucent clouds,” and their profile picture showed a silver-blue sky like ocean waves, adorned with a gold-edged moon.

As if completing a task, Lan Jingli sent a friend request, not expecting a response so late.

To her surprise, the request was accepted within two minutes.

The first message from the other party was unexpectedly direct:

noctilucent clouds: You’re Lan Jingli, the one I’m supposed to be “shipping” with, right? Nice to meet you!

Still unaccustomed to such enthusiasm, Lan Jingli replied tersely:

Carp Not Working: Hello, I’m Lan Jingli. Aren’t you asleep yet?

noctilucent clouds: Why are you trying to send me to bed with your first message? That’s so hurtful! [Crying cat emoji]

Lan Jingli panicked for a moment, unsure how to respond. Fortunately, the other party seemed very understanding.

Noctilucent Clouds: Time for my beauty sleep! Here’s a star lamp for you. Sweet dreams. ✨

Carp Not Working: Thank you.

Wei Yixi glanced at the message and exclaimed in exasperation, “What kind of clueless blockhead are you? She’s trying to start a conversation, and all you say is ‘Hi, why aren’t you asleep yet?’ Seriously?”

Faced with Wei Yixi’s earnest advice, Lan Jingli looked apologetic and mumbled that she didn’t know what else to say.

The moment she opened her phone and went online, she saw the top trending search:
#Tan You and Wei Xueyin’s Engagement#.

She desperately didn’t want to see those words, didn’t want to know. If she ignored it, she could pretend it wasn’t happening, that the sister she loved was still far away in some unknown city.

They hadn’t truly reunited. Without that reunion, she wouldn’t have become such a complete fool.

After finishing her last can of beer, Lan Jingli heard Wei Yixi mutter, “Forget it.”

It was the second most common phrase she’d heard that day: forget it, forget it.

She should forget it. No one in this world is indispensable.

Staring at the pinned WeChat chat, her vision blurring, she tapped Unpin, then navigated through the menu to press Delete.
********

On Saturday, the relentless downpour finally eased into a light drizzle. Lan Jingli and Wei Yixi kept their promise and headed to the radio station for the show.

The program, titled “If You’re on My Frequency,” rarely showed faces. Guests wore headsets and sat alone before microphones, resembling solitary whales in the deep sea.

Revealing one’s face was a special reward, a hidden perk that unexpectedly piqued viewers’ curiosity, keeping the show’s ratings consistently high.

There were five guests in total: Wei Yixi, Lan Jingli, and three members from Wen Fei’s girl group. All were young, vibrant women with fair skin, striking features, and long, slender legs.

At precisely 7 p.m. on Saturday evening, Lan Jingli arrived at the backstage makeup room. Even though her face might not be shown, she still needed to get her makeup done.

“Your face is so small and fair, and your nose is so defined—you’re stunning,” the makeup artist remarked. Surprisingly beautiful and outgoing, she was quite the social butterfly.

Lan Jingli smiled politely at the makeup artist, who was currently shaping her eyebrows. For a fleeting moment, the woman looked familiar, but Lan Jingli couldn’t place her and quickly dismissed the thought.

“Thank you,” she replied.

But the makeup artist, with her fiery red lips and a strikingly sexy black-and-red gothic dress, persisted.

“What’s that bruise on your forehead? Did you fall? You should be more careful, or I’ll worry,” she murmured, leaning close to Lan Jingli’s ear, her red lips parting slightly as she whispered.

Lan Jingli’s ears were sensitive. She instinctively pushed the makeup artist away, accidentally knocking over the foundation bottle in her hand.

The foundation spilled squarely onto Lan Jingli’s collar, staining her clothes and the black opal necklace she wore.

The makeup artist let out a soft “Oh!” feigning innocent allure. “I’m so sorry! It was my fault. Let me clean it up for you.”

“It’s fine, I’ll take care of it myself. It was my mistake,” Lan Jingli replied, removing the small fish-shaped black opal necklace and silently gazing at it in her palm.

“What’s wrong? Is this necklace important to you?”

After a long pause, Lan Jingli murmured, “No… it’s not important anymore.”

The makeup artist winked slyly and handed Lan Jingli a silver cloud-shaped necklace, then pointed to the matching crescent moon pendant around her own neck.

“In that case, why don’t you wear this one, just like mine?”

“Like yours?”

The makeup artist leaned closer to Lan Jingli, smiling faintly. “Aren’t we supposed to be promoting our ‘couple’ image?”

Lan Jingli froze, unable to speak.

“This is part of the necessary self-cultivation for promoting a ‘couple’ image, you know,” the makeup artist said with a perfectly straight face, winking.

Lan Jingli looked up at her, her brow furrowed. She didn’t notice how close they were standing, their postures intimate and affectionate.

“You’re not really a makeup artist, are you?”

The makeup artist leaned even closer. “Change your necklace and wear a matching one with me, and I’ll tell you.”

“I was going to change it anyway,” Lan Jingli said with a smile.
“Chairman Tan, how long have you been standing here? We’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the show’s director called out, approaching from the other end of the corridor. After a long look, he finally recognized Tan You standing at the makeup room door, holding a bouquet of pale green roses like someone about to confess their feelings. “Are you giving those flowers to someone?”

“No,” Tan You replied coldly, though her fingers stung sharply. She realized she had accidentally pricked herself on a rose thorn.

“I was just looking for my things.”