“…These are too precious, I cannot accept them,” Wen Yu said, her expression turning solemn.
She had originally thought Song Jin brought her to her mother’s boutique because she felt Wen Yu didn’t have suitable clothes for the occasion—perhaps to buy or rent a new gown. She had never imagined Song Jin would be so magnanimous as to simply give them away.
Is this… the legendary aura of a wealthy young lady?
“Gosh, and here I thought something serious happened,” Song Jin said, breathing a sigh of relief. She leaned back against the vanity, casually surveying the mountain of clothes in the room with a tilt of her chin. “As you can see, if no one wears or buys these clothes, they just sit here as displays. It’s better to give them to someone they actually suit.”
She looked down at Wen Yu and added comfortingly, “Besides, I still have plenty of acting questions that need your answers. Just consider this my way of ‘bribing’ you.”
The two sat facing each other. The linear lights on the ceiling cast a glow directly down onto Song Jin’s face. Usually, top-down lighting is a “death angle” for most people’s features, but because it was Song Jin, that rule simply didn’t apply.
Wen Yu stared blankly for two seconds. Just as she was about to speak, Xiao Wu’s voice drifted in from behind: “Miss, that dress is packed! Are you finished undressing over there?”
“Almost!” Song Jin craned her neck and shouted back. She then gathered the accessories she had just removed into her hands and winked at Wen Yu. “Go ahead and change first. I’ll go over and help her.”
Without waiting for further protest, Song Jin swept past like a whirlwind. She paused briefly by a display shelf, spotted a vintage bag in a cabinet, grabbed it, and kept moving. “Xiao Wu, grab another bag! I think this one looks good too—pack it together!”
“Okay!” Xiao Wu signaled an “OK” gesture from a distance.
Watching the two of them so full of vitality, a slight curve appeared at the corner of Wen Yu’s mouth—a smile she hadn’t even noticed. She stood up and walked toward the dressing room.
There were only two dressing rooms on this floor, but they were much larger than the ones on the film set. A full-length mirror was mounted on the left side of the door for easy viewing, and there was even a vent on the ceiling blowing warm air, so one didn’t have to worry about catching a cold while changing.
Wen Yu entered the room where her clothes were hanging with practiced ease. With a tug, the heavy blue curtain immediately isolated her from the outside world. She stood before the mirror and reached behind her back for the zipper. Because her mind was preoccupied, she forgot the cardinal rule of zipping: never move too fast. With a “shredding” sound, the once-smooth zipper snagged on a stray lock of hair. Wen Yu’s head was jerked backward uncontrollably, and the sharp pain from her scalp being pulled forced a soft cry from her lips.
She tried pulling the zipper up and then down, but the hair seemed to have a grudge against her. It wouldn’t come out, and every tug only made the pain worse.
Just as she was hesitating over whether she should just snap the hair off, Song Jin—who had been waiting outside—spoke up: “Wen Yu? Are you done?”
The sound of footsteps grew louder and then stopped. When Song Jin spoke again, her voice was very close, likely right at the door. “We’ve finished packing. How is the changing going?”
“Not great…” Wen Yu replied, trying once more to wiggle the zipper. This time, however, things took a turn for the worse; not only did the hair stay stuck, but more of it got tangled in.
“Hiss—” Wen Yu let out a pained sound, but immediately pursed her lips, trying to act as if nothing had happened. However, Song Jin’s ears were far too sharp. She detected the distress in Wen Yu’s voice and asked with concern, “Did something happen? You sound a bit off. Do you need my help?”
“My hair… it’s stuck in the zipper,” Wen Yu said muffledly, feeling like she was on the verge of tears.
Song Jin’s brow relaxed, and her hand was already gripping a corner of the curtain. “Can I come in?”
“…You can come in.”
After all, she really couldn’t solve this on her own any time soon.
The heavy curtain was pulled back by Song Jin, letting in the brighter light from outside. Song Jin saw Wen Yu with her head tilted high, revealing her elegant jawline and swan-like neck. Her originally tied hair had become messy from the struggle, cascading naturally like seaweed. One of Wen Yu’s hands held the zipper while the other desperately tugged at the ends of her hair—a scene that was as pathetic as it was comical.
“You— pfft.” Song Jin immediately covered her mouth, afraid she might laugh too loudly.
“Don’t laugh, help me quickly…” The words were practically squeezed through Wen Yu’s teeth. Her ears, visible through the hair, were red enough to bleed—though whether from the heat or sheer embarrassment was unclear.
“Okay, okay, okay.” Song Jin took a deep breath, finally swallowing her laughter. As she stepped inside, she pulled the curtain closed behind her, leaving the two of them alone in the small space.
Song Jin gathered Wen Yu’s hair toward her chest. The cool back of her hand accidentally brushed against the skin of Wen Yu’s neck, causing the latter to flinch instinctively.
The consequence of that movement was another sharp tug on the scalp. Song Jin quickly held her steady, her lowered voice drifting into Wen Yu’s ear:
“Don’t move.”
Wen Yu’s back stiffened at the words, and she cooperated by remaining perfectly still.
Song Jin refocused on the zipper behind her, taking over the chaotic “entanglement.” She tried pulling it up gently—no budge. Helplessly, she began to pick out the strands of hair one by one.
“I thought you were such a smart person. Didn’t you think to move your hair out of the way before zipping?” Song Jin teased, her voice light.
Through the mirror, Wen Yu stared at Song Jin, who was focused and serious about “rescuing” her hair. Her lips moved for a while before she managed two words: “Forgot.”
“‘Forgot’~” Song Jin mimicked. The hair was mostly freed by now. Although a few strands had accidentally snapped, Wen Yu didn’t react, which meant it at least didn’t hurt.
Song Jin successfully pulled the zipper to the top and then back down. As it reached the edge of the bodice, she stopped. She took Wen Yu’s wrist and placed her hand on the zipper.
“There we go. I’ll head out first?” Song Jin winked, her foot already taking a tentative half-step back.
“Okay, thank you,” Wen Yu nodded. Almost the moment the words left her mouth, the sound of the curtain sliding echoed beside her. Song Jin retreated with remarkable speed, and the lingering, ambiguous atmosphere in the room seemed to slip out through the gap in the curtain.
Wen Yu stood in silence, staring at her reflection. The zipper between her fingers still carried the warmth of Song Jin’s touch.
She let out a breath and pulled the zipper all the way down.
The smile on Song Jin’s face vanished like a receding tide the moment the curtain closed.
That “malady” where her brain played “adult content” loops the moment she was alone had flared up again.
Song Jin clicked her tongue. It was only after she stepped inside that she belatedly remembered reading a scene in a fanfic about the two of them in a dressing room.
She didn’t know whether to complain about the fanfic authors’ diverse choice of settings or her own “dirty” mind for seeing everything through that lens.
Just as she sat back down on the sofa, she heard something drop behind her. Song Jin assumed it was Xiao Wu and turned around with a sigh of resignation—only for her pupils to dilate in shock.
“Mom?!”
She looked at Mrs. Li Zhengzheng in disbelief, then at the wall clock, then back at her. “It’s almost midnight! Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping for your beauty rest?!”
“Which ‘mom’ are you confusing me with? Your old lady has never done ‘beauty sleep’ in her life, okay?” Li Zhengzheng gave her a look of disdain before following up with some gossip. “Who’s in the dressing room? Boy or girl? I thought I saw you coming out of there just now.”
Song Jin curled her lips helplessly. “Didn’t I call and tell you I was bringing a friend to look at clothes? You only have dresses here—could I have possibly brought a man?”
“What if you did?” Li Zhengzheng’s words were shocking, but her expression was deadly serious, as if she truly believed Song Jin was capable of such a thing.
Song Jin rubbed her face. “There is no ‘what if,’ Mom.”
“By the way, what are you doing here this late? Aren’t we supposed to meet tomorrow?”
Song Jin’s parents were a product of an arranged marriage. Initially, they tried to play out a “love after marriage” trope, but after living together, they realized they couldn’t stand each other’s temperaments. Thus, after Li Zhengzheng gave birth to Song Jin to fulfill the family obligation, they immediately went their separate ways. On the surface, they remained a loving, long-term couple; in reality, they had been living apart for years. One returned to Qing City to develop her career, while the other stayed in Beijing to deepen his roots.
Since Li Zhengzheng was a workaholic, she was hard to find—either drawing drafts in her studio or shining at Fashion Weeks. She simply didn’t have time to raise a child. Consequently, Song Jin grew up in Beijing with her father and only visited Li Zhengzheng when she was free.
But despite the lack of romantic feelings between the parents, they were both genuinely good to Song Jin. It could be said that aside from a “relatively normal” family structure, Song Jin had grown up getting whatever she wanted.
Li Zhengzheng looked a bit displeased and pouted. “What? Is it a crime to want to see my daughter a day early? You ungrateful little thing, you’ve been in Qing City for so many days and didn’t even think to visit me.”
“I’ve been busy filming—” Seeing that Mrs. Li was getting genuinely upset, Song Jin quickly pulled her to the sofa to soothe her, drawing out her words in a spoiled tone, “Mom—my~”
“Fine, fine! Busy! It’s good to be busy!” Li Zhengzheng crossed her legs, nodding her head as she patted Song Jin’s hand. But she quickly changed the subject, probing: “So, who is she? Do I know her? A new friend?”
“Oh, she’s a colleague. Her name is Wen Yu. We’re working on the same set right now.”
“Wen Yu?” Li Zhengzheng frowned as she searched her memory. After digging for a while, she finally found something. “That sounds familiar. Was it her fans who were attacking me in my comment section before, calling me ‘blinded by motherly love’?”
“If you want to put it that way, you’re not wrong.” Song Jin rubbed her nose awkwardly. “But she’s actually quite nice herself. She’s not as difficult as the internet says.”
“Fair enough. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought her here.”
Just as she finished speaking, Wen Yu happened to finish changing and walked out. From a distance, she saw Song Jin sitting on the sofa next to Li Zhengzheng. Her gaze lingered on Li Zhengzheng’s face and the way she was holding Song Jin’s hand. After a moment of hesitation, she tested the waters: “…Hello, Elder Sister?”
“Heh?!”
Li Zhengzheng’s eyes lit up, and she even patted Song Jin’s hand a bit harder. “This little sister sure has a sweet tongue.”