Starlight Descends - 8

Longing

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For a moment, the air went completely still.

His words stopped the lively conversation in its tracks.

The question came out of nowhere, unmoored from any prior context. Aside from the two people who shared the unspoken understanding, everyone else was confused.

"The hell does that mean?" Da Bai frowned. "You think having a cultured name makes you hot stuff, is that it?"

Qi Yao was jolted out of that glass dome. She instinctively tore her gaze away, her eyes fixing on nothing in particular ahead. After a silent beat, she let out a small laugh, saying nothing.

But her heart was hammering, racing out of control.

Had he... recognized her?

Yu Jiashu slowly withdrew his gaze. With little appetite, he leaned back in his chair. "Either way, it still beats going through life on a nickname."

"Right, Bai Pangpang?"

The table erupted in laughter.

"Yo, Bai Pangpang! You've got some nerve bringing up the topic of names."

"...Shut up." Da Bai crunched furiously on a spare rib and changed the subject. "Speaking of names, Yao-mei, is that your real name or a stage name?"

"Real name." Qi Yao's lashes fluttered. She smiled, a little distracted, and took a sip of Sprite. "My grandmother gave it to me."

Da Bai grunted. "It's really pretty. Sounds gentle. Your grandmother must've been a cultured woman. Not like my mom, said you gotta give kids a cheap name so they're easy to raise."

Qi Yao curved her eyes but didn't respond.

Zhou Qi snickered to himself. "Wasn't really a cheap name, though? Felt more like, uh, realism."

Da Bai: "Piss off!"

The meal passed pleasantly enough, the atmosphere buoyed by Da Bai and his wife.

Only Qi Yao had been unusually quiet ever since Yu Jiashu arrived. If someone asked her something, she'd give a polite, impeccable reply, but never more than that.

After dinner, Qi Yao once again congratulated Zhou Qi on his new home, thanked Da Bai and his wife, praised the food, and finally turned to Yu Jiashu. She faltered for a moment, finally managing to squeeze out, "Let's see more of each other."

Then she fled back across the hall, almost in a panic.

The person so designated to "see more" of her lifted his eyes lazily, watching the slender figure retreat. Her skirt swayed once, then vanished through the doorway. It was a long moment before he looked away.

***

The second the door shut behind her, Qi Yao sagged against the heavy security door, completely drained of any strength. She took several deep breaths, trying to steady herself.

Aside from a few especially heartbreaking roles, she hadn't felt this kind of emotional turbulence in a long time. It was as if a panicked fawn were crashing around in her chest, leaving her limbs and expression beyond her control, terrified she would give herself away the moment she opened her mouth.

She let out a self-deprecating laugh.

The secret to feeling young again was, apparently, recreating the exact moment that once made your heart race.

She poured herself a glass of water at the bar, changed into her loungewear, and went into the study to work on her résumé.

Fengxing's initial screening process was simple: they sifted résumés, weeded out anyone who didn't fit the brand identity, then scheduled interviews. HR was the point of contact, providing each candidate with a topic prompt.

Yes, at this company, managing celebrity endorsements fell to HR.

Hardcore.

Qi Yao used Fengxing's own materials as a guide, structuring her résumé with all the right emphases. In between, she took some time to post on Weibo, riding a trending topic for her current drama.

The show was approaching its grand finale. The numbers were good. A hit, by any measure.

Just as she was finishing, a notification sounded: a video call request from Ye Qingman.

Qi Yao let it ring, not rushing to answer. First, she checked her phone's volume, propped it against her computer monitor, and leaned back a safe distance. Only then did she reach out to accept the call.

Sure enough, the instant it connected, an ear-splitting wail burst through:

"Babe, I miss you so much I could die. Waaaaah."

The signal in the mountains was terrible. Ye Qingman's voice, interspersed with static, stuttered through the feed, on the verge of a meltdown. "Living in the middle of nowhere is inhumane!"

"Bugs and snakes everywhere! The wirework is breaking my damn back! And there are rats in the hotel! A rat! I want to go back to Hengdian, waaaaah."

While listening, Qi Yao cross-checked the email address her assistant had sent, then clicked send on her résumé.

Once she received the automated confirmation, she curled up in her chair, arms wrapped around her knees, listening for a while longer until Ye Qingman's tirade finally ran its course.

"You'll be fine," Qi Yao said, consoling her. "Have them buy you some bug repellent. Douse yourself in more Flower Water. You'll be back in Hengdian in half a month. It's mostly just location shots anyway."

If anything, that only made Ye Qingman more dramatic. She got even angrier. "No! I refuse to suffer like this! I'm coming home right now!"

And with that, she told her assistant to book a flight.

The assistant's face went pale. Helpless, she clasped her hands in a silent plea behind Ye Qingman's back, her expression screaming: Please, I'm begging you, talk some sense into her!

Qi Yao stifled a laugh. Remembering she still hadn't hit her daily two-liter water goal, she carried the phone to the living room.

"Okay. I support you."

The assistant's mouth fell open in horror.

What's going on? Wasn't this woman supposed to be the most level-headed and smart among the young actresses? Why was she egging this spoiled heiress on too?

"Don't you try to talk me out of it…"

Unaware of the silent exchange, Ye Qingman continued her righteous rant, until she paused midway. "Wait. What?"

The sound of water filling a glass came through the line. Qi Yao's profile was calm on the screen. "I said, let's just not film it."

Ye Qingman was dumbstruck.

"So what if it’s an S-tier script?"

"So what if it’s a first-billed female lead?"

"So what if it’s an award-winning screenwriter and director?"

With each sentence, Ye Qingman's mouth closed a fraction more.

"What's the big deal?" Qi Yao took a slow sip of water, glanced at her, and said lightly, "We don't want it."

Ye Qingman's expression stiffened. The rest of her tantrum died in her throat. Her lips parted and closed, but she had absolutely no comeback.

That… was a pretty big deal.

"..."

Ye Qingman's expression shifted through several shades before she finally ground her teeth. "Babe, you've changed! You used to be such a gentle, pure, kind little girl. Now you've learned sarcasm!"

The assistant, realizing the crisis had passed, let out a long, silent sigh of relief and bowed to Qi Yao from the corner of the video feed.

Qi Yao's eyes curved with her smile. "You're only just noticing?"

The smile was stunning, her peach blossom eyes softening into crescents, her grin radiant and confident. There was an ease to it, the kind that could only come from within, born of complete self-acceptance. It was so striking that Ye Qingman momentarily lost her train of thought.

"You know, I think this industry suits you," she said suddenly, resting her chin on her hand, a hint of emotion in her voice. "When I first met you, you were so quiet. If you had a scene, you did it. If not, you just stood off to the side like a backdrop. If someone spoke, you answered. Like a frog in a pond, you only moved when poked."

Qi Yao's smile slowly faded. She stared at the temperature display on the water dispenser, listening quietly, her head slightly tilted. Ye Qingman's words seemed to pull her back to her early debut days.

She had just finished her first year of university then. Her college entrance exams had gone well enough, and, following her heart, she'd chosen to major in Chinese literature. Only later did she discover it wasn't all literary romantics, moonlight and poetry as she'd imagined.

Day after day, she attended class, went running, and holed up in the library. It was an exceptionally quiet, boring college life. Until one day, Qiu Lang spotted her crouched by the roadside on campus, crying.

At the time, this senior was already well-known around campus. In his final year, he'd written his own script, raised funding, directed his own project, and produced a series of low-budget, short-form web dramas.

Most were youth campus stories. With a strong eye for cinematography, good composition, and polished filters, the shows had broad appeal and, unexpectedly, generated considerable buzz upon release, earning him attention from investors.

That day, he was filming Midsummer just outside the school gates.

The second female lead was a campus micro-influencer. One moment she was complaining about the September sun, demanding someone hold a shade for her. The next, she couldn't "get into the emotion" and needed an afternoon tea break to recover.

Qiu Lang had run out of patience. He threw the script down. "With acting like that, you need emotions? I could grab anyone off the street and they'd do better than you."

The micro-influencer snapped. She plopped herself down, chin lifted, and told him to go ahead and find someone.

Qiu Lang swept his gaze across the area, and that's when he saw Qi Yao on the sidelines. 

It was a role of unrequited love. The male lead's close friend, childhood sweetheart who grew up together. By the time she understood her own feelings, the boy she loved had already fallen for someone else.

All she could do was watch him walk toward another, bury her feelings deep, and, in the end, smile and wish them a lifetime of happiness.

A gut-wrenching, deeply poignant role.

The scene they auditioned her for was the final one of that arc—the one Xiao Tao had said she loved most.

She stood at the crossroads, watching the pair walk away. Her slender figure looked unbearably forlorn. In her peach blossom eyes, behind the tears threatening to fall, was an endless tide of unspoken words.

Regret, heartache, and emotions too complex to name. It was as if her heart had been hollowed out, everything left gray and empty, as though it might never brighten again.

When Qiu Lang called cut, no one moved.

They were still reeling in what they'd just seen, struggling to pull themselves out. Glances were exchanged. For a moment, the entire set fell into silence.

The micro-influencer paused, gauged Qiu Lang's expression, then stormed off, cursing under her breath.

The female lead, a pretty girl from a neighboring film academy who was an investor's darling, walked over to her, mouth agape with shock. 

Qiu Lang was quiet for a moment. Then he asked if she would be willing to take the role.

Qi Yao stood there, not yet fully out of the scene. She stared blankly at the script, then nodded.

That was the beginning of the path she now walked.

It was the first time she had so completely inhabited another person's life through a thin script, absorbing their emotions, expressing their feelings.

Words came alive in three dimensions. It felt like watching an entire life's joy and sorrow unfold before her. She was both an outsider and an inescapable participant, and it was all hers to portray.

The feeling was intoxicating.

For a brief moment, she could sink into someone else's story, and, in doing so, escape the overwhelming, suppressed emotions of her own.

But if she thought about it carefully, this fated encounter ultimately owed its existence to that person.

"Back then, you must've thought I was just a dumb beauty with nothing but money and a pretty face, didn't you?" Ye Qingman was still indignant. "I don't warm up to people easily, you know. I went out of my way to approach you first, and you totally brushed me off."

"I didn't," Qi Yao said. She had finished her water and looked up calmly. "I just thought we were from different worlds."

"Different worlds, my foot! Look at us now! Am I not your absolute best friend in the industry?!" Ye Qingman fired back, unreasonably possessive.

"You are." Qi Yao suppressed a smile, keeping her expression straight as she humored her. "Inside or outside the industry, you're my best friend."

"So, Yao…" Ye Qingman paused for two seconds, and for a rare moment, her voice turned serious. "Whether it's the you now or the you back then, you're beautiful and charming. You were never insecure. You're just too pessimistic. It's hard for you to take that first step to let someone in."

"Back then, it was because of your background, your life experience. What's holding you back now?"

When Ye Qingman wasn't joking around, she could be unsettlingly perceptive, her words hitting the mark with conviction and sincerity.

"The you right now is the best version of yourself. Don't hesitate anymore. You'll regret it."

"You don't want another ten years to slip by, do you?"

Qi Yao lowered her gaze. Her profile was serene, but inside, a storm was churning with every word.

Ten years. How many decades could a person's life hold?

How many longings could stretch across an entire lifetime?

Truthfully, she hadn't thought of him all the time. But there were nights, certain moments, certain triggers, when memories surged up unbidden and swept her under.

And then she would think, if only she'd been a little braver.

But there was no cure for regret.

And even if she could start over, the girl she had been at sixteen or seventeen—that girl couldn't have simply handed him a love letter like others did and said, openly, honestly, I like you.

Reality had been too cruel. She couldn't do it.

The silence stretched, filled only by the faint crackle of static.

"I know," Qi Yao said at last.

"You can start cracking your sunflower seeds now."

Ye Qingman, in her attempt to give Qi Yao a "moment of Zen," had been holding back her urge to snack, moving so slowly and stealthily that the laggy video froze her into an awkward silhouette. It looked ridiculous.

"Haah." She waved a hand. "Glad you've come around. Enough heavy stuff, let me see my precious son."

Qi Yao froze.

"How are you taking care of my son? He's been well-behaved, right? I haven't heard him bark once."

Ye Qingman stayed serious for all of two seconds before slipping back into a ramble. "I'm telling you, this dog is different. Other dogs hate fruit, he loves it. Other dogs hate mint, he charges straight at it. Aloof. Unmoved by worldly things. A true hero among hounds, worthy of a peerless beauty like—"

"...What's with that look?" Ye Qingman's hand paused mid-crack.

Qi Yao was staring at her with a deeply haunted expression.

"Sorry. I accidentally left your well-behaved, aloof, hero-among-hounds son next door.”

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