Chapter 23 : Choices and Shadows

Shen Mengke held her gaze on the moon long after the call ended.
A breeze stirred, carrying faint warmth, rustling her thin cardigan.
The night finally cooled in its latter half.

She lowered her hand, turning to Shu Yun, still on the swing, and smiled.
“It’s late, Mom.
Let’s head back?”
Shu Yun met her eyes, nodded silently, her face expressionless.
Shen bowed her head, entering the house, while Shu lingered in the courtyard.

Shen was pulling away—Shu felt it.
Each “Mom” wasn’t affection but a reminder of boundaries, casting Shu as the well-meaning older sister handed a good-guy card.
Shu sighed, sitting in the courtyard, mirroring Shen’s earlier vigil.
But instead of counting stars, she stared at the flowers by her feet.

Passing Shen’s room, the door stood ajar, a faint light spilling out—left open for her.
Shu stepped lightly inside.
Shen was asleep, curled tightly under the covers, a pose of insecurity.
Shu stood by the bed, glancing at the window where a sliver of curtain was parted—likely from when she’d watched Shen outside.
Perhaps Shen had looked out too.
Shu’s gaze returned, and she bent to kiss Shen’s forehead softly.
Shen’s lashes fluttered, a faint hum escaping, but she didn’t wake.

Shu didn’t stay.
She switched off the bedside lamp, closed the door gently, and returned to her room.
Her forwardness, fresh from her return, had overwhelmed Shen.
She needed to give Shen time to readjust, to approach her anew.

No bugs ever plagued her cozy room.
Shu drew the curtains, plunging the space into darkness, and hesitated before taking out her phone.
Its glow lit her face, the surrounding void unchanged.

[Bring the contract tomorrow.]
She sent the message, powered off her phone, and the room sank back into stifling silence.
Moments later, she sighed, lying down.
Her faint breaths wandered the enclosed space.

It was a dating show, after all—no rigid rules, no strict schedules.
The next day, wake-up times varied; some didn’t appear until lunch.

Shen, late to bed, woke near ten, stretching languidly in the covers.
She hadn’t slept so well in ages.
Last night’s call with Wu Yanxing was a sedative, easing her worries.
Everything felt surmountable.
Ignoring her phone, she washed up and left her room.
Song Yian and Liu Xiangqi lounged on the sofa, watching TV, each cradling a bag of chips.
Song turned.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Shen replied.
“Shu Yun made you breakfast in the kitchen,” Song said, chuckling.
“She insisted you eat it.”
Shen blinked.
“She went out?”
She recalled the contract’s rules: no leaving the filming grounds for three days unless necessary.
“Something about a contract, I think,” Liu Xiangqi added, stuffing half a chip bag into Song’s arms and grabbing a chilled cola from the fridge.
Song frowned slightly, adding, “Shu said if you don’t want the noodles, at least eat the egg.”
Shen laughed.
“You’re her messenger now?”
Song shrugged.
“I was the only one up.”
Shen headed to the kitchen, asking, “When’d you wake?”
“Seven.”

Shen paused mid-step, missing Song’s next words.
Last night’s parting wasn’t amicable.
She’d slept around one, and Shu hadn’t returned by then.
Up so early after such a late night?
Shen absently reheated the noodles.
Shu, pampered from childhood as an only child, cooking?
Shen hadn’t known until this show.
Back when they lived together, meals were always delivered.

By noon, most were awake.
Shen sat on the sofa, learning a game from Shi Shuiyin.
A noise drew her eyes, meeting Shu Yun’s as she returned.
“Mom?”
Shi Shuiyin glanced up, then back to the game.
Shen, still mastering the controls, spared only a fleeting look.
“Had some business,” Shu said, heading to her room.
She emerged in fresh clothes, sitting beside Shen.

Shu’s gaze lingered—face to hands, unwavering.
If eyes could touch, they’d be tracing Shen’s form.
Already clumsy at the game, Shen grew more uneasy under scrutiny.
A misstep, and Shi Shuiyin’s character killed hers.
Annoyed, Shen dropped the controller.
Shu chuckled, leaning close.
“Come with me.
Need to talk.”
Shen glanced at her, ignoring Shi Shuiyin’s call for another round, and followed Shu to her room.

Their rooms, adjacent, were near-identical, save Shu’s lacked a sofa.
Shu opened the door, let Shen in, and closed it behind her.
The click made Shen flinch, as if entering a wolf’s den.

“Sit,” Shu said, pulling out a chair.
The bag she’d brought was tossed on the bed.
“What’s up?” Shen asked, sitting uneasily, eyes on Shu.
“I met Fan Shi this morning,” Shu said, unzipping the bag, pulling out contracts.
Shen’s brow furrowed.
“Why meet her?”
“I brought you into JING.
Now that you’re leaving, Fan asked me to plead their case.”
Shen looked away, displeased.

“Mutual benefit’s the only constant,” Shu said, spreading the documents on the table.
“Renewal contract, some scripts you can choose from—I checked, they’re potential hits.”
“What’s this?
A bribe?” Shen’s eyes never touched the papers, locking onto Shu.
“You’re with them now?
Or…” She stood abruptly.
“You signed with JING?!”
Shu, startled by the outburst, quickly soothed her.
“No way.”
“Then why…”
“These scripts came to me recently.
You know I’m back after years away—I need a strong project.
You’ve always wanted to work together, right?” Shu pressed Shen back into the chair.
“I can’t influence casting much, but these scripts landed with JING too.
Renew, and we might collaborate.
Don’t you want that?”
Shen’s lips tightened, her gaze dropping to the papers.
She wanted it—dreamed of it.

But…
Her eyes lingered on the contract.

“This morning, Fan said you’ve misunderstood them.
This renewal offers maximum freedom—you can demand a lot, as long as it benefits both.”
Shu paused, feigning ignorance.
“Got another company in mind?
I can negotiate for you.
As for collaborating… I’ll talk to directors later.”
Her tone was light, tinged with reluctance.

Shen caught the strain in Shu’s voice.
She hated disappointing Shu.
JING hadn’t been bad—steady work, no financial strain, just no fame.
Working with Shu would fulfill a dream, and Shu’s track record—every project a hit—promised success.
Staying seemed reasonable.

Her hand grazed the contract, but Wu Yanxing’s face flashed in her mind.
Last night, Wu offered choice, no accusations, just a question: renew or not?
What was Wu’s unspoken “if”?
If Shen renewed, would Fanxing drop her?
Or fight for her?
She doubted the latter—Fanxing never lacked talent.
But Wu gave her agency.

Shen didn’t open the contract.
She gathered it with the scripts, stood, and hugged them.
“Mom, let me think.”
Shu nodded, watching her leave.
Shen had wavered—what made her hesitate?
Shu thought of last night’s call.
She didn’t know who it was, but Shen’s relief afterward was palpable.

[Who’s Shen Mengke been in touch with lately?]
Shu sent the message after the door closed.

Back in her room, Shen set the papers aside, took her phone, and texted:
[Boss Ren, if I sign with Fanxing, do I get script choice autonomy?
If I have a preferred script, will Fanxing fight for it?]

[If you can’t wait for tomorrow’s meeting, we can meet tonight.]
The reply was swift.

Shen blinked.
She wasn’t rushed—her JING contract had a month left, barring her from signing now.
But she hesitated, not replying.
She needed an escape from Shu and JING’s pressure, to see how far Fanxing would go.
Pride demanded she be wanted.
She powered off her phone, tossed it on the bed, and neatly stacked the papers, avoiding another glance.

A call for lunch came.
Opening her door, Shen found Shu waiting.
Both started, eyes meeting.
Shu chuckled, lowering her raised hand.
“Was about to call you.
Let’s go.”
Shen nodded, but Shu waited, closing the door and trailing behind her.

The old Shu never walked behind Shen.
Shen inhaled quietly—Shu’s actions unsettled her.
Deeply.

The dining table, oriented north-south, seated four per side.
As Shen entered, Shi Shuiyin waved from the second seat on the north side, the last spot open.
Shen smiled, sitting beside her.
Shu watched, lashes trembling, then lowered her gaze, hiding her emotions.
Instead of sitting, she went to the kitchen to help with dishes.

“Yingying, didn’t you want boiled fish?”
Shu placed the dish at the table’s far end, addressing Shi Shuiyin.
“Yeah!” Shi Shuiyin stood, eyes gleaming at the dish.
“Sit here.
Spicy lovers on this side.”
“Sweet!”
Shi Shuiyin grabbed her bowl and chopsticks, moving over.
Shen’s side emptied, and Shu sat naturally.

Shen kept her eyes down, avoiding Shu.
Shu’s manners were impeccable, causing no discomfort, as if the seat switch was truly for Shi Shuiyin.
But Shen knew Shu loved spicy food—craved it.
Yet since reuniting, Shu hadn’t touched it.
Was she ill, or had her tastes changed?
Shen glanced at Shu, wondering about her undisclosed illness.
Shu never shared.
Catching Shen’s look, Shu tilted her head, smiling, and placed a dish in Shen’s bowl.
For a moment, Shen was back at their first meeting, Shu smiling just like this.

Lunch ended, and filming began.
Shen hugged a pillow on the carpet, leaning against the sofa.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, warming her, lulling her toward sleep.

Someone drew the curtains.
Liu Xiangqi sat nearby, holding a box, announcing the day’s rules:
“Today’s team-up is simple—card draw.”
She shook the box, clattering inside.
“Last night’s cards are here.
Draw one.
If you and someone draw each other’s, you’re paired.
If not, we enter a reselection phase.”
“Like, if Little Stone draws Xingxing’s and Xingxing draws hers, they’re a team.
But if Stone draws A-Li’s, A-Li draws Xingxing’s, and Xingxing draws mine, A-Li chooses between Stone and Xingxing, and Xingxing between me and A-Li.
Clear?”
“Got it—combinations,” Shen Jinglei said.
“But the cards have our notes to others.”
“Yep, all public,” Liu confirmed.
“What?” Shi Shuiyin’s eyes widened.
“You didn’t say that!”
Shen Jinglei frowned.
“Shi Shuiyin, you wrote trash about me, didn’t you?”
“No way!”

“What’s the point of writing preferred teammates then?” Xu Shinian asked.
Liu blinked.
“No point—crew just loves drama.”
Xu’s gaze landed on Shen, who sensed it but didn’t turn.

“But…” Liu added, “first, everyone answers one question.
Answer right, skip the draw, pick your teammate—no refusals.
Their card’s removed from the box.”
“Sweet!” Shi Shuiyin stood.
“Let’s go!”
Shen Jinglei glared, deadpan.
“You definitely trashed me.”
Shi Shuiyin denied it, eagerly handing out answer boards.
She got a fierce look from Shen Jinglei when passing hers.

“Question: Who was chosen most as a teammate last night?”
Silence fell.
Liu laughed.
“Why the faces?”
“How do we guess?” Song Yian said, voice soft, almost whining, staring at her blank board.
“Guess who likes who,” Liu teased.
“But most only met yesterday,” Song countered.
“Then guess based on prior connections.”

Their back-and-forth drew all eyes to Shen.
She knew Shu Yun, Xu Shinian, maybe Shen Jinglei, and Shi Shuiyin was her fan.
Their stares confirmed their thoughts.
Shen sighed.
“If we all pick the same name and get it right, what then?”
The crew hadn’t considered this.
Liu glanced at them.

“Free choice!” the director shouted off-screen.
Shen nodded.
“Okay, write.
Disclaimer: wrong answers aren’t on me.”
“Guess wrong today, we all pick you tomorrow,” Shi Shuiyin teased.
Shen chuckled, not responding.
The director counted, “3, 2, 1…”
All went quiet, writing.
As expected, most would pick Shen—except something happened as she finished her answer.

Shi Shuiyin yelped.
Shen turned, seeing her tangled with Shen Jinglei, who held two boards.
Time up, the crew called for answers.
Shi Shuiyin stood, aggrieved.
“Director!
She erased my answer and stole my board!”
The director laughed.
“Personal grudges, not our problem.”
“Director!” Shi Shuiyin stomped, sulking to Shen’s side, clinging to her.
“Sister Shen~”
Shen patted her head, smiling.

Results: everyone but Shi Shuiyin and Shen Jinglei wrote Shen Mengke.
Shen Jinglei didn’t answer, having wiped Shi Shuiyin’s board.
Their cards remained in the box, pairing them by default.
“What’s your deal?
Didn’t you say no teaming with me?” Shi Shuiyin pouted, clutching the box.
Shen Jinglei approached, smiling.
“Gotta see what trash you wrote.”
She snatched the box, flipping to Shi Shuiyin’s card before she could stop her.
Shen Jinglei’s height kept it out of reach.
Shi Shuiyin gave up.
“Read it, just don’t say it aloud.”
Shen Jinglei didn’t, falling into a long silence after reading.

Their drama was a side note.
The real intrigue was the mutual selections.
Song Yian and Liu Xiangqi quickly paired up.
Of the remaining four, Shen caught Shu Yun’s fixed stare, then sensed Xu Shinian’s gaze.
Before Shu could speak, Shen blurted, “I pick Chen Xingxing!”
Everyone froze.
No one expected her choice—not even Chen Xingxing, who nodded slowly after Liu’s prompt.
“I pick her too.”
Shen exhaled, free from Shu.
But meeting Chen Xingxing’s eyes, that raw hostility returned.
Shen wondered if choosing her was a mistake.