GV – Chapter 89

Two years later, at the A-City airport, Song Zhiqing was dressed head to toe in black, a large pair of sunglasses perched on her face. She was wrapped up more tightly than the actual celebrity beside her, but her impatience was still palpable from her clenched fists and furrowed brow. The reporters who had finally managed to corner her, however, couldn’t have cared less about her mood.

This was Song Zhiqing!

Every title attached to her name was enough to generate a lengthy headline.

The only daughter of Gao Yiren and Song Chen, the former target of nationwide criticism, a medical miracle who awoke after two years in a coma following a drunk driving accident, and most recently, the director of a film nominated for the main competition at Cannes.

“Miss Song, did you enter the film industry to fulfill your mother’s last wishes?”

“Miss Song, do you have any explanation for the controversies you once caused?”

“Miss Song, is your health okay now?”

“Miss Song, many domestic film critics are very optimistic about the movie Huan Le Song. Do you think it will be the dark horse of this summer’s box office?”

“Miss Song…”

“Miss Song…”

“So annoying,” Song Zhiqing muttered under her breath as she pushed through the crowd toward the exit. The lead actors walking on either side of her were as quiet as mice, careful not to add fuel to the fire. After all, they had long since experienced the director’s foul temper on set. The fact that she wasn’t cursing them out was likely the result of her exercising great self-control for the sake of the film’s reputation.

In the spacious terminal, reporters swarmed the film crew like flies on fresh meat. Just as Song Zhiqing was about to call for security to get rid of the whole lot, she heard a question that particularly infuriated her: “Miss Song, was the inspiration for Huan Le Song Miss Shangguan Xianxian?”

Song Zhiqing stopped in her tracks.

“Bullshit,” Song Zhiqing said viciously. She truly despised this narrative of Song Zhiqing the villainess. It had been that way when she was “Ye Yuhuan,” and now that she could no longer be “Ye Yuhuan,” she hated it even more. It was like someone was rapping on her forehead, telling her that those memories were a technological fabrication—and that “Song Zhiqing” was, too.

But willfulness always comes at a price. The media erupted at her words, and the sound of camera shutters was like the sudden onset of a torrential downpour. The lead actors exchanged glances and simultaneously covered their faces. Well, so much for all their previous promotional work.

“Miss Song, what did you just say?”

Song Zhiqing took off her sunglasses. Her face, which had once strongly resembled Song Chen, now possessed her mother’s dazzling beauty, in no way inferior to the radiant celebrities around her. The camera shutters grew even more frantic. Song Zhiqing methodically folded her sunglasses and placed them in her trench coat pocket before stating coolly, “I said, bullshit.”

She was Song Zhiqing now, not the cautiously raised Ye Yuhuan. She had a rich girl’s temper—and a notoriously bad one at that.

Seeing that Song Zhiqing seemed willing to be interviewed, the paparazzi grew excited. But so many people had spoken at once that they weren’t sure whose question she had been answering.

Song Zhiqing was kind enough to clarify. “The part about Shangguan Xianxian being the inspiration for Huan Le Song is bullshit.”

“My source of inspiration is Song Zhiqing.”

After saying this, she summoned security, had the reporters driven away, and strode toward the exit with sharp, brisk steps.

“So annoying,” she muttered.

That night, the number one trending topic was: Song Zhiqing Claims Shangguan Xianxian Is Bullshit.

The number two topic was: Song Zhiqing Claims Her Source of Inspiration Is Herself.

People who saw the first topic lambasted Song Zhiqing for getting a big head before even winning an award. How dare she insult Shangguan Xianxian, one of the country’s few young philanthropists, out of the blue?

People who saw the second topic thought this director seemed to have a sense of humor.

Those who saw both began to question Song Zhiqing’s mental state.

Little did they know, the Song Zhiqing of the present was also worried about her own mental state.

Ye Mo’s office was the only place she had frequented over the past two years. The person sitting opposite her, separated by a desk, was now quite renowned in the domestic field of psychology. Song Zhiqing propped her head up with her right hand, the look of irritation on her face not having dissipated with the reporters’ departure. Anyone who knew her would know that this irritation had practically become a permanent fixture of her features.

Back when she had been playing the part of the villainess with great fanfare, her bad temper had mostly been an act for the persona. Now, under the influence of her incessant agitation, Song Zhiqing’s foul mood was much more natural, lending her bad reputation an even greater degree of credibility.

After having Song Zhiqing complete a drawing, Ye Mo spread it out on the desk. Looking at the sometimes chaotic, sometimes jarring brushstrokes and the non-aesthetic addition of shadows, she could tell that Song Zhiqing’s psychological state was extremely poor, even without a professional analysis.

“Have you still been having suicidal thoughts recently?”

Song Zhiqing gave a bitter smile and held out her hand, revealing several faint scars. “Except for the day the film was completed, I can’t control the thoughts for the rest of the time.”

“You’re always so angry. That’s not conducive to your recovery. I advised you against making this film in the first place. What you need now is to break free from the memories of the therapy.”

Song Zhiqing raised an eyebrow lazily. “But I don’t want to.”

Then, she said pointedly, “There are still three years left.”

Ye Mo pressed her lips together and stood up from her chair. She was always in a white coat, which gave her a stern and aloof appearance. Song Zhiqing had been surprised to learn they were the same age; the white coat and gold-rimmed glasses were just that deceptive.

“It seems we can’t get anywhere talking here. Your guard is too high.”

Ye Mo glanced at the time, then turned her head. “It’s a bit late now, but would you like to get some dessert?”

Although she asked politely, she seemed certain that Song Zhiqing would agree. Without waiting for a reply, she took off her solemn white coat, revealing her well-defined curves underneath. She then slipped on a gray trench coat, picked up her bag from the side, and gestured with her eyes to the unresponsive Song Zhiqing that it was time to go.

Song Zhiqing shook her head in frustration. For a moment, she thought that the way Ye Mo had just changed her clothes was remarkably similar to “Song Zhiqing”—they both deftly slipped off their garments using just two fingers.

But, thinking about how she had been seeing “Song Zhiqing” everywhere lately, she lowered her gaze and let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh before getting up to follow Ye Mo out.

She still couldn’t understand how she could make such an absurd connection. After all, Ye Mo’s personality was nothing like “Song Zhiqing’s.”

A person like Ye Mo was clearly a top student who had aced everything since childhood, the type who would cry if she scored a ninety-nine out of a hundred on a test. “Song Zhiqing,” on the other hand, had to be coaxed several times before she would even go to evening self-study, right from the start of their ambiguous phase.

“I’m really going crazy,” Song Zhiqing said to herself.

Ye Mo took her to a coffee shop near the hospital, a place they had visited quite a few times over the past two years. Ye Mo ordered a strawberry mousse as usual, while Song Zhiqing casually ordered an iced Americano. But what arrived was a glass of hot milk and a slice of mango mille-crêpe.

Song Zhiqing picked up her fork, cut off a small piece of cake, and pursed her lips. “Dr. Ye, you’re always so presumptuous.”

As her tongue licked the cake away, Song Zhiqing’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

“Sweets make people happy. And you’ve lost weight again recently,” Ye Mo stated, her tone bland but firm. This manner of speaking once again reminded Song Zhiqing how foolish her earlier daze had been.

And yet, she held her fork exactly like “Song Zhiqing.”

Her index finger was slightly raised, and she would take a sip of tea after every three bites of cake.

On a sudden whim, Song Zhiqing asked, “Do you want to come to the premiere of Huan Le Song?”

Ye Mo’s movements paused abruptly. She then took a large gulp of tea and said apologetically, “It’s on the tenth of next month, right? I’m sorry, I have work scheduled for that day.”

“You should at least have time to watch a movie.”

“I have to go to S-City for a business trip to attend an academic conference. But thank you for the invitation. I’ll watch it later.”

The relatively harmonious atmosphere between them instantly chilled with this exchange, reverting to their dissonant doctor-patient relationship. Song Zhiqing finished the cake in a few bites, then explained herself, a little too defensively, “Huan Le Song is the story of me and Song Zhiqing. I think it will help you understand my obsession.”

Ye Mo nodded in understanding, then began to explain as well. “However, I actually understand your feelings for Song Zhiqing very well.”

The subtext was: Don’t try to use your love for “Song Zhiqing” to convince me to concede defeat early.

But before Song Zhiqing could grasp this subtext, she was first reminded of a certain embarrassing incident.

So she fell silent.

Ye Mo thought of it too, so she also fell silent.

To break the awkward atmosphere, Song Zhiqing let out an exaggerated “Wow,” leaned back with her arms crossed, and joked stiffly, “Are all psychologists this terrifying?”

But for some reason, this remark seemed to strike a nerve with Ye Mo. She gave Song Zhiqing an extremely complicated look, and a sudden, inexplicable expression of regret flickered across her elegant and graceful face.

It was gone in an instant.

“Is being a director fun?”

Ye Mo changed the subject, her tone suggesting she had re-entered consultation mode.

Song Zhiqing toyed with the milk glass, her head lowered as she said faintly, “It’s not about being fun or not. It’s just something I happened to study, and I happened to have nothing better to do to pass the time.”

Of course, there was more to it than that.

After making the five-year pact, Song Zhiqing had been discharged and returned home—to the house Gao Yiren had left her. Naturally, traces of Gao Yiren were everywhere.

Song Zhiqing spent two months in the study, which was filled with books on film art appreciation and analysis.

When she came out, she started writing a screenplay.

This film was half for her mother, and half a way to vent her longing for “Song Zhiqing,” as well as a vague sense of dread.

A fear of forgetting.

Five years was more than enough time to blur too many things. When she saw “Song Zhiqing” again in five years, she hoped that the image of her she presented would be a coherent one.

She didn’t want to be faced with a fragmented memory that would make her doubt her lover’s reality.

However, memories originating from short-term electrical stimulation from a machine were not very reliable to begin with. Song Zhiqing had already written hundreds of pages of notes, but she always had a nagging feeling that she might have forgotten something.

This was also why Song Zhiqing was always so irritable. The truth was, she was terrified.

Ye Mo said softly, “You’re unwilling to move on.”

The same old tune.

Song Zhiqing smiled faintly. “Isn’t that the subject of our bet? A bet on whether I can move on. To be honest, you’re at a disadvantage in this bet. Both my own determination and the circumstances are in my favor. I sometimes think you’re probably just trying to stall for time.”

“But it doesn’t matter. It’s only five years. Just five years.”

Ye Mo maintained her original pace, slowly eating away at the cake. At the same time, she said, “But you also promised me that you would do your best to cooperate with my treatment.”

Song Zhiqing set the milk glass aside, her long index finger tapping slowly on the corner of the table. The deep black of her clothes made her look like a forlorn crow. A hint of loneliness inadvertently escaped her usually beautiful face. Her expression was placid. “For someone who has given up on life, the force that makes them pick it back up again cannot be easily forgotten.”

“But that wasn’t an emotion that developed naturally in a normal environment. Every setting in that world was designed to push you toward Song Zhiqing. You woke up because of a machine, not because of a designed character.”

Song Zhiqing raised an eyebrow and said earnestly, “If we go by your logic, then most of the emotions we recognize in society would lose their legitimacy. I love my mother because she, based on social culture and genetic instinct, loves and cares for me. At the same time, my culture has taught me that I should love my mother. This fits your so-called setting where the entire world pushes me to love my mother. So, does that mean my love for my mother is unnatural?”

Ye Mo put down her fork, frowning in thought for a moment before lowering her head slightly in defeat. “You really are a difficult patient.”

Since she couldn’t sway the patient’s own will, Ye Mo could only try to use medication to soothe Song Zhiqing’s frayed nerves. As she was asking about Song Zhiqing’s physical condition, Ye Mo’s phone suddenly rang. She made a gesture to Song Zhiqing and stepped outside to take the call.

She returned shortly after.

Her first words were, “I believe you now. You didn’t try to kill yourself over love back then.”

She then held out her phone, displaying the number one trending topic.

Song Zhiqing scoffed coldly. “Clickbait.”

Though she hadn’t won an award yet, she already had the arrogant air of a genius director.

She then straightened her clothes and stood up. “Let’s end today’s session here, Dr. Ye. I need to go back and deal with some public relations issues now.”

As she was about to reach the door, Ye Mo called out to stop her. “Can you really not tell me what else, besides what I already know, happened in your life during those ten years?”

From the age of fifteen to twenty-five, with Gao Yiren’s death as the turning point, Song Zhiqing transformed from an outstanding heiress into a lawless, hedonistic scion. Although a mother’s death is certainly tragic, Gao Yiren’s death was said to be the result of long-term accumulated psychological problems—the kind of death that was regrettable but had to be accepted. Was such a death enough to completely change a top student with an excellent character?

Song Zhiqing didn’t turn back. She simply raised her right hand above her head and gave a small wave. “No can do. I’m very keen on winning, you see.”