Incurable Chapter 9 Part 2

Chapter 9 (2/2)

The next morning, when Mu Wan arrived on set, Mi Yu had just finished filming a scene in the water. Pulled back out of it, Mi Yu looked pale. Li Nan handed her a towel, and after only a couple of swipes, her assistant helped her go change costumes.

The production kept costumes in a trailer, with a nearby changing room divided into men’s and women’s sections. All the actors changed there.

Naturally, when Mu Wan went in, she ran into Mi Yu.

Mi Yu had stripped off her wet costume. Her assistant was holding a large insulated thermos and pouring something into it for her. It was hot enough that scents spread quickly in the air, and Mu Wan caught the smell of red-date ginger tea.

Looking again at Mi Yu, she saw the way the other woman’s brows were tightly drawn, the way her face and lips had turned even paler.

A female actress shooting water scenes while on her period was nothing unusual. No matter how famous or important an actress might be, a production schedule was not going to be rearranged around one person’s cycle.

A heavy, dragging ache weighed in Mi Yu’s lower abdomen. The air was sticky with heat, yet inside her body, there was only cold. She drank some of the ginger tea, sweated from the heat of it, and still the pain remained icy.

Irritated, Mi Yu dumped the rest of the tea away.

Her assistant took the thermos cap from her hand and did not dare make any further move.

Fortunately, Mi Yu’s attention was not on her. Through the haze of pain, she had just noticed Mu Wan changing nearby.

“Did Li Nan tell you?” Mi Yu asked. “In a few days I’m going to Wencheng to film a television drama. I got a role reserved for you too. It’s that same project Director Zhang Chengze was preparing.”

Whenever Mi Yu filmed something, Mu Wan usually ended up with a supporting part as well. In a sense, they were packaged together; one actress brought in work, and the company used it to employ two people.

“Not yet,” Mu Wan said. Standing near the changing partition, she smiled at Mi Yu. “Thank you, Sister Yu.”

Mi Yu let out a short laugh.

She took a slim cigarette. Her assistant lit it for her, and smoke drifted around the woman’s face, touching the faint fine lines near her eyes.

In truth, Mu Wan did not need to thank her for this one.

The reason Mu Wan had been added to the production was that Director Zhang Chengze had contacted Li Nan personally. At the dinner before, Mu Wan had left a deep impression when she drank on Mi Yu’s behalf. Now that he had taken the initiative to bring her into the cast, his intentions were obvious.

The entertainment industry was deep water.

Unspoken rules were everywhere.

But with someone like Mu Wan—an actress with no great ambition—those rules would probably end up like a misfired shot.

Mu Wan understood the world clearly. In a place as driven by fame and profit as the entertainment industry, she still managed to keep hold of her own center. People like that never rose to the top.

Then again, she had never wanted to.

She might not gain much—but by the same logic, there was very little she would be forced to lose.

Mi Yu looked at Mu Wan’s face. The deepening pain in her lower abdomen had drawn her brows tight. She took a drag from the cigarette and said coolly, “I’m getting older. Sooner or later I won’t be able to get many roles. At that point, maybe it’ll be your turn to help me out.”

Mu Wan’s gaze paused.

She looked at Mi Yu once and then smiled again.

This was the first time Mi Yu had ever really started a conversation with her. It was also the first time they had spoken so much. They usually had very little contact, but Mu Wan knew enough to know that Mi Yu was proud. That last line did not sound like something Mi Yu would normally say.

So Mu Wan took it for what it seemed to be—a jab at the fact that she always ended up benefiting without fighting for it.

Smiling lightly, she said, “I’m not capable of much. I’m only meant to play small supporting roles. And anyway, those supporting roles all came through you, Sister Yu. Don’t joke with me like that.”

Mi Yu looked at her for a long moment.

With that face, Mu Wan already possessed half the qualifications needed to become famous.

As for the other half, fate was fought for, not given.

It just so happened Mu Wan did not want to fight for it.

The pain in Mi Yu’s abdomen worsened, and she did not continue the conversation. She lowered her eyes, glanced over Mu Wan’s legs, and left.

After filming wrapped, Li Nan told Mu Wan that she would indeed be going to Wencheng next week.

This time her role was slightly larger than usual, and she would need to film there for two weeks. Fortunately, Wencheng was very close to Xiacheng—only half an hour by high-speed rail. If her scenes ended early enough, she could still come back the same day.

In the past, whenever Mu Wan filmed out of town, she simply stayed with the production for as many days as needed.

This was the first time she found herself wanting to come back in between.

As for why, Mu Wan told herself it was because of the kittens.

By the time filming ended, it was already four-thirty in the afternoon. Zhongfen was being discharged that day, and Mu Wan wanted to go pick it up. She also wanted to ask Liu Qianxiu when he got off work. If she picked Zhongfen up and brought it home too early, she worried the kitten might get chilled again. It was still so small—another hospital stay would take too much out of it.

“You already picked Zhongfen up?” Mu Wan asked.

She stood at the entrance to the studio lot. Behind her were little food shops and the restless push of people coming and going, and yet all she could really hear was the voice on the other end of the line.

“Mm. Picked it up at noon,” the man said in his low voice, accompanied by the faint sound of paper turning.

Liu Qianxiu really was attentive when it came to the kittens.

Mu Wan checked the time on her phone.

Four-thirty.

If she went home now, she would probably arrive around five-fifteen, and by then Liu Qianxiu would be nearly out of work.

A taxi had pulled up nearby. Mu Wan met the driver’s eyes; he asked if she was getting in. She waved him off and looked away again.

“What time do you get off?”

There was no surgery today. Liu Qianxiu got off work on schedule.

“Five-thirty,” he answered.

Mu Wan quickly calculated the timing.

“All right. Got it. See you then.”

After hanging up, she waved again. Another taxi came over from farther off. Mu Wan opened the door and got in.

The door shut with a solid thud.

“To Tang’er Hospital,” she said.

Traffic was a little slow, and by the time Mu Wan arrived at Tang’er, it was already five-thirty.

She paid, got out, and hurried toward the emergency building. She had been through the ER before and was familiar with the area. Passing the parking section, she stepped onto the edge of a flower bed to take a shortcut.

Then she looked up toward the entrance.

And stopped.

After the final rain the night before, the sky had cleared that morning. The light at five-thirty was neither red nor harsh. It slanted in from the western horizon, drawing out the shadows of the hurrying crowds outside the emergency building.

And beside those hurried people, two doctors stood talking.

Liu Qianxiu had not gotten out of work yet.

He was still in his white coat, clear and light as water. Under the evening sun, his cool expression seemed a little softened. His eyes were lowered as he listened to the woman doctor standing beside him.

She was pretty in a fresh, elegant way, and even the white coat could not hide her good figure. She seemed to say something amusing and smiled up at him, gentle and composed.

Mu Wan’s gaze fixed on the stairs.

On the place where their shadows overlapped.

Something unfamiliar moved inside her.

“Liu Qianxiu!”

Her voice was neither loud nor soft, but it carried just enough.

Liu Qianxiu lifted his eyes and looked toward the flower bed.

Under the slanting evening light, the woman stood balanced on the planter’s edge, long-limbed and lovely, smiling like a flower in bloom.

She was slim, her frame narrow and graceful, and yet her figure curved in all the right places. Her legs were long and pale, and on her right knee was still the square dressing he had applied the night before. One corner of the gauze had begun to peel loose.

She was beautiful—small face, red lips lifting, dark, bright eyes full of fractured sunlight.

When she saw him look over, she jumped down from the flower bed, long hair flying loose behind her slender shoulders.

Then she said,

“Liu Qianxiu, I came to wait for you.”

Only people waited.

And she had come to wait for him.

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