Incurable Chapter 9 Part 2

The next morning, when Mu Wan arrived on set, Mi Yu had just finished a “fall into water” scene.

They hauled her out. Her face looked pale. Li Nan handed her a towel. She wiped twice, then her assistant supported her away to change.

The costumes were kept in a box truck, with a dressing area beside it, divided into men’s and women’s areas. All actors changed there. When Mu Wan walked in, she naturally ran into Mi Yu.

Mi Yu peeled off the wet costume. Her assistant held a large thermos and poured out hot water. The day was stifling; smells traveled fast. Mu Wan caught the scent immediately—

Red date ginger tea.

Mi Yu’s brows were twisted tight, her face and lips even whiter than before.

A female actor on her period doing water scenes was… normal. No matter how famous you were, the schedule didn’t bend around menstruation.

A heavy ache dragged low in Mi Yu’s abdomen. The air was sticky-hot, but inside her body, she felt terrifyingly cold. She drank a mouthful of the tea. Heat sweat broke out, but her belly stayed ice-cold. In irritation, she dumped the tea out.

The assistant caught the thermos lid, not daring to move again.

Mi Yu wasn’t watching her. A moment ago, when pain blurred her vision, she’d seen Mu Wan changing nearby.

“Did Li Nan tell you?” Mi Yu asked. “In a few days, I’m going to Wen City to shoot a drama. He booked you a role, too. The one Zhang Chengze wanted to shoot—the same project as before.”

Usually, when Mi Yu filmed, Mu Wan would be cast as a supporting role too—packaged together, like one actress bringing in two contracts for the agency.

“Not yet,” Mu Wan said, standing by the changing cubicle. She smiled politely. “Thank you, Sister Yu.”

Mi Yu gave a small, humorless laugh. She took a slim cigarette. Her assistant lit it. Smoke drifted across Mi Yu’s face, brushing past the fine lines at the corner of her eyes.

Truthfully, Mu Wan didn’t need to thank her.

This time, Mu Wan’s casting hadn’t come from Mi Yu’s recommendation. Director Zhang had personally contacted Li Nan. After that dinner, Mu Wan had toasted on Mi Yu’s behalf, and Zhang remembered her face.

Now he’d invited her into the production. His intentions weren’t exactly hard to guess.

The entertainment world was deep water. “Unspoken rules” were common as dust. For an ambitionless little actress like Mu Wan, those rules would probably fire like a damp match—hiss, then nothing.

Mu Wan lived with clarity. In a fame-and-profit arena like this, she still held onto her own line. People like her didn’t rise.

And she didn’t want to rise.

She might not gain much, but she didn’t have to lose anything either.

Mi Yu studied Mu Wan’s face. The abdominal pain tightened, forcing her brows together. She drew on the cigarette and spoke flatly:

“I’m getting old. Soon, I won’t get any more roles. When that happens… you’ll be the one supporting me.”

Mu Wan paused.

Then smiled.

It was the first time Mi Yu had spoken to her like this—actually spoken, beyond polite distance. Mu Wan knew Mi Yu was proud; that last line didn’t sound like something she’d normally admit.

Mu Wan treated it as sarcasm—mocking her for always benefiting without effort. She smiled and answered lightly, “I don’t have that kind of ability. I’m made for small supporting parts. And those parts… you’re the one giving them to me. Don’t tease me like that.”

Mi Yu stared at her for a long moment.

With that face, Mu Wan already had half the ability it took to become famous. And the other half—fate—was something you fought for yourself.

Mu Wan didn’t want to.

The pain flared again. Mi Yu didn’t continue. Her gaze dropped briefly to Mu Wan’s legs, then she stood and left.

Later, after filming, Li Nan told Mu Wan the Wen City schedule.

This time her scenes were heavier than usual—two weeks in Wen City. But Wen City was close to Xia City—only thirty minutes by high-speed rail. If she finished early, she could even return the same day.

In the past, when Mu Wan worked out of town, she stayed with the crew.

This was the first time she wanted to come back during the shoot.

As for why…

Mu Wan told herself it was for the kittens.

When filming wrapped, it was 4:30 p.m.

Zhongfen was being discharged today. Mu Wan wanted to pick him up, and she also wanted to know what time Liu Qianxiu got off work. She didn’t want Zhongfen to catch a chill on the way home. The kitten was still tiny, and another hospital stay would take a toll on his health.

She called.

“You already picked up Zhongfen?” she asked, standing at the film city entrance. Behind her, snack stalls and people swarmed in noise, but in her world, there was only the voice on the line.

“Mhm,” Liu Qianxiu answered, deep and calm. She could hear paper turning in the background. “I went at noon.”

So he really did care about the kittens.

Mu Wan glanced at the time.

Four-thirty.

If she went home now, she’d arrive around five-fifteen. By then, Liu Qianxiu should be nearly off duty.

A taxi stopped near her. The driver made eye contact and asked if she was getting in. Mu Wan waved him off without thinking.

“What time do you get off?” she asked.

No surgeries today. Liu Qianxiu answered, “Five-thirty.”

Mu Wan calculated quickly.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

She hung up, hailed another cab, and got in.

“To Tang’er Hospital,” she said.

Traffic was thick. By the time Mu Wan arrived, it was already 5:30.

She paid, got out, and hurried toward the emergency building. She’d been there before—knew the shortcuts. Cutting through the parking area, she stepped onto the edge of a flowerbed to save time.

Then she looked up—

and stopped.

After last night’s final rain, the sky had cleared again this morning. The 5:30 sunlight was slanted and soft, not red, not harsh. It stretched the shadows of rushing people long across the ground.

Near the stream of hurried bodies, two doctors stood still.

Liu Qianxiu hadn’t gotten off yet. He still wore his white coat, clean as water. Under the sun, his cold expression looked almost gentler. His eyes were lowered slightly, listening to the woman beside him.

The female doctor was pretty in a quiet way. Even the coat couldn’t hide her good figure. She said something and smiled at him—warm, gentle, composed.

Mu Wan’s gaze fixed on the steps—

on the two shadows layered together.

Something strange rose in her chest.

Not anger.

Not jealousy.

Just… something that didn’t sit right, like a soft thorn under skin.

“Liu Qianxiu!”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was perfectly pitched. Liu Qianxiu heard.

He lifted his eyes toward the flowerbed.

In the slanted sunlight, a woman stood balanced on the edge, long-limbed and bright, smiling like a blooming thing.

She was thin, her frame slim and long, yet her curves were undeniable. Her legs were straight and pale. On her right knee was the square gauze Liu Qianxiu’d taped on last night—one corner curling up.

She was beautiful, her face small and precise, lips red and slightly curved, eyes bright and dark, slicing through the sunset light.

When he looked over, she hopped down from the flowerbed, long hair flying behind her shoulders.

Mu Wan said, smiling,

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

Only people wait.

And now, she was waiting for him.

The author has something to say:

 Liu Daochang: I am not a monk, so I can eat you.

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