Chapter 18, Act Two

Small towns don’t have many celebrities. Most days, life here is just about ordinary people—wandering through the streets, missing someone, feeling something deep and quiet. But Qiao Jingjing? She’s a heavyweight weapon all on her own. Just walking down the sidewalk, no words, no pose—ratings would still climb without anyone even blinking.

Yu Tu came home late today. His teacher had always demanded a weekly report on work and progress—consistent, unshakable, rain or shine. After years of it, he’d grown used to the rhythm.

At the end, the old man said, “When are you bringing your little girlfriend over for dinner? Your wife’s been watching her shows—she says they’re really good.”

“Yes… she’s great,” Yu Tu said, suddenly awkward. The elder burst into laughter. “Alright, alright!”

After dropping off his parents, Yu Tu turned toward Jingjing’s place—but it was Mr. Qiao who stepped out. “Yu Tu, it’s too late. Jingjing should be asleep. She’s got a show tomorrow. What did you say you were bringing?”

“Bamboo shoots from the mountains—fresh, definitely fresh. Right, right… go back now, go back…”

What could he say? Nothing. This test was impossible.

Pei Pei arrived at noon to pick up Jingjing, dragging along a pile of new clothes still with price tags hanging off them. She was practically bouncing with joy, like a kid on Christmas morning.

They chattered their way to the TV station, rehearsing lines between makeup applications. Then, as usual, Pei Pei veered off course: “Didn’t you say you weren’t going to that class reunion yesterday? We ended up singing at a karaoke bar, even dragged the old homeroom teacher along. But it was just us regular folks—no more big names from back then…”

Still, after years in front of cameras, Qiao Jingjing glided effortlessly through the frame—from afternoon street-side stalls and her alma mater, to the bustling market and park, then into evening scenes at restaurants, bars, and by the lakeside. Her emotions were perfectly calibrated, her skin flawless under the glow of every light.

When filming wrapped, makeup removed, the glamorous star and the sharp-witted producer slipped back into the girls they once were—laughing softly, arms linked, whispering secrets only friends share.

*Ring-a-ling!*

The sound stopped them cold. A bicycle bell—long forgotten, long unheard. They both turned. A bike pulled up beside them.

“Master Scholar!” Pei Pei cried.

“Pei Pei! Long time no see!”

Pei Pei tugged hard on Jingjing’s arm. “Jingjing! We actually ran into Master Scholar!”

Jingjing didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.

Pei Pei turned to Yu Tu—and froze. That smile… she swore she’d never seen it before.

“I’m here to pick up Jingjing.”

Pei Pei watched, stunned, as the Master Scholar didn’t even get off the bike. He stretched out an arm, pulled Jingjing in, and simply tucked her onto the crossbar. She settled into his arms like she’d done it a thousand times—then lifted a hand and waved. “I’m leaving. You go back.”

“Thanks, Pei Pei.”

Yu Tu smiled, pedaled away. Jingjing’s leg dangled from one side of the bike, swinging playfully…

“Qiao Jingjing! If you don’t explain this *right now*, we’re through!”

“Qiao Jingjing! Ten minutes—only ten minutes!”

“Jingjing, I’m about to lose my mind!”

Under the barrage, Jingjing decided to play dead.

But Yu Tu, ever the knight in shining armor, stepped in to save Pei Pei’s frazzled curiosity: “It’s too late. Jingjing’s dad’s waiting. We’re heading back to Shanghai tomorrow morning. We’ll catch up another time.”

Pei Pei felt her brain short-circuit. Too much information. Not enough processing power.

Outside the house, beneath the shifting shadows of trees, they were saying their Nth last goodbye.

“I swear this time—it’s really the last one,” Jingjing insisted.

“What about the birthday gift you promised me? You’re not just making it up, are you?”

Yu Tu stayed in his familiar stance—Jingjing half-leaning on her little folding seat, her face peeking up from the collar of his winter coat, warm breath brushing his jaw.

“This… is your birthday gift.”

The bike rocked slightly. The seat nudged her waist.

“Only… it’s for when you were eighteen.”

Jingjing felt warmth flood through her—not just from the coat, but from him. She reached behind him, her arm sliding around his neck.

A voice echoed from inside the yard. A faint beam of light flickered across the path.

Jingjing snapped back, stepping away sharply. “You should go. Go now. Two o’clock tomorrow…”

Yu Tu, stubborn as ever, gave a polite nod, exchanged a few casual words with the family as they walked in together, arm-in-arm. Only then did he mount his bike and ride off.

Night had fallen.

The streets were empty. Wind swept past. He let go of the handlebars, arms wide open—just like when he was a boy, reaching for the sky.

Back then, he’d wanted to embrace the whole world.

Now, he realized—he already had.

The drive back to Shanghai was slow, clogged with traffic. Jingjing spent most of the ride answering calls. Even a simple holiday break had become a luxury for a celebrity.

She glanced at her delicate pink planner. “Yu Tu, I’ve got to fly to Beijing tomorrow afternoon. Ling姐 says there’s a big director free at just the right time…”

Yu Tu kept his eyes on the road, took her hand, kissed it. “Go ahead. Honestly, you’re busier than I am.”

“What? What? What?!”

“That’s exactly why you’re so amazing.”

Busy? Oh, Jingjing wasn’t alone.

After dropping her off at her studio, Yu Tu rushed back to the academy. Da Meng had called five times already—the data was calling.

This Beijing project wasn’t quite right for her, but Jingjing heard something else—a whisper of a different story. When Ling姐 heard her idea, she paused, thoughtful.

“You’re talking about a young director’s second film. And the subject matter… it’s niche. At your level, if you take it, fans will *hate* me.”

“But I love it,” Jingjing said. “Back in college, Professor Yang gave a lecture. She was… elegant. Beautiful. You wouldn’t believe how stunning she was.”

Normally, scripts like this wouldn’t reach Ling姐’s desk. But she stayed up half the night reading it. Then sent a message: “Let’s do it.”

Ling姐 had a sixth sense. And that confidence lit a fire in Jingjing.

Soon, they met Director Lü. Young, artistic, thin and soft-spoken—but direct when he spoke: “Miss Qiao, sorry to ask, but are you serious?”

Of course she was. They talked for over two hours.

“One more thing—I graduated from Shanghai International Studies University. No dubbing needed for the English parts.”

“And finally,” she added, “Yang Tongtong has to age from 15 to 38. I can do it all myself.”

“Saves money,” she concluded.

Lü turned to Ling姐. “Lingjie, I can only say—this is an honor.”

The film was titled *Black Eyes*. It told the story of Yang Tongtong, a girl blinded by illness, who lost her sight—and her love. Yet through sheer will, she rebuilt her life. The real-life inspiration? A professor Jingjing had once heard speak—known as China’s Helen Keller.

Later, Ling姐 confided in Lü: “Jingjing works hard. She’s smart. And fearless.”