Chapter 5: 1 Month

One month had passed.

Thirty days since Xu Lian had run away, leaving nothing but a hollow space where she used to be.

Yiran had tried to tell herself that it was fine, that this was just a temporary silence, that any day now, Xu Lian would come back to school, return to her side, and things would be normal again.

But deep down, she knew.

Something had changed that day in the courtyard.

And Xu Lian was gone.

She hadn't even heard a whisper of her whereabouts. At first, she had thought maybe she had transferred schools, but when she asked the teachers, they had simply said that Xu Lian was on 'leave' without further explanation. That had only made the gnawing feeling in Yiran's stomach worse.

Was she avoiding her?

The question haunted her.

Every time she looked at Xu Lian's empty desk, the weight in her chest grew heavier. She tried to ignore it, tried to convince herself that it didn't matter, that she had done the right thing by keeping Xu Lian from confessing to Chen Hao. But the truth was, she had stopped talking to Chen Hao entirely.

He had tried, at first. Had approached her with that same easy smile, as if they could just move forward like nothing had changed. But Yiran had quickly realized that every conversation with him felt suffocating. Because every time he spoke, she heard the echo of Xu Lian's voice, the way she had told her about her crush with such a rare, open vulnerability. And then she remembered the way Xu Lian had looked that day—the raw hurt in her eyes, the way she had run without even waiting for an explanation.

So she had let Chen Hao drift away.

But that didn't bring Xu Lian back.

The halls of the school felt quieter without her. Yiran hadn't realized just how much space Xu Lian took up in her life until she was gone. The mornings weren't the same without waiting at the school gates together. Lunchtime felt empty without Xu Lian's dry, sarcastic remarks about the cafeteria food. And the walks home—those long conversations about nothing and everything—were simply gone.

Where was she?

Yiran's fingers curled into her sleeves as she made her way down the hallway. The murmur of students talking around her faded into background noise as she lost herself in thought.

Then, a voice cut through the fog.

"Did you see the news? That new actress—Xu Lian? She's in that upcoming movie!"

Yiran's heart stopped mid-beat.

She froze.

It took everything in her not to turn around immediately, but her body had gone rigid, her breath caught in her throat.

"That indie film, right? The one by Director Shen?" another voice chimed in. "People are saying she's amazing, even though it's her first role. She came out of nowhere!"

"No way," someone scoffed. "Xu Lian? You mean that Xu Lian?"

Yiran's mind was spinning. A movie? Xu Lian was in a movie?

"I'm serious! Look it up. She's even in the trailer that dropped today."

Hands trembling, Yiran fumbled for her phone. She could barely hear the rest of the conversation as she tapped at the screen, searching frantically. And then—

There it was.

A news article. A movie title.

And a picture.

It was her.

Xu Lian.

But not the Xu Lian that Yiran had known.

The girl in the picture was radiant under the studio lights, dressed in a way Yiran had never seen before. She looked older, more refined. There was a confidence in her posture, a fierceness in her gaze that sent a chill down Yiran's spine.

She had changed.

And she had done it without her.

The realization hit Yiran like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath from her lungs.

Xu Lian had been gone for a month.

And in that month, she had become someone else entirely.

Yiran had spent the past thirty days wondering where she was, missing her, regretting everything. But Xu Lian… Xu Lian had been moving forward.

Without her.

Yiran swallowed hard, fingers tightening around her phone.

She had thought that losing Xu Lian from her daily life was painful.

But losing her to an entirely different world?

That was unbearable.

The final bell rang, but Yiran barely heard it.

Her thoughts had been a whirlwind all afternoon, looping endlessly around the name that had been whispered through the school halls: Xu Lian. The same Xu Lian who had vanished from her life a month ago. The same Xu Lian who had left behind an empty seat, unanswered messages, and an ache in Yiran's chest that wouldn't go away.

And now she was in a movie.

Yiran had spent all of class staring blankly at her books, her mind lost in the idea of it. She had pulled up the trailer on her phone multiple times, replaying the short snippets of footage, but it wasn't enough. She needed more. She needed to see it for herself.

By the time she stepped outside the school gates, the decision had already been made.

She was going to watch the movie.

The theater was quieter than she expected.

It wasn't a massive blockbuster release, not the kind of film that packed every seat. But there were still clusters of people here and there, murmuring to each other as the previews played. Yiran found a seat near the middle, her heart pounding with anticipation and something she couldn't quite name.

When the screen finally flickered to life, she forced herself to take a deep breath. The opening scene played out in a soft, muted palette, and then—

Xu Lian appeared.

Yiran's breath caught in her throat.

It was her, but it wasn't. The girl on the screen was someone else entirely. Gone was the quiet, often deadpan Xu Lian who used to complain about school lunches and walk home beside her. In her place was a girl who commanded the screen with an intensity Yiran had never seen before.

Her expressions, the way she moved—it was mesmerizing.

The story unfolded, and Xu Lian's character was at the center of it, her performance raw and electric. Yiran couldn't look away. There were moments when she forgot this was even a movie. Xu Lian wasn't acting—she was the character. Every emotion was laid bare, every shift in her expression carrying weight, making the audience feel it alongside her.

A particularly striking moment came in the second act. Xu Lian's character sat alone in a dimly lit room, her fingers trembling as she clutched a letter to her chest. The camera lingered on her face, allowing every flicker of emotion to unfold in real time. Her eyes glistened, her lips parted slightly as if she were about to say something—but she didn't. The silence stretched, filled with an unbearable tension. And then, she laughed. A hollow, broken sound that sent chills down Yiran's spine.

Yiran felt herself gripping the armrests of her seat. How had she never seen this side of Xu Lian before? Had it always been there, hidden beneath the surface? Or had something changed in the time she had been gone?

The movie pressed on, and Xu Lian's presence only grew. There was a confrontation scene—an argument in the pouring rain. Xu Lian's voice wavered at first, then cracked, then exploded into raw, unfiltered rage. Her hands clenched at her sides, her shoulders shaking as she shouted words that felt too real to be scripted. Yiran shivered, feeling the weight of it in her chest.

And then came the climax.

Xu Lian's character stood in front of a mirror, her reflection distorted by the water streaking down its surface. Her breaths were ragged, her fingers splayed over the sink. She looked at herself—really looked—before exhaling shakily and whispering a single line. It was simple, almost unremarkable in any other context, but the way she said it—

The entire theater was silent.

Yiran's throat tightened. She had never felt this way watching a movie before. Never felt so utterly absorbed, so completely shaken by a performance. It wasn't just talent. It wasn't just skill.

It was something more.

It was Xu Lian.

The final scene faded to black. The credits began to roll. Around her, the audience stirred, murmuring to one another, some even wiping at their eyes. But Yiran sat frozen, unable to move, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

She had changed. She had transformed into someone untouchable, someone larger than life.

And she had done it alone.

Yiran exhaled slowly, standing up. Her legs felt unsteady as she made her way out of the theater, the night air cool against her skin.

She knew now. Knew exactly what she had to do.

She wasn't going to let Xu Lian slip away any further.

If Xu Lian had stepped into this world, then Yiran would follow.

No matter what it took.

The cool night air felt sharp against Yiran's skin as she stepped out of the theater. Her mind was still spinning, fragments of Xu Lian's performance replaying in her thoughts, refusing to let go. She walked in a daze, her footsteps slow, deliberate. The streetlights flickered above her, their glow casting long shadows on the pavement.

She had made her decision.

Digging into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she took a deep breath and dialed.

The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Yiran?" Her father's voice was a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He rarely received calls from her this late. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Yiran clenched her free hand into a fist, steeling herself. "Dad," she began, voice steady. "I want to become an actor."

A pause. A long one.

Then, her father let out a sharp breath. "What?"

"I want to act," she repeated, firmer this time. "I want to join the industry."

Her father scoffed. "Yiran, do you have any idea what you're saying? You have no experience, no training. This isn't a game."

"I know it's not a game," she shot back. "I've thought about this. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

There was another silence, heavier than the first. Yiran could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is about Xu Lian, isn't it?" His tone had shifted, becoming colder. "You saw her on the screen, and now you think you can just follow her?"

Yiran's grip on her phone tightened. "That's not—" She stopped herself. No, he wasn't wrong. It was about Xu Lian. But it wasn't just about following her. It was about standing on the same stage, reaching for the same heights.

Her father sighed. "You have a future already planned, Yiran. One that doesn't involve struggling in an industry where success is nearly impossible."

"I don't care about that," she said firmly. "I don't want to sit in the background of my own life. I need to do this."

A long silence stretched between them.

Then, to her surprise, her father spoke again, his voice calmer this time. "If I agree to this, you do it properly. No half-measures, no quitting when it gets hard."

Yiran's heart leaped. "I won't quit."

He exhaled, and she could tell he was already thinking ahead. Weighing the risks, considering the benefits. That was how her father worked—practical, methodical, never making decisions lightly.

"I'll arrange for a manager," he finally said. "Someone who can guide you through this properly."

Yiran swallowed, her pulse racing. "Who?"

"Huang Jian."

The name wasn't one she recognized, but her father's tone made it clear: this was someone important. Someone capable.

"He's one of the best in the business," her father continued. "But he's strict. He doesn't tolerate mediocrity. If you're serious about this, you'll do what he says."

"I understand," Yiran said, determination settling in her chest.

Her father sighed. "You're too much like your mother sometimes."

She almost smiled at that. "I'll prove to you this isn't just a whim."

"We'll see," he muttered. "I'll have Huang Jian contact you tomorrow. Be ready."

The call ended, and Yiran lowered the phone, staring at the screen for a long moment.

This was it. She had taken the first step.

And no matter what lay ahead, she wasn't going to stop.