Chapter 7: Fractured Echoes

Xu Lian let out a slow breath as she leaned back in her seat, fingers absently tracing the rim of her now-empty wine glass. The warmth of the alcohol buzzed beneath her skin, dulling the sharp frustration that had been gnawing at her all night. Across from her, Li Wen stood, stretching lazily before flashing her a smirk.

"I think I've had enough of your complaints about Lin Yiran for one night," he teased. "I'd stay longer, but I have an early shoot tomorrow, and unlike you, I value my beauty sleep."

Xu Lian rolled her eyes. "Just say you're running away."

Li Wen grinned. "If I didn't, we both know you'd just drink more and go on another tangent about her."

He wasn't wrong.

She waved him off, watching as he disappeared into the crowd of industry elites, leaving her alone in the dimly lit corner of the afterparty. The celebratory atmosphere still pulsed around her—glasses clinking, laughter rising, and conversations flowing with the ease of people reveling in success. But it all felt distant.

She sighed, reaching for her phone. It was time to call Zhao Qing and get out of here.

Just as she was about to dial, she felt it—a shift in the air, a presence she had long since trained herself to recognize even before seeing the source.

Lin Yiran.

Xu Lian tensed, fingers freezing over her screen as the familiar figure moved toward her.

Yiran's heart pounded, but her steps remained steady as she closed the distance between them.

Xu Lian had always been beautiful, but here, under the golden glow of the chandeliers, she looked almost untouchable—sharp and distant, her golden-brown eyes shadowed with something unreadable. The years had refined her presence, made her more guarded, but to Yiran, she was still the same girl who had once laughed beside her in the sunlit park.

For years, she had watched Xu Lian from afar, never able to bridge the gap between them. But tonight, standing before her again, Yiran refused to let the moment slip away.

She stopped just a step away.

"Xu Lian."

Xu Lian barely suppressed the urge to scowl as Lin Yiran spoke her name. She set her wine glass down with deliberate care, her fingers tightening around the stem before she let go entirely. The alcohol in her system burned less than the irritation bubbling in her chest.

She lifted her gaze slowly, locking eyes with Yiran. "What do you want?" Her voice was clipped, cold—devoid of the warmth it once held years ago.

Yiran, however, didn't flinch. She met Xu Lian's gaze with that same composed expression she always wore in public, the one that made it impossible to know what she was really thinking.

"I wanted to talk."

Xu Lian let out a sharp breath, leaning back against her chair with crossed arms. "Talk?" she echoed, her lips curling into something almost mocking. "You don't speak to me for years unless it's on a stage or a red carpet, and now, suddenly, you want to talk?"

Yiran's jaw tensed slightly. "You haven't exactly made it easy."

Xu Lian let out a dry chuckle. "Right. I suppose I should've rolled out a red carpet just for you."

The words were laced with venom, but Yiran didn't react. That only irritated Xu Lian more.

She had spent years trying to shove every thought of Yiran into the furthest corners of her mind, trying to move forward without looking back. And yet, here she was again, standing before her like a ghost Xu Lian couldn't quite exorcise from her life.

"Xu Lian," Yiran said, softer this time, as if that would make a difference. "I—"

Xu Lian cut her off. "I don't care."

Yiran's eyes flickered, just for a second, but Xu Lian caught it. A pang of satisfaction settled in her chest. Let her feel it—just a fraction of what she had felt all those years ago.

A tense silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken words and old wounds that refused to heal. The noise of the afterparty buzzed around them, yet it felt like they were in their own isolated world, filled only with sharp edges and lingering ghosts of the past.

Xu Lian stood up, brushing past Yiran without another glance. She didn't want to hear whatever excuses she had, whatever meaningless words she was about to say.

But Yiran wasn't done.

She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing Xu Lian's wrist. "Wait."

Xu Lian yanked her arm away as if burned, turning on her heel to glare at her. "Don't touch me."

For the first time that night, Yiran's mask slipped. Hurt flashed across her face—quick, almost imperceptible, but Xu Lian saw it.

And for a brief moment, she hated how a part of her still recognized the girl she once knew beneath the poised, untouchable actress standing in front of her now.

The sharp burst of a camera flash sliced through the dim glow of the afterparty, momentarily painting the world in harsh white light. Lin Yiran's body stiffened. 

She turned her head sharply and immediately spotted the culprit—Jiang Rui, a well-known journalist notorious for twisting narratives into scandalous headlines. His camera was still raised, his eyes glinting with predatory interest as he snapped another shot. 

Damn it.

She didn't even have to think about what this would look like to the outside world. Lin Yiran, the reigning Best Actress, caught in an intense standoff with Xu Lian, the runner-up who had made no effort to hide her disdain all night. The tabloids would have a field day. 

She turned back to Xu Lian just in time to see the fire in her golden-brown eyes flare into something dangerous.

"Was this your plan?" Xu Lian's voice was low, but the fury in it crackled like a live wire. "Did you call the press to catch this moment? To make me look bad?"

Lin Yiran's breath hitched. "What? No—"

Xu Lian wrenched her hand free from Yiran's loose grip as if she had been burned. 

"Of course," Xu Lian spat, her words cutting like shards of glass. "How fitting. You get to play the graceful, untouchable star while I get painted as the bitter sore loser."

Lin Yiran's heart pounded. "Xu Lian, listen to me. I didn't call anyone."

"Don't lie to me." Xu Lian's tone was sharp, edged with something raw and vulnerable beneath her anger. "You always do this. You always get what you want."

Lin Yiran clenched her fists, frustration rising in her chest. "That's not fair. You think I wanted this? That I wanted us to be like this?"

Xu Lian let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "You don't get to play the victim, Yiran. You won. You always win. And now you have the cameras here to make sure everyone knows it."

"I didn't—" Lin Yiran took a step closer, lowering her voice. "I swear to you, I didn't plan this. I would never do that to you."

Xu Lian's lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, Lin Yiran thought—hoped—she might believe her. But then Xu Lian's gaze flickered past her, landing on Jiang Rui's still-raised camera, and her expression hardened once more.

"Believe whatever you want," Xu Lian said bitterly. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Lin Yiran felt something inside her twist painfully. It did matter. It mattered more than anything.

Lin Yiran barely registered the flashing camera as Xu Lian yanked her hand away with a force that sent a sharp sting up her arm. The heat of Xu Lian's touch lingered, a ghost of warmth that was gone too soon, replaced by the cold air between them. For a moment, Yiran stood frozen, staring at the space where Xu Lian had been just seconds before, the weight of her anger pressing down like an unbearable storm. Then, as if waking from a trance, she snapped back to reality and rushed forward.

Xu Lian was already walking away, her stride quick and rigid, the shimmering fabric of her evening gown catching the dim glow of the streetlights. Yiran pushed past murmuring guests and ignored the questioning gaze of her manager, Huang Jian. She had no time for explanations—not when Xu Lian was slipping further and further away from her grasp.

"Xu Lian!" she called out, her voice sharper than she intended.

But Xu Lian didn't stop.

Yiran's chest tightened as she saw her former best friend approach a sleek black car parked by the curb. The driver's side door opened, and Zhao Qing stepped out, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings before landing on Xu Lian. They exchanged a few brief words—words Yiran couldn't hear but knew were meant to keep her away.

Still, she pressed forward, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Xu Lian!" she called again, more desperate this time, closing the distance just as Zhao Qing opened the passenger door.

Xu Lian hesitated for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Yiran to think—hope—that she might turn around. But then she stepped into the car without so much as a glance back.

Yiran reached out instinctively, her fingertips grazing the cold metal of the door as Zhao Qing slid into the driver's seat and pulled it shut. The engine roared to life.

"No—wait—" Yiran moved forward, her heels clicking against the pavement, but the car was already rolling away.

She watched, helpless, as the vehicle merged into the flow of traffic, Xu Lian's silhouette barely visible through the tinted windows. The realization struck her like a blow to the chest—Xu Lian wasn't just leaving the party. She was leaving her.

Again.

A strange hollowness settled in her stomach as she stood motionless, the distant hum of the city filling the silence left behind. The air smelled of gasoline and expensive perfume, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once surrounded them. How many times had she watched Xu Lian walk away over the years? How many times had she told herself that next time, she would do something to stop it?

Yet here she was, watching the taillights disappear into the night, just as powerless as she had always been.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails pressing against her palm as she fought the urge to scream. She had thought she was prepared for this. Thought she had accepted the role she had forced upon herself—the rival, the enemy, the obstacle in Xu Lian's path. But it had never been that simple, had it?

Because Lin Yiran had never wanted to be any of those things.

She wanted—

No. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to take a steady breath.

What she wanted didn't matter. Not anymore.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke through her thoughts. Huang Jian came to stand beside her, his expression unreadable as he looked in the direction the car had gone. "Chasing after her in public like this isn't good for your image," he said coolly, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit.

Yiran exhaled slowly. "I don't care."

Huang Jian sighed, his voice turning firm. "You should."

She turned to face him then, her silver-blue eyes flashing with a rare hint of defiance. "What do you want me to say?"

"That you understand," he replied evenly. "That you remember why you're here in the first place."

A bitter smile touched Yiran's lips. "Of course, I remember."

She remembered everything.

Every glance Xu Lian had thrown her way, filled with something once soft but now razor-sharp. Every word exchanged between them, layered with anger and something unspoken. Every moment that should have belonged to them but had slipped through their fingers like grains of sand.

She had spent eight years chasing after Xu Lian's shadow, hoping that maybe—just maybe—she would turn back.

But maybe it was time to accept the truth.

Xu Lian wasn't going to stop running.

And Yiran… Yiran would always be a step behind.