A Heartless Omega Regrets It When I’m Dying - Chapter 18

That night, there was no further conversation between Lin Wantang and Wen Zhiqing.

This was the norm.

Most of the time, a vast, unbridgeable silence stretched between them, like an endless frozen lake in the dead of night.

In these three-plus years, Lin Wantang had failed to find anything that could truly fill that void.

Fortunately, the current Lin Wantang no longer cared. She lay in bed, mentally rehearsing her lines for the role she had received in the script that day.

The character Lin Wantang had landed was a supporting role with limited appearances, primarily concentrated in the early stages of the story, but the characterization was excellent. She was to play a young Prime Minister who died early after a failed reform. From fierce court debates to a monologue in a prison cell, a whole life would be captured in just a few scenes—yet this character served as the “original heart,” the motivation for the protagonist to enter politics and seek revenge years later.

The filming schedule was tight: two days for script readings and rehearsals, followed immediately by the official start of production. Lin Wantang had heard that the lead and several key roles were already signed by top-tier actors with exquisite skills, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit apprehensive.

She hadn’t had formal training and had been an “eighteenth-tier” artist for years; she had never been part of such a high-caliber production team.

Lin Wantang desperately wanted to do a good job. If her luck remained as poor as usual, this might very well be the last role she ever played.

As she ran through the lines in her head, a hazy memory surfaced in her drowsy state: though she had always yearned to be an actress, the first step she actually took originated from Wen Zhiqing’s encouragement.

Her mother, Lin Shen, was never going to invest even a shred of resources in her. Thus, in high school, Lin Wantang suppressed her desire to act and, out of practical considerations, chose a pure science track.

After the college entrance exams, she naturally continued to suppress her preferences. She ranked every possible major according to career planning and salary potential. When the admissions officer came to persuade her to apply, she told them she wanted to major in Applied Mathematics.

She thought she would bury the secret of wanting to be an actress in her heart forever, but as she grew closer to Wen Zhiqing, she eventually couldn’t help but let it out.

“That’s wonderful.” At the time, Wen Zhiqing’s lips curled into a slight smile. There wasn’t a hint of perfunctoriness or surprise in her tone; instead, it held a matter-of-fact certainty: “I believe that one day, you will definitely become a most dazzling actress.”

Lin Wantang knew that Wen Zhiqing actually had little interest in TV shows and movies. Yet, during that period, Wen Zhiqing began seriously reading actor interviews, researching career paths suitable for newcomers, and hiring veteran performance teachers to teach Lin acting techniques.

This was treatment Lin Wantang had never experienced in her so-called home; her mother believed that providing a roof over her head until she was an adult was more than enough.

So, upon learning that Wen Zhiqing had found her one of the most famous professors from the national film academy, Lin Wantang felt more than gratitude—she felt a near-terrified sense of being overwhelmed.

She didn’t know how to react, whether she should refuse, and stood frozen like a scarecrow.

“Wantang, I’ll treat you even better in the future, so you can get used to it.”

Wen Zhiqing had said it so earnestly. It sounded like the sweet talk experienced players use in the dating world, but Lin Wantang knew Wen wasn’t like that. She could see Wen’s downcast, trembling lashes and feel her sincere, albeit clumsy, heart.

But Lin Wantang had still been nervous back then—afraid she had no talent, afraid of failing Wen Zhiqing’s kindness, afraid that all the expectations would end in a mediocre joke.

Wen Zhiqing seemed to sense her anxiety: “Even if you’re truly not suited to be an actress, I’ll keep investing in film crews. As long as it’s something you like, I’ll always support you.”

Lin Wantang, of course, wouldn’t allow Wen to do that, but hearing those words gave her a peace of mind she had never experienced. It felt as if her heart was being gently cradled, and a warm sense of stability slowly washed through her entire being.

That feeling, something she had never known before, became the obsession she refused to let go of for three years of marriage. A sliver of hope had always remained in her heart—that perhaps one day, the “Senior Wen” from university would return.

Those days seemed coated in a soft glow, to the point that the current Lin Wantang wasn’t sure if they were facts or just her long-standing delusions.

In any case, none of that mattered to the Lin Wantang of today. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she remembered how for years she had thought: if she ever became a Best Actress, the first person she must thank is Wen Zhiqing.

That was the promise she had made to her Senior.

But that was destined to be a promise she could never keep. Lin Wantang rolled over, burying half her face in the pillow, her breathing gradually turning long and steady.

Those fading memories and unfulfilled vows finally slid silently into the unknown deep sea of her dreams alongside her sinking consciousness. Perhaps they wouldn’t be dredged up again for a long, long time.

The next day, Lin Wantang woke up very early. Since it was the day of the script reading, she intended to familiarize herself with the lines and arrive early to wait.

While the sky was still a hazy gray-blue, Lin Wantang headed out and walked into a newly opened café. After ordering an Americano, she sat by the window. The streets outside were empty, with only the occasional car passing by, their taillights carving blurred red marks through the thin mist.

She withdrew her gaze, took the script from her bag, and began marking the stresses on her lines, adding brief notes in the margins. When she first pulled out the script, she was a bit nervous, her hand holding the pen trembling slightly. She took several deep breaths to steady herself, eventually becoming absorbed in the script, sinking into the tragic and joyful fate of another era.

As Lin Wantang packed up her script to leave the café on time, she caught a glimpse of a drone circling in the misty sky, likely filming the morning scenery of North City. She didn’t pay it much mind and joined the thickening crowd entering the subway station.

She was the first to arrive at the production’s meeting room. Pushing the door open, she saw mineral water and name cards neatly arranged on the long rectangular table. Morning light sliced through the blinds, dividing the empty seats into alternating strips of light and shadow.

After taking her seat, she felt a bit nervous. She knew that script readings were usually for the director, screenwriter, and leads to communicate; a supporting actor like her would likely go unnoticed after her few lines were read. But she still wanted to take it seriously, not wanting to leave any regrets at any step.

As the creators gradually entered the room, the process unfolded just as she expected. The team went through the overall concept and background, followed by readings of the key scenes surrounding the leads.

Lin Wantang sat quietly, watching the lead, Gu Jingci, speak with ease. Gu was over ten years older than her and had already won every major award; she was a recognized benchmark of acting in the industry. Lin had always aspired to be someone like her, so she listened exceptionally intently.

If the surgery goes well, I must work hard at acting after this and become someone who shines like her.

The other actors had worked together before and were familiar with each other, so they left the room in small groups after the session. Lin Wantang hesitated but ultimately lacked the courage to join them. She organized her script and walked out alone.

The sounds of laughter in the hallway faded. Lin Wantang walked back the way she came, and at the empty end of the corridor, she unexpectedly saw a person.

“Qi… Senior.”

The faint scent of vanilla still clung to Qi Yishu. Lin Wantang didn’t know who she was waiting for. Just as she was about to brush past, she was stopped by Qi Yishu’s soft voice.

“Junior.”

Lin Wantang stopped and turned back to look at her. Qi Yishu didn’t speak again immediately, just watched her quietly.

“Senior Qi,” Lin Wantang met her gaze and asked softly, “Are you waiting for someone?”

Qi Yishu didn’t answer right away. After a moment of silence, she said, “Yes. I’m waiting for you.”

Lin Wantang was a bit dazed. She and Qi Yishu weren’t close; she couldn’t think of a reason why the other would wait specifically for her. She could only guess it was about Wen Zhiqing. Perhaps Qi Yishu loved Wen Zhiqing so much that she wanted to come and negotiate with her?

Though the thought seemed cliché, it was the closest reason to the truth Lin Wantang could imagine.

“Junior, do you have time for a simple meal together?”

“Yes.”

Lin Wantang followed Qi Yishu into the car. They sat in the back, but with a distance between them. Lin could see the identical, opened cigarette boxes with orange-flavored menthol beads scattered in the storage compartment, suggesting Qi Yishu’s smoking habit hadn’t lessened.

Getting out of the car, Lin accidentally saw another drone. The model was quite similar to the one she saw outside the café this morning; it seemed like a bit of a coincidence. Qi Yishu had also stepped out, so Lin didn’t think much more of it and entered the pre-booked restaurant.

Inside the private room, Lin Wantang waited for Qi Yishu to speak. But Qi Yishu behaved quite normally, only asking about Lin’s dietary restrictions and preferences, as if they were just old friends meeting up.

Lin waited for a long time. Until the meal was nearly over, Qi Yishu hadn’t asked a single thing about Wen Zhiqing.

“Senior Qi, are you here because of Wen Zhiqing?”

She finally couldn’t help but ask.

Qi Yishu’s pale eyes moved very slightly, like a small pebble hitting a calm lake and creating a nearly invisible ripple. Lin Wantang didn’t know if it was out of awkwardness, but she had to push through: “Senior Qi, the truth is we will be divorcing soon. You can just go and ask her about her thoughts directly; you don’t need to worry about me. If you two end up together, I will give you my sincere blessings.”

Her cheeks flushed after she finished, feeling her words were too abrupt and out of place.

Silence filled the room. After a long while, she heard Qi Yishu ask in a very soft voice: “You’re getting a divorce?”

“Yes.”

Lin Wantang looked at Qi Yishu again. She had never seen such a vivid expression on Qi Yishu’s face. At first, a sliver of faint sadness rippled through those amber eyes, but it lasted only for a moment, barely taking shape before being dissolved and covered by a surging, much brighter joy.