A Washed-up Movie Queen's Divorce Strategy [Rebirth] - Chapter 2

The moment she signed the divorce agreement, a long-absent expression of relief appeared on Ji Chenli’s face.

She had just undergone resection surgery. Her entire body was immobile save for her hand, which could barely move. Yet, the name she signed was written stroke by stroke, upright and neat; only at the final dot of the character “Li” did her wrist lose strength and tremble, leaving behind a jagged, slanted flaw.

“Thank you.” Ji Chenli handed the paper and pen back to Ming Lang. Her withered fingers were two shades paler than the contract paper—roughly the size of chicken claws, they were so thin they didn’t look human.

She had used a hunger strike and passive resistance to medical treatment to rebel against Ming Lang. She hadn’t held much hope for this method herself, but fortunately, after seven years of legal partnership, Ming Lang still had a shred of humanity left for her and didn’t drive her to a dead end.

Ming Lang took the two copies of the agreement. She placed one on Ji Chenli’s bedside table and handed the other to the lawyer behind her. She did not leave immediately; she stood by the bed, looking down at Ji Chenli from a height. Her assistant, being perceptive, immediately brought over a chair for her to sit.

“I’m tired.” Ji Chenli didn’t want to face Ming Lang’s ice-sculpture of a face. She turned her head toward the opposite wall, clutching the edge of the quilt with both hands, trying to pull it up to cover her head. Her body was simply too weak; the quilt didn’t budge.

Suddenly, an external force acted upon the blanket, easily pulling it over half of Ji Chenli’s face, leaving only a pair of half-closed eyes exposed.

“Sleep,” Ming Lang said, tucking in the corner of the quilt. She whispered, “I’ll stay with you.”

Ming Lang was a woman of few words. It was rare for her to say something that sounded so much like a lover’s whisper. If it had been earlier, Ji Chenli might have been moved to tears; now, she only found it somewhat laughable. She had no desire to argue with Ming Lang, nor the energy to keep tossing and turning with her. She closed her eyes without lingering regret and actually fell asleep a moment later.

Ji Chenli’s breathing was so weak it was almost undetectable. Her face was a sickly greenish-white and her lips were cracked. If it weren’t for the rhythmic beep of the nearby monitor, she looked no different from a corpse.

Ming Lang vaguely remembered many years ago, the first time she saw Ji Chenli. Ji Chenli was a university student who had just graduated—her smile was bright, her eyes sparkled, and her black hair was tied high behind her head. Her vitality was so abundant it practically overflowed. At some unknown point, that vitality had been drained away bit by bit in places Ming Lang couldn’t see. By the time Ming Lang noticed, it was already beyond cure.

“President Ming, we have to attend Miss Han’s movie premiere this afternoon…” The assistant leaned down and whispered a reminder in Ming Lang’s ear.

Ming Lang nodded to show she heard. She sat by Ji Chenli’s bed for a few more minutes before leaving in a grand procession with her lawyer and assistant. Only after she left did Ji Chenli open her eyes. She stared straight at the ceiling. The nurses came several times to change her medicine or check her catheter, and every time, she maintained the same frozen expression. No one could tell what she was thinking.

Later, Han Xinyuan also came to visit once. She and Ji Chenli shared the same birth year, month, and day. They were the same age, but while Ji Chenli was a withered rose, Han Xinyuan’s life was just beginning to bloom. Her meticulously applied makeup brightened the gloom of the hospital room, and by extension, even Ji Chenli’s complexion looked better—almost like a “terminal lucidity” glow.

The grudge between Ji Chenli and Han Xinyuan went back a long way. Ji Chenli gave a cold, biting, sarcastic smile. “Oh, isn’t this the newly crowned Movie Queen? Congratulations, congratulations.”

“How did you end up like this?” Han Xinyuan was a bit like Ming Lang—both were extremely reserved people. However, Han Xinyuan was in the entertainment industry after all and was better at pretending than Ming Lang. She greeted everyone with a smile; she was warm, intellectual, elegant, and polite, making her extremely popular in the industry. Back when Ji Chenli was in the same film crew as her, even the crew hands would secretly praise her behind her back. Such a big star, yet she had no ego at all—it was truly rare. The only person in the circle she couldn’t get along with was likely Ji Chenli.

Ji Chenli bared her teeth in a malicious grin, her words stabbing like nails. “I like it this way. Got a problem with that?”

Remembering something, she chuckled happily. “Movie Queen, Ming Lang and I are divorced. I signed the papers just a few days ago.”

Han Xinyuan nodded, sitting by Ji Chenli’s bed with her legs comfortably crossed. “I know.”

“Of course, Ming Lang must have couldn’t wait to tell you, right?” Ji Chenli savored the word “divorce” in her mouth a few times, found it funny, and couldn’t stop herself from laughing again. “Heh, from now on, you two can live your peaceful, worry-free lives. I wish you two sons and three daughters within two years—may your descendants be many.”

Her words were wicked; both Han Xinyuan and Ming Lang were women, so there was no way they could have “many descendants.” Han Xinyuan smiled inwardly; even sick to this point, that knife-like mouth of hers still wouldn’t rest.

The corners of Han Xinyuan’s mouth curved slightly, her narrowed eyes full of mirth. “I’ll take those as kind words, then.”

Ji Chenli despised Han Xinyuan’s “smiling tiger” look. If anyone else looked at Han Xinyuan, they would never use the word “sleazy” or “vile” to describe her, but Ji Chenli’s perspective was so twisted she saw exactly that.

“Get lost. My eyes hurt just looking at you.” The fake smile on Ji Chenli’s face turned cold.

“Alright. I’ll come back in a few days.”

“Don’t bother. I’d like to live a few years longer.”

Since the patient was the priority, Han Xinyuan shook her head with a smile and left, refusing to bicker with her.

After she left, Ji Chenli sat alone in the room, thinking her sarcastic remarks this time were much more sophisticated than before. Feeling she had truly improved her skills, she laughed foolishly at the wall.

Unfortunately, Han Xinyuan never saw Ji Chenli again. Because by then, Ji Chenli was dead.

Ji Chenli had specifically picked a “good time” to die.

She had secretly noted the frequency of Ming Lang’s visits. Timing it perfectly, she crawled to the hospital’s rooftop. At the exact second Ming Lang arrived at the hospital’s main entrance, Ji Chenli leapt from the roof, falling directly in front of Ming Lang’s eyes.

When her breathing stopped, her eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly at Ming Lang. They looked exactly like those vibrant eyes from the first time Ming Lang met her. Then, blood seeped out from beneath her, staining the ground. Ji Chenli lay in the center of the pool of blood, her body shattered by the fall, looking like a lotus flower nourished by blood—weirdly, eerily radiant.

Ji Chenli had not had such a radiant moment in a long time. Her youth was long gone; no matter how much she tried to groom herself, she couldn’t fake beauty anymore—instead, it had only made her look like a pathetic imitator.

Though it was an expensive private hospital, a crowd of patients had gathered at the entrance. Witnessing such a horrific event, they screamed and scattered. One or two who kept their wits called 110 (Police), and a few others were busy dialing 120 (Ambulance) before realizing they were already at a hospital with the city’s best medical resources, and sheepishly hung up.

Ming Lang’s assistant was an expert at handling emergencies. He quickly set up a perimeter with bodyguards who appeared from the shadows, isolating the bystanders a few meters away. Ming Lang stood beside Ji Chenli’s body, still maintaining her “superior” posture with her hands behind her back. her hair covered the side of her face, making her expression unreadable.

If anyone had stepped closer, they would have seen her lips parted, trembling unnaturally. Her fingernails, hidden behind her back, were dug deep into the flesh of her palms, the veins on the back of her hands standing out clearly.

Ji Chenli was a troublemaker. From marriage to divorce, she never left any room for compromise. Every time, she had made Ming Lang’s life a living hell. Even her death was spectacular—she insisted on carving a lifelong scar into Ming Lang’s heart before she was finished.

“President Ming, the police are here,” the assistant said from behind her.

Ming Lang seemed frozen, making no move for a long time. The assistant had to step closer and remind her again, “President Ming, the police have arrived.”

Ming Lang’s whole body jolted as she snapped back to reality. “Let them come over.” Her voice was hoarse, tearing a hole in the surrounding silence. As air rushed in, the assistant felt he could finally breathe normally again.

“President Ming, she…”

“It’s nothing,” Ming Lang said dully. “She’s dead… so she’s dead.”

Living like that, death was a relief.

Ming Lang’s back had always been straight. For a fleeting second, the assistant thought he saw her back hunch over. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but there was no hunch—she was as ramrod straight as ever. He figured it was just an optical illusion.