Substitute Lover [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 83

“When you get home tonight.”

Jiang Cha kissed her earlobe and said softly, “I’ll teach you when we get home.”

Ji Fan left the house reluctantly.

Jiang Cha leaned against the door, watching her back for a while, until she left the lawn and got into the car. Aside from filming a few commercials, she was quite free lately. A while ago, Yang Yan gave her a pile of scripts to choose from. Jiang Cha looked through them; there were historical dramas and soap operas.

But she still didn’t feel satisfied.

Jiang Cha didn’t have a strong concept of money; her material demands were low, and she still didn’t know how to spend the money she earned from acting. Now, she only planned to follow her preferences—acting in whatever she liked.

Although Ji Fan had gone to work, she sent messages frequently, one after another.

She assumed Jiang Cha wasn’t looking at her phone, sending messages and constantly withdrawing them.

—”Did you eat breakfast?”

Withdraw.

—”What are you doing?”

Withdraw.

—”I’ll be back by noon.”

After sending this one, she finally didn’t withdraw it and waited quietly. Jiang Cha bent over laughing on the sofa, and after a while, she replied: “Okay.”

Ji Fan then repeated her earlier question: “What are you doing?”

Jiang Cha originally wanted to reply, “Waiting for you,” but then deleted it and sent another sentence: “Out playing with a friend.”

She wanted to see Ji Fan’s reaction.

Ji Fan was indeed anxious.

—”With whom?”

Jiang Cha ignored her.

—”Do I know them?”

Still no reply.

—”Where did you go?”

Jiang Cha hummed twice, enjoying her impatience.

Ji Fan sent a flurry of garbled messages again. Before Jiang Cha could read them clearly, she withdrew them again.

Love certainly makes people unmotivated.

Jiang Cha sighed softly, then sat up abruptly, like a kitten newly introduced to a house, intending to explore.

Ji Fan’s bedroom was tidy, but the study was quite different.

It contained many important documents, and servants were normally not allowed to enter. When Ji Fan was busy, she would toss things aside after use, leaving a stack of files and books on the desk, maintaining a very original state.

By the window was her desk, a long, narrow surface against the wall. Looking to the right, there was an endless, shimmering lake, so quiet it felt otherworldly.

She helped her tidy the pile of books on the desk and suddenly paused, noticing a few folded white papers.

She unfolded them and was instantly stunned.

Drafts of her will.

Ji Fan had written many pages. The handwriting was neat and elegant, but she always stopped halfway through, and the handwriting would become blurry and messy. In the last sentence, Ji Fan explained that she had gone blind, and could only write by memory. If the writing was poor, it didn’t mean she didn’t care.

So, besides the legal will, she had also written personal letters.

Why hadn’t she sent them?

Jiang Cha looked at the words, her nose stinging, and her eyes reddened.

She collected the drafts and carefully put them away.

It was still early, so Jiang Cha went out.

“Memory recovery needs to happen quickly,” the doctor said. “It’s true that some patients have recovered on their own within a week, but that’s a minority. The recovery time can range from a short week to as long as half a year.”

City Hospital, Neurosurgery Office.

Jiang Cha nodded, trying to appear calm, but her lowered eyes still showed worry. She couldn’t help but ask further, “Is there a chance she might never recover?”

The doctor looked up, glancing out from behind his cool glasses: “It’s possible.”

Jiang Cha’s heart seized up, and she felt cold all over, as if a basin of cold water had been poured over her in the depths of winter.

Never recover?

Then how was her former self different from being dead?

Jiang Cha felt an unspeakable sense of suffocation and distress.

The doctor scratched his graying temples with his index finger, frowning: “That’s not the worst of it. We’ve had patients who, after too long a period of amnesia, developed a personality completely opposite to their pre-amnesia self. When the memory later returned, the two personalities couldn’t merge, leading to two distinct personalities.”

He frowned and said calmly, “Dissociative identity disorder (DID), you know?”

“Dissociative identity disorder?”

Jiang Cha’s heart tightened. Worry flashed in her dark eyes, and she whispered, “Surely not? She’s only had amnesia for about a month.”

The doctor couldn’t help but chuckle: “I’m just giving an example. In short, try to help her recover as soon as possible. Take her to familiarize herself with past events. You can tell her everything she’s forgotten yourself; there’s no need to hide anything.”

Jiang Cha nodded.

No need to hide anything.

The doctor prescribed some auxiliary medication. Jiang Cha took the prescription slip, paid, and walked out of the crowded hospital lobby.

She checked the time, 9:10 a.m.

She still had some time before lunch.

On the other side.

Ji Fan was holding a cup of goji berry tea and opening her computer to start working.

Just then, QQ flashed a few times.

Ji Fan clicked on it and glanced at the unfamiliar list. Then she remembered that Jiang Cha had used her computer—

It had automatically logged into Jiang Cha’s account.

She clicked on the flashing avatar, which was labeled: “Director Song.”

The avatar clearly belonged to a woman.

Hmm.

A director and an actor.

Ji Fan rested her chin on her hand, contemplating for a moment. She couldn’t clearly detect anything unusually ambiguous from the messages. She opened the chat window, intending to secretly check and scout the “enemy’s” intentions, but the messages in the chat were very concise.

—”Xiao Jiang, I’ve sent you the behind-the-scenes footage.”

—”Please check.”

Jiang Cha hadn’t replied yet.

Ji Fan clicked to view the files first.

The file took up a lot of memory; it seemed to be a collection of footage that had been cut from the film—discarded but interesting.

The crew was quite thoughtful.

Seeing that the director didn’t say anything else and didn’t seem to have any other motives, Ji Fan gradually relaxed.

Work wasn’t too demanding in the morning, so Ji Fan watched the behind-the-scenes footage of Jiang Cha filming for a while.

It was quite interesting.

The more she watched, the cuter Jiang Cha seemed. Sometimes, she would have smudges of ash on her clean face, staring blankly at the camera before bursting into laughter. There were also a few shots where Jiang Cha’s eyes were filled with tears, her expression painful, and tears streamed down her face.

The progress bar unknowingly passed the halfway mark.

Suddenly, her pupils contracted sharply.

She paused and then played it again.

It was an explosion scene.

A figure flashed by, so familiar.

In the shot, the airwaves rolled, and countless dust particles rushed over. Jiang Cha was shaken back repeatedly, almost having nowhere to escape. Just then, a figure suddenly pounced on her, hugging her tightly, embracing her head, letting her lean against her chest.

Amidst the sound of the bombing, countless gravel flew up. Jiang Cha shivered in the rain, closing her eyes tightly, held tightly by someone.

A shimmer of water passed through Ji Fan’s pupils, and her eyes contracted.

She stared intently at the screen.

The person’s pale face was shockingly covered in red.

Blood.

Drop after drop of blood fell. Looking up, the woman holding her had disheveled hair, slightly damp from the rain, and a bloody hole in her forehead, as if it had been broken open. Blood trailed down, dripping onto the mud.

The broken bricks, which were about to hit Jiang Cha, had been blocked by her.

That person had a face identical to her own.

Ji Fan closed her eyes, frowning in pain. Countless chaotic memory fragments flashed past like shooting stars. It was as if they were suddenly pieced together completely; the cause and effect were clear and understandable.

In that instant, it became quiet. There was light in her eyes; her focus sharpened, and her breathing became smooth.

Ji Fan went home during lunch.

She hung up her bag and searched everywhere for Jiang Cha but didn’t see her. Instead, Uncle Liu, the butler, came out.

“Ms. Ji.”

“Have you seen Jiang Cha?”

Uncle Liu poured her a cup of brewed spring tea and said, “Ms. Jiang went out this morning.”

Ji Fan frowned. Just as she was about to speak, a sound came from the doorway, and a figure appeared in the entrance hall.

Jiang Cha was back.

She was wearing a moon-white dress with thin shoulder straps and a light tulle skirt that landed just above her thighs. Her waist was slender and soft, and her long hair flowed smoothly over her delicate shoulders, cool and dark. Her cheeks, however, were tinged with a faint, warm flush.

Jiang Cha looked at her and smiled lightly.

Her eyebrows were long and gentle, her lips like cinnabar. Her features were soft and quiet, like a meticulously drawn painting, elegant and gentle, faintly blending onto plain silk.

She held up her right hand, which had been hidden behind the door frame: “I went to buy you a pet.”

A small bird perched on her fair hand.

She had felt guilty about letting the rabbit Ji Fan gave her die, so she bought a parrot this morning. Large parrots have a long lifespan. She remembered a documentary saying that a parrot Churchill owned lived for over a hundred years; its owner passed away, but it was still alive, though its feathers were sparse.

“An African Grey Parrot,” Jiang Cha explained. “It’s very smart, has a long lifespan, and is easy to care for.”

The African Grey Parrot was entirely gray, with a circle of white around its eyes and a short, red tail. It stood there looking a little mischievous.

She transferred the Grey Parrot to Ji Fan’s hand. The bird was very well-behaved and wasn’t afraid of strangers. It spread its small claws and stepped onto her fair hand, standing there lively.

It was slightly smaller than a dove, a little heavy, belonging to the large parrot category. The Grey Parrot tilted its head and curiously examined her. After a while, it suddenly started bobbing its head to a beat and cheerfully squawked:

“Baby!”

And it was in a smooth Beijing accent.

The parrot shook its head and sang, “I missed you so much!”

Jiang Cha: “…”

The shop owner had told her that this bird liked pretty women and would call a beautiful girl “baby” when it saw one. Jiang Cha had been teased by it once when she first entered the shop, and now it was Ji Fan’s turn.

The parrot gently rubbed her jaw.

The touch was warm and soft, its feathers fluffy, and its wet, bright eyes were full of affection.

Ji Fan felt a sudden blur in her vision. She chuckled softly, bent her index finger, and scratched its head: “Did you teach it that?”

“No,” Jiang Cha couldn’t help but laugh, “It only knows those two phrases.”

The parrot flapped its wings, flew to the desk lamp to perch, chirped and sang for a moment, and then fell silent.

Ji Fan hugged Jiang Cha tightly.

The faint woody scent spread, crisp and distant, like cedar and agarwood, mesmerizing. As Jiang Cha was embraced, Ji Fan lowered her head, her icy nose tip resting on the crown of her dark hair, and gently kissed it.

Jiang Cha didn’t understand her sudden movement. She looked up and observed for a while.

Was she thinking about the agreement from this morning?

It was possible.

She asked tentatively, whispering, “How about I teach you now?”