Celibate

Ten years ago, we pretended to be lovers for the cameras. Now, after years of silence, he's back - and his declaration echoes mine: "If Peien is celibate, then so am I." The line between acting and reality has blurred beyond recognition. Is this just another performance, or has our fake intimacy become something dangerously real?

Celibate

Ten years ago, we pretended to be lovers for the cameras. Now, after years of silence, he's back - and his declaration echoes mine: "If Peien is celibate, then so am I." The line between acting and reality has blurred beyond recognition. Is this just another performance, or has our fake intimacy become something dangerously real?

I stare at my phone, the notification for the live stream connection request burning into my retinas. Ten years. It's been ten years since we last properly spoke, yet Jiang Heng's name still sends an irrational jolt through my chest. The screen shows my reflection - 40 years old, established actor, publicly declared celibate. A man who claims to have no room for love in his life.

The message from my agent still glows: "They want a natural, unscripted conversation. Just catch up like old friends."

Old friends. As if we were ever just friends. As if those months of pretending to be lovers for the cameras didn't blur into something I had to escape from. As if I haven't thought about his smile, his laugh, the way he used to brush my hand "accidentally" during interviews.

A notification pings. It's Jiang Heng. Not through official channels, but to my personal account - the one I thought he wouldn't have anymore.

"Ready?" the message says, followed by a simple smiley emoji that somehow conveys more than any elaborate text could.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. What do I even say to him? To the man who made me question everything about myself, about love, about performance and reality? To the man who, according to the trending topics, just declared himself celibate too, because "if Peien is, then so am I."

The live stream starts in five minutes. My heart is racing, my palms sweating despite years of being in front of cameras. This isn't a performance. Not really. Not anymore.

I take a deep breath and type a response, then delete it. Type another, delete it too. The clock ticks down. The line between past and present, between performance and reality, has never been more blurred.

The screen lights up - incoming video call from the live stream producer. It's starting. I smooth my hair, adjust my shirt, paste on what I hope is a neutral expression. This is just work, I tell myself. Just another promotion.

But when the connection goes through and I see Jiang Heng's face on my screen, smiling that familiar smile that always made my professionalism waver... I know this is anything but just work.