After Being Dumped by the Film Empress, My Acting Skills Soared - Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Gao Hui thought that way, but she wasn’t foolish enough to actually believe that big data had pushed her search history to Jiang Yan.

The truth was, she didn’t know what Jiang Yan was playing at.

Looking at Shao Niannian, Gao Hui knew they weren’t together, but as for whether there had been any “substantial progress”… that was hard to say. Because she didn’t know the inside story, Gao Hui didn’t dare answer recklessly. Sending a sticker felt too weird, so she sent a simple, clear question mark to signal her confusion.

Fortunately, Jiang Yan didn’t just drop the address and vanish into the shadows. Seeing that Gao Hui didn’t get the hint, Jiang Yan pursed her lips, sitting uncomfortably at home as she drafted her response. She deleted and rewrote several times before finally losing patience and stating bluntly: “This doctor is very famous in surgery. Take her for a check-up.”

Falling from a height and hitting her head meant one check-up wasn’t enough; a follow-up was crucial.

Gao Hui frowned, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She typed a few words, then deleted them all. “Thank you for the trouble. Should I tell Niannian?”

Gao Hui knew that if Jiang Yan really wanted Niannian to know, she would have messaged her directly. But being a middleman wasn’t easy. Gao Hui couldn’t tell who was chasing whom, nor did she know what had truly happened on set over the past few months. Since asking Niannian wouldn’t yield a straight answer, she decided to hide a little and reveal a little to both sides.

Jiang Yan’s reply came quickly: “No need to tell her. Just say you booked it.”

“Tsk.”

Gao Hui let out a soft click of her tongue and sent an “OK” sticker.

She kept the secret even after the follow-up was finished. After a full-body scan at the private hospital and the doctor’s repeated instructions for Niannian to rest, they were cleared to leave. Private hospitals were less crowded than public ones, and with VIP treatment, Niannian didn’t even need a mask. It was a green light all the way back to the van.

Lately, except for Huo Lv, all of Gao Hui’s other artists were either on set or had been sent off to a wilderness survival show. Niannian had glanced at that script; all she could say was that anyone who accepted a wilderness survival show was a true heroine. The production’s note “We have purchased massive insurance policies for everyone” was enough to make Niannian back away three times over.

Gao Hui turned on the AC and turned off the radio. “By the way, Director Wang got back to us. There’s a slot at the China Film International Cinema in the Changyuan Mall here in the city. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from home—very close. If you agree, they’ll post the official announcement on Weibo.”

“Which day?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Niannian thought for a moment. She could spend today and tomorrow revisiting the novel and film versions of Nights of Indiscretion. If she was asked questions, she’d be prepared. She nodded. “Okay. Is Jiang Yan going to this session?”

If Jiang Yan didn’t go, the promotion for Nights of Indiscretion would certainly feel a bit ironic.

Nights of Indiscretion was Jiang Yan’s career-defining work—a story of adolescent love, a collision between a “bad girl” and a “good girl.” When the movie poster first dropped years ago, it ignited a media storm. No one expected Jiang Yan, who was constantly plagued by rumors about her sexuality, to actually star in a same-sex romance, let alone a campus film.

The gossip surrounding Jiang Yan and her co-star at the time pushed the movie to the center of public discourse. The drama on and off-screen mirrored each other. In the film, the two characters shared a tragic ending; meeting in the darkness only to reunite under the starry sky of the northeast, speechless. Off-screen, Jiang Yan’s brief, three-month romance with the other lead seemed to reinforce the film’s theme: tragedy.

“Director Wang didn’t say,” Gao Hui mused, rubbing her chin. “Probably not? From what I see on the official Weibo, Jiang Yan isn’t listed among the lead actors for the offline events.”

“Oh.” Niannian twirled a strand of hair, her brow furrowing slightly.

Since leaving the small town, the intersections between Jiang Yan and Shao Niannian had dwindled to nearly zero. Their dynamic had reverted to the old “we don’t know each other” mode. Wen Jing had been angry at Niannian for a few days, but once her temper cooled, she came back to gossip about their progress.

When she received a “zero” as a response, Wen Jing was rendered speechless and seemed to give up on Niannian entirely. Meanwhile, Gu Yizhi, who was looking for information, hadn’t replied yet.

Seeing the “little ancestor” in the back seat with her head down and expression hidden, Gao Hui felt her heart tighten. She asked, “Are you still going? If not…”

“I’m going. Of course I’m going,” Niannian said firmly. “I have to. I already promised Director Wang. It would be wrong not to go.”

“Alright.”

The car started and pulled out of the underground garage.

Niannian found Jiang Yan in her WeChat list. Their last conversation had ended before the confession. The days of silence in between felt like the “I’m sorry” Jiang Yan had uttered before hanging up—polite on the surface, but deeply wounding.

Niannian took a deep breath and decided to learn from Gu Yizhi: When chasing someone, you have to be thick-skinned.

She messaged Jiang Yan: “Good afternoon, have you eaten? Will you be going to the offline promotion for the re-release of Nights of Indiscretion? Director Wang invited me and I agreed. If you don’t want me to go, you can reply with a 1.”

The message traveled across half the city to a phone lying flat on a coffee table. The vibration startled Jiang Yan, who was lying on the sofa. She turned down the volume of the opera playing on TV, checked the phone, and bolted upright. Her hand caught on her hair, pulling out a few strands and making her hiss in pain.

Shao Niannian’s WeChat was one of the few not set to “Do Not Disturb,” so the red notification dot at the very top of the list was glaringly obvious.

Jiang Yan sat up, thinking the question was too difficult to answer. She shifted into a more comfortable position, lying prone on the sofa. Her legs dangled off the edge, her nightgown sliding down as she hooked her feet, revealing pale calves and elegant ankles.

Looking at the message, Niannian clearly didn’t know she wasn’t planning to go. Originally, the reply would have been simple: Niannian’s presence has nothing to do with her. If she believed that, she could just flip the phone over and pretend she hadn’t seen it.

But her head began to throb. It felt like she had to go.

Reply with a “1”? Jiang Yan mentally spat at herself; that would be dishonest. Though she was surprised by the message, she was actually happy. During the screening, she wouldn’t be able to see Niannian in the seats, but during the Q&A afterward, she could stand on stage and look at everyone—including her—openly.

If she didn’t reply, that silent encouragement would make her previous rejection look like a fool’s move. Jiang Yan groaned, burying her face in a soft pillow. This was too complicated; it felt like her brain was growing.

After much deliberation, she played it safe and sent a single period: “.” Then, she took an even safer step and called her manager.

The call was answered immediately. Jiang Yan didn’t even give her manager time to say hello. “Ask Director Wang if it’s too late to officially announce my attendance at the offline promotion.”

The manager, who had recently finished turning down Director Wang and had to pull strings to offer a different deal as an apology: “?”

If she had been holding a frying pan instead of a fountain pen, she would have sprinted to Jiang Yan’s house and whacked her twice. “Are you sick?” the manager snapped. “Do you think I have too little to do, so you’re adding to my workload?”

“Go or don’t go! Why change your mind every three days? Do you think you’re the only artist I have to manage?” The manager’s frustration reached its peak. If Jiang Yan dared to talk back, she was going to hang up.

Jiang Yan lifted her head from the pillow. “I’ll take an extra big project this year and give you two more percentage points from my cut. I’m conceding profit to you.”

“…” The manager swallowed her insults. “I get to pick the project type?”

“Yes,” Jiang Yan compromised. “Oh, why didn’t you say so! It’s a small thing! Leave it to me. I’ll get back to you in ten minutes. Just wait for the news.” The manager hung up instantly, already calculating her extra millions in commission. With enough money, she could make even a ghost pull a millstone.

As soon as the call ended, a message from Niannian popped up on Jiang Yan’s screen. “Is that a yes or a no? I need an answer.”

Jiang Yan looked at the message, steeled her heart, and tossed the phone aside. She pulled up the thin duvet that had fallen to the floor and went back to watching her black-and-white movie. She had no intention of replying further.

One proactive move was enough. Give too many, and people will mistake the end of winter for the arrival of spring. Little did Niannian know, it was currently early summer. And the sweltering heat of early summer hadn’t even begun.

Niannian stared at the unresponsive chat box and fell into a slump. Upon getting home, she immediately projected Nights of Indiscretion onto her TV. Seeing that familiar face on screen eased her sense of loss and hurt. She sat cross-legged on the floor, grooming her cat while watching a younger, more innocent version of the face that haunted her dreams.

Her phone on the table flashed with two new messages. One from Wen Jing, and one from Gu Yizhi. Both said the same thing:

“Mefeirios is hosting a celebration gala soon. They’ve invited Jiang Yan. If you want to run into her, you need to find a way onto that Mefeirios guest list.”