After the Agreement, the Aloof Movie Queen is Chasing Me All Over the Internet - Chapter 21

My ex-girlfriend’s bed was unexpectedly peaceful.

And very soft.

Du Yaozhi had locked the door and wedged a chair against it, completely cutting off any contact with Shen Qing. But the lingering scent on the pillow a blend of lavender and a cool, crisp fragrance, had a calming effect. She curled up under the duvet and fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

If it hadn’t been for the morning sun after the rain, shining so brightly it reminded her of the way Shen Qing used to look after a bath…

The air back then would be thick with a warm, familiar scent; Shen Qing’s damp fingertips would gently work the shower gel into a lather, the tips of her hair soaked, the residual bubbles on her porcelain skin looking like shards of wet moonlight.

If not for that sudden memory, Du Yaozhi wouldn’t have bolted awake.

Propping herself up on the mattress, she reached for her phone and squinted at the time.

Not bad. She was awake three minutes before her alarm.

Having stayed up until the early hours, she wasn’t fully conscious yet. She shuffled into the bathroom on pure instinct, but when she saw her old toothbrush still sitting in the cup, her heart skipped a beat.

Last night, she had unwrapped a new one; it had been too dark to notice there was another cup right there. In the morning light, it was glaringly obvious.

**

Du Yaozhi didn’t use the old brush, but her mind was racing.

She had been so preoccupied with hating Shen Qing that she hadn’t considered the possibility of there being “hidden circumstances.”

If Shen Qing simply wanted to end things and give her the cold shoulder, why hadn’t she kicked her out?

Du Yaozhi knew Shen Qing. Given her noble, aloof nature, she would never tolerate someone she loathed living in her house. Furthermore, during the time Shen Qing ignored her, various assistants would inexplicably show up to look after her every need, ensuring she had the best living conditions. Was this also something Shen Qing merely “permitted”?

Was it her permission, or her arrangement?

Du Yaozhi had no way of knowing. She didn’t pluck the bouquet of hatred just yet, but she did plant a seed of doubt.

After freshening up and changing out of the pyjamas, she neatly folded the borrowed clothes and the bedding before pushing the door open. She planned to head to the kitchen for a glass of warm water to settle her stomach.

“You’re awake?” A cool voice sounded as Shen Qing closed the fridge and turned around.

“No schedule today?” Du Yaozhi asked, surprised to see her so early.

“Just not this morning.” Shen Qing sliced a lemon and dropped it into a glass. “I need to prepare for the upcoming shoot, so the team pushed back my other commitments.”

“Breakfast? I’m making noodles,” Shen Qing said, glancing at her.

Who would dare compliment Shen Qing’s cooking?

Du Yaozhi’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

Her ex-girlfriend was perfect in almost every way, except in the kitchen. She suspected that, aside from herself, no one knew that this “untouchable flower of the high peaks,” the industry’s perfect, moon-like Best Actress, was actually a terrible cook.

Shen Qing used to tell her that her dishes tasted exactly like the food at the restaurants she went to as a child. Back then, to hide the fact that she’d never been to such high-end establishments, Du Yaozhi would pretend the food was delicious, forcing down every bite.

She couldn’t imagine how Shen Qing’s privileged childhood had been sustained by such flavours.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to flatter Shen Qing anymore.

Du Yaozhi took a lazy step back and smiled. “No thanks, Teacher Shen. I have to maintain my figure for the audition. I’ve already made lunch plans with a friend.”

Shen Qing looked up. “Zhou Yue?”

“I don’t think you need to know that.” Du Yaozhi went to the sofa to retrieve her bag.

She bent over to grab it, and the yellow-covered book inside made a dull thud. She quickly covered it with her printed script excerpts to avoid any further drama.

The storm had passed, and the warm sunlight slanted through the windows. Before leaving, Du Yaozhi habitually checked the coffee table to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.

The sunlight happened to hit the red string. It lay there on the table, solitary and ignored all night.

Du Yaozhi froze for a moment. Her brain was still in “startup mode,” and it took the warmth of the sun to finally wake her up. She snatched it up and stuffed it into her bag.

It was hers, after all, she’d traded a night at her ex’s house for it. She might as well keep it. Not that she’d ever see it again.

“I’m off.” Du Yaozhi turned the door handle and tossed the disposable slippers into the bin.

“Goodbye,” Shen Qing called out from the kitchen, her voice faint.

It was unclear if she meant until we meet again or farewell forever.

Du Yaozhi leaned against the doorframe to put on her heels. Looking up, she could see Shen Qing upstairs, holding her lemon water, sitting alone and desolate at her desk. Shen Qing kept her eyes down, silently watching the lemon slices unfurl in the water, her long lashes fluttering low.

Du Yaozhi felt that if there truly was another possibility, she shouldn’t push Shen Qing too far. If she pushed too hard, Shen Qing would shut down completely, and then no amount of maneuvering would get the truth out of her.

For Du Yaozhi, her own interests always came first.

So, she called out, “Shen Qing.”

“Yes?” Shen Qing blinked and looked down. “Is there something else, Miss Du?”

“Zhou Yue and I aren’t together. Don’t go misunderstanding me.”

Du Yaozhi left the words hanging abruptly and walked out without a backward glance, closing the door behind her. It was so sudden it almost felt like she had turned back specifically to explain herself while pretending not to care.

The faint sound of heels clicking on the pavement drifted in, followed by the sound of a car engine starting.

Shen Qing paused, watching Du Yaozhi’s departing figure, and allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.

She’s still so cute.

And, notably, she didn’t seem to feel any obvious repulsion.

Shen Qing tapped the side of her glass. Although the situation wasn’t fully resolved and she couldn’t speak out yet, she now had the power to protect Du Yaozhi.

She might as well get into character a bit more. And keep Du Yaozhi by her side for good.

The next few days passed in a blur.

Du Yaozhi threw herself entirely into the script. In the mornings, she analyzed Director Chen Yinqing’s past works; at noon, she practiced her posture and movement; and at night, she rehearsed her character in front of the mirror until the early hours. Before bed, she wrote character biographies, forcing her brain to stay in character even while she slept.

On the day of the audition, Gong Lin drove her to the film city, offering last-minute advice.

Director Chen’s Jìn Luò was not just an “S+” potential masterpiece; it was the focal point for every investor and artist in the industry. The crowds consisted of staff and actors with either powerful backgrounds or impressive filmographies. Someone like Du Yaozhi, notoriously famous for all the wrong reasons and lacking an agency, was a rare sight.

This was a fierce competition. The cruelty lay in the fact that it offered no scraps to the weak. If she lost, she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up in the industry for a very long time.

“Scared?” Gong Lin asked.

Du Yaozhi smiled, the beauty mark at the corner of her eye quivering slightly. “If I were that easy to scare, my name wouldn’t be all over the trending searches.”

Everything went smoothly during the preparation, save for one minor accident.

The beaded bracelet Du Yaozhi had prepared for her audition snapped, scattering beads everywhere. Gong Lin helped her clear them up. “I don’t know where that freak wind came from. I’ll go to a prop studio or a gift shop and find you a new one.”

“There’s no time. My beads were custom-made to suit the character. Anything I buy now won’t have the same effect.” Du Yaozhi put the fragments into her bag.

Gong Lin noticed she didn’t look panicked. “So, what do you plan to do?”

“It’s fine. I’ll fight fire with fire.” Du Yaozhi pulled something from her bag, looped it around her wrist, and hurried into the waiting area.

Watching her disappear behind the curtain, Gong Lin frowned in confusion. “How is a bit of red string supposed to be ‘fire’?”

When Du Yaozhi entered the audition area, several people were already waiting, including her arch-rival, Xu Wanxin. Absolute silence was required; it was basic etiquette and part of the assessment. Some directors were so strict they would pass over an actor simply for being on their phone in the waiting area.

Knowing the rules, Du Yaozhi focused entirely on her script.

A staff member called Xu Wanxin’s name. Xu entered with a beaming smile but came out again shortly after. Her nails were dug deep into her palms, her facial expression almost crumbling. It was clear she hadn’t received positive feedback.

The average time inside was fifteen minutes; Xu Wanxin had been out in less than seven. In the industry, that was a clear negative signal; the judges simply weren’t interested.

Even though Xu was the heiress of Huasheng, the investors usually would have asked a few more questions out of respect for her father, regardless of her acting. Could it be that someone inside had already “pre-decided” her fate?

Du Yaozhi narrowed her eyes, discreetly scanning the faces of those around her.

“Next, number 53.”

Du Yaozhi checked her tag, stood up without a word, and walked into the audition room.

As she reached the designated spot, the cameras swivelled to face her. “Begin,” Director Chen said.

Du Yaozhi nodded. The heavy lights enveloped her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her entire aura had shifted. Her gaze was instantly filled with grief and struggle; her fingertips trembled slightly.

“If opening that chest of desire leads to eternal damnation, then why, Immortal Sovereign, do you insist on this path?”

Her voice carried a suppressed tremor. Her throat moved slightly as her body stumbled forward half a step, as if desperately demanding an explanation from someone invisible.

“Love… what is love, that it is worth sacrificing your divinity and paying with your immortal bones?” Her eyes were clouded with confusion and pain. Her fingers suddenly tightened, clutching the red string at her wrist, her thumb grazing it.

“No… You and I share the same heavenly blood. Our kinsmen are everywhere. How can I stand by and watch you go alone to that treacherous forbidden land?”

She paused for two seconds. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held them back with sheer willpower.

Hearing an imaginary response, she seemed to lose all hope. Her body shook slightly, and she bit her lip, locking away her burgeoning emotions.

“So that’s how it is… it seems Lian Lan did not know her place. I overstepped… Since that is the case, I shall no longer stand in your way.” Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, as if the last of her strength had been drained. Her fingers reluctantly let go of the red string, leaving a faint mark on her wrist where it had been gripped.

“Farewell.”

She fell silent for two seconds, the corners of her eyes still flushed pink, as if the character herself was trembling her way out of the scene. In that moment, her beauty mark quivered, and a single tear fell, perfectly a reflection of endless struggle and pain that turned into a restrained sigh upon touching reality.

When she looked up again, she had fully returned to her normal state, stepping out of the scene with a grace that stunned everyone in the room.

The room was silent for a moment, followed by scattered applause. Director Chen’s eyes lit up at this talented new face and she nodded in approval.

“Have you participated in any films or TV shows with similar themes?” one judge asked immediately.

“No,” Du Yaozhi replied, her heart tightening.

Upon hearing “no,” the investors fell silent. However, Chen Yinqing felt Du Yaozhi’s performance had been deeply moving. She called out, “Step forward a few paces. Let’s get a close-up of your eyes.”

Du Yaozhi approached, expertly controlling her eye muscles to make her gaze appear clearer on camera. But as she moved closer, a woman who had been shrouded in the shadows of the lights leaned forward.

The cold light hit half of her face, perfectly revealing her exquisite features.

Du Yaozhi’s heart hammered against her ribs. She knew this face all too well.

Shen Qing?

Why is she here? Didn’t the list say she wouldn’t be? Didn’t she say she was preparing for a different shoot?

Du Yaozhi forced herself to stay calm, processing the sudden information. There was only one conclusion.

Shen Qing was going to be her “teacher” yet again.

“Miss Du.”

Seeing that Shen Qing was interested, the other judges went quiet. The only sound was the rustle of paper. The air was so still you could hear a pin drop.

“Please, go ahead,” Du Yaozhi smiled, looking at Shen Qing.

To prepare for the judges’ questions, she had stayed up all night—studying everything from the nuances of same-sex themes to micro-expressions. No matter what Shen Qing threw at her, as long as it was professional, she could handle it.

But Shen Qing clearly wasn’t playing by the rules.

Her tone was calm, as if discussing a routine professional matter, but her deep, dark eyes seemed to pierce right through Du Yaozhi. “While most people chose beaded bracelets as Lian Lan’s token, you alone chose this red string. It’s a very creative choice. However, in my eyes, this red string feels more suited to the character of Wen Jinyue, whose fate is intertwined with others.”

“So, I’d like to hear your reason for choosing it.”

Shen Qing’s gaze fixed on the red string on Du Yaozhi’s wrist. She twirled her pen idly in the air. “Or perhaps”

“Does this red string have some special meaning to you, Miss Du?”

Du Yaozhi’s polite smile nearly froze on her face.

Support