Hating Her, While Still Having to Address Her as Mother - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Essence of Envy is Tropism for the Strong

Chapter Introduction: The essence of admiring the strong is appreciation and desire.

This was another year for Jian Yu to attend Huizhi’s “Starlight Gala.” Huizhi is a major domestic video streaming platform—a titan of film, television, and anime. By acquiring a massive library of popular IPs, it has become the go-to app for the nation’s daily binge-watching.

The “Starlight Gala” is an annual interactive carnival hosted by Huizhi, recapping the most memorable works of the past year. It is more than just entertainment; it is a cultural event.

The name “Huizhi” is actually a poetic reference to a variety of lychee, reflecting the platform’s founding philosophy: “Cradling the lychees in our arms, we await only you.” It suggests that as long as you want it, anyone can taste the sweet, succulent fruit.

Huizhi is also a master of “balancing the water.” Fans jokingly call the Starlight Gala the “Pork-Carving Festival”—meaning there’s a piece of the prize for everyone. Consequently, awards are handed out in endless, creative categories.

However, Jian Yu knew in her heart that few of these awards held real prestige. The gala was primarily a stage for high-traffic “Xiao Xian Rou” (young idols) to bask in the limelight.

The entire venue glowed with the support lights of trending male idols. Jian Yu took off her custom Lindberg gold-rimmed glasses; the piercing lights reflecting off the lenses made her dizzy. The fanatical passion of the crowd, expressed through sharp screams, echoed throughout the stadium.

Jian Yu popped a lemon candy into her mouth. The sharp acidity instantly cut through her irritation at the noise.

Originally, she hadn’t wanted to participate in this “pork-carving” event, but her name was on the list. Her manager, Kevin, had practically shoved her into going.

Kevin always used his classic line: “You are truly the most stubborn artist I’ve ever managed. You’re harder to handle than my daughter, Emily.”

“When did you have a daughter? Last time you said I was ‘harder than your son.'”

“Yeah, Emily is my Pomeranian. The ‘son’ I mentioned last time is my Golden Chinchilla cat.”

Jian Yu suppressed the urge to roast him, swallowing her questions about why a Pomeranian was a daughter while a cat was a son.

“K… I’m saying, if you compare me to ‘others’ next time, could they at least be human? Actually, let me rephrase—could they at least be people?”

Kevin crossed his arms. “That’s not important. What’s important is that Jiang Shenwei is also attending the Starlight Gala. Are you sure you want to skip? It might be ‘pork-carving,’ but there’s a difference between eating and being left with nothing.”

Kevin knew exactly how to play Jian Yu. He knew her personality couldn’t stomach being “lesser.”

Born in 1992 in S-City, Jiang Shenwei debuted at fifteen as the lead in Green Plum, quickly rising to prominence with her pure image and excellent acting. Later, her role as the girl-next-door in Red—marked by an ethereal temperament and sophisticated skill—made her a household name.

Jiang Shenwei’s life had been exceptionally smooth, a natural progression of success.

Beyond that, she swept various international and domestic awards. At twenty-nine, she won the Best Actress award at the Berlin International Film Festival, becoming the youngest Chinese actress to hold the title of Berlin Film Queen.

Among all these accolades, only one remained out of reach: the Magnolia Film Award.

There was a long-standing rumor in the industry that the Magnolia was the fairest, cleanest award—one not controlled by capital. Thus, its gold content was extremely high. Winning it represented true, consummate acting prowess.

In recent years, both Jiang Shenwei and Jian Yu had been nominated for the Magnolia multiple times, yet both had consistently walked away empty-handed.

Consequently, rumors swirled that the two were on bad terms due to their rivalry for the award.

Kevin knew Jian Yu’s competitive streak. He knew that in her heart, Jian Yu truly viewed Jiang Shenwei as a rival and was constantly measuring herself against her.

So, Kevin cast a juicy lure, and Jian Yu—just as he expected—replied with singular focus: “As you wish, K. I’ll go. The Starlight Gala.”

A satisfied smile touched Kevin’s lips. Whenever Jian Yu started using inverted sentences—a regional habit she slipped into unconsciously—it was a sign that her competitive fire was at its peak.

…

01

Kevin had managed many artists. If a manager were a fried dough stick (youtiao) sizzling in a vat of oil, K was the oldest, most seasoned stick of them all. She was an expert at reading people, making her job second nature. She could manipulate the temperaments of young artists to ensure they followed her lead.

No doubt, in her eyes, Jian Yu was like a koi fish—a small, beautiful thing swimming in a tiny pond. As long as K held her weakness or her desires, Jian Yu was merely a plaything in her grasp.

Jian Yu sighed. She was well aware of K’s thoughts. This industry was like that: from head to toe, inside and out, every tiny gesture and every word was laced with ulterior motives.

She pulled her gold-rimmed glasses back out of their case. She could hear the host saying: “2024 Starlight Gala: Most Influential Actress…”

The glasses slid back onto the bridge of her high nose at the perfect moment.

Through the lenses, she saw the shifting flashes of the paparazzi following a magnificent figure. Delicate leather wrapped the woman’s toes as she stepped upon the “honor” defined by the secular world. With an elegant, confident stride, she walked out, step by step, treading that mocking melody into Jian Yu’s very bones.

Under the spotlight, Jiang Shenwei was radiant. With practiced ease, she reached out her slender fingers to lightly grip the microphone. At that moment, Jian Yu felt as if the woman was breathing in sync with the stage. What Jiang Shenwei held wasn’t a microphone—it was Jian Yu’s throat, her pulse.

This was supposed to be a lowly “pork-carving” awards night, yet Jiang Shenwei’s every move made the award seem far more prestigious than it was.

“I am very grateful,” she said, her voice soft and light, contrasting with her glamorous appearance.

The fans below—who had initially come to scream for male idols—erupted into sharp cheers.

That was the thing about Jiang Shenwei: she always had incredible “passerby appeal.” She could effortlessly turn any unfavorable situation in her favor. Everyone, even those who weren’t her fans, harbored a natural fondness for her.

It seemed that no one in this world truly hated Jiang Shenwei. No one except Jian Yu herself.

“I am very grateful to Huizhi for giving me this platform… I have always identified with the platform’s philosophy: ‘Cradling the lychees in our arms, we await only you.’ These words apply to everyone. And today, I have come as promised.”

As soon as she finished, the entire stadium was filled with thunderous applause and screams. Fans who were there for others found themselves responding with fervent passion.

The status of female stars in the internal entertainment industry is often awkward. Even if they are famous and brilliant, they often lack the “traffic” of a newly debuted male artist. Because the majority of fanbases are female, they mostly follow male stars.

No matter how hard a woman works, at a gala like this, eyes usually follow the men. You might not see a single support light lit for a female artist.

Yet Jiang Shenwei did it effortlessly. She made those who knew her, those who didn’t, and even fans of other stars respond to her with warmth the moment she spoke.

She could easily achieve what others found impossible. Because she was Jiang Shenwei.

Looking at her, Jian Yu felt as though she were staring into an abyss.

…

02

When the gala ended, Jian Yu sat in her car draped in mink. She scrolled quickly through Weibo. The #1 Hot Search was: “Jiang Shenwei, as promised.”

She kept scrolling. It wasn’t until the 18th spot that she saw her own name.

The 18th Hot Search was: “Jian Yu secretly eats lemon candy.”

She smiled faintly and turned to look out the window. The scenery rushed backward, but she didn’t feel like the car was moving forward at all.

Jian Yu breathed a puff of warm air onto the cold glass and wrote with a slightly reddened fingertip: “hate her”.

A new young assistant sat in the far back of the car, scrolling through “marketing accounts” (gossip blogs). The volume was low, but in the cramped, quiet space, the sound leaked into every corner. Every cell in Jian Yu’s body could hear the gossip-mongering narration.

The assistant, unable to hear clearly, kept fiddling with the volume.

At this inopportune moment, K spoke up. “Yu, we’ve got a job.”

From the assistant’s phone, the marketing account blared: “Acting Jinx Jian Yu—no talent, all capital. The only thing people remember her for isn’t her work, but…”

“What job?” Jian Yu asked.

The assistant’s hand slipped, accidentally maxing out the volume. The phone shrieked: “…but the fact that someone like her actually thinks she can compete with Berlin Film Queen Jiang Shenwei for the Magnolia Award!”

In that exact same breath, K revealed the job: “You and Jiang Shenwei are going to star in a double-female lead drama together. Are you willing…”

The “to” never made it out of Kevin’s mouth; she was silenced by the marketing account’s noise.

Everyone knew Jian Yu and Jiang Shenwei didn’t get along. They finally had a script with great potential, and here was the assistant playing a toxic gossip video. K expected Jian Yu to fly into a rage and reject the role.

To K’s absolute shock, Jian Yu simply smiled and replied, “Sure.”

…

03

Sometimes, Jian Yu couldn’t help but wonder: Why?

Why could Jiang Shenwei always remain high above, presenting herself to the public with such perfect elegance?

The headlines following her were always so dignified, perched at the top of the charts. Meanwhile, Jian Yu was relegated to the bottom, caught in “sneaky” moments, trending for something trivial that people probably assumed she bought herself to stay relevant.

Doubtless, that’s what everyone thought.

Why does a “traffic idol” and “acting jinx” dare to compare herself to a Berlin Film Queen? Why does she dare to “climb” onto Jiang Shenwei’s level?

Thinking of this, Jian Yu couldn’t help but laugh.

That night, after returning home from the Starlight Gala, Jian Yu wasted no time in pushing the person in the house onto the bed.

She straddled Jiang Shenwei, using her index and middle fingers to form a “gun” pointed directly at Jiang Shenwei’s heart. “So, why is that, Jiang Shenwei?”

Yes, her reason for laughing was simple.

She laughed because the “dazzling and invincible” Jiang Shenwei of the public eye was currently beneath her. She laughed because the Jiang Shenwei who supposedly “despised” and “ignored” Jian Yu was currently gazing up at her with eyes full of affection, whispering, “A-Yu…”

Of course, what she found funniest wasn’t just K’s misunderstanding that she attended the gala out of spite.

On the contrary, she didn’t go to see her “rival’s” award ceremony; she went to see her lover’s.

The world knows Jian Yu envies Jiang Shenwei. They don’t know that the essence of envy is a tropism for the strong—and behind that attraction lies appreciation and desire.

Among a hundred things to laugh about, the true source of her mirth was that everyone thought she was there to see Jiang Shenwei fail, yet not a single soul realized she was there to see her love.

Sometimes Jian Yu even imagined: if they were ever caught, if the truth came out, the headline would probably be: “If you can’t beat your rival, can’t you at least sleep with her?” It would surely hit #1 on the Hot Search at midnight.