Hating Her, While Still Having to Address Her as Mother - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Gentle Village

Chapter Introduction: Fragrant and Sweet

The dinner was set at a restaurant in Qinhai, located in a relatively secluded area. The establishment operated strictly by reservation, requiring booking days in advance. The beauty of such a place lay in its controlled guest flow.

It was perfectly suited for a dinner party like theirs, which required a high degree of privacy.

Jian Yu observed the decor—low-key yet elegant. It was a traditional “hermitage-style” bistro, designed to create an atmosphere of tranquility and peace. Its purpose was to provide guests with a sense of being far from the madding crowd, hidden away from the world.

Jian Yu lowered her eyes. This meant that Jiang Shenwei had booked this dinner days ago.

Back when she made the reservation, had Jiang Shenwei already decided that the co-lead for this drama would be her?

“The Wagyu here is high quality; I think you’ll like it,” Jiang Shenwei whispered to Jian Yu, stealthily squeezing her hand. However, the moment she heard movement behind them, she withdrew her hand instantly.

Jian Yu turned around. Several figures she vaguely recognized were stepping out of a car. Jiang Shenwei naturally stepped forward to exchange pleasantries.

The man shaking hands and laughing with Jiang Shenwei was likely the director, Zheng Mingwei.

Zheng Mingwei was known for having a bit of a temper, though the industry usually euphemized his stubbornness as “the spirit of craftsmanship.”

He had become famous early in his career for his exceptional artistic vision and innovative techniques. His works, such as A Sprig of Red and Symphony of the Epoch, had won numerous awards. He had not only swept major prizes at domestic and international film festivals but was also hailed as a titan of the industry for his profound social insights and masterful narrative skills.

Consequently, even though actors who joined his crew were often scolded to the point of exhaustion, countless performers still clamored to star in his productions.

Jiang Shenwei had collaborated with him several times. Even the notoriously picky Zheng Mingwei was full of praise for her acting. In an early interview, the usually stingy director couldn’t help but remark: “She is an actress possessed of true spiritual luminosity.”

As these thoughts surfaced, the emotions Jian Yu had suppressed deep in her bones came churning back like a tidal wave. In the moment she looked at Jiang Shenwei, her gaze held an emotion she couldn’t even decode herself.

Jiang Shenwei, however, noticed nothing. She naturally guided Zheng Mingwei over to Jian Yu. “This is Jian Yu, the one I mentioned to you before.”

“Yes, I’ve heard much of your name.”

“Hello, Director Zheng.”

After a brief handshake, Zheng Mingwei suggested they head inside to avoid prying eyes and the risk of being spotted by paparazzi.

The group filed into the private room, seating themselves according to industry status. By right, Jiang Shenwei should have sat next to Zheng Mingwei, but she chose to sit beside Jian Yu.

Zheng Mingwei was the first to speak at the table; he seemed eager to gauge Jian Yu.

“Teacher Jiang, aren’t you going to introduce Teacher Jian to us?” On the surface, Zheng Mingwei was addressing Jiang Shenwei, but he was actually putting Jian Yu on the spot.

He needed to know if Jian Yu truly met his casting standards as Jiang Shenwei had claimed.

Zheng Mingwei didn’t necessarily require his actors to be trending idols; he looked for acting ability and that first-impression “eye-bond”—whether the actor fit the character’s aura. But if someone lacked both, why wouldn’t he just hire a trending idol? Why lower his standards for a mere “vase”?

“Mm-hm. The person herself is right here. Wouldn’t it be better to ask her directly?” Jiang Shenwei clearly caught the implication in Zheng Mingwei’s words.

“I…” Jian Yu hesitated.

Zheng Mingwei slowly poured wine from a glass decanter into his cup. “Teacher Jian, have you read the script? What are your personal thoughts and insights regarding the character Su Zhixi? If you were to portray her, what form would your interpretation take?”

To be honest, when Jiang Shenwei recommended Jian Yu, Zheng Mingwei had been quite surprised. After all, rumors of their discord were rampant online. Privately, Zheng and Jiang were friends, and he had never seen Jian Yu in Jiang’s social circles.

Therefore, he found it inexplicable that Jiang Shenwei would suggest the “Acting Jinx” for the role of Su Zhixi.

Jian Yu’s reputation in recent years was poor. Though she stayed in the public eye through “black-red” traffic, most people—aside from her rabid fanbase—remembered her only for her pretty face and her perceived “climbing” onto Jiang Shenwei’s level.

He had even looked over her portfolio and remarked, “After her debut in Initial, she hasn’t had any works of note. To be frank, looking at clips from her recent projects, I didn’t think she could play Su Zhixi.”

Jiang Shenwei crossed her left leg over her right; she enjoyed that posture.

“A good actor needs a good work to achieve greatness, and a good work needs a good actor to bring it to life.”

“What she lacks isn’t experience; what she has always lacked is a project that fits her.”

Jiang Shenwei smiled. “I believe no one understands the phrase ‘a rough jade hides its brilliance, waiting for a discerning eye’ better than you, Director Zheng.”

Jiang Shenwei was a woman whose career had been at a peak since the moment she debuted. Though there were twists and turns, her capital and backing complemented each other perfectly; she naturally moved faster than others.

Born into such success, she was described politely as having “integrity, a sense of self, and a romantic, unconstrained nature.” Less politely, she was seen as supercilious and relatively arrogant.

Few people could catch her eye. Not even a grain of sand could enter her vision.

And yet, such a person was actively endorsing someone, calling her “rough jade.”

Even if this “rough jade” was just an ordinary stone, Zheng Mingwei felt he had to see it for himself.

Jian Yu wasn’t surprised by the question. She had come prepared, yet she knew that the more open-ended the question, the harder it was to hit the “standard answer.” The Su Zhixi she perceived might not be the one Zheng Mingwei wanted.

“After reading the script, I personally believe the tone of The Story of Me and My Stepmother revolves around several elements. The major backdrop is a small town, a specific era. But the core discussion always returns to the ‘family of origin.'”

“Therefore, I see Su Zhixi as a character starved for love. Her most obvious traits are, first, rebellion; second, stubbornness; and third, a refusal to be disciplined.”

As Jian Yu spoke, she caught a glimpse of Jiang Shenwei out of the corner of her eye. Jiang Shenwei looked bored, loosely cupping her wine glass, her pinky finger tracing an arc as she absentmindedly swirled the liquor.

Jian Yu’s heart was tied to Jiang Shenwei, wondering about the motives behind her actions, even as she interpreted Su Zhixi.

“According to Erik Erikson’s stages of psychosocial development, adolescents are in the ‘identity vs. role confusion’ stage. They are exploring ‘who am I’ and trying to establish independence. This exploration often leads to resisting the expectations of parents or society.”

“So, her early positioning is that of a rebel in her ‘ego’ subjective phase.” At this point, Jian Yu let out a silent sigh. Though faint, everyone at the table heard it.

“But I wonder… is that really it?” Jian Yu asked rhetorically.

As soon as she finished speaking, she snatched the wine glass from Jiang Shenwei’s hand and hurled it onto the floor. The magenta liquid sprayed everywhere, ruthlessly staining the pure white tablecloth. Everyone present was shocked by her sudden outburst.

Jian Yu turned to Jiang Shenwei, her voice sharp and harsh: “You destroyed my family, you destroyed my everything, and now you can sit here without a change in expression? By what right?”

The guests were stunned. They knew the two didn’t get along, but they hadn’t realized the relationship was this toxic.

The producer stood up to intervene, but Zheng Mingwei reached out to stop him. “Wait.”

“I don’t want your cheap tenderness! I don’t want your hot-and-cold glances! What I want isn’t some hollow, hypocritical familial love.”

Jian Yu lifted the other woman’s chin, her tone icy and laced with resentment. “What I want isn’t a mother. I want you, Shen Manchi.”

Jiang Shenwei sat there with a half-smile, resting her hand on Jian Yu’s. “Naturally. Whatever you want, Mother will give you.”

She had picked up the scene without a hitch.

Zheng Mingwei was the first to clap, followed by the others as they realized Jian Yu had been performing as Su Zhixi.

The explosive power of an actor happens in an instant. One second, she was an outsider analyzing a role; the next, she was the character.

The Su Zhixi portrayed by Jian Yu was exactly what Zheng Mingwei wanted—the high-spiritedness of youth, like a sour lemon with a twisted hint of sweetness. It perfectly satisfied an Asian director’s sensibilities regarding same-sex themes: “tartness,” “entanglement,” “unease,” and a fragmented sense of “redemption.”

Jian Yu was smart. Before coming to this dinner, she knew she lacked a solid portfolio. Zheng Mingwei was here to test her. Perhaps afterward, if he was in a good mood or doing it for Jiang Shenwei’s sake, he would give her an audition.

But since Jiang Shenwei had already helped her up the first step, she had to climb the second step herself. Because Jiang Shenwei wouldn’t like a useless person.

She knew that Jiang Shenwei’s love for her was just like Shen Manchi’s in the script—a cruel tenderness, a love that kept its distance, a love that would abandon you the moment you lost the quality she found interesting.

Jian Yu cleared her throat. “I personally feel that Su Zhixi is conscious of her rebellious nature. Whether it’s the rebellion or the obedience in the script, all her actions are designed to trigger Shen Manchi’s attention.”

“It is a conscious rebellion and an unconscious longing for proximity.”

“That is my insight into Su Zhixi. I apologize for the sudden outburst; I hope I didn’t spoil the mood.” Jian Yu smiled apologetically.

No one blamed her. Instead, they expressed varying degrees of admiration for her sudden transformation and how quickly she entered the state.

Jian Yu turned a superficial apology on her lips. “I’m sorry, Teacher Jiang. I broke your glass without warning.”

Picking up a napkin, Jian Yu leaned over slightly to help wipe the wine stains from Jiang Shenwei’s white dress.

Jiang Shenwei said it was no problem with great gentleness, but she watched Jian Yu intently as the other woman leaned in.

When Jian Yu’s head was inches away, Jiang Shenwei gripped Jian Yu’s wrist tightly under the table and whispered into her ear: “Bad girl.”

When Jian Yu turned to see her expression, Jiang Shenwei had already let go. She sat there dignified and composed, looking straight ahead at the guests and the wine.

Jian Yu thought that no one was better suited to play Shen Manchi than Jiang Shenwei. Her surface was a soft, airtight veil that could smother anyone who fell into her cradle of “love.”

A gentle village—fragrant and soft, sweet and crisp.

After Jian Yu’s assistant helped clean the scene, everyone stood up to toast.

When Zheng Mingwei said, “A pleasure to work with you, Teacher Jiang and Teacher Jian,” Jian Yu knew the casting was final.

However, Jian Yu didn’t notice that Jiang Shenwei, standing beside her, was smiling even more brightly than she was. It was the genuine smile of a child who had just received a new toy.