After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 73

The higher the online buzz around this show grew, the happier the production team became. Who cared whether people were talking about An He or anyone else? As long as there was discussion, it meant attention—and attention meant ratings. Once the show aired, viewership was the least of their worries.

The producers might have been carefree, but the biggest investor’s wife, An He, couldn’t sleep that night. No matter how she tossed and turned, her mind wouldn’t stop spinning. It had been so many years—she’d tried every way imaginable to make a comeback, and yet not one had succeeded. Could it really be, like that fortune-teller once said, that she should be content with an uneventful, peaceful life? That fame and stardom were fated to forever elude her?

Tears welled up in her eyes at the thought. Beside her, her wife slept soundly, completely oblivious to An He’s insomnia and restless movements. Finally, An He lost patience and shook her awake.

“If this time I still don’t succeed,” she said, voice quivering, “should I just go jump off a building?”

Her words came out so jumbled and out of context that the just-awakened President Qi blinked in confusion.

“Didn’t succeed in what?”

After a brief moment, comprehension dawned. Of everything they’d been working on recently, the only “failure” that came to mind was their ongoing attempt to have a baby.

Qi had always been levelheaded about that. She knew better than to expect instant results—it was something that required time, patience, and luck. Even their doctor had advised them to relax and not stress too much about it.

“If it doesn’t work out this time,” Qi murmured in her cool, low voice, “we’ll just try again next time.”

When it came to An He, Qi was nothing like the cold, intimidating businesswoman the outside world imagined.

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself,” Qi added, in a rare show of tenderness.

An He almost burst into tears again. She knew Qi Yu was already incredibly good to her—if she asked for the stars, Qi would try to bring them down; if she wanted the moon, Qi would find a way to hang it in their window. She’d truly lived up to the promises she made back when they were dating: As long as I can do it, as long as you want it, I’ll make it happen.

To be fair, if their roles were reversed, An He doubted she could be as patient and indulgent. Qi Yu had no interest in showbiz, yet kept throwing money at An He’s endless comeback attempts without complaint.

“You’re really too good to me,” An He said softly, cupping Qi’s sharp, stoic face before leaning in for a kiss. “Don’t worry, if I still can’t make it big this time, I’ll give up for good.”

Qi blinked. “Give up what?”

Before she could ask further, An He, still teary-eyed and sentimental, suddenly started tugging at her own pajamas.

Qi: “?”

When Qi didn’t immediately react, An He scolded, “You shameless thing! You’re this nice to me and expect nothing in return?”

Comprehension flickered in Qi’s eyes, and with a quiet sigh, she rolled over—what followed lasted two or three hours.

By the end, An He was utterly exhausted, too weak to even open her eyes. “You know,” she mumbled, “you really didn’t lose out. Sure, you spent a lot of money, but you got a wife like me out of it.”

Qi, who had quite literally come out on top, agreed obediently: “You’re right.”

An He laughed. “Hahaha! Just you wait—I’m going to make you the wife of a Best Actress!”

“Okay.”

“Can’t you ever say more than two words?” An He kicked her lightly, half-annoyed, half-amused.

Qi thought for a moment, then said seriously, “Looking forward to it.”

An He froze—then burst out laughing. “Hahahahahahaha!”

Finally, The Story of Wives began filming amid enormous anticipation. Netizens were so excited they joked about setting off fireworks to celebrate.

Early that morning, the production team split into four groups, each assigned to one of the four couples.

The first two couples were older and easier to film. One pair had been married for twenty-five years: the husband, Hou Jue, was a stage actor; his wife, Xu Xin, was an active-duty military officer.

The second pair were veterans of love, married forty years: Professor Ji Xinghe, a well-respected academic, and his wife—known by her pen name “Singularity”—a celebrated sci-fi author.

With these two long-married couples, plus the newlywed duo Zhao Xunyin and her wife, and the seven-year-itch pair Qi Yu and An He, the show conveniently covered a full “timeline” of marriage.

When the crew arrived at Hou Jue’s and Professor Ji’s homes, both couples were already up. In fact, Professor Ji had not only eaten breakfast but had gone out to practice tai chi. He was just returning when the cameras showed up.

At sixty-two, with silver hair and gentle manners, he looked every bit the distinguished scholar. Seeing the crew arrive early, he wasn’t surprised at all—he even cheerfully invited them inside.

Once seated, the staff handed him a mission card and explained that he needed to complete the task by 2 p.m. and then head to the airport.

“Oh, I know how this works,” Professor Ji said with a smile. “I’ve watched variety shows—I figured you’d give us some kind of mission.”

“Darling?” he called out to his wife. “Come see what task they’ve given us.”

“You can look at it yourself,” she replied teasingly. “Why drag me into it?”

“Because I just like doing things with you,” he said, completely earnest.

The crew couldn’t help laughing. Even after forty years of marriage, the two were still this affectionate.

The first two couples’ recordings went smoothly. But when it came to Zhao Xunyin and Qi Yu’s segment—chaos ensued.

The production team arrived at Zhao Xunyin’s upscale apartment at six in the morning. Five or six people stood outside, lugging cameras, knocking on the door for ten whole minutes.

Still, no one answered.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” one of the staff asked awkwardly.

It was, indeed, quite the awkward situation.

The director wasn’t ready to give up yet. He went forward and knocked on the door again. This time, after a short wait, someone finally came to open it. Hearing footsteps approach, he immediately signaled the cameraman to ready the shot and start filming as soon as the door opened.

The sound of footsteps drew closer, and then—the door opened just a sliver.

“Who is it?” The voice clearly wasn’t Zhao Xunyin’s. In post-production, they even added a question mark and the subtitle Who could this be?

“We’re with the production crew,” the director replied.

A moment later, a cute little head poked out through the narrow crack in the door. Who else could it be but Shi Nanbei?

Realizing it really was the variety show team, Shi Nanbei looked a bit flustered but quickly offered a sweet, apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t know you’d come this early. Xunyin and I haven’t even gotten up and tidied ourselves yet. Could you please wait just a little while? I’m really, really sorry.”

The director—a man in his thirties—was instantly disarmed by the sight of the pure, adorable girl speaking to him in such a soft, sugary tone. How could he possibly say no?

He immediately nodded his agreement.

After getting his response, Shi Nanbei gently closed the door. Post-production later added a cheeky caption on screen: Guess how long they’ll take to get ready?

About five minutes later, the door opened again. Shi Nanbei had already freshened up and looked spotless.

The director, who’d clearly never seen a girl get ready this fast before, blinked in surprise. “You’re already done?”

Shi Nanbei looked a little shy as she nodded. “Yes, sorry to have kept you waiting.”

She invited the crew inside, and while they began filming around the room, she slipped back into the bedroom to wake the woman still lying naked under the covers, clearly intent on sleeping in again.

“Zhao Xunyin! Get up already! The production crew is here!” Shi Nanbei hissed, exasperated. “You only told me I’d be joining a variety show—you didn’t say they’d show up at our house!”

She was on the verge of losing it.

Shi Nanbei wasn’t from the entertainment industry; back in school, her medical studies had been demanding enough that she’d never had time to chase after variety shows. She had absolutely no idea that modern shows had become so shameless as to barge into people’s homes to film.

And of all nights, they had to show up today—after she and Zhao Xunyin had spent the whole night “driving.” Now she’d been caught red-handed, and she was dying of regret.

“They’re already here, so let them be,” Zhao Xunyin muttered sleepily, barely opening her eyes. She didn’t seem particularly alarmed and looked ready to drift right back to sleep.

Normally, Shi Nanbei might have let her be. But with several crew members waiting outside and cameras rolling, she was far too embarrassed to face them alone.

So, she climbed onto the bed, coaxed, tugged, and argued until she managed to drag Zhao Xunyin up—though not without signing several “emotionally scarring and dignity-violating treaties” in the process.

The production team spent another half hour filming the house before the long-awaited Best Actress Zhao Xunyin finally emerged from the bedroom.

“Good morning.”

The woman standing before the camera looked completely different from the Zhao Xunyin at home—cool, composed, and radiating the untouchable aura of a queen. Watching her, Shi Nanbei couldn’t help but think she must be looking at her wife’s twin sister.

How can one person change so fast? she thought silently.

“Good morning, Sister Yin,” the director greeted respectfully. Given Zhao Xunyin’s current status in the industry, she more than deserved the title.

She gave a faint smile, polite but not distant. “No need to be so formal. Have you all had breakfast?”

“We ate at the hotel,” the director replied, handing over a task card to Zhao Xunyin and Shi Nanbei.

“What’s this?” Zhao Xunyin tore open the envelope—and her expression froze for a brief second.

Before she could react, Shi Nanbei, in her innocent eagerness, read it aloud for everyone to hear, saving the cameraman the trouble of zooming in:

“Earn ten ‘Admiration Points’ from elementary school students at the town square???”

She blinked in confusion and looked at the crew. “Um, how exactly do we do that?”

The cameraman simply shook his head, meaning: No spoilers—you’ll have to figure it out yourselves.

“From now until 2 p.m., you have six hours to complete the mission,” the director explained. “The first two couples to finish will get to fly to the destination. The third will take the high-speed train. The last team,” He paused for dramatic effect. “will have to take the old green train.”

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

The green train?

Admiration points from kids?

Did they not know how terrifying Gen Alpha kids were these days? These little devils thought they ruled the world!

Getting their admiration would be harder than climbing to the heavens.

And besides—it was summer vacation! Where on earth was she supposed to find ten elementary schoolers right now?

She had to hand it to Boss Qi and her team of writers—they really knew how to stir up chaos. Weren’t they afraid of shooting themselves in the foot?