After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 76

The grandpas and grandmas were true to their word—once they said they’d help Shi Nanbei, they really meant it. Their determination was so fierce it sent shivers down everyone’s spine. Seeing how warmhearted and righteous these seniors were, the production crew began to panic for real this time.

Meanwhile, Zhao Xunyin, standing off to the side, remained perfectly calm. When the cameraman turned the lens toward her, she didn’t even lift an eyelid and said flatly,

“I told you to let her do her thing. Now, whatever happens—don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Ha. She certainly hadn’t forgotten how the crew accused her of being too harsh on Shi Nanbei.

Too harsh? She was the one being blamed, when they had no idea how much chaos that little troublemaker could cause!

Grudge recorded from the Movie Queen +1.

The production staff could only stare in silence at Zhao Xunyin’s hands-off attitude.

“Is this something a normal person would say?” one of them muttered. “Is this really coming from a supposedly virtuous, double-award-winning actress?”

The way she said it—so smug, so delighted in their misery—it almost sounded like she’d known all along that her wife was a walking bug in the system!

Heavens above, why?

Faced with their despair, Zhao Xunyin simply tilted her head and asked,

“What, you thought otherwise?”

The production crew: “…”

Alright. Never mind.

Clearly, Zhao Xunyin had no intention of cleaning up this mess. With no other choice, the crew had to bite the bullet and try persuading the seniors to stop being too enthusiastic. But to these grandpas and grandmas, who had already transcended worldly concerns and were now focused on training a protégé to inherit their square-dance legacy, the crew’s words were nothing but background noise.

Honestly, if you were one of them, you probably wouldn’t listen either. Think about it—every one of these seniors had been dismissed or mocked by young people at some point. Now, at long last, a diligent, polite, beautiful young girl had appeared—someone eager to learn their tai chi and square dancing. How could they not see her as the bright future of their square-dance empire?

No one is taking away our successor! the grandpas and grandmas declared inwardly, unanimous in spirit.

No amount of persuasion worked. The elderly were fearsome in battle—these were people with decades of life experience, and they weren’t about to be pushed around by a few twenty-something production assistants who hadn’t even started losing their hair yet.

When the crew tried to talk reason into them, one of the old men directly snapped back,

“Didn’t Nan-nan say you needed elementary school students? What, my grandkids don’t count? Are you discriminating by region now?”

The crew: “…”

Regional discrimination? What kind of accusation was that?

Sir, that’s surprisingly up to date.

Of course your grandchildren are elementary school students—no one’s denying that! But please, for the love of all that’s good, don’t actually bring them here! If you do, what’s left of our challenge difficulty?

How are the other guests supposed to compete?

The grandmas, however, were even more indignant.

“Hey, what’s your problem? You said you needed elementary schoolers, but you didn’t say how we had to find them, right? My sweet grandbaby qualifies, so why can’t I call them down here?”

The crew: “…”

If we say no, are you going to let us live?

Post-production note: [pathetic whimpering]

Completely defeated by the seniors’ combat power, the production team turned their gaze toward Shi Nanbei, whose angelic face was the very picture of innocence. For a long moment, the staff’s feelings were complicated beyond words.

Finally, the director, clinging to a final shred of hope, asked weakly,

“Shi Nanbei, do you have anything you’d like to say?”

All eyes turned to the girl standing among the crowd.

“Say what?” Shi Nanbei blinked, her expression utterly blank and guileless. She looked so pure that the crew almost wanted to cry. In front of the seniors, they didn’t even dare to scold her. It was like Shi Nanbei had fed the entire group of old folks some sort of charm potion—every one of them glared protectively at the crew, as if someone had tried to harm their beloved grandchild.

The production team: “…”

We’re suffering.

Seeing the director’s increasingly pained face, Shi Nanbei finally seemed to realize what she should do. She turned to the grandpas and grandmas and bowed deeply once again.

“Thank you, grandpas and grandmas, for helping Beibei! Beibei loves you all!”

The crew had expected her to say something that might help disperse the crowd—but instead, the sweet, clueless girl went straight for a heartfelt thank-you speech. Her face was so sincere, her tone so sweet, that the seniors’ hearts

practically melted. Their faces flushed with excitement as they puffed out their chests and promised,

“Wait right here, we’ll bring our grandkids over to help you!”

The production crew nearly fainted on the spot.

Was it still possible to rewrite the show’s rules at this point?

Of course not.

Because barely twenty minutes later, the grandpas and grandmas came marching back—each proudly dragging along their sleepy grandchildren.

The spectacle was staggering. There were at least twenty or thirty kids, spanning every grade from first through sixth, and one particularly devoted grandma even showed up with her preschool grandson in tow.

The production crew: “…”

They were done for.

We now have every reason to suspect that someone’s cheating here.

Post-production note: Is it our show that’s making things hard for the sweet little contestant—or the sweet little contestant who’s making things hard for us?

After the grandpas and grandmas joined in, the ten elementary schoolers were quickly gathered—and not just gathered, the number actually doubled! Now the only thing left was figuring out how to win their admiration points.

When it came to finding kids, Zhao Xunyin had already fallen behind Shi Nanbei. But now, an opportunity had arrived. As someone who always prided herself on being the “elder,” Zhao Xunyin couldn’t possibly let herself be outshone again. Otherwise, where would her dignity go?

So, in front of everyone, she straightened her back and stepped forward to address the dozen or so sleepy-eyed elementary schoolers.

“Do you know who I am?”

The chattering kids instantly fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned toward her, curious and blank.

Good. That was exactly the effect she wanted—everyone’s eyes on her. Worth every second of agreeing to this stupid variety show.

A smug smile tugged at the corners of Zhao Xunyin’s lips, though on the surface she maintained her elegant, aloof “goddess” demeanor as she introduced herself:

“I’m Zhao Xunyin.”

After that, she waited—patiently—for the screams and cheers she was accustomed to at her public appearances. The gasps of admiration, the fans fainting from excitement.

Well, what could she say? Stardom came with these little inevitabilities. She lifted her chin slightly, basking in imagined adoration.

Except—nothing came.

No screams. No applause. No squeals of joy.

Zhao Xunyin: “……”

Zhao Xunyin: “?”

The dead silence in the air was painfully awkward. Her beautiful face darkened, her expression sinking by the second. She could barely resist shouting: Has the world time-traveled without me?

How could these kids not recognize her—the Best Actress, the film queen herself?

Unbelievable. Utterly humiliating.

Backed into a corner, Zhao Xunyin forced herself to add, “I’m an actress.”

Heaven and earth could testify—she had never sunk this low before. Well, fine, she had encountered moments like this when she was still a nobody years ago but that was years ago! How could this still be happening now?

I don’t believe this!

Her hopeful gaze only deepened the silence. That silence stretched long enough to make even the famously composed Zhao Xunyin’s confidence start to crack. Just as her expression was about to turn pitch black, one fourth- or fifth-grade girl suddenly perked up, eyes widening as she pointed at Zhao Xunyin.

“Ah! You’re that evil queen from The Sand Hills of Bingqiu, right?!”

Zhao Xunyin: “……”

What do you mean ‘evil queen’? I’m the Best Actress!

The Sand Hills of Bingqiu was a historical period drama in which Zhao Xunyin had played a politically powerful empress. It had been a huge box-office hit a year ago, widely viewed by audiences of all ages, so it wasn’t strange that a kid might recognize her.

“You know me, little one?” Zhao Xunyin asked, trying to stay composed. The girl’s phrasing irritated her, but still—recognition was recognition! Better than no reaction at all. Grasping at that tiny lifeline, she asked gently, forcing a calm tone.

The little girl, blunt as could be and every bit as straightforward as Shi Nanbei, answered without hesitation:

“Nope. Don’t know you.”

Zhao Xunyin’s face turned completely black: “……”

Then why speak up at all?

Shi Nanbei, standing to the side, nearly burst out laughing but managed to hold it in—after all, they were a married couple now, and the cameras were still rolling. She bit back her laughter, but her eyes were already curved with amusement.

Unfortunately, the little girl, perhaps realizing that Zhao Xunyin must indeed be someone from the entertainment industry, tilted her head and asked with sparkling eyes:

“Auntie, are you an actress? Then do you know Cai Xuqian?”

She was referring to a recently famous idol rapper, a delicate-looking young man who’d shot to stardom overnight. The kind of pretty boy adored by women of all ages—so much so that even elementary school girls were smitten.

Zhao Xunyin’s smile froze.

“Who?”

Auntie?

Cai Xuqian?

Most importantly—did this child not know who she was?

She was a Best Actress! A film queen!

Forget it. Maybe she really wasn’t worthy anymore.

Zhao Xunyin was on the verge of giving up on herself entirely.