After My Flash Marriage with the Movie Queen - Chapter 96

Despite finally discovering the art of romance—learning to say sweet words and even remembering to care about Zhao Xunyin—some things about Shi Nanbei simply could not be changed. Habits are habits, and that blunt mouth of hers plus her hopelessly straightforward personality meant she still managed to irritate Zhao Xunyin plenty over the next few days. She annoyed her so much, in fact, that even Zhao Xunyin’s stern opera teacher couldn’t help commenting:

“Your wife is quite something.”

For someone who was normally reserved and taciturn to make such an assessment, one could imagine just how impressive Shi Nanbei’s “talent” really was.

Zhao Xunyin: “…”

Sorry you had to witness that.

With her lover by her side, the National Day holiday passed as quickly as a flight—blink, and it was over. It felt as if they’d only slept a few times before the date arrived for Shi Nanbei to return to Chengdu for the start of the semester.

On the night before she left, Zhao Xunyin felt especially reluctant to let her go—not just her; even her assistant and her strict teacher were reluctant for Shi Nanbei to leave.

Knowing she would be leaving soon, the teacher even organized a farewell dinner. The teacher’s wife cooked personally, and her skill was so good that Shi Nanbei ended up waddling back to her room holding her stomach.

During dinner, Shi Nanbei’s little face was flushed, her eyes bright, her demeanor obedient and sweet. Her mouth was even sweeter—she flattered the teacher and teacher’s wife so thoroughly that the smiles never left their faces from start to finish. If Zhao Xunyin hadn’t been there, the two elders probably would’ve tried to adopt her on the spot.

On this point, Zhao Xunyin could only admit defeat. She had grown up in the entertainment industry, seen countless people, experienced all sorts of personalities, yet she had never met anyone who could be universally liked to this degree.

Shi Nanbei, for all her cluelessness, really did have that kind of charm. She’d only been here a few days, and she had already tamed the strict, traditional teacher and the assistant who rarely said a word. Anyone who met her could chat with her effortlessly, and by the end, everyone was lining up to steal her away.

Ugh, so sour.

She was jealous—truly jealous—and also deeply reluctant to let her go. But Zhao Xunyin was a person who was both awkward and reserved, so even if you threatened her life, she wouldn’t be the one to say out loud that she didn’t want Shi Nanbei to leave, or that she minded those people getting too close to her wife.

The worst part was that Shi Nanbei was just as straightforward. She continued doing her own thing—literally. Even on the last night, instead of cherishing their limited time together, she played games. Played games! And even openly flirted with the girls she was teaming with right in front of Zhao Xunyin.

Saying things like, “Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll carry you to victory every match”?

Wow, amazing, Shi Nanbei. Have you ever carried me to victory?

You only know how to carry me to the hotpot restaurant. Have you considered carrying me to anything else?

Is it that I, Zhao Xunyin, can’t handle late-night activities anymore, or that you, Shi Nanbei, are getting too full of yourself lately?

And as if that wasn’t enough, once the game ended, Shi Nanbei said nothing at all and simply started packing. To Zhao Xunyin, this was unbearable.

You’re leaving tomorrow. Shouldn’t we be taking advantage of the time we have left—holding each other tightly, warming the bed, enjoying some marital affection?

She was aggrieved.

So, so aggrieved.

Which was why, in the end, she switched to her alt account and posted on Weibo to vent her emotions:

“Hello Marriage Confessions, it’s me again.

This time I still want to ask about my wife.

[Previous Post Link]

[Previous Post Link]

My wife is young and beautiful, and honestly really outstanding. Everyone around her likes her. Whenever others cling to her and chat with her, she’s so patient—she’ll keep them company forever.

But I’m busy with work, and we’re already spending too little time together.

Take this trip, for example. She came here specifically to see me, and yet other people ended up hogging her time instead.

Crying emoji

The main problem is, I feel awkward saying any of this directly. I’m a little older, and the worst part is—she genuinely doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

Face-cover emoji

What can I do to let my wife know that I don’t want her wasting her time on other people, and that she shouldn’t pay so much attention to anyone else?”

The moment this confession was posted, Zhao Xunyin was bombarded with teasing comments:

“HAHAHAHAHAHA what kind of tragic love story is this? I can smell the jealousy through the screen.”

“I’m going to die laughing. ‘I feel awkward because I’m a little older’. So age-gap couples are this shy now?”

“The jealousy is unreal. Every single word is soaked in lemon juice.”

“Blogger, let me summarize your situation:

Lemon tree grows lemons; under the lemon tree are you and me.

Did you drink Langzhong vinegar or Baoning vinegar? How are you THIS sour?”

“This sweet, sweet relationship, every sentence is weaponized dog food.

Your last post already filled me to bursting, and you still have follow-ups?

What’s next—an update about you two discussing having kids?”

Zhao Xunyin reading this: “…”

Well, actually, she had considered posting something like that.

You couldn’t really blame her for submitting everything to this Weibo account; at her level of fame, paparazzi hovered around her like bloodhounds, constantly sniffing for gossip to sell for clicks. If she wanted to keep her private life out of dinner-table conversations, she had to start with herself. So ever since she debuted, she had always kept her mouth shut—never shared personal matters with anyone.

Except An He.

Although An He was her longtime best friend—and both of them worked in the entertainment industry, with similar experiences and outlooks—back then, whenever something happened, the two of them would get together, chat for a while, complain for a bit, and everything would be fine again.

But that was before.

Now, absolutely not.

Sure, An He was her best friend, but with that mouth of hers that never had a filter—if Zhao Xunyin dared to bring up these matters, An He would probably laugh at her for half an hour straight the next time they met. And that was being optimistic.

She still couldn’t forget what happened last time.

Back then, she had told An He that Shi Nanbei liked reading CP fanfics about her and other actresses, and even sent her several gigabytes of explicit fiction.

An He’s reaction calling it “laughing herself breathless over the phone” wouldn’t even be an exaggeration.

Laughing was one thing—fine, she could swallow that.

But An He had actually brought it up again later, teasing her face-to-face and even offering to spend money to hire writers online to “customize content” for Zhao Xunyin.

At the time, Zhao Xunyin must have had her brain kicked by a donkey, because she didn’t hear the subtext at all and even asked, “Why would you do that?”

An He patted her on the shoulder, her expression brimming with sympathy. “Don’t worry, sis, I get you completely. Your wife is obviously at fault here—how could she be so unreasonable? Reading those stories where you’re the bottom, of course that would strike a nerve.”

“Kids these days, seriously. Why do they love exposing other people’s weak points? How’s that acceptable? This must be corrected!”

“I’ll round up a few writers for you right away. I’ll make sure they write you as the top—the iron-blooded, no-nonsense kind who doesn’t even bother undressing when she gets in bed.”

Zhao Xunyin was so furious she practically turned green.

Looking back now, she regretted it. Deeply.

She regretted telling An He any of that nonsense and giving that woman a lifetime’s worth of material to mock her with.

Meanwhile, the discussion among netizens continued—and rapidly went off track.

“I feel like the original poster isn’t actually asking for advice. She’s here to show off her wife.”

“Don’t ask us. If you ask us, the answer is: break them up. If I can’t have such a cute wife, no one should.”

“Forget advice, I want to see what the OP’s wife looks like. Please post a photo, OK? Let us see what kind of fairy is charming everyone.”

“+10086. I want to see what little enchantress has everyone wrapped around her finger.”

“😂 Honestly, I feel bad for this OP. First the ex-girlfriend pops up at just the right moment to cause trouble and force a divorce. Then her wife complains she’s too old and not capable anymore. Now her wife is so charming that even the people around her are falling for her and hogging her time. So, OP, my question is: exactly in what way are you ‘old’? Please explain truthfully. Because I would also like a wife like yours.”

Of course, among the jokes, some people tasted something different:

“Are marketing accounts this desperate now? Hiring writers to fabricate drama for clicks?”

“Yeah, same vibe. Marketing accounts have no shame, hiring writers to invent stories. How can a wife be this perfect? Pretty, talented, loved by everyone? Why not just say your wife is Shi Nanbei? 🐶 In real life the only person who fits this ‘wife’ description is probably Zhao Xunyin’s wife, Shi Nanbei.”

“Agreed, +1008611. These marketing dogs will do anything for money.”

Others, however, defended the account:

“No need to accuse Marriage Confessions of being a marketing account. As far as I know, Marriage Confessions isn’t paid for submissions and doesn’t take ad money. Even if the story feels exaggerated, maybe the original submitter added spice to go viral. Why blame Marriage Confessions? It only publishes; it’s not responsible for vetting everything.”

By this point, Zhao Xunyin couldn’t take it anymore.

Saying she fabricated stories?

Saying she faked content to fool fans for clout?

Do they even know who she is?

She was a two-time Best Actress winner with tens of millions of followers.

Would she really stoop so low?

She was already very, extremely, undeniably famous, OK?

Fuming, she hammered out a reply on her phone:

“I write fake stories? I trick fans? Open your eyes and look clearly! Do I look like someone who needs to write fake stories? Do I need to chase clout? Do I need to trick fans?”

She was so angry her blood pressure spiked.

The entire message was typed in one breath, pure emotion, no proofreading.

She hit “post” immediately.

And then, Weibo crashed.