The Fake Daughter is a Max-Level Green Tea [Transmigrated into a Book] - Chapter 44

Chapter 44: Preparing to Go Public

A moment later, despite Lu Chaoqing’s strenuous protests, she was pushed away by Lin Chumu, who then used a rolled-up bath towel to draw a strict fifty-fifty line down the middle of the bed.

The 1.8-meter bed was spacious enough to fit three people comfortably. Even with a partition, two people could easily toss and turn. However, Lu Chaoqing felt an inexplicable sensation of being watched. Her mind was filled with the cold, lifeless eyes of the “Centipede Woman” from the auto-play video on Weibo.

She truly wondered what kind of mental fortitude the lead actress of that movie possessed. Lu Chaoqing wouldn’t do it for any reason; even a hundred million yuan couldn’t heal the psychological trauma such a role would leave behind.

Lu Chaoqing turned around piteously, tugging at Lin Chumu’s sleeve to say something more, only to find the woman already in a deep sleep, her breathing steady and calm. The only light came from the dim sliver bleeding from the bathroom, along with a faint red glow from the smoke detector on the ceiling—a symbol of safety that, in her imagination, morphed into a bloody stain.

One thing she had never told anyone was that she was terrified of the dark. She never watched horror movies alone, and after seeing one, even the sound of a cat meowing at night would make her skin crawl. Her powerful imagination made the ordinary night “eventful”; she felt as if something was prowling outside, and the rustling of wind against the branches sounded far more sinister than it did during the day.

Her shallow dream was suddenly interrupted. Lin Chumu opened her eyes to find Lu Chaoqing clinging to her again, sticky and persistent like a little octopus.

Not only that, the girl was rubbing against her while holding her tight, one leg hooked over her waist as if trying to turn her into a human body pillow. The clean scent of body wash and the sensation of smooth skin were becoming difficult to ignore. Lin Chumu suppressed a surge of strange emotions and tried to push her away, only to find the girl surprisingly strong.

“Let go!” Lin Chumu patted her lightly. “Lu Chaoqing?”

The girl, lost in a heavy slumber, didn’t answer. Her breath hitched and flowed, but she showed no sign of waking. Lin Chumu managed to push her back slightly, but within seconds of silence, the “Little Green Tea” smacked her lips and nuzzled back in.

Lin Chumu didn’t want to shake her awake. In a moment of inexplicable impulse, she reached out and lightly tapped the girl’s lips with her finger.

In the next instant, the girl opened her mouth and took the finger between her teeth. She didn’t bite hard, just a soft suckle with the tips of her teeth. A tingly, numbing electric current immediately shot from Lin Chumu’s fingertip to every nerve in her body.

Lin Chumu jerked her shoulder back as if electrocuted, pulled her hand away, and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand to wipe her finger. When she looked back, Lu Chaoqing had already rolled over to the other side.

When the assistant woke Lu Chaoqing up, the girl was still in a daze.

She felt like something was wrong with her clothes; upon sitting up, she realized she was quite disheveled. She never had the habit of wearing formal pajamas, usually opting for camisole dresses or tanks with shorts. Right now, one strap of her camisole had fallen completely off her shoulder.

The space beside her was empty. Lin Chumu was nowhere to be found, leaving only the assistant busily tidying up. Seeing Lu Chaoqing awake, the assistant hurried over: “Qingqing, when I came in this morning, I saw Sister Lin sleeping on the sofa! Why didn’t she ask me for the key to go to your room and get a blanket? Thank goodness the AC was set high, so she didn’t freeze…”

Lu Chaoqing, who hadn’t been fully awake, sat bolt upright. “She slept on the sofa?”

The bed in this room was huge, but the sofa was tiny—only 1.5 meters long. At Lin Chumu’s height, she must have been curled up tight, liable to fall off with any movement.

She didn’t know how Lin Chumu had endured the night, but she was certain it hadn’t been comfortable. Lu Chaoqing felt a pang of guilt, realizing she must have been a restless sleeper. She wondered if her “octopus” antics were the reason Lin Chumu fled to the sofa.

After washing up, Lu Chaoqing walked toward the cafeteria with her assistant, her mind still on last night’s discovery.

Lin Chumu had confiscated and disabled the bug last night. They didn’t know where the receiver was. Reporting it to the police without evidence of actual harm wouldn’t be as effective as one might think, and it would bring trouble to the film crew. By unspoken agreement, neither of them chose the legal route yet.

When Lu Chaoqing arrived, Lin Chumu was slowly eating breakfast. She ate at a leisurely pace; unless it was an emergency, she preferred waking up early to eat properly. Her assistant was stirring a small spoonful of pork floss into a bowl of plain white congee before handing it over, whispering: “It’s okay to eat a little less of other things, but I saw your blood sugar was a bit low yesterday, and you were cold last night. If you don’t eat, it’ll affect your acting.”

Lin Chumu hadn’t intended to eat much, as she was always strict with herself. But hearing “affect your acting,” she hesitated before taking the bowl and sipping slowly.

Lin Chumu has low blood sugar? Lu Chaoqing was stunned.

If she had low blood sugar and hadn’t rested well, it made sense she would be dizzy and have no appetite. Furthermore, low blood sugar requires a certain sugar intake; weight-control nutritional meals often fail to meet those needs. Once, when Lu Chaoqing treated the crew to milk tea, Lin Chumu had declined. Lu Chaoqing had thought she just didn’t like it; now she realized it was because of the role’s weight requirements.

Though she wasn’t fat at all—even leaning toward thin—everyone looks slightly wider on camera. Lin Chumu wasn’t naturally “camera-friendly” in terms of facial structure, so she was incredibly strict with herself.

This was her first role; she was determined to cherish it.

In the morning, Lu Chaoqing and Fang Qiuqi filmed a high-stakes emotional scene. It was the dialogue where the female lead catches Xiang Yunchen being bullied.

The lead wants to report it but hesitates due to the pressure from the bullies. Xiang Yunchen uses a “retreat to advance” tactic, showing her vulnerable side. The lead, overcome with pity, hugs her and cries, explaining her own helplessness, unaware of the coldness and disappointment in Xiang Yunchen’s eyes.

As they embraced, Xu Mulin happened to pass by. Seeing Xiang Yunchen gently wiping away the lead’s tears, she felt a pang of discomfort.

This scene technically took place after the “night scene,” which they were scheduled to film tonight. Lu Chaoqing’s emotions were still somewhat affected by the previous day’s events, leading to a dozen NGs. Fortunately, Fang Qiuqi was patient and kind, coaching her through it until they finally got a smooth take.

Today was the wedding anniversary of a crew member and her husband. The staff member generously treated the crew to a special meal; for lunch, everyone’s bento box featured a glossy, roasted duck leg. The meat was tender and fragrant, and the skin was golden and crispy. However, it wasn’t to Lin Chumu’s taste.

When she ate meat, she never ate the skin—be it chicken, duck, or fish. She always peeled it off. But this duck was fatty, and the layer of white fat between the skin and meat made her lose her appetite. After two bites, she couldn’t swallow any more. Just as she was wondering what to do, Lu Chaoqing leaned in.

The girl smiled, pointing her wooden chopsticks at the duck leg in Lin Chumu’s box and the untouched cucumber and chicken breast in her own: “I don’t like meat that’s this dry. Chuchu-jie, let’s swap, okay?”

Based on her observations lately, Lu Chaoqing noticed Lin Chumu preferred light dishes that weren’t strictly vegetarian—a preference identical to her own. However, Lu Chaoqing wasn’t a picky eater; she could eat almost anything except cold raw seafood. Lin Chumu was different; she was the type who would rather eat nothing than settle for something she didn’t like.

Seeing Lin Chumu waver but hesitate, Lu Chaoqing directly picked up the duck leg from the other’s box and took a big bite, right below where Lin Chumu had touched it, chewing happily without any reservations.

Lin Chumu breathed a sigh of relief and was about to thank her when the “Little Green Tea” waved her hand dismissively, murmuring as she swallowed: “Think of it as preparation for our upcoming kiss scene. Besides, Chuchu-jie and I have already kissed before, so Sister surely won’t find me distasteful…”

Lin Chumu: “…” You should really stop talking.

At 9:00 PM, the rest of the crew finished for the day, but Lu Chaoqing and Lin Chumu stayed for extra filming. The “ambiguous” scene in one’s imagination is vastly different from the reality on a set. When the time actually comes, only the actors feel the true awkwardness.

With the director, assistant director, screenwriter, and a room full of staff holding cameras, the atmosphere was anything but intimate. The assistant director fussed over the quilt and adjusted the room’s decor. Lu Chaoqing’s emotional prep from the afternoon had mostly evaporated. Seeing that things wouldn’t be ready for a while, she wandered outside for a two-minute breather.

The empty playground was just a short distance from the door. Lin Chumu was leaning against a tree, making a phone call. After last night, she had become more sensitive to her surroundings. She noticed Lu Chaoqing immediately and beckoned her over, mouthing: “Keep watch for me.”

To be safe, she had sent her assistant to watch from a distance while she checked herself thoroughly for bugs. As a fellow victim, Lu Chaoqing was someone she could trust implicitly. Lu Chaoqing walked over, feeling a sense of heroic duty like a wartime “messenger.”

They were standing close, so she could hear Du Yaqing’s voice on the other end, which wasn’t lowered: “So, what do you plan to do?”

Lin Chumu paused for a moment, her face calm. “If it can’t be hidden anymore, I’ve discussed it with her. We’re preparing to go public.”

The longer they waited, the easier it would be for people to leak false information that would be harder to explain. It was better to proactively clarify. However, this wasn’t a decision they could make alone; they had to inform their parents, and Lu Chaoqing would be the one most affected.

There was a silence from Du Yaqing. Lin Chumu thought she was weighing the impact on her artist, but then she heard a long sigh.

Then, Du Yaqing asked in a lowered, inappropriately gossipy tone: “…Then can I at least know when exactly you two got together behind my back?”