The Film Queen Is Cold and Ruthless, Only Sends Money - Chapter 19.4

Wang Yue, who had contributed to designing the tasks, felt a brief pang of guilt before deflecting. “Our games might be tough, but Sister Su handled them perfectly!”

The production team had arranged various tasks designed to grab the audience’s attention and generate enough buzz, whatever would make things difficult for the guests was fair game.

Su Yun understood this and was just joking around.

Thinking back to the last time Wang Yue had been at her place, she asked, “How’s work going?”

The last time they’d met, Wang Yue had been a transparent intern whose every thought was easy to read.

Wang Yue blinked. “Not bad. I’ve learned a lot from the tips you gave me last time.”

She told Su Yun how the prelude footage had helped her secure a full-time position. “Thanks to you, I’m now able to work with the crew.”

“That’s good,” Su Yun said. Most of the production staff were busy packing up, and few were paying attention to them. Curious, she asked, “What useful things did you learn?”

Wang Yue didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she pulled out her phone as if revealing some secret manual, full of mystery.

Su Yun leaned in to look. Wang Yue turned on the screen, revealing a wallpaper with neatly written words:

Three Daily Reflections: Can I not do it? Can someone else do it? Can it wait until tomorrow?

Su Yun was silent for two seconds before saying, “Send me a copy of that wallpaper.”

If she had her phone with her, she might have changed her wallpaper on the spot.

Who would’ve thought Wang Yue could surpass her mentor? This summary was practically a golden rule!

Wang Yue put her phone away. “No problem!”

Honestly, ever since she’d memorized these three sentences, not only had her workload decreased, but even her coworkers seemed more tolerable.

After exchanging “work tips,” Su Yun finally asked, “Did you see Actress Jiang when you came over?”

Wang Yue looked puzzled. “Isn’t she in her room? I didn’t see her when I arrived, nor any of the other guests.”

Su Yun shook her head. “I checked the room she wasn’t there. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Maybe she’s outside getting some air?” Wang Yue suggested. Many of her colleagues were visiting Herong County for the first time and had talked about exploring the scenery after filming wrapped.

“Possibly. I’ll go look for her outside then,” Su Yun said.

–

Jiang Zhi had no idea Su Yun was searching for her.

She looked at Liu Yangran, who had called her out alone, and asked, “What’s the matter?”

Perhaps to avoid being seen, Liu Yangran had chosen a secluded spot, far from the laughter of the other guests and the noise of the crew packing up.

Only silence stretched between them.

Though both were in the entertainment industry, their paths rarely crossed. Liu Yangran mainly acted in TV dramas, while Jiang Zhi starred mostly in films.

Add to that Liu Yangran’s marketing tactics, and Jiang Zhi’s agent would never allow them to work on the same project.

This variety show was the first time they’d appeared on screen together.

Liu Yangran studied the woman before her. The cold moonlight pooled at their feet, and standing in front of Jiang Zhi, she finally grasped the gap between them.

It wasn’t about looks or makeup, it was an innate aura, radiating from within.

Pressing her lips together, she spoke. “Actress Jiang, thank you for today for lunch and for bringing us the blankets earlier.”

If Jiang Zhi had refused, neither the other guests nor the audience would have held it against her.

Jiang Zhi’s eyes flickered slightly upon hearing Liu Yangran’s words, as if inadvertently glancing toward the courtyard before withdrawing her gaze. She replied calmly, “No need to thank me. You should be thanking Su Yun instead.”

As for Liu Yangran’s past marketing tactics, Jiang Zhi hadn’t taken them to heart, though Wen Yun had been far more upset about it than she was.

When Jiang Zhi made films, her only goal was to stay true to herself and ultimately deliver a quality piece of work.

Liu Yangran nodded eagerly, like a chicken pecking at rice. “I know! I’ll thank Su Yun separately. But I still owe you an apology for all the trouble my past marketing stunts caused you, Jiang-jie!”

After hesitating, she added, “Jiang-jie, my agent and I have been discussing a career shift recently, so I won’t be deliberately riding on your coattails anymore!”

By the time she finished speaking, her face had turned bright red.

Imitating Jiang Zhi had initially given her more exposure than others, but the roles that came her way were all rough copies of Jiang Zhi’s typical characters.

It was hard to say whether she had truly benefited from that marketing strategy.

“That’s your own choice,” Jiang Zhi said. “I don’t hold it against you. Just focus on doing well in the variety show from now on.”

She could tell Liu Yangran wasn’t a bad person at heart, otherwise, she wouldn’t be standing here alone in front of her now.

Besides, in the entertainment industry, few people could act entirely according to their own wishes. Sometimes, it was hard to tell whether a decision stemmed from the company, the agent, or the individual themselves.

Jiang Zhi trusted only what she saw with her own eyes.

Like the Su Yun she had come to know anew.

Liu Yangran immediately responded, “Yes, I’ll definitely do my best in the variety show!”

Jiang Zhi nodded, then added tactfully after a pause, “And next time, maybe try making the spicy tofu taste a little better.”

Liu Yangran: !!!QAQ

–

Just as Su Yun stepped out of the courtyard, she ran into Jiang Zhi, who had already returned.

Jiang Zhi spoke first, asking, “Going out?”

Su Yun shifted slightly to let Jiang Zhi pass. “No, I just noticed it was getting late and thought I’d go look for you.”

“I just went out for some fresh air,” Jiang Zhi said, not mentioning her encounter with Liu Yangran.

“Then let’s hurry back and sleep!” Su Yun didn’t suspect a thing. She stretched lazily, still convinced that sleep was the greatest joy in the world.

Inside her room, Lin Yan, who had been about to close her door, overheard Su Yun’s bold declaration of “hurry back and sleep.”

Shaking her head inwardly, she thought, Young people these days really dare to say anything!

–

By the time they returned to their room, washed up, and lay down, Su Yun was certain it hadn’t been her imagination earlier, the bed felt smaller, and Jiang Zhi’s presence was even more pronounced.

Even with the lights off, the moonlight streaming through the window allowed her to clearly see the contours of the woman lying across from her.

The smooth lines from Jiang Zhi’s forehead down to her jaw were accentuated when she turned her head, her lashes fluttering like delicate feathers brushing against Su Yun’s heart.

Noticing the bright curiosity and excitement in Su Yun’s dark eyes, Jiang Zhi asked, “Can’t sleep?”

She still remembered the first time they had shared a bed, Su Yun had fallen soundly asleep within five minutes, and Jiang Zhi had followed the rhythm of her breathing, drifting off as well.

After finishing her last film, she hadn’t mentioned to Wen Yun that she had begun experiencing mild insomnia.

It wasn’t severe, but her sleep had become noticeably shorter than before.

She had originally hoped to use this variety show as a way to relax and unwind, but even before the show started, she discovered that sleeping beside Su Yun actually helped her insomnia.

Su Yun nodded, “Seems like you’re having trouble sleeping? Am I disturbing you?”

She had thought that after such a tiring day, she’d sleep soundly at night, but now she felt completely wide awake.

Jiang Zhi’s soft breaths surrounded her, and though her voice was quiet, the close proximity made it seep into her ears, making Su Yun instinctively burrow deeper under the covers.

Noticing Su Yun’s movement, Jiang Zhi lowered her gaze slightly. “You’re not disturbing me. If you can’t sleep, is something bothering you? Or are you just not used to being on this show?”

Su Yun scratched her head. “Nothing’s bothering me, and the show’s fun. The reason I can’t sleep is probably because I don’t have my phone to play with?”

She was used to scrolling through something before bed whether it was novels, funny videos, or clips of cats eating.

Jiang Zhi: “So that’s why.”

She had thought she was starting to understand Su Yun’s thought process, but now it seemed.

She still had a long way to go.

She said, “I can’t sleep either. Do you want to chat?”

Jiang Zhi felt she still needed to get to know Su Yun a little better.

“Sure!” Su Yun suddenly remembered something and asked, “Do you know Zhao Yiqing?”

Jiang Zhi didn’t expect the conversation to take such a sharp turn. It took her a few seconds to recall who Zhao Yiqing was. “Yes, we’ve worked on a few films together. Why bring her up?”

Su Yun recounted her encounter with Zhao Yiqing at the company earlier. “When her assistant called her ‘clueless’ at the end, Zhao Yiqing’s face turned green, it was hilarious!”

Jiang Zhi’s lips curled slightly. “Though it sounds like her assistant wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“Yeah, she even told me that if you ever bullied me or if I couldn’t stand your cold personality, I could go to her, she’d definitely take me in.” Su Yun wholeheartedly agreed with Jiang Zhi’s assessment. “I told her there’s no way the award-winning actress would treat me badly.”

Only after saying this did Su Yun realize she’d let it slip.

She glanced at Jiang Zhi. Their eyes met, and the room fell so quiet that only the occasional hum of the refrigerator could be heard.

After a moment, Jiang Zhi spoke. “Su Yun.”

Su Yun responded instantly, almost reflexively. “Yes?”

Jiang Zhi chuckled softly before saying, “You’re a bit clueless too.”

–

The next day.

Before dawn, Su Yun was woken by the noisy commotion outside.

She tried muffling the sound by pulling the covers over her ears, but unfortunately, she was stopped.

Jiang Zhi was already standing by the bed. “Su Yun, time to get up.”

Her voice was unmistakable.

Su Yun struggled to open her eyes, sitting up groggily while her limbs and senses slowly came back to life.

She glanced out the window but couldn’t tell the time, so she asked Jiang Zhi, “What time is it?”

Jiang Zhi turned to look at the clock on the table. “6:10 a.m.”

Su Yun’s barely open eyes threatened to shut again. “…”

She sighed. “Do you hear the noise outside?”

The room wasn’t soundproof, and with the director wielding her usual megaphone, Jiang Zhi couldn’t avoid hearing it even if she tried. “It’s the director, assigning today’s tasks.”

To my surprise, Su Yun shook her head: “That’s not the director’s voice. Listen again.”

As they chatted, Su Yun became a bit more alert. Watching her get out of bed, Jiang Zhi strained her ears to pick up any other sounds: “What other sounds are there?”

Su Yun replied, “The sound of a rooster crowing in the morning.”

The production crew had likely rented a house from a local in Herong County. There were quite a few households around, many of which raised chickens, sheep, and other livestock, so the sound of roosters crowing was indeed audible.

However, Jiang Zhi didn’t understand. “Does this have anything to do with our task today?”

“Nothing to do with it,” Su Yun sighed. “I just feel like I resonate with its state.”

“Waking up early and then starting to scream.”

Jiang Zhi: “…”

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