The Itch That Lasted Seven Years - Chapter 19

Zhou Yansu, like Wen Zhan, wasn’t trained in a traditional acting program. But unlike Wen Zhan, Zhou Yansu had made her name in the entertainment industry long before she went to university.

Wen Zhan was two years younger than Zhou Yansu, and had heard about her even before she started school.

As a campus celebrity and a rising star in the entertainment industry, Zhou Yansu’s every move was watched by her schoolmates. Even years after graduation, she remained a hot topic of conversation on campus.

While Wen Zhan considered Zhou Yansu an idol, she actually didn’t know much about her personally.

Instead, Wen Zhan was more familiar with the characters Zhou Yansu played.

Zhou Yansu was a naturally talented actress who was also willing to take the time to carefully study her roles. Over the past few years, she had steadily built her career, and every character she played was worthy of Wen Zhan’s analysis and contemplation. Over time, Wen Zhan had come to watch every new film or show featuring Zhou Yansu.

“Speaking of which, you and Zhou Yansu are actually alumni of the same school, aren’t you?” Tang Chou interrupted Wen Zhan’s thoughts. “Did you two ever cross paths when you were students?”

Since Wen Zhan and Zhou Yansu had attended the same school, Agent Tang figured she might know something about her.

While the quality of the script and the production team were indeed the main factors Tang Chou considered when selecting roles for Wen Zhan, they weren’t the only ones.

These days, it was all too common for projects to fall through due to the production company’s shady practices, investors pulling out, or the platform banning the opposite actor. This made Tang Chou always have an extra layer of consideration when screening scripts for Wen Zhan.

That’s why he always did background checks on the opposite actor’s character and reputation, trying to avoid any potential risks that could lead to Wen Zhan’s time being wasted on a project that never came to fruition.

Wen Zhan had to dig deep into her memories before she managed to dredge up a small incident involving Zhou Yansu from her past.

At the time, she was a second-year student, still a novice who spent her free time studying the differences between acting schools and how to apply them. Her favorite pastime was to take her phone loaded with old films to the most secluded corner of campus, where she would spend hours studying them alone.

Wen Zhan had always thought of that secluded corner as her own secret hideaway, never realizing that one day an uninvited guest would intrude.

The girl, wearing a mask that covered her face completely, startled Wen Zhan when she saw her. Then, as if she’d practiced this a thousand times, she said smoothly, “I can sign autographs and take photos, but can you please not tell anyone I’m here?”

Wen Zhan’s old movie on her phone had just started playing when she heard this. She almost blurted out, “You’re crazy.” But when she saw the girl’s face under the mask, she swallowed the words.

“Senior Zhou?”

“It’s me,” Zhou Yansu said, pausing briefly before admitting it.

Wen Zhan suddenly remembered that Zhou Yansu’s latest drama had recently exploded in popularity, causing her fan base to surge. Her team hadn’t been able to handle the influx, and many new fans, lacking proper guidance, often came to the school to stalk her, severely disrupting her daily life.

So… Zhou Yansu had come here to hide from her fans?

Even young fame came with its own set of troubles.

With this realization, Wen Zhan neatly tucked her phone away and said, “Then Senior Zhou, feel free to stay here. I’ll be going now.”

“But…” Zhou Yansu trailed off, wanting to say something else.

“Don’t worry,” Wen Zhan said, knowing what Zhou Yansu wanted to say. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

The tassel on her backpack got caught in the zipper. Wen Zhan straightened it out as she walked away.

She didn’t look at Zhou Yansu again, treating her just like any other schoolmate she passed by.

Zhou Yansu watched her go, then suddenly called out, “Wait.”

Wen Zhan turned back, puzzled.

“Junior,” Zhou Yansu said, taking a quick breath, “what’s your name?”

“Wen Zhan.”

“Wen… Zhan.” Zhou Yansu repeated the name slowly, a faint smile appearing. “I’ll remember it. Thank you.”

Wen Zhan waved her hand and let the matter drop.

Later, Zhou Yansu ran into Wen Zhan a few more times and even exchanged WeChat contacts with her, but that was all. They never developed a deeper connection.

So… at most, they could be considered acquaintances who nodded in passing?

“Do people on your WeChat contact list count as connections?” Wen Zhan asked her agent, snapping out of her memories.

Tang Chou wasn’t surprised by Wen Zhan’s response. He knew her best—she wasn’t the type to excel at networking. If not for her exceptional looks, solid acting skills, and decent luck… she would likely have been swallowed up by the vast ocean of the entertainment industry long ago.

“I understand. I’ll look into Zhou Yansu’s situation myself. In the meantime, spend the next few days reviewing the script and give me your answer as soon as possible.” Tang Chou pulled out his tablet and checked his urgent schedule. “Zhanzhan, Stars Filling the Galaxy has been confirmed to move up its release date. You might have to end your vacation early.”

“So soon?” Wen Zhan looked surprised. She glanced at the tablet and frowned, disappointment plain on her beautiful face. “I was planning to celebrate our seventh anniversary with Huayou during the break…”

“Don’t blame the production team for this. Actually, the earlier release is partly thanks to Minister Lu,” Tang Chou said, torn between amusement and exasperation at her expression.

“What does this have to do with Minister Lu?” Wen Zhan asked, puzzled.

“I heard that when the film was submitted for review recently, Minister Lu happened to be inspecting her subordinate departments and specifically asked about the progress of Stars Filling the Galaxy.” Tang Chou took a sip of his tea, his eyes twinkling with an unspoken understanding. “What would normally take one or two months to process was resolved in less than two weeks, all because of a single word from your… special someone.”

The corner of Wen Zhan’s mouth twitched. She never would have imagined that the well-intentioned meddler was actually her own Lu Huayou.

Perhaps because of the repeated rejections and forced re-edits of Stars Filling the Galaxy, Wen Zhan had casually grumbled to Lu Tan about the frustrations. It was nothing more than venting.

But Lu Tan had taken it to heart.

“Good question. Just don’t ask again,” Wen Zhan muttered, her face twisting in exasperation.

Tang Chou chuckled and patted her shoulder. After a moment, he changed the subject. “Zhanzhan, I… have a personal matter to discuss with you.”

“What is it?”

Tang Chou paused before asking, “Does your Minister Lu… know the owner of Gongchou Bar?”

“The owner of Gongchou Bar?” Wen Zhan shook her head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know her social circle very well. Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” Tang Chou said, his expression settling as he put away his tablet and returned to business. “We have a brand event in two days. Feifei will pick you up on time in the morning. After the event, please retweet the studio’s promotional posts on Weibo. I’ll be out of town for a few days, so feel free to call me if anything comes up.”

“Don’t worry, Sis Chou,” Wen Zhan replied, her heart warming.

After working together for so many years, Tang Chou had always been the most meticulous, handling every detail of her work to spare her unnecessary trouble. Wen Zhan knew that her current success was intimately tied to Tang Chou’s dedicated support and assistance.

“Thank you, Sis Chou,” she said sincerely. After a moment’s thought, she added, “I’ll ask Lu Huayou about the owner of Gongchou Bar.”

“Alright,” Tang Chou said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Yet the smile seemed strangely weary. “Zhanzhan, why do some people who clearly care about you insist on expressing it in the most roundabout ways? Wouldn’t it be better to be straightforward and honest?”

Wen Zhan couldn’t answer Tang Chou’s question. To be honest, she didn’t understand it either.

Love and disinterest were such simple emotions, yet they often got buried in ambiguous actions, wearing down the passion between people. It was pointless.

That’s why she never hesitated to express herself, preferring to tell Lu Tan directly how she felt.

At that moment, Wen Zhan propped her chin in her hand, staring at the slender, knotted fingers of her lover across the table. “Huayou,” she said bluntly, “your hands are really beautiful.”

Lu Tan paused in her ink grinding, raising an eyebrow. “Just beautiful?”

“Yeah.” Wen Zhan blinked, not following her logic.

“If you want to criticize me, you don’t need to beat around the bush,” Lu Tan said calmly, licking her brush without any visible emotion.

“But I’m complimenting you!” Wen Zhan protested, surprised. “Did you leave your brain back at school?”

Lu Tan glanced at her. “I don’t consider being a pretty but useless ornament something worth praising.”

“Then what do you want to be complimented on?” Wen Zhan asked, following her logic.

Lu Tan dipped her brush in the ink, holding it in one hand while the other cradled her wrist. “Just change one word,” she said deliberately.

“What word?” Wen Zhan asked, puzzled.

The enigmatic figure didn’t answer, just beckoned her closer.

Wen Zhan leaned in.

“Closer,” Lu Tan prompted.

Wen Zhan shuffled forward again.

“Hand.”

Wen Zhan obediently held out her palm.

The brush tip glided across her palm, its smoothness tinged with a ticklishness that made her fingers tremble. Gradually, she made out the tiny, fly-head script Lu Tan had written: Your hands are truly useful.

Oh. Lu Huayou wanted to be praised for her hands being useful.

Wait… wait a minute! Why is it “good use”?!

“Both beautiful and functional,” Lu Tan’s voice chimed in, echoing Wen Zhan’s thoughts. “That’s what constitutes praise.”

A beat late, Wen Zhan finally processed Lu Tan’s meaning and snapped, “You… you shameless flirt!”

A delighted curve played on Lu Tan’s lips, her narrow eyes shimmering with playful charm. She flicked Wen Zhan’s nose with her brush, accepting this affectionate, if teasing, address.

Wen Zhan wrinkled her nose, refusing to stoop to Lu Tan’s level. “Huayou,” she changed the subject, “do you know the owner of Gongchou Bar?”

Lu Tan answered without surprise, “Are you asking for Agent Tang?”

“Yes.” Wen Zhan leaned forward, elbows propped on the table, her gaze fixed on Lu Tan’s drawing.

The painting depicted two figures seated side by side in a pavilion at the heart of a lake, their heads tilted back to admire the leisurely moon above.

“The relationship between them isn’t something that can be easily explained in just a few words,” Lu Tan said succinctly. Her brush hovered hesitantly beside the figures, reluctant to commit to the next stroke. After a moment’s thought, she asked Wen Zhan, “What do you think I should draw on the table?”

“A fruit bowl and melon seeds,” Wen Zhan replied absently, her eyes still fixed on the painting.

A fleeting glint flashed in Lu Tan’s eyes. “Why not wine?”

Wen Zhan pointed at the veiled figure in the painting. “She’s still recovering from her injuries. She shouldn’t drink.”

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