The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 26

“Even without a recording, I could ask you for a lot of money based on our relationship alone.”

Dong Huaci replied honestly, letting out a soft “Mm.”

Then she added, “Zhong Qing, if you had remembered to record it just now, then you really could have asked me for a lot of money.”

Zhong Qing actually laughed on the other end. Did Dong Huaci really know what she was saying? Zhong Qing said, “It doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t record this, the things from before are enough for me to ask you for a lot of money.”

She followed up in a low voice, “So, sometimes, it’s hard for me to say whether I want you to be successful or not, Dong Huaci.”

Calling her by her full name made this voice call feel like a final settlement of debts and graces. Dong Huaci was hung up on, but unexpectedly, she didn’t cry. Her logic returned. she had Qiao Yi turn the car around and send her back to the production set, so Shi Xiaonan didn’t need to get involved. She simply claimed she was drunk and insisted on seeing the river.

But her words became a prophecy. The entertainment industry is ever-fickle. On one side, Zhong Qing’s team and solo fans were constantly questioning her decision to join The Phoenix’s Decree, asking if she wanted scandals or a career. On the other side, after The Phoenix’s Decree aired, Dong Huaci—boosted by her styling and the “ex-girlfriend” traffic—carved out a unique niche for herself as the “empty-headed vase antagonist.”

In short, she became a star.

Her Weibo followers doubled, and her quotes for future dramas skyrocketed. This was the life Dong Huaci had desperately wanted when she was younger. However, now that she had actually stepped into this life, she realized she was missing the most crucial person to share it with—her mother. And, though Dong Huaci was loath to admit it, there was one other name: “Zhong Qing.” Without them, the joy brought by this overwhelming prosperity was undeniably diminished.

Yes, in her subconscious, she always believed—and that phone call had solidified the conviction—that Zhong Qing did not want to see her succeed.

Whether it was old grudges or new ones, a more important point was that actors and idols faced different moral dilemmas. In the “CP” (couple) traffic between them, Zhong Qing had to be more avoidant, colder, and more indifferent. Combined with the labels fans naturally assigned to them, the CP fans collectively and unconsciously felt more pity for Dong Huaci.

But fame still had its perks, and for an actor, these perks were tangible. More and more brand collaboration invitations came in—from those she once couldn’t reach to those she hadn’t even dared to dream of. Even the head of a famous gold brand expressed interest in coordinating with her company, suggesting that for their regional endorsements in Henan, Dong Huaci might be back on the map. Generally speaking, such legacy enterprises chose veteran actresses with higher “national recognition.”

Usually, a “flow” starlet like Dong Huaci, despite her high visibility, carried a “risk factor.” State-owned enterprises often valued the stability of a spokesperson more than temporary hype, a sharp contrast to the criteria of foreign luxury brands. All signs pointed to the fact that the character of the Seventh Princess in The Phoenix’s Decree had given Dong Huaci the chance to “ascend,” potentially escaping the awkward position of being a “vase supporting actress” or just a recurring face in idol dramas. Some smaller-scale productions were now considering her for lead roles. However, it was natural that the lead-role scripts currently being handed to her weren’t as high-quality as the non-lead ones.

Shi Xiaonan was exhausted during this period. Her top priority wasn’t Dong Huaci’s acting improvement or career management, but rather her public reputation, discourse, and appearance. Their company, Ruiyuan, also prioritized Dong Huaci due to this small explosion in her popularity.

The large screen flickered on.

This was a live-streamed fan meeting for the cast of The Phoenix’s Decree. The director, Liu Miao, sat in the center. As summer transitioned to autumn, her black wide-shouldered shirt and black jeans exuded a relaxed, low-key vibe that ceded the spotlight to the dressed-up actors around her, yet she remained impossible to ignore. Capability brings power, and power does not require ornamentation—for a female director in the entertainment industry, no sentence proved more true than this.

Dong Huaci sat one seat away from the lead actress. Her character was a direct contrast to the female lead; while the lead went from compassionate divinity to a powerful ruler—a journey of temperament and emotion—the Seventh Princess was a pure, unadulterated villain. Aside from her beauty, the character had no noble highlights. Consequently, after the show aired, rumors of her “outshining” the lead began to surface, casting a slight blemish on Dong Huaci’s reputation. Ruiyuan didn’t have the money to buy “beauty-shaming” press releases, but this kind of situation was like an open trap—impossible to explain away.

Undeniably, however, as long as Dong Huaci’s face was there, it could always carry hashtags like “Beauty outshines” or “Dong Huaci in xx dress.” Before the camera, she wore her costume from the show—the red wedding dress from the scene where she was forced into a political marriage. It clashed sharply with the female lead’s final “empress” regalia. Her face was made exceptionally white by layers of foundation, appearing flawless. With vermillion lips, dark brows, and gold hairpins among her raven hair under the red veil, her eye makeup was tinged with green, carrying a hint of grievance as if she were a weeping bride, yet hiding endless dark schemes. But today wasn’t about the role; it was a press conference, so her every frown and smile appeared lively. It was clear that the person sitting behind the table was no longer the Seventh Princess, but Dong Huaci herself.

After the official pleasantries, a pointed question was directed toward Dong Huaci.

“Huaci, how do you view the character of the Seventh Princess?”

A routine question. Dong Huaci blinked. “A ‘vase’ big sister with no attack power! She looks super tough, but actually breaks the moment she’s dropped.”

“Director Liu Miao said your performance was very smooth, even ‘like a fish in water.’ Is it because you finally found your ideal ‘comfort zone’ role?”

A classic trap question. It would be fine on its own, but following the previous one, it sounded like a comment on Dong Huaci herself. Dong Huaci leaned her head on her hand and smiled, avoiding a direct answer. “Director Liu Miao is being too kind to me. During the audition, I performed quite poorly. It’s likely that Director Liu and the team looked after me, which is why I got better and better later on.” As she spoke, Dong Huaci looked past the female lead and sent a grateful little glance toward Liu Miao. “Even during the second unit filming, Liu Miao would come personally. She’s very hard-working and amazing. I hope to work with her again next time.”

The atmosphere was good, but just as the reporters below the stage began to laugh—

The big screen paused.

At the other end, directly facing the screen, Zhong Qing held the remote, sitting cross-legged on the sofa. “Sour-faced” was the only way to describe her current state. She pretended to browse her phone for a while, looking from Weibo news to Green Bean forum posts, but her heart wouldn’t settle.

She didn’t want to admit she minded Liu Miao, especially since she no longer had the “status” to care. It seemed that she was the one constantly ignoring Dong Huaci, while Dong Huaci was the one constantly seeking her out and worrying about her. Yet, Dong Huaci never mentioned their relationship; her mouth and heart were full of concern and guilt over the past, leading her to offer proactive care without boundaries. She didn’t want Dong Huaci’s “care”—or rather, she wanted more than just that. She would rather have Dong Huaci’s breakdown; like that last phone call, that actually made Zhong Qing happy. So, Zhong Qing comforted herself for a long time, then looked at her phone again. Great—Dong Huaci hadn’t sent a single new message. It was just as she had said last time; the girl really was soaring high now. Surely she should at least send a red envelope.

Despite the internal monologue, Zhong Qing’s face remained as cold and beautiful as frost. She set her phone down and pressed the remote again. Dong Huaci’s “beauty is justice” face began to move with spirit again.

Finally, the “interesting” question arrived.

“Teacher Dong, when filming the final scene where the Princess would rather die than marry and commits suicide in front of the General… how did you understand that psychology? Especially since the actor playing the General is rumored to be an old ‘friend’ of yours—did you find it difficult to get into character?”

What “friend”? Everyone knew this “General” was Dong Huaci’s former flame with whom things had ended very badly: Zhong Qing.

The whole room held its breath.

To everyone’s surprise, Dong Huaci didn’t choose to be coldly evasive or give a nonsensical answer. Instead, she adopted a beaming, animated expression as if the question had hit a sweet spot. She covered her mouth and smiled coquettishly. “Oh my, look at what you’re saying. You make it sound like the set was full of enemies. Think about it—we know all the actors in the cast privately. What does that have to do with being in character?”

After the counter-question, Dong Huaci adjusted her expression and continued her statement. “In The Phoenix’s Decree crew, I grew a lot. The Seventh Princess is a very crucial role for my acting career. Although she isn’t a ‘positive energy’ character, even a villain can have backbone and personality. I hope my portrayal doesn’t disappoint the fans and becomes a small but indispensable piece of the puzzle for the whole series~”

A beautiful PR answer. If Dong Huaci had come up with that on the spot, it was a massive improvement.

The screen paused again.

Zhong Qing’s eyes were fixed on the screen, on that breathtaking face frozen by the camera. When Dong Huaci smiled, the deliberate atmosphere of the makeup softened, becoming exceptionally bright and captivating.

At this moment, in the large flat-level living room, there was no one else. If not for the sound from the projector, it would be far too quiet. Zhong Qing felt as if she were in an art gallery, admiring a most beautiful painting. She sat in silence. It was late, and she didn’t like having many lights on; the only light source was the faint glow overflowing from the large screen.

Her phone vibrated.

It was an unknown caller, but the format didn’t look like a telemarketing call. Zhong Qing answered and unexpectedly heard a voice she was never supposed to hear.

“…You say you are… Dong Huaci’s… father.”

“Yes. It’s been a long time since we’ve been in touch. So, why are you calling me now?”

In less than ten minutes, this voice she shouldn’t have heard became a problem Zhong Qing had to deal with immediately. An exaggerated figure, an inexplicably bold request—but for all this to be created by a desperate gambler was not entirely surprising. Zhong Qing went to the open kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Although many thoughts were churning in her heart, she ultimately just sat back on the sofa. She stared again at Dong Huaci’s radiant, smiling face on the screen, clutching her phone. A joy from a regained sense of control, bolstered by alcohol, wrapped around her—a mix of feverishness and resentment, unease and relief. The thousands of emotions on the verge of exhaustion instead caused countless inspirations to bubble up in her mind. But Zhong Qing didn’t want to get up and write songs. Instead, another impulse took over. Gradually, facing the screen, she squinted her eyes and slowly, unknowingly, drifted into a deep sleep.