The Whole World Is Waiting for Me and My Ex-Girlfriend to Remarry (Entertainment Industry) - Chapter 4

There was simply no chemistry between her and anyone else.

In that fleeting moment, Dong Huaci’s mind raced through a thousand thoughts.

How exactly should I handle the “degree” of this interaction? Should I smile? Be cold? Say hello? Or just brush past her? Her eyes kept darting toward Shi Xiaonan, searching for a hint from her manager. However, Shi Xiaonan remained perfectly composed, displaying a “grand general” level of calm as she continued to stare at her phone. “Hurry up and play a card, sis, or you’re going to lose this round of ‘Staring Blindly.'”

Saved by the remark, Dong Huaci turned around with a hint of panic and lowered her head back to her phone.

Meanwhile, a strange low-pressure system permeated Zhong Qing’s team. Sister Hong’s face had visibly darkened. Zhong Qing’s gaze merely drifted over Dong Huaci’s face for a few seconds before moving away, as if Dong Huaci wasn’t someone who required any extra effort to avoid. In short, she maintained a poised and calm demeanor today; those glances of hers were nothing more than feathers brushing the surface of water.

Naturally, Dong Huaci didn’t miss those glances. For some reason, her heart felt a strange, itchy sensation.

She had kept her back ramrod straight the entire time, and it wasn’t until Zhong Qing and her entourage left that she let out a visible sigh of relief and set her phone aside. After a literal “staring contest” with her ex-girlfriend in real life, she had absolutely no desire to continue the game “Staring Blindly.” Seeing that her boss was in a foul mood, Qiao Yi tried to cheer her up with a tone that was surprisingly sincere: “Teacher Dong, the fact that you still care only proves that you are a devoted and single-minded lover.”

When it came to a young girl like this, Dong Huaci couldn’t stay angry, even if the girl brought up a topic that would make even Shi Xiaonan hesitate. Qiao Yi truly possessed the “fearless newborn calf” energy. Dong Huaci could only give her a weak, powerless glare, huffing a bit as she spoke: “How is that possible? It’s just… seeing her makes me feel a bit uneasy. Look, Zhong Qing is just like that. You guys know her aura. It was fine when we were on good terms, but when we first met—and even now—I’m honestly scared.”

“But then again, having dated her, I know what kind of person she is,” Dong Huaci murmured toward the end, almost as if talking to herself. “I’ve seen every side of her, so to be honest, I’m not really ‘afraid’ of her anymore. It’s just that last time… last time was just too unexpected.”

Shi Xiaonan and Qiao Yi exchanged a look of mutual sympathy, clearly unsure if they were supposed to keep listening to this.

Fortunately, their savior arrived to break the stalemate: time was up. A few staff members came to lead Dong Huaci alone into the inner set. Dong Huaci’s current status wasn’t high enough to enter with a massive entourage, so she just gave Shi Xiaonan and Qiao Yi a slightly pitiful look—like a student being forced back to school—before being led away by strangers, leaving her two “family members” waiting at the door. The inner set was bustling today, with people coming and going. The lead director sat right in the center.

The director was a woman. Please forgive the specific mention of her gender; in this day and age, a female director deserves a level of respect that warrants being pointed out. She wore a pair of black pants that looked like they could have been bought on any street corner. She sat there with no makeup and heavy dark circles under her eyes, her brow never unknitting. People were constantly whispering in her ear, and the papers in her hand never seemed to be put down.

The news that Dong Huaci, the actress auditioning for the Seventh Princess, had arrived only earned a quick glance from the preoccupied director. She stayed in her seat. “If you’re familiar with the script, mobilize your emotions. I want to see the emotional scene at the end—the one where she flees the political marriage. If you pass that, you can go change into the costume, and we’ll arrange for other actors to run a specific scene with you.”

This was a classic “filter for vases.”

If you couldn’t pass the first hurdle of acting, there was no point wasting time changing clothes or doing makeup to see the visual effect.

Dong Huaci confirmed by instinct that the director was speaking to her. Standing her ground, she nodded. In the midst of the crisscrossing shadows of people, without a proper stage, she had to deliver a performance right then and there. Dong Huaci closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her expression had completely transformed.

“Who do you think you are, daring to stop this, Princess?”

There was no one in front of Dong Huaci; the space was empty. This ad-libbed opening caused many staff members to turn and look at her.

Her emotions transitioned and shifted. Dong Huaci tilted her eyebrows slightly, her eyes hardening with a cold arrogance that seemed to respond to an invisible person’s words. But her following words remained steeped in the unique air of the imperial family: “Today, if this Princess returns safely to the palace, you shall be credited with protecting the crown. When I see my Imperial Father, I shall ensure your life is filled with food and clothing, enjoying endless prosperity, free from the long years of suffering on the battlefield.”

As she spoke, a hint of playfulness appeared on her face, yet behind her back, her hands were frantically clutching at a non-existent hem of a dress. It was proof that this Seventh Princess, forced into a marriage alliance, was putting up a front—she was an empty shell, terrified. “General Qian.” She paused. “You are also a woman. The Chen Dynasty has gained an illustrious female general, but how can you guarantee you will return from the battlefield every time? I, however, can promise you that the Chen Dynasty will have a female Princess of a different surname.” Her expression grew more intense; the “distorted face of a beauty” was soul-snaring. “All of this can be decided in a single thought of yours today.”

“Stop,” the director interrupted. The expression on her face was actually quite good. “Go change your clothes. Xiao Li, go get the… yes, the female lead’s best friend, the actress auditioning for General Qian. Bring them all over.”

Although it was an audition, it also served as a preliminary costume fitting. For this scene, Dong Huaci’s outfit was a royal bridal gown, extremely luxurious and formal in design. Dong Huaci stood obediently in the dressing room like a doll, being wrapped in layer after layer until she felt a faint sense of breathlessness. Especially when the set assistant placed the golden crown and hairpins on her head, Dong Huaci felt as if her entire body was being dragged toward the floor by the weight of the glittering gold.

She sat in the waiting area for a long time until the director finally called her name.

The sense of suffocation intensified the moment she saw the line of potential scene partners because Zhong Qing was standing right there among them.

Zhong Qing was also dressed in red, but compared to Dong Huaci’s seductive elegance, her features radiated a dizzying sense of heroism. She sat atop a fake wooden prop horse, looking down at her. Zhong Qing had just passed her own “vase filter” test. Since the female general’s role was smaller, her screening had been handled by a sub-director.

It was an ironic coincidence. Compared to the Seventh Princess’s “desperation to escape the wedding” in the script, Dong Huaci could truly empathize with her at this moment—she, too, desperately wanted to run away.

The director of The Phoenix’s Decision was not ignorant of the relationship between the two. There are no absolute secrets in the entertainment industry; relationships are the circulating blood vessels, and news is the lifeblood of show business. But the director didn’t care about “avoiding suspicion” or past grudges. If you want to act, act. If one of you can’t do it, don’t come to my set. If the two of you bring some hype to the drama, then you’re just fulfilling your duty as “traffic” actors.

Fortunately, there was more than one actor auditioning. Ahead of Zhong Qing, there was another actress prepared to play this “golden cameo” role. To be precise, Dong Huaci remembered that she was originally an internet celebrity.

Her mind went blank for a moment, perhaps because she had been too immersed in the previous rehearsal. However, the woman opposite her was very enthusiastic: “I am Guan Feili. Hello, Teacher Dong. I finally get to meet you in person!”

Dong Huaci suddenly realized: “You are… you’re ‘A Wasted Chestnut’ from the famous Little Red Book platform, right? The big beauty blogger! I’ve even secretly watched your videos to learn some tips.”

Guan Feili’s smile was brighter than the sun. The two of them embraced as if they were old friends. In the entertainment industry, people meeting for the first time often look like they have a deeper bond than people who have known each other for ten years. After all, once you’ve been around long enough, grudges can pop up over anything—maybe your fans fought, maybe you were rivals for the same role, or maybe you both dated the same person.

And honestly, in a way, being a lesbian in the entertainment industry was a different form of “staying clean.” Someone who locks their heart away after a breakup has “career-focused” written all over their face.

In truth, Dong Huaci had never watched a single makeup tutorial by Guan Feili. But sometimes, when you’re out in the world, you have to bow your head. Dong Huaci had to pretend she was a woman with no boundaries and a generic sexual orientation, sharing a warm embrace and a cheek-to-cheek greeting with this European-style beauty. Being a beauty blogger, Dong Huaci instinctively looked at Guan Feili’s face, only to find that the makeup she wore today didn’t look like her usual handiwork—it was likely done by the crew. In short, they hurriedly went over a few lines before officially beginning the audition in front of the director.

All of this lively commotion had clearly forced the director and Zhong Qing to play the role of the audience. A look of weary waiting appeared on the director’s face. Zhong Qing hadn’t even dismounted from the wooden horse; she simply flipped through the paper script repeatedly, her face a standard, indifferent poker face.

Finally, the scene began. The set fell silent.

Amidst the previous noise, Zhong Qing’s expression had seemed out of place, but now, in the flickering shadows of the set, she finally blended into the reality of the scene.

“Marry or die.” Guan Feili took a step back, delivering her line heavily. At this point, the Seventh Princess’s fate of a political marriage was sealed, and the protagonist group’s anger was finally being vented. Theoretically, it was a high-light moment where the antagonist suffers and the righteous side triumphs. But for some reason, Guan Feili’s expression at this moment looked more like a formal government official carrying out a mundane task. “Seventh Princess, please return to the carriage.”

Dong Huaci took a deep breath. She tried hard to portray the “reddened eyes” of resentment often described in novels: “General! This Princess will not marry into those barbarian lands! This is all… this is all the doing of that demonic concubine disrupting the court! You should be escorting me back to the palace right now, how can you aid the villain!”

“Presumptuous! Do you still think you are that reckless Princess who tramples on the weak?” Guan Feili unsheathed her sword. The prop sword pointed at Dong Huaci’s chest, causing an expression of obvious resentment, grievance, and disbelief to appear on Dong Huaci’s face. “This General will say it once more! Marry… or… die.”

At this point, the director called a halt.

Dong Huaci and Guan Feili let out long sighs of relief. They supported each other—one draped in heavy royal robes, the other in thick armor. They looked at each other, and in that moment, they truly became friends, understanding each other’s feelings perfectly—the feeling of two students who just failed an exam together, waiting to be scolded.

The director wasn’t particularly fierce, but she flipped through a few more pages. “You know who I am. You’ve seen my work, right?”

Dong Huaci didn’t say a word. Guan Feili saved the day: “Director, you are Liu Miao, the one who directed Star People, the film that won the big award at the film festival last year.”

Liu Miao laughed twice upon hearing this and tapped the script against them. “Then you should know this state isn’t right, shouldn’t you? I won’t go into the details, but you two have turned the entire atmosphere into ‘a petty person succeeding’ and ‘a beauty in distress.'” She looked around at the people on set, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. Her tone was kind, but her words were sharp: “Even though these are supporting roles, many people have put in a lot of words to shove people into this project. But a good TV drama is a complete entity made up of every single character. A scene like this won’t work for the final cut, you understand.”

Dong Huaci froze, relying entirely on her thick skin to stay upright, while Guan Feili looked like she was about to collapse.

But at this moment, Dong Huaci had it worse. While there was a second choice for the General, the candidates for the Seventh Princess had been cut down right from the start, leaving only Dong Huaci available.

Liu Miao also offered Dong Huaci some comfort, even using her nickname: “Little Tree, hold on a bit longer. Don’t let a good tree fall over on my watch. Your initial state was quite good. Let’s run it one more time.”

Run it one more time.

Dong Huaci felt dizzy. The next person up was none other than Zhong Qing.

Being criticized to her face was already devastating enough, but the obviously more devastating part was being criticized while your ex-girlfriend was standing right there! Dong Huaci took a deep breath and bowed slightly toward Zhong Qing, acknowledging her. She was now acting purely on her long-cultivated professional instincts: “Teacher Zhong, hello, hello.”

Under the circumstances, Zhong Qing dismounted the horse with crisp efficiency. She wiped the hand that had just touched the prop horse before offering a professional smile: “Teacher Dong, long time no see.”

Unfortunately, during this greeting, Dong Huaci showed no intention of having any physical contact. Her hands seemed fixed firmly at her sides.

Zhong Qing spent a long time wiping her own hand before casually tucking the handkerchief into an inner pocket of her armor. The two of them stood face-to-face with a small gap between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, leaving only their shadows cast in the same direction, forced to melt together on the floor of the film set.