Waking Up to a Contract Marriage with the Film Queen - Chapter 10

The Jianglin Film City was built in the year 2000. As a native of the city, Le Yiqiu had naturally visited it many times as a child.

Back then, she was just a tourist until she was scouted to try her hand as an extra. The crew had needed a girl to play a middle school student in a modern drama; she had followed the production for a single day and earned a paycheck of about two thousand yuan. She had used that money to buy her first DSLR camera and began teaching herself the art of photography.

Returning to the Film City now, she was here as a professional. To her, that day as an extra felt like it had happened only three or four years ago, yet the physical changes to the studios were staggering. It felt as though she had woken from a dream into an entirely new world.

Fortunately, her inner self felt a strange, deep-seated familiarity with this environment. It was easy to adapt. While reading the novel Natural Born Evil, her mind had naturally conjured the outlines she’d made and all the research she’d once gathered. As she delved deeper into the text, the entire pulse and rhythm of the story became clear in her mind.

On the way to the set, the driver briefed her on the current state of the production. When they arrived at the hotel, Le Yiqiu took a quick look around. Her room was a compact studio—small but fully equipped with a large bed, a sofa, a kitchenette, and a fridge. It was a typical hotel-style apartment, designed for crew members to stay comfortably for months at a time.

Le Yiqiu dropped her suitcase, put on a bucket hat and a face mask, and headed back downstairs. Filming had already been underway for a day; by her count, she was late.

She was bundled up tightly—sun-protective sleeves over her T-shirt and a hat pulled low—mostly to guard against the summer heat. However, her height and striking silhouette made her stand out. To the fans and paparazzi camping outside the hotel, she looked exactly like a celebrity trying to go incognito. Several shutters clicked as she walked past.

“Who’s that? Did you recognize her?” a paparazzi whispered, looking at his screen.

“No, but she looks gorgeous.”

“You can only see her eyes! How can you tell she’s gorgeous?”

“Look at that aura! She’s definitely a beauty.”

“Or maybe she’s just really committed to sun protection.”

The fans looked at each other and shrugged; they were wrapped up just as tightly as she was.

******

Ten minutes later, the car stopped at the set gates. It was a closed set with strict security. As the driver prepared to pull inside, Le Yiqiu interjected, “I’ll walk from here.”

She was a screenwriter, not an actress. Rolling up to the center of the set in a production car on her first day would draw far too much attention. She wanted to be a low-profile assistant writer, focusing solely on learning.

Le Yiqiu slung her crossbody bag over her shoulder and walked in. The driver—who turned out to be Li, Director Zheng Zhi’s personal assistant—parked the car and caught up to lead the way.

“Teacher Le, this is the main set,” Assistant Li explained. “The Director and the leads are all here. We also have a B-unit over there led by Director Tao, mostly for extras and minor scenes. All the pivotal character moments are handled by Director Zheng.”

Le Yiqiu listened intently as they walked. At 11 AM, the director was still in the middle of a shoot. “I’ll introduce you to the screenwriting team first,” Li said.

There were two other writers: Zhuo Yunshan and He Ye.

“Teacher Zhuo, Teacher He Ye, this is Teacher Le,” Li announced.

He Ye stepped forward with a warm smile. “Teacher Le, you look so young!”

Le Yiqiu smiled back. “Please, don’t call me ‘Teacher.’ Just call me Qiuqiu. And you look very young too, Sister He Ye.”

The “Sister He Ye” made the other woman beam. He Ye was approaching forty and was particularly sensitive about her age; the address was an instant win. Zhuo Yunshan, on the other hand, merely gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

“Our team doesn’t actually have much to do,” He Ye said enthusiastically. “The author, Yi Yi, led the team during pre-production and everything that needed changing has been fixed.”

Usually, writers aren’t required to stay on set, but Director Zheng was a perfectionist who wanted them on hand for any last-minute adjustments. He had originally wanted Yi Yi herself to be there to boost the film’s prestige, but a capable substitute was the next best thing. This suited Le Yiqiu perfectly; less busywork meant more time to observe.

After the introductions, Le Yiqiu made an excuse to head toward the active filming area. She wanted to see her wife.

As it happened, they were filming Lin Xianing’s scenes. As the lead, she had the lion’s share of the script and likely very little rest.

The moment Le Yiqiu approached the perimeter, she spotted her. Some people are born protagonists; wherever they stand, the spotlights and lenses naturally gravitate toward them.

Le Yiqiu froze after just one glance. Her eyes followed Lin Xianing’s every move, her gaze burning with an intensity she couldn’t hide. Her hand moved slowly to her chest, feeling the irregular, frantic thumping of her heart.

In the film, Lin Xianing played a teacher who had grown from a bullied child into a protector—and an avenger. She was dressed in professional attire, slowly backing a child into a corner. She leaned in with a gentle, haunting smile.

“When your soul drifts upward,” she whispered, “do you want to see a version of yourself at peace, or one covered in scars?”

The child actor trembled visibly, genuine terror etched on his face.

“Good! Cut!” Director Zheng’s voice rang out, sounding extremely satisfied.

If the first glimpse of her had made Le Yiqiu’s heart race, Lin Xianing’s acting left her utterly shaken. In the past, Le Yiqiu had appreciated good acting as something pleasant to watch, but this was different. Lin Xianing’s performance combined a gentle smile with a bone-chilling, bloodthirsty indifference. It was a shock to the soul.

Watching it live, without the filter of a screen or editing, the sensation of cold dread was visceral.

“Gives you goosebumps, doesn’t it?” Assistant Li whispered beside her. “I’ve seen a lot of actors, but at her age, Lin Xianing is the only one who can pull off this level of realism. She makes you feel like you’re right there in the nightmare. Not many people have that gift.”

“She’s incredible,” Le Yiqiu agreed. Hearing her wife being praised made her happier than any compliment directed at herself could. Her eyes remained fixed on Lin Xianing, glowing with admiration.

With every meeting, the spark in her heart grew. It was a strange, yet seemingly inevitable attraction.

Across the set, Lin Xianing had just taken a water bottle from her assistant when she felt a familiar, searing gaze. Her heart skipped a beat. She looked up, pretending to be casual, and immediately locked eyes with a pair of eyes she would never forget as long as she lived.

Even with the hat and mask, she knew instantly. It was Le Yiqiu.

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