What Should I Do If the Aloof Movie Queen Is Too in Love With Me? - Chapter 7

Anyone who has spent enough time in the film and television circle knows that nine out of ten investors are idiots, and the remaining one is a massive idiot; you just have to flicker and deceive them until they’re convinced.

Ji Youyi was a typical commercial film director. Behind her string of high-box-office movies, there was no shortage of investors who had been talked into a daze by her.

“I have an idea that might not be right, but hear me out.” Ji Youyi weighed her words carefully based on her current identity. “A person’s creative level is always lower than their aesthetic level. So, when investors describe this and that to you in flowery terms, they actually have no clue what they really want. If we revise according to exactly what they say, we might never reach their standard.”

The male lead wanted a “mind-blowing” entrance; to put it bluntly, he was just there to experience life. The most important thing was for him to have fun during the filming process.

The female lead wanted to be beautiful and to dance; she simply wanted to be famous, gain prestige, and attract fans. Therefore, creating a good character arc for her was the most important thing.

As for the production side, they wanted to make money. If you talked to them about how these changes would make the show more marketable, they would actually listen.

“What we need to do is create the finished product we want first, then refine and summarize it based on the client’s core demands to flicker—oh no, to persuade them to accept it.”

Ji Youyi had urgent business. After chatting with Li Zhulan for half an hour, she left in a hurry. Before leaving, she added Li Zhulan on WeChat, agreeing to revise the script together that evening.

The urgent business was truly urgent and the top priority in life—she had to earn money.

There were over five million in loans waiting to be repaid on her card, yet she only had a few paper bills in her pocket. Ji Youyi came to the Film City specifically to find a way out.

In the internet age, there are countless ways to make money online. If she took advantage of her current notoriety to start live-streaming and talk about her experiences, she would likely go viral.

But Ji Youyi didn’t like earning that kind of money.

She had scenes to film this afternoon, but none tomorrow.

She changed back into her regular clothes. Without removing her makeup or hair styling, she headed straight out of the set, hoping to find a one-day gig nearby for tomorrow.

Although in her original world, the outside world always hailed Ji Youyi as a famous director, she knew very well that she was just a multi-functional film and television migrant worker.

She was adopted at the age of five, and the name “Ji Youyi” was one she had given herself back then.

Her adoptive mother took her to Hong Kong to work as a child star in movies. Not long after, she apprenticed to learn filmmaking and began to touch every role in a film crew.

Since she was a little bean sprout barely over a meter tall, she had spent her days soaked in film sets. Working over fifteen hours a day had been her norm for the past twenty years.

She had worked in all departments—production, cinematography, lighting, recording, costume and makeup, art, props—and had climbed the ladder step by step as a script supervisor, casting assistant, floor manager, and executive director.

With so many skills, she didn’t worry about finding work.

Ji Youyi bought a pack of cigarettes and a box of chewing gum at a supermarket, putting one in each pocket. When she met someone who smoked, she offered a cigarette; if they didn’t, she offered gum.

After wandering for a whole noon, she added many friends and joined over a dozen crew recruitment groups.

Approaching two o’clock, her scenes on set were about to start filming. Ji Youyi massaged her stiff facial muscles from smiling and decided to make one more stop.

She left the Film City and walked toward a location she had just heard about. Supposedly, there were many film companies and opportunities there.

Calling them ‘film companies’ was a stretch; the storefronts looked more like print shops. Tiny shops with similar names were sandwiched between a noisy wet market.

Ji Youyi stopped in front of a storefront sign and saw two lines written on the bulletin board:

“Short Drama ‘The Cruel Tyrant’s Palm Pet’ starts filming tomorrow. Urgently hiring actors, starting from 300 a day.”

Short drama?

In Ji Youyi’s concept as a film director, series within 20 episodes were considered short dramas, but in the public’s mouth, they were usually called TV series or web dramas, rather than being directly referred to as “short dramas.”

Out of curiosity, Ji Youyi pushed the door open and walked in.

A crude counter sat on the bare concrete floor. A girl with a ponytail stood behind it, organizing mountains of data.

The wall behind her was covered with gaudy stills and posters, presumably the film and television works produced by this company.

The girl glanced at Ji Youyi without stopping her hands: “Here for the audition? The female lead is already set.”

“I don’t need the lead.” Ji Youyi explained with a flattering smile, “Any female role will do. Do you have anything I can play?”

The other party pulled out a sheet and tossed it onto the counter: “Two left.”

Most of the roles on the call sheet had been crossed out. The remaining two female roles were: one as the female lead’s maid, which had more scenes and required 4 days at 800 per day; the other was a villainous female supporting character, with only one day of filming tomorrow for 1000.

Ji Youyi pointed to the latter without hesitation.

“I am a perfect fit for this role!” she began her pitch. “I’m known as a villainess specialist. I’ve played villainous supporting roles in many works, such as…”

She quickly glanced at the wall behind the girl and improvised on the spot, speaking eloquently, “‘The Fragile Dodder Flower Transmigrates as the Cold Palace Abandoned Consort’, ‘The Sickly Antagonist Loves and Hates Her’, ‘After the Breakup, the Entire Wealthy Family Goes Crazy for Me’, and so on.”

After speaking, she pointed at her face and resumed her pleasing smile, “Look at my makeup; I just came off a period film set.”

As she expected, the other party didn’t verify anything and just nodded: “Let me see your profile.”

Ji Youyi’s attitude was very professional. She immediately stood tall and turned her left side toward the girl.

“The other side.”

With a full sense of conviction, Ji Youyi rotated 180 degrees.

The girl nodded again, pulled up a script document on her phone, and pointed to a segment of lines for Ji Youyi to see: “Read this.”

Ji Youyi entered character instantly, performing with full emotion. Before she could finish two lines, the other party interrupted, “Fine. Add me on WeChat and wait for the notification. Makeup starts at 6:30 tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the location tonight. Don’t be late.”

From the moment she walked in to getting the role, the entire process took less than a minute. It seemed this short drama was truly short.

In the new media era, content creation excessively pursues being “short, flat, and fast.” Ji Youyi, once a traditional film director, would have felt slight discomfort, but times had changed. She now hoped for more of these opportunities to pay off her debts quickly.

Stepping out of the company doors, Ji Youyi took out her phone and saw a new short message.

Fang Ruohan: “Little Ji~ Are you still filming in D City? I happen to be on a business trip in D City. Want to grab dinner? [Dog]”

Of course she did.

Ji Youyi replied: “Yes! Is it just the two of us? Sister Meng…”

She typed a few words and then deleted them all.

Fang Ruohan was Sister Meng’s subordinate; a business trip to D City most likely meant she was following Sister Meng.

Since Meng was in D City, out of politeness, she certainly should invite her. But Fang Ruohan hadn’t mentioned Meng. If she brought it up proactively, it might seem sycophantic. Contacting Meng privately might look like she was snitching. Moreover, even if she wanted to have dinner with Meng, given her current economic situation, she couldn’t book a high-end restaurant. A meal would be unpleasant, so it was better not to invite her…

Ji Youyi finished weighing the options within two seconds and typed: “Yes yes yes! What do you want to eat! The night market here is very lively; I’ll take you there to play!!!”

The night market is great; the night market is cheap!

D City Airport.

Hearing the sound of the trunk opening, Meng Xingshu opened her eyes from a shallow nap. The next second, the right car door opened, and her friend stepped in.

Lin Shan held a spray bottle and sprayed her face vigorously: “Long-distance flights are not for humans. I almost withered inside.”

Meng Xingshu reminded her: “If you flew to S City, you could have sat for two hours less.”

“Isn’t this to work for Boss Meng!” Lin Shan put down the spray and looked at Meng Xingshu with a touched face. “But for you to actually come to D City to pick me up, good sister.”

Meng Xingshu gave an “Mhm.” She hadn’t slept well these past two days, and her voice was a bit weary: “After all, I still need you to work for me.”

Over a decade ago, Lin Shan’s mother, Lin Miao, founded “Filmily” (Chinese name: Fei Mu Lin), one of the earliest websites in China to provide comprehensive online video services.

In recent years, by keeping up with the times, innovating boldly, and deeply binding with the Chinese film star Meng Xingshu, it had become the largest streaming platform in the country.

Lin Shan herself was Meng Xingshu’s best friend.

The two had been classmates since the age of 9 and were desk-mates for a total of eight and a half years throughout primary, middle, and high school.

Meng Xingshu was quiet and had good grades. Lin Shan was originally mischievous, but after spending time with Meng Xingshu, she actually learned some composure.

Meng Xingshu covered for her in class, let her copy homework, and highlighted key points for her before exams, saving her from countless beatings from Lin Miao. The two forged a deep revolutionary friendship.

Lin Shan knew more or less about those affairs of the Meng family.

Meng Xingshu was spotted by a scout in her first year of high school and began her acting career, but all the money she earned was taken away by Meng Yuting under the name of “guardian.”

Thus, after becoming adults, they established Lingxing Film and Television Company. Lin Shan served as CEO and signed Meng Xingshu, using a contract to strictly limit her earnings on the surface.

A small portion of the remuneration Meng Xingshu earned went through the normal accounts, while the majority returned to her hands in other forms.

Lin Shan was the operator of the entire process. She once asked Meng Xingshu: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run away with the money?”

Meng Xingshu hadn’t even lifted her eyelids: “Then run.”

Meng Xingshu had been like this for years—cold and indifferent toward everything as if she didn’t care.

Lin Shan didn’t actually have any dirty intentions; she simply liked to needle Meng Xingshu every few days, but unfortunately, she never saw a reaction.

Lin Shan never said it aloud, but she was grateful to Meng Xingshu from the bottom of her heart.

Don’t look at Lingxing being a leader in the domestic film industry now; in fact, Lin Shan’s abilities were limited in the early years. She couldn’t even figure out her own mother’s company business, let alone start an independent business. It was all thanks to Meng Xingshu teaching her hand-in-hand.

From fundraising to project development, from resource allocation to wining over talent, she followed Meng Xingshu to learn business, management, technology, and how to complete value exchanges in social settings—clearly they were peers, and Meng Xingshu was even a few months younger, yet she had always followed behind Meng Xingshu like this since they were children.

With Lingxing’s position stabilized, the current Lin Shan had long since grown into a respected entrepreneur in the industry.

But she was only temporarily holding the title for her friend; the final decision-making power of the company was in Meng Xingshu’s hands. Lin Shan figured there was nothing wrong with saying she worked for Boss Meng.

Anyway, she was now looking forward to the day Meng Xingshu finally broke free from the Meng family so she could hand Lingxing back to her, while she herself returned to Filmily to lie down behind her mother as a profligate second-generation heir.

Until then, she still had to honestly be the President of Lingxing.

“I’ll be staying in D City for a few days. Aren’t there several projects currently filming? I plan to go to the sets to keep an eye on things.”

Lin Shan asked, “What about you? What are you doing in D City? I haven’t heard of you having work here?”

Meng Xingshu: “I’ll go with you.”

“Huh?” Lin Shan’s eyes almost fell out in shock. she asked urgently, “What happened that you want to go to the set? Who collapsed? An actor? The director? Or the sky?”

Meng Xingshu didn’t like going out. Since Lin Shan could hold her own, she had never visited a set with her again, always communicating online. Lin Shan couldn’t imagine anything that could move her.

“There’s a big scene being filmed today. I happen to be free, and it’s more intuitive to see it on site.”

Meng Xingshu looked at her indifferently and asked back, “The matter I asked you about the day before yesterday—how’s the investigation?”

Lin Shan: “Oh that, I found some things. I used to think the circle was small, but after checking, I realized—why are there so many people named Zhang? And that profile picture you mentioned, the very ugly bust shot, has absolutely no filtering use. Please, which Manager Zhang’s profile picture isn’t that?”

As Lin Shan spoke, she handed her phone to Meng Xingshu, “Here, take a look. Is it any of these?”

Meng Xingshu glanced at it: “No.”

“Is there any more information? For example, where did you see this profile picture?”

“No.”

Lin Shan was very puzzled: “So why are you looking for this person? Does he have anything to do with Zhang Chunxue?”

“No.”

Lin Shan put away her phone: “Fine, I’ll look again later; probably something in some remote corner. Aren’t we going to a dinner party tonight? I’ll ask around then too.”

Meng Xingshu nodded and looked at the driver’s seat in front: “Ruohan, remember to book a seat for yourself.”

This was their habit for many years. When Meng Xingshu had a social engagement, she let Fang Ruohan book a separate table for herself on the company’s dime.

Fang Ruohan said hurriedly: “Teacher Meng, no need. Little Ji said she’s treating me to dinner tonight, so after I drop you off, I need to take some leave.”

Meng Xingshu paused slightly and repeated: “She’s treating you to dinner.”

“Yes.”

“She has money to treat you?” Meng Xingshu’s tone was slightly cold. Didn’t she only accept the medicine and refuse to take the twenty thousand in cash?

“That’s what she said; otherwise, how could I be invited? After dinner, I’ll definitely rush to pay the bill.”

Meng Xingshu: “Mhm.”

The car fell silent.

Meng Xingshu took out her phone. The screen protector was clean with no unread messages.

The signal near the airport was often bad. She opened WeChat directly and watched the “receiving” status at the top spin once; there were still no new message notifications in the chat interface.

Her finger slid across boxes of muted conversations and clicked into the one that wasn’t muted. The only recent message was that friend request.

Meng Xingshu closed the phone. After a second, she flipped it open again, unmuted it, and closed it once more.

Beside her, Lin Shan was gossiping: “Who is Little Ji?”

With a “ding,” Meng Xingshu’s phone rang. She opened it to see it was a spam text message.

Meng Xingshu had no expression on her face. She blocked the source, deleted the text, and switched the phone back to silent.

The screen dimmed naturally. She looked out the window, her words falling inside the car as if coated in frost: “I don’t know.”