Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 12

Yun Chuxian had learned from Director Sun Ran that Tang Wangyue was actually the original author of The Eldest Princess.

She genuinely liked the novel—it was the primary reason she had accepted the role. The script followed the book closely, merely picking up the pace here and there, but as a historical power-play drama with a strong female lead, the plot was intricate. Between the character arcs and the political depth, the series was slated for a solid 40 to 50 episodes.

Sun Ran kept a tight grip on the production, and with Chuxian herself keeping watch, the production company wouldn’t dare butcher the script with unnecessary changes. When the director and the lead actress both have a say, the producers have to behave, though they aren’t completely barred from slotting in their own people. The fifth female lead and a few of the supporting male roles were all “recommended” by the investors.

Fortunately, in a female-centric drama, these characters wouldn’t have much screen time, so it was harmless. If they performed well, it might even be considered a successful casting.

Chuxian had suffered through script-mangling in the past; now that she had the power, she refused to let it happen again. She truly hadn’t expected the original author to be Tang Wangyue—her talented “little liar.”

Recalling their brief intimacy the night before, she could still feel the way Wangyue’s heart had fluttered. So, Wangyue likes it when I’m passionate and proactive?

A playful smile touched Chuxian’s lips. If that’s what she liked, she would give it to her—but not all at once. Having formed a plan, Chuxian was in a noticeably good mood.

Beside her, Bai Yu was the picture of resentment, her eyes heavy with dark circles. Her boss was happy, but Bai Yu had spent an agonizing night dealing with the hotel’s security footage. She’d had to manually tilt the cameras away when Chuxian went to find Wangyue, and then tilt them back once she came out.

But Boss, did you really have to stay in her room so long that you forgot I was out here waiting to reset the monitors?

She worried her direct superior—Chuxian’s manager, Cheng Huang—might actually kill her if she found out. As an assistant, it was hard enough being the boss’s confidante while also serving as a minor informant for the manager. Still, Chuxian was the one she truly served; as long as the star protected her, she’d be fine.

Fortunately, Chuxian was a generous boss. “Pick out some of the items the brands sent over,” she said. “Keep them for yourself or give them away as gifts.”

Bai Yu’s eyes lit up instantly. “Thank you, Boss!”

Every year, brands sent a mountain of clothes. Since Chuxian couldn’t possibly wear them all, she’d pick a few and give the rest away. The cosmetics were all high-end luxury brands, and even the promotional merchandise was expensive. Getting these for free saved Bai Yu a fortune on social gifting.

Seeing her assistant’s beaming face, Chuxian laughed. “I didn’t realize you were such a money-grubber.”

“I only work so I can make money,” Bai Yu said matter-of-factly.

“Fair point.”

A moment later, Bai Yu’s phone buzzed with a notification: A transfer from the World’s Best Boss.

“Twenty thousand?” Bai Yu’s eyes widened. “Boss?”

“For your hard work last night.”

Chuxian knew that as a celebrity, her every move was watched, and she didn’t want to bring trouble to Wangyue. Despite knowing the set was a nest of gossip and cameras, she had decided to use their time during the production to weave a web around Tang Wangyue.

The little liar was already starting to take the bait.

Chuxian checked the time. “Let’s go.”

“You haven’t eaten your sandwich.”

Chuxian clearly had no intention of eating, so Bai Yu quickly packed the freshly made sandwich into a container.

Just as they stepped out of the room, they ran into Tang Wangyue, who was also heading out. Wrapped in a black sun-protection hoodie with long sleeves and pants, she was almost entirely covered.

Bai Yu instinctively moved to block Chuxian, but the actress gently pulled her back. “It’s Screenwriter Tang.”

Wangyue pulled her zipper down just an inch. Hearing the formal “Screenwriter Tang” made her pause; last night, the woman had been calling her “Yue.”

She pulled the zipper back up, hiding her face, and gave a muffled greeting. “Miss Yun.”

The three of them entered the elevator and reached the lobby. Wangyue had to go pick up her bike, while Chuxian’s car was waiting at the entrance; they weren’t technically going the same way.

After they parted, Wangyue went to get her bike but purposefully looped back toward the hotel entrance. She glanced at Chuxian’s trailer and was about to pedal away when Bai Yu suddenly called out.

“Screenwriter Tang, could you help us out?”

“What is it?” Wangyue stopped her bike right next to the trailer, her eyes wandering toward the interior in spite of herself.

“It’s like this—the car is having some issues, but the Director is rushing us. Could you give Miss Yun a ride to the set first?”

Wangyue didn’t answer immediately, just waited.

Sure enough, Chuxian poked her head out and offered a smile. “Would that be okay, Screenwriter Tang?”

A moment later, Wangyue was pedaling with extra effort. A pair of soft hands gripped the hem of her shirt, sending ripples of awareness through her. Chuxian sat properly on the back, only holding the fabric of her clothes, making them look anything but intimate.

However, Chuxian’s voice wasn’t nearly as formal as her public persona. “I remember this bike didn’t have a back seat.”

Wangyue’s body went stiff. After Chuxian had mentioned it the night before, she had gone out and installed one. “The seat came with the bike,” she lied. “I just hadn’t put it on.”

“Is that so?” Chuxian’s tone was playful, making it impossible to tell if she believed the lie or not.

“Yeah.”

Wangyue stared at the road ahead. The ride from the hotel to the studio only took fifteen minutes. She didn’t want to ride too fast, but she couldn’t let Chuxian be late, so she kept a steady pace.

Suddenly, the wheel hit a small stone, causing the back of the bike to jolt. Chuxian instinctively threw her arms around Wangyue’s waist.

“Are you okay?” Wangyue asked, stopping the bike by the side of the road.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” Chuxian lightly patted Wangyue’s shoulder and subtly pulled back, re-establishing the distance between them.

Wangyue looked down at the hands withdrawing from her stomach, a flash of disappointment flickering in her eyes. She pulls me close, then pushes me away.

The bike continued smoothly. Chuxian had a smile on her face; she’d noticed how tense Wangyue’s back had become when she touched her. Even after she had pulled back to a “safe” distance, she could tell Wangyue was still on edge.

Chuxian was wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat, much like many other people on the street. They looked like any other pair of commuters, so no one recognized them.

They didn’t speak again until they reached the set.

Once there, Chuxian removed her hat. “Thank you, Screenwriter Tang.”

No “Yue” in public, only “Screenwriter Tang.” The polite, formal smile she offered was so distant it made Wangyue’s heart ache with a sudden, sharp sting.

“Miss Yun is here!”

“Miss Yun, the dressing room is ready.”

The moment Chuxian arrived, several people swarmed around her, chattering about the day’s schedule. She maintained her polite, graceful smile throughout. Wangyue found it hard to tell the difference between that smile and the one Chuxian had just given her.

Just as Wangyue was about to walk away, Chuxian suddenly spoke. “Screenwriter Tang, don’t forget—you promised to teach me how to ride.”

Wangyue wouldn’t forget. She just wondered if Chuxian would actually ever have the time.

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