Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 13

Before all of this started, Tang Wangyue never thought she would find herself so utterly captivated by another woman.

She headed over to find Mo Lai first. As the B-unit director, Mo Lai had arrived early at the set to begin the day’s arrangements.

The A and B units worked essentially side-by-side. The B-unit handled the supporting roles—the messy, secondary scenes that were nevertheless essential to the story. Today’s schedule featured the third and fifth female leads. In this story, the fifth female lead was a woman disguised as a man.

Today was their first scene together. Actually, it was the scene where the fifth female lead dies. It was a high-stakes, emotional parting—the kind of scene that really tested an actor’s mettle, and Mo Lai had decided to film it right out of the gate.

When Wangyue arrived, Mo Lai was shouting instructions. “Yes, set it up right there! Prepare to shoot!”

“Where are the actors? Why aren’t they in position yet?”

Mo Lai turned around and spotted Wangyue. “Yue! Perfect timing, I was looking for you.”

She pulled a script from the pocket of her utility vest. “We’re shooting this scene today. Even though they’re supporting characters, I want to give them a real moment to shine—a ‘highlight’ moment.”

Mo Lai didn’t believe that only the protagonists deserved the spotlight. As a director, she felt it was her job to make every limited second of screen time count. She had brainstormed several ideas, but most felt too long and threatened to drag the pacing down. If she couldn’t find a better way, she’d have to stick to the original script—safe, but uninspired.

She wanted to run it by Wangyue.

Wangyue flipped through the pages, recalling the passage from her novel.

The third lead, Huo Li, was the daughter of a Great General. Trained in martial arts since childhood, she yearned to fight on the battlefield, but as a woman, her options were limited. The fifth lead, Pang Shaoyou, was the scion of a fallen noble house. Desperate to restore their prestige, her family sought an alliance with the Great General’s house.

The General, wanting to avoid suspicion from the Emperor by associating with high-ranking officials, found the disgraced nobles to be the perfect match. Pang Shaoyou, knowing her secret identity as a woman, chose to flee the wedding. Huo Li, hearing that her betrothed was a “pretty boy” weakling, also ran away.

Fate brought them together during their flight. Discovering they shared the same ideals and spirit, they joined the army together under disguises. Eventually, the truth came out, and they prepared to return home to wed. However, an invasion struck. They led the commoners in a desperate defense of the city. Pang Shaoyou was gravely wounded, and only the timely arrival of the Eldest Princess saved them from a tragic end.

The Princess eventually presided over their wedding, and with her support, Huo Li became the first female general in the imperial court.

Today’s shoot was the city defense—a moment where their love was already forged in fire. Wangyue didn’t usually write much romance, so the few relationships in this novel were precious. Since it was a “Strong Female Lead” story, she focused on the overarching plot; this couple only appeared together a few times, though Huo Li was a major character as one of the Princess’s inner circle.

And usually, their story was tinged with tragedy.

Seeing Wangyue lost in thought, Mo Lai voiced her suggestion. “How about we make the wedding more elaborate? Since the war is over at that point.”

Wangyue shook her head. “In my setting, the people come first—even before their own feelings. A grand, lavish wedding in a city that has just survived a bloody siege wouldn’t feel right.”

That was why she had written it as a simple ceremony: Earth and Sky as their witness, the Princess as their guest. There was no need to change that. But how to give them that “highlight”?

As she pondered, Mo Lai added, “Director Sun is handling the massive battle sequences herself. I’m only doing the smaller, localized scenes.”

Wangyue gave her a dry look. “So you’re handing me the hard part?”

“Hehe.”

“Hmph.” Wangyue let out a small huff. “Focus on the commoners. ‘In prosperity, the people suffer; in ruin, the people suffer.’ Use the lens to silently capture the toll war takes on the ordinary citizen.”

Mo Lai’s eyes lit up. “That’s it!”

Most plots followed the leads, and rarely did the camera linger on the extras. In a political drama, this was the perfect way to convey the bleakness behind the grand schemes.

Wangyue offered a few more suggestions, leaving Mo Lai looking moved. “I’m getting you an extra side dish for lunch!”

Mo Lai hurried off to work, and the set became a hive of activity. The schedule was packed tight, from dawn until the final wrap of the day.

Wangyue decided to head to the monitor tent. Mo Lai would be joining her shortly. The monitors were kept in an air-conditioned tent—a mercy that kept them from roasting alongside the actors.

Just as she reached the monitors, a shadow fell over her, blocking the light.

Wangyue looked up and saw a tall, hulking man. He was well-built but had a face that didn’t quite match his stature. She recognized him: the actor playing the fifth male lead.

The man dropped an envelope in front of her. “Screenwriter Tang, don’t you think my character could use a bit more… depth?”

The envelope was filled with cash. Judging by the thickness, it was about thirty thousand yuan. Her monthly salary was fifteen.

It was a “fair” price in the industry. Back when she was an intern, she only made four or five thousand. You needed years of experience to break ten thousand, and only those with a major hit moved into the next bracket—the million-yuan-a-year territory reserved for top-tier writers.

Wangyue was only on her second production. If this man didn’t know she was the original author, he probably assumed she was only making what she was because of Mo Lai’s influence.

What was his name again? She couldn’t remember. But he was certainly generous.

Judging by his designer clothes, he didn’t lack the cash. His intent was clear: he wanted her to add scenes for him.

Wangyue stood up calmly. If things took a turn, she didn’t want to be caught sitting down. “The thing is, I’m just a minor writer. No matter how I change the script, it has to be approved by the Director before it can be filmed.”

To some, a polite refusal isn’t a refusal at all.

“Screenwriter Tang, if you write it well enough, why would the Director say no?” He flashed a confident, arrogant smile.

I see, she thought. He thinks he’s testing my talent.

She decided to be blunt. “The writing team has two senior members. I’m new; I don’t have that kind of authority.”

“How could that be? You’re the only writer for the B-unit, and you’re so close with Director Mo. All my scenes are in the B-unit.”

So he had it all planned out.

Wangyue’s gaze drifted to a cast list nearby. She found the entry for the fifth male lead, Xia Liang—a character with a significant “highlight” who kills an enemy king.

Zheng Shen?

In a female-centric drama, male roles were sparse outside of the veteran court officials. The fifth lead would be lucky to have ten minutes of total screen time. However, Xia Liang was supposed to be a “honey trap”—someone who uses his beauty to get close enough to assassinate the king. He doesn’t survive, but he succeeds in stopping the enemy’s advance.

It was a brilliant, tragic role that required a breathtakingly beautiful actor. This Zheng Shen… left much to be desired.

“I’m sorry,” Wangyue said directly. “The answer is no.”

Zheng Shen froze. He hadn’t expected such a blunt rejection. His face turned a deep, angry red. “Fine. You’re just a minor writer and you dare to cross me? Do you even know who my backing is?”

“No,” Wangyue said honestly. She really didn’t. And why was he so worked up? It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t take a hint.

Zheng Shen grew even more furious. “I’m close with the Vice President of the production company.”

“That’s great. Have the VP talk to the Director. Maybe you can just be the male lead then.”

Wangyue had no patience for this. Why harass a writer?

“What’s that supposed to mean? You looking down on me?” Using his height, Zheng Shen stepped into her personal space.

At 178cm, Wangyue was tall, but this man had ten centimeters on her. She detested being crowded, especially by men. She stepped back. “Mr. Zheng, please show some self-respect.”

“Self-respect?” Zheng Shen looked her up and down, trying to see her face through the gaps in her sun gear.

Wangyue’s eyes turned cold. She had studied boxing. If he tried anything, she had no problem defending herself—there were no cameras here.

But Zheng Shen was arrogant enough to think a “minor writer” was an easy target. “Tang Wangyue, is it? One word from me and you’ll never work in this industry again.”

“I believe you,” Wangyue said calmly. She had no powerful background, but she had talent. Her IPs were gold mines; nobody in their right mind would throw away money just to spite her.

Her indifference only stoked his rage. “You don’t sound like you believe me!”

“You’re delusional,” Wangyue said, turning to leave.

Zheng Shen lunged for her, reaching for her hood. Wangyue dodged, sticking out a foot in the process. Zheng Shen went sprawling face-first onto the ground.

Losing all reason, he scrambled up and grabbed a heavy board from the table, raising it to strike her. Wangyue narrowed her eyes, ready to counter—until a familiar voice rang out.

“Stop!”

Wangyue’s eyes flickered. Instead of counter-attacking, she shifted her weight and deliberately fell toward the source of the voice.

A soft, warm body caught her, drawing her into a firm embrace. The scent of cold roses immediately filled her senses, making her want to stay right where she was.

Above her, Yun Chuxian’s voice rang out, cold as ice. “I don’t want to see him on this set ever again.”

Then, Director Sun’s voice followed. “Zheng Shen, get out. Right now.”

Wangyue’s body went stiff. Wait… the Chief Director is here too?

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