Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 23

Sun Ran watched the two of them as if she were enjoying a front-row seat to a private drama. She casually handed the script to Tang Wangyue. “Take a look, Xiao Tang.”

Wangyue knew the content by heart, but she still needed to review the specific dialogue and cues.

She studied the script while being led away to the dressing room. Since the costumes and makeup design for the role were already paid for and finalized, they only needed a few minor adjustments to fit her.

The makeup artist gasped as she finished Wangyue’s face. “Your face actually makes me believe it—the whole ‘man with a woman’s face’ thing.”

The concept didn’t just mean “pretty”; the character still needed a core of heroic, sharp energy. The natural, spirited look in Wangyue’s eyes fit the bill perfectly.

When she finally stepped out, she was wearing a simple wooden hairpin and robes of pure, pristine white. She looked ethereal, like a being untouched by the dust of the world—soft yet strikingly resolute.

Yun Chuxian’s gaze locked onto her. A smile bloomed in her eyes, and the corners of her mouth curved upward. She had known Wangyue would look stunning in ancient dress—like a bright, distant moon, heartbreakingly beautiful.

The only question was: could Tang Wangyue actually become Xia Liang?

“Xiao Tang, how are you doing with the script?” Sun Ran asked.

“I’ve committed it to memory,” Wangyue replied. She didn’t say she had “finished reading it”; she said she had memorized it. Sun Ran nodded in approval; she had a soft spot for hardworking young professionals.

“Alright. Let’s begin. Chuxian, I’ll leave her in your hands.”

Yun Chuxian’s smile widened. “It would be my pleasure.”

Chuxian was currently in her red robes, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her styling for the day was simple and clean. On the surface, she was the bright, flamboyant Eldest Princess, but as she stepped into the role, her aura shifted. A cold, lonely sharpness took hold.

In an instant, it was as if the real Eldest Princess had manifested before them—high above the world, a master of life and death. Nearby staff members immediately began sneaking photos and videos, sensing a potential viral marketing moment.

Chuxian looked at Wangyue with cold indifference. Or rather, the Princess looked down at Xia Liang.

Xia Liang was the eunuch who had grown up by her side, yet now he wanted to leave. The Princess was perceptive; her sharp eyes bored into his soul.

Wangyue hadn’t officially “entered the zone,” but seeing this version of Chuxian made the scene come alive. She immediately dropped to her knees at Chuxian’s feet and looked up.

The peerless Eldest Princess didn’t even deign to give her a glance, yet Wangyue found herself staring in a trance. In that moment, she couldn’t tell if she was looking at Yun Chuxian or the Princess. But for the sake of the scene, she treated her as the sovereign.

This version of Chuxian was breathtaking. Her skin was like jade, her lips like vermilion. To call her a goddess would be an understatement. Even though Wangyue could only see Chuxian’s sharp jawline from this angle, the actress’s cold, overbearing presence was staggering.

Wangyue reached out, took Chuxian’s hand, and placed it atop her own head. Then, she rested her forehead against the hem of the red silk skirt. With a voice full of absolute, soul-deep devotion, she whispered:

“Master.”

That single word was enough. As a professional director, Sun Ran could tell immediately that Wangyue was a perfect fit. Perhaps she mistook the infatuation in Wangyue’s eyes for character-driven piety, or perhaps the visual was just that compelling. Sun Ran clapped her hands. “Excellent!”

“The acting is a bit raw, which is expected, but the look is perfect. Especially that devotion to the Princess. I think it’s brilliant.”

Wangyue bit her lip. She didn’t have the heart to admit that she wasn’t “acting” out piety; she had simply been dazed by how untouchable and magnificent Chuxian looked. It wasn’t devotion; it was pure infatuation.

Chuxian smirked. She knew better than anyone what was really in Wangyue’s eyes. In that position, if she had leaned down to kiss the “little liar,” Wangyue wouldn’t have been able to resist.

“I can help Screenwriter Tang with her acting, if she doesn’t mind,” Chuxian offered. In front of others, she went back to the formal “Screenwriter Tang,” a distance that left a bitter taste in Wangyue’s mouth.

Wangyue put on a polite, distant smile of her own. “Not at all. I should thank Teacher Yun for her guidance.”

Screenwriter Tang. Teacher Yun. They were being impossibly polite.

The screen test ended with Sun Ran officially casting Wangyue as Xia Liang. The role mostly involved kneeling and calling out “Your Highness” or “Master.” There were only three main scenes: the parting they just rehearsed, a scene of him riding out of the city in white, and the final assassination. It was a minor enough role that a director could afford to use a newcomer; with a bit of coaching, it was a safe bet.

Chuxian smiled and added, “Since Director Sun likes Screenwriter Tang, then Zheng Shen’s salary should go to her as well.”

She wasn’t going to let Wangyue work for free, and she wanted to make sure the pay was high. Sun Ran gave her a mock glare. “You’ve already taken her under your wing and now you’re negotiating on her behalf?”

“What student?” Chuxian teased, squinting her eyes with a mischievous grin. “A beauty like Screenwriter Tang would be better suited as a partner.”

She spoke with such casual flippancy that no one would actually suspect she meant it. Sun Ran huffed. “Honestly, stop teasing the girl. If she takes you seriously, you’ll have to take responsibility.”

“Then I’ll take responsibility.” Chuxian’s meaningful gaze locked with Wangyue’s, and for a split second, the sincerity in her eyes was impossible to miss.

The air in the tent suddenly felt thin. Wangyue felt as if she were running out of oxygen, a deep flush creeping up her neck.

Sun Ran, noticing the intensity, stopped joking. “Fine. We’ll match Zheng Shen’s rate.”

Zheng Shen had an investor backing him and a couple of credits to his name; his rate was 200,000 yuan. To earn 200,000 for just two weeks of work was an incredible sum. Sun Ran waved her hand and ordered the contract to be drawn up.

As she signed, Wangyue felt a bit lightheaded. Was acting really this lucrative? As an on-set writer, her monthly salary was 15,000. She could work the entire six-month shoot and not make as much as she would in these two weeks. It was enough to live on for half a year—thanks entirely to Chuxian speaking up for her.

Wangyue wasn’t a fool. Chuxian had gone out on a limb for her; to refuse now would be disrespectful to Chuxian and make Wangyue look immature.

“Thank you,” Wangyue whispered as they stepped out of the tent.

A second later, Chuxian’s fingers brushed against the back of her hand. Feeling the chill of the actress’s touch, Wangyue looked down to see Chuxian’s pale skin bathed in the golden afternoon sun, looking almost holy.

She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

“If you want to thank me,” Chuxian whispered, “come study the script with me tonight. I’ll teach you how to act.”

Chuxian had reached her goal. She couldn’t deny it—the moment the little liar knelt and called her “Master,” she had felt a profound sense of satisfaction.

In their private rehearsal tonight, she planned to make her say it a few more times.

Wangyue was the type of person who committed fully to whatever she did. Since she had accepted the role and the high pay, she was determined to do it justice. She needed to learn from a pro and since Chuxian had offered, there was no reason to say no.

She had no idea that all Chuxian could think about was the look of pure infatuation in Wangyue’s eyes and the soft, devout sound of her voice saying, “Master.”

Chuxian already knew what her dreams would be like tonight: Tang Wangyue, wearing a collar, calling her Master.

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