Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 26.2

Every time she called out “Master,” it felt as if she were calling out to Yun Chuxian herself.

The very word felt heavy on her tongue, almost impossible to utter. She could force it out in private, of course, but for a professional shoot, a forced performance wouldn’t pass the Director’s scrutiny.

Tang Wangyue pinched her sleeve. Dressed in pristine white robes, she looked like a handsome, innocent young scholar just reaching the age of maturity. In the story, all of the capital knew that Xia Liang was a eunuch. The Eldest Princess had told him that since he had entered her manor, he was simply a person, free to wear whatever he chose. Xia Liang, deeply conscious of his “imperfection,” chose white to symbolize a soul that remained untainted.

After being captured by the enemy, Xia Liang was discovered to be a eunuch. He went from being treated as a divine beauty to being trampled underfoot the moment his secret was out. Thus, his coldness was a shield for his inferiority, while his attitude toward the Princess was one of soul-deep respect and devotion.

Wangyue went over the nuances of the character in her head, preparing for the scene. A second later, she felt a wave of warmth on her arm. She turned to find Yun Chuxian leaning against her.

“I’m right here with you.”

Those few words settled Wangyue’s heart instantly. Suddenly, acting didn’t seem so daunting. She looked down at their overlapping shadows on the ground; even under the scorching sun, she felt a sense of cool relief. Chuxian’s gentleness made her forget the distance of the past two days. Maybe she was just busy, Wangyue rationalized. Even though Chuxian hadn’t explained a thing, Wangyue found herself making excuses for her.

She cursed herself internally: Beauty truly is justice, isn’t it?

“Action!”

Sun Ran’s voice crackled through the radio. She was sitting in the air-conditioned monitor room, watching the two of them out in the heat. Modern technology meant the Director didn’t have to suffer alongside the actors.

Wangyue tried to submerge herself in the role. She was Xia Liang—insecure, loyal, devout, and dark. The Eldest Princess was her Master. No… Yun Chuxian can be my Master. If she couldn’t fully inhabit the script, she would simply project the role onto the person in front of her.

The look in Wangyue’s eyes shifted—becoming one of infatuation, respect, and piety. It was as if a living deity stood before her. Mo Lai had once joked that if she couldn’t find the right state, she should just think of Chuxian as the Goddess of Wealth. It was a crude comparison, but the logic held up.

Noticing the shift in Wangyue’s gaze, Chuxian felt a surge of satisfaction. The little liar was a fast learner; to reach this level in just a few days was impressive.

The set was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Wangyue stepped forward, but as she neared Chuxian, she instinctively took a step back, as if terrified her proximity would defile her.

Good. Sun Ran was pleased with the choice.

Wangyue slowly knelt, gathering the hem of her white robes. “Master, the river is blocked. The grain cannot be transported. We are…” she paused, gritting her teeth. “We are out of food.”

Running out of food during a siege was a death sentence. A garrison of ten thousand against an army of a hundred thousand was a massive gap, but as long as the gates held and the food lasted, the city was impregnable. However, if the news of the grain shortage leaked, it would trigger a riot.

Xia Liang knelt at the Princess’s feet, pleading. “Master, I wish to return to the capital.”

“Returning to the capital” was a ruse; his true destination was the enemy camp. But Xia Liang would never tell the Princess the truth.

Wangyue tried to hold the character’s focus, but she overthought it, and her gaze flickered with a moment of distraction.

“NG!” Sun Ran shouted over the radio. “Xia Liang should be resolute. To ease the Princess’s burden, he would embrace death without hesitation. Xiao Tang, you should understand Xia Liang better than anyone. Try again.”

Understanding a character and portraying them were two different things.

“Sorry, Director.” Wangyue took a deep breath.

The second take failed as well. For a newcomer, Wangyue was doing well, but something was still missing. Technically, the role wasn’t vital enough to demand perfection—the audience probably wouldn’t notice. But Sun Ran saw potential and wanted to push for excellence. She wanted this “original author” cameo to be a standout marketing tool.

By the third failed take, Wangyue’s confidence was crumbling. “I’m sorry, Director, Miss Yun. I’m holding up the schedule.”

Chuxian frowned. She could tell the “kid” was hurting. She suddenly moved toward Wangyue, her wide silk sleeves fluttering over Wangyue’s head.

Wangyue instinctively looked up. The thin veil of Chuxian’s robes brushed over her face and nose before settling. She knelt there, staring up at Chuxian with pure infatuation. The cold rose scent filled her senses; it was as if the air itself had transformed into a version of Chuxian that was embracing her, hooking into her very soul.

Wangyue’s instincts kicked in. She realized Chuxian was helping her. She immediately launched into the dialogue, her face a mask of religious fervor. She didn’t just act out Xia Liang’s loyalty; she portrayed a fanatical obsession with a living god.

“Cut! Passed!”

Sun Ran sounded delighted. She had been willing to give Wangyue eight takes, but she’d nailed it on the fourth. “It’s a shame Xia Liang has so few scenes,” Sun Ran joked as she walked out of the tent. “I almost want to give you more.”

****

After filming, Wangyue realized the schedule had been shifted. Liu Cheng had been sent to the B-unit, and she was being kept in the A-unit.

“Confused?” Chuxian approached, her voice back to its familiar warmth.

“What?” Wangyue took a step back, only for Chuxian to follow.

“The B-unit is filming the less critical scenes. With Liu Cheng over there, Mo Lai won’t give him an inch. A conflict is inevitable,” Chuxian explained smoothly.

Wangyue frowned, her mind racing. “You mean… once the conflict explodes, one stays and one leaves?”

Chuxian nodded. Knowing Mo Lai’s temper, she wouldn’t tolerate Liu Cheng’s “let me test you” brand of middle-aged male chauvinism. Sun Ran would eventually have to play judge. In that scenario, it was often a battle of background rather than skill.

But Sun Ran would choose the talented Mo Lai over the connected Liu Cheng. Liu Cheng had bullied Wangyue, and once Mo Lai made a big enough issue of it, Sun Ran would have the excuse she needed to cut him loose.

“Don’t worry,” Chuxian said. “Sun Ran wants an excuse to get rid of Liu Cheng, not Mo Lai.”

“Thank you.” Wangyue meant it.

Chuxian took another step, their toes nearly touching. “Is that all the thanks I get?”

Wangyue’s throat felt tight. “How… how should I thank you?”

“Call me ‘Sister’.” Chuxian smiled. She didn’t move any closer, but their clothes brushed against each other.

“Sister,” Wangyue rasped.

“Mm-hm.” Chuxian looked satisfied. She studied the girl’s face, seeing the clear, serious gaze fixed on her. “Good girl.”

Wangyue tilted her head. Good girl? Is she treating me like a child?

Chuxian moved on to a new topic. “Filming has been so hectic these past few days, I haven’t had time to go over the script with you.”

Is that an explanation? Wangyue felt a surge of relief, like a thirsty traveler finding a cold drink in the desert. “Miss Yun should just focus on her work,” she said, lying through her teeth.

She had spent the last few nights wide awake, knowing Bai Yu was checking if she was asleep. To avoid looking too eager, she had stayed perfectly silent, pretending to be in a deep slumber. She had worried the “script lessons” were a one-time thing Chuxian wanted to forget. She was terrified of being rejected or ignored.

What if I had just kissed her that night? Wangyue’s eyes drifted to Chuxian’s lips. She remembered their intimacy—how the moment they were the least “familiar” was also the moment they were the closest.

Chuxian tilted her head. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Wangyue said quickly. She couldn’t very well admit she was thinking about kissing her. “Nothing at all.”

“Really?” Chuxian laughed and walked past her. “Come back to the trailer with me.”

*****

Inside the trailer, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. They sat across from each other at the small circular table. It was so small that if either of them stretched their legs, they would touch.

Chuxian did exactly that. She extended a leg until it was resting against Wangyue’s, their calves pressing together. The contact sent a restless itch through Wangyue’s heart.

The trailer started moving toward the hotel. “Want to rest for a bit?” Wangyue suggested, seeing how tired Chuxian looked.

“Will I dream of you?”

“Huh?”

Chuxian laughed softly. “If you’re in the dream, I’ll rest.”

Wangyue’s ears turned bright red. How could she say something like that so casually? “Dreams aren’t good for rest,” she tried to deflect.

“If it’s a dream about you, it’s good.”

The air in the trailer turned thick with subtext. Wangyue hadn’t expected Chuxian to be this direct after two days of silence. Chuxian stretched her long legs out further, sliding them between Wangyue’s.

“What would you dream about me doing?” Wangyue whispered.

“Things I want to do,” Chuxian replied, her eyes full of mischief.

Wangyue gave a dry laugh and tried to shift her position, but Chuxian was staring at her, waiting for a response.

“The… the hotel is almost here,” Wangyue pivoted.

“Yue, you’re so seriously boring,” Chuxian pouted. Her head was lowered, but her voice sounded genuinely aggrieved.

Wangyue’s brain short-circuited. In a heat of the moment, she blurted out: “I’ll do it with you!”

She hadn’t meant it in that way, but in this atmosphere, it was impossible to interpret it any other way.

Chuxian’s lips curled into a triumphant smile. My little liar finally couldn’t hold back.

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