Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 35

Mo Lai finally had to leave. As the assistant director with the heaviest workload on set, she was arguably busier than the director herself.

Being second-in-command meant handling everything from B-unit filming to endless administrative chores—always thinking ten steps ahead of the leader. Sun Ran oversaw the big picture, which came with its own set of headaches.

On this set, the atmosphere was refreshingly progressive. Unlike some productions where women were told they “couldn’t sit here” or “shouldn’t touch that,” The Eldest Princess was a place of equality. If equipment needed moving, women moved it. If one person couldn’t carry it, two lifted it together. Tang Wangyue felt that if this was the professional environment, traveling with a crew wouldn’t be such a bad life.

Especially a crew with Yun Chuxian.

But she knew it was a pipe dream; Chuxian wouldn’t spend her whole career filming only Wangyue’s scripts. With a hint of regret at not getting a word in with Chuxian, Wangyue retreated to her room. Mo Lai had been an effective—if unintended—human barrier, acting like a giant flashlight between them.

******

Back in her room, Wangyue opened the fridge. She pulled out bread, ham, steak, and lettuce to make a steak and ham sandwich—simple, quick, and satisfying. Of course, it had to have two eggs.

She practiced a “renegade” style of cooking, using only an air fryer. She’d crack the eggs into a small bowl, pop them in for a few minutes, and they’d come out perfect. Because she was bad at portion control, she ended up with three sandwiches. Since the steak was massive, she sliced it into four pieces, resulting in one “Double Steak” masterpiece.

She was halfway through wrapping them in plastic for tomorrow’s breakfast when the doorbell rang. Did Mo Lai forget something? She scanned the sofa—nothing.

Wangyue opened the door. “What did you forget—”

The words died in her throat. “Sister?”

Calling her “Sister” out of habit made Wangyue flush a deep crimson. “T-Teacher Yun.”

A smile played on Chuxian’s lips as she stepped forward, slowly closing the distance. A second later, the door clicked shut behind her. The atmosphere in the room instantly thickened, as if a fine powder of aphrodisiac had been released into the air, causing their temperatures to rise.

“Why did you stop calling me Sister?” Chuxian murmured, moving closer until Wangyue’s back was flush against the wall.

Wangyue averted her eyes nervously. “Do you have business with me?”

Chuxian gave a soft huff at the formal “you.” Such a fickle little liar. “Can’t I come see you without a reason?”

“No, that’s not it!” Wangyue explained hurriedly, meeting Chuxian’s gaze. “You can come see me whenever you want.” Like an obedient puppy, she bared her true feelings.

Chuxian arched an eyebrow and walked toward the sofa, satisfied. Hearts were meant to be worn on sleeves; a hidden feeling was a useless thing.

Wangyue took a breath, her senses immediately flooded by the cold rose fragrance. Chuxian simply smelled too good.

“I do have one reason for coming, actually.” Seeing the slight disappointment on Wangyue’s face, Chuxian added, “It’s the excuse I prepared in case anyone saw me coming here. But I can tell it to you.”

Wangyue understood. Chuxian had specifically crafted an excuse just to see her. The realization was like honey in her heart, sweetness spreading from her chest to every nerve ending. Her eyes lit up with curiosity.

Chuxian took a sip of Wangyue’s water to ease the dryness in her throat. “The excuse is: I have business with Screenwriter Tang.”

…A great excuse, Wangyue thought. Telling me everything and nothing at the same time. She smiled. “And what business is that?”

Chuxian reached out to touch her face. In her private quarters, Wangyue looked fresh and clear, like a green meadow in spring—the kind of person who looked best in a crisp white shirt. Chuxian’s fingers slowly laced with Wangyue’s, ten fingers intertwined, amping up the tension.

“Ye Lingxi has immense power at Jingwei Video. One word from her can decide a project’s fate. However, she is famously impartial. If I ‘recommend’ you, it might actually backfire.”

Wangyue nodded. She understood. If anyone else were coming, Sun Ran’s recommendation would be a golden ticket, but Ye Lingxi was different. Her background allowed her the luxury of being “fair.”

“Thank you for the warning, Sister. Actually, I wasn’t planning on giving her my scripts. I’ve submitted to Jingwei before—the editors there are quite funny. Months pass and the manuscripts stay ‘unread’. I think…”

She appreciated Sun Ran and Mo Lai’s kindness, but she wouldn’t use this as a shortcut. She believed that if her script was good enough, the connection could be saved for later. Quality first, favors second.

“If I wanted to pitch a script,” Wangyue continued, “I’d ask my teacher or my seniors. It’s not about pride; it’s just that favors are easy to use but hard to repay.”

Chuxian smiled. “I didn’t come here to tell you who Ye Lingxi is, nor to stop you from submitting.”

“Then what is it?”

“To tell you that if you have a good script, you should pitch it to me.”

Wangyue: “?”

“A ‘poaching’ attempt?”

“Mm-hm.” Chuxian didn’t hide her ambition. “My company has signed several newcomers. Even if I don’t act in it, others will.”

Chuxian used to be content with just a personal studio, but now she was looking to the future. She had reached the peak of acting; it was time to build an empire. Her studio had expanded into a full company. “I don’t ‘carry’ newcomers personally by acting with them, so I need top-tier scripts to build them up. Director: Mo Lai. Writer: You.”

Chuxian narrowed her eyes like a thousand-year-old fox.

“Is Sister opening a back door for me?”

“Of course not.”

Wangyue laughed. “Then Sister believes in my writing that much?” After all, she hadn’t made a huge name for herself as a screenwriter yet.

Chuxian softly listed several script titles. “These were the scripts you submitted. Unfortunately, they weren’t ‘discovered’ by the editors.”

Wangyue had used her real name for those submissions. Anyone with the intent to look could find them—and read them. So Chuxian has actually read my work. The thought gave Wangyue a secret thrill; it seemed her writing was to Chuxian’s taste.

“But I discovered them,” Chuxian whispered, tilting Wangyue’s chin up. “Tell me… does that make me your patron? Your ‘Bo Le’? Should you reward me?”

“How… how should I reward you?” Wangyue swallowed nervously.

“By promising yourself to me.”

Chuxian’s tone was so gentle and sincere she might have been discussing a holy vow. Wangyue’s smile froze. Recalling Chuxian’s previous words, she stammered, “Then… then that wouldn’t make you a Bo Le.”

“Ha!” Chuxian was thoroughly amused. “Cute little liar.”

“How about I ‘nurture’ you then?”

Chuxian had just said she wouldn’t nurture her own newcomers, but she was offering to do it for Wangyue. Wangyue understood the professional meaning, but the way Chuxian said it… it sounded incredibly suggestive.

Lately, Chuxian had been finding any excuse to knock on her door or lure her over. Their relationship was moving at breakneck speed. Wangyue had even gotten used to calling her “Sister” without a second thought. But “nurture”? Wangyue leaned back into the sofa, trying to find air.

“Treating me like a monster?” Chuxian asked, leaning back into the cushions.

“No.” Wangyue sat back up immediately.

“Then your mind has wandered to something ‘wrong’?” Chuxian teased. She knew exactly how to handle her: press forward until she’s cornered, then pull back just as she reacts.

Wangyue grabbed a bottle of water and took two gulps, only to realize in her panic that she’d picked up Chuxian’s bottle. She wanted to disappear into the floor. Their relationship had entered a state of extreme ambiguity: Chuxian took the initiative without explicitly declaring it, and Wangyue didn’t initiate but didn’t reject.

They were playing a game that only the two of them understood.

Chuxian pinched her cheek. “Have you thought about it? Will you work with me?”

“Of course.”

How could she say no? Working with Chuxian’s company meant they’d have a legitimate reason to be together. Besides, she was a freelance writer. She hadn’t signed an “indentured servitude” contract with anyone else.

If I’m going to sign a ‘body-and-soul’ contract, Wangyue thought, it should be with Yun Chuxian anyway.

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