Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 37

The moment the door closed, Yun Chuxian walked deeper into her room, leaving a bewildered Ye Lingxi standing in the entryway.

“?”

Ye Lingxi hurried after her, exasperated. “Are you saying I was blocking your view of someone else?”

Looking at who?

Suddenly, it clicked. “It couldn’t be that annoying screenwriter named Tang, could it?”

Hearing this, Bai Yu asked with a smile, “Screenwriter Tang is such an obedient and well-behaved person. How exactly did she offend you, President Ye?”

Ye Lingxi huffed and recounted the awkward encounter in the hallway. In front of Chuxian, she didn’t mind losing face; they were close enough that one more embarrassing story didn’t matter.

Chuxian lowered her eyes and chuckled, eventually letting out a full laugh. “Ye Lingxi, you’re overthinking your own importance. Given my relationship with Yue, even if she has a script, she’d give it to me first.”

Ye Lingxi caught the nuance immediately. Yue? And Chuxian wanted her scripts? What representative works did this woman even have? She trusted her friend’s eye; Chuxian would never choose a script based solely on personal feelings.

Wait, personal feelings?

“What exactly is your relationship with that Tang screenwriter?” Ye Lingxi asked, her mind full of questions.

“Hmm…” Chuxian smiled. “Hunter and prey.”

She was playing a game of chase. She looked as if she were only a step away from catching her prey, but no matter how fast she ran, the hunter couldn’t quite close the gap. To an outsider, it was clearly a game woven by the hunter, but the prey was either too deep inside to see it or, perhaps, was enjoying the chase just as much.

Ye Lingxi snorted. “Hunters often appear in the guise of prey.”

Chuxian didn’t seem to mind. “If I’m the prey, even better.” In a game, what’s the fun in always being the hunter? She’d love to be the prey and be “devoured” by the hunter—provided the little liar was bold enough to do it.

Ye Lingxi rolled her eyes. “You’re done for, Yun Chuxian.” Seeing her friend so completely smitten, she shook her head. “But seriously, is her writing that good? What has she done?”

Ye Lingxi had recently taken a high-level position at Jingwei Video. It had been a lean year for the industry; there hadn’t been a single “mega-hit.” The only drama on their platform to break the ten-million-view mark had been… let’s say, “assisted” by some internal data inflation. Rumors in the company blamed her leadership for the lack of organic hits.

The Eldest Princess was the project she was banking on. That’s why she’d made sure the script reached Chuxian. Chuxian’s taste had been impeccable since her debut; her projects always had quality and buzz. A “small hit” was her baseline. Ye Lingxi hoped this drama would launch next summer and give the doubters at Jingwei a “little shock.”

Chuxian tapped the script on the table with a touch of pride. “The Eldest Princess?”

Ye Lingxi frowned. “She’s just the on-set writer. The adaptation writer hasn’t even spoken up yet. How does this count as her representative work?”

Chuxian just looked at her, silent and smiling.

“What?” Ye Lingxi didn’t get it.

“Jianghu Zhaiyue is Tang Wangyue,” Chuxian revealed. Even if the little liar never wrote another script, she had already carved out her own territory.

Ye Lingxi’s eyes widened. “I’ve checked her column! There’s nothing left to buy! I was going to have someone commission a custom novel from her, but can she actually handle a screenplay?”

“Her teacher is Lin Jiaming,” Chuxian added.

Ye Lingxi sat up straight. A mentor like Lin Jiaming—a legendary, award-winning writer whose name alone could attract hundreds of millions in investment—was a massive credential. If Tang Wangyue was her student, her talent was guaranteed. It was no wonder Chuxian’s company wanted Wangyue’s scripts for their first self-produced project.

“Aren’t you going to sign her to your company then?” Ye Lingxi asked, the business gears turning. “With her and her network of senior sisters, your company would never lack material.”

Chuxian shook her head. “We can collaborate, but I won’t ‘plot’ against her.”

“It’s not plotting, it’s a win-win! Fine, if you don’t want her, I’ll take her.” Ye Lingxi was already calculating. A million-yuan annual salary, plus separate copyright fees… if Wangyue wouldn’t sign exclusively, she’d settle for a long-term partnership. She smiled at Chuxian, already planning how to show Wangyue her “sincerity.”

Wait, Ye Lingxi thought, maybe I should keep some distance from Chuxian. If Chuxian was treating her like “prey” and the game went south, she didn’t want to be the “innocent bystander” who got caught in the crossfire. “Yun Chuxian, let’s keep our distance for a while. If you and Tang Wangyue have a falling out, I’m not being the collateral damage.”

Chuxian: “…”

“Capitalist,” Chuxian muttered.

“Let’s go eat,” Chuxian said, standing up.

Bai Yu watched them leave, shaking her head. Her boss had just effortlessly elevated Screenwriter Tang’s status. Director Sun had planned to introduce Wangyue as a “service provider” to Jingwei. But with a few sentences from Chuxian, Wangyue had become the “prized asset.”

Before, Wangyue needed to submit scripts for approval. Now, Jingwei Video would be the ones begging her for a draft. Her market value was about to double.

Bai Yu hurried ahead to knock on Wangyue’s door. It opened almost instantly. Wangyue was standing there with her backpack on, as if she’d been waiting behind the door the whole time.

“Assistant Bai,” Wangyue said, then looked past her. “Teacher Yun, President Ye.”

“Screenwriter Tang,” Ye Lingxi said with a warm, beaming smile—a total 180-degree turn from her earlier coldness.

Wangyue was baffled. What happened? She nodded politely but didn’t say much. Her gaze drifted to Chuxian, and their eyes met.

“Let’s go, Screenwriter Tang,” Chuxian said coolly, as if they were barely acquainted.

Wangyue lowered her head. To the others, she looked like a puppy whose ears had suddenly flopped down in disappointment. Chuxian’s eyes softened, and a hint of a smile appeared.

Ye Lingxi caught the exchange and “tched” under her breath. She turned to Wangyue. “I just found out The Eldest Princess is your work. I’ve admired it for a long time.”

“You know, President Ye?” Wangyue felt a bit awkward; they weren’t exactly close.

Chuxian came to the rescue. “President Ye is looking to commission a script from Screenwriter Tang.”

“Absolutely,” Ye Lingxi added. “If you have anything suitable, or if you’re open to a custom project, Jingwei would love to cooperate.”

Wangyue wasn’t a fool; she knew this sudden change in attitude was thanks to Chuxian. Chuxian had clearly put in a good word.

Chuxian stepped in front of Wangyue, blocking Ye Lingxi’s advance. “That depends on your sincerity, President Ye.”

“I’m bringing plenty of sincerity, provided the quality is there.”

“Not so fast,” Chuxian countered. “First come, first served. I asked for her scripts first.”

“That’s not how it works. Jingwei’s rates are notoriously high. I’m sure Screenwriter Tang will be satisfied.”

Before she knew it, Tang Wangyue had become the most sought-after person in the room. She stood there, confused, feeling like she had somehow become a legendary titan of the screenwriting world overnight.

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