Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 38

At the restaurant, the table was set. The primary leads of this gathering were Yun Chuxian and Ye Lingxi, with Sun Ran acting as a high-level supporting player. However, one of the leads—Ye Lingxi—spent the entire meal directing her praise toward Tang Wangyue.

“Screenwriter Tang is truly sharp-witted.”

“If we can continue to collaborate with Screenwriter Tang, Jingwei Video will certainly show the utmost sincerity.”

The others found it strange. Why was a high-level executive like Ye Lingxi, the daughter of the Group Director, acting so humble and eager toward a relatively unknown screenwriter? The subordinates who came with her weren’t privy to the high-level internal politics, so they simply saw it as her being “gracious to talent.”

But why Tang Wangyue? Even if her novels sold well, her column currently had no IPs left to buy. If they wanted to commission a custom work, they could have just sent a low-level editor. Was Ye Lingxi’s personal involvement necessary?

Under normal circumstances, no. But the moment Ye Lingxi learned about Tang Wangyue’s mentor, everything changed.

Yun Chuxian had specifically revealed Wangyue’s background for this exact reason. The entertainment industry respects traffic, but it worships lineage. Tang Wangyue was Lin Jiaming’s student; her “seniority” in the industry clan was exceptionally high—technically on par with the legendary veteran actresses. Although Chuxian was young, her film achievements barely squeezed her into that same generation. Between the two of them, they were technically peers.

If Wangyue ever publicly claimed her mentorship, her treatment would transform overnight. The only problem was that Professor Lin had “disowned” her.

At this moment, Wangyue still didn’t realize Ye Lingxi knew her secret. She just felt the atmosphere was bizarre. Chuxian, however, knew exactly how to maximize Wangyue’s interests. She had read Wangyue’s submitted scripts and knew they were excellent. If Wangyue had been willing to pull strings, she would have been a top-tier writer long ago. Since the girl wouldn’t do it for herself, Chuxian would do it for her—letting Jingwei, and eventually the whole industry, recognize her talent.

People need packaging. Even the most beautiful person cannot become a star without it. Wangyue simply didn’t know how to use her own halo.

*****

The next morning, Jingwei Video sent a professional team to discuss collaboration with Wangyue.

“Screenwriter Tang, if you have suitable scripts on hand, our team can evaluate them immediately. If not, we can discuss a commissioned project. The price will follow our evaluation.”

“We know your novel rights sold for five million. While novels and screenplays are different, given the value of your pen name, your scripts will be priced accordingly. If the quality is there, Jingwei can offer 100,000 to 150,000 yuan per episode.”

Even at the base rate, a 30-episode series would net three million yuan. It was a high-tier price. Wangyue was prepared; she produced three neatly bound, completed scripts.

“Give us an hour for the initial read, Screenwriter Tang,” the lead editor said.

Wangyue nodded and stepped out of the tent, where she immediately ran into Bai Yu. “Screenwriter Tang, the Boss is calling for you.”

“Is something wrong?”

The weather had cooled, and day shoots had resumed. The set was bustling. Ye Lingxi was leaving today to tour other projects, but the speed at which the professional team had arrived showed her sincerity. Wangyue knew this was Chuxian’s doing.

Inside the trailer, the air conditioning was off. Chuxian beckoned her over and hooked a finger under her chin, looking as if she were accusing her of a crime. “Didn’t I say you were only allowed to call me ‘Sister’ when we’re alone?”

“Sister,” Wangyue whispered obediently.

“Yue always forgets. It makes me quite sad.”

Chuxian reached into a bowl of ice with her index and middle fingers, plucking out a cube. With her other hand, she squeezed Wangyue’s cheeks, forcing her mouth open, and popped the ice inside.

“Hold it. Don’t you dare spit it out.”

It was a “punishment” to sharpen her memory. Wangyue held the ice, her warm lips feeling the lingering chill of Chuxian’s fingertips.

“Yue must be a good girl,” Chuxian murmured.

“Mmm,” Wangyue hummed. Her brow furrowed; the ice was freezing, and her mouth was starting to ache from the cold.

Suddenly, Chuxian’s face was right in front of her. She could count the woman’s eyelashes. A second later, her lips were covered by a soft warmth. The ice in her mouth began to melt rapidly, clicking against her teeth. When the ice had fully dissolved into water, they pulled apart.

Wangyue swallowed the ice water, but the heat in her body didn’t dissipate. Chuxian was kissing her more and more frequently.

“Sister is always kissing me without warning. Aren’t you afraid I’ll fight back?” Wangyue wiped her numbed lips, staring directly into Chuxian’s eyes. She felt so passive—like Chuxian had put a collar on her and she simply followed wherever the leash pulled. She had thought of many ways to “retaliate,” but she didn’t have the courage to execute them.

Chuxian tilted her head, looking genuinely curious. “And how would you fight back?”

Wangyue’s ears turned bright red. She couldn’t very well say she wanted to pin Chuxian to the sofa and kiss her back fiercely. She had a moment of bravery, but it was just a moment.

“What did Sister want to see me about?” Wangyue pivoted.

“Have you given the scripts to Jingwei?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the per-episode rate they offered?”

“100,000 to 150,000.”

“Not bad,” Chuxian said, playing with Wangyue’s hand. “What’s your target price?”

“120,000.” Wangyue picked the middle ground.

“Ask for 150,000,” Chuxian corrected, squeezing her hand. “Silly girl. If Jingwei mentioned 150,000 as an option, it means as long as they want the script, they will pay the top price. Just hold your ground.”

******

An hour later, Wangyue returned to the tent. She was met with a sea of smiling faces—the scripts had passed.

“Screenwriter Tang, you are truly a young genius,” said Li Jiajia, the Chief Editor. She was the one who had handled the novel rights for The Eldest Princess; Ye Lingxi had chosen her for this meeting purposefully.

“Congratulations. We want all three scripts.”

Wangyue sat quietly, waiting for the details.

“A historical food comedy, a low-fantasy period piece, and a historical political idol drama,” Li Jiajia listed. “The comedy is an A-level project, so 100,000 per episode. The other two will be 130,000.”

Wangyue recalled Chuxian’s advice. “I’ll need to consider it.”

Li Jiajia caught the subtext immediately. “What is your target price?”

“150,000 for the dramas. 120,000 for the comedy.”

Wangyue wasn’t one for long negotiations; she stated her terms clearly. Li Jiajia listened to a prompt in her earpiece and then nodded. “Agreed.”

She pulled the contracts—already stamped with the official seal—from her bag. They were incredibly well-prepared.

As Wangyue walked out with her contracts, she felt a bit dazed. It was like a shop that had been empty for years suddenly getting a massive order just as it was about to go bankrupt.

Yun Chuxian had predicted everything perfectly.

Now, Wangyue had a perfect excuse to go back to the trailer. She wanted to share the good news with the person who had made it all happen.

Support