Why Does The "Fishing Queen" Always Flirt With Me? - Chapter 7

As Tang Wangyue held the cup of honeysuckle and pomelo tea, she felt as if a gentle stream had flowed through her, soothing her heart. She could clearly feel a deliberate trace of tenderness coming from Yun Chuxian.

The others in the tent hadn’t missed the exchange.

Le Qing had initially assumed Wangyue was just an protégé of Director Mo, but now it seemed she had a personal connection with Yun Chuxian as well.

Lu Zhan and Liu Cheng, veterans of the industry, understood these nuances perfectly. On the surface, it was just a cup of tea; in reality, Yun Chuxian was signaling that this new Screenwriter Tang was under her protection. Why else would she buy a specific drink and have her personal assistant hand-deliver it to ensure no one else took it?

Wangyue looked down. The tea was ice-cold—there were definitely ice cubes in there. She couldn’t tell if Yun Chuxian wanted her to be healthy or was actively sabotaging her “wellness” routine.

“Please thank Miss Yun for me,” Wangyue said.

Bai Yu smiled. “You’re very welcome, Screenwriter Tang.”

Then, the assistant turned to the other two writers. “Miss Yun needs a screenwriter to discuss the script. Do any of you three have time?”

Lu Zhan and Liu Cheng immediately looked at Tang Wangyue. The meaning was crystal clear: You’re it.

In this industry, few writers actually enjoyed “discussing” scripts with stars. Most saw it as “playing the lute to a cow”—a waste of breath. If an actor demanded changes, the director wouldn’t dare scold the lead; they’d just make the screenwriter the scapegoat. Besides, given Wangyue’s obvious connection to the star, the veterans had no intention of crashing the party.

Liu Cheng forced a smile. “Xiao Tang—I can call you that, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Liu. Please, go ahead.” Wangyue knew exactly what was coming.

In a production like this, the lead actors often held more power than the director. The director had to coddle them and keep them happy. For someone of Yun Chuxian’s stature, even the Chief Director had to give her face.

Liu Cheng masked his irritation behind a professional veneer. “Since you’ve joined us as a writer, I assume you’re familiar with the material. Why don’t you go and chat with Miss Yun?”

It wasn’t a question; it was a direct assignment.

“Alright.”

The entertainment industry ran on seniority. As a newcomer, it was best not to refuse a task from a senior. Besides, Wangyue didn’t actually mind the idea of spending time with Yun Chuxian.

Wangyue followed Bai Yu toward Yun Chuxian’s luxury trailer.

As soon as they left, Lu Zhan turned to Le Qing with a hungry look for gossip. “Le Qing, what’s the deal with this Tang Wangyue? Where did she come from?”

Le Qing represented Mo Lai, the assistant director, and now Wangyue was showing signs of being close to the lead actress. This would dictate how the veterans treated her from now on.

Le Qing shook her head. “I don’t know. Director Mo just said Miss Tang is a friend of hers.”

A friend?

An assistant director wielded significant power, but Mo Lai was special—she was independently managing the B-unit, giving her a status far above the other ADs. Le Qing was curious too, but as an assistant, she knew the most important rule: keep your mouth shut. She had studied under Mo Lai and considered her a mentor; even if she knew more, she wouldn’t breathe a word.

However, she definitely needed to tell her mentor about this.

At the trailer, Bai Yu knocked on the door. “Boss, Screenwriter Tang is here.”

Wangyue stood to the side, lost in thought. Bai Yu had phrased the request as “whoever has time,” as if it didn’t matter who showed up. But Wangyue could feel that Yun Chuxian had known all along it would be her.

The door swung open instantly. “Come in.”

That cool, crisp voice hit Wangyue’s ears, feeling like her senses had been washed clean by a mountain spring.

As she stepped inside, a wave of cold rose fragrance enveloped her, making her head swim for a second. The trailer was a massive, military-green truck—tall, imposing, and fully enclosed. From the outside, it looked like a cargo hauler.

But the interior was a different world. The enchanting scent and the luxurious layout nearly made her lose her bearing.

Near the driver’s cab was a small lounge area, designed like a high-end cafe booth with comfortable sofas and a large screen that acted as a partition from the cockpit. It was an elevator TV—raised, it provided soundproofing and privacy; lowered, you could see the road. A large bed could be lowered from the ceiling, complete with privacy curtains.

Yun Chuxian was sitting there, a script covered in handwritten notes spread out before her.

“Boss, she’s here,” Bai Yu said before immediately hopping back down the steps. Having witnessed everything so far, the assistant knew exactly when to make herself scarce.

“Miss Yun.”

In private, Wangyue might call her by name, but on set, failing to use a professional title was a sign of disrespect.

“Sit,” Yun Chuxian said, a hint of a smile touching her lips.

It was no wonder the internet called her the “Gentle Goddess.” That face combined with that voice was a lethal trap for anyone with eyes or ears.

Wangyue sat on the opposite side of the L-shaped sofa and pulled her own script from her bag. “Did you want to discuss the characterization, Miss Yun? Or the narrative arc?”

Yun Chuxian laughed softly. The little liar is smart, she thought. Discussing characters and stories was a way to avoid talking about the actual “script”—likely because Wangyue was afraid the star wanted to demand changes.

Yun Chuxian had read the script; it was good. She had heard Liu Cheng wanted to “fill it out” with his own ideas, but she had already told the director “no.” As an adaptation of a popular IP, it should respect the source material. The original plot was solid and didn’t need fixing.

Seeing that Yun Chuxian remained silent, her gentle gaze lingering on her, Wangyue felt her heart begin to throb.

She awkwardly looked away, taking in the rest of the trailer. Beyond the lounge was a vanity, a water bar, a fridge, and a small kitchen. Further back were the bathroom and a bedroom door that stood ajar. There were even stairs leading to a second-level roof deck.

Wangyue knew this model. She had researched trailers when writing a post-apocalyptic story. This one even had a hidden compartment in the back for a motorcycle. It was a mobile luxury apartment. For a star like Yun Chuxian who spent months on location, this was her second home—and she probably spent more time here than in her actual house.

A soft chuckle broke the silence. Wangyue’s attempts to look everywhere but at her seemed to amuse the actress.

“Screenwriter Tang,” Yun Chuxian said, her voice flowing like a mountain stream. “Why don’t you tell me your understanding of the script and the character I’m playing?”

Screenwriter Tang?

Wangyue’s heart, which had just settled, began to race again. She took two seconds to steady her nerves before she began to speak. When she had first written the female lead, she had crafted a detailed character biography. As the story progressed, the character had become more and more real to her.

She poured all of those original thoughts and emotions into her explanation.

Yun Chuxian was genuinely surprised. “You’ve read the novel?”

She had read it too, but Wangyue’s insights were far deeper than her own. The “little liar” was even more talented than she had imagined.

“Yes.”

As Wangyue nodded, Bai Yu knocked on the door again. “Boss, the director says the ceremony is about to start.”

“Alright.” Yun Chuxian lowered her eyes. Beneath the table, she lightly brushed her foot against Wangyue’s calf. It was a faint, teasing touch. “If you don’t stand up, do you expect me to climb over your lap?”

“No…”

Before Wangyue could scramble out of the way, a fragrant breeze brushed her face and the light dimmed. Yun Chuxian had leaned forward, bracing her hands on Wangyue’s shoulders to stand up.

Wangyue’s line of sight landed directly on a soft curve.

Yun Chuxian was already in costume. She was draped in layers of fine, translucent gauze. Between the intoxicating scent, the swaying red silk, and the hazy atmosphere of the trailer, Wangyue’s eyes met a pair of deeply alluring eyes through the thin veil of the star’s headpiece.

She felt as if her pressure points had been struck; she couldn’t move an inch.

As if on purpose, a few stray locks of hair fell against Wangyue’s face along with the red gauze. Wangyue instinctively took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the woman’s scent.

A second later, the hair and silk brushed past her—dreamy, teasing, and leaving her blood at a literal boiling point.

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