Her steps slowed because of that sentence. Wen Zhixu stood calmly in place, watching Ke Yixuan as the clamor slowly reached her ears, not drowning out the two people’s discussion.
She only heard Ke Yixuan let out an “aiya.” It was Ke Yixuan’s assistant who first noticed her. The assistant cleared her throat with a fake cough and kept giving eye signals.
Ke Yixuan’s aunt, Ke Min—sharp as her name suggested—was like a spy thriller unfolding on set, catching on extremely quickly.
Of course, even without a big star in the family, she would still thrive in the industry.
Ke Min stood up as if nothing had happened, putting on her professional smile. “Hello, Xiao Xu.”
Wen Zhixu just nodded and stepped forward, her gaze fixed on Ke Yixuan. A big star like Ke Yixuan always came with two assistants when joining a production.
“Teacher Wen, you’ve arrived.” Unlike Ke Min, Ke Yixuan held no grudges about those earlier words. Though she had made her way in the industry thanks to family connections, she had never truly suffered or been at a disadvantage.
Wen Zhixu stopped half a meter away. An assistant moved a chair behind her and pulled it out with both hands. She didn’t sit.
“If you don’t issue a statement, won’t that just confirm the scandal?” Wen Zhixu said slowly, her expression calm and unruffled.
Her tone blended with the breeze that had just passed, revealing no emotion.
Ke Min’s voice carried a hint of laughter. “Xiao Xu, issuing a statement now would make the media think we’re panicking. Netizens these days aren’t like they used to be.”
Wen Zhixu’s gaze shifted back to Ke Yixuan’s face. “So, your meaning is to let it be?”
On her way here, she had thought she was being called to help Ke Yixuan and Ke Min explain that last night was really just script talk, to cover up the matter with Su Yun.
But upon arrival, she realized Ke Min knew everything and was fully aware that Ke Yixuan had pulled her in to save the scene.
So now, being called over like this, Wen Zhixu had fallen for the same trick a second time. Thinking about it, she found it amusing.
“Of course not.” Ke Min said, “What we mean is to release a few more press articles, build up a bit more heat, then gradually shift the direction of public opinion. That’s the reliable approach. A public statement won’t do.”
Ke Min’s approach was professional, every word laced with certainty, while the self-serving undertone of capital grew even more pronounced.
Wen Zhixu said, “Public opinion is uncontrollable. You don’t even know which way it might turn…”
Ke Min interrupted, “Xiao Xu, please trust me on this. I’ll handle it properly. And thank you for your help yesterday. Yixuan is young and caused you trouble.”
“Mm.” Wen Zhixu glanced at Ke Yixuan.
They wanted the heat. For a traffic star, maintaining buzz wasn’t easy, but buzz brought resources.
“So you called me here today to get me to cooperate?” By this point, Wen Zhixu had a rough idea.
Such straightforward talk in this setting made communication smoother. Her attitude—from the heart, unrestrained yet measured—also eased people’s tension a bit.
Ke Min was just about to respond when she looked at Ke Yixuan and said, “Xiao Xu, ‘cooperate’ isn’t quite accurate. Let me handle this. The main thing is to ramp up the heat. What I’m worried about is that online comments can be very aggressive. During this time, I hope you can adjust your own state of mind.”
The implication was that this was the team’s decision being notified to her.
“Teacher Ke Min, you’re notifying me right now.” Wen Zhixu said, “I don’t want the public opinion to get worse. I don’t care if you want to keep your artist’s buzz going, but you can’t use me as a shield.”
“Xiao Xu, are you misunderstanding?” Ke Min smiled lightly to smooth things over.
Wen Zhixu’s words were unexpected. PR pros were all sharp cookies, and Wen Zhixu seemed like a soft target, but her words didn’t match her mild appearance at all.
Wen Zhixu remained as calm as still water. “If it’s really a misunderstanding, then tell me the facts directly right now.”
The atmosphere grew tenser, as if the camera not far away was aimed right at them. Whoever controlled the rhythm would dominate, all down to nitpicking words.
“Teacher Wen, it’s not like that. Listen to me.” Ke Yixuan read the situation and tried to smooth things over. “Actually, this has benefits. You’re about to release a new book. Keeping the buzz now is a good thing.”
As long as the online talk was fake, and she and Wen Zhixu had no real relationship, Ke Yixuan had nothing to fear.
Wen Zhixu asked, “If today’s hot search was about Su Yun and you instead of me, would you still say the same?”
The words had just left her mouth when Ke Yixuan’s eyes flickered, suddenly sinking like into a deep pool. The answer was obvious. Stars didn’t care about rumors—what they cared about was the truth.
Wen Zhixu glanced at the two of them. Her stance was clear, and she had no desire to keep circling around this.
She gave the impression of a wild beast tranquilly trapped in a cage—docile in appearance, but not to be provoked.
The conversation could end here. Since they couldn’t give her a straight answer, Wen Zhixu entered the inner area to pick up today’s script, pulling out her phone from her bag as she walked.
..
In the days that followed, Jian Shichu didn’t see Wen Zhixu again. She was staying halfway up the mountain and simply slept there at night.
She hesitated a long time before deleting that photo on her phone. She didn’t like this version of herself.
Jian Shichu learned online that the buzz about Wen Zhixu and Ke Yixuan was only getting hotter, and no one had come out to clarify yet.
September in Chongqing was as always. Far from the hustle and bustle, yet it only made her feel more suffocated.
From restroom remodels to new menu items, she hadn’t been involved much before—lazy in a way that didn’t match her younger self. Life was diverse; she had no dreams of chasing faraway goals.
Another afternoon.
On Wednesday, Wang Yun booked the restaurant for the main cast and crew dinner. Jian Shichu had Xiao Yang make arrangements, and arrivals first rested in the tearoom.
From the tearoom balcony, you could look up right at Jian Shichu’s room. This third-floor space was locked by her; sometimes she stayed here, and the room was full of her things.
Jian Shichu stood by the glass window. From here, you could see distant mountains ahead and a camping base, with the lawn directly in view. A kid playing frisbee took a tumble.
The room’s decor matched the restaurant’s style, so the vintage vibe made it feel stuffy. Surrounded by fresh air, yet in certain moments, it left her breathless.
Murmurs drifted up from downstairs. Jian Shichu closed the window.
A knock came at the door.
Xiao Yang waited half a minute at the door and was about to knock again when it opened. He switched to a smile as he looked at Jian Shichu. “Doudou-jie, the dishes are ready. Time to taste them.”
“One actor in the crew doesn’t drink soup. Swap something else for her.” Jian Shichu walked past him, hand on the door as she headed downstairs.
Xiao Yang followed behind. “About that Aunt Qiu— she accepted the supplements last time, but just called again saying no one’s taking care of her. Her daughter-in-law has to work and wants to hire a caregiver.”
Xiao Yang spoke indignantly, brows furrowed in anger, fist smacking his palm as he continued, “This thing just won’t end.”
“Hire one then. Have them bill me whatever.” Jian Shichu stepped aside. After the incident, she had rushed over with money to offer condolences.
“Ah? You’re really hiring?”
“What else?” Jian Shichu paused, looking at him leisurely. Afternoon light filtered through the stairwell dust, falling on her profile.
“It was a work injury since it happened on the job. Oh, and hire a good one.”
Xiao Yang said no more, agreed, and followed behind Jian Shichu.
From the corner down was the second-floor tearoom. Laughter could be heard from the doorway; before the meal, everyone chatted in little cliques.
Some actors went up the mountain for walks and photos. Tang Qin’s assistant used to be a photographer; many of the official blog pics were shot by her.
Ke Yixuan returned from outside, her assistant laden with bags, steps heavy.
“Yixuan-jie, Aunt Ke says the statement will go out in a couple days. The heat’s about peaked. Do you have a specific time? If not, I’ll pick one.” The assistant adjusted the bag on her shoulder.
Ke Yixuan stopped and turned. “No need. This was just taking the fall to buy time anyway. Haven’t you seen Wen Zhixu giving the cold shoulder all the time? Fine, just pick a time and post it.”
“Got it. Then we’ll do it later.”
The stairs were empty. Hearing this, Jian Shichu’s steps clearly slowed. She stood on the staircase, watching Ke Yixuan.
Jian Shichu’s aura stood out even more from above.
She hadn’t heard much, but “taking the fall” rang clear, and she instantly understood what happened. She had avoided Wen Zhixu for days; those baffling matters now had their source. It was her who had misunderstood.
Ke Yixuan noticed her and was first startled, stepping back a little and taking a big breath to calm herself.
Jian Shichu gave her a glance. Xiao Yang behind her felt his legs heavy as lead, unable to lift them. The star effect was fleeting, frozen in that instant. Up close, Ke Yixuan looked even more delicate than on screen.
Ke Yixuan said nothing, gave no greeting—just tossed an arrogant look her way to save face, then click-clacked down the stairs in her high heels into the tearoom.
The atmosphere eased as she entered the room, but Jian Shichu’s thoughts lingered on Ke Yixuan’s words until Xiao Yang called out behind her, snapping her back.
Sunset grazed the steps, Jian Shichu’s shadow sliding up the wall. She said, “No peanuts in any of the dishes. Check it carefully again.”
Jian Shichu looked down at her phone, opened the gallery, and restored the photo from recently deleted. Heading to the first floor, her attention was on the phone, missing the sound of high heels ahead.
On the final step of the staircase, the light in front of her was suddenly blocked. A black shadow loomed over her, and at the same time, her phone was snatched away.
Suppressing her anger, she looked up. Wang Yun swung her hand to the side while shifting her body slightly, her gaze fixed firmly on the phone.
Wen Zhixu’s photo was reflected in Wang Yun’s eyes, sealed away like in a layer of ice—hard and frigid.
Xiao Yang slunk away against the wall. Wang Yun’s expression wasn’t good at all.
Wang Yun glanced at Jian Shichu, then briefly shifted her eyes to the photo. She spun the phone once in her palm before holding it out, her face devoid of any goodwill. “I blocked that intel for you and you still haven’t thanked me. Turns out it’s real.”
