Chapter 22

Wen Zhixu had heard from the side of the set that it was Jian Shichu who sent her home that night. Celebrities gossiped too, not to mention the assistants and screenwriters who were there.

Everyone surfed the web and saw her gossip, and they’d discuss her sexual orientation in private.

She had gone looking for Jian Shichu that day, but she wasn’t home, and her phone was off.

From this, she deduced that the note couldn’t have been left by Jian Shichu—leaving something like that and then avoiding her didn’t make sense. The business card and the note had been left by the same person.

Wen Zhixu hesitated for several days without going to find the person on the business card.

These past few days, Wen Zhixu had layered on concealer on her neck, frequently heading to the bathroom to touch up her makeup. The set was a mixed bag of people, and news spread fast—who knew if she’d be tomorrow’s hot gossip.

Meanwhile, online public opinion had indeed shifted direction after Ke Yixuan’s statement.

But the new angle was that she wasn’t the screenwriter, just nominally supervising as the original author. What right did she have to go in and out of hotels discussing the script? That was clearly the director’s job.

Wen Zhixu saw the posts online, but they weren’t blowing up yet. Posts that started lukewarm often hit hard later, catching people off guard.

She leaned back in her chair, slowly scrolling through her phone, eyes skimming the comments. Thousands of comments were discussing the matter, of course, with some brave souls tearing into over a hundred replies single-handedly.

She was engrossed when the light in front of her was blocked, a shadow approaching. Wen Zhixu lightly moved her phone aside, and the table was suddenly shrouded in dimness.

The screenwriter came over with the script to interrupt: “Teacher Wen.”

Wen Zhixu recognized her at a glance—the one who’d chatted her up and urged her to drink that night.

“Teacher Wen, Teacher Tang Qin has some different ideas for this segment, so I made some changes.”

She smiled and said, “Let me see.”

Wen Zhixu took it slowly, wrist turning as she scanned it once, then went back to what she was doing: “This small detail doesn’t seem like much, but it’s good. However, the dialogue is already different from the original. I don’t agree with this line—it’s a foreshadowing, and a classic from the original. It can’t be changed.”

Wen Zhixu maintained a polite smile, but a chill floated in her eyes, making the screenwriter’s smile stiffen.

“But this has been revised three times already,” the screenwriter said gently.

“Is this for shooting the day after tomorrow?” Wen Zhixu shifted her gaze away from the eye contact, leaning over the table to pick up her water cup. After getting the response, “Then you still have time. Go revise it quickly.”

Wen Zhixu tilted her head back for a sip of water, then stood up and tucked the cup into her bag. She turned and walked around the screenwriter.

At that moment, Tang Qin and Su Yun were shooting their scene. Su Yun wasn’t from a proper acting background and had messed up twice on set. Tang Qin didn’t give her a good look, but with so many people around, she couldn’t openly scold.

The lighting tech was sweating on his forehead. Wen Zhixu stood outside without going in. A big fan was spinning right behind her, the noise and strong wind tousling her hair. She shifted her position.

It wasn’t until a “Cut!” came from the crowd, and she saw everyone’s tense nerves relax, that she stepped inside.

The next scene was a rainy one, but the water truck hadn’t returned, so the set was on a break now. Wen Zhixu stood on the edge, eyes on Tang Qin. She remembered Su Yun’s reminder—eighty percent of the online stuff was from Tang Qin’s team.

Wang Yun wasn’t made up and came out to meet her gaze, her expression as mild as ever: “Xiao Xu, it’s so hot standing here. Come inside and rest.”

“No worries, Director Wang.” Wen Zhixu nodded with a smile that wasn’t quite natural.

“Did you look at the script?” Wang Yun asked.

Wen Zhixu glanced inside, just as Tang Qin turned through a gap in the crowd, holding a water cup while the makeup artist applied foundation to her side.

Wen Zhixu looked away and replied, “I did. Teacher Tang Qin’s scenes for the day after tomorrow need changes again.”

Wang Yun glanced inside and said, “As the original author, you’re clearer on the characters’ psychology and story details. No problem—just have the on-set screenwriter revise it and communicate with you.”

Some screenwriters on set were just nominal. In today’s film and TV industry, many were novel adaptations. For hot IPs, original fans feared heavy changes, so some crews gave original authors screenwriter credits without real duties.

Scripts and novels were two different things. Many original authors didn’t know how to adapt into scripts. This was Wen Zhixu’s first book adaptation, and she’d trained for a long time to get the hang of it.

Joining the crew this time was something she’d added to the contract when selling the rights. She didn’t revise scripts herself but checked the direction of changes.

Wen Zhixu frowned lightly: “Director Wang, I already had the screenwriter revise today’s dialogue changes.”

“Good.” Wang Yun agreed quickly. “You all communicate, and I’ll check it the morning after tomorrow.”

Handing this to Wen Zhixu was something she hadn’t expected, which meant Director Wang’s stance leaned toward her.

“Thank you, Director Wang.” Wen Zhixu gave a slight bow. “About that night…”

Wang Yun cut her off: “Xiao Xu, no talking about that on set. Personally, I really like your work. A few years ago, I read your short story in a magazine—you’re a natural talent.”

“It’s like what my daughter wrote when she was young—full of ideals and purity between the lines.”

“Director Wang means… Jian Shichu.” Wen Zhixu’s eyes were questioning too. Wang Yun’s pleased smile was a far cry from earlier.

Wang Yun smiled and answered with her eyes: “Everyone likes writing a bit when they’re students. I did too when I was little.”

Wen Zhixu hadn’t known these things about Jian Shichu when they dated. Jian Shichu rarely mentioned her childhood, at most talking about high school.

“You don’t need to mind the online talk. Also, there’s something else—for boosting the drama’s visibility, the producers decided on an internal promo event during filming. As the original author, we’d love for you to join.” Wang Yun had received the invite beforehand but wasn’t sure if Wen Zhixu would go.

Wen Zhixu saw Wang Yun’s hesitation and took it directly: “Thank you, Director Wang. I’ll be there on time.”

As director, Wang Yun cared a lot about the drama’s marketing. Wen Zhixu was on the same page.

“I’ll send you the details later. Time’s up—go eat.” Wang Yun smiled at her watch.

Wen Zhixu thanked her once more.

Wen Zhixu knew clearly that night’s incident wasn’t random—from today’s post, it was obvious. She wouldn’t show for a cast dinner, but Xu Ting had called her that day, clearly about script changes.

Leaving with everyone that day would definitely get posted online. Netizens hated hypocrites, and everyone knew she was hands-on to prevent butchering. She had no real power.

Reaching in after joining would inevitably draw backlash, but the truth was she hadn’t touched the script yet—only stepping in if it went against the original intent.

At the same time, Jian Shichu taking her away that day, with Wang Yun covering up front, meant Tang Qin’s team didn’t dare post crazy photos online.

She still hadn’t figured out that night. She didn’t even know where to start asking. Jian Shichu had helped her multiple times—she should properly thank her.

But the business card at home was messing up her head too. Just who was Song Yi?

Wang Yun had things to do and didn’t chat much with Wen Zhixu before leaving. Wen Zhixu stood there watching her go, then pocketed her badge.

No sooner had she left than Xiao Yang followed her line of sight over, grinning as he called out to her and offered the orange juice in his hand.

“Teacher Wen, the crew just handed out orange juice. I grabbed one for you.” Lately, Xiao Yang had some background roles where he just stood there without smiling.

“Thanks.” Wen Zhixu smiled faintly, fingers brushing the strands blown to her lips by the fan.

Water droplets clung to the plastic cup—the orange juice had been chilled, with pulp visible at the bottom.

Wen Zhixu called after Xiao Yang: “Busy?” The words were on the tip of her tongue but she couldn’t say them.

“Not busy. Just wrapped. Do you need something, Teacher Wen?” Xiao Yang tilted his head, listening intently. The young guy’s face crinkled up with his smile.

Wen Zhixu cleared her throat and relaxed her hand: “Nothing, just chatting. Sit.”

Empty seats in the restaurant could be used if filming wasn’t there, as long as they were reset. Wen Zhixu sat on the stump by the door, leaning down to set the juice on the table.

Then she pulled out the chair beside her for Xiao Yang.

Xiao Yang sat without hesitation, smiling, still wearing the crew apron.

“Is Jian Shichu busy lately?” Wen Zhixu thought of a way in. She noticed Xiao Yang’s gaze on her and awkwardly picked up the juice to hide it.

Xiao Yang smiled, like he saw through it: “Busy. Mid-Mountain Restaurant just added new dishes and is talking collabs. Doudou-jie’s practically living there.”

Wen Zhixu sipped through the straw, the cold orange juice sliding down her throat and easing the heat.

Setting down the cup, she added, “Pretty nice. Good air.”

“It’s on the mid-mountain after all—the air’s naturally good.” Xiao Yang still smiled. “Teacher Wen, if Doudou-jie doesn’t pick up, call the shop. She hasn’t been checking her phone much lately.”

“Hm?” Wen Zhixu paused a second. “Uh… I was just asking casually.”

The two seemed locked in a standoff, but Xiao Yang wasn’t embarrassed at all. The young lad had a big heart, wearing an expression like he was munching on melons while seeing through the ways of the world.

Wen Zhixu softly broke the awkward silence. “I drank too much that day and caused you all trouble.”

Xiao Yang scratched his head. “No trouble at all, no trouble. That day it was mainly for President Song…….”

“Teacher Wen, were you looking for me?” Tang Qin stepped forward to interrupt. As her words fell, Wen Zhixu felt the light in her right eye get blocked. She caught the scent of perfume.

Not too strong or faint—a gentle, elegant fragrance that perfectly matched Tang Qin’s vibe.

This interruption also forced Xiao Yang to shut his mouth, but Wen Zhixu had only caught half of it.

Tang Qin held a wet wipe and casually wiped her neck as she approached, a sheen of water droplets clinging to her fair skin, sparkling in the sunlight.

Tang Qin asked leisurely, “Teacher Wen, you’ve been watching me from outside for ages. What’s up?”

“Hold on.” Wen Zhixu responded to her before turning back to Xiao Yang. “Song Yi? She was there too?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xiao Yang tactfully stood up, his agreement half-hearted. “Teacher Wen, you go ahead. I’ll head over.”

Wen Zhixu couldn’t keep pressing him, but his answer made her face drain of color in an instant. Her heart skipped a beat—she now seemed certain she’d had a hazy one-night stand with a stranger.

Or had Jian Shichu dropped her off halfway and let someone else take over?

Then she’d gotten blackout drunk and things had happened afterward? Cold sweat broke out on Wen Zhixu’s skin. So what the hell did that note mean?

At this thought, a subtle shift rippled through the emotions in Wen Zhixu’s eyes. How could she have gotten so wasted that she mistook someone for another and let something like this happen?

It wasn’t until Tang Qin called her name again that she snapped back to reality. Wen Zhixu adjusted her emotions as quickly as possible, exhaling slowly to steady herself.

“All done?” She smoothed out her unease, flashed a gentle smile, stood up, and asked.

Tang Qin furrowed her brows slightly and glanced at her assistant nearby. Her movements slowed as she nodded. “Something you need?”

Wen Zhixu shot her a look, then pulled out her earphones and offered one to Tang Qin. “Wanna listen? It’s the one I recorded last time. I’m thinking of posting it online.”