Chapter 14: Undercurrents

Jiang Qingmeng chose a seat by the window, offering a clear view of the scenery beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass.

Outside, the sky hung low and overcast. Pedestrians hurried along the streets, bundled tightly in their coats. Across the road, a cluster of small shops drew crowds—people pausing to buy steaming oden, roasted sweet potatoes, and stir-fried chestnuts to chase away the chill.

After some light small talk, Jiang Qingmeng guided the conversation to business. “Have you gotten the script for Nine Songs?”

“Yeah, I have. Third Female Lead—your rival in love.”

“Our first time acting together. I’m really looking forward to it.” Jiang Qingmeng’s words rang sincere and warm, her eyes holding their usual gentle smile.

“Me too. Looking forward to working with you.”

“But I’m hoping for something deeper.” Jiang Qingmeng clasped her hands, fingers interlaced on the table in a negotiating stance. “Have you read the full script?”

Jiang Zhizhou didn’t reply. She arched her eyebrows slightly—a signature little gesture of puzzlement.

“The Second Female Lead suits you better.” With no response forthcoming, Jiang Qingmeng laid her cards on the table and pushed the script and source novel toward her. “I’ve got the complete script and the original book here. Take a look.”

Jiang Zhizhou didn’t glance at them. She kept her gaze fixed on the woman across from her, calm as ever. “Qingmeng, no need to beat around the bush with me. Just tell me—what do you want?”

“I want you…” Jiang Qingmeng began softly, “to audition for Second Female Lead.”

“Say it all at once. Those pauses lead to misunderstandings.” The cold weather always made her ears burn for no reason. Jiang Zhizhou touched her flushed, hot lobes and asked, “You haven’t talked to Chen Lin about this, have you?”

Jiang Qingmeng shook her head. “No. She wouldn’t go for it. She’s set on giving it to Chen Yu. Remember her? She just switched back under Chen Lin’s wing—Chen Lin’s half-sister.”

Jiang Zhizhou gave a faint smile. “You want me to snatch the role from her? Guess I won’t be on the bench anymore.”

She might end up shelved instead.

“No—it’s about putting you to death to bring you new life.” Jiang Qingmeng smiled with her. She was always smiling, her expressions so lovely it was hard to tell real from feigned. “Everyone knows Second Female Lead has hefty screen time. Chen Lin wants to boost Chen Yu, Huamei’s pushing Shang Wenwen, and the director’s caught in the middle. He might pick neither.”

“Worried about getting canned by the producer?”

A director was, at heart, just a high-paid hand for the producer—unless…

“He’s not someone you cross lightly. This one’s got real clout in the industry—Feng Shangxian. Surely you’ve heard of him.”

Of course she had. He’d helmed a string of historical epics like Great Tang Dynasty and Yishui Cold, the latter topping domestic TV with a 9.5 on Douban.

A director who’d stuck to prestige dramas was bending to idol traffic now.

She remembered back when her agent Su Guo had asked: if someone dangled ninety million to star in an IP adaptation, would she bite? Jiang Zhizhou shut it down flat. Su Guo pushed: nine hundred million? Jiang Zhizhou slapped the table. “Where’s the script?”

Nobody turned down that kind of money.

Seeing Jiang Zhizhou unmoved, Jiang Qingmeng leaned back, arms folded against the chair. She continued, “The company’s shaking up personnel soon, and you’re on the list. Agent swap—no more Chen Lin. Some fresh-out-of-college kid instead. Know what that means?”

It meant Jiang Zhizhou was expendable. Chen Lin’s bold promises to promote her were now hot air.

Jiang Zhizhou never banked on others, so Chen Lin’s words had never stuck.

“I get it. Chen Lin’s hyping her sister—human nature. No hard feelings.”

Jiang Qingmeng couldn’t quite read her. This woman didn’t resemble the old Shen Xinghe one bit, yet her face was unmistakably Xinghe’s.

“Xinghe, I can land you that role. Just do as I say.” Jiang Qingmeng played her chip.

“Oh? So you’re sleeping your way to the top with me?” Jiang Zhizhou showed no spark of interest, tossing out a lighthearted jab.

Jiang Qingmeng: “…”

The conversation’s tempo was in her opponent’s hands. Jiang Qingmeng caught on and skipped the direct reply, locking eyes with the woman opposite.

Their stares held, silence stretching.

Memories of the past always resurfaced whenever Jiang Zhizhou met those amber eyes. She pictured twelve-year-old Qingmeng, huddled in the hospital corner, knees drawn to her chest.

From that first glimpse, pity had welled up in her inexplicably.

Tired of the verbal footwork, Jiang Zhizhou sighed almost inaudibly. “Qingmeng, you’re recruiting me. You want to break off and go independent, don’t you?”

Jiang Qingmeng froze, clearly blindsided by the bluntness.

“When did you see through it?”

Jiang Zhizhou raised her eyes to meet hers, speaking slowly and methodically as she laid all her cards on the table. “Half a year ago, your fans dragged Star Source onto the hot search with their backlash. You told me it was the work of rivals, but neither you nor your team did a thing to rein them in or pull the post. You just let the outrage fester. That’s when the suspicion first took root in my mind, even if I couldn’t be sure.

“For the past six months, I’ve been keeping close tabs on you—on Chen Lin, He Jia, and everything going on at Star Source.

“In July, you launched your own studio. The company helped set it up for you.

“Chen Lin—she’s my manager too. I know exactly who she’s added to her team and who she’s cut loose.

“He Jia—you two are tight. Over these six months, she’s sunk personal investments into several companies, all run by fresh faces in the industry. Sounds like she’s clearing a path for you.

“Then there’s Star Source. They signed a fresh batch of talent recently, including Shangyu Media’s leading lady. The company poached her outright, shelled out a hefty penalty for her contract breach, and poured money into the deal. From here on out, their resources are bound to flow her way. And don’t forget Chen Yu, the one you brought up—a total insider—who’s gunning for your spot.

“All these pieces, plus you pulling me aside today behind Chen Lin’s back? It adds up to one thing: you want out. You want to go independent. Am I right?”

Where there are people, there are cliques—and in the cutthroat world of entertainment, alliances form and battles rage in the shadows.

Zhou Caimao, the boss of Star Source Entertainment, came from real estate. He ran the company like a property flip: hype it up, cash in quick, treat artists like widgets on an assembly line, and squeeze every last drop of value from them. But artists have their own ambitions, dreams of rising higher and lasting longer. Inevitably, that puts them at odds with the company.

And so the classic drama unfolds: stars blow up, then break free to start their own shops.

Jiang Qingmeng took a sip of her coffee, gazing out the window. She tugged at the corner of her mouth in a faint smile. “Close enough. Shen Xinghe, you’re not like the others.” It was the first time she’d voiced what had been weighing on her heart.

No one who made it big in this industry was a fool—fools didn’t rise to the top. Jiang Zhizhou had been a household name for a decade, weathered every storm. There was no way she couldn’t see through it.

If she had figured it out, then battle-hardened Chen Lin and the higher-ups at Star Source must have too.

That explained the past six months: Star Source signing all those new faces, poaching rising stars from elsewhere. It was all about spreading the resources thin, making sure Jiang Qingmeng couldn’t walk away with the lion’s share if she bolted.

The conversation had blindsided Jiang Qingmeng completely. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts.

Jiang Zhizhou was happy to wait.

The Blue Mountain coffee arrived. She took a sip and turned her gaze to the floor-to-ceiling window as well.

Jiang Qingmeng’s slender figure was reflected there. Jiang Zhizhou studied the beautiful, hazy face in the glass, lost in thought.

In just two short years, this girl had gone from an unknown celebrity assistant to a top-tier influencer in the country. She was anything but as simple as she seemed.

Complicated background? Shrewd personality?

Or maybe both.

If she could have her way, Jiang Zhizhou wished Jiang Qingmeng had never set foot in this world.

A girl that pretty and sensible deserved better. Her childhood had already been dark enough. As an adult, she should have someone to cherish her, love her, understand her—someone to walk her through life without illness or worry, safe and sound to the end. Not tossed into this filthy vat, rising and sinking with the tides, schemed against until she learned to scheme back, dragged forward by forces beyond her control.

“So, will you stand with me? Name your terms—anything I can deliver.” No need for games between smart people. Less than a minute passed before Jiang Qingmeng broke the silence and cut straight to the chase.

“No.” Jiang Zhizhou didn’t hesitate.

“Why?”

“Not yet. The time isn’t right.”

Jiang Qingmeng frowned in confusion. “Then when?”

“Not long from now. Trust me.”

“Alright. I’ll wait.” After a beat of silence, Jiang Qingmeng nodded with a smile. “When you change your mind, come find me.”

With their understanding reached, the two didn’t linger in the coffee shop.

“I’ll drive you back.” Jiang Qingmeng said it like it was a done deal, not bothering to ask. She slipped on her mask and hat, bundling herself up tight, only her pretty eyes visible, and strode ahead without a backward glance.

Jiang Zhizhou grabbed her coat and followed.

At the door, Jiang Zhizhou halted abruptly and called out to the figure ahead. “Hey, look—it’s snowing.”

Jiang Qingmeng had been walking with her head down, mind racing through her next moves, too absorbed to notice the view. But at the words “it’s snowing” from behind, she stopped in her tracks. She looked up at the sky, a spark of delight flashing in her eyes.

Snowflakes like willow fluff drifted down from the heavens, scattering across the street. Pedestrians quickened their pace; vendors along the road hurried for cover.

Jiang Qingmeng was a southerner. As a child, she had only ever seen snow on television. Back then, she had desperately wanted to witness a real snowfall, but there was no one willing to take her. Her father was rarely home, and her mother preferred to keep her confined indoors, never letting her step outside.

Left alone in her room, she would grow bored and talk to her dolls or listen to the voices droning from the TV.

That year, when she was ten, she caught the movie Jingzhe on the film channel. She watched in awe as the seventeen-year-old Jiang Zhizhou, clad in flowing red robes, danced gracefully through the snow. It was the most beautiful sight she had ever beheld.

Jiang Zhizhou stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Jiang Qingmeng.

The girl was still like a child, her face lighting up with pure joy at the sight of the snow.

In that instant, Jiang Zhizhou cast aside all stray thoughts. She simply gazed into Jiang Qingmeng’s eyes and felt her own heart lift with delight at the other’s happiness.

But the next moment, Jiang Qingmeng lowered her gaze, the spark of joy in her eyes fading into a veil of melancholy.

It was impossible not to feel a pang of sorrow in response.

Jiang Zhizhou looked away, her own expression turning uncertain.

How did one cheer up a girl like this?

As she scanned their surroundings, something suddenly caught her eye. Jiang Zhizhou fixed her gaze on it.

She thrust her coat and scarf into Jiang Qingmeng’s arms, muttered, “Wait here for me,” and hurried out the door without a second thought—even forgetting her outer jacket.

Jiang Qingmeng blinked in surprise, her eyes following Jiang Zhizhou as she crossed the zebra crossing and entered a shop on the opposite side of the street. When she emerged, she clutched a square paper bag to her chest.

The winter air outside was bitterly cold. Clad only in thin layers, Jiang Zhizhou shivered as icy gusts whipped through her clothes, her teeth chattering faintly.

Jiang Qingmeng held out her coat.

Striding back with the chill clinging to her like a second skin, Jiang Zhizhou snatched the garment with her left hand and shoved the paper bag into Jiang Qingmeng’s arms with her right.

“Here you go—candied chestnuts. Do you like them?”