Chapter 27: Costume Fitting

The next day, they were shooting the costume fitting photos.

Jiang Zhizhou followed the crew members toward the shuttle bus when Little Ai stopped her.

“Miss Shen, my boss invites you to ride with her.”

Jiang Zhizhou’s face remained impassive as she tossed out a single line: “Thank your boss for me.” Then she boarded the bus.

A number of Star Source Entertainment artists were already on board—fellow company mates, in a manner of speaking.

Seated next to Jiang Zhizhou was one of her senior sisters from the company, Sun Li, who played a supporting role as the Feather Clan’s high priestess in Nine Songs.

Seeing how down in the dumps Jiang Zhizhou looked, Sun Li leaned over to strike up a conversation. “Junior sister, how come you’re not hanging out with Qingmeng today?”

Jiang Zhizhou shot her a cold glance but said nothing.

“Did you two have a fight?” Sun Li gave an awkward chuckle. “No big deal. Don’t be sad, junior sister. Girls need coaxing. Just sweet-talk her a little, and it’ll be fine.”

Which of your eyes sees me looking sad?

Though she grumbled inwardly, Jiang Zhizhou managed a polite response out of courtesy. “Got it. Thanks, senior sister.”

“We’re all company mates—one big family. No need to stand on ceremony.” Sun Li grinned and pulled out her phone. “Junior sister, let’s add each other on WeChat. I’ve got something good to share with you. It’ll definitely help you smooth things over with Qingmeng.”

Harboring some skepticism, Jiang Zhizhou added Sun Li anyway. Moments later, a PDF file popped up in her messages.

She tapped it open. The title blazed across the top in bold letters: 36 Ways to Tame Your Girlfriend Illustrated.

She scrolled down. What followed was a series of… positions between women. Positions that definitely didn’t align with socialist core values.

Her ears burned crimson in an instant. Jiang Zhizhou shot Sun Li a fierce glare, then ignored her completely. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes to rest.

Meanwhile, in the nanny van, Little Ai was helping Jiang Qingmeng with an eye compress.

After a while, Little Ai removed the warm compress and peered closely at her eyes.

“Still swollen?” Jiang Qingmeng asked.

There were still some red veins in them. Little Ai handed her a pair of sunglasses. “A little, boss. Better wear these.”

The last time her boss had needed sunglasses was during the first three months after Jiang Zhizhou’s death—back then, she had filmed with red-rimmed eyes almost every day.

So who had she been crying over last night? Could it be Miss Shen?

Considering the possibility, Little Ai offered some comfort. “Boss, that Miss Shen doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it. We should ignore her. Plenty of people out there dying to latch onto you—not like we’re short one. If you wanted, every woman in the industry could be yours.”

After all, her boss was rich and gorgeous. Sure, she could be a little intimidating at times, but that was part of the charm.

Jiang Qingmeng slipped on the sunglasses and drawled in faint mockery, “You were up all night reading domineering CEO novels again, weren’t you?”

Little Ai: …

In truth, she had been reading entertainment industry novels—yuri ones, specifically.

As a loyal and diligent assistant, it was her job to stay attuned to her boss’s thoughts. Little Ai might be as straight as they came, but she knew how to learn and adapt. The Bi Jiang Lily Channel boasted the world’s largest collection of actress and idol pairings. There had to be one that matched her boss’s type. She’d scoped them out ahead of time, ready to offer advice for her boss’s romantic endeavors down the line.

Take right now, for instance—

“Boss, if Miss Shen really bothers you that much, just clear the air with her. If you don’t say anything and she doesn’t ask, the misunderstanding will only grow.”

Jiang Qingmeng let out a cold laugh. “Who said anything about her bothering me?”

She only paid her any mind because she looked like her—and because she still had some use.

Little Ai: …

You cried until your eyes swelled, and now you claim she doesn’t bother you…

Reading the skepticism in her assistant’s silence, Jiang Qingmeng said flatly, “It’s not because of her.”

She wasn’t worth shedding tears over.

Little Ai: …

Did I read her wrong? If not Miss Shen, then it must be… that person.

That was a scar buried deep in her boss’s heart—one that kept scabbing over only to tear open again. Little Ai didn’t dare bring it up and fell silent as a mouse.

After a long stretch of quiet, Jiang Qingmeng pressed her lips together and murmured, “She’s not interested… so why should I bother explaining…”

Her voice was so soft and low that Little Ai didn’t catch it. She looked at her boss. “What was that, boss?”

Jiang Qingmeng turned her gaze to the window. “Nothing.”

They arrived at the film set. Jiang Qingmeng stepped out of the van and headed straight for the makeup rooms—her eyes scanning the crowd for Jiang Zhizhou on instinct.

Jiang Zhizhou, meanwhile, found herself instinctively searching the crowd for Jiang Qingmeng.

Their gazes locked. Three seconds ticked by. Jiang Zhizhou’s heart began to race; she quickly looked away. Jiang Qingmeng’s lips curved in a cold smirk as she strode directly into her makeup room.

The leads each had their own private makeup rooms and teams. Jiang Zhizhou watched her retreating figure disappear inside, then lowered her eyes with a barely audible sigh.

They started with her hair: combing, fitting the wig cap, applying makeup.

Period dramas were the most tedious. Just getting the hair right took a full hour.

Jiang Zhizhou hadn’t slept well the night before. She sat in the chair with her eyes closed, letting the makeup team work, her head nodding forward as drowsiness overtook her. She was on the verge of dozing off when a sharp scream exploded in her ear—

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Everyone in the makeup room fell silent, turning to look. Chen Yu slapped the table and shot to her feet, jabbing a finger at a little girl as she bellowed, “What the hell have you done to my eyebrows? Can you even do makeup? If you can’t, then get out and let someone else handle it!”

The little girl’s face turned beet red, tears brimming in her eyes. She bowed deeply and stammered an apology. “Sister Yu, I’m so sorry. My skills just aren’t good enough.”

Sister Zhang, the head of the makeup team, rushed over to defuse the situation, bowing and scraping. “Teacher Yu, we’re terribly sorry. This is our new girl, Little Mei—she’s still green. Please bear with her. I’ll take over and do your makeup myself.” She shot Little Mei a sharp glance. “What are you standing around for? Scram!”

“Sister Zhang, I trust your skills.” Chen Yu sat back down and shot a pointed look at Jiang Zhizhou. “Honestly, these days any stray cat or dog gets shoved onto the set.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll chew her out good later. Now, Teacher Yu, close your eyes—I’ll wipe this off and start over.” As Sister Zhang carefully repainted Chen Yu’s eyebrows, she swept a stern gaze over the room. “What are you all gawking at? Back to work, now!”

The makeup room hummed back to life.

The little girl slunk away, eyes still red and puffy. As she passed Jiang Zhizhou, Jiang Zhizhou cracked her eyes open and caught her wrist. “I’m ugly, and the role I’m playing is disfigured anyway. Just slap something on me, whatever.”

Her words dropped like a stone, and the room went deathly quiet once more.

Everyone at Star Source Entertainment knew Shen Xinghe had no backing, no talent—just her looks.

In the old days, a comment like that might have slid by. Back then, Shen Xinghe had sunk into depression, her eyes dull and lifeless. But after the car crash, it was like she’d been replaced by someone else: icy, aloof. One sharp glance from her could freeze a person in place.

It wasn’t Jiang Zhizhou at all. No, she’d nailed that distant, untouchable vibe to perfection.

If she was ugly, then ninety percent of the female stars in the industry might as well pack it in.

Everyone exchanged furtive glances, their eyes buzzing with unspoken gossip.

Three women, one drama—and the crew’s makeup room was never short on spectacle.

Chen Yu’s face twisted unpleasantly, but she couldn’t lash out. It flickered from pale to green and back.

Sister Zhang cursed inwardly—this woman was going to be the death of her—but kept her voice steady. “What are you lot freezing for? Hustle up, or we’ll all be stuck here overtime, and you know what that means: docked pay!”

The mention of lost wages snapped everyone back to attention. The room erupted into chatter and motion again.

“Sister Wenwen, how about this bean paste lipstick?”

“Xiao He, no thin straight brows on me—they’re so tacky.”

“Sister Li, you’re playing a phoenix. According to the makeup plan, I need to do red eyeshadow for you.”

“Red’s too garish. How’s that supposed to show off my beauty?”

“No helping it—the plan’s set.”

Jiang Zhizhou picked up an eyebrow pencil and handed it to Little Mei. “Here, go ahead. Just do half my face—the left side needs a mask.”

Little Mei took the pencil, blinking back tears.

“No tears on my face.” Jiang Zhizhou closed her eyes and let the girl work. After a moment, she added softly, “When I first debuted, I got chewed out plenty too.”

Little Mei sniffled. “Did you… cry?”

“Nope. Save the emotions and tears for the performance. Don’t waste them off-camera.”

“You… how long ago did you debut?”

“A good while.” Jiang Zhizhou had been in the game over ten years now, and even the original host had debuted at sixteen in a talent show—long enough. “That’s showbiz for you. Newbies keep their heads down, play the long game, grind through the years and build seniority. Who knows? One day you might be the top stylist everyone fights over.”

Jiang Zhizhou delivered the pep talk deadpan, but Little Mei cracked a smile anyway.

Makeup done, it was time to change.

Jiang Zhizhou’s character, the Female Second Lead Yin Yue, had two outfits in different color schemes: pristine white with red accents before her fall to devilhood, then bold red with black patterns after.

She tried both on, then stood before the mirror and asked Little Mei, “Looking good, right? Which one’s better?”

Little Mei beamed. “Both are stunning. The white one’s cool and austere, like forbidden desire. The red’s seductive without being over the top.”

“Told you.” Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t help a smug grin. “Anything looks killer on me.”

The door to the private makeup booth swung open, and Jiang Qingmeng stepped out.

Every eye in the room locked onto her.

Jiang Qingmeng was dressed in male costume: hair bound with a silk ribbon, brows sharp and sweeping, nose elegantly straight, white sleeves billowing. She had a heroic air, but the powder-fine femininity was unmistakable—she was still clearly a woman.

That was domestic costume dramas for you. Tie back the hair, and suddenly no one was supposed to clock the cross-dressing.

Jiang Zhizhou stared for a few seconds. When Jiang Qingmeng’s gaze swung her way, she quickly looked away.

Jiang Qingmeng stared back for a few beats, then turned away without a word. But in her usually clear, gentle eyes, a shadow of gloom lingered.

The lackeys in the makeup room crowded around Jiang Qingmeng, showering her with endless flattery.

Jiang Zhizhou browsed the accessory rack, picking and choosing, until she finally selected a crimson headband that matched the red embroidery on her own costume.

She handed the headband to Little Mei and pointed toward Jiang Qingmeng amid the crowd. “Go give this to her and have her try wearing it. Leave two strands of bangs framing the sides. If she asks, tell her it’s your own idea.”

Little Mei gave her a puzzled look. Jiang Zhizhou explained, “She has excellent bone structure. It’ll look even better on her.”

Little Mei followed her instructions and presented the headband. Jiang Qingmeng accepted it politely and tried it on out of courtesy. Much to her surprise, the effect was striking. The red headband cut through the heaviness of the makeup on her face, lending her an air of refined nobility.

Jiang Qingmeng turned to Little Mei. “What’s your name?”

Little Mei murmured softly, “Teacher Jiang, I’m Mei Ying—the Mei from plum blossom, the Ying from firefly.”

Jiang Qingmeng smiled. “That’s a beautiful name. Starting tomorrow, report to my makeup room.”

Mei Ying was a straightforward girl. She glanced at Jiang Zhizhou, hesitated for a moment, then leaned in close to Jiang Qingmeng’s ear and told her the truth.

Jiang Qingmeng listened attentively, then smiled. “Six o’clock tomorrow, sharp. No tardiness. My rule is simple: things don’t happen more than three times. The same mistake won’t be tolerated beyond that.” Her voice was gentle, yet it brooked no argument.

With that, she turned her gaze toward Jiang Zhizhou in the distance.

Jiang Zhizhou averted her eyes and busied herself trying on the red mask in front of the mirror, acting as if nothing was amiss.

Jiang Qingmeng’s lips curved in a subtle smile as she stepped out of the makeup room to take her costume photos.

The leads and supporting cast went one by one, changing outfits in between shots. Jiang Qingmeng had a full male costume and a full female one. Xu Sheng and Jiang Zhizhou each did sets for before and after their descent into madness.

After a full day of hassle, the costume photos were finally wrapped up. The rest would be handled in post-production.

Jiang Zhizhou returned to the makeup room to remove her makeup. She stepped into the changing area, turned to close the door and get changed, only to find Jiang Qingmeng slipping in behind her.

Jiang Zhizhou froze in place.

Jiang Qingmeng shut the door and locked it, then leaned back against it.

She had changed back into her casual clothes and wiped off her makeup. Her elegant features carried a hint of fatigue, her eyes faintly bloodshot, with subtle dark circles underneath.

Jiang Zhizhou gazed at her, and the cold, hardened shell around her heart began to soften, piece by piece.

How could anyone be like this—every gesture, every smile or frown striking straight at her vulnerabilities? Seeing her cry filled her with unbearable heartache; seeing her draw near collapsed all her mental defenses in an instant.

Jiang Qingmeng bestowed a radiant smile upon Jiang Zhizhou, her eyes shimmering like rippling waves, her voice low and velvety soft. “Why are you avoiding me? I told you… you can’t hide from me anymore.”

Jiang Zhizhou lowered her gaze and said nothing.

“See? You’re still avoiding me even now.” Jiang Qingmeng smiled again, her amber eyes locking onto Jiang Zhizhou like a predator fixated on its prey, unblinking. Abruptly, she seized her left hand, rolled back the sleeve, brought the wrist to her lips, and sank her teeth in hard.

A searing pain exploded from her wrist, prickling all the way to her scalp, her hand trembling uncontrollably.

Jiang Zhizhou furrowed her brow but didn’t yank away or struggle. She balled her fist, clenched her jaw, and endured it without a sound.

Only when the faint metallic tang of blood spread through her mouth did Jiang Qingmeng release her with satisfaction. She licked the blood from her lips, her smile blooming like a flower.

“Things don’t happen more than three times. Remember—this is the first.”