Chapter 29: Despicable Part 1

The first scene was Jiang Zhizhou’s fight sequence.

After getting her makeup done, Jiang Zhizhou set aside her own bitterness and threw herself fully into the role.

Most action scenes in xianxia dramas were filmed in soundstages, where green screens conjured illusory pavilions and waterside gazebos for actors to leap across rooftops and scamper along eaves.

This was a massive group battle. Jiang Zhizhou’s character, Yin Yue, ventured out to slay demons and devils, only to run into the Demon Lord of the Demon Realm and his cadre of Dharma Protectors. The two sides clashed in fierce combat.

“All departments, prepare!”

“Actors, get to your marks!”

“Cameras ready on every angle!”

“Sound team, stand by!”

The director’s commands crackled over the walkie-talkie across the film set. Jiang Zhizhou slipped on her mask, leaving only half her flawless face exposed, while the crew hooked her up to the wire harness.

Her feet slowly lifted off the ground until she dangled from a three-meter-high platform.

The opening shot had her soaring down from the rooftop into the courtyard, demon soldiers closing in to surround her.

“Ready… three, two, one! Drop!”

The director had barely finished when the wire operators lowered her.

Sword strapped to her back, Jiang Zhizhou straightened her spine, arms spread wide. She led with her left foot, right leg ramrod straight, toes brushing the ground in a perfect landing.

The extras costumed as demon soldiers surged forward, hemming her in.

Jiang Zhizhou swept her gaze around the circle, yanked the sword from her back, and spun a dazzling sword flower before bracing for the fight.

Cowed by her aura, the demon soldiers hesitated, glancing at one another. Then someone in the crowd bellowed, “What are you waiting for? Charge! The Venerable One commands it—whoever takes Yin Yue’s head gets promoted to Grand Dharma Protector!” The order unleashed a storm of flashing blades all aimed at her neck. Jiang Zhizhou smirked with hands clasped behind her back, swept her sword in a midsection arc to parry the assault, then executed a backflip and a sideways kick. Every motion was light and ethereal, brimming with resilient power.

In this age of fading wuxia films, unearthing a gorgeous actress who could act, fight, and look good doing it was next to impossible. Feng Shangxian felt a spark of admiration for a kindred talent and couldn’t resist shooting a few extra takes.

Even back during pre-production training, Jiang Zhizhou had won over a small band of staffers who adored her action scenes—mostly women.

Now they clustered at the edge of the film set, gazing up at her with starry eyes while whispering excitedly among themselves—

“This footage is gonna make her blow up once it’s cut!”

“Eeee, I just followed her on Weibo!”

“Sisters, same! You see that photo of her slim waist, long legs, and those abs glistening with a thin sheen of sweat? I set it as my phone wallpaper—lick it every time I unlock my screen.”

“I’d bend myself into a paperclip for her!”

“So pretty, so badass—I wanna date her!”

…

Little Ai, standing beside Jiang Qingmeng, couldn’t hold back a compliment. “Miss Shen’s action scenes are stunning—like dancing, but sharper and more precise.”

Jiang Qingmeng was absorbed in her script. At the words, she glanced up at Little Ai. “I prefer a quiet environment when I’m reading my lines.”

She put special emphasis on “quiet.”

Little Ai clammed up at once, though inwardly she grumbled: If the boss wants quiet, she should stay holed up in the nanny van with the heat cranked, only coming out when it’s her scene. Why brave the cold wind now?

Jiang Qingmeng nodded toward the group ahead. “Tell those frivolous flowers to pipe down. They’re getting noisy.”

Frivolous flowers…

Stunned by her boss’s turn of phrase, Little Ai paused a beat before heading over. She asked them politely but firmly to keep it down so they wouldn’t distract the actors.

Recognizing her as Jiang Qingmeng’s personal assistant, the frivolous flowers fell instantly silent.

The production crew ran on a strict hierarchy. Some people you could trample; others you had to butter up. Jiang Qingmeng and her team fell squarely into the latter camp.

Their minds drifted to the hot gossip making the rounds lately, and they exchanged knowing, ambiguous glances: Teacher Jiang was so gentle… she had to be the bottom one…

The first scene was wrapping up. Remembering that a certain someone lacked an assistant, Jiang Qingmeng dispatched one of her temps to deliver water and a towel.

But just as the assistant started forward, Jiang Qingmeng raised a hand to stop her. “No need.” Her gaze flicked to Jiang Zhizhou, cool and detached.

“Cut!” the director called. Mei Ying rushed forward at once to dab Jiang Zhizhou’s sweat, touch up her makeup, and hand over a bottle of warm water.

Action scenes were brutally taxing. Jiang Zhizhou lifted her mask, a few stray hairs framing her face, her chest heaving with restrained breaths, a bead of sweat glistening on her elegant nose.

She took the water from Mei Ying and downed it in one go.

“Hey, slow down—you’ll get a bellyache.”

Jiang Zhizhou was used to being waited on hand and foot; for a moment, she saw nothing amiss in letting Mei Ying meticulously wipe the sweat from her face and neck. Only after she shook off the role did she flash Mei Ying a smile. “Thanks.”

Jiang Zhizhou rarely smiled, but when she did, it was like spring water melting a pool of cold snow, sending ripples of delight through Mei Ying’s heart and making it bloom with joy.

“You look so beautiful when you smile,” Mei Ying said. “You should do it more often.”

Jiang Zhizhou neither confirmed nor denied it, though inwardly she thought that she was used to keeping up appearances—how could she just smile on command?

The entertainment industry was all about seniority. In her previous life, Jiang Zhizhou had risen to fame young, racking up countless awards that made everyone look up to her. People had practically begged to get close to her and leverage the connection. If she’d been too approachable, that flock of twittering songbirds would have devoured her whole.

Staying aloof and distant was the best way to keep them at bay.

Little Ai stood beside Jiang Qingmeng, hearing the irritated rustle of pages being flipped. A sense of foreboding hit her, and sure enough, the next moment—

“Have Little Mei come over in a bit. I want to touch up my makeup.”

Little Ai: ???

Boss, your makeup is perfect. What exactly do you need to touch up?

Though she grumbled inwardly, she didn’t dare disobey her superior’s order. Little Ai went off to fetch Mei Ying.

Mei Ying arrived with her makeup kit in hand. Jiang Qingmeng’s eyebrows were like strokes of fine ink, her makeup exquisite—just a touch less would make it too pale, a touch more too heavy. She was beautiful in perfect measure, and Mei Ying had no idea where to even start.

As she hesitated, Jiang Qingmeng spoke in a warm, gentle voice. “Just tidy up the hair at my right temple for me.”

Mei Ying nodded and agreed. She tucked a lock of Jiang Qingmeng’s bangs behind her ear on the right side, cradled her chin with one hand, and carefully wielded the brow scissors near her ear with the other, trimming away.

Jiang Qingmeng’s skin was as white and delicate as jade, so pale that the faint capillaries beneath were faintly visible. There was only the finest layer of downy fuzz at her temple. Mei Ying didn’t dare breathe, holding her as gingerly as if she were cradling a fragile porcelain lamp, terrified of shattering it with the slightest mistake.

Murphy’s Law states that whatever you fear most is what’s most likely to happen.

“Oh, right—Little Ai—” Jiang Qingmeng suddenly turned her head. Mei Ying yanked her hand back to dodge, but she was a step too slow. The brow scissors left a shallow cut at Jiang Qingmeng’s temple, and a bead of blood slowly welled up.

Little Ai looked down and gasped in shock. “Boss!” She shoved Mei Ying aside. “You’re bleeding—don’t move.” She immediately instructed the other temp assistants to fetch the first-aid kit.

Jiang Qingmeng touched her temple and withdrew her finger to find a spot of blood on the tip. Yet she merely curved her lips into a smile.

Little Ai shot Mei Ying a fierce glare. “How could you be so careless with your hands!”

Mei Ying paled in terror, her face draining of color. She was just about to protest that it wasn’t her fault when Jiang Qingmeng suddenly turned her head—but instead, Jiang Qingmeng gave her a gentle smile and said softly, “It’s fine. You can’t blame her. Don’t scare her, and don’t make a fuss—it’ll disrupt the others’ filming.”

With such warmth and consideration, the words of defense died in Mei Ying’s throat. She could only bow her head awkwardly and stammer an apology. “Teacher Jiang… I’m sorry… It wasn’t on purpose…”

Jiang Zhizhou had just wrapped the second scene, a fight sequence against the Demon Lord. Her gaze habitually drifted to Jiang Qingmeng, and noticing the unusual commotion, she brushed aside all her petty feelings and hurried over.

“What happened?”

Jiang Qingmeng gave a faint smile, dismissing it lightly. “Nothing much. I just nicked myself.” Jiang Zhizhou crouched down and saw the roughly two-centimeter shallow red wound at her temple. It felt like a matching cut had opened in her own heart.

She wished the injury had landed on her own face instead. She gently caressed Jiang Qingmeng’s cheek and murmured, “What cut you? How could you be so careless?”

Jiang Qingmeng placed her hand over Jiang Zhizhou’s and said softly, “The brow scissors. It’s just a shallow nick—really, it’s nothing.”

Jiang Zhizhou frowned at Mei Ying nearby but said nothing. Still, her gaze carried a hint of reproach.

Mei Ying’s face was ashen. She opened her mouth to explain, but Jiang Qingmeng smiled at her again. “I’ll find you a good mentor to train you properly, so your hands won’t shake anymore. From now on, you can shadow Sister Yu. I’ll have her pass on all her signature skills to you.”

Her smile was so pure and sincere, her words so thoughtful, that Mei Ying couldn’t bring herself to protest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she choked out her thanks with her head bowed.

“Alright, no crying,” Jiang Qingmeng said, still smiling as she comforted her with gentle warmth like flowing water. “Go wash your face, have some hot water to calm down, and don’t let a little thing like this ruin your mood.”

Mei Ying nodded and retreated to the makeup room.