Chapter 49

Leng Xiang had naturally brought everything over.

The two of them finished off that slice of cake, tossing the plate aside. Two stacks of handwritten manuscript paper sat on the coffee table.

Jiang Sisi spent nearly half an hour reviewing them. After that time, she set the papers down and said, “Not bad.”

Leng Xiang subconsciously let out a breath of relief.

Including the time Jiang Sisi had been away from the set, it had taken her over half a month to write and revise these two pieces.

Her education wasn’t high, and her writing skills were limited. For half a month’s effort to earn a “not bad” from Jiang Sisi was well worth the hard work.

Jiang Sisi said, “What about the section I marked in Love Injury?”

Leng Xiang had brought Love Injury along too. She flipped through the novel to near the end, where Jiang Sisi had starred a chapter. Leng Xiang had folded a corner of the page for easy reference.

The chapter Jiang Sisi had highlighted bore some similarity to the script of Luxury Goods.

In that chapter, the regretful girl burst into the wedding of the lover she had once adored, causing a scene. She clung to the girl’s hand, questioning and pleading with her, until she finally collapsed to her knees in despair. In Luxury Goods, the scene Jiang Sisi had her test-shoot with Pei Shuang in the church that day—if Jiang Sisi hadn’t called cut midway—would have led to a quarrel between Su Qing and Jiang Chuan right there in the church, had they continued per the script.

Unlike the explosive wedding disruption in Love Injury, the argument in Luxury Goods was one of quiet desperation and suppression. No one besides Jiang Chuan and Su Qing knew about it.

And it was the first time Su Qing had seen such cold indifference in Jiang Chuan’s eyes toward her.

Su Qing felt dissatisfied, jealous, heartbroken. Under Jiang Chuan’s gaze, she grew flustered and at a loss, ultimately accepting everything in silent despair.

What right did she have to question any of it?

Leng Xiang held the copy of Love Injury and asked Jiang Sisi, “How should I act it?”

Jiang Sisi said, “I’ll run lines with you.”

Leng Xiang couldn’t help but glance at her again. “You?”

Jiang Sisi smiled and said, “Actors become directors, directors can act—it’s all interconnected.”

Leng Xiang fell silent. Fine, whatever.

When Jiang Sisi looked up again, her eyes were filled with utter coldness.

It was a look Leng Xiang had never seen on her before—one of accusation, condemnation, interrogation.

She was blaming her, resenting her.

Even retaliating against her.

Leng Xiang met her eyes, and her heart jolted violently. Then it plummeted, heavy and oppressive, churning her stomach.

Leng Xiang swallowed reflexively.

Jiang Sisi’s expression remained indifferent. She turned her head first and smiled tenderly at the air. Leng Xiang was puzzled at first, then suddenly recalled the original plot of Love Injury: before the argument, the bride-to-be turned to smile reassuringly at her husband.

When she turned back, her eyes were cold once more.

Leng Xiang’s plummeting heart clenched tight in an invisible grip.

Jiang Sisi said coldly, “What are you doing here?”

She slipped into character so quickly.

Leng Xiang thought dazedly, falling silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse, as if choked by something: “I came… I came to see you.”

She knew it was just acting, but her throat felt truly constricted, making her words halting and stuttered.

An inexplicable discomfort.

Jiang Sisi scoffed, her eyebrow arching. “See me? Aren’t you here to make trouble?”

Leng Xiang looked at her and forced a smile. “Is that what I am in your eyes?”

Jiang Sisi sneered. “Aren’t you?”

Leng Xiang stared at Jiang Sisi.

Her eyes held the most genuine coldness, like shards of ice slicing into her.

Her character should have felt grief and pain, but Leng Xiang’s mind wandered to something else.

So this was what Jiang Sisi looked like when she turned cold.

Leng Xiang flung Love Injury at Jiang Sisi’s face. “Yes, I’m here to make trouble for you.”

The book landed on Jiang Sisi’s face, and she sneaked a smile beneath it, a touch helpless.

An inexplicable irritability filled Leng Xiang, her chest tight. She shot to her feet, jabbing her index finger at Jiang Sisi’s nose tip from above. “We were together for eight whole years—eight years! Why did you leave me? What do I lack compared to him?”

Jiang Sisi reached up and removed the book, her gaze still indifferent. She set it on the coffee table and said, “That temper of yours still needs work. I don’t want you anymore, so you should rein yourself in, or no one else will either.”

Jiang Sisi suddenly stood too and pulled Leng Xiang into a hug.

It was straight from the novel, yet Leng Xiang felt herself trembling.

She clutched Jiang Sisi’s arm, momentarily disoriented as to where she was.

She only heard Jiang Sisi whisper in her ear.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Let’s… not see each other again.”

…

…

It was just a scene.

Jiang Sisi released her and amusingly wiped her tears. “You actually cried. What are you crying for?”

Leng Xiang had smeared her tears all over Jiang Sisi’s shoulder, soaking a patch.

She shuddered faintly, turned away, and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “None of your business. Leave me alone.”

Jiang Sisi: “…”

Sigh, hadn’t she been immersed perfectly? Why couldn’t she replicate this on set today?

Jiang Sisi thought with some regret. If they’d filmed in this state, it probably would have passed.

A moment later, Leng Xiang calmed down.

Jiang Sisi twirled Love Injury in her hand, casually saying, “Did you just throw that book in my face to settle a personal score?”

“…”

Leng Xiang kept a straight face. “No, I have no grudge against you.”

As if!

Jiang Sisi’s nose bridge ached faintly from the hit. She rubbed it and said, “Fine then. Go back and reread Love Injury, then write me autobiographies for both female leads—in first person.”

Jiang Sisi thought for a moment and added, “Write Su Qing’s autobiography in first person again, really dig into it—you can revise the original draft. And do Jiang Chuan’s too, same requirements, first person, eight thousand words.”

Leng Xiang: “…”

Now that’s blatant revenge!

But she couldn’t refuse.

Leng Xiang held her breath. “…Fine.”

It came out rather gritted.

Pretending not to notice, Jiang Sisi smiled and pulled another book from the coffee table, handing it over too. “Take this one back and look at it as well.”

It was a somewhat worn book titled Subconscious Behavior Analysis, clearly well-thumbed.

Another psychology text.

Leng Xiang glanced up at Jiang Sisi and took it.

Jiang Sisi said, “Did you finish the last one, Empathy Principles and Discussion?”

Leng Xiang flipped through a couple of pages and shook her head. “Not yet.”

Jiang Sisi said, “Then take these two and go through them slowly.”

Forcing someone used to instinctual acting to abandon old habits and shift to deeply empathizing with roles was challenging in itself.

Leng Xiang grumbled, “It’s been years since I did homework.”

Jiang Sisi said, “You must’ve written high school compositions, right? If you can do that, you’re set. Treat it like ten 800-word essays plus a book report.”

Leng Xiang: “…”

She stayed quiet for a while.

Curious, Jiang Sisi turned to look at her. That wasn’t like Leng Xiang—usually she’d snap back.

Leng Xiang said indifferently, “I never went to high school. I don’t know how.”

No matter the situation, Leng Xiang never talked about her own past.

Jiang Sisi knew Leng Xiang wasn’t from a formal acting background, but she’d assumed she’d studied something else in university. She hadn’t imagined she hadn’t even finished high school.

Curious, Jiang Sisi asked, “Bad grades? Didn’t get into high school?”

Leng Xiang retorted, “No way. I placed second in the whole school on my middle school entrance exams.”

Now Jiang Sisi was truly intrigued. “Then why didn’t you go?”

Leng Xiang said, “Nothing really. I just didn’t want to study anymore. It’s been years.”

Who places second school-wide on entrance exams and just decides not to study?

Jiang Sisi wanted to press further, but seeing Leng Xiang’s reluctance, she held back.

That topic seemed to touch a sore spot for her.

Sensing Leng Xiang’s fatigue, Jiang Sisi suddenly remembered something. She went to the bedroom and returned with a paper ticket.

Jiang Sisi said, “If you’re tired, head back. Oh, and pass this to Pei Shuang for me on the way.”

Leng Xiang took the paper and examined it closely.

A concert ticket—VIP box, prime seats.

Leng Xiang said, “What’s this?”

Jiang Sisi said, “A ticket to Zhong Xin’s concert.”

Leng Xiang looked puzzled. “Who’s Zhong Xin?”

Jiang Sisi said, “A singer.”

She paused, then added, “She’s pretty good.”

Far more than pretty good.

Zhong Xin was a pillar of the music scene in recent years—young, vibrant, stunningly beautiful. She favored psychedelic rock, and her concerts turned fans into a frenzied mob headbanging through the night, like ten thousand people high on ecstasy.

Passion, energy, fan-favorite. A single selfie with a lip curl at the camera could send Weibo into a frenzy overnight. She had a knack for charming the girls.

But her company was a mess.

In fan circles, Zhong Xin’s agency was notoriously awful—endless grueling commercial gigs for the harshest profit splits.

Her fans had rioted eight hundred times, even clashing with her manager online, multiple Weibo wars.

Word was, this drama was about to resolve.

Jiang Sisi said, “Give this to Pei Shuang and pass along a message for me—say,

‘The ticket’s yours. Go if you want, don’t if you don’t. If not, sell it to scalpers and make a few grand. Just don’t make life harder for yourself.'”