When Zhou Siyou dropped into the Bentley, it was like a gust of wind sweeping through the car.
The driver up front shot her a glance and twisted the cap of the thermos in hand a little tighter. “Sister Siyou, the film festival’s over?”
Zhou Siyou gave a vague grunt.
The driver knew her artist hadn’t won anything tonight and was in a foul mood, so she didn’t press. She only asked, “Then where are we headed now, Sister Siyou…?”
Before the words “headed to” could even land, a thunderous crack erupted in front of the car.
Screeeech—
A remarkably technical near-collision. On a physical level, the two cars had missed each other—but their bodies compressed the thin film of air between them, and the resulting noise rang out loud and clear.
A sound impossible to ignore.
A Cullinan braked hard in front of them, cutting off their path.
A woman pushed open the Cullinan’s passenger door and stepped out with unhurried grace.
A pristine white gown, bright smiling eyes, long black hair in soft curls.
Yu Ning.
Her friendship with Zhou Siyou was shallow, but their feud over resources ran deep.
They were of similar age, and their resources were forever colliding. The more they clashed, the more viciously their fans tore into each other, and the more the two women got on each other’s nerves.
Commonly known as “rivals.”
And now, even at the very outermost fringe of the festival grounds, even with the Golden Hundred Film Festival already over, Yu Ning still had to fulfill her duty as a “rival” and block her way.
To provoke her.
—Couldn’t be helped. After all, at the festival just now, when the two of them had competed for the same award, Yu Ning was the one who had won in the end.
This was the opening salvo of Yu Ning’s comeback after marriage, and someone had to be made an example of.
She chose Zhou Siyou.
Inside the car, Zhou Siyou glanced at Yu Ning, swept her hair back with one hand, and without wasting another word, stepped out.
White flashes burst around her; camera shutters clattered on and on, never ceasing in her ears.
“Zhou Siyou, you left so quickly just now…” Yu Ning frowned, her tone languid, her expression all but flaunting its triumph. “I didn’t even get a chance to say a few words to you.”
She raised her hand with a smile and offered Zhou Siyou a friendly handshake.
“So you fled in such a sorry hurry because you were just a placeholder?” Only as they drew near did a single jeering taunt spill from her red lips, her diamond-studded nail deliberately raking across the back of Zhou Siyou’s hand. “A placeholder again. How does it feel?”
—Yes. This was the second year Zhou Siyou had walked away empty-handed.
Last year, Best Newcomer had slipped away; this year, she never even touched Best Supporting Role.
This rookie actress hyped by her fans as “the industry’s dark horse” had no trophies to show for herself.
So the moment she walked out of the festival venue, she was slammed onto a mocking trending topic: #Placeholder#.
But the person being mocked didn’t seem to care much.
Hearing Yu Ning’s words, she only said flatly, “If you hadn’t mentioned it, I’d have forgotten.”
The ceremony had just ended—claiming she’d forgotten? Who would believe that?
Yu Ning gave a low snort. “Because you’re used to being a placeholder?”
“Ah, not quite,” Zhou Siyou said, shaking her head indifferently. “I just don’t care.”
Yu Ning arched a brow and delivered her verdict. “Putting on an act.”
Yu Ning folded her arms and tilted her chin up arrogantly, lowering her voice. “Zhou Siyou, when I married and stepped back from the industry, you happened to be debuting. You trailed along behind me, scooping up the resources I dropped, secretly locking horns with me. And now we’re finally facing off in the open—”
“Oh, let me ask you one thing,” Yu Ning said, smiling. “How does it feel, losing to me?”
She looked at Zhou Siyou with a smile.
But the other woman seemed not to register the provocation at all, and smiled back with utter equanimity.
“Done talking?” Zhou Siyou asked, eyes curving.
The next moment, the conversation careened off a cliff.
“—So, Yu Ning, you stopped my car just to tell me all this worthless nonsense?”
Yu Ning’s eyes went wide, a flicker of shock in them.
“What does your marriage have to do with me? What do the resources you dropped have to do with me? What does your comeback have to do with me? What does your award have to do with me?”
Not giving Yu Ning a chance to react, Zhou Siyou fired off four questions in a row, her tone aggressive. “Am I your mother or your father, that I have to cushion your comeback? People are off the clock, and you intercept them to make them listen to a pile of baffling soul-searching—don’t you think you’re hilarious?”
Zhou Siyou had some technique when it came to quarrels. While Yu Ning was still frozen, she unilaterally ended the battle with a single line: “You brought this on yourself.”
“You rammed into me begging for a scolding. Haha, I said a bit too much—don’t take it to heart, okay?”
Before climbing back into the car, she pointed at the Cullinan. “Oh, right. Move your car.”
“Or I’m driving straight into it.”
With that, Zhou Siyou settled back into her seat.
The Bentley’s high and low beams flickered in orderly alternation, blinding every reporter and paparazzo near the venue—along with Yu Ning’s eyes.
Beneath the “Golden Hundred Film Festival” trending topic, the fan discussion threads were raging high.
#ZhouSiyou: The Industry’s #1 Arrogant Placeholder
#BREAKING—ZhouSiyouGotIntoAnotherFight!!!
“Whoa, that instant when Zhou Siyou and Yu Ning shook hands took me right back to the Tiny Times sisterhood…”
“These two clash over resources online and straight-up crash cars offline. Incredible.”
“Come, come, listen to the audio the paparazzi posted.”
“—What does your marriage have to do with my [bleep] business? What do the resources you dropped have to do with my [bleep] business? What does your comeback have to do with my [bleep] business? What does your award have to do with my [bleep] business? …Am I your [bleep] mother or your [bleep] father, that I have to [bleep] cushion your comeback? People are off the clock, and you still hold them up to listen to a whole pile of [bleep] soul-searching—don’t you think you’re [bleep] hilarious? …”
“…”
“…………”
“I got roasted right through the screen…”
“Even Yu Ning was dumbfounded. My heart bleeds for our Little White Flower.”
“What else is Zhou Siyou good for besides running her mouth? …Oh right—she can also be a placeholder. Hahaha…”
“Zhou Siyou, that mouth of yours!!!” The Bentley rolled along, smooth and steady, while in the passenger seat the talent agent was seething, pointing a finger at Zhou Siyou, the very picture of frustrated exasperation.
“Ancestor, we didn’t even win an award today—we’ve got no footing at all. Can you not have an episode out here?”
Zhou Siyou showed not a shred of awareness that she’d done anything wrong, only shooting back, “Head Agent Fang, you were standing right there at the scene just now. Why were you hiding in the crowd without a peep? Your artist gets into a fight in public and you don’t even try to stop her?”
After a few seconds of blame-shifting, she muttered, “Forget it. Even if you had tried to stop me, I’d have fought anyway. She rammed into me first. Only a fool walks away from a fight.”
The agent: “…”
The agent sighed. “As if I care who rammed into whom first. The paparazzi around here all work for Yu Ning, so of course the material gets spun in her favor. Paparazzi are masters of quoting out of context—you know that better than anyone.”
“In everyone else’s eyes, Yu Ning just wanted a friendly handshake, and you unloaded a whole barrage and choked her speechless.”
Zhou Siyou stopped responding.
It was deep into the night. Colored lights from the roadside streamed across her face. The streetscape glowed bright; after the rain, the autumn leaves in the puddles were no longer deep red—only pitch black.
The agent, Fang Ming, asked suddenly, “Zhou Siyou, I know you lost and you’re feeling down. About today, actually—”
“—Hm? No, not at all.”
To her surprise, Zhou Siyou lifted her eyes blankly and denied it. “I’m in a great mood today.”
Fang Ming: “…?”
Zhou Siyou gave a fake cough, propped her chin in her hand, and turned to gaze out the window.
“Really, a great mood. A really great one,” she murmured.
—Zhou Siyou would dare swear it: today was the best she had felt since her debut.
Because mere hours ago, on the Golden Hundred Film Festival’s red carpet, she had seen someone she’d thought she would never see again in this lifetime.
In the flash of that thought, it was as if the clattering, earth-shaking roar of shutters from the red carpet venue rang in Zhou Siyou’s ears once more.
Amid the storm of shutters: a water-colored gown trailing on the ground, a young woman with faint makeup and an even fainter expression.
An utterly unadorned face—and such gentle eyes.
Her features were serene, her demeanor indifferent, hopelessly out of place in this gaudy, glittering red carpet venue.
“Zhong Qing.”
—Amid the clamor of shutters, that was what the reporters called her.
Zhou Siyou looked over, feeling half in a trance.
In the guests’ seating, Zhou Siyou had not yet sat down. And like everyone else in the venue, her gaze involuntarily landed on Zhong Qing.
Zhong Qing did not look over.
From beginning to end, she cast her eyes toward no one.
The red carpet blazed with competing beauty; the woman in the water-colored gown drifted through the riotous flower beds like a colorless breeze.
As she passed Zhou Siyou, the indifference in her expression did not waver.
One instant—a brush of shoulders as they passed.
