Chapter 17: Ferry

Jiang Qingmeng opened the car door, retrieved a bag of medical ice packs from the trunk, and climbed back into the car. She handed them to Jiang Zhizhou.

“I’ve sent someone to handle the Yuhe situation. Put this on your face for now. Later, I’ll take you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“The author of the novel.”

“Why meet the author?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

“She’s the spitting image! Truly uncanny!”

In the private room of the restaurant, the author of Nine Songs, Bai Momo, leaned in close to Jiang Zhizhou, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

Bai Momo had been a renowned writer on the Bijiang Website in her early career, with several of her novels adapted into TV dramas. Two years ago, she had switched to screenwriting and signed on with Star Source Entertainment, where she became good friends with Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Zhizhou kept her gaze lowered, saying nothing.

Now she finally understood why Jiang Qingmeng was so convinced she was perfect for the second female lead role.

A vague suspicion crept in as well. The original author must have known about this connection and tipped off Jiang Qingmeng—that wasn’t surprising. What puzzled her was how Chen Yu had found out. Who had told her?

With that thought, she glanced at Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng met her eyes and offered a gentle smile, faint and subtle, yet warm and soothing like polished jade.

“I have to recommend her to the director. She’s just too perfect for the part.”

The words snapped Jiang Zhizhou out of her reverie. She turned to Bai Momo and nodded obediently. “Thank you, Teacher Bai, for giving me this opportunity.”

“Oh, don’t stand on ceremony. Truth be told, I feel a little bad about this. Last night, you trended online, and I casually mentioned on Weibo that Yin Yue was modeled after Zhouzhou. Chen Yu spotted it and assumed you were gunning for her role. Now she’s backed into a corner. Honestly, I find you much more likable than her.”

So that’s how it got out—blasted across Weibo for all to see.

“In the end, it all comes down to Qingmeng. She recommended so many actors who nailed the original characters from my novels. You know how it is these days—adapting books to TV series, and they butcher them so badly the author doesn’t even recognize their own work! Take last year’s X Era. Sure, it got a lot of flak, but one thing it did right was staying true to the characters’ appearances from the source material. Casting is everything.” Bai Momo settled back into her seat, her tone nostalgic. “When I was writing Yin Yue, the face that popped into my head was my Zhouzhou’s. For the fight scenes, I looped through her action clips over and over. You could say Yin Yue was directly inspired by her.”

Inspired by me?

Jiang Zhizhou flipped open the novel and pointed to a line. “‘Ugly in appearance, with an eccentric temperament’?”

“Ahem! That’s after the disfigurement. Before that, she’s the top beauty across the three realms. As for her personality, well, after losing her mother and getting scarred, it’s only natural she’d withdraw from people. Just like my Zhouzhou here—she used to be so outgoing and self-assured. But two years ago, after that drug scandal and losing her parents one after the other, she grew a lot quieter.”

It felt strange hearing someone dissect her own personality right to her face. Jiang Zhizhou touched her nose and stayed silent.

Bai Momo went on. “Zhouzhou’s like Yin Yue—seems like a spiky little hedgehog on the outside, but she’s got a soft, kind heart underneath. Those must have been brutal days for her. Come to think of it, Director Li Ze has been a real benefactor to Zhouzhou. He launched her career back then, and later pulled her out of her slump. There’s even something poetic in his name. Li Ze—’Ze’ means grace, like the water that carries the ferryboat across.”

She’d never heard that interpretation before.

Jiang Zhizhou smiled and pointed at Jiang Qingmeng. “Then what about her? She’s a Jiang.”

Bai Momo nodded. “Exactly—so Qingmeng pitched in to help Zhizhou quite a bit back then too.”

Jiang Zhizhou froze and turned to Jiang Qingmeng.

Jiang Qingmeng lowered her gaze, her long lashes casting a shadow. “Old news. Nothing worth rehashing.”

Jiang Zhizhou turned to Bai Momo. “What kind of help?”

Bai Momo sighed. “Oh, that’s a story in itself. Two years ago, when the drug scandal blew up, Zhouzhou was hit with a string of negative headlines one after another. Qingmeng shelled out to scrub the trends, got Sister He Jia to orchestrate a bunch of press releases to shift the spotlight, and even stirred up a fake dating rumor with a hot young idol. Back then, she had no real fame or solid projects to her name. All those releases rubbed casual fans the wrong way, and the idol’s fanbase tore into her mercilessly. Those attacks were vicious—photoshopped death photos, fake nudes, calling her a bloodsucker, a cancer on the marketing world, telling her to get out of showbiz altogether…

And that would have been bad enough, but the real low blow came from that idol himself. His popularity was already on the slide, and they’d agreed it was mutual hype, each getting what they needed. But after riding the trend for three days, his agency drops a statement saying they refuse any bundling and are focusing solely on his work—like Qingmeng was the one desperately clinging to him. She got dragged through the mud for another month straight.”

“Hmph, fortunes change in cycles. Fortunately, everyone made it through in the end. That traffic star has long since faded from relevance. Qingmeng has been like a desperate workaholic these past two years, churning out a ton of projects and gaining real fame. As for Zhouzhou, natural and man-made disasters are unavoidable, but she’s turned things around at last…”

Hearing the latter part, a jumble of emotions—touched, pitying, and guilty—surged through Jiang Zhizhou, leaving her unsure of what expression to make.

Later, Jiang Qingmeng drove her back to the Artists’ Apartment.

Once back in the apartment, Jiang Zhizhou walked into the bathroom, stepped up to the sink, twisted on the faucet, and bent down to scoop up a handful of cold water before splashing it onto her face.

Her mind kept replaying her past judgments of Jiang Qingmeng:

—Star Source’s manufactured traffic idol, with headlines, hot searches, and press releases everywhere.

—Fine jade gathering dust, wasting her talent on shoddily produced IP dramas and fast-food TV shows.

—She wouldn’t lower herself to act in TV dramas, so naturally, she had little overlap with traffic stars like Jiang Qingmeng.

During the darkest period of her life—the time she thought she was struggling alone—there had been someone so gentle, quietly enduring all the criticism and backlash on her behalf. And she had been completely oblivious, even showing a hint of disdain for that person’s rise to fame.

The water gushed loudly as Jiang Zhizhou straightened up, stared at her reflection in the mirror, stood still for a moment, then raised her hand and slapped herself across the face.

Chengnan Private Villa.

Jiang Qingmeng sat on the sofa, flipping through a fashion magazine that featured Jiang Zhizhou’s old photoshoot.

He Jia looked at the elegant beauty on the sofa and smiled. “I got one of Chen Yu’s assistants transferred over to you. Chen Yu nearly tore my office apart, pointing at my nose and yelling about unfairness, saying you always snatch everything from her—endorsements, roles, variety shows—and now even her assistants. She even asked if the two of us were hooking up. In the end, I promised her I’d get HR to recruit two sensible, obedient ones for her before she calmed down. She’s really been spoiled by Chen Lin—such a young miss temper, blurting out whatever she wants.”

Chen Yu and Jiang Qingmeng had always been at odds. After Jiang Qingmeng rose to fame, the higher-ups promoted her relentlessly, funneling the company’s best resources her way first. With more monks than porridge, even if she never actively offended anyone, others still found her grating to be around. As the saying goes, a tall tree catches the wind.

Jiang Qingmeng kept flipping through the magazine without looking up. “I’ve got a cosmetics endorsement coming up for renewal. I’ll have Chen Lin take the brand out for a meal and see if we can sign Chen Yu onto it. To be honest, Chen Yu’s always been great at selling cosmetics.”

She shook her head as she spoke. “Chen Yu is stunning, but her features are too bold and glamorous, and her personality is so straightforward. How did they ever stick her with a ‘pure and innocent’ persona?”

“Who knows? Chen Lin probably really thought her little sister was some pure, naive type. Last time the paparazzi caught her in intimate photos with her boyfriend, PR had to shell out a fortune to smooth it over. And now this street-slapping incident with a fellow artist—Chen Lin pulled out all the stops to buy the photos back from the reporters.” At this point, He Jia half-jokingly added, “Looks like the ‘above the fray’ persona I crafted for you fits you perfectly—you even hand off endorsements.”

Jiang Qingmeng had a gentle temperament, so He Jia had hyped her up with an “above the fray” image when promoting her.

Anyone with half a brain could figure it out: how could a true “above the fray” airhead climb from an 18th-tier starlet assistant to domestic top-tier traffic idol in just two years?

In this industry, resources and connections could elevate you to a certain height, but long-term success depended on personal vision and savvy.

He Jia asked again, “I also helped pull Shen Xinghe’s hot search. How’d her audition go?”

“I talked to the casting deputy director. The audition footage will go straight to Director Feng for him to review and decide.”

“But what if—what I mean is, what if Director Feng doesn’t like her?”

“No need to worry. I took her to meet Bai Momo, and Bai Momo will recommend her to Director Feng too…” At this, Jiang Qingmeng closed the magazine, lost in thought. “Her every gesture is completely different from before—like she’s a whole new person. I watched her audition footage; Director Feng might not dislike her at all.”

“You make it sound so mystical.”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a strange gut feeling.” Jiang Qingmeng hugged the magazine to her chest, her gaze landing on the coffee table—

A bag of candied chestnuts.

“He Jia, do you believe in soul possession? Like, one soul taking over another’s body?”

He Jia paused for a moment before shaking her head. “Qingmeng, the dead can’t come back to life. You—”

A flicker of pain crossed her eyes, and Jiang Qingmeng let out a faint, almost inaudible sigh. She raised her hand to cut He Jia off. “I know. I won’t indulge in fantasies. I was just… saying it offhand…”

Just saying it offhand. Whatever.

Three days after the audition, in the afternoon, Jiang Zhizhou received a callback for the second round.

The second audition was at Film City the next afternoon.

Before the audition, Jiang Zhizhou got a call from Zhao Yuan, the new manager the company had assigned her.

The two met up.

Zhao Yuan had graduated from the Communication University of China less than a year ago. Her face still held traces of youthful innocence and inexperience, but she composed herself in front of Jiang Zhizhou and gave her introduction. “Hello, I’m your new agent, Zhao Yuan. I’m four years older than you. If you don’t mind, feel free to call me Sis—or just use my name.”

Jiang Zhizhou nodded. “Four years older? Twenty-three this year?”

She was four years younger than me.

“Yes, twenty-three. Looking forward to a great partnership!” Zhao Yuan adjusted her glasses and flipped open a thick stack of documents. “I’ve gathered all the info on your career since your debut. Today, I want to talk about your plans moving forward…”

This little agent was pretty diligent.

Jiang Zhizhou listened patiently to Zhao Yuan’s vision for her acting career, then nodded and spoke up. “All right. Now that we’ve covered your plans, let me lay out my principles.

“First, no variety shows except for CCTV programs.

“Second, overhaul my resume. Keep only Injustice Cleared—delete everything else. Change my specialties from vocal music to dance and martial arts. Use my most recent no-makeup photos, nothing from six months ago.

“Third, keep tabs on two groups of directors for me. The first: Directors Li, Feng, Wang, and Zhang. Watch for any signs they’re open to casting newcomers, especially on those artsy literary films—the kind brimming with artistic depth, not chasing box office but awards. The second: the rising young directors Hou Qiming, Yang Gu, and Sun Hao. Track their scripts, focusing on commercial projects. Skip IP adaptations and clichéd coming-of-age flicks. These guys still care about their reputations, so they usually steer clear of the trash.”

She paused, as if something had just occurred to her, then added, “Oh, and keep an eye on Zhe Teng too—that web drama director. See if he’s got any plans to break into movies.”

The film world had always been like that. No matter how big you got in entertainment or TV dramas, movies only cared about box office and awards.

Lately, the old guard of directors was fading. Plenty of them were bombing at the box office, with online critics wondering if they’d finally run dry on talent. Meanwhile, the new generation of young directors was on the rise, occasionally churning out surprise hits.

Even so, the veterans held an unshakable place in the industry. They rarely made movies, but when they did, they raked in awards.

A couple of years back, traffic idols and IP fan-service films could still turn a profit. Not anymore—audiences were voting with their feet.

Better to play the long game.

Awards were the only sure thing.

Zhao Yuan adjusted her glasses again, puzzled to herself. With this woman’s sharp instincts, bold decisions, and stunning looks, how had she ended up as an eighteenth-tier nobody?