Chapter 22: Probing

“I’ll call them and let them know we’re not heading back to the venue.”

Jiang Qingmeng had only stepped out for a bit of fresh air to clear her head, and now she planned to return straight to her room. Naturally, she needed to inform the production crew so they wouldn’t worry if they couldn’t find her.

Before they left, Jiang Qingmeng picked up Jiang Zhizhou’s coat. “I’ll have someone clean it and deliver it to your room, along with your gloves.”

Jiang Zhizhou watched her but only smiled without a word.

No matter how aloof she seemed deep down, she still had that gentle, thoughtful side. It drew people in, made them want to lose themselves in her.

Jiang Qingmeng and the production crew were staying at the same hotel. The difference was that while the other actors were in standard rooms, she had the presidential suite.

Inside the suite, the heating was on full blast. Jiang Qingmeng didn’t bother adding layers and instead had Jiang Zhizhou slip into some cozy slippers. She poured her a cup of hot water before heading straight to her suitcase to fetch some medicine.

The presidential suite came with every amenity, including a grand piano in the living room.

Jiang Zhizhou wandered over and ran her fingers lightly over the keys, her mind drifting back to Jiang Qingmeng’s performance at the gala.

When Jiang Qingmeng emerged, she handed over the medicine and noticed Jiang Zhizhou staring at the piano, lost in thought. Curious, she asked, “Do you want to play?”

Jiang Zhizhou pressed down on a single key with her index finger. She was about to say she didn’t know how when she suddenly remembered that the original host’s specialty was vocal music—she could sing, play strings and winds, handle everything.

After a brief pause, Jiang Zhizhou met Jiang Qingmeng’s eyes. “No, I just remembered how beautifully you played earlier. I really liked it.”

Her praise was direct and heartfelt, her starry eyes shimmering like pools of water. Jiang Qingmeng felt her heart skip as she gazed into them. “Want to hear more? I’ll play for you.”

“Yes, I’d love to.”

Jiang Qingmeng settled onto the piano bench. “What would you like?”

Jiang Zhizhou tilted her head. “Anything?”

Jiang Qingmeng nodded. “Anything at all.”

“Then let’s start with something festive: ‘Happy New Year’—you know, Happy New Year, Happy New Year, wishing everyone a Happy New Year~” By the end, Jiang Zhizhou couldn’t resist singing along.

It was such a simple, childish little tune. Jiang Qingmeng smiled softly, hummed the melody to herself for a moment, then let her slender fingers dance across the keys. A bright, cheerful melody filled the room.

The song wrapped up quickly. “What next?” Jiang Qingmeng asked.

Jiang Zhizhou blinked. “‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’—twinkling bright, full of little stars~~~”

Jiang Qingmeng played it without hesitation.

“And then?”

Jiang Zhizhou held up two fingers. “‘Two Tigers.’”

“Keep going.”

“‘Calabash Brothers.’”

“Next.”

“‘Little Donkey.’”

……

One children’s song after another—no grand classics from famous composers, just simple, lively, heartwarming, silly tunes. As she played, Jiang Qingmeng suddenly let out a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents like the moon.

Jiang Zhizhou watched her smile and felt her own lips curve in response, a unfamiliar tenderness blooming in her chest.

Music brought joy.

The piano mirrored her mood: somber pieces came out restrained, upbeat ones full of delight.

Humans created instruments and melodies first for their own pleasure, only later to share with others.

Why chase profound sorrow? If something brought happiness, even if it was simplistic, that was enough.

The next day was New Year’s Day.

That morning marked the official start of filming for Nine Songs. The whole production crew set out from the hotel to visit the temple, pay respects to the gods, and burn incense.

The industry was full of these superstitions—every new production began with prayers for smooth sailing.

Jiang Zhizhou had planned to board the crew’s bus with everyone else, but the moment she stepped out of the hotel, Little Ai intercepted her.

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

A crowd from the production crew had already gathered at the entrance. Heads turned, all eyes landing on Jiang Zhizhou.

An obscure 18th-tier actress had snatched the hotly contested second female lead role, and the set was buzzing with rumors: she’d bribed the screenwriter, gotten shoehorned in by investors, or slept her way to the top with someone high up at Star Source Entertainment. Every scandal imaginable.

Then last night, someone swore they’d seen her in Jiang Qingmeng’s arms. Others claimed she hadn’t left the A-lister’s room until midnight.

With so many bisexual stars in the biz, imaginations ran wild. Now, with everyone watching, Jiang Zhizhou was being summoned to Jiang Qingmeng’s car. The whispers turned to inward sighs: Even the hottest rising idol has her vices! Making it in this industry ain’t easy—you gotta do what it takes. And she used to be her assistant? Talk about spicy…

Little Ai was Jiang Qingmeng’s personal assistant—quiet, efficient, gets things done. Her father had been seriously ill and hospitalized not long ago, so Jiang Qingmeng had given her nearly half a year off. She’d only just returned to work.

Jiang Zhizhou started following Little Ai toward the car but paused midway. She fished a compact mirror from her bag, checked her reflection from both sides, and touched up her lipstick.

Little Ai stood off to the side, her expression calm as a still pond. In her head: Seeing my boss isn’t like meeting a lover. What’s with the mirror check? Trying to outshine my boss in looks?

After finishing her lipstick, Jiang Zhizhou ignored the production crew’s gossipy, knowing glances—men and women alike—and slipped into Jiang Qingmeng’s car.

Jiang Qingmeng leaned back in the rear seat with her eyes closed, resting. Hearing the sound of Jiang Zhizhou climbing in, she didn’t open them. She simply rubbed her brow and said with a hint of amusement, “Guess what they’ll say about us.”

Jiang Zhizhou had only snuck out of Jiang Qingmeng’s room at midnight last night, and here she was first thing this morning, hopping straight into her car. What else could they think? That they’d spent the night singing lullabies? Yeah, right—who’d buy that?

The car was toasty with the heater on full blast. Jiang Zhizhou unwound her scarf and replied offhandedly, “Probably that I’m cozying up to your thigh. Or… that we’ve got something going on.”

In a way, she really was latching onto a powerful backer.

But this was a backer she actually had the chops to hold onto.

Jiang Qingmeng kept her eyes shut, her tone meaningful. “That’s exactly what I want them to think—that you’re my person.”

The entertainment world was crawling with social climbers who kissed up to the powerful and kicked the weak, always reading the room. Once they knew she had a big shot in her corner, they’d treat her with a lot more respect.

You’re my person…

She knew it didn’t mean that, but Jiang Zhizhou’s heart still skipped a beat. She ducked her head with a smile, her eyes sparkling.

Up front, Little Ai snuck glances at the pair through the rearview mirror, her face a perfect mask of neutrality. Inside, though, she was screaming: Boss, do you have any idea how loaded that sounds?! Miss Shen, why are you grinning like a lovesick fool? Did these two really hook up while I was out of the room?! Since when is my boss into this sort of thing? Should I loop in Sister He Jia?!

Jiang Qingmeng opened her eyes and looked at Jiang Zhizhou. Her gaze lingered for a beat before she said, “Lipstick.”

Jiang Zhizhou glanced up, puzzled. “Huh?”

“You’ve got a smudge on the edge of your lip.”

Jiang Zhizhou touched her mouth. “Must’ve happened taking off the scarf. Where?”

She reached for her compact mirror, but suddenly her chin was caught in a firm grip and tilted up.

A cool thumb glided across the corner of her lip. Jiang Qingmeng gently wiped away the streak of red with her fingertip, her eyes fixed on those full, painted lips. In a low voice, she murmured, “Right… here.”

The gesture was assertive, but her voice remained as soft and melodic as ever.

Jiang Zhizhou’s ears burned. She steadied her breathing and met Jiang Qingmeng’s eyes—only to catch a glint of scrutiny there.

Her heart jolted. She parted her lips to say something, but Jiang Qingmeng cut her off. “There. All clean.”

She released Jiang Zhizhou’s chin, pulled out a tissue, and wiped her finger clean. Then she continued, “I need to run something by you. For the new drama’s promo push, I want you to play along with me for a bit.”

She framed it as a discussion, but her tone made it clear: this was happening.

Jiang Zhizhou asked, “Play along how?”

“There’s a plotline where the second female lead falls for the female lead in male disguise. We’re making that one of the hype points—like how they ship the guys for the BL crowd. We need to sell some yuri vibes. You good with that?”

Over the years, the industry had tapped into the massive fujoshi market. Fanning the flames of male-male ships brought buzz and views like nothing else, so every drama—even variety shows—shoved in a same-sex pairing or two to stir things up.

Once male-male took off, they tried female-female too. But the audience was smaller, or maybe they never nailed the execution, so yuri hype never hit the same highs as BL.

Still, no such thing as too much traffic. Even scraps were worth grabbing.

Jiang Zhizhou had been around the block long enough to know all the promo tricks in the book. “It’s work. No big deal—just tell me what you need.”

The old Shen Xinghe had despised hype, especially Jiang Qingmeng’s playbook. This total one-eighty had Little Ai sneaking another peek from the front seat, wondering if her boss had been put under some kind of spell. Why was she so compliant all of a sudden?

Jiang Qingmeng nodded at the scarf in Jiang Zhizhou’s lap. “Hand me your scarf. Mind if I borrow it for the day?”

Jiang Zhizhou passed it over without a second thought.

The set boot-up would be swarming with press. They’d snap photos of her wearing it. Then, one day down the line, when Jiang Zhizhou got papped in the same scarf, it would be pure “CP sugar” for the shippers.

The scarf still held a trace of her warmth and faint fragrance. Jiang Qingmeng draped it around her neck. “The male lead and his second lead will be doing promo stunts too.”

Jiang Zhizhou murmured an “Mm” and lowered her eyes, falling silent.

Truth dressed as lies, lies masquerading as truth.

A complicated feeling welled up inside her, dimming the light in her eyes.

Just going through the motions, putting on a show of affection—it was par for the course in this business. She’d thought she was over it by now. Clearly, she wasn’t as numb to it as she’d believed.

“You seem unhappy?” Jiang Qingmeng looked at her, her words seemingly casual yet pointed. “Would it bother you? You used to really dislike lesbians.”

Jiang Zhizhou suddenly looked up at Jiang Qingmeng.

You—who did she mean?

Me? Or the original host? Had the original host been homophobic?

Jiang Zhizhou truly had no idea.

But she only hesitated for half a second before touching her forehead and saying, “I don’t really remember. Did I… used to feel that way?”

It was effortless acting on her part.

Jiang Qingmeng withdrew her gaze. “You used to dislike it a lot.”

What a coincidence—the original host had been homophobic too?

“No worries…” Jiang Zhizhou chose her words with care. “I don’t seem to mind it anymore.”

Far from minding, she had gone and fallen for a woman.

Karma really was a cycle, retribution swift and unrelenting.

“That’s good, then,” Jiang Qingmeng said flatly.

“What about you?” Jiang Zhizhou met her eyes, probing gently. “Would it bother you? Could you accept it?”

Jiang Zhizhou had watched that lesbian movie a friend shared and guessed she wouldn’t mind, but she still wanted to hear it straight from her lips.

Movies could be appreciated purely as art, after all. Reality was another matter entirely.

If Jiang Qingmeng was repulsed in real life, then Jiang Zhizhou’s feelings might just make her uncomfortable.

Jiang Qingmeng didn’t answer directly. “Like you said, it’s just work. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Without a clear answer, Jiang Zhizhou looked away.

Just work.

Was that all it ever was…?

Then what about last night’s intimate embrace?

Getting into character ahead of time? Heh.

Jiang Zhizhou gazed out the window and let out a self-mocking smile.

Little Ai was secretly peeking at the two of them.

One stared out the window, her face expressionless—impossible to tell if she was happy or not.

The other kept her eyes closed, resting, as if their conversation had been nothing more than a brief interruption.

Silence fell over the car, thick and strangely tense.

After a long moment, Jiang Qingmeng pursed her lips, opened her eyes again, and turned toward Jiang Zhizhou. She held out her hand and softly broke the quiet. “I forgot my gloves again. It’s freezing.”

Little Ai, up front, froze for a second.

—Forgot them? Boss, didn’t you go through all the warming pads, hot water bottles, and wool gloves I slaved over?!

A quick glance in the mirror showed Miss Shen promptly clasping her boss’s hands, her eyes sparkling with starlight once more.

Little Ai wisely kept her mouth shut and swallowed the words, “I’ve got the hand warmer right here.”

The location for the opening ceremony incense was a temple.

This was a celebrity hotspot of a temple, deeply embedded in worldly affairs. Plenty of Buddhist celebrities from the industry came here for guidance when they were at a loss, including elite socialites and scions. The temple’s monks rubbed shoulders with them all.

Star Source Entertainment president Zhou Caimao’s wife was Xiang Ya. Word had it Mrs. Xiang was a beauty with a heart of gold, a devout believer who donated heaps of incense money to the temple every year—real cash keeping the lights on. Asking to borrow the space for an opening ceremony? No problem at all.

The offering table out front groaned under platters of oil, fruit, and incense. Reporters and fans crammed the aisles.

Once out of the car, Jiang Zhizhou trailed behind Jiang Qingmeng. Her bodyguards cleared the path ahead, making for smooth sailing—though the noise was deafening, with fans shrieking nonstop—

“Qingmeng! Over here! Look at me!”

“Sister! I love you!”

“Qingmeng! It’s cold out! Bundle up!”

…

Jiang Qingmeng flashed a warm, springlike smile and waved to the crowd.

Halfway there, a short-haired girl suddenly burst through security, lunging straight for Jiang Qingmeng—only to be intercepted by a quick-eyed bodyguard.

“Qingmeng!” As the burly guard started dragging her off, the girl yelled Jiang Qingmeng’s name and thrust up an opaque drink cup. “Don’t kick me out! I mean no harm! Qingmeng, you love honey jujube tea—I ran forever to get this! Kept it tucked in my arms the whole time! It’s still warm!”

Jiang Qingmeng raised a hand, signaling the bodyguard to release her.

The girl’s face flushed beet red with excitement as she rushed forward, handing over the honey jujube tea. She even popped in the straw, bubbling over. “Try a sip!”

“Thanks—you really didn’t have to.” Jiang Qingmeng smiled gently and reached for it, but Jiang Zhizhou snatched it first from behind.

Jiang Zhizhou felt the side of the cup, then looked at the girl. “It’s gone cold. Not warm anymore. Cold drinks aren’t good for her in this weather—we’ll heat it up first.”

The short-haired girl frowned at Jiang Zhizhou, clearly displeased with her. She wanted to snap at her but didn’t quite dare, so she could only mutter resentfully, “How could that be?” Then she turned pleading eyes on Jiang Qingmeng. “Qingmeng, just one sip, okay? I ran so far to get this. I want to watch you drink it myself.”

“Alright then.” Jiang Qingmeng nodded and smiled at her before turning to Jiang Zhizhou. “It’s just one sip. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Cold drinks can upset your stomach.” As Jiang Zhizhou spoke, she pried back one corner of the lid and peered inside at the liquid. When Jiang Qingmeng reached for the drink, she quickly pulled it away, refusing to let her have it.

The liquid in the cup was a vivid crimson, laced with a faint, unmistakable metallic tang of blood. Far from being honeyed jujube tea, it was clearly a cup of blood.