Yan Muyu already had enough headaches.
She had taken over Whale Entertainment, only to discover she had no talent for management.
After all, Yan Kai had always taken a hands-off approach with her from childhood. Compared to their frail mother, who had lived so reclusively that she couldn’t even fend off a home-wrecker showing up at the door, it was their older brother who had truly raised Yan Muyu.
She had never imagined Yan Kai would ever collapse like this.
Just running one entertainment company was already driving Yan Muyu to the brink of exhaustion—she didn’t dare think about how insanely busy he must have been before.
No wonder Yan Tianxing always said she had no dad.
She had come here that afternoon for a meeting. Whale Entertainment was different from Shen Tianqing’s company.
That one had been an experiment from the start, relying entirely on Shen Tianqing and Lin Chi’s connections. Most of the signed artists had joined out of deference to Shen Tianqing, and they all operated from independent studios.
Shen Tianqing, that little widow, had never had much interest in management. At her age, her biggest hobby was probably finding substitutes for her late lover, Shi Xu. Yan Muyu sometimes thought the woman was pretty devoted on one hand, but not exactly faithful on the other.
Put the three of them together, and none of them were exactly saints.
Unfortunately, even someone as carefree as Yan Muyu now had to dive into the hectic life of a corporate drone.
She did own a few companies under her name, but they were just beauty centers—nothing on this scale.
This stack of project proposals alone made her want to die.
Lou Haiyan, one of Yan Kai’s secretaries, was the same age as Yan Muyu.
She had been working under Yan Kai for several years now. Though not the top executive, she was one of the best on his team.
At the moment, standing beside Yan Muyu, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was helping a hopeless princess ascend the throne.
Yan Muyu had always been so laid-back that she came across as utterly unreliable. The moment there was a break in the middle of the meeting, she had eagerly grabbed the proposals and slipped out for some air.
Lou Haiyan figured she should go remind her. But just as she stepped outside, she heard Yan Muyu on the phone.
The Yan Family had plenty of people. When a family business reached this size, there were always some unreliable offspring.
Yan Muyu’s father was one such example—after a marriage of convenience, he had started fooling around outside. Mistresses led to even more mistresses, and the schemes to bring illegitimate kids into the fold never stopped. Right now, Yan Muyu had four half-siblings from the same father but different mothers, plus one more on the way, still being kept in the hospital on bed rest.
The matter of inheritance rights had been settled a decade ago. No matter how much Yan Kai wanted to marry the woman he loved, in the end, he had no choice but to follow in his father’s footsteps: seal the deal with a business marriage and secure full control of the Yan Family with his mother’s support.
The rest of the relatives had either been shipped off overseas or placated, and there had been no more trouble since.
The instant Lou Haiyan heard about Yan Kai’s accident, her first thought was that they were doomed.
Yan Kai had no one truly reliable to entrust things to. He had only one child, and it didn’t matter if it was a boy or a girl—the kid was too young anyway.
His younger sister, Yan Muyu, wasn’t young anymore and wasn’t married either. She was sort of in the entertainment industry.
She loved to play, spent money freely, had wide connections, but she was flighty.
Flighty was almost a neutral term for Yan Muyu. The first time anyone saw her, they thought she was a bit odd.
Not her looks—the vibe.
She wasn’t slutty enough to be shameless, but she didn’t have Yan Kai’s upright demeanor either. It was like she never stood fully straight.
She just grinned at people with squinted eyes.
Yan Muyu had a pair of strikingly upturned phoenix eyes, much like her mother, Lin Yumian—the celebrated socialite heiress of her day.
Unfortunately, Lin Yumian’s gentle poise hadn’t rubbed off on Yan Muyu at all.
Nor had that air of aloof pride.
Yan Muyu was approachable, able to chat with just about anyone.
That was how, from taking over Whale Entertainment to now, no one had any objections.
She was nothing like Yan Kai, yet somehow she had won everyone over without them realizing it.
Yan Muyu didn’t know who had called her, but her tone started off polite enough before shifting.
Not cold, exactly—Lou Haiyan even sensed a hint of anger.
This was new. Someone with Yan Muyu’s personality actually getting mad?
Whatever the other person said, after hanging up, Yan Muyu sighed and flipped through the proposals in her hand. Turning around, she spotted Lou Haiyan by the glass door.
She pushed the door open and stepped out, greeting her. “Secretary Lou, is it time for the meeting again?”
Spring was always fleeting, but Yan Muyu’s temper seemed to have fully blossomed into summer. She had yanked open the collar of her shirt, and her jacket was nowhere to be seen—she looked in a foul mood.
Even so, she still wore a smile on her face.
Lou Haiyan, accustomed to business attire and Yan Kai’s similarly professional style, felt a little out of place following Yan Muyu around.
Ignoring Yan Muyu’s inappropriate outfit, she shook her head. “We still have five minutes of break. I came to remind you that one of the proposals is an S+ travel variety show.”
Yan Muyu let out an “oh” and casually pulled a booklet from her pocket.
It was exactly that one: Pastoral Series: Me and My Agent.
Yan Muyu was tall—though height differences varied between men and women, everyone in the company gossiped that she would have made it big as a model faster than as a photographer.
Lou Haiyan wasn’t tall herself. Female secretaries got used to heels, but standing next to someone of the same sex like Yan Muyu still gave her a sense of defeat.
She regretted not exercising more during puberty.
“I’ve seen this one. Do we have any artists and agents with relationships good enough to do a variety show together?”
She seemed born to smile, and talking to her never felt like taking orders the way it did with Yan Kai. It was more like a close discussion—close enough that Lou Haiyan could smell Yan Muyu’s perfume.
“Would agents really want to be on camera? And it’s a lifestyle pastoral variety show, no less.”
Yan Muyu paused, looking somewhat speechless. “Growing vegetables is one thing, but pig rearing? Twenty-two days with three pairs of guests? That’s way too long.”
Her golden hair was tied back messily, having nothing to do with neatness, yet it suited her perfectly. Like the golden light on a lake at dusk, with the grown-out black roots as the lake’s shadows—rippling and eye-catching all the same.
Lou Haiyan said, “You should take that up with the head of the planning team.”
She couldn’t stand that sea salt scent of the perfume. Hadn’t it been white peach just a few days ago?
A bit too salty—like the new milk foam tea from the café downstairs.
The comment was a little rude. At least, if she’d said that to Yan Kai, the chief secretary would have chewed her out.
But before she could apologize, Yan Muyu just went “oh,” preemptively saying sorry herself.
Then she waved it off with a smile. “We’ll talk about it later, then.”
With that, Yan Muyu smoothly handed the stack of proposals to Lou Haiyan. “I’ve got something to handle. Let them start the meeting without me. If it’s over before I get back, just email me the minutes.”
Unlike her bright exterior, Yan Muyu’s tone was even-keeled, as if she never got truly worked up.
She conveyed emotions through her eyes or body language, never her words.
But she never came across as aloof either.
Lou Haiyan asked, “Where are you going?”
Yan Muyu replied, “Just downstairs, to pick someone up.”
Who could possibly warrant Yan Muyu picking them up personally?
She quickly ran through Yan Muyu’s network. The closest friend was Shen Tianqing—Director Shen—who was still in the hospital.
Miss Lin Chi was busy with work too, and the three of them mostly kept in touch by phone.
The rest were romantic entanglements tied to Yan Muyu.
Her ex-girlfriends numbered from single digits to double, and breakups didn’t seem to ruin their friendships.
But if it were an ex, Yan Muyu wouldn’t have this expression.
Even if just for an instant, it was enough for Lou Haiyan to catch the gloom when Yan Muyu turned her head. Like the suffocating depths beneath the lake’s glittering surface—a mysterious, oxygen-starved new world, full of puzzles.
~~~
By the time Yan Muyu took the VIP elevator down to the lobby, Qiu Chao had already arrived.
Seeing celebrities in an entertainment company was commonplace, but artists didn’t need to clock in—no reason to come every day.
Lately, though, rumors were flying around the company. The top actor and top actress had been poached.
Everyone was on edge, convinced the company was about to fold.
Qiu Chao’s arrival was particularly flashy. If she hadn’t insisted otherwise, the receptionist might have escorted her straight upstairs.
The elevator doors opened, and Yan Muyu spotted the woman surrounded by a crowd.
The same woman who had clung to her like waterweed that day was still wearing a thin knit long skirt in this weather.
The black skirt was impeccably tailored, making Qiu Chao’s skin look even paler. Her ink-black waves of long hair draped over her chest as she signed autographs for fans.
As Yan Muyu approached, plenty of people recognized her and parted ways.
They cleared a direct path for her to reach Qiu Chao.
Even though Yan Muyu trusted the company’s security, she couldn’t help recalling the rumors of this woman being kidnapped in broad daylight before.
She thought: Doesn’t she ever learn? Wasn’t it a signature that nearly got her dragged off last time too?
Yan Muyu was always smiling, so her sudden straight face felt incredibly rare.
The mood grew awkward enough that, no matter how curious people were, they all dispersed.
Xia Yuanyuan, who had come with Qiu Chao, was seeing Yan Muyu in person for the first time.
Not from some gossip blog post on Weibo.
Not from a feature in a celebrity magazine.
And certainly not from some formal interview.
In the early summer warmth, a woman strode boldly toward them. She wore what appeared at first glance to be an ordinary embroidered white shirt paired with black trousers.
A loose shirt might have been fine, but Yan Muyu’s waist chain hung just loose enough to create the illusion of an impossibly slim waist. Combined with her long boots and pants, it gave her the perfect hourglass silhouette—slim waist and long legs.
If only her chest filled it out a bit more. The curves came to a decided halt right there.
But Yan Muyu had a face with unmistakable presence, the kind that stuck with you even from a single glance online. Now, seeing her in the flesh, Xia Yuanyuan’s mind reeled.
Was this woman a vixen incarnate?
How could anyone embody the word “vixen” so perfectly?
Dressed head to toe in designer labels, Yan Muyu loomed over Qiu Chao, looking down at her.
Qiu Chao set aside her signing pen and tilted her head up to meet the gaze.
Her eye makeup seemed unremarkable at first glance, but up close, it was all calculated allure—the peachy tones amplifying the natural seductiveness in her demeanor.
Even as the dimwit beauty everyone knew had little formal education, she still had her strengths.
That face, brimming with seductive charm.
It was enough to remind Yan Muyu of that outrageous demand from before.
If she reached back further, it took her to the photo shoot the day after Qiu Chao and Yan Kai had broken off their engagement.
The softness that Qiu Chao had pressed to her lips after getting her drunk.
Qiu Chao had been twenty-two then, enduring a grueling shoot after four years of grinding for her debut.
Snow had swirled outside the studio. Freshly graduated and full of promise, the up-and-coming photographer Yan Muyu had returned home, only to find her first collaborator was her near-sister-in-law, Qiu Chao.
Yan Muyu hadn’t known yet that the engagement was over—just that the official announcement hadn’t come.
She’d assumed Yan Kai was truly in love with Qiu Chao.
After all, four years felt like an eternity to Yan Muyu.
She’d never dated anyone for more than four months herself.
Yan Muyu had never experienced puppy love. She believed in love, but not in love everlasting.
It went against human nature. In her eyes, true love was doomed to fade with time—far less thrilling than the heat of something fleeting.
Like Shen Tianqing’s love, enduring beyond life and death, only to wither into a faded echo of its former self, masquerading as fidelity.
That day marked the most effort Yan Muyu had ever poured into a shoot in her career.
Afterward, she and Qiu Chao shared a meal, then some drinks.
She woke up in an unfamiliar hotel room, her memory blacked out except for vivid fragments: Qiu Chao’s kisses, her caresses, the look in her eyes as she guided Yan Muyu’s hand to bring her to climax.
Yan Muyu: …
How could she even put it into words? There was no way to say it, nowhere to say it.
That she’d been taken advantage of by her sister-in-law.
A month later, the magazine spread hit stands, coinciding with the news of Qiu Chao and Yan Kai’s amicable split.
Yan Muyu grew even more convinced that Qiu Chao was no good. She returned to develop her career domestically, while Qiu Chao headed overseas.
They hadn’t crossed paths since.
Yan Kai swiftly married his new wife and started a family, never breathing a word about his time with Qiu Chao.
But Whale Entertainment was still around—and that, to Yan Muyu, was ironclad proof that Yan Kai had once loved her.
She’d thought Qiu Chao had helped him move on from his previous relationship, but in the end, it was all the same.
Everyone in their family was doomed to loveless marriages.
Now, the lobby buzzed with people coming and going. Qiu Chao extended her hand and called out, “Young Boss Yan, didn’t you say you were here to pick me up?”
She had every intention of holding on unless Yan Muyu took her hand.
Yan Muyu let out a chuckle, grasped Qiu Chao’s hand to help her stand, then released it just as quickly.
With a polite gesture inviting her forward, she was the picture of courteous detachment—nothing like the beast she’d been in bed that day.
“Miss Qiu Chao,” she said, “welcome back to Whale Entertainment.”
