“What are you asking that for?” Wen Zhixu replied while dishing out the egg fried rice.
Once the egg fried rice was on the table, sprinkled with chopped green onions, the golden grains were distinct and looked quite proper.
Jian Shichu turned off her phone and stared straight at Wen Zhixu. She wanted to keep asking, but didn’t know how to broach it.
It was obvious that Wen Zhixu had only replied to her after getting home. From another angle, they weren’t really anything to each other, so she didn’t need to care.
Wen Zhixu sat down across from her. “Give it a try.”
Her expectant expression gazed at Jian Shichu—anyone would feel a sense of accomplishment about the first thing they made.
The green onions released their fragrance, which should have blended perfectly with the cozy atmosphere, but it was shattered by the text on the phone screen.
Jian Shichu took a bite without praising or criticizing, but that was all she ate.
Wen Zhixu didn’t get an answer, and at the same time, her phone rang. She picked it up and looked.
It was a message from Ke Yixuan. Two hours old—the incident from last night had topped the hot searches.
[Teacher Wen, are you okay? I’ll issue a statement as soon as possible. Can you come over? Talk to my aunt.]
Someone like Ke Yixuan, who rarely had scandals, would be heavily targeted by rivals the moment anything popped up.
There were several young flowers in the industry, all fighting for resources with their fans, and traffic-based stars couldn’t afford to stop for a second.
Ke Yixuan had a high starting point and was set in the audience’s minds from her early fame. Without awards, she was on the same level as traffic stars, making it hard for her to pivot.
Wen Zhixu replied: [Mm.]
She knew full well that Ke Yixuan was bound to get flak right now. That night, Su Yun had cried and begged her for help, putting Wen Zhixu in that position.
And her being photographed leaving the hotel with Ke Yixuan had naturally led to today’s hot search.
Given her identity as a screenwriter, this was easy to explain. Once the buzz picked up, a line about “discussing the script” would clear it right up.
Lots of people in the industry used that excuse. But if it were Su Yun and Ke Yixuan, it’d be different.
The internet had a long memory. If anyone dragged out Ke Yixuan’s past rumors with Su Yun’s boss, this mess would never end.
Jian Shichu glanced at her, stirring the food in her bowl without eating.
As Wen Zhixu put away her phone, she stood up. “Rest well. I’m heading back to the set.”
After saying that, Wen Zhixu stood by the table untying her apron. Ke Yixuan’s business was handled by her family, and Wen Zhixu believed no one knew about Su Yun except Ke Yixuan.
For Ke Yixuan to issue a statement now, the prerequisite was explaining things to her family, so Wen Zhixu had to go over.
Just as she gripped the door handle, a voice came from behind.
“Wen Zhixu.” Jian Shichu stood up, sliding her phone, a dimness falling at the corner of her eye. She stood by the table, blending into the space, looking utterly lonely.
She fell silent for a moment, about to speak.
Wen Zhixu turned to her and let out a soft breath. “I have something to do. Can you rest well? I’ll come back after I’m done.”
“What is it?” Jian Shichu walked slowly toward her, without a hint of anger, her expression and tone flat as she continued, “Forget it. Go do your thing.”
Jian Shichu spoke neither hastily nor agitatedly. She stopped three steps from Wen Zhixu. After the IV, her body didn’t feel great—she was just forcing herself to stand there in front of Wen Zhixu.
Wen Zhixu glanced at her while changing shoes.
This was also the outcome Jian Shichu had expected. A blunt retort wouldn’t be like Wen Zhixu at all.
A faint light flashed in Jian Shichu’s eyes, finally landing on Wen Zhixu’s face. She said nothing, just watching Wen Zhixu change her shoes.
“Or do you want something to eat? I’ll bring it back when I’m done.” Wen Zhixu had just finished putting on her shoes.
Jian Shichu said calmly, “I don’t want to eat.”
Wen Zhixu froze in place without speaking. Her hot-and-cold attitude was making her chest feel stuffy.
After a long while, she composed herself. “Jian Shichu, I really do have something right now. Don’t make a fuss. Besides, we’re not really anything to each other.”
“We’re not, so why are you still wearing the bracelet?” Jian Shichu let out a dry laugh. “If you want to cut ties clean, then don’t come sniffing around me.”
Wen Zhixu froze in shock. She didn’t know how Jian Shichu had noticed. She stayed calm, not showing a thing, as if drawing on a lifetime of lessons in composure.
Wen Zhixu took a deep breath and countered, “And you? The signed book on the shelf—were you at my book signing?”
Upon hearing that, Jian Shichu slowly turned her head toward her bookshelf. The book Bai Xue had taken out was right there on the desk.
Jian Shichu looked at her unhurriedly. “Yeah, I was. The five years you glossed over so breezily in your book—I don’t know how you spent them, but I didn’t have it good.”
“So?” Wen Zhixu’s brows showed no emotion, but that ‘didn’t have it good’ kept echoing in her mind like an ancient bell. So, where exactly hadn’t it been good?
“It’s all in the past…”
Before Wen Zhixu could finish, Jian Shichu walked toward her, her casual momentum pressing in, forcing Wen Zhixu to retreat until her back hit the door with a thud.
Jian Shichu looked at her. Wen Zhixu reached out to push, but unexpectedly, the other gripped her wrist. A slight struggle, and the grip tightened.
Her hand, freshly needled, couldn’t be tossed around. Wen Zhixu glanced at it and held back in alarm.
“Let go!” Wen Zhixu snapped, annoyed.
She summed up a lesson in her mind: Chongqing girls had a soft-spoken spiciness.
“Don’t piss me off.” Jian Shichu loosened her grip slightly, her tone light.
Wen Zhixu pulled her hand back, leaning against the door, and took a long breath. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Jian Shichu said nothing, just looking at her with an unflinching, fearless gaze—like a lie detector expert interrogating a suspect in a drama.
After a half-minute standoff, Wen Zhixu said in a compromising tone, “You’re sick. I won’t hold it against you.”
With that, she opened the door and strode out without looking back. Wen Zhixu left without the slightest hesitation, like a gust of clear wind dissipating.
The only thing she could remember was what Jian Shichu had said. After the door closed, Wen Zhixu still glanced back.
Just one glance. Even if her whole body screamed relief, it would shatter her solitary courage into pieces.
And she had no right to blame Jian Shichu for anything.
She was in the wrong. She was the one who’d gone back on her word first and abandoned her.
—
When Wen Zhixu arrived at the set, the fans outside had clearly thinned out. But the long lenses were ready to fire at any moment.
She kept a low profile, entering from the other side. A red line was pulled outside, keeping people out. Wen Zhixu had just put away her badge when someone called from behind.
An Ran’s voice was clear and bright: “Teacher Wen, hello.”
Wen Zhixu turned. An Ran, in a black-and-white plaid shirt, walked toward her. She remembered An Ran—the reporter who’d interviewed her after she got out of the cab last time.
“Teacher Wen, I’m An Ran from Huaxin Entertainment Network. I interviewed you yesterday—remember?” An Ran had her badge around her neck.
Wen Zhixu nodded with a polite smile. “I remember. What are you doing here?”
The crew didn’t allow filming, and a reporter like An Ran couldn’t possibly get in.
An Ran saw her confusion and explained, “Doing some promo. The team sent me over, so I’ve been waiting here for you.”
“Waiting for me?” Wen Zhixu was surprised. Then again, she didn’t need to do crew promo. During filming, to boost heat, crews would invite media to release some controlled behind-the-scenes for marketing.
An Ran stepped closer. “Yeah, waiting for you. I saw today’s hot search. Eight entertainment sites jumped on the topic together—clearly rivals of Yixuan-jie. Teacher Wen, you were on hot search before too, right?”
Wen Zhixu looked at her. How to respond was suddenly tricky. An Ran seemed to be asking innocently, but Wen Zhixu didn’t know her intent.
“Mm. Any issues?” Wen Zhixu asked.
An Ran relaxed her brows. “Don’t be nervous, Teacher Wen. My friend’s at Xianggu Entertainment Network. This afternoon, she told me some team’s trying to buy planted articles—about you and Yixuan-jie—trying to steer the narrative toward the female lead casting drama for the crew.”
Wen Zhixu eyed An Ran skeptically. They weren’t close; there was no reason for her to help.
“Why are you telling me this?” Wen Zhixu asked.
An Ran smiled faintly. “Teacher Wen, I’m your reader. I’ve followed you for years. You don’t usually do interviews, so you’re not familiar with this industry stuff. It’s no trouble at all—don’t be scared.” As if afraid she wouldn’t believe, An Ran pulled out her phone and showed some old photos.
They were from Wen Zhixu’s book signing. A distant group shot with An Ran in the audience below the stage. It had been so long; seeing the familiar photo warmed Wen Zhixu’s heart.
“Thanks, An Ran.” Wen Zhixu nodded. An Ran hadn’t named the planter, but Wen Zhixu had a good idea already.
“No problem. So, Teacher Wen, the current situation isn’t great for you,” An Ran said. “Your best move is to have some dirt on them. Have you talked to your literary agent?”
Wen Zhixu had signed with Ruyi Publishing House; her affairs were handled by the chief editor, who doubled as her manager.
Wen Zhixu knew where the disadvantage lay. Ke Yixuan’s PR team could handle this hot search, but only this one.
If Tang Qin’s team made a move now, An Ran’s reminder was spot on—she needed to be on guard.
“Not yet, but he should know by now,” Wen Zhixu said.
She turned to An Ran to thank her. “Sorry for the trouble, making you wait for me specially.”
“No worries. I’ll head out first then.” An Ran put away her phone and bid her farewell.
The sudden events caught Wen Zhixu completely off guard, but she handled these matters with remarkable composure, never letting her emotions show on her face—this had always been her way.
After An Ran left, Wen Zhixu arrived at the set as well. Ke Yixuan had just finished shooting and was resting on set. Her assistant handed her a water cup—a white straw cup that wouldn’t easily smudge lipstick.
Standing nearby was Ke Yixuan’s aunt, a woman with ear-length short hair dyed in color. She sat down on the chair beside her.
Ke Yixuan sat in her chair, sipping water while having her assistant turn on a small fan. After the rain cleared in Chongqing, the weather had reverted to its former muggy heat.
Moist heat waves rose from the ground. Wen Zhixu stood behind them, slowly making her way toward Ke Yixuan.
But then she heard a voice from beside Ke Yixuan: “We can’t issue a statement right now.”
