Chapter 9

As the summer vacation neared its end, the number of tourists in Chongqing had decreased, but it was still as lively as ever. With the start of school approaching, a light rain was bound to visit. When she woke up early, the sky was overcast with thick clouds, unlike the clear blue of the past few days.

It was already nine o’clock when Jian Shichu opened her eyes. The ceiling light fixture was still on, its white glow blurring the outline of the curtains. She hadn’t gone to the restaurant for the past few days; the crew was already setting up the site, and she didn’t need to oversee it personally.

Water sounds came from the bathroom. After Jian Shichu finished her shower, she opened the cabinet door, her hair tips still dripping. She didn’t bother blow-drying it right away and headed to the living room instead. Just as her hand touched the kettle on the bar counter, the doorbell rang, snapping her back to attention.

She checked the door lock screen and saw Bai Xue’s face swaying left and right in the camera. Jian Shichu turned the handle and opened the door.

“Jian Shichu, is this really necessary?” Bai Xue spoke up before even stepping inside, questioning her. “Over something this small, you ghost me for days?”

Jian Shichu walked further inside. Bai Xue closed the door behind her, slipped on slippers casually, and followed. Her tone softened: “Doudou, what’s up? No need to stay mad this long over something like this.”

“It’s necessary.” Jian Shichu wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Her words were stiff as a stream of water poured from the kettle into the glass, the sound drawing her gaze into the cup.

Jian Shichu set the kettle down and said, “You didn’t respect me.”

Bai Xue tsked, thick-skinned as ever. She leaned in, propping her chin on her hand, tilting her body to look at her. “I won’t do it again next time. Let me treat you to dinner.”

“I’m heading out on a business trip today,” Jian Shichu replied after swallowing her water.

Bai Xue let out a long sigh, her eyes following Jian Shichu’s figure. The damp hair tips made the air feel sticky. Jian Shichu’s home layout was always simple and clean.

“Isn’t Aunt Wang’s crew starting filming tomorrow? You’re not going?”

Jian Shichu went into the bedroom on her own to grab clothes, replying, “No.”

Her voice faded as she walked away. Bai Xue followed, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe as she watched Jian Shichu pick out clothes. “Makes sense. You’re not into watching celebrities anyway.” Noticing the bedroom light was still on, she reached over and turned it off.

Jian Shichu needed the light on to sleep at night—a habit she didn’t know when she’d picked up. Even if someone secretly turned it off while she was asleep, she’d wake up in less than ten minutes.

“I looked up Xiao Xu’s info. Your classmate’s pretty impressive. That super popular drama from a few years ago? She wrote the original novel and was the screenwriter too.” Bai Xue inhaled as if in admiration. “Is she personally handling the screenplay again this time?”

“Don’t know,” Jian Shichu replied.

Maybe because she wasn’t getting any answers, Bai Xue finally noticed something off. She tilted her head, scrutinizing Jian Shichu’s expression.

Jian Shichu folded her clothes nonchalantly, water droplets from her hair tips slowly dripping onto the back of her hand.

Bai Xue frowned. “How could you not know?”

“Bai Xue, stop asking. My head hurts.” Jian Shichu’s voice was flat as she packed the folded clothes into her suitcase.

Bai Xue stared at her, her curiosity gradually fading. She straightened up, her slippers scraping the floor as she headed out. Raising her voice, she said, “I’ll drive you to the airport later. Traffic’s bad out there right now.”

Jian Shichu’s place was close to the restaurant. With the lead actress arriving in Chongqing and filming starting tomorrow, fans had already gathered outside. The crew was in position for tomorrow’s shoot.

The sound of a hairdryer came from the bathroom. Bai Xue walked to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the balcony.

She examined the books on the shelf carefully. Besides classical literature collections, the leftmost section had doors. She hadn’t noticed it on previous visits.

Then she glanced toward the bathroom and, lifting her gaze, picked up a book. She flipped through it twice before putting it back. She stood there rooted for a long time, then turned her head to look out the window. From Jian Shichu’s balcony, she had a clear view of a group of fans holding banners passing by below.

Jian Shichu packed quickly. By ten-thirty, she’d sorted everything. She ate some bread and milk for her stomach before heading out, though her appetite had been poor lately and she didn’t finish the bread.

Once the car pulled out of the garage, it crawled along. The car was quiet inside. Jian Shichu checked her phone from time to time.

Bai Xue was getting irritated by the traffic jam and couldn’t help swearing. Up ahead was the direction of the restaurant. Jian Shichu turned off her phone and leaned back. “This area’s always jammed.”

With the crew filming here today, the navigation map was all red.

“Rain’s coming tomorrow. I don’t believe these kids will chase stars in a downpour,” Bai Xue gritted out, her face dark as could be.

Jian Shichu said nothing, closing the car window and tilting her head to look in the rearview mirror. On the roadside, a crowd was bustling with phones raised, everyone shouting Tang Qin’s name.

Stuck immobile in the jam, Bai Xue just parked the car and fumed, “Does no one control these lunatics?!” She slapped the steering wheel.

Some on the roadside were even dragging suitcases, holding phones high as they chased the group. The star at the center of all the attention was surrounded just like that.

Jian Shichu glanced indifferently. She knew better than anyone—these were mostly paid shills, with only a few real fans. The official blog needed photos before joining the crew, and they had to stay active online during filming.

Tang Qin wore a mask and sunglasses. As she climbed the steps, staff cleared a path ahead.

Bai Xue looked over. “Tang Qin, the one who went from lead to second female lead. Look at her—stars really are different.”

Tang Qin’s acting stood out among the young flowers, and her fans were mostly kids. Jian Shichu spotted Wen Zhixu’s figure off to the side of the crowd.

No matter where she went, she seemed like an immortal detached from the world, yet not eye-catching—like she’d reined in all her glow, knowing just when to release it.

Tang Qin felt her elbow nudged and looked up ahead, calling out, “Teacher Wen!”

Wen Zhixu paused at the sound. She glanced back, meeting Tang Qin’s eyes. The star, surrounded by cameras, exuded an intangible arrogance, trying to overshadow Wen Zhixu’s innate poise.

Wen Zhixu couldn’t dodge it. Soon, she was pulled into the fan swarm alongside Tang Qin, who naturally hooked her arm through hers.

She hadn’t appeared in media for a long time—the last was a signing event two years ago. Since then, she’d vanished from the public eye, leaving only her works to be mentioned.

There were all sorts of rumors about her. Some said she couldn’t surpass her past self, her starting point too high. Others said she couldn’t escape the roles from her books, so no new works in two years.

Facing the fans, Tang Qin smiled and said, “Teacher Wen, the original author of Fog Condensing on the Window, is personally joining the crew this time.”

Flashbulbs snapped at Wen Zhixu relentlessly. Before the crew’s official lineup announcement, posts about the original novel and author had already heated up.

No one would miss Wen Zhixu’s appearance. Unaccustomed to the flashes, she stood there, glancing sideways at Tang Qin.

“They seem so close,” Bai Xue leaned over, watching the roadside excitement. The crowd was moving inward.

Jian Shichu glanced over. How close Wen Zhixu and Tang Qin really were—she’d seen through it from the recording incident.

“Not close,” Jian Shichu replied.

Bai Xue heard a honk from the car behind and snapped back, sitting up straight and gripping the wheel.

The car inched forward slowly. Past this intersection, the jam would clear. Jian Shichu put on her earphones and played with her phone.

Bai Xue glanced in the rearview again and asked, “How many days is your trip?”

In Bai Xue’s mind, Jian Shichu had the brains for ambition but no drive to fight for the top spot.

“Half a month,” Jian Shichu replied.

Bai Xue was surprised. “You still have to babysit the client sightseeing? That long?”

“No need for that. I just want to stay out of town for a while.” Jian Shichu’s gaze drifted far as she listened to a voice message—the fifty-plus-second one was the most headache-inducing.

Bai Xue eyed her, then calmly asked, “That Xiao Xu… is she the girlfriend you dated in college?”

Jian Shichu’s gaze fixed on her phone screen. She didn’t speak at first, her mind flashing to Bai Xue standing by the bookshelf. At the same time, the voice message ended. She hummed an “Mm,” then confirmed, “Yes.”

The car passed through a tunnel. After Jian Shichu said it, the noise of the fans still echoed in her ears.

—

When Wen Zhixu arrived at the site, she ran into Jian Shichu’s mother, Wang Yun. It was her first time meeting Wang Yun, who was dressed neatly and simply, with some resemblance to Jian Shichu in her features.

Without makeup, Wang Yun had some fame in the industry and had won a few awards. Besides looks, Jian Shichu’s elegance probably came from her father.

After Tang Qin arrived, she finally let go of Wen Zhixu, curving her lips into a smile as she greeted Wang Yun.

“Director Wang, hello. I’ve heard so much about you.” Wen Zhixu was composed and steady. She wouldn’t mix personal matters with work. Today, she’d come to check on tomorrow’s first scene.

The actors were familiarizing themselves with the site. The story revolved around the restaurant, where they’d spend the next nearly two months.

Wang Yun wore a baseball cap. Apart from faint crow’s feet at her eyes, her age wasn’t apparent, and her energy was great.

The other screenwriters on the crew had arrived too. Wang Yun arranged everyone inside the restaurant to go over tomorrow’s first scene and script issues.

Wen Zhixu was there to prevent any major changes. She met a few screenwriters—the difference being that, unlike what she’d heard before, Tang Qin had brought a screenwriter onto the crew.

The lead actress Ke Yixuan was personally selected by Wang Yun. When Wen Zhixu was writing the book, she’d watched Ke Yixuan’s drama. Debuting at three opposite veteran actors, this kind of performer’s skills were naturally solid.

However, her own father had always been serving as the executive agent, and now it felt like they’d hit a ceiling. Transitioning out of idol dramas on her own wasn’t easy, but this opportunity could serve as a springboard.

Ke Yixuan was more low-key today than Tang Qin, with far fewer hired fans. As a result, with the photos posted by passersby, there’d be drama brewing again tonight.

The moment Wen Zhixu saw the script was different, her expression changed on the spot. She wouldn’t butt in on adding scenes like this, but the subplot had been completely overhauled.

“Director Wang, when was this script changed?” Wen Zhixu asked politely.

Wang Yun was busy with her tasks and turned her head to say, “I called you this morning, but you didn’t pick up. Xiao Xu, take this script—it’s the revised version from today.” Wang Yun grabbed the script from nearby and handed it to Wen Zhixu.