Chapter 37

Xiangxiang rubbed against her legs for a while, and Leng Xiang reached out to scoop it up into her arms. Xiangxiang then nestled quietly on her lap.

Leng Xiang: “…”

It was such a big ball of fluff, and surprisingly heavy.

Seated next to Leng Xiang was the makeup artist’s assistant from the crew, who watched her enviously, then glanced at the cat in her arms.

She really wanted to pet the cat!

The makeup artist’s assistant said, “You and Xiangxiang get along so well.”

Leng Xiang said, “Does everyone know it?”

The makeup artist’s assistant nodded and said, “Yeah, Xiangxiang is our team’s lucky mascot little princess. Director Jiang brings Xiangxiang to every shoot. Without it nearby, she can’t even sleep well.”

“Xiangxiang is usually very well-behaved but super aloof. It doesn’t let anyone touch it normally. Director Jiang took a long time to get it comfortable with her.”

The makeup artist’s assistant looked conflicted, wanting to pet it but hesitant to reach out. She reluctantly pulled her hand back.

Petting cats was one of humanity’s greatest instincts, right?

She wanted Xiangxiang the little princess to rub against her and beg for hugs too!!

Xiangxiang nestled on Leng Xiang’s lap and closed its eyes.

No wonder it wasn’t afraid of people at all.

As Leng Xiang petted it, Xiangxiang’s fluffy, snow-white, soft tail swished back and forth, lightly brushing against her hand.

The makeup artist’s assistant’s eyes sparkled with adoration at how cute Xiangxiang was.

Enviously watching the cat in Leng Xiang’s arms, the makeup artist’s assistant said, “How did you get Xiangxiang to rub against you like that?”

Leng Xiang thought for a moment and said, “Maybe we just click.”

Wang Linlin sat beside her and saw her perched on a little stool, petting the cat.

Leng Xiang looked down at the snowy-white, beautiful Ragdoll, her slender fingers gliding over its fur, her dark eyes like water, her gaze gentle.

Wang Linlin swallowed hard, pulled out her phone, and snapped a frenzy of photos of Leng Xiang—”click click click.”

Leng Xiang chatted idly with the makeup artist’s assistant for a few sentences, then fell silent. The whole room quieted down.

Jiang Sisi sat in the center, her script rolled into a paper tube in her hand. She tapped it against her palm.

She drawled lazily, “Long time no see, everyone.”

It had actually been less than three months.

Li Guchuan teased her, “Yeah, long time no see. I’ve never seen a director like you who jumps straight into a new project without a break. Even my cousin-in-law takes time to stockpile drafts after finishing a web novel. Your last movie hasn’t even hit theaters yet, and you’re rushing into this one like a duck to water. Are you that strapped for cash?”

Li Guchuan often made cameo appearances in Jiang Sisi’s crews. He’d had a role in Youth Tour too, though he barely appeared on screen.

The others chimed in.

The makeup artist said, “She hasn’t even rested properly yet. Sisi-jie, you don’t care about her at all, boo hoo…”

The photographer said, “Where’d this whiner come from? Fork her out of here.”

The scriptwriter sister said, “Actually, there’s still room to revise the current script…”

Jiang Sisi said coolly, “Fine, then give back your opening red envelopes and scram.”

The makeup artist: “I’m willing to serve the crew devotedly until my dying breath!”

The photographer: “I’m willing to give my life and brains for the crew until my dying breath!”

The scriptwriter sister: “I’m willing to revise scripts through the night for the crew until my dying breath!”

Leng Xiang: “…”

What kind of crew had she joined?

The makeup artist’s assistant whispered to her, “Movie Emperor Li’s boyfriend’s cousin is Tang Hui. Her agent’s boyfriend runs a web novel site, and Tang Hui writes there too. A lot of people in the industry follow it. Probably even Ms. Tang doesn’t know.”

Li Guchuan had come out years ago, while Tang Hui had won Best Actress a few years back for her yuri film If Love Has Destiny.

What kind of bizarre relationships were these?

Jiang Sisi’s team friends watched their boss. They’d worked together for years and knew her routine inside out.

The “meeting” was just for show. Her team knew all the rules and processes for her shoots. This meeting was mainly for the new actors who’d never collaborated with her before.

Though Jiang Sisi’s crew was rowdy, they followed every rule to the letter. The basics: no tardiness on set, mandatory stay at the crew hotel during filming, no leaving the crew, and no appearing on other programs.

Special circumstances required asking for leave.

Jiang Sisi outlined these rules roughly, and the actors all agreed to abide by them. With that, the meeting ended.

Everyone dispersed on the spot—those with work went to work, those wanting rest headed back, those wanting a stroll went for one. They’d gather that evening for the opening banquet, and Luxury Goods would officially start shooting tomorrow.

Wang Linlin listened intently during the meeting, jotting down every rule in her little notebook. She organized her work notes, snapped the notebook shut contentedly, then suddenly remembered the unsent Weibo post.

Since Leng Xiang had given her the account and password that morning, Wang Linlin had sneaked tons of photos of her en route to make a perfect nine-grid post.

After agonizing over selections, she finally picked nine satisfactory ones. She opened the Weibo composer, uploaded the images, and typed the text fluidly in one go.

Wang Linlin posted the Weibo, double-checked it, found no issues, and happily went to prepare the things Leng Xiang would need for shooting tomorrow.

·

After the big meeting, Jiang Sisi held a separate small meeting with the core creative team to discuss other matters.

Leng Xiang and Li Guchuan, as leads, were called in too.

This was the more formal one.

The core team crammed into a small dark room, dragging over chairs to sit together.

When Leng Xiang and Li Guchuan entered, Jiang Sisi clutched her crumpled, rolled-up script and was debating the emotional arc with the deputy director.

The deputy director was a smiling, chubby middle-aged man whose temperament matched Jiang Sisi’s perfectly. They’d stuck together since their first collaboration.

They argued fiercely over whether Su Qing and Jiang Chuan’s romance should be saved for the end or woven throughout the story.

Jiang Sisi said, “The Su Qing-Jiang Chuan line has to run through the whole script. Throwing in a romance at the end with zero buildup? How does that even work?”

The deputy director said, “Old Jiang, you know what audiences love best—surprises! Hit ’em with that divine stroke out of nowhere, they process it, tears flow like rivers, and boom, the film’s memorable. That’s how you snag a Golden Deer Award!”

Jiang Sisi mocked him, “What about logic? Did you swallow the movie’s logic whole into that triple-high belly of yours?”

The deputy director clutched his belly, heartbroken by the jab, and wailed, “I knew you despised my fatness. Saying it like that—you must have a new flame out there. I’m not your little cutie anymore.”

Jiang Sisi was stone-cold: “Are you a little cutie? You got the nerve to say ‘little’? Take your massive bulk and shattered logic out of my sight.”

The scriptwriter sister, munching on the drama, mediated, “Stop fighting, you’re scaring the kids. It’s all my fault for writing this script. Forget Golden Deer—no telling if it’ll even pass review. Such a headache.”

Xiangxiang, cradled in Jiang Sisi’s arms, meowed once and resumed its picture of innocence.

Leng Xiang: “…”

Was she the “kid”?

Did this messed-up crew have any hope? Could she back out and terminate the contract now?

Li Guchuan interjected with a beaming smile, “Why not ask the female lead’s opinion?”

Jiang Sisi and the deputy director turned to Leng Xiang.

Leng Xiang asked, “Is there a romance between Jiang Chuan and Su Qing?”

The deputy director: “…”

Jiang Sisi: “…”

Li Guchuan burst out laughing beside them, tears streaming as he said, “This movie’s actually a subtle tragic yuri film. Didn’t you notice?”

It really wasn’t Leng Xiang’s fault.

In the Luxury Goods script, the scriptwriter sister’s psychological descriptions for characters were practically nonexistent—extremely vague and implicit, leaving everything unsaid. It tested actors’ comprehension to the max.

Su Qing had four romantic arcs with male characters in the script, corresponding to four lines. The one with Jiang Chuan was her fifth, the deepest, most blurred and ambiguous one buried in the entire script.

So subtle even someone as straight as Leng Xiang hadn’t spotted it.

Leng Xiang felt she needed a moment to process.

Jiang Sisi looked at Leng Xiang, unsurprised she hadn’t grasped the script.

Jiang Sisi said, “We’ll discuss this later.”

Jiang Sisi sat close to Leng Xiang and suddenly remembered something. She asked, “By the way, what about my slippers? I shipped your shoes back to you.”

She said it without lowering her voice—everyone heard clearly, and all eyes turned to them.

Jiang Sisi’s core team had always wondered, to varying degrees, why she’d cast Leng Xiang in the new film.

Leng Xiang seemed aloof, known in the industry as “stunningly cold and glamorous.” Since Jiang Sisi added her to the WeChat group, the chats had been lively, but Leng Xiang never said a word.

She hadn’t even grabbed her share of the opening red envelopes.

And from her afternoon debut on set to now, Leng Xiang hadn’t smiled once.

How had Jiang Sisi reeled in this aloof, antisocial type?

Hearing this, eyes lit with gossip flames—enlightenment dawned.

These two had something going on!

Under countless stares, Leng Xiang had her pride. She steadied her voice and said coolly, “I threw them away.”

How did Jiang Sisi still remember that?!

How was she shameless enough to ask for the slippers back?!

Jiang Sisi said, “Fine, I’ll deduct it from your other half of the pay.”

Leng Xiang: “…”

Deduct away!

Screw you and your stinginess!

Jiang Sisi was just teasing her. Around Leng Xiang, she always lost control a bit. And in her own familiar team, with familiar faces, she grew even more unrestrained.

The art designer had been slacking off during the meeting, scrolling Weibo furtively. She suddenly went “Eh?”

She looked up at Leng Xiang, then at her phone’s Weibo page, then back at Leng Xiang, and suddenly burst out laughing—”Pfft!”

The others stared, baffled.

Under the scrutiny, the art designer pointed at her phone’s Weibo, looking at Leng Xiang, hesitant to speak.

The scriptwriter sister said, “What’s with you? Having a fit?”

The art designer said, “Check Weibo.”

Her antics hooked everyone; they all pulled out phones and scrolled.

There was Leng Xiang, topping the trends again after “Jiang Sisi’s New Film Female Lead” and “Leng Xiang and Qin Wen’s Past Love.”

Weibo’s hot search #1: “Leng Xiang So Pretty~~~” with a “bursting” tag.

The source was a Weibo post.

From Leng Xiang’s verified account: “The weather’s so nice today—a rare winter sunny day. Feeling so pretty~~~ Sharing some pics as a 3-million-follower perk. Hope everyone keeps supporting me~~~ [Pic1][Pic2][Pic3][Pic4][Pic5][Pic6][Pic7][Pic8][Pic9]”

The photos were ethereal and stunningly beautiful.

But those three wavy tildes—killer and cringey—stole the show.

Leng Xiang was scrolling Weibo too and saw the post “she” had made.

Leng Xiang: “…”

A vein throbbed on her forehead.

Li Guchuan looked up from his phone, clearly fighting laughter. “Did your account get hacked?”