Chapter 44

A scholar can endure anything, but for money, one could endure even that.

Leng Xiang showered and washed her hair in her own room. After drying her hair and giving herself countless psychological hints, she went upstairs. Bearing the humiliation, she knocked on Jiang Sisi’s door.

The door wasn’t closed. Leng Xiang thought for a moment and pushed it open to enter.

Jiang Sisi was taking a shower, and the sound of running water echoed through the room. The room was quiet, with no one else around.

The chandelier emitted a warm yellow light, illuminating the empty living room.

The bathroom was inside the bedroom. Soon, the sound of water from the bedroom stopped, and Jiang Sisi emerged from the bathroom.

Leng Xiang heard the noise and looked up. Jiang Sisi leaned against the bedroom door, watching her, and smiled. “Come in.”

The pajamas Jiang Sisi wore were the same ones from that day when she had invited Leng Xiang to her home to watch a movie. She could even recall that fragrance.

She had smelled that same fragrance on her during the day today.

Leng Xiang entered her bedroom and sat on the bed as usual.

Since she had applied medicine to Leng Xiang’s injury the day before, the medicine box was still on the bedside table. Jiang Sisi took out the small jar of red ointment and applied it to her first.

Jiang Sisi rolled up her pants, revealing the bruised area. The originally blue-purple bruise had turned red, looking somewhat better than yesterday.

Jiang Sisi rubbed the ointment in her hands. When her warm hands covered Leng Xiang’s calf, Leng Xiang remembered how painful it had been the night before and subtly shifted away. Before Jiang Sisi noticed, she adjusted herself back, pretending nothing had happened.

Jiang Sisi caught her little movement but said nothing, only smiling.

Hiss.

It still hurt.

It felt as if her bones were being kneaded by those hands. Amid the pain, the only real sensation was the warmth of those hands.

Jiang Sisi’s hands were very warm—perhaps because she had just showered. She lowered her eyes and massaged the injury attentively. Leng Xiang said nothing, and the entire bedroom fell into a deep silence.

It was hard to imagine they could share such a quiet moment.

Jiang Sisi suddenly spoke. “About this afternoon’s hot search, do you suspect I had someone do it?”

Leng Xiang looked up at her, surprised she would bring it up.

She hadn’t paid much attention to it anyway.

But Jiang Sisi was right.

“Yes,” Leng Xiang said. “I do suspect you.”

Jiang Sisi asked, “Why suspect me?”

Leng Xiang thought, Does she really need to ask?

“I heard Youth Tour is releasing next month?” Leng Xiang said.

Jiang Sisi nodded. “Yes.”

Youth Tour was scheduled for release on the second day of the Lunar New Year—a prime slot.

“So I figured you’d do something for Youth Tour‘s box office.”

“In movie promotion, stirring up some drama or scandals is normal. Before release, grabbing attention requires some tactics. I get that. You saying we don’t get along, plus that earlier wave when you—” Leng Xiang paused, then continued, “announced the role to me. We already had some buzz. If rumors of our feud spread now, the public’s eyes would shift back to our crew, to you, and then to your upcoming movie. After all—”

Jiang Sisi prompted, “After all, what?”

After all, the public loved this kind of reversal script.

As for the impact on Leng Xiang—accusations of her being arrogant or other rumors—she was used to such attacks. It wasn’t a big deal.

After all, Jiang Sisi had dug up Luo Pi’s background for a movie role. What wouldn’t she do?

Her own reputation wasn’t that important anyway.

She didn’t care, so why should Jiang Sisi?

Moreover—

“After all,” Leng Xiang said, “we really don’t get along. You’re not wrong about that.”

The two photos were right there. Anyone with eyes could see their relationship was poor.

Jiang Sisi stared at her for a long time without speaking, then finally sighed.

Leng Xiang was baffled by the sigh. “What was that for?”

I said I don’t mind, so why sigh?

Jiang Sisi said, “If I really disliked you, why would I call you over in the middle of the night to apply medicine?”

Leng Xiang froze.

The medicine on her calf was already applied, and her pant leg was rolled back down, covering the bruise.

Suddenly, Leng Xiang felt the pain in her calf distinctly—a throbbing ache that wasn’t too hard to bear, even with a slight itch.

She shifted uncomfortably, sensing the atmosphere turn strangely awkward.

Hadn’t they been arguing the night before?

“It wasn’t me,” Jiang Sisi said.

Leng Xiang looked up at her, surprised.

Jiang Sisi smiled lightly and added, “I know you suspect me. In your eyes, I’m some bastard who’d do anything for a movie. But it really wasn’t me.”

“As for Luo Pi, it’s not a simple story. If you get the chance, ask her. It’s not what you think.”

Leng Xiang watched her.

Jiang Sisi looked at her for a moment, then smiled. “You need to fix that habit of walking away whenever there’s disagreement.”

Leng Xiang fell silent, turning her head away awkwardly.

Why did those words sound so familiar?

She felt she should be angry, but instead of anger, she felt an odd sense of comfort.

For some reason, Leng Xiang detected a hint of gentleness and indulgence in Jiang Sisi’s tone.

Leng Xiang shivered.

Am I crazy, or is she?

“Is your foot okay?” Jiang Sisi asked.

Leng Xiang was still lost in thought and didn’t respond. Seeing this, Jiang Sisi lowered her gaze, leaned down, and rolled up her pant leg again.

Leng Xiang’s foot was lifted onto the bed before she snapped back to reality. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your foot.” Jiang Sisi pulled down her sock halfway, exposing a section of her ankle.

During the afternoon shoot, because of the injury on her calf, Leng Xiang had nearly fallen. Jiang Sisi had watched from behind the camera, noticed something off, and rushed over to support her.

She wasn’t sure if her ankle was sprained.

Leng Xiang stared blankly as Jiang Sisi’s hand covered her ankle and applied a deft pinch. A sharp pain surged through.

“Hiss—” Leng Xiang yelped unexpectedly.

Jiang Sisi looked up at her. “Does it hurt?”

Leng Xiang nodded. “A bit.”

“It’s a slight sprain,” Jiang Sisi said. “Wait, I’ll rub it for you.”

Leng Xiang said nothing, watching as Jiang Sisi turned to the bedside table, rummaged through the medicine box, and pulled out a bottle of medicinal wine.

Jiang Sisi poured some into her palm. The strong, pungent smell wafted out, making Leng Xiang wrinkle her nose. Jiang Sisi warmed the wine in her hands before placing them on her ankle.

Hiss.

This time it really hurt.

She hadn’t thought it was injured.

Leng Xiang didn’t refuse or speak. Still processing Jiang Sisi’s gentleness, she lowered her eyes and watched her massage the ankle.

Jiang Sisi’s technique was excellent, and she held the foot in her lap without any awkwardness. A tingling, burning warmth spread through Leng Xiang’s ankle—almost too hot. She felt her face flush.

After finishing the massage, Jiang Sisi put her sock back on properly. Only then did she look up, meeting Leng Xiang’s gaze.

Jiang Sisi smiled. “Why is your face red?”

Leng Xiang pursed her lips and looked away. “It’s not.”

Jiang Sisi laughed again. “Okay, okay, it’s not red.”

Leng Xiang glared at her but said nothing.

Truth be told, Leng Xiang was quite adorable—right up her alley.

Jiang Sisi smiled, pulled a Blu-ray set and two books from her bag, and handed them to Leng Xiang. “Take these.”

Leng Xiang accepted them.

It was Song Limo’s classic Never the Same trilogy Blu-ray set, and two books: one titled Emotional Trauma, the other Empathy Principles and Discussion.

“Song Limo’s series is a classic,” Jiang Sisi said. “See if you’ve watched it. If not, watch it.”

“Read these two books too. Write me a character analysis for Emotional Trauma‘s main characters. Oh, and a memoir for Su Qing—eight thousand words, first person, due in a week.”

Leng Xiang was baffled by the pile. “What does this mean?”

“Think of it as homework from me,” Jiang Sisi said. “I remember you had some acting training, but you’re not from a formal drama school—no systematic study.” She continued, “Today is Wednesday. Next Wednesday, same time, come over and perform the section I marked in Emotional Trauma for me.”

Her gaze lingered on the discs and books, then returned to Leng Xiang with a smile. “I won’t force you. Up to you if you come—but—”

Leng Xiang, still dazed and clutching the items, subconsciously asked, “But what?”

Jiang Sisi said, “If you do come, I’ll be very happy.”

Leng Xiang suddenly felt the items in her arms burn like fire.

What does your happiness have to do with me?

She wanted to snap back but fell silent after a moment.

She knew Jiang Sisi was helping her.

After junior high, she had been sold into Excellence Media. No formal training—her acting was rough.

Ten years in the industry; her fame came from TV dramas. Excellence Media had flooded her with scripts—whatever was available, she took. A long list of shoddy idol romances.

Her skills came from sheer volume—quantity bred quality and proficiency. She had developed her own methods, even won a Best Actress award. But no one had ever told her it was wrong, insufficient.

What to do about insufficiency? Learn, study, elevate herself.

Jiang Sisi had given her this chance.

The items felt as heavy as Jiang Sisi’s kindness, weighing on her heart.

Why help her this much?

Leng Xiang looked up at Jiang Sisi.

Why would she be happy?

She wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to.

Too ambiguous.

Though her romantic experience was limited, she sensed that asking might lead to big trouble.

“Next week, I’ll come,” Leng Xiang said. “I’ll finish these, and the analysis—”

She nearly bit her tongue. “I’ll write it properly too.”

After a pause, she asked anyway, “Why are you helping me like this?”

She never accepted unearned favors. People’s kindness always had motives, always profited someone.

But one’s family shaped one’s character—it wasn’t her fault.

It made her uncomfortable.

Jiang Sisi knew her well and anticipated the question.

“I’ve told you before,” she said. “I gave you the role because you fit it. I’m helping because you need it to portray Su Qing better—and because I want to. That’s all.”