Jiang Yue was the type who always dropped bombshells. Lin Zixi nearly choked on her words upon hearing this, but she held it together, merely glancing lightly at Jiang Yue before saying calmly, “Don’t talk nonsense.”
Jiang Yue let out a soft chuckle and leaned in close to Lin Zixi’s ear. “I’m not talking nonsense. Seeing is believing.”
Ever since Ye Can had moved into their suite, the sharp-eyed Jiang Yue had spotted the lingering red marks on Lin Zixi’s body every few days. She also hadn’t missed how the door to the next room was always firmly shut. They were all adults—who didn’t know what went on behind closed doors?
Lin Zixi pressed her lips together and said nothing. She simply couldn’t handle this friend of hers, who could crack dirty jokes without batting an eye amid a crowd of stars.
Lin Zixi had no intention of responding when Ye Shen, who had just finished chatting with someone across the aisle from her, leaned over with a faint smile. “Miss Lin, what did you say about ‘mommy’?”
Lin Zixi’s body stiffened, and she suddenly felt unwell. Ye Shen’s expression turned serious, like a concerned parent as she said to Lin Zixi, “Does Can-Can call you that often, like just now?”
There was no good way to answer that. The sharp-eared Jiang Yue overheard Ye Shen’s question and couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter, covering her mouth to stifle it. Lin Zixi shot her friend a look, thinking that if they weren’t in such a public setting, Jiang Yue would probably be rolling on the floor laughing.
Lin Zixi averted her gaze, sat up straight, and said, “Not really. She just gets playful sometimes and calls out random things.”
Ye Shen nodded in understanding—after all, Ye Can’s thought process was anything but ordinary. Still concerned, she told Lin Zixi, “She’s young, so guide her a bit more. Don’t… play any weird games with her.”
The tone was pure feudal patriarch. This time, Lin Zixi didn’t snap back at Ye Shen. Instead, she nodded and said, “I will.”
Ye Shen was pleased with Lin Zixi’s response. She nodded, straightened up, and turned her gaze back to Ye Can.
Having perked up her ears to eavesdrop on the exchange between Ye Can’s two “parents,” Jiang Yue finally burst out laughing. She nudged Lin Zixi’s arm. Lin Zixi turned to her. “What now?”
Jiang Yue leaned in close to her ear, brimming with gossip. “What’s it like having your girlfriend’s sister be such a siscon? Do you feel like a feudal patriarch watching you every second?”
Lin Zixi gave her a look and ignored her.
The lights in the audience hall gradually dimmed. After the host introduced the main creative team seated on stage one by one, she tossed out the first topic, discussing the movie premiering that night: Above the Throne.
From the director to the leads, everyone praised the story. Hou Ming, in particular, went all out when talking about Ye Can. “The role Ye Can is playing—we couldn’t find the right actor for the longest time. The movie was almost wrapped, and I was ready to cut the character entirely. Then Ye Can showed up.”
The host picked up on it. “Cut it? Because you couldn’t find a satisfactory actor? So how did you spot Ye Can?”
Hou Ming lit up with enthusiasm. “Because she’s gorgeous, and her acting is solid. She was running an extra gig in the crew at the time, right under Director Zhang Hao, and he recommended her to me.”
“Then she happened to have a scene opposite Zhiqiu, so I had them run lines. And boom… they clicked.”
The host perked up at the mention of Meng Zhiqiu. “Ye Can and Sister Zhiqiu have opposite scenes? That must’ve been brilliant.”
Meng Zhiqiu nodded with a smile. “I think after you see the movie, you’ll agree Ye Can’s performance is truly outstanding.”
“She’s a very young actress, but she has such spirit and talent. Acting opposite her always sparks something.”
Hou Ming and Meng Zhiqiu both gave Ye Can high praise. The host nodded. “Sounds like you both really appreciate her.” She pivoted to Ye Can. “So, Ye Can, what are your thoughts on your screen debut?”
“How do you feel about your performance in this movie?”
Ye Can, who had been sporting a cold expression throughout, snapped to attention when called out. She thought of how Lin Zixi usually handled these things and responded to the host with rare patience. “It’s alright. Director Hou and Teacher Meng are overpraising me a bit, but yeah, that’s the gist.”
Talk about shameless confidence.
Ye Can paused, then added, “After all, Director Hou pays my salary, and I worked hard and seriously on set.”
She stuck firmly to her “don’t bite the hand that feeds” persona, drawing amused chuckles from everyone in the room. The host stifled a laugh and teased her. “Wow, Director Hou pays you? How much?”
Ye Can blinked. “The going rate for extras. What else?”
Her expression—go look up the market rate if you don’t know—cracked the host up.
The host seemed keen to give Ye Can more spotlight, turning to Hou Ming. “So, Director Hou, what’s the going rate you paid Ye Can for her extra work?”
Hou Ming held up the mic dramatically. “Her rate was sky-high—one day, two hundred!”
The room erupted in laughter.
Ye Can whipped her head toward him, indignant. “Is two hundred a lot? I worked my butt off. It’s not excessive!”
Hou Ming clearly enjoyed her spunk and followed up. “But what you ate on set that day cost more than two hundred!”
Feng Ming chimed in from the side. “Yeah, kid, you’re such a big eater—you ate up your entire paycheck ages ago.”
Ye Can was at a loss for words, mumbling after a moment, “People have to eat. You need fuel to work.” Her constant “work” references made it clear she saw acting as just a paid gig.
The rest of the crew piled on the teasing. “You alone eat enough for four or five people in the crew.”
Maybe because Ye Can was so young, everyone in the crew doted on her—even her big appetite became fodder for jokes. Finally, Meng Zhiqiu smoothed things over. “Alright, alright. Can-Can’s still growing. Don’t go too far. And she had so many fight scenes—how could she not eat more?”
Thanks to their mahjong alliance lately, Ye Can felt like she and Meng Zhiqiu were on the same team. She huffed at Meng Zhiqiu’s words. “It’s not my fault I can eat. I don’t want to. But if I don’t, I get hungry.”
The crowd burst into another round of laughter, clearly treating her like a newbie kid fresh in the industry.
In this circle, veterans always had a soft spot for promising newcomers. Ye Can keenly sensed this and didn’t mind leveraging it to win favor.
So far, the effect was pretty good.
After some chit-chat on stage and crew anecdotes, the main event finally began—the premiere of Above the Throne.
Ye Can stepped down from the stage and sat beside Lin Zixi. At that moment, the stage lights went out, and a massive screen appeared upfront, bathed in a beam of white light.
In the darkened auditorium, Ye Can reached out, pinched the back of Lin Zixi’s hand, and whispered in her ear, “So, am I really that big an eater?”
Lin Zixi turned her head, her sweet breath brushing Ye Can’s lips as she murmured softly, “You eat a ton. But…”
“I can afford to keep you.”
In the dim light, Ye Can stared at those lightly parted red lips and unconsciously licked her own. Feeling a bit hot, she leaned toward Lin Zixi’s lips and whispered, “Lin Zixi, your lipstick looks delicious today.”
Lin Zixi blinked at the random comment, stunned. The next second, all the auditorium lights snapped off, leaving only the projector beam on the screen, casting a stark white glow on faces.
Lin Zixi watched as Ye Can tilted her head, the thin gold chain on her rimless glasses swaying faintly with the motion. Then Ye Can leaned in, their breaths mingling, and Lin Zixi felt her lip nipped gently.
It was a featherlight kiss, over almost as soon as it began.
Ye Can pulled back, still holding Lin Zixi’s hand, and fixed her gaze on the screen.
Lin Zixi stared at her profile, biting her faintly aching lip as she realized just how bold Ye Can had been.
Lin Zixi gripped Ye Can’s hand in return and leaned to her ear, stifling her mix of shyness and annoyance. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
So many cameras in this huge crowd—what if someone snapped it?
Ye Can turned to her, dead serious. “I’m more afraid no one sees.”
Whether in broad daylight or under the lenses, she did what she wanted with Lin Zixi. Seeing that troublemaking glint in Ye Can’s eyes, Lin Zixi couldn’t help but reach up and ruffle her hair, her gaze softening into a puddle.
What to do? She’d signed a fearless artist, and now she was starting to feel fearless too.
But going public would land Ye Can in the crosshairs. Her career was just taking off, full of bright promise—Lin Zixi didn’t want that for her.
She gave no clear answer, just gently turned Ye Can’s head forward and said softly, “Alright, let’s watch the movie first.”
Ye Can blinked, said “oh,” and turned her eyes to the big screen.
The theater logos rolled by on the massive screen, followed by a flash of white. Then came a scorched city wall.
Summer rains pounded the postwar Southern Liang Royal Palace, washing away the soot on the walls and the blood at the gates.
Prince Cheng, clad in heavy armor, rode in on horseback, splashing through the puddles as he swaggered into the Liang King’s Palace.
Thunder cracked across the sky. Prince Cheng looked up at the roiling storm clouds, wiped rain from his face, and let out a cold laugh. “The realm… is finally united…”
As the man’s words faded and he rode deeper into the palace, four bloodstained characters emerged behind his receding figure: Above the Throne. They framed the imperial seat, filling the screen as the image faded out.
With that, Above the Throne officially began.
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