Yan Huan gently traced the rim of her cup. Her lips curved upwards, but there was neither joy nor anger in her face, only a far-off look in her eyes.
A moment later, a stand-in walked over and knelt in place of Su Muran. All Su Muran had to do now was read her lines according to the script.
“What’s your name?” Yan Huan asked Su Muran with a smile that did not reach her eyes. No, that was not quite right; they were no longer Yan Huan and Su Muran, but Chen Jing and Mei Rushi.
“Mei Rushi,” Su Muran said arrogantly, her head held high.
“Slap her,” Chen Jing said placidly with a wave of her hand. The elegant curve of her fair fingers brought to mind demure, delicate orchids—an image that was promptly shattered by the no-nonsense, domineering command that had issued from her cherry red lips.
The maid walked obediently to Su Muran. Once she was in position, the actress playing the maid lifted her hand and pretended to slap Su Muran, trusting the director of photography to find the right angle to make it look like the slap had connected. With a little post-production sound editing, the slap would be convincing enough to fool most viewers.
It would still be less realistic than an actual slap to the face, of course, but everyone on the set knew by now that Su Muran was a self-obsessed diva who would never agree to a real slap.
The maid had only just lifted her hand when Su Muran dodged to the side and snarled, through clenched teeth, “Yan Huan, who do you think you are? How dare you ask her to slap me!”
Yan Huan leisurely returned the cup in her hand to the table. She rested her chin on her hand as she looked expectantly at Director Jin.
“Director Jin, are we still going ahead with this take?”
Director Jin was in such a state of shock he had forgotten to yell “Cut.”
Su Muran’s sudden out-of-character outburst had ruined the take. They would have to start from the beginning.
Director Jin clutched at his hair in exasperation. He was teetering on the brink of a complete meltdown—oh gods, he thought, someone, anyone, save us from this mad woman! Is she trying to wreck my show?!
Yan Huan stood up and walked over to Su Muran. There was a cold, distant smile on her face, the kind of smile that did not reach her eyes.
“Ms. Su, we’re actors. We act. If you would prefer to remain dignified at all times, perhaps the role of Qin Jun’s mother would be better suited for you.”
Su Muran’s face purpled with rage.
“Very funny,” said Su Muran, with a slow, sarcastic golf clap. “You’ll regret that, Yan Huan.”
Yan Huan waved dismissively in reply. She walked nonchalantly towards her break-time chair, seated herself, and waited serenely for Su Muran to make her “regret that.”
Before Su Muran could do anything, however, Director Jin called for her and gave her a long, angry lecture about her incompetence. The actress returned with red, puffy eyes.
Director Jin walked over to Yan Huan. “Yan Huan, please be patient with Su Muran. It’s her first project. You’ll have to carry her, I’m afraid.” He knew that as long as Yan Huan was willing, an actress of her caliber would be able to carry a newcomer like Su Muran through the shoot.
“Why is she the female lead, if this is her first project?” Yan Huan had not meant for it to sound like a sarcastic jab at Director Jin; she was merely criticizing Su Muran for being too greedy. The new actress was like a little child who had stuffed her face with the biggest slice of cake she could find, without stopping to consider whether she had perhaps bitten off more than she could chew.
Director Jin felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment.
But he had had no choice in the matter.
“Yan Huan, think of it as a favor for me, please?” said Director Jin meekly. He did not blame Yan Huan in the least; the situation was entirely Su Muran’s fault. She had butchered his show, and even created a record low in viewer ratings. It seemed entirely possible that she would end up destroying his reputation, despite all the sweat and tears he had poured into his career over the years.
“Okay, I’ll do it.” There was a hint of something else in Yan Huan’s tone, a veiled suggestion that no one had been able to catch.
I’ll carry her, all right.
I’ll carry her all the way to a ditch, throw her in, and make sure she won’t be able to climb out.
Su Muran, you never missed a chance to gloat about your achievements in my previous life. You were so sure that your privileged background was enough to win you the race. Well, maybe it’s time for you to learn what it feels like to be completely helpless.
Yan Huan assumed that Director Jin’s angry lecture had finally gotten through Su Muran’s thick skull, because the actress was a lot more cooperative in the following scenes. Her acting was still mediocre, but at the very least she obeyed the director’s instructions and no longer behaved like a spoilt brat.
In the next scene, the maid slapped Mei Ruishi across the face, leaving a red slap mark on her cheek. Mei Rushi glared balefully at the beautiful woman dressed in red sitting above her.
“Is there something wrong?” Chen Jing fanned herself with the circular silk fan in her hand. The elegant rise and fall of her hand was oddly hypnotizing; like many of the deadliest animals on earth, there was something irresistibly alluring about her every move.
Everyone who saw her was mesmerized by her beauty, but no one dared approach her for fear of her deadly poison. They could only linger at a distance, reluctant to leave.
She stood up, walked over to Mei Rushi, and patted the latter’s cheek with her fan. The simple gesture was both demeaning and entirely humiliating. Mei Rushi opened her mouth to speak; before she could do so, however, Chen Jing lifted a hand to her mouth and began to laugh, cutting her off.
“I see that you resent me. Who do you think you are?” Chen Jing’s eyes abruptly narrowed; all at once, the deadly aura around her intensified. To Mei Rushi, even the slightest breeze from Chen Jing’s movements felt like a knife pierced and then twisted into her ribs.
“You’re just another one of the Qin family dogs. A dog should dutifully watch the gates, instead of wasting its time drooling over things that are beyond its reach.” Chen Jing shifted the fan from her right hand to her left; with her free hand, she casually adjusted Mei Rushi’s clothes.
“You shouldn’t think too highly of yourself. Some people are born with their noses in the air—their inflated egos prevent them from realizing how insignificant and worthless they truly are. Don’t you agree, my dear Rushi?”
“My dear Rushi”—those three words grated on Mei Rushi’s nerves. Her expression darkened, and her shoulders trembled with rage.
Chen Jing was not the least bit perturbed by Mei Rushi’s reaction. She turned and returned to her chair with perfect nonchalance as the camera lingered upon her instead of Mei Rushi. This was a conscious decision by the director; Su Muran’s Mei Rushi was so unconvincing and unlikable there was no point giving her more screen time than absolutely necessary.
Su Muran stomped furiously into her private waiting room. Her performance had been out-classed by Yan Huan’s in every conceivable way; Su Muran had been forced to follow Yan Huan’s lead like a dull-witted cow. As a result, Yan Huan had deftly exposed all the rough, unpolished edges in Su Muran’s mediocre performance.
She took out her phone and called her father, Su Qingdong.
As soon as the line connected, she launched into her complaint.
“Dad, I was bullied.”
She recalled how she had been insulted on the set, and felt a new wave of resentment wash over her. She knew it was just an act, that it was Chen Jing insulting Mei Rushi, but she could not shake the feeling that Yan Huan had meant every word.
She told herself, over and over again, that it was just an act. Even so, she could not stand being humiliated; it had felt uncomfortably real. She did not like Yan Huan’s face, or the look in her eyes.
