Chapter 3

After finishing work for the day, Xitang cleaned herself up and collapsed onto her bed.

The rented apartment lacked heating, leaving the indoor temperature identical to the frigid outdoors. Stepping out of the cramped bathroom, she felt the biting cold seeping into her bones. Quickly diving under the covers, she leaned out only to dry her hair.

For dinner, she had consumed a cup of red bean and black rice porridge along with an apple.

Though physically demanding, her daily workload left her perpetually hungry. Yet Xitang never forgot what Zhong Qiao, clad in dazzling attire and crimson lipstick, once declared during their university days: “Starving is the first skill for aspiring actresses—even third-tier stars must endure it!”

Back then, she hadn’t cared. She was deeply enamored with Zhao Pingjin, and after dates, they often passed through the bustling snack street behind campus. He rarely indulged in street food but always bought her generous portions. Meanwhile, Zhong Qiao dieted while Xitang happily devoured skewers late at night. Oddly enough, despite eating abundantly back then, she hadn’t gained weight. Now, despite strict self-control in Hengdian, a subtle layer of fat had begun accumulating around her waist.

Alone in her struggles, no one discussed the survival tactics of stardom with her anymore. If filming wrapped by ten o’clock, she typically exercised for half an hour. Otherwise, exhaustion dictated sleep. Maintaining her figure relied solely on eating less. Fortunately, sheer fatigue usually lulled her to sleep.

Her phone rang. Picking it up, she recognized the secretary of her company’s CEO, summoning her to the VIP lounge. Politely declining twice, she hung up.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. This time, it was the CEO himself: “Xitang, why aren’t you available? There’s an important client who admires your performances. Don’t overstep your bounds.”

Xitang understood—her company kept performers like her, who failed to rise to fame, specifically for such occasions. They served as decoys for newly wealthy businessmen unfamiliar with the entertainment scene. Dressed glamorously and paraded about clubs, they flaunted photoshoots in period costumes, claiming to be renowned Hengdian actresses. These displays lured older men eager to dabble in celebrity sponsorship, leading to lucrative deals where willing girls sold themselves or secured investments.

Sighing heavily, Xitang reluctantly rose to apply makeup and change clothes. Hailing a motorbike taxi, she arrived at the venue. To her surprise, the private room wasn’t overly noisy. Scanning the familiar faces, she spotted Zhao Pingjin seated arrogantly on the sofa, flanked by a balding boss smiling obsequiously.

Clearly, tonight wasn’t just casual entertainment—it was serious business. Such high-level gatherings seldom involved her, and notably absent was Wu Zhenzhen herself. Even Ni Kailun, head of the artist management department, was present. Spotting Xitang entering in a puffy jacket, his expression hardened, silently reprimanding her.

Quickly shedding her outerwear to reveal a strapless white dress, Xitang plastered on a bright smile and cooed flirtatiously: “Boss, forgive me for being late—”

Pretending affection, she poured herself a penalty drink.

The host appeared satisfied, chuckling: “Don’t crowd around me tonight. Spend more time with Mr. Zhao.”

Handed off to Zhao Pingjin, Xitang’s sweet demeanor intensified. Smiling coyly, she raised her glass: “Mr. Zhao, allow me to offer you a toast—”

However, Zhao Pingjin glanced at her disapprovingly, subtly furrowing his brow.

Xitang shifted closer, nestling beside him. Holding her glass, she maintained an intimate tone, though secretly avoiding contact with his sleeve.

He detested physical proximity from those he disliked.

That evening unfolded predictably—painful and insincere. Except when Zhao Pingjin remarked dryly: “Mr. Wang, I can’t drink alcohol—it might dampen everyone’s spirits. But I hear Miss Huang has quite the tolerance. Let her take my share tonight, shall we?”

Thus, all of Zhao Pingjin’s drinks were transferred to Xitang.

Old Wang chimed in gleefully: “Such an honor! Look at these beauties lined up on the couch—none caught Zhao’s eye except you, Xitang. Make sure to impress us!”

Smiling brightly, Xitang replied: “Mr. Zhao honors me greatly—I’m thrilled!”

Internally, her lips twitched bitterly. When had Zhao Pingjin adopted such a vulgar title? Back in Beijing, during his early entrepreneurial days, he shared cramped quarters with fellow founders in Haidian District. Shen Min worked tirelessly, coding programs based on Zhao’s spontaneous ideas. Surrounding colleagues affectionately called him by nicknames. Even after hiring overseas graduates, they addressed him formally as “Boss” in English. Xitang trailed behind him like a carefree shadow, feeling utterly at ease—until adulthood intervened…

Xitang had already pieced together that Zhao Pingjin was publicly known as a wealthy real estate tycoon from Shanghai. This time, he was investing in the company’s next production and had personally requested Wu Zhenzhen as the female lead. The boss, sensing the deal nearly finalized, grew increasingly jovial, slapping Zhao on the shoulder and calling him “brother.”

Zhao Pingjin had changed too. In the past, even casual contact with strangers would provoke his ire. Now, he exchanged polite pleasantries with ease.

Xitang remained silent, dutifully smiling as she drank for him.

The boss, mistaking Zhao for a naive investor eager to elevate starlets, began discussing the going rates of actresses in the industry. He even offered to introduce Zhao to women with youthful faces and voluptuous figures, his words growing increasingly vulgar.

In the dim light, Zhao slightly tilted his chin, a silent, disdainful smirk flickering across his face.

Xitang’s heart sank. People like him rarely revealed their true identities. If the boss offended him unknowingly, they’d be signing their own death warrant.

“Oh, Mr. Wang, don’t just talk—let Mr. Zhao return the toast!” Xitang quickly interjected, interrupting the boss’s rambling. She poured wine into two glasses, her right hand trembling slightly. Instinctively, she steadied it with her left wrist before filling the cups.

It was a subtle gesture.

Zhao Pingjin glanced at her, seemingly by chance.

Xitang ensured the boss downed two consecutive drinks.

Seizing the opportunity, Ni Kailun chimed in: “The company is promoting two new talents this time…”

What shrewd business acumen.

By the time they were halfway through drinking, Xitang was about five drinks in. Rising unsteadily, she excused herself to the restroom.

Ni Kailun followed, gently patting her back. Her voice carried genuine concern: “Are you alright?”

Xitang had emptied her stomach completely: “I’m fine.”

Ni Kailun muttered: “That pale-faced devil—I wonder when Zhenzhen hooked him.”

Xitang rose from the toilet, standing silently in front of the mirror to reapply powder.

Ni Kailun continued: “Tonight, Old Wang suddenly moved the gathering here. I only saw him when I arrived—it startled me too. He’s invested in the next project. Don’t expect any roles from me. For Director Liu’s new film, I’ve arranged for you to shoot a nun role in Shanxi.”

Xitang paused, then leaned in to nuzzle her cheek affectionately, wrapping her arms around Ni’s waist: “Thank you, Mommy.”

“Don’t get sentimental. Zheng Youtong has invited you to dinner and a show. A journalist who follows him long-term will be there to take photos,” Ni Kailun added.

Zheng Youtong was another company’s rising star. If he wanted to stir up scandalous rumors, countless girls would eagerly latch onto him.

Xitang remained silent.

Ni Kailun pressed: “Will you accept or not?”

Xitang steeled herself: “No.”

Only with Ni Kailun could she dare speak her mind.

Fury flashed in Ni’s eyes as she shoved Xitang, sending her stumbling. “What do you want? To squat by walls every day shooting trashy scenes for pennies? When will you ever rise above this?”

Xitang shrank back timidly.

Ni Kailun sighed: “Next week’s Starlight Theater Awards—you’ll walk the red carpet with Love in the Imperial Palace . I practically begged to get you included.”

Aside from the director and lead actors, only one or two spots were left for the entire company’s participating actors to fight over, all for a sliver of exposure. Xitang could only nod obediently.

Ni Kailun lowered her voice: “Think carefully. Stubbornness won’t get you anywhere. I heard Thirteen Master plans to retire, and the company might split shares. I may not be able to protect you. With your debts, even ten years of this life wouldn’t repay them.”

Xitang leaned closer, resting her head on Ni’s shoulder, hugging her tightly. Eyes closed, she murmured affectionately: “I know.”

Ni Kailun warned: “Stay as far away from that Zhao fellow as possible.”

Xitang whispered softly: “I know.”

The two linked arms and exited together.

That night stretched until 2 a.m., with Zhao Pingjin deliberately toasting round after round. Xitang matched him drink for drink, her stomach churning violently as white liquor and red wine bubbled upward. By the end, her limbs felt numb, her hands trembled, and her eyes reddened.

As the gathering concluded, Zhao Pingjin raised his glass once more: “Mr. Wang, to our fruitful cooperation.”

Old Wang, tongue-tied and drunk, stood clumsily: “Good… good talk!”

Xitang reluctantly lifted her glass, swallowing the burning liquid as it scorched her throat.

On the other side, Old Wang waved dismissively before collapsing with a thud.

Ni Kailun immediately stood up, exchanging a few polite words with the manager before arranging the bill.

Xitang staggered to her feet, her limbs numb but her mind clear. After all these years, she no longer allowed herself to get completely drunk.

Taking a few steps forward, she suddenly stumbled. Before she could fall, Zhao Pingjin grabbed her by the hair from behind.

Xitang winced as her scalp burned with pain. He yanked her upright, forcibly turning her face toward him.

Zhao Pingjin stared at the familiar yet alien face before him—large eyes, a pert nose, rosy lips, and soulful eyes. Clutching her hair, he growled through gritted teeth: “What madness possessed you to turn yourself into this wretched state?”

For a fleeting moment, Xitang thought he sounded angry.

But in his half-drunken gaze, she saw only disdain and mockery.

She smiled faintly, about to reply, but Zhao abruptly released her.

Xitang tumbled onto the sofa, then smoothed her hair and stood up, laughing brightly as she walked away.