Chapter 4

Filming for Love in the Imperial Palace was proceeding smoothly. As the Lunar New Year approached, everyone worked tirelessly to meet deadlines. During the final week, Xitang was reassigned to Team B and sent to Mountain One for outdoor shoots. The biting winds left her hair coated in dust each day upon returning.

Every day involved location shoots, filler shots, and crowd scenes. She hadn’t returned to the studio since.

Meanwhile, the studio was anything but peaceful.

Zhao Pingjin visited several times, seated within the set. His breathtaking face and aloof demeanor exuded an electrifying presence. With so many young women on set, accidents became frequent—tripping over wires, knocking over ladders, and toppling light boards. Eventually, a minor actress attempted to strike up a conversation but was harshly rebuffed. Wu Zhenzhen, displeased, called the company executives afterward. The next day, the unfortunate palace maid was written out of the script, reportedly causing quite a scene before leaving. The chaos left the crew gossiping fervently.

A golden Buddha sat among them, and the company scrambled to entertain him.

Old Wang arrived.

Zhao Pingjin relaxed on the couch in the lounge, discussing stock market trends with Mr. Wang.

Sweating profusely, Old Wang laughed nervously as their conversation drifted aimlessly until finally circling back to actresses.

Casually, Zhao inquired: “That Miss Huang we met the other night—isn’t she part of your crew? Why hasn’t she been around?”

Old Wang chuckled, dismissing the question lightly: “You mean Xitang? She doesn’t get cast in roles. She’s working as a production assistant on location. She’s diligent though—very hardworking.”

Zhao remained nonchalant: “Does she have a price?”

Old Wang was taken aback: “Ah?”

Zhao’s pale, sharp features betrayed neither truth nor falsehood, only a faint trace of mockery: “Didn’t you say there’s no actress in this industry money can’t buy? I find her intriguing.”

Old Wang responded incredulously: “Surely you’re joking, Mr. Zhao. With Zhenzhen in the picture, how could you possibly consider Huang Xitang? Sure, she’s passably pretty, but this industry is flooded with beautiful girls. And compared to Wu Zhenzhen’s figure? She’s nothing special. Plus, she’s getting older—thin as a bean sprout. How does she compare to those dewy teenage beauties?”

Zhao frowned: “How old is she?”

Old Wang waved dismissively: “Who remembers? She’s been with the company two or three years. Late twenties, maybe? In this industry, if you haven’t made it by that age, you’re considered old.”

Zhao shrugged indifferently: “Age doesn’t matter.”

Old Wang grew anxious inwardly. Huang Xitang simply wasn’t presentable. She was destined for grunt work in the company—useful for appearances but with a temperament that often offended others, dragging the company into trouble. Reluctantly, he explained: “Honestly, we’re afraid of failing to please you and embarrassing the company. This girl’s difficult. Remember Yin Nan—one of our most popular male actors back then? At some party, after a few drinks, he kissed her. She stood there like a statue, utterly unresponsive. Quite the buzzkill.”

Zhao’s expression darkened.

Mysteriously, Old Wang added: “Let me tell you something—this stays within the company. She doesn’t date.”

Zhao asked impassively: “Meaning?”

Old Wang replied: “Some stylists mentioned she’s in a relationship with a Hong Kong woman.”

The “Hong Kong woman” referred to Ni Kailun.

Zhao stood, feeling a headache coming on: “I have a meeting this afternoon. Excuse me.”

Old Wang rose to accompany him, relieved the topic was dropped: “Shall I have Zhenzhen see you off?”

Zhao, already heading out with his coat in hand, replied curtly: “No need.”

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On the day of filming completion, the entire crew was jubilant, preparing for a celebratory dinner. Xitang stayed behind to organize props and settle accounts with the rental company. Nearby, actresses and makeup artists chatted while changing clothes.

Several palace maids who were close to Xitang whispered conspiratorially: “Xitang, did you hear? Wu Zhenzhen smashed a glass in the makeup room.”

Xitang smiled faintly: “Oh? What happened?”

Ning pouted, lowering her voice dramatically: “They broke up.”

Xitang feigned curiosity: “Who?”

“Wu Zhenzhen and her rich, handsome boyfriend.”

The younger actresses erupted in gossipy excitement.

“How? Didn’t he keep visiting the set?”

“Yes, but lately he seemed disinterested. Barely looked at Wu Zhenzhen.”

“He sounded like he’s from Beijing.”

“So handsome, but also so cold.”

At that moment, Sister Hui, who played the empress’s senior maid, entered. Xitang had shared scenes with her—the poisoned wine scene where the senior maid watched her drink it. Looking up, Xitang greeted her warmly: “Sister Hui.”

Hui smiled back, joining the discussion: “From his demeanor alone, he’s no ordinary man. Those born into high society are different from nouveau riche playboys chasing starlets. Wu Zhenzhen has better taste than most.”

The younger girls giggled: “Really?”

“How did they break up?”

“The usual story—boredom and moving on.”

“In this industry, how many actresses truly achieve their dreams?”

Hui advised solemnly: “If you like acting, focus on honing your craft. Otherwise, leave early. Don’t chase shortcuts. Those men are wolves in sheep’s clothing, surrounded by revolving doors of women. Trust me, few end well.”

Xitang listened quietly, each word striking her like a whip. Silently, she finished filling out forms and slipped away unnoticed.

The girls chirped teasingly: “Sister, don’t ruin the mood!”

Hui watched the retreating figure in white and blue, then smiled knowingly, changing the subject: “Enough about men. Speaking of hidden depths, we have someone talented in our crew. If given a chance, they’ll shine.”

“Who? Is it Zhenzhen?”

“Listen carefully—a minor actor!”

“Wu Zhenzhen’s acting is mediocre at best. But one person remains enigmatic.”

“Who?”

“Sister, could it be me?” one of the younger actresses joked.

“Don’t be silly,” Hui teased. “Didn’t your mom consult a fortune-teller who said you’d never make it big in this lifetime?”

“Go away!” the girl retorted with mock indignation.

“Alright, girls,” Hui sighed. “This industry may look glamorous, but beneath the surface, it’s full of knives. What’s so great about it anyway?”

________________________________________

That evening’s celebratory dinner saw Wu Zhenzhen return, having wrapped up her scenes two days prior. She arrived wearing a black fitted sweater under her coat, accentuating her curves, adorned with a sparkling gemstone necklace. Her makeup was flawless, and she smiled radiantly as she entered arm-in-arm with the producer—still proud as a princess.

The younger actresses sat quietly at the far end of the banquet hall, watching from afar. As the gathering drew to a close, everyone exchanged heartfelt farewells. Wu Zhenzhen made a point to approach Xitang, offering her a smile that carried an odd undertone.

By six o’clock, Team B had officially completed filming. Xitang boarded a night bus back to the company.

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The next day, Xitang accompanied Ni Kailun to view dresses for the upcoming awards ceremony.

Ni Kailun, the head of the talent management department, had risen during the golden era of China’s entertainment industry. Over the past decade, the sector had exploded with growth, and Ni had accumulated both connections and influence, earning her status as a formidable figure in the industry. Under her wing were several stars, including Lin Xin Hui, the company’s most senior actress.

Ni Kailun had once been Xitang’s agent—a long time ago. Back then, Ni was just starting out, struggling even to speak Mandarin fluently. Yet, with remarkable foresight and courage, she crossed half the country to scout talent. At the time, Xitang was still in her final year of university. Ni took her under her wing, casting her in her debut project—a new independent film by an up-and-coming director titled Orange Youth . The film premiered at Cannes, marking Xitang’s first trip abroad.

Overwhelmed by homesickness for Zhao Pingjin, Xitang would calculate the time difference and call him early in the morning, often breaking into tears. On the other end of the line, Zhao would laugh softly, his voice low and tinged with sleepiness: “Be good, don’t cry. Hurry back on the next flight.”

Despite being in the picturesque French Riviera, Xitang didn’t linger. Once filming wrapped, she packed her bags and flew straight home—all because she missed someone dearly.

That was a long time ago.

Now, following behind Ni Kailun, who strode confidently into the city mall clutching a designer handbag, Xitang resembled more of an assistant than ever. The store manager greeted them warmly, accompanied by a saleswoman: “Miss Ni, here to see gowns?”

There were only a handful of high-end brands in the city. First, Lin Xin Hui selected her dress, followed by Wu Zhenzhen. The remaining choices depended on popularity and screen time, dictated by Ni Kailun’s arrangements.

Ni nodded: “Has Miss Lin tried hers?”

The staff led them to a spacious fitting room, pointing to a row of gowns: “Miss Lin chose that one.”

Ni walked over: “Hmm, let me see the fitting photos…”

Xitang sat on the couch waiting. Glancing up, she noticed a pearl-gray chiffon gown tucked deeper inside the display. Its neckline was adorned with tiny round pearls, exquisitely beautiful.

Her discerning eye caught Ni Kailun’s attention. “Try it,” Ni urged.

The saleswoman interjected softly: “This piece has already been reserved by Miss Zhang.”

Zhang Zhi Yin was the leading actress of a rival company, often compared to Wu Zhenzhen in the media.

“Didn’t she reserve the new Valentino piece? Is she monopolizing two dresses?” Ni grumbled angrily.

The saleswoman smiled apologetically: “Her company said it’s better to be safe than sorry…”

Ni negotiated: “Can she at least try it on?”

Xitang spoke softly: “No need.”

Eventually, Ni picked out a white floral-print gown for Xitang. When it came time to pay, Xitang pulled out her credit card, but Ni stopped her: “Let me handle it.”

Xitang protested: “No, I can’t let you do that.”

Ni lowered her voice: “You’ve only worked a few episodes this month—it won’t cover the cost of this dress.”

Xitang blushed, knowing Ni spoke the truth. Big-name stars had sponsors, but minor actors like her rarely attended such events. If she wanted to look presentable, she’d have to foot the bill herself—and such expensive outfits were typically worn only once.

Seizing the moment of hesitation, Ni signed the receipt.

Ni linked arms with Xitang, understanding her better than anyone. She had scolded and disciplined her before, but when Xitang refused to comply with the company’s tactics, there was little Ni could do. She had long since stopped trying to persuade her: “Maybe there’ll be a turning point with your next role.”

She referred to the nun character Xitang was preparing for—a promising role that Xitang had already begun rehearsing diligently.

They moved on to browse jewelry. A salesperson in white gloves presented a diamond necklace.

Ni draped it around Xitang’s neck and exclaimed: “Clothes truly make the woman!”

Glancing at her reflection, Xitang looked radiant. Her face seemed brighter, proving why women craved accessories—on red carpets, stars vied for attention, and without dazzling jewels, how could they secure even a sliver of coverage?

Ni examined the effect closely, urging her: “Have dinner with Zheng Youtong, stir up some gossip, take on a couple more projects, and by next year, you’ll be wearing these big rocks yourself.”

Xitang wrinkled her nose and removed the necklace herself.

The salesperson raised an eyebrow and informed Ni: “Miss, some pieces from your favorite brand have just arrived via airfreight from Paris.”

Ni immediately perked up: “I’ll go try them on.”

As the two turned, they spotted a familiar figure.