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Shen Tang had given herself three to five days for her heartbreak period. Now, more than twice that time had passed. Last night, after finishing work and returning to the hotel, she instinctively typed a message: [What are you doing?]
It wasn’t until she hit the final question mark that she realized—she and Jiang Cheng Yu had already broken up.
Today was the thirteenth day since their breakup.
It wasn’t as agonizing as the first day.
Shen Tang flipped a page of the script, focusing on the scenes she would be filming next.
The emperor was deciding on a crown prince, and the ministers were in heated debate. The palace was also teeming with undercurrents.
As she read, her mind inevitably wandered.
“Sister Tang, there’s a message.” Her assistant handed her the phone.
Snapping back to reality, Shen Tang saw it was an SMS from Chen Nan Jin’s number.
[Tang Tang, I’m very sorry. Regarding the role you auditioned for in That Summer , the team held several meetings, but opinions remained divided. That drama is for Yi Nuo. Auntie Fan is happy about this, and I don’t want to make her unhappy. If there’s a suitable script for you in the future, I’ll recommend it to you.]
The meaning couldn’t have been clearer—it was a rejection.
Just as she finished reading the message, Sister Li’s call came through immediately.
“I just got a call from Auntie Fan’s assistant. She said you didn’t pass the audition.” The drama was officially off.
Sister Li wasn’t focused on feeling disappointed; instead, she was furious. “That little assistant of Auntie Fan—her arrogance knows no bounds. Who does she think she is? By the way—”
Sister Li pressed her temples. “Fan Yu’s assistant also mentioned that Director Chen sent you a message. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shen Tang: “I just received it, and then your call came in.”
“What did it say?”
“What else could it say?”
“You’re right.” Sister Li sighed, trying to console herself. “If it’s off, it’s off. It’s just one drama—it’s not a big deal. I originally wanted to secure it for you as a bonus, but if it doesn’t happen, so be it. Don’t take it to heart.”
Shen Tang asked: “Are you sure it was Auntie Fan’s assistant who called you?”
“Yes, why?”
“No reason.” Shen Tang used the excuse of reviewing the script and ended the call.
She replied to the earlier text from Chen Nan Jin’s number: [Don’t ever text me again. Don’t you find it disgusting? I do.]
On the other end, Auntie Fan felt a wave of relief upon seeing the reply. She hoped Shen Tang would never contact Chen Nan Jin again.
She deleted the chat history.
Placing the phone back where it belonged, she knew how much Chen Nan Jin disliked others looking at his phone.
For the sake of That Summer , she had been heartbroken, yet Chen Nan Jin still decided to give the role to Shen Tang. If Shen Tang were to play the lead, Yi Nuo would become nothing more than a side character.
And she absolutely refused to let Shen Tang spend every day with Chen Nan Jin.
Chen Nan Jin was in a meeting in the adjacent conference room, so she preemptively called Shen Tang’s agent. Lately, she had been too passive and hoped to use the cold war to make him compromise.
But it had no effect.
Today’s meeting was to decide when to officially announce Shen Tang as the lead actress.
She couldn’t just sit idly by.
Half an hour later, the meeting adjourned, and Chen Nan Jin returned to his office.
Seeing Auntie Fan in his office, he furrowed his brows but said nothing.
Auntie Fan kept a straight face, her grievances sprouting like bamboo shoots after the rain, growing wildly. “Chen Nan Jin, over a script, must you give me such a sour look?”
Chen Nan Jin was tired of arguing and didn’t engage with her.
Auntie Fan cut to the chase, knowing there was no way around it. “I’ve already informed Shen Tang’s agent that we won’t be working together this time. Perhaps there will be opportunities in the future. Also, I’ve already signed a contract with another actress.”
Chen Nan Jin abruptly raised his head, unable to tolerate it any longer. “Auntie Fan, what exactly are you trying to do?”
Auntie Fan stood up, crossing her arms. She knew how to defuse this conflict: “I’m not trying to do anything. I’m jealous, envious, and afraid it will affect Yi Nuo.”
“For Shen Tang, you don’t even consider me or Yi Nuo. Do you know how sensitive paparazzi are these days? They can dig up every last detail.”
She tread carefully, taking a step back to advance: “It’s my fault—I admit it. If you really want to introduce resources to Shen Tang, I won’t stop you. After all, she’s also your daughter.”
Her eloquent words flowed effortlessly. “If you feel it’s inconvenient, I can also introduce opportunities to Shen Tang. But she shouldn’t join your production crew—too many people talk, and it might raise suspicions. You’re no stranger to this industry. You know how terrifying public opinion can be. I’m genuinely afraid.”
She combined submission with veiled threats. “I’ve already signed a contract with someone else. Are you really going to embarrass me by canceling it? If you insist on casting Shen Tang, I’ll have Yi Nuo withdraw. I don’t want her to be compared to anyone else. I can’t bear it if my daughter is talked about that way.”
Having said everything she needed to, Auntie Fan seized the moment and began organizing the files on his desk.
“Auntie Fan, don’t push things too far.” Chen Nan Jin’s expression was unreadable as he went to pour himself a cup of tea.
Standing by the window, he held the tea but didn’t drink.
Thinking of his father’s polite yet distant attitude during the Spring Festival, and of the time he saw Xiao Zhen, he wondered if she, like him, had found countless excuses to visit Tang Tang.
What was she thinking? Did she still want to acknowledge their daughter?
________________________________________
“Cut!” The director was quite excited, having previously worried that Shen Tang wouldn’t deliver the desired performance.
With tears streaming down her face, Shen Tang walked straight out of the set without acknowledging anyone.
Her assistant quietly followed behind, holding a water bottle and her bag.
Once Shen Tang was in character, no one dared disturb her.
The crying scene just now was the only one in the entire drama.
There were only cold eyes and tears of disappointment, no dialogue.
Huo Teng had heard rumors about working with Shen Tang, saying that she took a long time to snap out of character. For this drama, she seemed deeply immersed, often sitting alone lost in thought, silent for hours.
He followed her out, wanting to help her ease her emotions.
In that previous scene, he and her character had grown estranged.
The bond forged on the battlefield ultimately couldn’t withstand the emperor’s indifference.
“Have some snacks.” He took a piece of prop food—it was real.
Shen Tang shook her head. “Stop pretending.”
Huo Teng smiled, fully believing she was still in character.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with her at the entrance of the hall, he said, “After today’s shoot, the upcoming scenes will be much easier.”
Shen Tang wasn’t immersed in the role—she was thinking about things outside the drama.
She thought about Chen Nan Jin’s text, and suddenly missed Jiang Cheng Yu intensely. In the past, when she was upset, hearing his voice would almost always comfort her.
Then his words echoed in her ears: “Shen Tang, have you thought about it? After breaking up, if I meet someone suitable, I’ll move on. There’s no going back.”
He was threatening her.
Huo Teng absentmindedly ate the snack, sweet and cloying. “The wind is strong. Shouldn’t you go inside?”
Shen Tang shook her head again. “I’ll make a call in a bit.”
Seeing her calm down considerably, Huo Teng encouraged her. “Make the call and come back in. If you’re still upset, come to me. I won’t change out of this costume—you can vent on me.”
Finally, a faint smile appeared on Shen Tang’s face. “It’s fine. I’m not that deep into character.”
Huo Teng relaxed. He had a major scene to film soon.
The assistant handed her the phone, standing a few meters away.
This was Shen Tang’s second call to Chen Nan Jin, nearly an hour after his earlier message.
Chen Nan Jin and Auntie Fan were still in the office. The air was silent, and Chen Nan Jin hadn’t spoken to Auntie Fan. Auntie Fan had already tidied up the desk.
Let him be angry—she had achieved her goal. Today, she would indulge him.
At that moment, the phone rang. Shen Tang’s number appeared on the screen.
Auntie Fan’s eyebrows twitched, her heart leaping to her throat.
Based on her understanding of Shen Tang, with her pride, after seeing that kind of message, she wouldn’t possibly call Chen Nan Jin.
She might have blocked him outright, ignoring him entirely if they met in public.
So what was happening now?
Chen Nan Jin, seeing the number he knew by heart, quickly put down his teacup and answered without hiding it from Auntie Fan. “Hello, Tang Tang.”
He assumed Shen Tang was calling to confront him, and he was mentally prepared.
There was no sound on the other end of the line.
Only the howling wind of Hengdian.
At that moment, Shen Tang stood on the steps outside the great hall, overlooking the palace.
Inside the hall, they were filming the emperor’s selection of the crown prince.
In this drama, the eldest son she and Huo Teng had together wouldn’t ascend to the throne.
Shallow Flute of Destiny told the story of her and Huo Teng’s lives. When he was an unfavored prince, she fought alongside him on the battlefield. After he ascended the throne, they drifted apart.
Deep love meant nothing—fate was shallow.
“Tang Tang?” Chen Nan Jin called her name again.
In Shallow Flute of Destiny , Shen Tang excelled in infantry combat, but in the end, she was trapped in the palace like a bird with clipped wings, full of ambition but powerless.
She wasn’t adept at palace intrigue, so she couldn’t secure the crown prince position for her child.
Her inability to manipulate others in the drama didn’t mean she lacked understanding in real life.
“Tang Tang.” Chen Nan Jin patiently called her name.
He was certain she was listening, just stubbornly holding out.
Shen Tang gazed at the countless steps below the great hall. “Chen Nan Jin, do you wish I would completely disappear? Then the stain on your life could be erased, and no one would know you have a daughter or that you had a reckless, unacknowledged marriage.”
Chen Nan Jin’s heart ached as if cut by a knife. “Tang Tang, what are you saying? How could I not want to see you? What do you mean by ‘the stain on my life’? No, Father has never thought that way. How much I loved you when you were born, I still feel the same now.”
Shen Tang laid her trap step by step. “There’s no point discussing this. Dare you say it in person but not in a text?”
Chen Nan Jin was confused. “What text? When did I send you a text?”
Shen Tang sneered. “Director Chen, is your memory this bad, or are you regretting your actions and refusing to admit them?” She reminded him, “An hour ago.”
Even Chen Nan Jin, slow as he was, understood what had happened. He glared coldly at Auntie Fan—she had secretly used his phone to send Shen Tang a message.
Auntie Fan rarely saw such a chilling, angry look from Chen Nan Jin. She knew she had crossed his bottom line. Going through a man’s phone and using it to send messages was a taboo for all men.
Including Chen Nan Jin.
Not inexperienced with storms, Auntie Fan remained relatively calm. “I merely informed her that the drama wasn’t suitable for her. That’s all.”
Thankfully, her text didn’t contain anything too offensive. Even if Shen Tang showed a screenshot to Chen Nan Jin, at most he would be angry—he wouldn’t do anything to her.
Shen Tang could hear Auntie Fan’s explanation over the phone and added fuel to the fire. “So it was your wife who sent it, no wonder. Tell her that if she keeps harassing me, I’ll make her regret it. And tell her not to keep switching numbers and sending messages in your tone—it disgusts me.”
Chen Nan Jin suppressed his anger toward Auntie Fan. “What do you mean? Has she sent you many messages?”
Auntie Fan was baffled. “I… when did I send multiple messages?”
She suddenly realized—Shen Tang was framing her. Where there’s a will, there’s a way to pin blame.
Over the phone, Shen Tang’s voice continued: “Director Chen, if you didn’t send those texts, then all the messages I’ve received over the years were your wife’s doing. Pass this along to her: I’m keeping track of old and new accounts. Since Grandpa isn’t well, I’ll endure her for now. I don’t want to cause a scandal that would worry him. But in the future, she’ll cry without a place to turn.”
With that, she hung up.
When she first received the text, she suspected it was from Auntie Fan because Chen Nan Jin still had a shred of conscience left—he wouldn’t mention how much he cared for Auntie Fan in front of her.
Feigning innocence and sowing discord was something she could do too—and better than Auntie Fan.
Now, with Auntie Fan in Chen Nan Jin’s presence, she was left defenseless.
Without evidence, Auntie Fan could only swallow her bitterness.
Playing this game with her? She’d destroy her.
One day, she’d make them all regret it deeply.
Outside, the wind grew stronger.
The assistant silently stood nearby, holding Shen Tang’s coat but forgetting to offer it. Shen Tang suddenly laughed. “Were you scared by me?”
The assistant reacted half a beat late, shaking her head. “No, I just felt relieved. If I were in your shoes, I’d do the same.” Over the years, she had vaguely guessed Shen Tang’s background but never mentioned it to anyone, not even Sister Li.
Before, she wasn’t sure. But now she was.
So Tang Tang was truly Director Chen’s daughter.
“Sister Tang, did Auntie Fan really send you so many messages in Director Chen’s name?” How painful that must have been. As an outsider, even she felt heartbroken.
Shen Tang turned off her phone and handed it to her, not hiding a thing. “No, this was the first time. Auntie Fan isn’t stupid enough to directly message me. I just took the opportunity to frame her in front of Chen Nan Jin, letting her taste the bitterness of being exposed. If she likes drinking green tea, I’ll let her drink until she throws up.”
Auntie Fan had thirty years of experience in the industry, with extremely high emotional intelligence. She was skilled and subtle in her methods—even if she disliked someone, her approach was like a needle hidden in cotton, leaving others helpless. The assistant worried: “Auntie Fan must be livid. With her personality, she won’t let you off easily. She might try to trip you up in the future.”
Shen Tang didn’t care. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
In her first two years in the industry, she couldn’t even get roles. Commercial events were often canceled mysteriously. Even now, half the negative material online was thanks to Auntie Fan.
Too many incidents to count, too many to explain in a few words—but she remembered them all.
In the future, she’d repay them one by one. No one would escape.
________________________________________
That evening, That Summer trended again.
Director Zhou Ming Qian, Chen Yi Nuo, and Gu Heng dined together, chatting and laughing in a harmonious atmosphere.
Netizens speculated about who the other lead actor would be.
This trending topic was bought by Auntie Fan, just to irritate Shen Tang. In the afternoon, she had a huge argument with Chen Nan Jin in his office.
No matter how she explained, Chen Nan Jin refused to believe she hadn’t harassed Shen Tang.
In the end, Chen Nan Jin grabbed his car keys and left, too lazy to argue further.
She had underestimated Shen Tang’s cunning before.
This trending topic hovered at number two on the list—it was hard to miss.
Jiang Cheng Yu clicked into the comment section, browsing every copied-and-pasted post and rumor.
Yan He Yu leaned back on the sofa, singing deliberately choosing a slow song. Surrounded by three giant screens, his voice and face became surreal and unreal under the interplay of light.
How much genuine emotion was in that low, husky voice?
After finishing the song, Yan He Yu lost interest and handed the microphone to someone else.
He ordered a bottle of alcohol, pouring one glass for himself and another for Jiang Cheng Yu.
Strong liquor, with an extremely high alcohol content.
Jiang Cheng Yu accepted the glass, his gaze still fixed on his phone.
Yan He Yu had already attended two banquets that evening and was tipsy, but he still downed the liquor in one gulp. He glanced at Jiang Cheng Yu. “You’re not playing cards, not singing—what have you been looking at all night?”
Jiang Cheng Yu scrolled through thousands of comments and had a rough idea: Shen Tang wouldn’t be in That Summer . Another actress seemed confirmed for the lead role.
Seeing him remain silent, Yan He Yu twirled his empty glass. “Still thinking about Shen Tang?”
Jiang Cheng Yu took a sip of alcohol, neither denying nor confirming Yan He Yu’s guess. Instead, he openly admitted: “With her personality, she shouldn’t be in the entertainment industry. She offends people left and right.”
Sometimes he wondered whether she entered this industry to make money or to irritate others. At the slightest disagreement, she would start conflicts, showing no mercy and caring nothing for her image.
Yan He Yu asked, “What did Shen Tang do this time?”
Jiang Cheng Yu answered obliquely: “Help me arrange a meeting with Zhou Ming Qian.”
“Sure, I’ll arrange it tomorrow.” Yan He Yu’s head was spinning. He asked the server for a glass of water. He didn’t understand: “What’s the point of this breakup? Dragging it out like this—it’s worse than not breaking up at all.”
Jiang Cheng Yu exited the trending comment section. “It was a surprise I wanted to give her before the breakup. From now on, I won’t meddle in her affairs anymore.”
Yan He Yu let out a derisive laugh, unsure whether he was mocking Jiang Cheng Yu or himself.
“Brother Jiang, it’s your turn.” Someone at the card table called out to him.
Coming to this club was ninety percent for business, ten percent for paving the way for future deals.
Tonight, they had arranged a dinner party, inviting him.
Jiang Cheng Yu picked up his glass and moved to the card table.
Amidst the revelry, his mind was elsewhere—on Shen Tang.
Over a thousand kilometers away in Hengdian, Shen Tang hadn’t finished work yet.
She had a night shoot today and was in poor form, repeatedly flubbing her lines.
It was a scene opposite Chu Ran.
Chu Ran was fuming. She wanted to leave early and rest, but Shen Tang deliberately made things difficult, either forgetting her lines or failing to convey the right emotions.
The assistant hurriedly brought Shen Tang some fruit. “Sister Tang, eat something. You haven’t eaten anything since noon—you might be hungry.”
Shen Tang had no appetite but forced herself to eat a little.
Chu Ran sat nearby, resting. She intentionally sat close, gloating: “Yan He Yu and Tian Qing Lu are engaged—you must know, right? I also heard that Jiang Cheng Yu is about to get engaged.”
Shen Tang glanced at her. “Don’t bother worrying about my affairs. Focus on winning over the man you like. When the time comes, I’ll attend your wedding.”
“...”
Chu Ran gained nothing but frustration, nearly dying of anger.
________________________________________
The following week, Shen Tang’s life fell into a repetitive cycle: filming after filming.
When she had downtime on set, she considered how to secure That Summer .
For Grandpa’s sake, she hadn’t given up.
Lost in thought, Sister Li called.
“Guess what contract I just signed?”
Her excitement was barely contained.
Shen Tang: “A high-end luxury endorsement?”
“Guess again.”
“I don’t feel like guessing.” She lacked the enthusiasm.
Sister Li stopped teasing. “That Summer —you’ll play the other female lead. Zhou Ming Qian called me early this morning. When I went to sign the contract, Auntie Fan was there, and her face almost turned green.”
“...”
Shen Tang couldn’t believe it. “Why did they suddenly decide to cast me?”
Sister Li explained honestly: “From what Zhou Ming Qian said, it’s related to Jiang Cheng Yu. Auntie Fan had to compromise, considering the company and the upcoming dramas and movies.”
Mentioning Jiang Cheng Yu, Sister Li sighed, unsure what to say. “Regardless, thank him.”
Jiang Cheng Yu’s private phone number was etched in Shen Tang’s memory. She dialed it digit by digit.
Jiang Cheng Yu was in the middle of a discussion. Seeing it was Shen Tang’s number, he apologized to the other party and stepped outside to answer.
“Hello, Tang Tang.”
Hearing his voice again stirred indescribable emotions. Shen Tang got straight to the point: “Thank you for that drama. I need it, so I won’t be polite. I owe you this favor—I’ll repay it when I have the chance.”
“No need—it’s a gift. Think of it as lingering affection from me, wanting to do something for you.”
Jiang Cheng Yu paused for a moment, then added: “The first drama you auditioned for must hold special significance for you. This relationship—it’s my fault. I thought about the beginning but never the end.”
He didn’t want her to feel burdened. “Consider it a parting gift.”
He waited for her to speak, but there was silence on the other end. He didn’t know what she meant.
They stayed silent together for half a minute.
“You’re busy—I still have guests waiting.”
Shen Tang hummed softly and hung up.
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