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The bread in her hand was still half-uneaten, but she didn’t dare continue.
Even though she hadn’t fully sated her hunger, at least she wasn’t as famished as before.
On the quiet road, a black Land Rover pulled up in front of her.
The model seemed familiar.
As Song Zhi pondered, the door opened, and a sharply dressed man stepped out. He addressed her respectfully: “Miss Song.”
Song Zhi belatedly recalled that this familiar Land Rover was one she had seen in Jiang Yanzhou’s underground garage.
Thus, the man standing before her must be his driver.
He opened the rear door and stood quietly to the side, waiting for her to get in.
Instinctively, Song Zhi glanced at Jiang Yanzhou by the roadside. He still hadn’t looked at her, the cigarette in his hand nearly finished.
“Might as well,” she thought, and climbed into the car with righteous indignation.
Zhang Yi reversed the car out of the intersection without asking where she wanted to go, directly setting the navigation to Huan Mountain Villa.
No need to guess—it was Jiang Yanzhou’s orders.
Exhausted and tired, Song Zhi no longer felt like putting on an act. She leaned back against the seat and dozed off for a while. When the driver’s emotionless voice woke her—”Miss Song, we’ve arrived”—she rubbed her drowsy eyes.
A visit to the Jiang residence was more exhausting than filming ten movies.
Aunt He hadn’t gone to bed yet, likely waiting for her. Seeing Song Zhi return, she stood up and adjusted her apron. “Yanzhou said you didn’t eat anything today, so I kept some porridge warm for you in the kitchen.”
In Song Zhi’s eyes, whatever Jiang Yanzhou did now was nothing but crocodile tears—a pretense of kindness.
She leaned against the wall to change her shoes and asked Aunt He, “Where is he?”
From the kitchen, Aunt He ladled out the porridge, her voice slightly louder: “He said he had something to do tonight, so he won’t be staying here.”
That “home” carried a hint of irony.
He never lived here; he only came occasionally to satisfy his needs.
Now, he had likely returned to his residence at Mingyue Mansion.
The small piece of bread she had eaten earlier wasn’t enough to fill her stomach, and she didn’t dare touch the snacks beside her.
They were all high-calorie treats from her high school days. Now that she was controlling her weight, she carried a scale everywhere, terrified of gaining even half a pound.
Aunt He’s porridge-making skills ranked number one in Song Zhi’s book.
Even though she worried about gaining weight, she couldn’t resist eating half a bowl.
In her heart, Aunt He wondered if Cao Suyue’s insomnia had improved slightly.
She asked Song Zhi: “Did you give the medicine to Madam?”
Song Zhi hesitated, setting down her chopsticks with a tinge of guilt: “I didn’t see Auntie.”
Aunt He likely guessed as much. Knowing Cao Suyue’s proud nature, there was a nine in ten chance she had completely severed ties with Jiang Yue.
She poured a glass of warm water and placed it beside Song Zhi: “You and Yanzhou had a fight today, didn’t you?”
Song Zhi hesitated: “How did you know?”
She smiled: “Yanzhou grew up under my watchful eye. Whether he’s happy or sad, I can tell at a glance. He’s just not very good with words, but his heart isn’t bad.”
Secretly, Song Zhi scoffed. Not good with words? If he were mute, he’d definitely be a hundred times more popular than he is now.
Though Aunt He hoped to ease the tension between them, she knew better than to meddle in the affairs of the younger generation. Her advice stopped short.
After eating her fill, Song Zhi bid Aunt He goodnight and went upstairs to her room.
Her stamina was drained, flashing red warning signs.
It wasn’t until after she had brushed her teeth and collapsed onto the bed that Song Zhi began to feel herself come back to life.
Unfortunately, Jiang Yanzhou’s influence on her was so profound that every time she closed her eyes, his indifferent, uncaring expression appeared.
Slowly but surely, her anger reignited. She got up, blocked all of Jiang Yanzhou’s contact methods.
Out of sight, out of mind.
________________________________________
Xia Wanyue’s few days off passed in a haze of lingering anger.
The next day, when they met again, Xu had gotten a trendy perm, complete with a neat bangs style.
His face looked squished, as if compressed.
Xia Wanyue rushed in, her high heels clicking loudly on the marble floor from afar.
“Good news! Fantastic news!”
An image of a cheap megaphone hanging outside a shopping mall during a sale flashed through Song Zhi’s mind.
She lazily crossed her legs, draping her arm over the chair’s armrest: “Is the bag you’ve been eyeing finally on clearance?”
Even teased, Xia Wanyue’s smile didn’t waver in the slightest.
Clearly, it was indeed fantastic news.
Xia Wanyue dragged a chair over and sat down in front of her: “You’ve heard about Director Luo’s new movie, right?”
Song Zhi nodded: “Yes.”
A legendary director with decades in the industry, his filmography could be counted on two hands.
But each one was a masterpiece, earning accolades at major award ceremonies.
Every actor in the industry fought tooth and nail for connections, hoping to land a role in his films.
This script had been meticulously crafted over five years before finalizing.
It told the story of Sheng Yan, the eldest daughter of a traditional Chinese painting family, and Tang Bai, the son of a streetwalker.
A gloomy seductress paired with a sunny young pup.
The tone was dark but ultimately healing, fitting current trends.
Even the supporting roles were fiercely coveted, let alone the leads.
From the start, Song Zhi hadn’t dared entertain the idea.
Propping her chin on one hand, she smirked mischievously: “What, has Director Luo finally discovered my potential? Does he want me to play the streetwalker?”
Xia Wanyue was used to her irreverence: “Director Luo contacted me today. He wants you to play Sheng Yan.”
Song Zhi’s sluggish brain slowly processed the statement. Before she could react, Xu, who had been brewing coffee nearby, let out a thunderous exclamation: “What? Letting Miss Song Zhi play Sheng Yan?”
Song Zhi massaged her ringing eardrums: “Lower your voice.”
Xu was beside himself with excitement: “Do you know how rare this is? Director Luo is famously healthy—waiting for him to go blind would be incredibly difficult!”
Song Zhi frowned: “Why does what you’re saying sound so harsh?”
Xia Wanyue had just finalized the audition date: “We lucked out this time. Director Luo has very high standards for this role, especially regarding character alignment. Just the requirement of being from a traditional Chinese painting family eliminated a large number of actors. I only found out because Director Luo reached out to me. Turns out your grandfather is Song Helian—you’ve always kept that quiet. Never heard you mention it.”
Xu, baffled by the generational gap, asked: “Who’s Song Helian?”
Xia Wanyue gave him a disdainful look: “I’ve told you before—to read more books and broaden your knowledge. You don’t even know a national treasure-level master of traditional Chinese painting?”
As a towering figure in the world of Chinese painting, one of Song Helian’s early works sold for three billion yuan at a New York auction last month.
After hearing Xia Wanyue’s explanation, Xu’s jaw dropped and stayed there for a moment.
Chinese painting, master, scholarly heritage, granddaughter.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reconcile these four words with the vain, dramatic girl before him.
Song Zhi seemed to see right through Xu’s thoughts.
She yawned lazily, sinking deeper into her chair: “There’s no rule stating that the granddaughter of a Chinese painting master has to be a refined lady.”
Xia Wanyue’s phone rang. She pressed her finger against Xu’s eager lips, muting him manually.
Then, with a fawning smile, she answered: “Hello, Director Luo... Yes, yes, I’ve already spoken to Song Zhi about it.”
After a brief silence, she nodded repeatedly: “Don’t worry. I’ll personally bring the painting to you next week.”
“Alright, you go ahead and take care. I won’t disturb you further.”
After hanging up, Xia Wanyue massaged her stiff cheeks and turned to Song Zhi: “Bring your most satisfactory painting from home to the audition next week.”
With a grandfather who was a Chinese painting master, Song Zhi had been exposed to art since childhood. She started learning to hold a brush shortly after learning to walk.
Though she never became a professional artist, painting remained a hobby.
During high school, due to poor grades, her mother transferred her to an arts class, barely scraping through university entrance exams.
As for her most satisfactory work...
Song Zhi frowned. During her last move, she had found the various items too heavy and brazenly called Jiang Yanzhou to have them moved to his place.
She had planned to retrieve them once settled, but time slipped away, and she forgot.
And now, after their argument yesterday, she’d have to grovel and ask him for them today.
Song Zhi couldn’t bear the thought.
“When is the audition?”
“Next week.”
That still gave her seven days. “I’ll paint a new one.”
Xia Wanyue shook her head: “No new paintings allowed. Director Luo specifically requested an old piece of yours. He probably fears you’re a latecomer to the art world. You know how these artists are—they value details. Habits formed from childhood and those acquired halfway are different.”
On one side lay dignity and pride; on the other, her future.
At this moment, Song Zhi felt as though she stood at a crossroads of life. To cling to her dignity meant losing the chance to skyrocket to fame.
She sighed, feeling that her younger self shouldn’t bear such a weighty decision.
After much deliberation, her ambition for her career forced her to bow to reality.
Fortunately, time was still flexible. No need to rush.
One step at a time.
________________________________________
Today’s schedule was packed, all in the afternoon, as Song Zhi had a dinner appointment in the evening. She adjusted her itinerary accordingly.
She had promised Jiang Yin a few days ago.
She usually avoided such gatherings, declining whenever possible. If unavoidable, she pushed back firmly.
This time, however, the invitation came from Jiang Yin. First, Jiang Yin’s status in the entertainment industry was unshakable. Maintaining a good relationship with her would smooth future paths.
Second, Song Zhi trusted Jiang Yin’s straightforward personality, knowing she wouldn’t engage in any underhanded schemes.
Song Zhi returned home, took a shower, and changed clothes.
Wearing an Ader Error hoodie, black skinny jeans, and freshly dried hair casually draped over her shoulders, her hair soft and sleek.
The driver took her to Shuiwu Pavilion.
A Chinese restaurant.
Secluded, with extensive grounds.
Named Shuiwu Pavilion for its natural hot springs.
Though called a restaurant, its decor resembled a scenic spot.
Artificial lakes, pavilions for cooling off, and antique furnishings that had aged gracefully.
Any single item could buy a house in a third-tier city.
Needless to say, the clientele and spending power were top-tier.
These were the elites of Beicheng’s social pyramid.
Song Zhi was visiting for the first time. Jiang Yin glanced at her outfit and scolded: “Why didn’t you just wear pajamas?”
Song Zhi tucked her mask into the front pocket of her hoodie: “It’s not a formal gala. Why dress up?”
Jiang Yin hesitated, then shook her head helplessly: “Fine, comfort is key.”
A waitress in a peach-colored hanfu led the way. Jiang Yin reminded Song Zhi: “The people coming tonight are figures you’d normally never have a chance to meet. Once inside, tread carefully and avoid offending anyone. Otherwise, your acting career ends today.”
Song Zhi nodded absentmindedly, watching as a woman in haute couture pushed open the door to a private room on the left and entered.
Song Zhi recognized the actress—a top center member of a famous girl group. Ji Chuyan, known for her noble and aloof demeanor.
Song Zhi asked Jiang Yin: “Is this the place?”
“How could it be?” Jiang Yin mocked her naivety, smirking. “The people in that room are gods walking among clouds. People like us will never intersect with them in our lifetimes. Don’t entertain fanciful thoughts.”
No wonder someone as arrogant as Ji Chuyan, who looked down on others with her nose in the air, would deign to attend this dinner.
Perhaps there really were gods inside.
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