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When Xiaxia called, Song Zhi was applying a face mask. After all, Sheng Yan was a standard beauty, so Song Zhi had to always be in top form.
After pressing the answer button, she turned on speakerphone and placed her phone back on the table: “Did you get the painting?”
“I got it, but...” Xiaxia’s voice carried an apologetic tone, as though she’d done something wrong. “Song Zhi, I’m sorry... I forgot to tell Yan Zhou that he shouldn’t touch anything inside the box.”
A sinking feeling began to take shape in Song Zhi’s mind.
Still clinging to hope, Song Zhi sat up from the couch: “He didn’t see what was inside, right?”
Xiaxia’s voice grew softer: “Not only did he see it, but... he also took it with him.”
Damn.
A wave of dizziness hit Song Zhi, and she felt like tiny figures were dancing before her eyes in a fiery haze.
This must be hell.
During high school, she had been obsessed with two male characters from an anime. That sketchbook was customized specifically to capture their deep brotherly bond.
But after witnessing Jiang Yan Zhou sweat freely on the basketball court one day, something stirred within her heart.
Under the blazing sun, the young man wore a blue-and-white jersey numbered 23, effortlessly sinking a three-pointer.
Sweat traced his jawline, outlining his slender neck before disappearing into more hidden areas.
He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat, revealing abs that rose and fell with each breath.
To Song Zhi at that time, it was incredibly impactful.
That night, she dreamt of Jiang Yan Zhou for the first time. In her dream, he transferred all the energy he displayed on the court onto her.
Then, Song Zhi woke up.
Her heart raced.
Though slightly embarrassed, she couldn’t deny her feelings any longer.
She craved Jiang Yan Zhou’s body—desperately.
Even her dreams were filled with him.
A youthful aura mixed with raw masculinity.
So, she ended up drawing him naked, just to satisfy her own little desires.
And now, the subject himself had seen it?!
Song Zhi took several deep breaths, forcing herself to stay calm. Panicking would mean defeat.
She removed Jiang Yan Zhou’s number from her blacklist and dialed him immediately.
She decided to strike first.
After several rings, he finally picked up languidly.
Song Zhi got straight to the point, not bothering with pleasantries: “Is my sketchbook with you?”
“Sketchbook?” he asked calmly. “You mean the one where you drew me naked?”
Only someone like Jiang Yan Zhou could say such shame-inducing words so casually.
Unwilling to lose ground, Song Zhi laughed lightly: “As an artist, I’ve drawn plenty of nude models. If you’re uncomfortable, I can apologize.”
Her nonchalant tone clearly had an effect.
Jiang Yan Zhou’s voice darkened: “Have you drawn other men too?”
Song Zhi answered quickly: “Of course.”
After her words, there was a long silence on the other end.
The man let out a cold laugh: “Very good.”
Then he hung up.
The busy signal buzzed in her ear. Song Zhi blinked, locked her phone, and placed it back on the table.
Still the same old temperamental dog.
________________________________________
Early the next morning, Xiaxia brought over the paintings along with Song Zhi’s sketchbook.
She cautiously asked: “Song Zhi, what’s inside this book? Yan Zhou didn’t look happy when he handed it over.”
Not only did he look unhappy, but he was so angry that he didn’t eat all day.
From Xiaxia’s statement, it seemed she hadn’t opened the sketchbook.
Song Zhi sighed in relief and lied: “There’s nothing in it. That dog Jiang Yan Zhou has always been quick to anger anyway.”
Xiaxia didn’t dare respond.
Though Jiang Yan Zhou wasn’t known for having a good temper, he rarely got upset without reason.
In all the years Xiaxia had lived with them, she’d only ever seen Song Zhi provoke him.
Once the items were delivered, Xiaxia still needed to return home to clean.
Before leaving, she reminded Song Zhi to take care of herself and rest properly.
Then she left.
________________________________________
The two paintings Xiaxia brought were ones Song Zhi had created when she was fifteen.
During a school trip to the countryside for plein air painting, she painted the famous local Lover’s Lake and rapeseed fields.
When Xia Xia (presumably another character) received the paintings, she stared in shock for half an hour, mouth agape: “Did you really paint these? I never would’ve guessed you had such talent!”
Given Song Zhi’s outward materialistic demeanor, it wasn’t surprising that Xia Xia doubted her abilities.
Song Zhi leaned back lazily in her chair: “I have many skills.”
________________________________________
Online discussions about who the female lead of The Painting grew increasingly heated.
Until the official announcement came quietly from the studio.
[Movie The Painting : Born amidst filth yet radiating light, meet Tang Bai at age 19, played by Ji Song.]
[Movie The Painting : Falling into darkness, yearning for light, meet Sheng Yan at age 25, played by Song Zhi.]
Each tweet included their makeup test photos.
Song Zhi wore a backless long dress in hazy blue, her flawless back and delicate shoulder blades on display.
She stood in front of an easel, glancing behind her. Her usual flirtatious eyes appeared dull, staring directly at the camera.
There was a sense of decadence—a wilting rose exuding its last beautiful moments.
Comments were extremely polarized.
[“Yesterday, someone said they’d break bricks if Song Zhi became the lead. Your turn to perform.”]
[“I understand Ji Song playing Tang Bai—he’s talented and fits the role. But why Song Zhi?? Please, spare my Sheng Yan.”]
[“Am I the only one who thinks Song Zhi is trash?”]
[“Ew, Rich Girl, can you give us viewers a break? Must you stick your nose everywhere? Mark my words—if the director doesn’t replace the female lead, I’ll hate Song Zhi forever, and I’ll boycott this movie too. My dozens of alt accounts aren’t a joke.”]
[“Some of you are disgusting. Even if Song Zhi isn’t the lead, your idol wouldn’t fit either. Look at her broad shoulders and thick waist—she should audition for Water Margin , not play a refined lady.”]
[“Though I don’t think Song Zhi can fully embody Sheng Yan’s charm, this photo… Let me betray my group for a moment. She’s stunning!!! So gorgeous that I can completely overlook her acting skills. Now I understand why those otaku love her so deeply. As a woman, even I’m obsessed with her looks.”]
[“Rich Girl’s beauty is undeniable. Her figure isn’t the sickly thin type common in the entertainment industry. Even though she’s slim, she has curves. I envy her future boyfriend who gets to sleep with such a beautiful girl.”]
“Rich Girl” was Song Zhi’s derogatory nickname.
Ever since she won that award, netizens joked that she was swimming in wealth, claiming even prestigious awards could be bought.
Thus, they affectionately nicknamed her “Rich Girl.”
Song Zhi maintained a good attitude despite being viciously attacked online. At one point, Xia Wan Yue even considered hiring a psychologist for her, fearing she might develop depression.
But Song Zhi didn’t care at all. She continued shopping at luxury stores, living life as usual.
Tang Xiaoyan, an avid internet surfer, saw the post and quickly called to check in.
“Holy crap, you really pulled it off! Luo Dao is notoriously difficult to work with, yet you landed the lead role. Tell me, how did you win him over?”
Song Zhi thought carefully but honestly couldn’t recall what she’d done.
Somehow, she’d been mysteriously chosen.
Seeing her struggle to answer, Tang Xiaoyan didn’t press further: “Well, getting selected is a good thing.”
After a pause, her voice lost confidence: “By the way, I need to tell you something.”
Ah, here comes the real reason for the call.
Out of respect for Tang Xiaoyan’s rare seriousness, Song Zhi straightened up: “Go ahead.”
Tang Xiaoyan hesitated: “Jiang Xunbai came to see me.”
Song Zhi raised an eyebrow: “Are you back together?”
“Not yet. Every time I see him, I think of Lin Shanshan, and it makes me uneasy.”
It made sense. Such things would unsettle anyone.
Especially Tang Xiaoyan, whose fiery personality made her both passionate and vengeful.
At the mention of Lin Shanshan, Tang Xiaoyan’s temper flared: “Why do all those jerk men go for her type?”
Song Zhi wholeheartedly agreed, generalizing: “Men named Jiang are all trash.”
Since there was a dinner gathering with the crew that evening, Song Zhi didn’t chat with Tang Xiaoyan for long.
After hanging up, she changed into a more formal dress.
The dinner was organized by Director Luo to help everyone get acquainted beforehand.
Rumor had it that all the main actors would attend.
For now, only the leads had been officially announced. Song Zhi was curious about the rest of the cast, though she didn’t have many friends in the industry.
During her idol days, their seven-member group had formed fifteen different chat groups.
Song Zhi floated outside these cliques, avoiding drama and gossip.
The dinner location was set at a hotel.
When Song Zhi arrived, almost everyone was already there.
As soon as she entered, her gaze locked onto a familiar figure.
Zhang Fanfan, wearing a red plaid skirt, was chatting animatedly with a girl beside her, laughing loudly.
When Song Zhi walked in, the private room fell silent for a moment.
Few people there knew her personally; most had only heard of her name.
Director Luo stood up to introduce her: “This is Song Zhi, who will play Sheng Yan. Over the next two months, let’s work hard together to bring out the best in this film.”
Director Luo stood up to introduce her: “This is Song Zhi, who will be playing Sheng Yan. Over the next two months, I hope we can all work hard together to bring out the best in this film for the audience.”
A formal and polite opening statement.
After the introduction, Song Zhi gave a brief greeting and then casually found a seat.
There happened to be an empty spot next to Zhang Fanfan.
Since their group disbanded, this was their first meeting.
Zhang Fanfan raised her haughty chin: “It’s been a while. Looks like you’re doing pretty well.”
Back when the group was still active, she had been one of the main instigators of drama, earning herself the nickname “Fighting Buddha” from fans.
She wasn’t a bad person—just spoiled rotten by her family, which made her incredibly arrogant. She never tolerated anything she disliked, and over time, she ended up clashing with almost everyone in the group.
But somehow, she and Song Zhi had managed to avoid any conflict.
Mainly because they rarely spent time together, leaving no room for tension.
At that time, Song Zhi didn’t live in the company dorms. Every day after work, a luxury car would pull up downstairs to pick her up.
Sometimes it was a silver Bugatti Veyron; other times, a black Maybach. The variety of high-end cars led people to mock her as a “bus,” implying she accepted rides from anyone.
But Zhang Fanfan knew better—all those cars belonged to the same person.
________________________________________
Most of the people present were meeting each other for the first time today, so there wasn’t much conversation.
The majority quietly ate their meals.
Running into a former teammate, Zhang Fanfan seemed eager to talk: “Do you still keep in touch with them?”
The water in Song Zhi’s glass was cold, and lately, her stomach hadn’t been feeling well—she often gagged while brushing her teeth.
She didn’t dare drink cold water, so she asked the server to bring her a warm cup instead: “I haven’t been in contact with them for a long time now.”
“I haven’t talked to them in ages either,” Zhang Fanfan added, taking a jab at her former teammates. “Especially Linghua. I blocked all her contact information. Being ugly is one thing, but being shameless is another. Her eyes are so far apart you could fit a mortar between them.”
Apparently, Zhang Fanfan was cast as the fifth lead—a minor role—but still significant enough to play Sheng Yan’s close friend in the movie.
After dinner, Song Zhi finally felt like she’d escaped the awkward and strange atmosphere.
The actors’ attempts to flatter Director Luo were nauseatingly fake.
Zhang Fanfan seemed to share her thoughts. As Song Zhi excused herself to go to the restroom, Zhang Fanfan followed.
Twisting open her lipstick case, she touched up her makeup in front of the mirror, occasionally glancing at Song Zhi’s ring finger, seemingly checking if she was married.
“What about your boyfriend?”
Song Zhi replied: “We broke up.”
Zhang Fanfan dramatically widened her eyes: “You actually broke up? How could you let some other woman steal such a huge benefactor away from you?”
Sometimes, Song Zhi really wanted to crack open her brain to see what kind of bizarre wiring went on inside.
“I was the one who initiated the breakup.”
Zhang Fanfan’s eyes grew even wider: “Wow, impressive. I always thought you were a materialistic gold-digger, but here you are treating money like dirt.”
Song Zhi lowered her gaze and smiled innocently: “Does that mean you’re suddenly charmed by me?”
“Not quite. Even if the King of Heaven came down, I’d still only like men.” Still curious, she pressed further: “That guy was so handsome—how could you bear to dump him? Was he bad in bed or something?”
Xia Wanyue came to call Song Zhi back. Director Luo had a few questions about the artwork and wanted to consult her.
Just as she pushed open the restroom door, she saw Song Zhi gesturing toward her throat: “About here, usually. But I couldn’t handle it, so I wouldn’t let him go too deep.”
Zhang Fanfan listened attentively, occasionally letting out sounds of envy.
The silence was broken when both women turned to look at Xia Wanyue.
Xia Wanyue apologized for her dirty-minded assumptions: “Sorry, I must’ve misunderstood what you were talking about.”
Song Zhi smirked, her smile pure and innocent: “You didn’t misunderstand—we were talking about that.”
Xia Wanyue: “...”
Truly birds of a feather flock together.
Xia Wanyue urged her: “Director Luo wants you to come over. Hurry up and finish whatever you’re doing.”
Song Zhi blinked her big, innocent eyes: “What does he want me for? Trying to seduce me?”
Xia Wanyue was exasperated by her lack of seriousness: “He’s already in his sixties. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have the energy. Just hurry up and don’t keep him waiting.”
Unable to resist Xia Wanyue’s persistent urging, Song Zhi put her cushion compact back into her Dior Lady Dior bag.
Following her out of the restroom, Song Zhi looked around curiously.
This was her first time visiting this hotel.
The minimalist decor exuded an understated elegance, with hints of luxury everywhere.
The wealthy truly knew how to stay low-key.
Zhang Fanfan walked over: “Don’t bother looking. A night’s stay here costs tens of thousands. Our acting fees wouldn’t even cover a fraction of it.”
Song Zhi immediately abandoned any plans of staying here for a few nights.
After cutting up the unlimited supplementary card Jiang Yan Zhou had given her without batting an eye, she realized she needed to curb her extravagant spending habits.
They had used the restroom downstairs and now had to take the elevator back upstairs.
With a soft ding , the elevator doors opened.
Just as Song Zhi was about to step in, she instinctively took a step back upon seeing who was inside.
What the hell kind of horror story was this?
Encountering Jiang Yan Zhou in the elevator twice in one day?
She even suspected he might have installed a tracking app on her phone. Before she could say anything—
The assistant beside Jiang Yan Zhou politely said: “Excuse me, miss, could you please step aside?”
Song Zhi paused for a moment, then obediently nodded and stepped aside.
Jiang Yan Zhou glanced at her indifferently before walking away.
So, he wasn’t here for her.
Song Zhi felt embarrassed and foolish for her earlier assumption.
Zhang Fanfan recognized Jiang Yan Zhou.
Back in the company days, most of the time, a driver would come to pick Song Zhi up. Occasionally, however...
She happened to witness one such occasion.
Song Zhi happily opened the car door and sat inside, her voice sweet and playful: “My Zhouzhou baby, did you miss me today?”
Through the half-open window, Zhang Fanfan caught a glimpse of the man’s face.
Cold, handsome, and even more striking than the male idols in the company.
________________________________________
Once the group disappeared, Zhang Fanfan curiously asked Song Zhi: “Was that your ex-boyfriend?”
Song Zhi nodded: “Yeah.”
Seeing his attitude just now, Zhang Fanfan began to doubt Song Zhi’s earlier claim: “Are you sure you were the one who dumped him?”
And not the other way around?
Song Zhi fell silent, starting to question herself.
Perhaps he was still upset about earlier that day.
Jiang Yan Zhou could be petty and vindictive in certain aspects.
His temperamental nature was undeniable.
But at least this meant he wouldn’t bother her anymore.
When they returned to the private room, Director Luo was carefully examining Song Zhi’s painting, glasses perched on his nose, clearly engrossed.
Song Zhi approached and greeted politely: “Director Luo.”
Hearing her voice, Luo looked up, quickly putting the painting aside and motioning for her to come closer: “Your agent mentioned this painting was done when you were fifteen?”
Song Zhi nodded: “Yes.”
He smiled approvingly: “Not bad. You have talent.”
Even though the praise wasn’t related to her acting skills, receiving compliments from a renowned director still made Song Zhi happy.
“I’ll continue to work hard.”
After confirming that the painting was indeed her work, there wasn’t much else to discuss.
Director Luo said: “Then you should go rest and get yourself in good shape.”
After responding, Song Zhi prepared to leave.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, the door was pushed open from the outside.
A formally dressed man walked in. His usually calm demeanor now carried a rare hint of respect—though faint, it was noticeable.
“Uncle Luo.”
As he spoke, his gaze briefly lingered on Song Zhi before shifting away, as if they were strangers.
Compared to his slightly superior tone earlier, Director Luo now transformed completely into a kind, elderly figure.
“It’s been two years, and you haven’t changed much.”
Jiang Yan Zhou responded indifferently, as per usual: “Neither have you.”
Director Luo chuckled: “I’m old now, not as young as you.”
He asked Jiang Yan Zhou: “How’s your mother’s health?”
“Good.”
“That’s good.” He sighed, as if recalling something. “Your mother has always been proud. Your father’s passing must’ve hit her hard. If you have time, spend more time with her.”
“Mm.”
An extremely concise single-syllable response.
As uncle and nephew reminisced, Song Zhi felt out of place.
Her hand rested on the doorknob, ready to leave, when Director Luo’s voice called out behind her: “Song Zhi, pour our guest a cup of tea.”
??????? What???
She wasn’t a waitress—why should she be serving tea?
When she didn’t move, Director Luo cleared his throat lightly: “Song Zhi?”
Though it was just a casual address, Song Zhi detected a subtle warning in his tone.
Xia Wanyue had warned her many times before: to survive in this industry, she’d have to set aside her pride.
Otherwise, she’d remain stuck in a small circle, unable to see the bigger world beyond.
This opportunity was rare—and for her, a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
She had her pride, but more importantly, she had ambitions for her future.
Taking several deep breaths.
To hell with dignity—what was dignity worth anyway?
She turned back to the table, picked up the teapot, and was about to pour tea for Jiang Yan Zhou.
Without missing a beat, he declined: “No need. I don’t drink tea.”
Director Luo suggested: “If not tea, then alcohol.”
“I drove here—I can’t drink.”
“Then water?”
“I’m not thirsty.”
…
One side desperately trying to please, the other coolly rejecting—it was quite the spectacle.
Song Zhi simply set the teapot down and took a seat in an empty chair nearby.
She wanted to see how far Director Luo would push her.
Refusing wasn’t an issue. Director Luo didn’t press further. Instead, he lit a cigarette and continued speaking to Jiang Yan Zhou: “Uncle Luo owes you thanks this time.”
For the film, he was meticulous about every detail.
The male lead, Tang Bai, was the son of a prostitute, raised in the rundown red-light district.
Finding the right location for the red-light district had been challenging—he’d gone through several options without satisfaction.
A few days ago, during a personal inspection, he finally found the perfect spot.
It was an old neighborhood. Recently, the land had been purchased by someone planning to demolish it and build a racetrack.
After much investigation, he finally discovered who had bought the land.
Fortunately, it was someone with connections.
He and Jiang Yan Zhou’s mother were old acquaintances. By seniority, Jiang Yan Zhou should call him “Uncle.”
Using this relationship, they finalized the location. Jiang Yan Zhou agreed to delay construction until after filming wrapped.
Director Luo felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
The smell of smoke was overwhelming. Song Zhi’s already sensitive stomach reacted strongly to the pungent odor.
She couldn’t hold it in any longer and gagged audibly.
Such behavior was considered impolite, especially to an elder who valued etiquette—and particularly since he was entertaining a distinguished guest.
He glanced at Song Zhi.
Apologetically, Song Zhi stood up and excused herself: “Sorry, I’m feeling unwell. I’ll take my leave. Please continue your conversation.”
She opened the door and left, desperate to escape the cigarette smoke wafting from Director Luo’s fingers.
After Song Zhi left, this little episode came to an end.
Director Luo was preparing to chat more with Jiang Yan Zhou when—
The latter suddenly seemed to recall something, his expression shifting slightly.
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