SY - 22

Song Zhi’s delicate and spoiled nature hadn’t developed overnight, so naturally, it wasn’t easy to change.

Similarly, her body was just as fragile.

Even when she went shopping with her girlfriends in the past, she would always have Song Luo come pick her up.

That reckless, middle-school-aged boy had been obsessed with extreme sports back then.

For instance, street racing.

Song Zhi sat on his heavy motorcycle, feeling the wind whip past her ears, as if her scalp were about to be torn off.

After that, there was no way she’d ever ride with Song Luo again.

Jiang Yan Zhou’s Land Rover, on the other hand, suited her perfectly.

The girls at school whispered among themselves about how Jiang Yan Zhou came from one of the most prestigious families in the northern city. Marrying into his family would be like stepping straight into a real-life romance novel.

Song Zhi had been raised like a princess, complete with a princess-like attitude. In her mind, she was the only one in the entire school worthy of being the female lead.

Moreover, she could sense that Jiang Yan Zhou was interested in her.

Even though his demeanor was cold, at least he stared at her legs longer than ten seconds—something he didn’t do for anyone else.

That alone gave her a natural advantage.

Every day, the driver would come to pick him up from the school gates.

Song Zhi stood in his path wearing her favorite dress, pretending to have twisted her ankle while maintaining a facade of resilience.

Isn’t this what heroines in novels do?

Fragile yet strong-willed.

The male leads are always drawn to this unique quality.

That familiar Land Rover turned the corner and approached. Song Zhi immediately got into character—her eyes reddened, her lips pressed tightly together.

Then, without even slowing down, the car drove right past her, leaving her face full of exhaust fumes.

Song Zhi clearly saw Jiang Yan Zhou glance at her from the backseat, but his gaze was cold, as if she were a stranger.

He completely ignored her.

Song Zhi was a textbook white lotus. She knew exactly what kind of girl boys liked. The only man she’d ever failed to charm was Jiang Yan Zhou.

He was born without an ounce of sympathy, which fit perfectly with his cold-blooded aristocratic background.

That day in the hospital was probably the most he’d ever spoken to her in his life.

Perhaps out of pity, he briefly showed her a rare glimpse of tenderness.

Song Zhi had always arrogantly believed she was the heroine described in books.

No matter how cold or hard-hearted Jiang Yan Zhou was, she thought she could melt him with her cuteness.

But some people carry an icy chill deep within their bones.

Even standing near them for too long could leave you frostbitten.

Rather than fantasizing about melting him, it was better to stay far away.

Jiang Yan Zhou’s cold behavior in the private room earlier easily brought back those memories.

Indeed, her pitiful act from a few days ago had all been fake.

This was his true nature.

Cutting losses early was never too late.

Song Zhi couldn’t help but feel relieved that she had ended things sooner.

________________________________________

Xia Wanyue was sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for Song Zhi, reading something in her hands.

Song Zhi walked over: “What are you reading?”

Xia Wanyue glanced up, saw her, and returned her attention to the material in her hands: “It’s Ji Song’s personal information. Director Luo just gave it to me. I wouldn’t have guessed that someone who looks so refined could also be such a hidden gem.”

A hidden gem?

Song Zhi sat down beside her, curious: “What makes him a hidden gem? Tell me more.”

She didn’t know who had prepared the document, but it was filled with three full pages of A4 paper.

Xia Wanyue flipped through it casually: “He’s only dated four women, and all four cheated on him. Three of them even cheated with the same guy.”

Song Zhi narrowed her eyes. This poor guy was greener than the Hulk.

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for this young man she barely knew. His situation was truly tragic.

“But why did Director Luo give this to you?”

“He has a habit of letting the male and female leads get to know each other’s private lives before filming starts.” Xia Wanyue tilted her chin, pointing to the document in her hands. “Here, this is what they use to learn about each other.”

An uneasy feeling rose in Song Zhi’s chest: “So, does that mean my gossip file is now in Ji Song’s hands?”

Xia Wanyue patted her shoulder reassuringly: “What are you worried about? Besides being slightly more cunning, slightly more delicate, and slightly more of a white lotus than other girls, you don’t have any other flaws.”

Song Zhi tried to keep her smile as friendly as possible: “Do I still have any redeeming qualities in your eyes?”

Xia Wanyue extended her pinky finger, pressing her thumb against the last joint: “Well, maybe just a tiny bit.”

“Well, thank you so much for thinking so highly of me,” Song Zhi replied sarcastically.

She didn’t understand Director Luo’s strange preferences—digging up gossip about both leads just to help them bond.

The only silver lining was that not many people knew about her connection with Jiang Yan Zhou.

Plus, it was clear that Jiang Yan Zhou wasn’t particularly close to this so-called uncle of his. He was only humoring his mother by not refusing outright.

________________________________________

Back at the hotel, Song Zhi did an hour of yoga.

Her stomach had always been sensitive, and she hadn’t had much of an appetite earlier, barely touching her food.

Now she was starting to feel hungry, which made her stomach ache.

So she cooked herself a small bowl of millet porridge.

She only managed to eat half of it before dumping the rest.

Before bed, she stepped onto the scale to make sure her weight hadn’t increased, then finally relaxed enough to sleep.

Most female celebrities interviewed online claimed they ate a lot but stayed thin due to their metabolism.

There weren’t that many people with such metabolisms. In reality, they meticulously counted every grain of rice they ate, only changing their tune when facing the camera.

Although there was still significant backlash online about Song Zhi playing Sheng Yan, it hadn’t affected the normal progress of the film’s production.

To avoid occupying the old district for too long and delaying Jiang Yan Zhou’s new project, Director Luo scheduled the scenes set there to be filmed first.

Two actors who had only met a few times and barely exchanged words were tasked with filming a seduction scene as their first scene.

Before filming, Song Zhi repeatedly reviewed the script to better immerse herself in the story.

Her conclusion: Seductive.

The female lead was incredibly seductive.

Song Zhi had always thought she was already flirtatious enough around Jiang Yan Zhou, but compared to Sheng Yan, she fell short.

The gist of the scene involved a group of people eating dinner, with Sheng Yan using her high heels to brush against Tang Bai’s ankle under the table.

She watched him struggle to suppress his emotions, his ears gradually turning red.

Meanwhile, she maintained an elegant and gentle demeanor.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Song Zhi shook her head while watching. “This is impressive.”

Who would’ve thought that making a movie could teach her so many tricks for seducing men?

The interior set had already been built. After finishing her makeup, Song Zhi emerged.

The scene’s setting was Tang Bai’s female classmate bringing friends over. She personally cooked a feast.

Sheng Yan watched as the classmate openly expressed her affection for Tang Bai, both directly and indirectly. Feeling annoyed, she deliberately used her foot to brush against him under the table.

Though Song Zhi could be flirtatious, she had only ever acted that way toward Jiang Yan Zhou.

Now she was being asked to use her foot to touch a male actor she’d only met a few times.

Even if it was just his ankle, she still felt somewhat awkward.

Director Luo explained the scene: “Song Zhi, wait until Ge Li finishes his lines, then slowly raise your foot. The movement should be subtle—almost touching but not quite. Understand?”

Ge Li was the actor playing Tang Bai’s classmate.

Song Zhi nodded: “Yes, I understand.”

It was nothing more than playing hard to get—a tactic she had practically perfected with Jiang Yan Zhou.

The only thing they had in common was their chemistry in bed.

The first scene began filming.

Song Zhi quickly slipped into character. As the others ate at the table, she leaned her head lazily, watching the group talk about amusing incidents from school.

The stories were about places and people unrelated to her.

Especially seeing the cute puppy she liked being eyed hungrily by the female classmate beside him.

The fire inside her burned even hotter.

She slowly straightened her posture, extending her long legs and brushing them lightly along Ji Song’s ankle.

Her movements were gentle, barely grazing his skin.

On the surface, she remained poised and elegant, occasionally lifting her eyes with an innate allure.

These two contrasting emotions blended seamlessly on Song Zhi’s persona.

After the shoot ended, Director Luo remained silent, leaving everyone unsure whether the take had passed.

Song Zhi wondered if her expression hadn’t been handled properly.

Some crew members muttered complaints: “Judging by Director Luo’s reaction, it looks like we’ll be working overtime again tonight.”

“That’s right. I already knew something was off when I heard Song Zhi was cast as the female lead.”

Director Luo was notoriously strict, especially when it came to details.

Even Qiu Heng, an award-winning actor, reportedly NG’d a scene ten times during his previous collaboration with Luo.

As everyone held their breath nervously, Director Luo stood up from behind the equipment. His usually stern face unexpectedly revealed a hint of admiration: “Not bad.”

Initially, he shared the online sentiment that Song Zhi’s acting skills were hopeless. He had even arranged for several drama instructors to come and personally coach her—when to cry, when to laugh.

Especially for this scene, it required fully embodying the character to balance the grace of a refined lady with Sheng Yan’s inherent seductiveness.

Yet Song Zhi nailed it in one take.

There was absolutely no sense of awkwardness; it was as if she were Sheng Yan herself.

For an artist who had been criticized across the internet for her acting, receiving praise from a director of Luo’s caliber was no small feat.

Several female stars waiting to see her fail frowned in irritation.

Everyone in this production had some level of fame, accustomed to being adored by fans. Now, they had to play supporting roles to Song Zhi, a former idol group member with questionable acting skills and a reputation for buying awards.

No one was happy about it.

But instead of witnessing a failure, they were thoroughly outperformed.

________________________________________

Sheng Yan was inherently a mature femme fatale type, and her costumes mostly consisted of dresses.

Today, she wore a beige chiffon dress with lace trim and narrow straps.

Later, they would reshoot a close-up of Sheng Yan brushing her foot against Tang Bai’s leg.

During the break, Xu hurried over with a coat to drape over Song Zhi.

The night breeze was chilly, and she had been shivering, holding a cup of hot coffee to warm her hands.

Xia Wanyue sighed in admiration: “You were absolutely incredible just now. Did you secretly attend some acting classes? How did your skills improve so drastically?”

Song Zhi flicked her long hair, unapologetically arrogant: “I’m just being myself.”

Xia Wanyue: “….”

Clearly, expecting this person to be serious was hopeless.

“At this pace, we should wrap up in about half an hour. Let’s celebrate with some barbecue nearby afterward?”

Song Zhi smiled: “We’ve barely started filming. What’s there to celebrate? My breakup?”

“To celebrate your improved acting,” Xia Wanyue joked. Then, feeling a bit guilty, she added, “Besides, I heard there’s a really good barbecue place nearby. After we finish shooting, it might get demolished, so who knows if we’ll ever get to try it.”

So it was partly selfish motivation.

Song Zhi, who hadn’t tasted meat in ages, was tempted.

She nodded, agreeing with Xia Wanyue: “Alright, let’s go. My treat.”

Just as they finished planning their late-night snack, the director’s team called out: “Song Zhi, it’s time to shoot!”

Song Zhi handed her coat to Xu beside her, then stood up and walked over.

Today, she was wearing light-colored high heels with thin straps loosely tied around her feet.

The shoes barely clung to her soft, pink-tinted toes, as if they might slip off at any moment.

Slowly, she moved forward, lightly brushing her toes against Tang Bai’s ankle.

Only his ankle.

The chemistry between the two was palpable—one poised yet alluring, the other a flustered young pup.

It seemed easy to spark a certain kind of reaction.

Outside the studio, the lighting was dim, offering no illumination.

A man stood in the shadows, his figure outlined heavily by darkness—subtle yet impossible to ignore.

What was most oppressive was the aura of authority emanating from him.

Though he said nothing, his presence alone was enough to make others feel uneasy.

After Director Luo called “cut,” he allowed them a break.

He warmly greeted the man, radiating elder respect: “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming? I could’ve arranged something.”

Jiang Yan Zhou slightly tilted his chin, his face hidden in the shadows, his emotions unreadable.

Having witnessed the earlier scene, his usual calm tone seemed to crack slightly.

Holding a cigarette pack, his gaze lingered on those once-familiar pale, delicate feet.

A faint smirk escaped his lips: “Your film… quite bold, isn’t it?”