Ahead of them, Yuan Jingyun’s car had already arrived. She entered the house before them. After changing shoes, Yuan Lai called toward the kitchen:
“Wang Ma, dinner earlier tonight—I’m starving.” She slouched onto the sofa in her slippers.
“Yes, Miss,” the housekeeper answered.
Yuan Jingyun scolded lightly, half-smiling: “All you ever think about is food. You’re married now—show a little maturity.”
Then she turned with warmth toward Song Qingxu, seated primly on the other side of the sofa.
“Qingxu, what would you like for dinner? Just let the kitchen know.”
Song Qingxu smiled politely. “Mother, I’m not picky. Whatever the kitchen prepares is fine.”
“Then let’s have three-cup chicken and salted bamboo shoot soup—she loves those.”
Song Qingxu blinked in surprise. When had she noticed what she liked to eat? Had she been paying such close attention during their meals?
Meanwhile, Yuan Lai’s eyes were fixed on the television. On-screen was a drama from long ago, where Song Qingxu had only played a minor role—barely ten minutes of screen time.
Her acting then was still raw, but Yuan Lai was watching as if spellbound.
After entering the industry, Song Qingxu had worked her way up from bit parts, enduring hardship no one else could imagine.
Yuan Jingyun glanced at her daughter, still glued to the screen. “Don’t pretend you’re ordering for her. It’s obvious you just want to eat those dishes yourself.”
But still, she instructed the kitchen to add them.
Yuan Lai, however, remained absorbed in the drama. She remembered clearly—this had been Song Qingxu’s third role. She’d played a fallen princess of a conquered kingdom, who ultimately chose to die when the gates were breached.
It wasn’t an especially standout role, yet Song Qingxu’s beauty alone had made her unforgettable.
In the palace littered with corpses, draped in white, she hanged herself with a white silk ribbon.
To achieve realism, her face had turned red from the tight silk around her neck, veins bulging, every muscle straining.
The director, as usual, had filmed multiple takes to choose the best one.
Song Qingxu had endured the strangulation three times.
Yuan Lai remembered watching and crying, knowing all too well the hardships of her acting career—perhaps even more clearly than Song Qingxu herself.
Ten short minutes of screen time passed in a flash.
Reading about it in a novel was one thing, but seeing it visually was another. Even knowing the ending, Yuan Lai couldn’t stop her eyes from reddening when the princess chose death for her country.
Heaven must have sent her into this book to make amends to Song Qingxu—so she wouldn’t have to live the same bitter, exhausting life as before.
Right after graduating, Song Qingxu had entered the entertainment industry for one reason alone: to earn money for her mother’s treatment. She signed with a predatory company that wrung her dry, and as a rookie without connections, she was bullied time and again.
As these thoughts pieced together in Yuan Lai’s mind, her eyes grew even redder.
Huge teardrops clung stubbornly to her lashes, threatening to fall at any moment.
Song Qingxu never expected Yuan Lai to be such an emotional person—her empathy so strong that even before the tragic princess on-screen shed a single tear, Yuan Lai’s own eyes were already brimming.
Was she… pitying her? A strange ripple brushed across Song Qingxu’s heart.
She hesitated, wondering if she should reach for the tissues on the coffee table and hand one to Yuan Lai.
“In the future, as long as I’m here, you won’t have to suffer.”
The words slipped out of Yuan Lai’s mouth, abrupt and unprovoked. Song Qingxu blinked in confusion, unable to grasp her meaning.
At that moment, Yuan Jingyun walked in carrying a plate of freshly cut cantaloupe from the kitchen.
“Here, try some…” She caught sight of Yuan Lai’s reddened eyes at once. “Oh? What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s nothing. Qingxu’s acting is just too good—I got a little emotional.” Yuan Lai picked up the fork, spearing the juiciest piece at the top. But instead of eating it herself, she held it out to Song Qingxu.
Yuan Jingyun quietly excused herself, leaving the living room to the two young women.
As Yuan Lai nibbled on cantaloupe, her anger only deepened. Every single person who had ever bullied Song Qingxu—she would make them pay.
She pulled out her phone and began furiously typing, instructing Yan Linda not to hold back.
Song Qingxu, seeing her once again absorbed in chatting on her phone, felt that faint, indescribable sensation in her chest slowly dissolve beneath the chatter of television commercials.
Then Yuan Lai remembered what Yan Linda had asked her to bring up and seized the chance.
“Are you interested in Director Wang’s new film?”
“Director Wang’s productions are renowned for their quality. I don’t think there’s an actor in this industry who wouldn’t want to join his team.”
“She’s currently casting. I’ll send you the audition script.”
Song Qingxu’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Of course.” Afraid she still wouldn’t believe her, Yuan Lai immediately forwarded the lines. “I would never lie to you.”
“…Thank you.”
Twice in a single day, Song Qingxu had said those words.
“We’re family. There’s no need to be so polite.”
After dinner, Song Qingxu retreated to her room, spending the night committing the lines to memory.
________________________________________
That same evening,
Netizens gorged themselves on gossip until they nearly choked, regretting that they didn’t have extra pairs of eyes to keep up. There was simply too much to take in at once.
First came the bombshell about Song Qingxu marrying her assistant, which dominated every major trending page. Before people could even digest that, another revelation dropped—Song Qingxu had chosen to terminate her contract with her company, even if it meant paying a sky-high penalty.
【Is Song Qingxu’s assistant also an actor? Her looks are insane.】
【Nope, just an ordinary person. But I really want to know how they fell in love.】
【All those calling the assistant a homewrecker—look again, it’s a legal relationship.】
【Why did Song Qingxu suddenly terminate her contract? Did she find a new company already?】
【Don’t tell me she’s planning to get married and leave the industry… please no, jiejie, I still want to watch you act!】
【An award-winning actress marrying a no-name assistant… no wonder she didn’t go public earlier. It’s embarrassing.】
【Who she marries is none of your business. You’re sticking your nose way too far.】
【Actresses keeping a boytoy isn’t rare in this industry, but marrying one? Unheard of.】
【Please, that’s just jealousy talking. You wish you could marry Song Qingxu too. The sourness is dripping off my screen.】
No sooner had Song Qingxu announced her termination than her former company, Weizhi Entertainment, declared bankruptcy.
Years of tax evasion had finally caught up to them. Soon after, artists under their management came forward to expose exploitative contracts, while behind-the-scenes staff accused them of unpaid wages.
When police arrived in response to an anonymous tip, the entire office looked possessed.
One man was pouring ice water onto a money tree, muttering about breaking a cursed feng shui formation. Another sat chanting like a monk, repeating nothing but “we’re finished” over and over.
A third appeared perfectly normal—dressed neatly, typing away at a computer. But on closer look, he was updating his résumé using the company’s own machine.
A kindly officer leaned over. “No need to polish it any further. You’re about to land a very stable job.”
The man blinked. “What job?”
“Sewing machine operator.”
With the raid, Weizhi’s exploitative contracts soon went public.
【What kind of slave contract is this?! The company takes ninety percent of the earnings!】
【And this was for a Best Actress? No wonder she had to work herself to the bone just to scrape by.】
【LMAO, people earning 3k a month feeling sorry for an A-list actress.】
【Use your brain—when she first debuted, she wasn’t even making 3k a month.】
【Did Song Qingxu know this storm was coming? Is that why she terminated her contract no matter the cost?】
【I bet she couldn’t even afford the penalty.】
【No need to bet. With a contract like this, she definitely couldn’t pay it off.】
【Sis, did you borrow money to cover it?】
【That much wouldn’t be a loan—it’d be a mortgage.】
【Finally, this predatory company collapsed. Otherwise they’d keep scamming rookies.】
【She’s free now. Bitterness over—sweetness ahead.】
【!!! Family, check the new hot search!】
【Song Qingxu’s former agent Ge He arrested for embezzlement!】
When police arrived at Ge He’s home, she was half-drunk, still on the phone with her hired trolls. She never contacted them directly, always using middlemen, but her intent was clear—smearing whoever she targeted.