The dining table was littered with empty bottles. Ge He’s alcoholism often left her too wasted to manage Song Qingxu’s schedule properly, costing her countless job opportunities.
But she never cared. Next time, she’d do it again.
Slurring into the phone, she raged, “I’ll make that bitch Qingxu come crawling back to beg me!”
“Without me, she’s nothing!”
“I’ll wait for the day she regrets it!”
The officers weren’t sure whether that day would ever come—but they were certain Ge He would regret plenty once she sobered up.
The evidence against her was overwhelming.
Ge He had long been notorious as an “accidental success” agent—she’d signed Song Qingxu by sheer dumb luck, done no work, and still reaped dividends. With paparazzi trailing the actress, Ge He’s every move was under scrutiny.
No one expected her to leap from the entertainment pages straight into the crime section.
Photos of her being hauled into a police car shot up the trending list, competing with Weizhi’s bankruptcy for the top two spots.
【Wow, straight into “Legal News” territory.】
【The place Song Qingxu came from was really a den of wolves.】
【The whole company lived off her earnings, and instead of cherishing her, they exploited her—what were those execs thinking?】
【They thought she was powerless, with no background.】
【But old childhood photos show her in designer clothes, living in a villa. She clearly grew up wealthy.】
【Heard her family used to be rich, lived in the city’s top neighborhood. But her dad went bankrupt.】
【Father died young, mother later too.】
【She joined the industry just to pay for her mom’s treatment, but with that awful contract, she barely made 3k a month. Should’ve just gone to a factory instead.】
【Luckily, someone helped cover her mother’s medical expenses, or survival would’ve been impossible.】
【No wonder she carries that air—cold, yet resilient.】
【Exactly. No one else in the industry has that kind of aura.】
【Marrying an ordinary person isn’t so bad. A peaceful life can be beautiful.】
【That throwaway alt account from earlier must’ve been her spouse, secretly posting their marriage certificate.】
【Okay, I admit it, she fooled me.】
【If Song Qingxu was my wife, I’d show off too.】
【She terminated her contract, got married… is the next step quitting the industry to settle down?】
【Please no, jiejie, act forever!】
【Don’t let marriage bury your talent.】
【She’s one of the rare actresses with real aura—please don’t retire.】
【If you quit after marrying into a rich family, fine. But if you quit after marrying a regular guy, how will you survive?】
【Even then, it’d still be a pity.】
【But some people do value family over career. I get it.】
Scrolling like lightning, Yuan Lai saw the flood of fans worrying that Song Qingxu might retire. Immediately, she logged into her own account and posted:
“Song Qingxu is my wife. She won’t quit—she’ll keep acting.”
【The assistant speaks!】
【With this reassurance, I can finally relax.】
【The grudge of stealing my wife is unforgivable.】
【Assistant, you’d better treat our jiejie well.】
But in her heart, Yuan Lai whispered a silent rebuttal—
She’s not your jiejie. She’s mine.
Yan Linda, who always kept a close eye on public opinion trends, also saw the comments online. She immediately contacted Xiao Li, instructing the PR department to release an official announcement.
Honeysuckle Era Studio:
Welcome actress @Song Qingxu to Honeysuckle Era
With passion, we paint a brilliant future.
From now on, hand in hand, we will walk together toward a dazzling starry path.
👏👏🌸🌸❤️❤️
The comment section held only a few scattered replies, which at first glance looked suspiciously like they came from hired bots:
【Welcome, welcome】
【Throwing flowers!】
【Goddess, goddess】
【Looking forward to Qingxu’s flowery path】
Some gossiping netizens stumbled upon this announcement, clicked in, and found it looked more like an impromptu, ramshackle operation.
【Honeysuckle Era? Never heard of it. Is this a brand-new agency?】
【Song Qingxu! Is that the Best Actress Song Qingxu?】
【Nice! At least this means Song Qingxu isn’t quitting the industry.】
【Feels like one of those scam companies just trying to make a quick buck.】
【Song Qingxu, if you’ve been tricked, blink twice. I just checked—this company was only founded a few days ago.】
【She’s the only artist under this company. This looks familiar… don’t tell me she’ll have to support the entire company by herself again.】
【Qingxu, how did you just escape the wolf’s den only to fall into a tiger’s lair? Next time, remember to open your eyes before signing.】
【Now I really believe she has zero background. Otherwise, how could things be this pitiful?】
【But the company has a verified blue check, so maybe it isn’t a scam.】
【Maybe it’s just a small studio. Given Qingxu’s status, maybe she chose it to gain more creative control.】
【Respect her choice. Wishing Qingxu-jie a brilliant future!】
When Yuan Lai returned to her room after dinner, Song Qingxu was still memorizing her lines. Even though the table had dishes she liked, Qingxu only ate a little of each, her full attention locked on the script.
She finished quickly and went upstairs again, burying herself in study.
Yuan Lai tried to persuade her: “The audition’s still days away. No need to push so hard.”
Song Qingxu answered seriously, “Memorizing lines is only the first step. Next comes honing the performance, experimenting with different approaches, and then choosing the most fitting one.”
“So… it’s that complicated?”
When someone is absorbed in something they love, it’s as if their whole being glows.
The deeper Song Qingxu immersed herself in her own little world, the more she radiated a breathtaking beauty that made Yuan Lai’s gaze unwilling to stray for even a moment.
From a distance, Yuan Lai watched her murmuring the lines. The world seemed to quiet down, and even her own soft breaths felt like an accompaniment to Qingxu’s fluent recitation.
Yuan Lai slowed her breathing, listening quietly to the low rhythm of her words. Lowering her eyes, her long lashes cast delicate shadows beneath the light.
She noticed that each time Qingxu finished a section, she would blink once—her fluttering lashes like butterflies poised to take flight, carrying dreams upward.
Just sitting quietly at the side, doing nothing, Yuan Lai didn’t feel bored at all.
On the contrary, she wished time would move slower, so they could stay together a little longer.
One recited her lines, the other kept her company.
Then came a knock on the door.
Focused as she was, Qingxu didn’t hear it. Yuan Lai tiptoed to the door and gently turned the knob.
It was Aunt Wang, carrying two backpacks upstairs.
They were the standard-issue bags from Wilderness Diary. The flatter one was hers; the slightly bulkier one belonged to Song Qingxu. Yuan Lai took them from Aunt Wang with a word of thanks.
Since the livestream had been cut short, the survival packs were returned to the guests. The fish Qingxu had caught had to be released back into the stream.
As for the bagful of mushrooms she had gathered, there was no way to replant them, so they were brought home instead—now resting in the fridge, awaiting their turn as ingredients.
When the door closed again, Yuan Lai saw Qingxu still busy and decided to quietly unpack both bags herself so as not to disturb her.
Her own bag contained little: a fire-starting kit, basic seasonings, and a multi-tool knife. She placed them in the storage room, then unzipped Qingxu’s backpack.
Her supplies were far more complete: a fishing net, a three-in-one rain poncho, a compass, a survival knife, a moisture-proof mat, rope, a high-powered flashlight, binoculars, and an emergency medical kit with basic medicine.
Yuan Lai had emptied out most of the bag when a flash of white appeared at the bottom.
She frowned in confusion.
What kind of survival tool would be white?
It puzzled her. She’d never seen white-colored outdoor gear before. Normally, survival items avoided white—blending more with earth tones, like their camouflage backpacks.
Her curiosity deepened as she dug further down.
When everything else was pulled out, Yuan Lai froze in disbelief.
At the very bottom lay a white shirt—one that looked very familiar.
Unfolding it, a flicker of astonishment crossed her eyes.
It was her shirt.
The very one she’d worn last time they were out together, the one she’d once used to hold the seashells she collected.
How could it be in Song Qingxu’s bag?
Still reeling in shock, Yuan Lai didn’t notice that Qingxu had already finished her lines and was now walking over.
“What are you holding in your hands?”