Since the crew began filming, The Things Between My Stepmother and Me had already finished the prologue of the Jizhou story. It took a significant amount of time for Jiang Shenwei and Jian Yu to find their rhythm and enter their respective states.
For Jiang Shenwei, playing Shen Manci came naturally; she could slip into character and detach herself just as quickly. However, Jian Yu was different. Her resources had been lackluster over the past two years, and she had mostly taken second or third-lead roles. Even if those characters were popular with the audience, there was an unavoidable issue: she hadn’t played a primary lead in a very long time.
The difference between a supporting role and a lead is that while a supporting character has highlights, they cannot be so prominent that they overshadow the lead’s aura. Jian Yu had always known her place. Once she understood a character, she could portray a supporting role perfectly within the defined boundaries without stealing the scene.
Consequently, after stepping into the role of Su Zhixi, she struggled to find the right balance. Many times, she would habitually “hold back,” and this restraint dissatisfied Director Zheng Mingwei.
Zheng Mingwei called “cut” more than once, repeatedly telling Jian Yu that this was a dual-female lead drama. Su Zhixi’s brilliance could not be weaker than Shen Manci’s when the lens was focused on her. He wanted Jian Yu to portray Su Zhixi’s absolute sense of self, rather than appearing inhibited and tied down.
When he called “cut” for the fifth time, he walked heavily toward Jian Yu and said, “Jian Yu, tell me honestly.”
“Are you afraid of Shen Manci?”
The moment those words left his mouth, everyone on set mentally typed a question mark.
Jian Yu cleared her throat. “Not at all. Teacher Jiang is a senior I deeply admire…”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear official PR talk. I want your most honest answer.”
Jian Yu took a deep breath and replied calmly, “No, I am not afraid of Teacher Jiang.”
“Look, I don’t care what you and Jiang Shenwei are like in private, but in my scenes, you must be who I tell you to be. In that last take, I needed Su Zhixi to show her attachment to Shen Manci—her thirst for maternal love. But you? As soon as Shen Manci’s eyes land on you, you start to dodge. What are you hiding from?”
“I…” Jian Yu paused. “I will adjust my state, Director Zheng.”
“The crew doesn’t have time to waste. Every second is money. I’ll give you a break. Go grind with Jiang Shenwei, discuss how to coordinate. Settle whatever private matters you have and don’t bring them onto my set.”
Jian Yu pursed her lips. “Understood. I’ll handle it, Director.”
As soon as he finished, her little assistant Li Kui scurried over to hand her a thermos. “Are you okay, Teacher Jian?”
“I’m fine. It’s a minor issue.”
“How do you plan to handle it?”
Jian Yu picked up her script, looking at the dense notes. “By regrinding the script, and…” She looked toward Jiang Shenwei’s dressing room and finished, “…and by having a discussion with Teacher Jiang.”
…
Inside the dressing room, Jiang Shenwei was leaning back comfortably, legs crossed, lazily flipping through her script. She held a cup of floral tea in one hand and the script in the other, looking relaxed as she reviewed the upcoming scenes.
There were two knocks on the door. Without looking up, Jiang Shenwei said to her new assistant, Shi Wu, “Let her in.”
Shi Wu opened the door and said politely but stiffly, “Hello, Teacher Jian.”
Jian Yu’s gaze lingered on Shi Wu for a moment, noting that Jiang Shenwei had replaced her assistant yet again. Jiang Shenwei cleared her throat slightly; Shi Wu immediately caught the cue, bowed slightly, and left the room, closing the door behind her.
“You changed assistants again?”
“Mhm.” Jiang Shenwei’s eyes remained on the script as she flipped a page. “Assistants are things that should be changed frequently. You can’t let an outsider know too much. Once they cross the line, it’s time for the next one.”
“Are you referring to…?”
Jiang Shenwei smiled gracefully and closed her script. “I’m not implying anything specific, but you know me. I like a sense of freshness. Once the novelty of a thing fades, the stale boredom of it rushes back. That applies to things, and of course, to people.”
As she spoke, she took a new cup and poured some floral tea for Jian Yu.
“You should know why I’m here.”
“Mhm. Let me guess… Do you want to get intimate on set? Is it more ‘stimulating’ that way?” Jiang Shenwei joked in her usual manner.
“At least it’s more stimulating than at home.”
Jian Yu gave her an indignant look. Jiang Shenwei immediately raised both hands in a gesture of surrender.
“You can’t get into character, right?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s not that you can’t get into Su Zhixi’s headspace—it’s that you’re finding it hard to inhabit the role as a lead, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Jiang Shenwei looked up at her. “Let’s go get a drink.”
“Yes—wait, what did you just say?”
Jiang Shenwei stood up, the mink coat on her shoulders sliding slowly down her waistline. She leaned forward and playfully extended a hand. “I said, let’s go for a drink, beauty girl.”
“…”
Jian Yu had always known Jiang Shenwei was “eccentric,” but she hadn’t realized it was this severe.
“I heard from friends who filmed in Jizhou before that there are some decent local bistros. The kind that are open during the day.”
“Zheng Mingwei told you to coordinate with me. Instead of sitting here with long faces, we might as well go relax.”
Jiang Shenwei’s finger touched the bridge of Jian Yu’s nose. She whispered, “You’re too tense, Master.”
Jian Yu grabbed the nimble hand. “Jiang Shenwei, do you really think I’m the type of person to go drinking during work hours?”
Jiang Shenwei, having read Jian Yu’s character perfectly, stood up and said nonchalantly, “Well, are you coming? I won’t force you.”
Ha, only a ghost would go.
Well, she might as well be a ghost today. Jian Yu felt crazy for agreeing to the suggestion, but fortunately, the bistro wasn’t far—just a five-minute drive.
The place was nearly empty. Jiang Shenwei acted as if she had been there many times. Before even sitting down, she told the owner, “Two Margaritas.”
Once seated, Jiang Shenwei naturally rested her hand on the back of Jian Yu’s. “I remember we rarely have chances like this to drink outside.”
“Maybe once or twice. But I don’t think it was with you.”
“Oh?”
“Back in my student days, I had times when I stayed in bars until dawn.”
The Margaritas arrived. Both took a sip. Every time Jian Yu drank a Margarita, she liked to lick the salt from the rim—a habit she wasn’t even aware she had.
“Then entering this role shouldn’t be too hard for you. After all, you’ve had that phase.” Jiang Shenwei looked down at her glass; under the refraction of the lights, the color looked even more enticing. She couldn’t help but wonder what the Jian Yu she didn’t know was like. She found herself genuinely interested.
“It’s alright. I wasn’t as rebellious as Su Zhixi. At most…”
Jiang Shenwei’s expressive eyes landed on Jian Yu. Jian Yu knew she was curious and wanted to hear more.
“Why stop talking?”
“Suddenly realized it’s inconvenient to say.”
Jiang Shenwei began to toy with Jian Yu’s hand, pulling at her pinky, then her ring finger, repeatedly touching the spot where a ring should have been. “What’s inconvenient about it?”
This place is too empty, Jiang Shenwei thought.
Jian Yu took another sip of her drink; it seemed to make it easier to speak. “Just… when I was young and reckless, I did some strange things.”
“For example?” Jiang Shenwei unceremoniously locked fingers with her.
Jian Yu turned her head to find Jiang Shenwei’s eyes full of playfulness. She was doing it again—investigating her. Jian Yu felt like a turtle in a jar, like prey in her territory; Jiang Shenwei was always observing her, trying to master every corner of her life.
Jian Yu curled her lips. She leaned closer to Jiang Shenwei, her alcohol-scented breath falling against the other woman’s neck, making her tremble slightly. She hovered, as if about to plant a kiss on that familiar spot, but she didn’t. Her breath was inches away, but no kiss landed.
Finally, at the curve of Jiang Shenwei’s beautiful collarbone, Jian Yu let out a soft laugh. The hot air tickled Jiang Shenwei’s skin.
“Mhm. I probably did things like this. Boring and childish.” Jian Yu’s words left a lot of blanks. Her lingering movements made it impossible to guess what she had actually done through those nights in bars.
However, Jiang Shenwei didn’t press. That was her nature—if someone didn’t volunteer information, she wouldn’t chase it. To her, nothing was worth chasing if the other person didn’t think it was worth knowing.
Jiang Shenwei changed the subject. “Speaking of being young and reckless, I remember we worked together in the early days. It was on the set of Green Plum, Green Plum, wasn’t it? You were playing the second female lead and got NG’d over twenty times.”
She swirled her glass and laughed softly. “You were hiding on the rooftop crying, and I caught you.”
Jian Yu remained silent about the past. She just picked up her glass and took a sip from the salted rim. Jiang Shenwei caught the movement and joked, “Now you’ve learned to use alcohol to solve your problems?”
“I didn’t cry back then,” Jian Yu insisted, adding a cover-up: “It was raining that day. You saw something wrong.”
Jiang Shenwei burst out laughing, her voice slightly husky. “If you didn’t cry, how do you remember so clearly whether it was raining or not?”
“Because that day, the director told me: ‘You don’t have the talent for this career.’ That’s why the impression is so deep.” Jian Yu’s tone was cold and distant as she brought up the old wound.
Hearing Jian Yu expose her own scar, Jiang Shenwei felt a twinge of regret for bringing it up. She looked at her with a trace of doting affection. “Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to bring up those memories.”
“Is there anything I can do to comfort you?”
“Yes.” Jian Yu gave her an easy out. “I want to know exactly what feeling Zheng Mingwei is looking for. What is missing from my Su Zhixi?”
Jiang Shenwei looked at her and said nothing. She lifted Jian Yu’s chin and kissed her unceremoniously. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; there was no soft prelude, just an immediate plunge.
As Jiang Shenwei kissed her, her hands roamed over Jian Yu’s body. Just as things were igniting, Jiang Shenwei suddenly stopped. Jian Yu was bewildered, her eyes wet and confused.
“Aren’t you giving it to me?”
“Do you want me now?”
“…Yes.”
“Good. Remember this feeling. This feeling is Su Zhixi’s state. We can go back to filming now.”
Jiang Shenwei paid the bill. From the bistro back to the set, the whole trip took exactly twenty minutes. Jiang Shenwei was someone who came and went like a whirlwind. She left Jian Yu with weak knees and then stopped abruptly, causing a wave of inexplicable anger to rise in Jian Yu’s heart.
With that state of mind, she returned to the set to continue her scenes with Jiang Shenwei.
Strangely, because of that mysterious anger, she perfectly embodied the rebellion of the teenage Su Zhixi. And because her desire had been stoked by Jiang Shenwei, her “longing” for Shen Manci’s touch was palpable. That damp, sticky sensation, the craving for another’s body, and the “longing for maternal love”—all of it clicked into place instantly.
After one last lighting adjustment, the day’s work finally ended. Zheng Mingwei approached Jian Yu with an admiring look and handed her a glass of water. “The feeling Teacher Jian captured at the end was excellent. You figured it out after just a fifteen-minute break? How did you suddenly have that epiphany?”
Jian Yu took the water. Her gaze bypassed the director and landed on Jiang Shenwei in the distance. The title of “Best Actress” was truly well-deserved.
Jiang Shenwei wasn’t just good at acting; she was good at guiding her partners into their roles. She didn’t just understand every character in the script; she understood every person walking beside her in reality. To Jiang Shenwei, wasn’t life itself a drama?
If she wanted to, she could do anything to perfection. She hadn’t just mastered the character of Shen Manci; she had mastered Jian Yu. With a slight manipulation of Jian Yu’s emotions, she had made Zheng Mingwei satisfied.
Looking on the bright side, it was a deep understanding of a lover. Looking on the dark side, it felt as though Jiang Shenwei had always been scrutinizing her with those eyes.
“Mhm. Because I have a good teacher and a good partner. Teacher Jiang is an excellent guide,” Jian Yu replied.
It wasn’t a PR statement; she truly meant it.
Standing in the cluttered set with messy wires on the floor and stools scattered everywhere, Jian Yu’s gaze didn’t waver. She looked through the crowd and the clutter to see Jiang Shenwei.
Suddenly, she remembered the set of Green Plum, Green Plum. She had looked through the crowd to find her then, too.
Jian Yu had lied. Years ago, her tears on the rooftop weren’t because of the director’s sharp words or the frustration of twenty NGs. It was because she had stood there watching Jiang Shenwei, the lead, nail her scenes in one take. For Jiang Shenwei, acting was as natural as breathing. She didn’t need to perform; as long as she stood under the spotlight, she effortlessly became the character.
Every smile, every word—it was as if she froze everyone into the story. To Jian Yu, it felt as though the real heroine of a campus story had stepped into the world.
What made Jian Yu cry wasn’t the director’s sharp tongue, but Jiang Shenwei’s superior acting. It was so moving, so direct, so shocking—far more powerful than seeing it through a screen. That raw, physical presence was the real reason she had wept.
Of course, she would rather die than tell Jiang Shenwei something so embarrassing.