Two weeks later was the celebration event for the commercial dubbing industry in the capital. Over the past two years, the commercial dubbing field had not yet flourished, and people’s awareness of its importance remained insufficient. Few even acknowledged it as a legitimate profession.
The event organizer itself was a prominent dubbing studio under a major entertainment company. To build momentum and promote the event, they publicly announced the lineup.
It included some recently popular celebrity voice actors as well as partners from film and television companies. Normally, Ran Jiu and her colleagues would only hear about such grand occasions from afar. It wasn’t until Yu Lai returned with a red-sealed invitation that they realized they had been invited too.
An atmosphere of excitement flowed through the entire dubbing studio. Xiao Zhi, rarely in high spirits, opened the invitation and read it several times, even taking photos to share on social media.
Yu Lai casually tossed his cap onto the sofa and sighed, “We owe this invitation to the web series Xiao Jiu dubbed earlier.”
Their studio had struggled to gain traction for a long time initially. In the early days, Ran Jiu had a relatively high success rate in auditions and took on many projects. Back then, a low-budget web series production approached them. Although the role offered wasn’t particularly significant—not even a supporting female character, just a palace mistress from the antagonist faction in this martial arts drama—none of them expected the series to later become a hit.
Many details from the show were repeatedly analyzed by netizens, especially the fact that the palace mistress’s character was 90% faithful to the original novel. The actress delivered a compelling performance, and the voice had an exceptionally high recognition rate, carrying a sense of aloof yet transparent coolness.
During that period, short clips of this scene were edited by bloggers and repeatedly played across various promotional platforms. Some people dug up the behind-the-scenes voice actor, “Jiu Tu,” and their studio, bringing them a small wave of new fans.
That marked a minor peak in Ran Jiu’s personal career. She gained quite a few followers on Weibo and now had no trouble landing voice roles in low-budget productions.
However, the invitation was just a small celebration. That same evening, they received explosive news: due to the emphasis on public opinion in this promotional event, a pre-voting process for performers had been conducted, and their studio was unexpectedly among the selected. They were required to prepare a 10 to 15-minute performance.
Thus, they hastily began rehearsals.
Ran Jiu had never been particularly interested in rehearsals for highly commercialized performances, so Xiao Zhi selected the script—a recently trending ancient-style suspense drama.
In this script, the female lead suspects her husband of infidelity. After despair, she calms down and, through meticulous and clever questioning, gradually exposes her husband’s flaws.
However, the script had clear layers of progression. In the first half, the female lead feigns fragility while the husband remains dominant.
But during the recording of this segment, Yu Lai, who was partnering with Ran Jiu, kept running into issues.
After the third NG, Yu Lai couldn’t help but curse himself, “What a useless man I am.”
Xiao Zhi also frowned. “Your presence isn’t strong enough to overpower Ran Jiu.”
Wei Feng, who had been listening for a while, ruffled his hair and remarked, “This doesn’t sound like a cheating husband confessing to his wife. It feels more like you’re being interrogated.”
Ran Jiu looked innocent as she said, “I’m not very good at recording submissive styles.”
Wei Feng burst into laughter, shaking like a sieve. “Hear that? I didn’t say it—Jiu said she won’t record overly submissive roles. Yu Lai, shouldn’t you reflect on yourself?”
Yu Lai instantly flared up, throwing the script into Wei Feng’s arms. “You have a girlfriend, so recording this shouldn’t be a problem.”
Three minutes later, Wei Feng also tossed the script aside because he felt he was being too submissive.
Xiao Zhi remarked, “In this drama you’re recording, the male lead seems like he’s being forced.”
Xiao Zhi also noticed that Ran Jiu’s aura was too strong to match overly delicate or weak female voices. Recalling the roles Ran Jiu had taken on before, even if they were minor characters, they were all authoritative and high-status. That’s why some online fans jokingly referred to Ran Jiu’s voice as the “aloof queen tone.”
Later, after struggling until late into the night, Xiao Zhi felt it wasn’t right to exploit them too much and suggested going out to relax.
This perfectly aligned with Wei Feng’s thoughts. “We should get some exercise to unlock our potential.”
Xiao Zhi rolled her eyes.
Yu Lai suggested, “How about the U University sports field? I can ask a friend to lend me their student card and help us book a tennis court.”
The group quickly agreed, and Xiao Zhi asked Ran Jiu if she wanted to join.
Ran Jiu, having recorded all afternoon, looked somewhat weary but didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”
When they arrived at the sports field, Wei Feng’s friend brought the student card but said there were no tennis courts available.
Wei Feng and Yu Lai were disappointed, but Xiao Zhi noticed and said, “Forget it. Xiao Jiu and I will take a walk around the field. You two can go play soccer.”
As the two of them strolled around the sports field, they attracted quite a few glances. Xiao Zhi smiled knowingly, understanding who most of the attention was directed at. She sighed softly and asked gently, “Have you been in touch with your mom recently?”
Ran Jiu shook her head, her black boots making no sound on the track. “Haven’t contacted her in a long time.”
Xiao Zhi seemed to understand. “Yeah, if I were your mom, I wouldn’t be able to handle it either. Even if you were repeating a year, dropping out of school was too much.”
Ran Jiu replied calmly, “It’s nothing. It was my own choice. Besides, even if I had graduated, there’s no guarantee I’d have the glamorous future others imagined.”
Her words carried a sense of naivety, but upon closer reflection, one could detect a long-considered determination.
Xiao Zhi said, “You never know your limits until you step back. When I graduated from my bachelor’s degree, I wanted to form a band, but my dad stopped me. Now I’m grateful he did, otherwise I wouldn’t have learned so much about business management, let alone started my own studio.”
Ran Jiu’s decision to drop out not only shocked her department but the entire university, to the point where even someone as detached as Xiao Zhi heard about it.
After all, J University was one of the top four prestigious schools in the capital, and its law program was particularly renowned. Over the years, aside from students dropping out due to mental health issues, no one had ever left simply because they disliked their major.
To most people, it seemed reckless; only a few found it regrettable.
On the day she decided to drop out, Ran Jiu didn’t consult anyone because she knew that once her mind was made up, discussing it with others wouldn’t change anything.
Those who didn’t care about her never would, and those who cared couldn’t understand her.
When her mother received a call from her homeroom teacher and rushed to her dorm, Ran Jiu, who was packing her things, didn’t react in time and took a hard slap across the face.
“Why didn’t you discuss this with me? Are you trying to kill me?”
The woman’s gaze was bleak and desperate, accusing her of unforgivable wrongdoing. That slap almost severed the mother-daughter relationship, leaving Ran Jiu with a long period of peace and quiet—whether that was good or bad, she couldn’t say.
Thinking of this, her eyes grew distant once more.
Xiao Zhi beside her asked curiously, “Why are you so determined to drop out?”
Ran Jiu replied calmly, “Because I can’t see my future ahead.”
Everyone has to take responsibility for their own choices. Her decision to drop out back then was the result of multiple factors, and she understood this principle well, daring to bear the consequences of her gamble.
After they had walked about ten laps, Yu Lai, who had been playing soccer over there, came back exhausted and sighed, “The young guys nowadays play so aggressively, not giving anyone any leeway.”
Wei Feng chimed in, “Yeah, just like you—can’t attack either.”
Yu Lai was about to argue with him, “Are you bringing that up again?”
Xiao Zhi vividly described the situation, “Two little school kids pecking at each other.”
Later, when it was time to part ways, Ran Jiu paused for a moment, standing there without following the others.
Xiao Zhi looked at her doubtfully, and Ran Jiu said she wanted to stay a little longer.
Xiao Zhi gave her a sympathetic and pitying look, “Then make sure to head back early. It’s not safe for girls to be out alone.”
Ran Jiu nodded but didn’t move, “This is a university district, so it’s fine.”
Midway, Wei Feng ran over, “Jiu, can you do me a favor?”
Ran Jiu replied succinctly, “Speak.”
“Well… it’s nothing much. My girlfriend also plays demos and loves your voice. Her birthday is in a couple of days—could you record a short birthday greeting video for her?”
Wei Feng’s girlfriend was quite spirited—definitely straight, but she particularly enjoyed liking beautiful girls on short video platforms. Recently, she had become obsessed with Ran Jiu’s voice, driving Wei Feng crazy. Still, he had to indulge her for her birthday.
Ran Jiu offered a rational suggestion, “Your girlfriend’s interests seem a bit off.”
Wei Feng felt inexplicably like his head was tinged with pink—maybe even a pinkish-green hue—and asked confusedly, “So, is it okay?”
Ran Jiu replied coolly, “I’ve been busy lately. I’ll record it when I have time.”
“Okay, thanks.” Wei Feng confirmed a few more times before leaving.
After he left, Ran Jiu finally breathed a sigh of relief and slowly strolled around the track. It was almost nine o’clock, and there were very few people around. She took out her phone and sent a voice call request to Rong Ting, who quickly declined.
Rong Ting replied on WeChat: 【What’s up?】
Ran Jiu: 【Are you home?】
Rong Ting: 【Sorry, I’m at the school library.】
Soon, another message followed: 【Did you forget your keys?】
A faint smile appeared on Ran Jiu’s lips: 【No, I happened to be wandering around your school’s track. I can head back with you.】
The reply from the other side seemed cheerful: 【Sure! Wait for me about ten minutes, and I’ll come find you.】
Ran Jiu replied: 【No rush.】
Rong Ting was indeed very busy that day. Not only did she have to prepare the PPT for her assigned section, but she also had to work on assignments for other courses. Most importantly, she had never done textbook binding before, so she had gathered a lot of related materials from the library.
When she went downstairs, she saw a tall girl standing under the lamplight. Ran Jiu was wearing a black zip-up T-shirt that day, paired with slim-fitting black pencil pants and combat boots. Her deep green hair was tucked under a cap.
People passing by glanced at her, and some even whispered “cool girl” as they walked past Rong Ting.
Rong Ting approached with her handbag, “What brings you here?”
Seeing her, Ran Jiu started walking back slowly with her, “Accompanying a friend.”
Rong Ting suddenly remembered the incident last time when she was hit by a soccer ball, “Was it also to accompany a friend last time?”
“Just a friend.” Ran Jiu smiled, suddenly feeling the need to clarify the earlier misunderstanding. “Not a boyfriend.”
Even after returning home, Rong Ting couldn’t shake off the lingering unease over her own strange remark as she opened her laptop.
She had never been one to gossip before, so why had she inexplicably assumed Ran Jiu had a boyfriend just because she saw her holding a guy’s clothes last time?
Besides, why hadn’t Ran Jiu explained anything when she dropped her off?
Oh, wait—why would Ran Jiu need to explain? They didn’t even know each other back then.
Rong Ting rubbed her temples, unsure why she was so fixated on this.
In the WeChat group, Wan Sang tagged her to ask about the progress. Rong Ting honestly replied that she was still researching.
Wan Sang sounded a bit displeased: “We have to present next Monday, so it needs to be done by Sunday.”
Surprisingly, Chen Saiyu unexpectedly spoke up for Rong Ting this time: “The textbook still needs layout design, so of course more research is needed. There’s no harm in preparing thoroughly. Also, the cost for layout materials should be split equally among us, right?”
This time, Wan Sang fell silent.
Rong Ting sighed and replied in the group: “I’ll finish it as soon as possible. Don’t worry about the costs—I’ll cover them myself.”
That evening, she followed the materials and worked on Word, even downloading Photoshop and a series of graphic design tools along the way. The textbook had strict requirements for image dimensions and background color contrasts, making the task tedious and overwhelming. She couldn’t help but sigh repeatedly.
Meanwhile, Ran Jiu set down her headphones after a voice test and noticed no movement from the room across the hall.
She stepped out to pour a glass of water and, seeing the other door open, instinctively asked Rong Ting, “Do you want some water?”
Rong Ting, focused on her screen, replied in a muffled voice, “No, thanks.”
Since the door was open, Ran Jiu naturally walked over.
Rong Ting didn’t shy away, leaving her computer open and unguarded as if her very presence was pure and transparent, with nothing to hide.
“What are you—”
Hearing the voice, Rong Ting suddenly turned around and realized Ran Jiu was already quite close. “Oh, this is our group assignment. The teacher asked us to create a simulated textbook,” she explained, turning the screen to show her.
Ran Jiu watched her fumble with various tools on the screen and chuckled softly. “Is it difficult?”
Rong Ting finally let go of the mouse in defeat. “Very.”
Ran Jiu said, “I have a friend who’s really good at this. Let him help you, at least to set up the framework.”
Rong Ting’s eyes lit up, but then she hesitated. “Is that okay?”
Ran Jiu took the initiative for the first time to assign the task to Wei Feng. “It’s fine. He used to do freelance work designing title pages and layouts. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Exhausted from struggling, Rong Ting quickly gave in. “Just let me know how much he charges for the work.”
Ran Jiu smiled. “Just send me the materials and requirements.”
Overwhelmed, Rong Ting sent everything to Ran Jiu like clutching a lifeline, mentioning it needed to be done by Sunday.
On the other end, Ran Jiu forwarded the materials and requirements to Wei Feng: “Can you finish it by tomorrow?”
Wei Feng: “??”
Ran Jiu: “I’ll help you with the voice recording.”
Wei Feng: “/Chicken bowing/ No problem, boss.”
Wei Feng: “Next time we try dubbing, could you please not be so dominant, big shot?”
Ran Jiu: “…I’ll try my best.”