By the time Song Yunsheng woke up the next day—following a night of heavy drinking and intense “exercise”—the only thing she saw was an empty bedside. Her mind processed this for a split second before she immediately sprang out of bed to check the bathroom.
Great. No one there.
Song Yunsheng’s face turned ashen. Catching sight of the scattered scraps of fabric on the floor by the bed, her chest felt increasingly tight and stifled.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to go to work. Originally, she only wanted to use work to distract herself, but as an hour passed, she realized for the first time that she couldn’t settle her mind at all.
Her secretary, who was reporting daily tasks as usual, also noticed Song Yunsheng’s distraction. She asked cautiously, “President Song, would you like me to help you contact someone?”
Song Yunsheng was snapped back to reality by the voice. After realizing what the secretary had said, she frowned and asked in confusion, “Contact who?”
The secretary blinked, looking helpless and bewildered.
“I just… I saw you looking at your phone constantly these past few days. Are you waiting for a call from a CEO? If it’s really urgent, perhaps it’s better to let us handle the coordination?”
Hearing this, Song Yunsheng’s expression soured. Her tone grew noticeably impatient. “No need. Leave the schedule and get out.”
The secretary was startled and dared not say another word, hurrying out of the office.
But even after she left, the low atmospheric pressure in the office did not lift. Song Yunsheng unconsciously glanced at her phone again.
Realizing her own action, a surge of anger erupted in her eyes; she almost felt like smashing something.
Three days had passed since that night, and Sang Yu hadn’t contacted her once. What did that mean? Did she not want to see her? Or did she really treat Song Yunsheng like a human-shaped blow-up doll?
Regardless of the interpretation, Song Yunsheng was fuming. She had finally taken the initiative for once, and this was the result.
Song Yunsheng completely forgot the face-saving remarks she had made at the time. She felt only indignation, while simultaneously blaming Sang Yu for filming whatever “ghost of a movie” it was that kept her so occupied she couldn’t even send a single word.
Thinking of this, Song Yunsheng suddenly remembered Jiang Xin. Her expression tightened, and with a look of displeasure, she typed Sang Yu’s name into the browser.
She originally just wanted to check for recent news about Sang Yu.
But she didn’t know what she’d find until she searched. Upon seeing the results, Song Yunsheng’s face turned green instantly. Who would have thought that a “proxy photographer” had leaked a segment of behind-the-scenes footage last night?
It was a clip of a kiss scene between Sang Yu and Jiang Xin on set. In the video, the two were laughing and playing around, but as soon as the director shouted “Action,” Sang Yu immediately entered the zone. The gaze she fixed on Jiang Xin was as tender as water.
At that moment, even though Song Yunsheng knew they were just acting, she couldn’t help but stiffen. She stared dead-eyed at the video and inadvertently glanced at the comments section.
Excellent. Below, as expected, it was the usual battleground between Su Miao’s and Jiang Xin’s big fans tearing into each other, interspersed with the sounds of casual fans howling about how “this CP is so good to ship.”
Song Yunsheng’s face was iron-blue.
Because of this footage, the rumors between Sang Yu and Jiang Xin gained traction again. The “four-way love” scandal was trending fiercely. However, because Su Miao wasn’t mentioned in this specific hot search, Song Yunsheng hadn’t received news from the PR department yet—after all, neither Sang Yu nor Jiang Xin belonged to her company.
As it turned out, Song Yunsheng’s casual search had unearthed a temporary disaster. With a grimace, she called the secretary back in and told her to contact the paparazzi the company had previously collaborated with to release the “hot kiss” video.
Don’t ask where that video came from—aside from the ones intentionally captured a few days ago, how could Song Yunsheng possibly give the paparazzi any other opportunity?
Once the video was released, the previous divorce rumors collapsed on their own, let alone that single clip of a scripted romance.
The fans quickly changed their narrative, praising Sang Yu’s explosive acting skills.
Casual observers were happy to play along, and a new wave of hype began. It was at this time that the production crew saw the trending topics.
During a break in filming, the main actors and staff were resting nearby. The topic was actually initiated by the director, who jokingly commented on how good Sang Yu’s relationship with her spouse seemed to be.
A hint of awkwardness appeared in Sang Yu’s eyes. She smiled, not intending to say much, but Su Miao chose that moment to chime in.
“I told you, how can rumors be taken seriously? Just like before, Sister Yunsheng and I were just having a meal together, and the paparazzi wrote it up like that!”
She looked indignant, yet she specifically chose to rip open Sang Yu’s scars. After speaking, she leaned closer to Sang Yu. “Sister Sang Yu, you have to believe me. All that ‘intimate dating’ stuff was just nonsense from the paparazzi. We really just had a meal together.”
The word “just” was incredibly sarcastic in this context. Sang Yu could not forget the bone-deep pain of that anniversary. For a moment, she couldn’t even force a smile to humiliate Su Miao.
Fortunately, the director saw that the atmosphere wasn’t right and interrupted Su Miao, telling her to come over and pick up two shots while letting Sang Yu go rest.
Sang Yu composed herself for a moment and returned to normal. Just as she was about to say she was fine, an assistant recently sent by Lu Lingxi ran over, looking at her nervously.
Now there was definitely “something.” Sang Yu thought Lu Lingxi had more instructions, but upon asking, she found out it was a phone call from Song Yunsheng.
Her expression soured again. The assistant looked a bit lost and whispered, “Then… should I hang up?”
“No need.”
Sang Yu knew the consequences of not answering Song Yunsheng’s calls. She expressionlessly took the phone and gave a cold “Hello.”
The voice on the other end was fueled by anger, opening with: “Sang Yu, I can choose not to interfere with your career, but that doesn’t mean I can tolerate you making headlines with scandals every other day. Don’t go too far.”
These words sounded truly familiar. Sang Yu narrowed her eyes and thought for a moment, suddenly remembering—back when she had been hysterical over the scandals between Su Miao and Song Yunsheng, she had said the same thing: “Can you please manage your scandals with Su Miao? It really has a bad influence.”
Song Yunsheng would always reply indifferently: Can you stop being so unreasonable? We are just friends.
Sang Yu curled her lips, a sense of irony washing over her. She arched an eyebrow and said calmly, “Can you stop being so unreasonable? We are just friends.”
After speaking, Sang Yu hung up decisively. Even though Song Yunsheng wasn’t in front of her, she could imagine the woman jumping in rage.
Sang Yu’s smile faded, and she looked down with a self-mocking sigh.
She was the one who went through this before; now it was her turn to say these words to Song Yunsheng. Should she call it “what goes around comes around”?
But comparing Song Yunsheng to herself didn’t seem quite right. Sang Yu knew very well that Song Yunsheng wasn’t acting out of jealousy, but out of wounded pride.
She probably just felt that she had lost face.
Before, Sang Yu never understood where she had “lost.” At this moment, she finally realized that humans are complex; blind devotion does not guaranteed being loved in return.
She used to be grateful to Song Yunsheng for lending a hand when she was most helpless. That gratitude had somehow transformed into love. She felt that being good to someone required unconditional giving, yet she completely forgot one thing:
Love must be equal.
She realized with a start that she and Song Yunsheng seemed to have never been equals. This was perhaps the greatest problem between them.
In the past, she hadn’t even thought about treating her relationship with Song Yunsheng as an equal one. No matter how wronged she felt, she never dared to treat Song Yunsheng in the same manner. Was it because of inferiority? Or because she was clearly aware of the status gap between them?
The self-deception of the past was finally being bloodily dissected by her own hand, yet she didn’t feel much pain. Instead, she felt a sliver of relief; she finally dared to face the humility in her own heart.
Her divorce from Song Yunsheng was a foregone conclusion. During this period, she just needed to earn enough money as quickly as possible. Only then could she escape Song Yunsheng’s financial control.
If she couldn’t even maintain her composure over a few provocations from Su Miao or questioning from Song Yunsheng, how could she face the greater obstacles ahead?
She took a deep breath and slowly calmed down.
In the following days, Sang Yu focused entirely on filming, working hard to refine her acting. Naturally, Su Miao didn’t stop her antics, but Sang Yu ignored everything that didn’t involve the work itself.
If it involved adding scenes or changing the script, the director, the screenwriter, and even Jiang Xin would step in to support her before Sang Yu even had to speak.
Perhaps due to the previous controversies and the perceived “reconciliation” between Song Yunsheng and Sang Yu, the director clearly placed more importance on Sang Yu’s position. Su Miao naturally lost the opportunity to cause trouble.
Sang Yu wasn’t sure if Su Miao was still running to Song Yunsheng to complain, but one strange thing was that Song Yunsheng loved to call her.
Often, when the call came through, Song Yunsheng didn’t even know what to say. Most of the time, she just brought up the scandals again and again. Sang Yu rolled her eyes internally.
She couldn’t understand how Song Yunsheng could be so idle. During filming, it was perfectly normal to have CP names in the hashtags for promotion—
As the head of an entertainment company that had fostered so much growth, did Song Yunsheng really not know this?
Coupled with the fact that Song Yunsheng was sarcastic every time she called, Sang Yu thought about it for a long while and could only conclude that Song Yunsheng was bored out of her mind. Since she wasn’t doing well herself, she couldn’t stand to see Sang Yu doing well, so she came to ruin her mood.
To some extent, Sang Yu had hit the nail on the head.
Song Yunsheng’s mood was indeed extremely poor.
Seeing Jiang Xin, an Omega, going in and out with Sang Yu every day, with their interactive clips hitting the hot searches from time to time—what about her?
Sang Yu never took the initiative to send her a message or call her. Sometimes, when Song Yunsheng sent a message, she wouldn’t necessarily get a reply for several days.
So, she would take time to call with a cold face to interrogate her. Once or twice was fine, but after four, five, or six times, Sang Yu didn’t even need her to speak to know the answer. She would counter-attack with: “I’ve told you, it’s just for the show. Either fix the production crew’s paparazzi problem or manage your own PR department.”
After saying that, Sang Yu would hang up again. Later, she simply ignored Song Yunsheng’s urging and questioning; she would answer the call and just set the phone aside.
She’d wait until Song Yunsheng realized something was wrong and hung up herself.
This “cold treatment” worked surprisingly well. By the day of the wrap party, Sang Yu checked her phone and realized that Song Yunsheng hadn’t called for several days.
Sang Yu raised an eyebrow and glanced at the CP hashtag of her and Jiang Xin on the trending list, nodding thoughtfully.
She thought Song Yunsheng had given up, but Sang Yu still underestimated Song Yunsheng’s determination and level of irritation.
As the wrap party began, the director suddenly took a call. He returned after a few minutes and said mysteriously that they were going to welcome a new guest.
Sang Yu was clinking glasses with Jiang Xin and didn’t care who the director was talking about. But just as she was about to taste her juice, she suddenly noticed everyone’s eyes were on her. Looking up, she saw the director staring at her.
Sang Yu was puzzled and offered a few fake, polite smiles. The next second, she saw the director flash a satisfied grin, and then an uninvited guest walked through the door.