While Yun Ni was filming, Zhang Lingyu had nothing to do but constantly refresh Weibo.
The topic regarding Yun Ni’s acting had already entered the top ten. Aside from a few fans praising her looks, everyone else was mocking her “vase-like” (pretty but empty) acting. The trend was intensifying, threatening to break into the top three.
There is a “golden window” for clarifying negative news; otherwise, once the information spreads and leaves a lasting impression on the public, it becomes too late to respond.
However, since Yun Ni previously had no resources, her PR team had been reassigned to other artists. This meant she currently had no professional support. The only person with the power to cleanly remove this hot search was—Lin Zijin.
If Lin Zijin took action, it would prove she truly cared about Yun Ni, and Zhang Lingyu would manage her honestly from then on. If there was no relationship between them, she would definitely make Yun Ni pay for her previous behavior.
Zhang Lingyu touched her forehead, recalling the setbacks she had suffered at Yun Ni’s hands, a flicker of ruthlessness flashing in her eyes.
On the other side, Yun Ni had no time to check her phone.
Director Zhou gathered the main actors for a meeting, let them find the right “feeling,” and then began filming.
The first scene depicted the first encounter between the leads. To learn, Yun Ni stood by Director Zhou’s side, her eyes fixed on the two protagonists.
In the street, Xun Ning (disguised as a man) discovers her purse has been stolen and chases the thief. Finally, the male lead, Chu Xiaoyao, intervenes, using his scabbard to strike the thief’s leg and apprehend him.
The extras playing commoners took their places. With Director Zhou’s shout of “Action,” Dong Menglian’s character began to move.
The actor playing the thief walked in the opposite direction, casually snatching the purse from Xun Ning’s side as he passed.
Xun Ning didn’t react at first. After a few steps, she realized something was wrong, touched her waist, turned around, and jogged while pointing forward: “Catch the thief!”
“Cut—” Director Zhou stopped them. “You ran out of the frame.” He walked over and pointed. “Follow the path we discussed; don’t deviate.”
Dong Menglian frowned: “Fine.”
Though she had an attitude, her acting was decent; they passed on the second take and filmed several backups.
Later, the scene where Chu Xiaoyao catches the thief resulted in several NGs because Liao Linhang’s movements weren’t clean or sharp enough; he didn’t look like a battle-hardened veteran whose every move was lethal. However, it didn’t take too long—they finished after about ten takes.
For filming efficiency, scenes in the same location are usually finished together, regardless of the script’s chronological order. Thus, after the street encounter, they filmed the scene where Princess Dong’er and the little prince enter the tavern for tea. She spots Chu Xiaoyao’s heroic act, locks eyes with him, and then they filmed their dialogue inside the tavern.
In the novel’s description, after tying up the thief, Chu Xiaoyao senses something and looks up, meeting a pair of curious eyes. When the beauty smiles, he feels it is more radiant than any flower.
Director Zhou intended to recreate this scene faithfully, so the camera would pan from Liao Linhang toward Yun Ni.
Yun Ni stood by the window, recalling Princess Dong’er’s personality. Her palms tightened and loosened at her sides; she relaxed once the camera focused on Liao Linhang.
The camera zoomed in on Liao Linhang as he looked up, then gradually tilted upward to the second floor of the tavern.
Yun Ni seemed surprised to be caught; an expression of intense interest froze on her face. But she quickly recovered, flashing a brilliant smile at the man below. She mischievously winked her left eye before retreating back into the room.
“Cut—”
Director Zhou found Yun Ni’s performance even better than he had imagined. The sequence of movements and her expressions were extremely natural—so natural he felt he was seeing the playful Princess Dong’er from the book.
As a director, he knew the histories of his lead actors. Yun Ni’s audition had stunned him, but the reviews of her previous works often made him doubt his decision. Now that he saw her in action, his heart finally settled.
After several backups, Yun Ni’s first scene was a success. Next was the dialogue with He Yundun, played by Liang Zhiyou. Since they had rehearsed, the official filming went perfectly.
Passing in one take made Director Zhou very satisfied. Time is money, and smooth filming saves the budget.
Yun Ni didn’t have many scenes early on, but she had to stay nearby in case the director needed her. Filming continued until noon.
When she returned to the rest area, Tao Ningchu’s manager was handing her water and towels while a makeup artist touched up her face. Compared to the pampered leads, Yun Ni was conspicuously alone.
Tao Ningchu, blowing a small handheld fan, frowned: “Sister Yun, where is your manager? They didn’t prepare anything for you in this heat?”
Yun Ni shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Take my fan. Eat lunch with me later; Sister Jin bought too much anyway, and I’m on a diet.” Tao Ningchu stuffed the fan into Yun Ni’s arms, gave her an icy drink, and started complaining about how incompetent Yun Ni’s manager was.
Yun Ni didn’t want to discuss her conflict with her manager. She noted the kindness in her heart and adjusted the fan so it hit both of them.
Sister Jin, Tao Ningchu’s manager, offered a kind warning: “Before eating, Miss Yun might want to check Weibo. Your hot search is in the top three.”
“Weibo?”
Yun Ni was confused as she pulled out her phone. Tao Ningchu did the same. As Sister Jin said, #YunNiActing# was at number three with nearly a million hits. However, it was filled with negative comments about plastic surgery and being a “vase.”
Sister Jin added: “This started because your verified account posted a ‘nine-grid’ of photos.”
“Three hours ago?” Tao Ningchu realized something was wrong. “But Sister Yun was with me the whole time. When did she have time to post?”
Sister Jin realized as well: “True. If it wasn’t Yun Ni, it must be someone who knows the password—” She stopped herself.
Yun Ni already knew who it was. “It’s my manager.”
“I’ll handle it,” Yun Ni stood up, returning the fan. “Go ahead and eat.”
Yun Ni hadn’t walked far when she ran into Zhang Lingyu.
“Perfect timing, I have something to say to you,” Zhang Lingyu said, turning to walk away. After a few steps, she realized Yun Ni hadn’t followed but was standing still.
When she turned back, Yun Ni moved—not toward her, but toward a secluded alley behind the set.
Zhang Lingyu followed, annoyed. It was a deserted spot, perfect for a private conversation.
Yun Ni stood firm. “You intentionally posted those photos while I was filming. How long did you plan this?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zhang Lingyu scoffed. “Is it wrong for me to promote your new drama?”
Yun Ni narrowed her eyes, her cold gaze piercing. She stepped forward, her aura overwhelming. “Is it promotion, or do you just want to watch the fallout?”
Zhang Lingyu was momentarily intimidated and reflexively stepped back. Angered by her own fear, she snarled, “So what if I want to see you fail? Go ahead, cry to President Lin if you’re so capable.” She laughed, “Oh, I forgot. President Lin is a busy woman. Why would she have time for a nobody like you?”
“I see,” Yun Ni said calmly. “You posted that to verify my relationship with President Lin.”
Zhang Lingyu was surprised by her sharpness but soon didn’t care. “The results prove I’m right. President Lin doesn’t have time for you. Even if you got this role, without her support, you’re just an ant I can crush without effort.”
Yun Ni could endure much, but she believed in immediate retribution. That was why she chose this spot. Seeing Zhang Lingyu’s disdain, Yun Ni didn’t argue. She simply pressed forward.
Being a head taller, Yun Ni exerted instant pressure. Zhang Lingyu tried to retreat, but Yun Ni gripped her wrist. That fair-skinned hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. “What are you doing?”
Yun Ni smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry. I work very fast.”
Zhang Lingyu tried to scream “Help!”, but as the first syllable left her lips, a piercing, agonizing pain shot through her arm where Yun Ni held her. The pain was so intense she couldn’t speak; her features contorted in agony.
That was just the beginning. Yun Ni tapped several spots on her body. It didn’t look forceful, but Zhang Lingyu’s expression became more hideous until she was curled on the ground, rolling in pain.
Yun Ni was skilled in both letters and martial arts in her past; she knew human pressure points ($acupoints$) intimately—specifically the ones that cause unbearable pain without being life-threatening.
Before, she was hesitant to act in this new world, but Zhang Lingyu had crossed a line. By hitting those specific points, Zhang Lingyu now felt like she was being pricked by a thousand needles. No modern hospital would be able to diagnose this lost art of $acupoint$ striking.
“Yun Ni, I… I was wrong!” Zhang Lingyu sobbed, her vision blurred by tears and sweat. “I shouldn’t have posted those photos. Save me… I won’t do it again. I’ll be a good manager, I won’t introduce you to those people anymore!”
Yun Ni knelt down. “Now you know you’re wrong?”
“I know! I know!” Zhang Lingyu nodded frantically, her mind a mess of pain.
“I don’t want a poisonous snake by my side,” Yun Ni sneered. “Call the company right now and resign as my manager. Then I’ll consider it.”
Zhang Lingyu hesitated for a split second, but another wave of pain broke her. She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. Since she wasn’t important at the company and had a bad reputation, the person on the other end didn’t even ask why—they just told her to submit a written report later.
Yun Ni added salt to the wound: “Look how poorly you’ve lived. Your voice is this strained, and no one even asks if you’re okay.”
“I’ve resigned! Stop the pain!” Zhang Lingyu hissed.
“This pain can’t be stopped,” Yun Ni smiled. “But don’t worry, it’ll go away on its own in a few hours.”
Yun Ni felt it was a pity; if she still had her internal energy, she could have made Zhang Lingyu suffer for half a month.
“A few hours?! You lied to me!”
“I said I would consider it,” Yun Ni said, smoothing her clothes. “I’ve considered it, and I’ve decided not to help.”
She found this release quite refreshing.
“Yun Ni!” Terrified of hours of agony, Zhang Lingyu scrambled for leverage. “I can fix the Weibo hot search for you! Just stop the pain!”
Yun Ni stared at her for a moment. Seeing the flickering desperation in her eyes, she knew the woman was lying. Zhang Lingyu didn’t have that kind of power. If she did, she wouldn’t have been stuck managing a nearly blacklisted artist.
Yun Ni turned and walked away. Believing her would have been truly stupid.