The gathering of friends ended at nine in the evening.
Though the group of industry elites appeared to have enjoyed themselves thoroughly, as Shang Wan left arm-in-arm with Fu Chen, she once again caught Gu Xun’s gaze—
Calm, yet tinged with an ambiguous sense of scrutiny.
It was hard to imagine that just an hour earlier, this same person had cornered her in a dimly lit corner, vaguely asking if she had any intention of cheating.
Shang Wan pursed her lips, complaining inwardly to the System, “As expected, saying one thing to your face and another behind your back—men are the best at that.”
System: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Shang Wan: “…”
She couldn’t help but feel the System was growing increasingly dismissive of her lately.
Putting Gu Xun aside, Shang Wan’s first mission had actually been completed quite successfully.
Sitting in the passenger seat, she quietly studied Fu Chen’s profile for a long while, eagerly awaiting an increase in his Bond Points.
Twenty minutes later, Fu Chen parked the car in the underground garage and, noticing Shang Wan’s apparent reluctance to get out, reminded her, “You’re home.”
Shang Wan furrowed her brows even deeper.
Unwilling to give up, she pressed the System, “Did Fu Chen’s Bond Points really not increase at all?!”
System: “Not a single point, Host.”
Shang Wan: “…”
She shot Fu Chen several glances, looking at him as if he were a stingy capitalist, then let out a long, drawn-out sigh.
Oh well, it was just a mission.
What could she do if she’d encountered a miserly male lead?
Fu Chen: “?”
What was that look from Shang Nanzhi about?
Feeling rather frustrated, Shang Wan returned home, adjusted her mood slightly, and began reviewing the script for tomorrow’s shoot.
With the New Year’s holiday over and the new year beginning, it was time for her to return to filming.
The set after the New Year was exceptionally lively.
As soon as Shang Wan arrived, she received a big hug from Shen Hui.
Slightly shorter than Shang Wan, Shen Hui fit perfectly into the crook of her shoulder as she hugged her.
Shang Wan adjusted comfortably, wrapping her arms around Shen Hui while patting her shoulder, and immediately heard her sticky, cooing voice, “Nan Zhi, I missed you so much these past two days of holiday!”
Just as Shang Wan was about to respond, Fang Xinghe, passing by from behind, snorted disdainfully through his nostrils.
Having grown accustomed to this after repeated encounters, Shang Wan sighed, “Ah, my irresistible charm.”
System: “Heh.”
After catching up with Shen Hui and enduring Fang Xinghe’s eye-roll, the director began explaining the scene.
Next up was the grandest spectacle in the drama “Zhao Ming Palace”—Princess Qionghua’s rebellion and palace coup, ending in her defeat and execution by Emperor Li Zhao.
The staging for this part was incredibly costly.
Nearly a thousand extras in armor crowded the set, forming a dense mass against the backdrop of ancient city walls, gleaming cold weapons, and the temporary crimson palace built by the crew—a truly awe-inspiring sight from afar.
To save on expenses, the main actors quickly familiarized themselves with the scene and soon embarked on a grueling schedule of nonstop filming, day and night.
At two in the morning, Shang Wan, portraying Princess Qionghua, stood atop the palace walls, her expression cold as she gazed down at the blood-soaked scene below.
To capture the effect of shifting gazes that hinted at clashing blades, Shang Wan, under the director’s guidance, performed the same shot thirty-nine times under varying lighting conditions, filming from the early hours of the morning until dawn.
Only after every possible angle of light had played across her face did the director finally announce that the shot was complete.
Such meticulous perfectionism was truly astonishing.
After pulling an all-nighter on set, Shang Wan was utterly exhausted but couldn’t resist asking the System:
“With such an expensive scene taking so long to shoot, can the production budget still hold up? Tongtong, why don’t you use your big data to calculate the cash flow for me?”
The System: “…”
It would say it again—its data analysis function was not meant to be used this way!
As Shang Wan had expected, the rebellion scenes grew longer and longer as the director became increasingly engrossed.
On Shang Wan’s fifteenth day back on set, the actors also began showing signs of fatigue.
Fang Xinghe messed up a take for the first time.
The scene was about Princess Qionghua’s defeat, where she was escorted by armored guards to Emperor Li Zhao.
Li Zhao, having achieved his great ambition, looked at his utterly defeated elder sister from among the crowd.
Shang Wan, playing Qionghua, had her arms roughly restrained by the guards. Her hair was disheveled, her sleeves stained with blood, and her face pale as death.
Even as a prisoner, when she lifted her head to look at Li Zhao, her face still carried an innate arrogance, as if she were not the one who had lost.
Li Zhao gazed quietly at Qionghua across the corpses strewn along the long palace path, his expression complex.
It was then that the director called “cut.”
Fang Xinghe hadn’t fully emerged from Li Zhao’s character yet when the director quickly walked up to him.
Director: “Xinghe, the emotion isn’t right.”
Fang Xinghe was slightly taken aback, then listened as the director continued, “Qionghua is your political enemy. She’s rebelling—she wants to kill you and your wife. How can you show such obvious reluctance when looking at her?”
Fang Xinghe adjusted his breathing and signaled that he understood.
The scene started again.
Li Zhao’s gaze swept coldly over Qionghua’s face.
The director quickly called “cut” once more.
He said, “No, no, Xinghe. Although Qionghua is your mortal enemy, you two are bound by blood. You grew up together, and you have feelings for her. Your eyes can’t only hold hatred!”
Interrupted twice in a row by the director, Fang Xinghe’s focus began to waver.
Born into an acting family, he had followed his elders around film sets since childhood. By the time he reached school age, he had studied systematically under numerous acting teachers.
He was considered talented, quick to grasp concepts, and his performances on set often earned recognition from veterans.
In various productions, Fang Xinghe had often been called out by directors, but he always quickly understood what kind of character the director wanted to portray on screen.
This time, however, seemed different.
Because he finally realized one thing:
He had never truly figured out how Li Zhao viewed Qionghua.
It wasn’t the idol drama trope of loving someone to life or hating them to death.
Li Zhao’s feelings toward Qionghua were as tangled as a mess of thread.
At the end of Qionghua’s life, they stood on opposing sides of a conflict.
With his great ambition achieved, how would Li Zhao look at his elder sister?
Fang Xinghe took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself and sort out his thoughts.
Just then, Shang Wan, still in costume, suddenly walked over to him.
She stopped in front of him and asked, “What are you thinking?”
Feeling embarrassed in front of someone he once looked down on, Fang Xinghe felt inexplicably awkward.
As Shang Wan stood before him, waiting for an answer, she saw Fang Xinghe turn his face away with a complicated expression, looking as if he had a toothache.
Shang Wan: “?”
She couldn’t help but complain to the System: “What? I’m trying to help him out of goodwill. What does he mean by that?”
System: “He probably feels embarrassed that after working so diligently all these years, his acting still can’t compare to Shang Nanzhi, a slacker in the entertainment industry.”
Shang Wan: “Hmph.”
In the Consciousness World, she smirked, flashing a sly smile, and said to the System: “Too ashamed to admit he’s not as good as me, huh? Today, I’ll make sure he witnesses the true strength of an award-winning actress!”
System: “…”
Thanks for the cringe.
Since Fang Xinghe didn’t respond, Shang Wan simply assumed he had hearing problems and hadn’t heard her earlier.
She gazed quietly at Fang Xinghe, gently raised her hand, patted his head, and asked again: “What’s on your mind, A’Zhao? Can’t you share it with your elder sister?”
System: “…”
Seriously, how does the Host get into character so quickly?
Fang Xinghe was caught off guard by Shang Wan patting his head, and his brows unconsciously furrowed.
Just as he was about to push her hand away, he saw Shang Wan looking at him with gentle eyes.
As if she had been possessed by Qionghua from the drama.
Fang Xinghe was momentarily dazed.
The Qionghua before him was undoubtedly the one from the beginning, before she had started vying for power with him.
Qionghua looked at him gently: “A’Zhao has grown up. Does he have his own secrets now?”
Under her gaze, Fang Xinghe miraculously slipped into the role of Li Zhao, instinctively refuting: “I don’t.”
But Qionghua didn’t give him a chance to speak.
Qionghua gently patted his head again, took his hand, and said to him: “The fourth and sixth princes, relying on Consort Qin’s favor, bullied our A’Zhao for losing his mother at a young age—A’Zhao, don’t worry. Elder sister has already had Father punish them. Those who bully our A’Zhao, elder sister won’t let them off.”
Li Zhao’s past suddenly became vivid in that moment.
Li Zhao looked at Qionghua.
The person before him was his elder sister, yet not entirely.
Qionghua was the only daughter of the late empress, the apple of their father’s eye.
While he was merely a prince born to an unfavored concubine.
They shared the same bloodline but were not full siblings.
Li Zhao couldn’t help but like Qionghua.
Because after his mother’s death, Qionghua used her own favor to protect him.
She pleaded for charcoal to keep him warm in winter, taught his bullying elder brothers a lesson, cared about his meals and drinks, and looked after his daily life.
Yet, he also couldn’t help but envy Qionghua.
He and Qionghua were the same from the very beginning.
Relying on each other for survival, yet envying and using one another.
Qionghua wanted to support a prince who was weak in influence but most supportive of her, so she could use him to control the court.
But she had also shown jealousy in front of Li Zhao more than once—Qionghua resented not being born a man.
Li Zhao, too, needed a most-favored princess standing behind him to increase his chances of being named crown prince by their father.
He yearned for the warmth Qionghua gave him, yet couldn’t help but think that she was merely more cherished by their father because she had a more favored mother.
There must have been warmth between them as siblings.
But in the face of the naked political game, warmth could only be like a leaf destined to wither in late autumn, lingering for just a fleeting moment.
Fang Xinghe looked at Shang Wan before him. She was dressed in the court robes of the eldest princess, adorned with a golden hairpin, exceptionally magnificent.
Only her disheveled hair and the bloodstains on her collar hinted at the heart-stopping intensity of her earlier forced entry into the palace.
Shang Wan also looked at him and suddenly smiled—a smile brimming with murderous intent.
She said, “Li Zhao, you’ve won. From now on, this empire is yours.”
He had won.
Fang Xinghe looked at Shang Wan, at the way she had almost completely immersed herself in the role, and suddenly heard his own heartbeat pounding like thunder.
Perhaps he had always been prejudiced against Shang Nanzhi.
Shang Nanzhi was undoubtedly the most outstanding actress he had ever seen.
In the prolonged silence, Shang Wan heard the System’s congratulatory announcements, one after another, like red envelopes being handed out during the New Year.
“Congratulations, Host. Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points have increased by 6 points. Current Bond Points: 16.32.”
“Congratulations, Host. Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points have increased by another 8 points. Current Bond Points: 24.32.”
“Congratulations, Host…”
The long string of congratulations lasted a full five minutes. Fang Xinghe’s Bond Points soared all the way, eventually skyrocketing to 40.
Shang Wan: …Is it New Year already?