Chapter 32

The producer of Spring Hills in Rain was named Zhang Yingda, a short, chubby middle-aged man. Though he wasn’t tall, his appearance leaned toward scholarly, always wearing glasses and exuding a refined, intellectual air.

Rumor had it that he started out as a screenwriter. He wrote original scripts, invested his own money, assembled a team, and began making TV dramas and films—all of which flopped spectacularly.

Even a wealthy family couldn’t bear such reckless spending. After a few projects tanked, his family and friends finally told him the truth: his scripts were too dull and boring. The plots were flat and uninteresting, and no matter how they were filmed, they’d never become box-office hits.

Devastated by the blow, Zhang Yingda finally faced reality. He tossed aside his pen and became a pure producer.

Surprisingly, while he was no good at writing scripts, he had an exceptional eye for selecting them. Since switching to production, whether it was film or TV, everything he touched turned to gold.

His position in the industry solidified.

Zhang Yingda had married once in his early years, but during the time when he was practically hanging from the rafters and stabbing his thighs to stay awake at night writing scripts—and every single one still failed—his wife couldn’t take it and divorced him.

Later, he focused wholeheartedly on filming. Although the industry was filled with beautiful women, he didn’t show any interest—until he met Ding Fengjiao while working on a project.

Zhang Yingda, the type of slightly foolish straight man, was no match for the foxy, seductive Ding Fengjiao. Like a naive bunny meeting a big bad fox, he couldn’t resist and quickly fell under her spell.

He even wanted to marry her.

Ding Fengjiao had to appease him, saying she was still on the rise in her career and it wasn’t the right time for love or marriage. Because Zhang Yingda was wealthy and had never suffered setbacks, he had remained naïvely trusting even into middle age—and thus, he believed her without question.

To help Ding Fengjiao achieve her career goals and marry her openly, Zhang Yingda invested a lot in her—both money and industry connections.

Ding Fengjiao told him she was a girl from a remote small town with no background or support in the entertainment world, and had suffered a lot of mistreatment since debuting. This only made Zhang Yingda feel more sorry for her.

So, when he received an anonymous text saying, “Teacher Ding is having a hard time on set,” his imagination immediately ran wild.

The director of The Regent was Luo Qingyao, a big shot with powerful connections. The lead actor Ji Hanzhang also reportedly had mysterious and unshakable backing. It was a male-led drama with many male actors on set, so the few actresses could easily be marginalized. Although Ding Fengjiao was the female lead, she was just a foil to the male lead. Not only was her position awkward, but she might even be ostracized.

What’s more, the production had been far from peaceful since it began. There were already multiple trending topics—fights, false accusations, criminal gangs—there was no sign this drama would wrap up without chaos. It was entirely possible Ding Fengjiao could be implicated in some scandal.

Most crucially, someone had sent him an anonymous message—proof that Ding Fengjiao was silently enduring unbearable pressure and suffering.

Being ostracized was the least of it. She might be bullied—or even forced to “comply with unspoken rules.”

…

In short, while Zhang Yingda’s screenwriting talent might not be recognized, his imagination was truly top-tier.

The more he thought about it, the more anxious and panicked he became. Finally, he gritted his teeth and decided to visit the Regent crew in high-profile fashion to support Ding Fengjiao.

He had worked with her before, so visiting under the pretense of friendship wasn’t inappropriate.

But what Zhang Yingda didn’t expect was to walk into this scene.

Just as he arrived, he vaguely saw Pang Hongshuo, Vice President of Huala Entertainment, push open the makeup room door and kick someone to the ground.

Thinking Pang Hongshuo was bullying Ding Fengjiao, he hurried over—only to find a young man sprawled on the floor with limbs splayed. Beside him stood Ding Fengjiao, her makeup slightly smudged.

Wang Youde had already chased away the bystanders when he saw things getting heated. Only a confused Zhang Yingda, a furious and hostile Pang Hongshuo, a flustered Ding Fengjiao, and a dazed Liang Hao lying on the ground remained.

Even Xiao Tian had slipped away without anyone noticing.

Oh, and in the room next door—actually, two doors down—there were still Jiang Shuwan (who had ducked back inside), a thoughtful Ji Hanzhang, and a bewildered Xia Xiangyang.

Pang Hongshuo, however, either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He shot a cold glance at Ding Fengjiao, his eyes filled with rage as he swept his gaze across Liang Hao and Zhang Yingda.

“Heh, so the rumors in the industry are true. Ding Fengjiao, you really are something. You dare put a green hat on me?”

Pang Hongshuo was the textbook stereotype of this industry: a mid-level executive at Huala Entertainment with resources and authority, who believed he could control Ding Fengjiao.

In his mind, she was a caged golden canary. He didn’t care much about the canary, but betrayal was unacceptable.

After Ding Fengjiao joined The Regent cast and landed on the trending charts again, rumors about her reached Pang’s ears.

Of course, there had always been rumors, but the entertainment world was full of truth and lies. Pang didn’t take it seriously. That “male god magnet” nonsense—clearly a publicity stunt. And if there was truth to it, it was surely those male stars pestering her.

Pang Hongshuo might not be a domineering CEO, but he had that kind of confidence. He believed Ding Fengjiao wouldn’t dare.

But this time was different. The trending news involved Ji Hanzhang—not some nobody. Worse, the public opinion flipped, and Ding Fengjiao ended up being mocked.

Although Pang’s name never appeared in the headlines, he still felt humiliated.

He began reevaluating all the rumors he had dismissed before. Doubts took root.

And then he received an anonymous text: “Teacher Ding is having a hard time on set.”

That message triggered a chain of cynical assumptions.

But unlike Zhang Yingda, Pang Hongshuo’s interpretation veered in the opposite direction.

Whoever sent that text obviously knew about his relationship with Ding Fengjiao. To send that message meant only one thing—mockery and provocation.

Ding Fengjiao was the lead actress of The Regent. Director Luo was a “film lunatic” who cared only about movies and ignored everything else. Ji Hanzhang, while aloof, was known for being easygoing.

So what kind of hardship could Ding Fengjiao possibly be enduring?

Hardship seducing men?

Pang even felt that the final period at the end of the message was a deliberate taunt. Who ends a text with such punctuation?

It just went to show how wildly different interpretations could be. The same message meant entirely opposite things to Zhang Yingda and Pang Hongshuo.

Back to the scene.

Pang, who was already hot-tempered, had clearly run out of patience and was ready to blow everything open.

Before Ding Fengjiao could say anything, Zhang Yingda and Liang Hao were already falling apart.

Zhang Yingda turned pale, as if struck by lightning. “F-Fengjiao… what… what does he mean?”

Liang Hao looked equally heartbroken. “Sister Fengjiao, you… I…”

Wasn’t I the one you fell for at first sight, the one you secretly chose despite the rumors?

Pang looked at them both, his anger weirdly subdued. He sneered, eyes filled with disdain. “Heh. Played like puppets by a woman—what a pair of fools.”

Completely ignoring that he, too, was one of those fools.

Ding Fengjiao’s expression shifted, then she drew a deep breath and forced a smile. “Vice President Pang, you’re here to visit on behalf of the company, right? Thank you for your concern. I’ll make sure to do my best in this drama and strive to generate greater returns for the company.”

Pang’s face twitched slightly.

Indeed, Ding Fengjiao was no longer that unknown actress who used to beg him for help getting roles. Now, while not quite the company’s top star, she held a pivotal position. Huala Entertainment hoped The Regent would catapult her higher—and in turn, bring major profits.

His affair with her wasn’t even the real problem. His wife, a meek housewife devoted to family, wouldn’t dare confront him. But if he jeopardized Ding Fengjiao’s role as Su Xiaowei—potentially a huge asset for the company—he’d be in serious trouble.

Faced with real stakes, even the hot-headed Pang Hongshuo cooled down.

Ding Fengjiao smirked coldly, then turned to Zhang Yingda with a sweet expression. “Producer Zhang, you came to visit too? How thoughtful of you. But I haven’t prepared for this afternoon’s scene yet. I’ll need to review my lines. I’m afraid I won’t have time to entertain you. Can we chat later?”

Her gaze was warm and sincere. Zhang Yingda stared back, overcome with emotion.

Then she turned to the still-slumped Liang Hao. “Liang Hao, let’s call it a day. I’ll help you with your lines another time.”

Liang Hao’s deadened face lit up with hope again.

*

A few minutes earlier, after Wang Youde had cleared out all the “irrelevant personnel” and left for propriety’s sake, Jiang Shuwan opened her door and calmly sat down with a chair outside Ji Hanzhang’s makeup room—right next to Ding Fengjiao’s.

Since Ding’s door wasn’t fully closed, she could clearly hear everything inside.

Xia Xiangyang only now realized what was happening. He recalled rumors about Ding Fengjiao and was suddenly reminded of a term from an old script: bloodbath.

He peeked at Jiang Shuwan’s sly maneuver and couldn’t help twitching his lips. No wonder she’s “Civic Enthusiast Miss Jiang”—where there’s drama, there she is.

He remembered the recent hot search. He hadn’t expected Jiang Shuwan and Ji Hanzhang had pulled off that kind of stunt. Though she hadn’t told him the truth, Xia Xiangyang understood—something like that couldn’t exactly be shouted from rooftops.

And she had approached him first. It was only because he was busy that Ji the Movie King got the chance.

Xia Xiangyang was full of regret. If only he’d asked the director for time off.

Now, in his mind, Jiang Shuwan had become more mysterious and unfathomable.

Follow Civic Enthusiast Miss Jiang—for gossip awaits!

Xia Xiangyang sprang into action, grabbed a small folding stool, and sat beside Jiang Shuwan. Then he suddenly remembered something, darted back to his makeup room, and returned within a minute—carrying another folding stool and trailed by the composed Ji Hanzhang.

The three of them sat in a row outside Ji’s makeup room, staying silent. From the adjacent room, voices filtered through. Occasionally, they could also hear crew members prepping scenery and props.

They entered the eavesdropping session just as Pang sneered, “Fools manipulated by a woman.”

Jiang Shuwan silently thought:

[This Vice President Pang is truly a manager—his “mutually destructive” confrontation style is… bold!]

Ji Hanzhang held a script in his hands—a habit of his. Even though he had memorized it long ago, he always kept it on him during filming. His slender, fair fingers rested on the well-worn pages, but his gaze was on the now-clearer sky. A faint smile played on his lips.

Then they heard Ding Fengjiao speak.

Truly the woman of a crime lord—her nerves were extraordinary. Even in such a chaotic situation, she quickly regained composure and adjusted her strategy to break down each person based on their identity, temperament, and weakness.

Even Xia Xiangyang had to silently mouth, “Damn, that’s impressive.”

Jiang Shuwan sighed softly:

[Ah… so the attempt to eliminate the disruption failed, huh?]

Ji Hanzhang withdrew his gaze from the sky and turned to glance at Jiang Shuwan. Her expression remained calm, though her eyebrows were slightly furrowed. It seemed she wasn’t particularly bothered by the so-called failure, but was instead quickly considering contingency plans.

However, from the dressing room next door, Zhang Yingda’s agitated voice soon rang out.

“Fengjiao, did they force you? I get it now, I understand! You’re a girl from a small remote town, working in a predatory company like Huala Entertainment—what you’ve had to endure must be far more than just cold looks and exclusion. It’s him, isn’t it? He must’ve subjected you to some disgusting unspoken rules!”

“You scum! You bastard! I’ll kill you!”

What followed was the sound of something heavy falling, then a scuffle, things crashing to the ground, and shrill screams.

Xia Xiangyang jumped to his feet, shouting excitedly, “Ah, Ms. Jiang—no, Miss Jiang—they’re fighting! Should we go in and take a look?”

As expected, there was always gossip to enjoy when following Ms. Jiang.

Jiang Shuwan glanced at him, then at Ji Hanzhang, thought for a moment, and said, “You’d better go get Director Wang. If you two go in and get injured while trying to break them up, we won’t be able to shoot this afternoon’s scenes.”

Xia Xiangyang hadn’t expected Jiang Shuwan to remain so calm at a time like this, but clearly, her concern was valid. He nodded and rushed off. In less than a minute, he returned with Director Wang Youde and a few crew members.

Seeing Jiang Shuwan and Ji Hanzhang sitting calmly at the door of the dressing room, Wang Youde was momentarily stunned and blurted out, “What are you two doing sitting here?”

Jiang Shuwan replied serenely, “Sunbathing.”

Wang Youde responded, “There’s no sun today…”

Then he looked up and noticed that the cloud cover had inexplicably cleared, and a beam of sunlight had broken through.

Wang Youde: “…”

Never mind.

The sounds of fighting and screaming in the next room grew louder. Wang Youde muttered, “What a mess,” and hurriedly led his team inside.

Over twenty minutes later, an ambulance from the film studio’s private clinic discreetly pulled up outside the Prince Regent set. Soon, medical staff carried out a stretcher, followed by two men with jackets pulled over their heads, who got into the ambulance.

The private clinic had done their best to keep things low-key—they even used a nondescript black van that looked like a regular minivan.

But there were too many paparazzi monitoring the Prince Regent set. With their keen journalistic instincts and sharp observational skills—many of them stationed long-term at the film studio—they easily saw through the clinic’s tricks and captured the entire scene with their cameras.

Soon, rumors began to spread online that someone had been injured on the set of Prince Regent.

That’s a story for later.

At the moment, Jiang Shuwan, still sitting at the door of Ji Hanzhang’s dressing room, basking in the weak sunlight, had just learned the details of the incident from Xia Xiangyang, who’d asked Wang Youde about it out of curiosity.

When the medical staff carried people out earlier, Jiang Shuwan had guessed from height alone that the person on the stretcher was Zhang Yingda.

“Apparently, Zhang Yingda threw the first punch. I mean, come on, look at that body of his. Whether it’s Pang Hongshuo or Liang Hao, both are a whole head taller than him. What good could possibly come from fighting them? I heard Pang Hongshuo kicked him once and he fell, accidentally fracturing his leg.”

“But Pang didn’t come out of it unscathed either. They say the weak fear the strong, the strong fear the reckless, and the reckless fear the ones with nothing to lose. Zhang Yingda really went all out—when we got there, he was still clinging to Pang and wouldn’t let go. Pang was beaten black and blue.”

“As for Liang Hao, no one knows how he got dragged in. That young guy actually got beaten up by a middle-aged man. He was crying like a baby when we came in. Oh dear.”

Wang Youde shook his head in disbelief, then hurried off. “I’ve got to tell Director Luo. This might hit the internet again. Tch, what a mess. Did we pick the wrong day to start filming or something?”

The edge of the world is always touched by the metaphysical.

So many things had happened lately that Wang Youde was now considering suggesting to Luo Qingyao that they take a day off to visit Tianning Temple nearby and offer incense. Rumor had it the temple was very effective.

Xia Xiangyang looked at the tightly shut door of Ding Fengjiao’s dressing room and sighed softly, “Teacher Ding really is something else!”

Jiang Shuwan had known for a long time that Ding Fengjiao was formidable, though her focus differed slightly from Xia Xiangyang’s.

If not for Zhang Yingda, Ding Fengjiao might have successfully swept this whole incident under the rug.

Clearly, Zhang Yingda was acting like a man blinded by love. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion that Ding Fengjiao was the victim, then gone all-in fighting Pang Hongshuo without considering the consequences.

And he really couldn’t fight—he was the one who started it, yet ended up the most seriously injured.

Jiang Shuwan frowned slightly, once again reminding herself:

[A love-blinded mind is dangerous to oneself and others. Its destructive power is massive.]

[Reject being love-brained. It starts with me.]

Her gaze inadvertently landed on Ji Hanzhang sitting beside her. Despite sitting on a cheap, flimsy folding stool, his posture was still upright, his bearing cold and refined. The soft sunlight falling on him seemed to cast a halo around him, easing his usual aloofness and making him appear significantly warmer.

Jiang Shuwan suddenly noticed her heartbeat quickening, growing heavier, like something was lightly tapping her eardrums. She instinctively held her breath—only for her heart to race even faster.

[Being moved by someone’s looks is human nature. But still—reject being love-brained. It starts with me.]

Abruptly, Jiang Shuwan stood up and, keeping a blank expression, nodded to Ji Hanzhang and Xia Xiangyang. “Teacher Ji, Teacher Xia, excuse me—I have something to take care of.”

With that, she picked up her folding stool and hurried off.

Xia Xiangyang was a bit confused. He had just been marveling that his recent firsthand gossip experiences surpassed everything he’d seen in over twenty years. He’d wanted to exchange some gossip insights with Jiang Shuwan—but she suddenly left in such a rush.

Ji Hanzhang watched Jiang Shuwan’s retreating figure. A hint of helplessness flickered in his eyes, though he merely said calmly, “Maybe something came up.”

*

Originally, there was a night shoot scheduled for that day. But due to the “unexpected incident” on set, several directors and department heads had to meet and figure out a response. The schedule was hastily rearranged, and the night scenes were postponed.

At dusk, Jiang Shuwan returned to the hotel from the set on her little electric scooter. As she reached the entrance, Manager Zhou came out with a smile. “Miss Jiang, welcome back.”

Jiang Shuwan parked the scooter by the hotel’s front entrance. The hotel supposedly only allowed scooters to be parked near the staff dormitories, so she always left hers at the front and handed the key to the front desk. Hotel staff would then move it to the proper place.

Nearby, paparazzi watching from a distance couldn’t help twitching their mouths at the familiar yet absurd sight.

Given their investigative prowess, they’d already found out that the girl riding the scooter was a small-time actress on the Prince Regent set—an extra, supposedly lucky to have even landed a part.

As for why someone like her would be staying at the luxury Wanzhou Hotel, they’d already pieced together the explanation from chatting with hotel security, cleaning staff, and service workers. She was supposedly a relative of the hotel manager—some said niece, others cousin or second cousin—but in short, she had connections. That’s why the manager fussed over her so much, out of fear that her family might complain later if she wasn’t well taken care of.

A slightly connected but otherwise unremarkable girl.

The paparazzi mentally stamped a label on Jiang Shuwan and didn’t even bother to raise their cameras to snap a photo.

Security at the hotel was tight, which meant the paparazzi’s stakeout point wasn’t close to the main entrance. As a result, they didn’t hear Manager Zhou’s next words, spoken with a pleasant smile:

“Miss Jiang, your nanny van has been delivered. It’s parked in the garage—would you like to go see it now?”

Jiang Shuwan placed her helmet on the scooter’s seat, thought for a moment, then said, “Ji the Film Emperor should be back soon. Just give the keys to him.”

Manager Zhou’s perfect smile faltered for a split second. He hesitantly asked, “Is this car… for Mr. Ji?”

Wasn’t this the car Assistant Lin helped buy? Assistant Lin had specifically said that Mr. Han had already paid for it and that Miss Jiang didn’t need to reimburse him.

Did Mr. Han know this car was for his romantic rival?

Cold sweat broke out on Manager Zhou’s back.

Jiang Shuwan didn’t notice his internal turmoil and casually replied, “Mm. His car broke down last time—this one’s to replace it.”

Manager Zhou wanted to say more but, maintaining professional composure, simply nodded. “Understood, Miss Jiang. Your dinner has already been delivered to your room. I hope you have a lovely evening.”

Jiang Shuwan nodded and walked into the hotel, leaving behind Manager Zhou, whose expression was now layered with mixed emotions.

She hadn’t told Ji Hanzhang about the car earlier, planning to let him know once it arrived. Now that the car was in the garage, she ought to call him.

But Jiang Shuwan suddenly realized—

She didn’t have Ji Hanzhang’s contact information.