Hearing the man’s voice, Cheng Youran suddenly felt an inexplicable urge to cry. She burrowed deeper into Lu Zixiao’s embrace, her tears staining his expensive suit.

Lu Zixiao stiffened slightly at the sensation but still held her tightly. He patted her back gently, as if soothing a child.

“We’re done filming.”

—No one was allowed to take another shot.

His voice was soft yet resolute.

Under everyone’s watchful eyes, Lu Zixiao scooped up the embarrassed and tearful Cheng Youran, carrying her toward the sleek silver Maybach.

He didn’t let go until he carefully placed her in the passenger seat. Leaning in, he reached over to fasten her seatbelt.

Their eyes met—hers red from crying, long lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, delicate and trembling. An irresistible urge flickered within him.

Lu Zixiao swallowed, suppressing the sudden surge of emotion. After securing her seatbelt, he scoffed, “Cheng Youran, aren’t you a little too old to be crying?”

[Warning! Your wife’s mood level has dropped to 9!]

Already upset over this?

After fastening her seatbelt, Lu Zixiao murmured in a low voice, “Ungrateful little thing.”

Who had he rushed straight to Nanhai Bay for the moment he got off the plane?

Cheng Youran had been crying her heart out, but the second she heard that, she abruptly stopped sobbing and eyed him warily. “Who are you calling ungrateful?”

Better not push his luck.

Lu Zixiao raised an eyebrow, ruffled her hair, and drawled lazily, “I meant—our dear Ranran has the biggest heart.”

A warm touch landed on the top of her head. Cheng Youran’s face instantly flushed red, the blush creeping from behind her ears all the way down to her neck. “Shameless!”

Lu Zixiao chuckled softly, releasing her as he shut the car door. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine. “What do you feel like eating? I’ll take you.”

It seemed Lu Zixiao had completely brushed aside their previous argument. Cheng Youran stared at his sharp, handsome profile and suddenly felt a pang of guilt. “I… I should apologize.”

Oh? Finally remembered.

Lu Zixiao’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. He had been waiting all week for Cheng Youran to reach out and make amends. But instead, she had been happily going about her days as if nothing had happened.

Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do you even know what you did wrong?”

“I do,” Cheng Youran replied earnestly. “I thought you were petty and unreasonable before.”

…He was petty and unreasonable?

Lu Zixiao let out a cold laugh and was just about to pull over to show her exactly how petty and unreasonable he could be—

But then she spoke again. And the next words out of her mouth made the corner of his lips curl up instead.

Forget it. She was off the hook.

“Now I realize I totally underestimated you. Turns out, you’re actually pretty magnanimous.”

…Forget it. What was the point of arguing with a little fool who used “underestimated” on herself like that?

Lu Zixiao gave her a look filled with deep affection—or at least, that’s what he decided to call it. “What do you want to eat?”

“Hotpot!”

Cheng Youran answered without hesitation.

Lu Zixiao smoothly turned the car around.

Now that she had calmed down, Cheng Youran opened Weibo, as if she had been expecting it all along. Sure enough, “Cheng Youran throwing a diva tantrum on set” had shot up to #3 on the trending list—and was still climbing.

【Pineapple Bun】: Bold move pulling diva antics in a Meng-directed film. Speechless.

【Three-Cup Chicken】: Thank god they replaced her with Gu Yao. Cheng Youran’s acting? Please. Not even Meng’s directing could save that mess.

【Spicy Fish】: There were already rumors that she was locked in as Fenghua’s lead, but I didn’t think it was true. This is the kind of role top actresses dream of, and she’s out here squandering it?

Cheng Youran’s grip on her phone tightened.

“Angry?”

Lu Zixiao’s tone was calm.

“Yeah.”

Cheng Youran nodded.

“Then let them experience the feeling for themselves.” The usual nonchalance in Lu Zixiao’s expression disappeared.

Fenghua’s biggest investor was Deepsea Media. Unfortunately for them, Deepsea Media wasn’t exactly spotless.

—

The opening ceremony, originally scheduled for 12:30 PM, was delayed by three hours. A sleek car pulled up to the set, and a woman in a custom Early Summer dress stepped out, her high heels clicking against the pavement.

Yan Junze put down his phone. “Finally, this scene is coming to an end. Honestly, I feel exhausted for them.”

His manager nervously glanced around. “For heaven’s sake, don’t get involved! That woman’s from the Li family.”

“Oh?” Yan Junze’s voice was indifferent. “And the Li family is supposed to be that impressive?”

Manager: …Well, to be fair, they actually are pretty impressive.

Meng Lang leaned against a streetlamp, cigarette between his fingers, looking like he had aged ten years overnight. His long hair was messily tied back.

Yan Junze walked over to him.

“I was too greedy,” Meng Lang murmured, cigarette still dangling from his lips as he lifted his gaze. “I kept thinking—just a bit more investment, just a bit bigger budget. With enough funding, I could make a film so powerful that even when I’m old, just remembering it would bring me to tears.”

“But looking back… I never owned capital. Capital owned me.” He exhaled, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “I’m tired of living like this.”

Before Yan Junze could respond, Meng Lang stubbed out his cigarette and turned away, walking straight toward the crowd gathered around the gentle and elegant Gu Yao.

“With you on board, Fenghua is destined for an incredible box office run. I have no doubt about it.”

“Wishing you massive success.”

“No doubt about it!”

Amid the flood of compliments and congratulations, Meng Lang’s hoarse voice cut through the noise like a blade.

“I quit.”

The atmosphere turned unbearably stiff in an instant.

The producer quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Director Meng is just exhausted. Xiaogang, take him to rest.”

Yuan Xiaogang reached out to support him, but Meng Lang shook him off, sweeping his gaze over the impeccably dressed crowd.

“I said—I’m done.”

He tore off his ID badge and threw it to the ground. Then, sparing Yuan Xiaogang a glance, he spat, “Tch. What a load of crap.”

Whether he was referring to the badge or to Yuan Xiaogang himself was unclear, but the latter’s face stiffened in embarrassment. Crazy bastard, he cursed inwardly.

The others weren’t much better off, especially Gu Yao, whose eyes were filled with disbelief. Yet, when she stepped forward, her voice remained as warm and poised as ever.

“Director Meng, do I really make you that unbearable?”

—Even more unbearable than Cheng Youran?

“Did you really have to ask?”

Meng Lang let out a weary sigh, shook his head, and walked away.

Gu Yao bit her lower lip, unable to say a word. She wasn’t a weak person, but she couldn’t control her emotions.

Because the one who rejected her wasn’t just anyone—it was Meng Lang, the most renowned director in Huaguo.

The set fell into a deathly silence. No one had ever spoken to Gu Yao like that. The last person who did had been blacklisted by the Li family.

If Cheng Youran hadn’t been lucky enough to marry into the Lu family, she would have been blacklisted too.

The producer forced out a chuckle. “Director Meng is probably just having a moment. He’ll come around soon. You know how directors are—the pressure gets to them.”

Gradually, the murmurs of conversation resumed. No one truly believed Meng Lang would walk away for good. Quitting on the first day of shooting? If word got out, no matter how brilliant he was, no investor would dare touch him again.

But just as they were about to move on, something even more unexpected happened.

Yan Junze stepped forward, his manager by his side.

“Apologies,” he said casually. “Scheduling conflict. I’m out too.”

A rather tactful excuse.

The pot-bellied investor frowned, a hint of threat in his tone. “The contract breach fee is eight million.”

In his mind, eight million wasn’t a small sum. People in the industry made a lot, but they spent just as much. Even someone of Yan Junze’s status would have to think twice before walking away.

“OK.”

Yan Junze nodded without hesitation. He had only signed on for Director Meng—if Meng Lang was out, then there was no reason for him to stay either.

The investor hadn’t expected such an immediate agreement. His jaw nearly dropped in shock. If Yan Junze left, the film would lose at least half its projected box office revenue.

The manager shot the investor a look full of pity. Seriously? Of all things, you chose to bring up money? His father owns coal mines—money is the last thing he’d ever worry about.

“Apologies.”

Yan Junze gave a polite bow, then turned and walked away without the slightest hesitation.

Snapping out of his daze, the investor spat angrily. “Tch. Just a damn actor—what’s with the attitude?”

Just then, Yuan Xiaogang’s phone rang.

The moment he saw the caller ID, a sinking feeling settled in his gut. He had a very bad premonition. But seeing the name on the screen, he had no choice but to answer.

“Hello, Sister Zhou?”

“What’s wrong?”

Noticing the deepening furrow of Yuan Xiaogang’s brows, the producer’s voice trembled. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble with Zhou Huiwen too?”

That couldn’t be possible, right? It wasn’t like Cheng Youran had any real connection with her. Even when they appeared on the same show, they barely interacted.

Less than a minute later, Yuan Xiaogang ended the call, his face looking even worse. He hesitated, unsure whether to speak.

“Well? Spit it out.”

“What, did you suddenly go deaf or mute? Can’t understand human speech?”

“Hurry up and talk!”

The investors, already fuming over Meng Lang and Yan Junze’s sudden departures, had no patience left. Seeing Yuan Xiaogang dithering only made them angrier, and their words were laced with fire.

Yuan Xiaogang snapped. His expression darkened as he gritted out, “Zhou Huiwen said if we replace Cheng Youran, she can forget about singing the theme song—in her next life!”

Cheng, You, Ran.

Gu Yao silently repeated the name in her mind.

Why did she have to be in her way?

She closed her eyes.

—

It only took Cheng Youran the time to eat a hot pot. When she returned home and opened Weibo, the trending topics had already changed.

Yan Junze’s sudden withdrawal, Meng Lang’s refusal to direct, and Fenghua’s financial report fraud were all in the top three trending spots. Compared to these explosive headlines, her “diva behavior” on set barely even registered.

Although Yan Junze’s departure generated more buzz than Meng Lang’s, people in the industry felt the latter’s refusal to direct was much more serious.

Renowned producer Kong Fan openly declared that Meng Lang’s career was over. He would never again be able to land a major commercial blockbuster. From now on, he’d only be able to sink into small, independent films for a niche audience.

The netizens, however, weren’t so concerned with the implications. They were busy speculating about what exactly had happened in Nanwan, analyzing everything from Fenghua’s financial statements to feng shui and mysticism, their range of knowledge astonishing in its absurdity.

And why?

Because this situation was just too bizarre. Some even swore up and down that Meng Lang and Yan Junze had been cursed, dredging up old photos of the two of them in Thailand, spinning elaborate theories about it.

Cheng Youran carefully recalled the expressions and actions of Meng Lang and Yan Junze. They seemed perfectly normal. How could they possibly have been cursed in Thailand? She dismissed the idea as superstitious nonsense and scrolled past the Weibo post with a hint of disdain.

But when she came across a post from a metaphysical blogger, her body stiffened, and she felt goosebumps rising on her skin.

[Master Jincheng]: That Nanwan area is haunted, filled with negative energy. A few years ago, someone died there. I don’t know why any film crew would go there to shoot—do they not value their lives? For more insights into Feng Shui secrets, add my WeChat: 136699989.

The comments below were filled with shock and fear.

[Garlic Vermicelli]: Holy crap, is this for real?
[Flowing Clouds]: Master, please stop, you’re scaring me!
[Chubby]: Prosperity, democracy, civility, harmony, freedom, equality, justice, rule of law, patriotism, dedication, integrity, and friendliness—evil spirits, begone!

Cheng Youran: …………How did the film crew end up on the verge of collapse just while I was having a meal? QAQ

It was like preparing to pull an all-nighter to study for an exam, only to step out for a cup of coffee and return to find out the school had collapsed—no need to take the test anymore!

[Your wife’s mood has risen to 40! Keep up the good work!]

Lu Zixiao sat on the sofa with a laptop resting on his crossed legs. Noticing Cheng Youran’s stunned expression, he guessed she had seen the news. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

—He was waiting for Cheng Youran’s praise.

After calming her initial shock, Cheng Youran lowered her voice and spoke in a mysterious tone, “You might not believe this, but…”

“I’ll believe it,” Lu Zixiao interrupted, his eyebrows raised in amusement. His tone was light and pleased. After all, he was the one who had exposed the financial fraud at Fenghua—why wouldn’t he believe her?

“Good, because I’m telling you, the Nanwan area is haunted. The whole film crew is about to collapse. Honestly, it makes sense—the moment you step in, the place feels eerie and sinister.”

Lu Zixiao’s expression turned indifferent. “Oh.”

“Ding dong—”

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Cheng Youran hurried to open the door, but as soon as she did, she froze. The person standing there was someone she knew all too well…

=^_^=