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In the end, the flawless performance between the two—fueled by genuine affection—completely soured Liao Ran’s mood.
After she turned and left, Lu Jingshan loosened his grip slightly and turned to look at Director Zheng Xihe.
Before Lu Jingshan could say anything, Zheng Xihe instantly understood what he meant.
He quickly and openly assured, “Don’t worry, President Lu. Everyone on set has signed confidentiality agreements. Everything that happened today will be kept absolutely confidential. You have nothing to worry about!”
“Alright, everyone get ready! Final checks for all departments—shooting starts in ten minutes!”
Afraid the atmosphere would become tense, Zheng Xihe saw that Lu Jingshan’s expression had softened just a bit. Seizing the opportunity, he immediately lifted his megaphone and shouted to the crew.
The already noisy set became even louder after his announcement.
As the team hurried to return to work and push the earlier drama out of their minds, Fang Yimeng sat silently, eyeing the cryptic exchange between Lu Jingshan and the director, as if they’d communicated in a secret code. She stared at Lu Jingshan thoughtfully.
“You’d better go prepare your script,” Lu Jingshan said half-jokingly, half-seriously. “If the shoot fails because your lines don’t match, even if you’re my red confidante, I’ll still have to warn you—don’t go squandering your little brother’s hard-earned reputation.”
Fang Yimeng had just perked up at the word failed recording, ready to argue in defense of her professional integrity, but when he threw in the last line about not wasting “little brother’s” legacy…
A thousand rebuttals caught in her throat. In the end, all she could do was shoot him a glare before clicking her crystal high heels against the floor as she walked back to the judges’ panel.
The makeup artist, Gong Qiaoqiao, had wide, gossip-hungry eyes as she looked at Yimeng. Once Yimeng sat down in front of her, Gong pulled out a powder compact and whispered, “Sister Yimeng, when the four of you stood together just now—the contrast was incredible!”
Gong Qiaoqiao had been poached at a high price by Sister Meng Qing, snatched away from a lineup of A-list stars to become Fang Yimeng’s exclusive makeup artist.
Though technically colleagues, after working closely for so long, they’d naturally grown closer.
“When I stood next to Liao Ran, didn’t I look more commanding? Like, didn’t I second-kill her with my aura?”
“Of course! Even if Liao Ran’s features are delicate and refined, they’re more of the gentle, girl-next-door type. But your features have that alluring edge. Add my master-level makeup skills, and boom—you’re a shape-shifting queen. You pull off every style perfectly!”
The mutual flattery delighted both of them. In that high-energy social atmosphere, the program officially began filming.
Soon, all the artists at the judges’ table had taken their seats. This time, Bai Lechi sat next to Fang Yimeng.
On stage, the host began his introduction, announcing the rules for the first segment.
As expected, just like what Li Ke had explained earlier, the mentors and trainees had been separated and would draw lots for random performance pairings. The only difference this time was how the scores would be determined.
“Because the mentors will also be participating in this round,” the host explained, “they will not be scoring the performances. Instead, we’ll use an online voting system. The performances will be done in random groupings: five teams of four, and one special team of three.”
To keep things from feeling too stiff, the host quickly turned to the judges to involve them in the conversation.
“Teacher Liao,” he said, “you’re the reigning TV drama queen, already predicted by netizens to be this year’s Best Actress. Which format do you think is more competitive—four-person teams or the special three-person group?”
The camera zoomed in on Liao Ran, seated at the center of the judges’ table.
“Whether it’s four or three,” she replied with a perfectly polite smile, “it all comes down to performance skills. What do you think, Yimeng?”
Her vague, non-committal answer ended by tossing the ball straight into Fang Yimeng’s court.
Still dazed just moments before, Fang Yimeng instantly snapped to attention. She kept her smile soft and pleasant.
“With four people, no matter who’s paired with whom, at least two actors can always play off each other. It never feels awkward or disconnected. But with three… someone always ends up left out, with no one to bounce off of. The awkwardness of that kind of scene—you can imagine.”
She effortlessly picked up the hot potato tossed at her, and when she mentioned the “three-person” format, she deliberately locked eyes with Liao Ran. Her words suddenly took on a deeper meaning.
Under the camera’s gaze, Liao Ran dared not drop her smile, though it had grown noticeably stiff at the corners.
The host, ever the professional, quickly jumped in, “So, Teacher Fang, which format do you think is easier to act in?”
“Always choose the easiest,” Fang Yimeng replied without thinking.
The host was slightly taken aback. He hadn’t expected such a simple answer from someone who usually delivered clever lines and made waves.
“Alright, let’s cut to the newcomers and see how their draw went!”
Fang Yimeng took the chance to sip her coffee. The bitter taste jolted her awake.
After the trainees drew their lots, it was the mentors’ turn.
According to seniority, they drew in order. The first up was veteran actor Yue Lin.
He drew a four-person group.
Next was Liao Ran—also a four-person group.
Then Bai Lechi stepped up. Hers was four as well.
With three four-person teams already drawn, only two possibilities remained: one four-person group and one three-person group.
Only two mentors hadn’t drawn yet—Fang Yimeng and Min Qing, a recent graduate of M University who rose to fame through a hit idol drama.
“Good luck, Teacher Fang!!” Bai Lechi, safely in a four-person group, shouted with playful mischief, enjoying the suspense.
Fang Yimeng forced a smile and stepped up to draw.
“Earlier, Teacher Fang told us her principle is to always pick the easiest—so will fate agree with her today?” the host teased dramatically.
She calmly unfolded her result in front of the camera.
A gold-inked “3” gleamed on the card.
Fang Yimeng: “…”
Hell. That slap in the face came fast—and hard.
For just a second, her normally cool and stunning expression cracked.