Chapter75

Cen Zhen and Meng Fanchuan spent their first night together in Shanghai.

In the indulgent, dazzling night, they exchanged their deepest selves, their souls entwined in love. At its most intense, Cen Zhen felt overwhelming happiness.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, Meng Fanchuan’s arms wrapped around her waist, the warm lighting blending perfectly with the night. They leaned into each other, gazing at the distance, at their future.

“Shall we eat something first?” Meng Fanchuan murmured in her ear. “We can take our time looking later.”

It was Cen Zhen’s first time overlooking Shanghai’s nightscape like this—so beautiful it felt unreal, so happy it felt surreal. She turned to ask Meng Fanchuan, “When you say ‘later,’ does that mean you’ll always be by my side like this?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss her. “You love night views. We can go to Hong Kong, meet my grandfather, see Victoria Harbour. We can go to New York, London—anywhere you like.”

Cen Zhen pursed her lips, saying nothing, her heart already overflowing with contentment.

It didn’t matter where they went—as long as he was by her side, the word “future” was already brimming with anticipation.

---

Though the contract was signed and their future temporarily set in this city, Cen Zhen still had her graduation performance to complete at school, so she had to return to Beicheng the next day.

Meng Fanchuan, naturally, went with her. Having said, “Where you are, I’ll be,” he meant to follow through.

Hearing he’d return to Beicheng with her, as a considerate girlfriend, Cen Zhen immediately offered to book his flight, only to be stopped. “No need.”

Assuming he’d already booked, she didn’t think much of it—until she boarded his private plane and was stunned.

Even knowing Meng Fanchuan was wealthy, Cen Zhen wasn’t used to such extravagant luxury.

“So, when we were together before, you were holding back a lot, weren’t you?” she whispered, eyeing the foreign crew serving them.

“Yeah,” Meng Fanchuan admitted. “I didn’t even dare arrange a driver for you, afraid you’d overthink it.”

“…”

“But now that you know,” on the plane, he unabashedly pulled her onto his lap, “I’ll arrange someone to drive you around. Sound good?”

“No way.” Cen Zhen wrapped her arms around his neck. “I only want you.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, clearly charmed by her playfulness, chuckling as he brushed her lips. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

They kissed and chatted on the plane as if no one else existed, trading a few words, then a kiss, inseparable like conjoined twins. The flight attendant, occasionally bringing drinks, was infected by their sweetness, smiling and saying, “So sweet.”

That morning, Cen Zhen had met her agent, Mo Xiang, and was now sharing her impressions with Meng Fanchuan, marveling at how she never dared dream of having such a great agent right after entering the industry.

She said, “Sister Xiang said after my graduation play, she’ll give me some scripts to look at.”

Her words reminded Meng Fanchuan. “No news on Shen Zesheng’s project?”

It had been less than a month since her audition. A big IP like that involved many considerations for casting. Cen Zhen shook her head, saying she hadn’t heard anything, quickly setting ground rules with him. “Just give me a safe, supportive environment to grow. I’ll handle the rest, okay?”

She wanted to earn roles through her own merit, not become a “resource actress” riding on Meng Fanchuan’s influence.

For a fleeting moment, Meng Fanchuan had considered intervening, but he dismissed the thought quickly.

He understood her ambitions—every step had to be earned to feel solid. He’d ensure her safety and support her freedom to grow.

“Don’t worry,” Cen Zhen vowed earnestly. “Since you signed me, I won’t let you lose money.”

Her words made him laugh. Pulling her close, he teased ambiguously, “And if I do lose money?”

Caught off guard, she was still pondering when his hands tightened around her waist, his words brushing her cheek. “Will you make it up to me at night?”

Her heart skipped. She glanced back, relieved no flight attendants were nearby to hear him.

Turning back, her face flushed as she whispered, “…You’ve got some nerve.”

Last night, they’d planned to eat after, but the food had gone cold from waiting. Meng Fanchuan called the butler to handle it, and when a second round of dinner was served, he wasn’t well-behaved. Not content with her sitting on his lap to eat, he grew restless again mid-meal.

In short, last night’s dinner was fragmented, never properly enjoyed.

---

They were still teasing each other about “losses” on the plane when good news arrived, as if the heavens were answering.

Just as they settled into the car, Cen Zhen got a call from Director Fang Jun, asking to meet to discuss *The Seventh Day*’s pay and contract details.

Hanging up, she looked at Meng Fanchuan in disbelief. “Is your mouth blessed or something? We were just talking about it, and Fang called.”

He gave a half-smile. “Shouldn’t you thank this blessed mouth of mine?”

With the driver in the car, Cen Zhen, despite a million thoughts, held back her excitement, gripping Meng Fanchuan’s hand. “Wonder how much they’ll pay me?”

“That’s for Mo Xiang to handle. She’ll talk it over later,” Meng Fanchuan reminded her. “Focus on your graduation play.”

Cen Zhen paused, realizing she now had a company and agent—no need to charge forward alone. A sense of protected ease surged within her. She hesitated, then suddenly kissed his cheek, whispering, “Thanks, boss.”

Her sudden move caught him off guard, his throat tightening. About to speak, his eyes met the driver’s in the rearview mirror.

The driver, a Meng family employee, couldn’t resist sneaking a glance. In his five or six years driving for them, he’d never seen the defiant second young master speak so gently to anyone.

Their gazes clashed, and Meng Fanchuan’s loving expression cooled instantly. The driver’s eyelid twitched, and he quickly raised the partition, not daring to look again.

The car split into two spaces. Cen Zhen vaguely sensed her bold tease might have stirred trouble.

Sure enough, his voice came softly, “Boss?”

He chuckled lightly. “That’s not what you called me last night.”

Cen Zhen: “…”

Both titles started with “lao,” but last night, in her haze, she’d called him something else.

“What?” She feigned ignorance, embarrassed. “I forgot.”

He leaned closer, his hand on her neck, gently pulling her to him. “Then let me remind you.”

A single partition let Meng Fanchuan act recklessly.

The driver wouldn’t know what happened in the back. Cen Zhen covered her mouth, refusing to let him hear her near-breaking sounds.

Only when she couldn’t take it anymore and called out “husband” did he relent. In early summer’s light clothes, the dampness under her skirt was embarrassing, yet the culprit leisurely kissed her lip corner, praising her for calling it nicely.

The ride from the airport to the film academy let Meng Fanchuan “misbehave” for over half an hour. Getting out, he casually said, “I’ll come see your performance on Friday.”

Cen Zhen: “…”

She returned to her dorm, body tingling.

Passing the theater, she ran into Song Wang. Seeing her, he hurried over. “How’d it go? Signed?”

Cen Zhen nodded, humming affirmatively.

Song Wang’s face lit up with hope, smiling. “I’ve been talking to some Shanghai companies too, Zhen Zhen. I might also—”

“No need,” she cut him off. “Don’t go to Shanghai for me. Besides, my boyfriend’s coming with me to build our careers there.”

Song Wang stared, incredulous. “Him…?”

That lofty heir would give up Beicheng’s connections, circle, and family to follow Cen Zhen to Shanghai?

Impossible.

But she said no more. After she left, Song Wang stood rooted, then snapped awake—

Why was it impossible?

She had the charm to make men bow and give everything. He couldn’t escape it, nor could that young master.

He was completely out.

---

Time flew to the acting department’s graduation performance day.

The film academy’s annual graduation play was a big deal, especially with rising stars like Song Wang and Qiao Tingting, drawing widespread attention.

The performance wasn’t open to the public, attended only by the school’s party secretary, president, professors, related faculty, students, and a few invited guests.

Participants could invite friends or family. Cen Zhen had reserved Meng Fanchuan’s ticket. Backstage, Qiao Tingting gossiped, “Is your boyfriend really coming?”

Cen Zhen nodded.

Qiao Tingting: “I checked. The Meng family’s filthy rich. With him, you could do nothing and live ten lifetimes.”

Cen Zhen, applying makeup, smiled without responding.

Rich heir or ordinary worker, Meng Fanchuan’s wealth didn’t affect her feelings.

Qiao Tingting sidled closer. “Your taste is spot-on. I heard this second young master isn’t like those spoiled rich kids. He’s built his own empire—his racing team rakes in cash yearly, financially free without family help.”

Only then did Cen Zhen reply to her friend, a simple “mm,” but her eyes and heart swelled with pride for Meng Fanchuan.

Pausing, about to ask where he was, a classmate knocked. “Zhen Zhen, someone sent you flowers. Come check.”

Stunned, she followed. Long tables on both sides of the stage were piled with flowers from performers’ loved ones.

Most were similar, heavy on sunflowers, wishing bright futures and starry careers.

But one vibrant bouquet of Ecuadorian roses stood out among the sunflowers, bold and eye-catching.

Reading the card—[To Cen Zhen: Wishing a smooth performance.
From: Meng Fanchuan]

Anyone familiar with Beicheng’s elite knew that name.

The students didn’t, only marveling at the bouquet’s beauty and luxury. Amid the fresh flowers, its radiance screamed the sender’s favoritism.

As Cen Zhen approached, classmates cast envious glances. Someone teased, “Zhen Zhen, from your boyfriend? Is he here? Introduce us!”

Ignoring their curiosity, she picked up the card, a sweet smile spreading. She texted Meng Fanchuan: “You here?”

He replied: “Almost at the entrance.”

She looked up instinctively, but the theater was packed, the audience a dark blur. Heading to the exit, she met Meng Fanchuan coming in.

He wasn’t alone—a young girl was with him.

He introduced her: “My sister, Meng Wenruo.”

The girl enthusiastically shook Cen Zhen’s hand. “Hi, sister-in-law! My brother’s always talking about you. Finally meeting you!”

In Shanghai, Cen Zhen’s “kept woman” comment had stuck with Meng Fanchuan. He’d decided to gradually bring her into his life and family, hoping to stop her wild thoughts.

Meeting his sister unexpectedly surprised Cen Zhen, but as he intended, each step closer deepened her sense of security.

After greeting Meng Wenruo, she said shyly, “Wenruo, go take your seat. I need to talk to your brother.”

Meng Wenruo winked, giving an OK gesture. “Got it!”

Once she left, Cen Zhen pulled Meng Fanchuan into an empty rehearsal room nearby.

The door closed, her heart still pounding.

Maybe from his public love-declaring flowers, or… his striking formal attire today.

Tall with perfect proportions, he usually dressed casually. Today’s black suit radiated youthful, defiant elegance, embodying “noble heir.” His presence and charisma were overwhelming.

“Why so dressed up?” She lightly tugged his tie. “Trying to catch someone’s eye?”

He sighed helplessly. “Formal attire shows respect for my girlfriend’s performance.”

Then he smiled, playing along. “And maybe to catch your eye. That okay?”

Satisfied, she pursed her lips. “You sent the flowers? You even signed your name.”

“Isn’t it normal to send flowers to support my girlfriend?” Worried she was overthinking, he tapped her head. “Miss Cen, we’re openly dating—not some secret affair, kept woman, or unspeakable thing.”

Her smile nearly broke free. Overwhelmed by happiness or truly captivated, she paused, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Her shy attempt wasn’t enough for him. Locking the door, he pressed her against it, kissing deeply. She opened her mouth, meeting his tongue, drawing energy from her love before the show.

Outside, the audience bustled in, unaware of the two kissing passionately in the empty room next door.

“Time to go.” Meng Fanchuan’s restraint held only so far. He gently pushed her away, touching her reddened lips. “Perform well. I booked a restaurant to celebrate tonight.”

“Mm.” She hugged him one last time, then slipped out.

He took a few minutes to compose himself before joining Meng Wenruo in the theater, his gaze fixed on the stage, awaiting her entrance.

With a large, dimly lit audience, no one knew the Meng family’s second young master and third young miss were among them, quietly awaiting the show.

At 7 p.m., the acting department’s graduation performance began.

Rehearsed since late February, the traditional stage play had been polished for nearly three months.

Titled *Kunling’s First Year*, it was set before the 1911 Revolution, when Beicheng’s theater roles were played by men, with women banned from the stage. An invitation to female performers from elsewhere broke this rule, gradually changing tradition.

The play followed He Yuqui, a low-born actress, striving for her stage dreams amid turbulent times, overcoming obstacles to earn her place in the theater world under the spotlight.

In the play, He Yuqui dreamed of performing and becoming a star.

Onstage, Cen Zhen was He Yuqui, and in reality, she was too.

Her every word and action embodied her four-year dream. Under the spotlight, she and He Yuqui seemed to resonate across time.

For Meng Fanchuan, it was an unexpected sensory feast. He knew she could act, but not *this* well. Her every expression, soft sob, and unseen emotions flowed vividly through her eyes.

For someone uninterested in theater, he was moved, swept up in her performance for the first time.

At the end, He Yuqui succeeded, becoming Beicheng’s most famous actress, free to sing her beloved songs.

As the actors took their bows amid falling streamers, the young faces on stage smiled freely. Meng Fanchuan clapped sincerely for the figure in his eyes.

He knew the girl he loved was about to embark on a life like the play’s heroine.

---

The graduation performance ran five nights, and Meng Fanchuan attended every one, fulfilling his role as a supportive boyfriend. Soon after, he stayed for her graduation, watching her shine in her cap and gown under the sun.

Later, he quietly accompanied her to the premiere press conference for *The Seventh Day*.

The announcement of newcomer Cen Zhen as the female lead caused a stir, but online sleuthing confirmed:

“This girl’s been a Beicheng Film Academy star, kept under wraps by the school, only released after four years of honing her craft. Her skills are top-notch.”

“Definitely a refined face. Hope her talent matches.”

“Yes! The industry needs more beauties like her.”

“Beicheng’s department flower, Cen Zhen. Suitors lined up from front gate to back, none succeeded.”

“Rumor has it—unconfirmed—she’s got a boyfriend. Very mysterious.”

“Not sure about a boyfriend, but at her graduation shows, a super hot guy with a model’s build showed up all five days.”

Online buzz flew. At *The Seventh Day*’s press conference, Cen Zhen, as the lead, was the media’s focus.

After standard film-related questions, when she said her first shoot wouldn’t stress her out, citing reasonable stress-relief methods, a reporter seized the chance: “Is stress relief dating?”

Caught off guard, as Mo Xiang moved to intervene, Cen Zhen smiled quickly. “Yes.”

The reporters, ready to pry, didn’t expect her candor. One followed up, “So, Zhen Zhen, you have a boyfriend?”

Her gaze drifted to an unnoticed corner under the stage, meeting a familiar figure. A faint smile curved her eyes as she affirmed, “Yes.”

Few newcomers dared openly admit their relationship status at their debut, but this girl was unique, unconventional.

“Is he in the industry?”

Flashes rained on her. Knowing the media was fishing, her gaze flicked to him again, lips pursed. “He’s an exceptional person, very important to me.”

In the back row, Meng Fanchuan watched her through the crowd, a faint smile on his lips.

Their eyes met across the bustling flashes, love blooming wildly.

After the conference, Cen Zhen ditched the chaos to find him. “How’d I do?”

He kissed her forehead. “They tried to trap you, and you just admitted it?”

“What’s wrong?” She mimicked his earlier tone. “Mr. Meng, we’re openly dating—not some secret affair, kept woman, or unspeakable thing.”

“…”

They shared a smile.

In that moment, they were their happiest selves—I want your bold love, your eyes brimming with joy.

Outside, the sun shone brightly. Hand in hand, they walked forward, toward their future.

The road ahead was long and radiant.