`Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The fan meeting was scheduled for Wednesday, but on Tuesday, Shi Yin had to endure a tough battle on the Jianqiao set.

The crew had rented an entire street, and after renovation, it displayed a war-torn, devastated look. In the distance, the riverbank backdrop connected with the green screen, signaling that the upcoming scene would combine live-action and special effects to depict an air raid.

In the dead of winter in Shanghai, the air was damp and piercingly cold. Xu Qingsui, wrapped in a heavy military coat, sat behind the monitors, controlling the entire scene. Her voice was hoarse but full of authority: “Final confirmation from all departments! Pyrotechnics team, be ready! Actors, be ready! I want the most authentic reactions! Action!”

Spring of 1938, Jiang City downtown.

The piercing air-raid siren tore through the sky.

Ge Huijun and Cheng Daisy were running through a crowded, panicked street.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Pre-placed explosives went off in succession, scattering fake bricks and debris. High-pressure water jets sprayed massive columns of water, and the entire street was instantly engulfed by firelight, smoke, and dense mist, creating a life-threatening scene.

“Cut!” Xu Qingsui’s voice sounded over the speakers. “The extras look fake—you’re running for your lives, not taking a morning walk! Zhen Xue, where’s your fear? Dilate your pupils; don’t just stare wide-eyed! Again!”

Xu Qingsui had a touch of perfectionism. That “again” lasted two hours.

The damp cold pierced like needles through their bones. Shi Yin and Zhen Xue wore costumes that barely provided warmth, repeatedly running through the aftershocks of explosions and icy gunpowder smoke. Their lips were already blue, and tiny frost had formed on their eyelashes.

Shi Yin gritted her teeth. As long as Xu Qingsui didn’t call cut, she kept sprinting with all her strength, her eyes filled with fear and the will to survive. After another halt caused by an extra misstepping, she silently walked back.

Zhen Xue, however, could no longer bear it. Hugging her arms, shivering, she muttered in a low voice: “Is it ever going to end… enough already, it’s so cold, do we really have to make a flower bloom? Easy for you to say sitting there…”

Oh ho, daring to mutter at the director?

Shi Yin passed by her without glancing, as if she hadn’t heard a thing.

She reached her position, rubbed her frozen hands vigorously, and arched her body slightly, ready to run again.

Watching Shi Yin’s unwavering focus on the monitor, Xu Qingsui’s tightly pressed lips relaxed almost imperceptibly for a moment before she picked up the walkie-talkie: “Everyone, pay attention! Let’s do the last take! Pyrotechnics, control the rhythm; I want a continuous shockwave! Actors, watch your marks!”

According to the script, Ge Huijun saw a child frozen in fear on the street. She dashed forward and threw herself over the child to protect them. At the same time, an explosive nearby went off with a roar.

“Bang—!”

Ge Huijun felt her eardrums throb as her body was pushed by the invisible shockwave, falling to the ground motionless.

“Cut! Camera three, push in for close-up!” Xu Qingsui’s voice came through the speaker. “Ge Huijun is knocked out. Cheng Daisy! Hurry, wake her up.”

Shi Yin immediately went into action. Without a word, she knelt on one knee. The thin pants offered no protection against the cold; her knees went numb almost instantly, but she didn’t notice, rushing to the “unconscious” companion. Shi Yin’s face was smeared with smoke and dirt, her expression a mix of anxiety and genuine concern. Following the script, she reached out, preparing to tap the other’s cheek.

Just as her fingertips were about to touch Zhen Xue, Zhen Xue furrowed her brows and sharply turned her head, clearly avoiding the touch.

“What’s going on?!” Xu Qingsui’s voice rose, filled with unmistakable anger. “Zhen Xue! Why are you dodging?”

Zhen Xue sat up, brushed the dust off her costume, glanced distrustfully at Shi Yin, pressed her lips, and said: “My skin is really sensitive; it swells easily. What if she hits too hard and it hurts, affecting my look on camera later? Can we do it another way, like shaking my shoulders?”

Shi Yin silently raised her eyebrows.

In just a moment, Zhen Xue’s liking rating for her had silently dropped a little, down to -3.

Shi Yin internally thought: Yeah, yeah, you’re right—I’m not some delicate queen. I have strength and skill.

But it seemed Zhen Xue hadn’t read the script carefully. This scene clearly stated: 【Cheng Daisy shakes Ge Huijun hard. Seeing no response, in a moment of urgency she taps her cheek. Only then does Ge Huijun gradually regain consciousness…】

Xu Qingsui, her face stern and cold, said: “Act according to the script! Can actors just improvise now? Or should you be the director?”

“Do it if you can, if not, use a stunt double!” Zhen Xue said with a touch of defiance, her voice tinged with frustration.

Using a stunt double would certainly reduce the effect and couldn’t show the face properly. Post-production would be a headache. Xu Qingsui, unwilling to waste words, issued the final order.

Zhen Xue’s princess temperament flared. With a whiny tone, she said: “Fine, stunt double it is!”

She felt wronged. This shoot was grueling and exhausting—pure torture. If it weren’t for her contract and her agent coaxing her, she would have quit long ago.

“Fine.” Xu Qingsui’s reply was even more decisive. “Bring in the stunt double.”

After a flurry of coordination, the stunt double hurried on set, completing the shot of tapping the face to wake up.

Filming continued. Shi Yin and Zhen Xue, dirtied and exhausted, leaned against the rubble to catch their breath. The camera panned, showing Jiang City citizens all staring at the fierce battle unfolding in the “sky.”

“Our planes are surrounded!”

“Good job! Retreat, retreat!”

“Parachute! Jump, jump!”

The actors playing the onlookers waved their hands, shouting anxiously.

Xu Qingsui stared at the monitors, her body leaning forward involuntarily: “Close-up on Shi Yin! Camera one, push in! Quickly!”

The giant crane moved silently and swiftly, the camera precisely focusing on Shi Yin.

She didn’t immediately look at the “exploding” sky, but seemed first startled by the imagined massive blast, her shoulders shrinking slightly, her eyes momentarily unfocused and bewildered. Then, an indescribable unease, as if coming from her soul, gripped her, making her suddenly raise her head!

Although Shi Yin was only facing a green screen, in her mind, two fighter planes had just turned into burning fireballs, heading toward the lush Great Green Mountain, eventually falling into the roaring Yangtze River.

—Pilots had sacrificed themselves!

The imagined firelight seemed to reflect in Shi Yin’s eyes. Her eyes showed no intense grief, no visible tears—only sudden despair. Her gaze seemed to pierce through the smoke and green screen on set, through time and space, fixed on a void yet undeniable endpoint—that was possibly where Shen Wangshu was.

Shi Yin’s lips moved slightly, as if thousands of words were stuck in her throat, but no sound came out, only the faintest sniff. In the close-up, a suppressed sense of tragedy silently radiated, almost overflowing from the screen.

“Cut!!” Xu Qingsui shouted excitedly. “Very good! That take is perfect!”

A few people gathered around the monitor. The assistant director pointed at the playback, praising: “Xiao Shi truly improves with every scene. Incredible. Her camera presence feels innate; she doesn’t need much direction to convey the subtlest emotions.”

Su Feibai, who had already “logged off” in advance, squeezed in beside them, enviously repeating: “How does she act like that? I can’t handle such big emotions… how does she do it?”

Zhong Li Yu also said softly: “The eye acting here is really good, completely different from her work in Reverse Scale.”

“Yo, Zhong Li, you’re watching Reverse Scale too?” Yan Wen teased with a smile.

Zhong Li Yu crossed his arms, smiling slightly: “It’s a phenomenon-level hit. Everyone at home is watching. Hard not to know about it.”

~

Wednesday, Jin City Theater, Shanghai.

The Reverse Scale fan meeting was packed; light boards and cheering sticks formed a sea of stars. When the host introduced the main cast and crew, deafening cheers erupted from the audience.

Backstage, Shi Yin quietly pinned on the [Soft Light Brooch] and grabbed Tian Tian without a word: “Quick, look at me, how do I feel?”

Tian Tian turned, confused, and the next second her gaze softened completely, blurting out: “…Yin Yin, you look so gentle today, so kind.”

Shi Yin: “…” I activated the soft light filter, not maternal radiance, right?

Her phone pinged—a WeChat message came. Shi Yin looked down; the sender was Li Xuan.

Li Xuan: “Busy? Prince wants to see you.”

Shi Yin wanted to ask if he had come to Shanghai. She quickly typed back: “I’m at Jin City Theater, you come…”

“Everyone, please get ready to go on stage. Let’s keep on schedule.” A staff member came to hurry them.

Shi Yin replied “Okay,” but her finger slipped, and the message in progress shot out:

“I’m at Jin City Theater, you come”

Shi Yin: “…” Great, still an order. I want to cut off my hand T T.

She was about to recall it when Li Xuan’s reply popped up: “Okay.”

The fan meeting officially began.

When Shi Yin walked onto the stage, the expected cold reception didn’t appear. The audience’s gaze was still complex, but perhaps under the effect of the [Soft Light Brooch], the sharp hostility was quietly softened, turning into a gentle look full of scrutiny and curiosity.

Under the spotlight, Shi Yin wore a simple off-white sweater and jeans. Facing countless eyes below, she greeted calmly:

“Hello everyone, I’m Shi Yin, the actress who plays Chen Xiang.”

The host smiled to warm the crowd: “Shi Yin, this is your first fan meeting. How do you feel? Nervous?”

“Feeling very warm,” she said, scanning the audience, a perfectly measured smile on her lips, responding cleverly, “Especially seeing that everyone still wants to meet me, this ‘bad woman,’ I’m flattered.”

A wave of good-natured laughter rose from the audience.

The interaction segment that followed built up to a climax.

During the “Line Relay” game, Shi Yin and Yan Lang’s actor cooperated confidently, recreating the classic car interior staring scene. When Yan Lang, with a hint of helplessness, said, “Young lady, please fasten your seatbelt,” Shi Yin raised an eyebrow slightly, her gaze teasing, and smoothly replied: “Bodyguard, your tie… is crooked again.”

“Ahhhh—!” The venue instantly drowned in screams.

The live-stream comments exploded simultaneously:

“Dreaming back to the car scene stare, kswl.”

“She’s amazing! That eyebrow raise kills me!”

“Reverse Scale side effects, now anyone adjusting their tie looks sexy (not really).”

When it was Liu Chuan’s turn to share his thoughts, he sighed: “The role of Zhou Mu made me realize that justice requires perseverance, but even more, wisdom and patience. Thanks to Director Gu, I was able to complete the most ‘frustrating’ yet satisfying performance of my career.” His humorous yet sincere words drew laughter.

When the microphone passed to Director Gu Jizhou, he commented on each actor in turn, finally resting his gaze on Shi Yin. Whether due to the [Soft Light Brooch] or not, his tone was unusually gentle and candid:

“To be honest, when I cast Shi Yin as Chen Xiang, I had no confidence.”

The entire audience fell silent.

“She was still a newcomer then, too young, too little experience, and the difficulty of mastering a complex role—from purity to corruption, from attachment to despair—was immense. So my filming of her scenes was always the strictest on set.” He looked at Shi Yin slowly and said, “I remember a rain kidnapping scene where she had to repeatedly fall off a trailer. Ten takes? Twenty takes? Freezing cold, shivering all over, never once did she call cut or complain.”

Gu Jizhou praised openly: “Now, we see the results she delivered, exceeding all our expectations.” He turned to the audience, posing a question: “I dare say, do you all hate Chen Xiang?”

“Yes!!” The audience shouted in unison, generously playing along.

“But you also can’t forget her.” Gu Jizhou said firmly.

Thunderous applause filled the venue. Many fans shouted, “Shi Yin! Shi Yin!”

At the end of the meeting, a female fan suddenly stood up. Shi Yin froze for a moment, not reacting in time, when she saw the woman’s face flush red and, using all her strength, shout excitedly: “Chen Xiang! Even though you’re a bad woman… I love you!!”

Her powerful voice almost lifted the roof.

The room fell silent for a moment, then erupted into even louder laughter and applause.

Shi Yin, after the initial surprise, smiled and playfully responded: “Alright, I got it. Next time I play a good woman, I hope you’ll still support me like this!”

After the meeting, the hashtag #ChenXiangILoveYou# unexpectedly trended.

Shi Yin’s astonished yet poised reaction in the video was widely shared, and the comment section subtly shifted:

“Fan-girling over the actress herself, suddenly realized how cute Shi Yin is.”

“Such high emotional intelligence, very pleasant speaker.”

“Shi Yin’s acting is great yet low-key. Promising future.”

“From being cursed online to confessions at the event, this reversal script is amazing.”

~

The fan meeting ended smoothly. Shi Yin let Tian Tian leave with the car first, and she went alone to the B2 parking level.

Because it was a weekday daytime, the theater had no performance, the parking lot was quiet and empty, with only a few cars scattered around, making the black MPV especially noticeable.

Zhou Yunfeng obviously spotted her too, turning on the headlights and starting the engine, but because she was standing on a one-way road, he had to circle around to pick her up.

The MPV’s electric door slid open silently, and a sleek black-and-white figure leapt out. Prince saw her, his amber eyes sparkling like filled with stars, and he trotted lightly over.

Shi Yin raised her hand, a sweet smile on her face: “Little Prince~”

Suddenly, Prince’s gaze sharpened as he was a few steps away. His running motion shifted from affectionate to fierce, the wind whistling as he leapt, precisely passing beside Shi Yin and ferociously knocking down a sneaky man hiding behind a supporting pillar, holding a camera!

“Ahhhh—!”

The man, startled by the sudden attack, collapsed to the ground, his camera clattering beside him.

Shi Yin frowned.

The MPV stopped smoothly in front of her. The window rolled down, revealing Li Xuan’s cold profile. He said succinctly: “Get in.”

After Shi Yin sat in the car, Li Xuan lowered his gaze toward the trembling stalker Prince had pinned down, stopping the Belgian Shepherd from further play: “Prince, come back.”

Prince “Awoo” responded, seeming still a bit unsatisfied. He pawed at the already scared “prey” once more, then shook his fur with pride and trotted back, where Li Xuan signaled him to get in from the other side of the car.

Through the car window, Shi Yin saw Zhou Yunfeng lift the man off the ground, while Luo Wensheng’s expression was cold and stern as he quietly negotiated something with him.

After a while, the two returned. Luo Wensheng said: “We got it clear. That person is an entertainment reporter, specifically staking out here. He admitted he was following Miss Shi to get some ‘exclusive dirt,’ ideally high-definition footage of smoking, cursing, or indecent behavior.”

Shi Yin was baffled: “Why target me? Where did he get the information?”

As if answering her question, Wen Jinhe’s call came at the right moment.

Shi Yin immediately recounted what had just happened. On the other end, Wen Jinhe fell into an oddly long silence for a few seconds.

Shi Yin called out puzzled: “Wen Jie?”

“Hmph, I knew it,” Wen Jinhe said, snickering coldly. “Someone has started ‘shielding’ you.”

“You weren’t doing live streams before?” Shi Yin explained. “These past few days, a lot of clips of you popped up online, the press releases all said the same thing—‘the streamer is so gentle,’ ‘intellectually attractive beauty,’ robotic compliments with no real feeling. I felt something was off, so I stayed put to see what they wanted.”

“Sure enough, the flaw has shown.” Wen Jinhe’s tone turned cold. “Since yesterday, the online trend has shifted. Suddenly, a bunch of people claiming to be your middle school classmates started ‘exposing’ you, smearing you, saying you used to be a ‘social queen,’ smoked, had tattoos, cursed all the time, bullied at school, ranked last academically, didn’t get into any of the three major drama academies, just ‘a hopeless illiterate.’”

Shi Yin was dumbstruck: “Huh? Me?”

This series of “crimes,” although mostly baseless, seemed… the last sentence might actually be true?

She had indeed ranked last academically and failed to get into a drama academy.

But, a hopeless illiterate…

Were they talking about her?