Chapter 59

Chapter 59

Lan Yifang was too transparent—just from seeing her and then spotting Chi Tuo, An Ye already knew what had happened outside during the few hours she’d been filming.

“You sent the lawyer's letter?” she asked Chi Tuo.

“Mm.” Chi Tuo answered.

He didn’t explain why he chose to go to war on New Year’s Eve.

“What about Yan Wan?” An Ye asked Lan Yifang.

“Finished the call,” Lan Yifang replied. “Pretty much followed everything Sister Qi Wei told me.”

An Ye wrapped herself in that sack-like down coat and took a deep breath.

She only had an hour of emotional entry time, and the already-difficult process of getting into character had been completely derailed by this whole situation.

She turned and looked at the extras sitting outside at the winter banquet tables. To create the effect of steaming hot food, the props team had stuffed dry ice into the fake dishes. The only thing actually edible on the table was a pot of hot ginger soup in the middle. The extras were freezing; the soup had already been refilled several times.

She had to make it quick.

Quick and reckless.

“My phone,” An Ye said, extending a hand toward Lan Yifang. “I need to make a call.”

Chi Tuo had originally wanted to hand her the box of mung bean jelly cakes he brought back from Wangcheng. But when he saw the look on her face, he hesitated and withdrew his hand.

She only glanced at him once. When he moved closer, she took a step back.

So Chi Tuo didn’t come any closer. By the light of the big outdoor filming lamp, he saw An Ye dial Wang Shanshan’s number.

“Mom,” An Ye spoke before Wang Shanshan could say anything, “I’m terminating my contract with Huan Zhou.”

Chi Tuo figured An Ye must’ve made the call to help herself get into character. After she said that, she stood there with her eyes closed, holding the phone.

Her knuckles turned pale from gripping the device.

It wasn’t the first time Chi Tuo had seen An Ye slip into a role. The last time, in that foggy hospital park, she had done the same—gradually, slowly, becoming someone else.

Lan Yifang no longer had that earlier excitement. She clutched An Ye’s bag and stood timidly at her side.

People moved constantly around them. The production team was adjusting camera angles for the banquet scene. Chi Tuo watched the crew change tracks, adjust lighting, set up the crane arm.

An Ye stood there gripping her phone in a dim corner where the light couldn’t quite reach. Her head lowered, her face blank.

That spark that had flashed in her eyes when she walked out of the house and saw him—it had slowly dimmed.

“I’ve already found a lawyer,” An Ye said after a long silence. “And I’ve prepared the penalty fee too.”

Another stretch of silence.

Chi Tuo could imagine exactly what Wang Shanshan was saying on the other end. He had just come from Wangcheng, and had even taken meds for a panic attack triggered by the suffocating pressure Wang Shanshan gave off.

Sure enough, he heard An Ye’s voice, calm and steady: “I’m not crazy. All those diagnosis papers of yours were from three years ago. And even then, they only said ‘suspected.’”

“Even if I fall asleep, you can’t be my guardian anymore,” she continued. “I’ve already appointed someone else, had it signed and notarized. If I lapse into hypersomnia, that person can legally take me away.”

Even in such a noisy environment, Chi Tuo could still hear the near-hysterical screaming from the other end of the call.Full of talk about doing it “for An Ye’s own good,” saying she shouldn’t be fooled by outsiders, that in this world only a mother is truly sincere with her, that if other people saw her condition, who would dare to be her guardian…

She said a lot. The closest ones always know how to stab you the most precisely, the most ruthlessly. But An Ye seemed to think it still wasn’t enough, and spoke again: “Oh right, I forgot to tell you, a while back An Huaimin came to find me.”

Chi Tuo looked over at An Ye.

An Ye’s lips curled into a faint mocking smile. She looked back at him, stared straight into his eyes and said: “He said his son’s grades are pretty good and wanted me, as the older sister, to help him get into a private school in Baigang City.”

Wang Shanshan finally snapped, yelling so loudly that An Ye had to pull the phone mic away from her mouth.

Once she was done yelling, An Ye said, “Mom, if you’re going to interfere in my affairs, then I’ll interfere in An Huaimin’s.”

“You stay quietly in Wangcheng, and I’ll stay quietly an actress. The title of the most successful star mom will always be yours. But if you insist on contacting Yan Wan and trying to stop me from breaking the contract, then I’ll have no choice but to go to An Huaimin. You two were already divorced when I came of age—there was no custody ruling either way. He…”

An Ye paused for a long time. Eyes shut, she still couldn’t bring herself to say the words he’s still my dad.

Too disgusting.

Even if it was just for the sake of getting into character, she couldn’t say it.

“If you don’t want to live your life properly, I have plenty of ways to ruin mine too,” An Ye said. “And besides, I’m a lunatic, right? According to you, murder wouldn’t even land me in jail. If you really push me, I’ll run back to our hometown, strip naked, and sprint around the village yelling that I’m Wang Shanshan’s daughter.”

Wang Shanshan went completely silent.

An Ye hung up the phone.

Lan Yifang instinctively took a step back.

Chi Tuo didn’t move. He didn’t dare go up and grab her, worried that if she couldn’t get back into character, she’d go to even more extreme lengths.

An Ye stood there holding the phone for a while, then headed straight for the guesthouse. That oversized down coat completely wrapped around her.

“You… maybe you should head back first,” Lan Yifang followed behind An Ye, whispering to Chi Tuo. “An-jie’s not really in a state to talk to people right now. If anything important comes up, you could contact Sister Qi Wei first.”

“It’s fine,” Chi Tuo said. He didn’t say whether he’d leave or not, just followed behind Lan Yifang and An Ye at a calm pace.

Lan Yifang kept sneaking glances at An Ye, then at Chi Tuo.

She was actually hoping Chi Tuo would stay. That last time when An Ye froze up, she hadn’t expected her to recover so quickly. Later, An Ye had taught her to use ice to jolt herself back, but Lan Yifang still wasn’t too confident in that method. She didn’t understand the logic behind it and felt that if she tried it herself, it probably wouldn’t work as well.

Chi Tuo meant something different to An Ye.

Even though today, when An Ye got into character, her attitude toward Chi Tuo and toward Lan Yifang was basically the same.

Lan Yifang had already become experienced in handling An Ye’s acting state. As soon as An Ye entered the guesthouse room, Lan Yifang closed all the curtains, leaving only a small light on in the entryway.

An Ye curled up into a corner.

Lan Yifang followed and huddled into the opposite corner.

Chi Tuo, who followed in behind and discovered there were only two corners in the room and both were now occupied: “…”

He decided to first put the mung bean jelly cake into the mini fridge in the room, then sat at the desk, took out his phone, put on headphones, and started working.

The room was completely silent.

Chi Tuo had a lot on his plate. Because he’d just learned that Wang Shanshan and Yan Wan were gathering reporters to publicly expose An Ye’s condition, he’d pushed the whole project plan forward by three days. Fortunately, all preparations were already in place. They had originally planned for the third day of the Lunar New Year so the rest of the team could enjoy the holiday.Now, he could only drag those poor souls still working at the company on New Year’s Eve into working overtime with him.

Fortunately, the atmosphere was pretty good. For the people on his team, An Ye's contract termination case was a major one—their entire year’s KPI was tied to it. If they handled it well, they wouldn’t have to worry about anything for the rest of the year.

So, everyone was highly motivated.

On New Year’s Eve, they contacted the entire legal team at Huan Zhou, setting up a meeting for the second day of the Lunar New Year.

Two days was enough time for Qi Wei’s side to stir up public opinion around Yan Wan’s reputation for mistreating artists, and also enough time for Huan Zhou to verify the breach of contract issues listed in their legal notice.

Huan Zhou was thrown into chaos.

People from the internal work group had just returned from there, saying some of the legal team were still on flights—barely airborne before they'd have to fly back.

An Ye’s confidentiality had been unexpectedly airtight. Within all of Huan Zhou, aside from Lan Yifang, no one knew she was planning to terminate her contract early.

She had always been so mild-tempered. She never fought for roles or resources; as long as the company didn’t interfere with her acting, she basically went along with everything. Even when she first signed with Huan Zhou, her signing bonus was clearly below market price—she didn’t even ask for a raise. While even idols like Qing Ze no longer split their earnings 70-30 with the company, she still stuck with the 30-30-40 split: 30% for herself, 30% for the company, and the remaining 40% for her image marketing and other expenses.

Many people thought she was planning to follow Zhang Shenggeng’s path—going with the flow, buying Huan Zhou stock, and eventually becoming a shareholder.

No one expected she’d cut ties so abruptly and silently.

Yan Wan, who had stormed out from a banquet table at Wang Shanshan’s, hadn’t even had time to find out which village An Ye was shooting in before he was summoned to headquarters. People from both the legal department under Guan Li and the team under Lian Pei were sent to question him thoroughly, inside and out.

To launch an attack on New Year’s Eve—the timing caught them completely off guard. Everything was moving step by step as planned; this opening strike was beautifully executed.

Chi Tuo flipped through his tasks and realized there wasn’t much that still needed urgent attention. He dismissed everyone and told them to go home, then opened the game An Ye had been playing.

He was still sweating cold. His watch had been vibrating nonstop with heart rate alerts. After taking his meds earlier, he had almost passed out in the car. When the ride service arrived, the driver wanted to take him straight to the hospital. He had to explain at length what panic disorder was, and even bought an extra box of mung bean jelly cakes as a New Year’s gift for the driver.

Everything had piled up all at once—An Ye’s situation, his sudden onset of panic symptoms after returning to Wangcheng, and the moment he stepped out of the car and saw the studio setup replicating a rural funeral banquet. It all precisely hit his deepest fears.

He probably should’ve called for a ride back home. Even though An Ye’s current acting state looked risky, he himself was also in a very dangerous state.

If both of them had an episode at the same time, Lan Yifang would probably hang herself on New Year’s Eve.

But still—he just didn’t want to leave.

Partly because he truly didn’t feel safe leaving An Ye alone. And partly because ever since he realized some things might not be entirely one-sided, he’d grown a little bolder.

He had genuinely studied psychology. Even if it hadn’t helped him much personally, he knew a great deal about methods that could lead to self-improvement and a more positive mindset. He hadn’t tried them before because he’d been too busy. But now that he was finally back, the two of them could at least try together.

At the very least, he understood that running away didn’t solve problems. The psychological pressure caused by avoidance only made things worse.

And even now—in such a bizarre situation, in a pitch-black room with two people huddled in separate corners—he still felt safer here than at home.

“Safe” was a word that held enormous weight for him.

In the game, his character got ambushed in a corridor by someone hiding in the bushes. Startled from his daydream, Chi Tuo jumped, pushing his chair back with a loud creak.

Very abrupt.

So the group to the left jumped in shock, too. Afraid of disturbing the right side, they clamped their hands over their mouths.

Chi Tuo looked toward the group on the right.

That person shifted and asked, “What time is it?”

“Ten forty,” Chi Tuo replied.“Ah…” the person in the corner sighed. “Still twenty minutes to go…”

She couldn’t get into character. She saw Chi Tuo playing a game…

She had been ready to sever all her emotional ties. Even though it wasn’t the first time she’d had a fight with Wang Shanshan, it was the first time it had been this final. She figured from now on, she wouldn’t go back to Wangcheng to see her again unless something serious happened.

Even if she did go, she’d probably be thrown out.

Over the past ten years, she and her mother had become skilled at stabbing each other in the back—practiced and effortless.

The closest person to her had already been pushed away. Over the phone, she’d been cursed at like she wasn’t even her own child—called a beast, heartless, told she’d grown wings and gotten too bold, threatened with being sent to the Ninth Psychiatric Hospital for electroshock, and warned she’d be exposed to the media.

A true mother-daughter pair. She entered the industry for Wang Shanshan, and after ten years, they’d become enemies.

All that emotion should’ve been enough to sever that thread—to give herself and all those background actors an explanation.

But her eyes kept drifting back to the red box Chi Tuo had brought.

It looked like mung bean jelly cake from Wangcheng…

Then she noticed Chi Tuo’s posture. Was he not feeling well? His back was hunched—not like his usual “old dog” persona.

Then she saw he was helping her with ranked matches in the game.

She suddenly felt this absurd sense of: what the hell are the three of us doing in this room?

Forget getting into character. If she went on set like this, Yang Zhengyi would probably be driven straight into a hypertension episode.

“Hey!” she threw the pocket hand warmer from her coat at Chi Tuo.

Chi Tuo turned his head. “Hm?”

“Find me a prompt,” she said. “Twenty minutes.”

Once she finished acting, she could eat the mung bean jelly cake.