Her voice came soft as breath on glass, yet it sent a thread of frost up the spine.

“Qiao Wan! What are you doing!”

Sister Zhou burst in from the rim of the crowd like a gust through paper banners. She hadn’t even gotten the story when she saw her own artist pressing a long sword to Chu Jinghe’s throat. Her soul almost flipped over. “Put the sword down, now!”

“Your agent’s here,” Chu Jinghe said, a cold curl at his lips, his words biting like grit between teeth. “Move that thing away from my neck.”

Nana Toki acted like the wind didn’t carry his voice. The blade lifted a few inches, gleaming like winter water. “She’s calling Qiao Wan. What’s that got to do with me, He Yuhuan?”

“...” Chu Jinghe’s mind blanked like a stage with the lights cut. This woman had dragged her TV character into daylight. Where was the law in that!

Shuyao Qin tugged Nana’s sleeve, a quiet anchor in a churning pier. Only then did Nana let Chu go with obvious reluctance. “Watch yourself when you go out,” she said, voice thin as a wire. “If I run into you, you might not like what you eat.”

She tossed that near-threat like a pebble into a pond. Then she waved at her own agent, and strolled off with Shuyao Qin. They slipped past the human barricade and swiped into their room, easy as a koi sliding under lily pads.

Click. The door shut, clean as a blade on bone. The staff blinked like birds shaken from a tree and hurried back to their posts, fluttering toward Chu Jinghe.

Onlookers buzzed at the edges, a hive chewing on fresh nectar. Chu stood before Nana’s door, his face dark as the bottom of a burnt pot. He hadn’t expected a woman who played off-script like a fox in new snow. First time he’d eaten crow.

Qiao Wan... he etched the name like a knife-scratch on bamboo.

People thought it ended there, with Chu Jinghe swallowing the bitter seed. But within days, they noticed Nana Toki’s time on set thinning like fog in sun. Long fight scenes shrank to three moves and a flourish. Emotional arcs got chopped and pasted like a torn kite.

Sister Zhou was ready to cough blood, pacing like rain on a drum. Nana didn’t care; she held the money like a warm stone. Less shooting felt like a soft pillow.

Anyone with toes could count it out: Chu Jinghe, that shameless scum, was behind it. Nana still didn’t plan to fight him head‑on. Shuyao Qin was on break, and Nana meant to keep her close, daily lessons like silk knots that couldn’t be skipped. As for the scummy male lead?

Talk when Shuyao Qin’s holiday ends.

He couldn’t beat her in the light, so he’d strike from the shade. He ran the whole Chen Yu Ru Shuang crew like a hand in a puppet. He could twist the script at will, like clay on a wheel.

Nana liked being cut; Sister Zhou didn’t. Her own artist was dazzling, a lantern in night, and now the supervisor snuffed her scenes out of spite? Stomach that? Not a chance. That’s how you breed bad films, like mold in a sealed jar.

Duty blazing like a torch, Sister Zhou went to Chu Jinghe herself. As expected, the axe fell harder. She came back with fewer scenes than a winter tree with leaves.

She admitted she’d lost her temper and let flowers of foul words bloom. His anger bar ticked up like a red gauge. Talk failed; cuts multiplied.

All you could say was—

Yeah.

When it came to tripping her own artist, her manager was a seasoned pro.

Nana had nothing to f— say. The throat closed like a clasp.

After that, Sister Zhou tried the original author, a last net in rough water. The author spread their hands like empty sleeves. “I’d love to help,” they said. “But President Chu’s money is... too much. My hands are tied.”

Zhou Wen: “...”

In short, inside the crew, Nana’s scenes were shaved to the bone. At this pace, a 42‑episode drama could wrap in 21, clean as a rope cut in half. If they didn’t want to end early, they could fill the back 21 with the leads dating on loop like a wind‑up doll.

Nana even drafted the sequel title in her head: Chen Yu Ru Shuang: The Aloof Sword Cultivator Fell for Me.

“Qiao Wan, how are you not worried about getting cut?” After a day of running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, Sister Zhou finally asked. Nana sat there with a calm like a lake before dawn; the eunuch panicked while the emperor sipped tea.

“Why worry?” Nana’s tone was air over bamboo. “I did what I should. The result isn’t my business. We take money, we do the job.”

In the original plot, the heroine rocketed off Chen Yu Ru Shuang like a firework. Now Chu Jinghe had hacked the script as revenge. Nana was eager to see how the firework fizzled or flared.

Sister Zhou: “...”

“Right, Sister Zhou. After this drama, pick scripts that fit the He Yuhuan mold.” Nana didn’t forget her main quest. Others chased Best Actress by playing saints. She’d take the crooked path—win it as a villain.

“Huh? The He Yuhuan mold?” Sister Zhou stared like a stunned rabbit. “You want to play the vicious second female lead?”

“Yep.”

“You feverish, Qiao Wan? Who drops a lead to play the bad guy?” Sister Zhou pressed her hand to Nana’s forehead, palm cool as a leaf. “No fever. Then why the nonsense?”

“...” Nana blinked.

“Wait, you think I can’t play villains?” Her eyes flashed like a blade with sunlight. “Hand on heart. Say it.”

“No, you’re too good at it. I’m a little scared,” Sister Zhou said, voice small as a sparrow. “Maybe see a therapist. You’ve seemed twitchy. I booked one. Go in a few days.”

“...”

Damn. Conversation dead as ash.

Nana stormed off to the hotel room to find Shuyao Qin, anger fluttering like a trapped moth.

“Mm? What are you working on?” Nana stepped in and saw Shuyao at the desk, face intent, fingers on keys like rain on pine.

“Ah... nothing big. I’m sorting my company’s shares.” Shuyao slid the laptop over, screen glowing like river light. “If the company sinks one day, I want a back road for myself and my people, so we aren’t too shabby.”

“So you’re selling some of your stake, drawing more people in?” Nana took the mouse, skimmed like a skater on ice. After a while, she asked, “Hey, if one day your company clears every debt, would you still let me keep you?”

“Ah? Why that out of nowhere?” The question hit Shuyao like a pebble in still water; her mind went blank, bright as white paper. She’d never imagined the funding finishing so fast.

“Just asking. No big meaning. If you don’t know, tell me later.” Nana clicked a bit more, then stood and turned to the one she loved. “Can we shower together tonight?”

“Mmm... o(*///w///*)o”

...

As Nana expected, within days, her He Yuhuan got written off in Chu Jinghe’s mangled script, killed like a candle pinched out. The rest was all romance between Chi Mu and Chen Ke’s leads, sugar poured like syrup.

At wrap, Director Zhang handed Nana a red envelope, warm as a pocket heater. He told her not to mind it. This stuff is common as dust in the industry. Just don’t take such gigs next time.

Nana smiled, said thanks, and left with Shuyao Qin, hitching a ride with their agent. The city lights slid by like fish scales.

She wouldn’t waste a heartbeat on it. The real show hadn’t even opened its curtain.

Half a month passed.

Chen Yu Ru Shuang premiered on time. The crew and a thicket of advertisers had hammered promotions like drums before a festival, so Episode One cracked a hundred million plays on day one, easy as splitting bamboo.

The comments sparkled with praise, a river of stars that made your eyes blur.

Sister Zhou watched the backend numbers at the agency, heart aching like a bruise. With heat this high, if Qiao Wan had more scenes later, she’d ride the wave for months.

Pity... the word hung like mist.

“Mm? What are you staring at with that funeral face?” Nana crunched sunflower seeds, the shells clicking like tiny bones. Since the last shoot, she’d had nothing on her plate. Not for lack of trying. The female lead had taken all the meat; what was left were side roles thin as gruel.

Nana had peeked at the scripts. Those evil extras all wore an Intelligence‑Down debuff like a dunce cap.

She couldn’t act stupid on purpose.

“Here. Look. This is the heat from your last shoot. What do you think?”

“Not bad. Tons of praise,” Nana said, scrolling like a lazy cat. “Everyone says the female lead is dumb‑cute and adorable.”

“...” Sister Zhou pinched her brow.

“You know she’s dumb‑cute. Do you know that slot was supposed to be yours?” Her voice dripped with grievance, a slow leak. “I’m most afraid that when your He Yuhuan shows up, the comments will be a sea of curses.”

“Let ’em curse. They’ll be cursing He Yuhuan, not me, Qiao Wan.” Nana’s look was fearless, a mountain in wind.

Sister Zhou: “...” You weren’t so Zen when you pointed a sword at Chu Jinghe!