Chapter 11: Don’t Change
For a moment, the atmosphere froze.
Meng Ying pressed down on her rapidly beating heart, about to say something, but Xu Dian put her card down before she could. He swept his gaze over the group, raised an eyebrow, and, holding a cigarette in his other hand, said, “Take your time and enjoy the game.”
He didn’t say another word to Meng Ying, didn’t greet her, and didn’t give her a chance to respond. He left right after speaking.
The group was left in stunned silence. A few seconds later, they finally snapped out of it and started murmuring.
“Who was that? He looks kind of familiar.”
“He’s so handsome—if I’d seen him before, there’s no way I’d forget!”
“He’s way too good-looking. Oh my god, I must have seen him somewhere. Let me think… let me think…”
“Ying Ying, do you know him?”
Meng Ying came back to her senses and shook her head. “No, I don’t.”
“Really? That’s a shame. I thought you might.”
“I know I’ve seen him somewhere before. Let me think…”
The group continued speculating. Meanwhile, the company’s boss, whose expression was inscrutable, seemed to recognize Xu Dian but didn’t connect him and Meng Ying in any way.
Because no matter how one looked at it, Meng Ying didn’t seem like someone who would know someone like Young Master Xu.
After returning to another card room, Xu Dian didn’t immediately join the game. Instead, he leaned against the wall smoking. From the direction of Meng Ying’s room, laughter could once again be heard, including her own. Her voice mingled with the others, pleading with them to stop teasing her. From afar, her tone sounded soft and gentle.
Unconsciously, the cold sharpness in Xu Dian’s brows softened considerably.
He himself didn’t realize it.
That evening was particularly relaxing.
Meng Ying rarely attended gatherings with such a large group, but she found it rather enjoyable. Leaving the Starry Sky Club, she glanced back at the third floor, wondering what kind of mood Xu Dian was in now. She descended the steps and got into the car.
Yawning, Liu Qin started the engine and drove Meng Ying home. Meng Ying hadn’t taken a shower yet and felt quite tired. After arriving home, the first thing she did was head to the bathroom. When she finished showering and came out to grab something, the doorbell rang.
She froze for a moment, holding her phone as she approached. The doorbell rang again. She looked through the peephole and saw Xu Dian leaning against the doorframe, his collar pulled loose, one hand pressed against the door.
Meng Ying paused, then quickly opened the door.
A gust of wind blew in, carrying the strong scent of alcohol. Xu Dian had been drinking. Meng Ying immediately supported him. He glanced at her, chuckled softly, and walked in while loosening his collar and changing his shoes. His hand, resting on her shoulder, slid upward to pinch her chin. The smell of alcohol and nicotine surrounded her as he looked at her with a faint smile.
Meng Ying tilted her head slightly, helpless. “Why did you drink so much?”
“Mm.” He responded, his fingers playing with her chin. His peach blossom eyes seemed to hold a drunken depth, intoxicating on their own. Meng Ying couldn’t bear to look at him for long.
She quickly helped him to the sofa. As Xu Dian sat down, he suddenly pulled her arm, causing her to fall onto his lap. His kiss came swiftly, landing near her ear. His hands weren’t idle either. Meng Ying, her face flushed, tried to push him away but couldn’t. On the sofa, the two of them became entangled.
Afterward, he held her from behind, his fingertips brushing against the corner of her eyes. With his lips against her shoulder, he murmured, “Why didn’t you wear eyeliner?”
Meng Ying adjusted her dress and softly replied, “Do you want to see it?”
“I do.”
Meng Ying turned her head to meet his gaze. Knowing he wasn’t in the best mood tonight, she decided to indulge him. She nudged his arm and said, “I’ll go put it on. Wait here.”
“Okay.” He propped his forehead with one hand, leaning back with a smile. His shirt was undone, exposing his chest. On his shoulder blades were the marks she had left.
Instead of applying eyeliner immediately, Meng Ying went to the kitchen to prepare sobering soup.
Her father loved drinking and tried all kinds of liquor. Though Meng Ying herself couldn’t hold her alcohol—just one glass was enough—she was familiar with many types. Xu Dian had been drinking strong liquor, Rémy Martin, which she could taste during their kiss.
He would likely have a headache tomorrow. Carrying the sobering soup out, she saw him raise an eyebrow at it. Meng Ying handed him the bowl. “Drink this, or you’ll regret it tomorrow.”
Xu Dian stared at the soup in silence, seemingly lost in thought. After a few seconds, he reached out, took the bowl, and looked at her. She stood behind the sofa in her nightgown, her neck marked with hickeys, her expression tender.
His hand, holding the bowl, paused briefly before he smiled and drank it all. Meng Ying went to apply her eyeliner. When she returned, she called out to him. Holding the empty bowl, he turned to look at her. In his peach blossom eyes, a fleeting emotion appeared but quickly vanished. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her down and kissed her lips. However, he hesitated, pausing for a moment.
A few seconds later, he whispered, “I’ll head back now.”
As he spoke, his slender fingers gently brushed her eye, smudging the black eyeliner onto his fingertips.
“You’re not staying here tonight?” Meng Ying was surprised.
He didn’t answer. His slender fingers pinched her chin, gazing at her as if he were seriously contemplating something. Then he said, “If I stay tonight, don’t even think about sleeping. By morning, I’m afraid you won’t be able to get up. Hmm? Still want me to stay?”
Meng Ying’s face flushed bright red, leaving her momentarily speechless. But the reluctance in her eyes was unmistakable.
Xu Dian chuckled softly, almost imperceptibly, before letting go of her chin. Then he stood and walked away. It was clear he wasn’t really asking for her opinion—his mind was already made up.
Meng Ying had no choice but to see him off, asking as they walked, “Are you driving yourself?”
“There’s a driver coming from home,” Xu Dian replied as he buttoned his shirt, put on his shoes, and headed toward the elevator. Before stepping inside, he turned back to glance at her.
Meng Ying leaned against the door with a smile, watching him. He tilted his head slightly and pressed the elevator button. As the doors slowly closed, the two of them were separated by the elevator’s barrier. A gust of wind blew past, making Meng Ying shiver. She quickly closed the door.
Bang.
Both inside and outside the apartment, silence fell.
Back inside, the quiet felt slightly oppressive. Without much sleepiness, Meng Ying turned on the TV to add some background noise. The evening news was on, and a brief report flashed across the screen: At the entrance of the Interstellar Audition Hall under Huaying Investments, a screenwriter suffered a miscarriage after slipping earlier this afternoon. Keywords like Huaying, screenwriter, and miscarriage were prominently highlighted in deep blue. However, the report lasted only about ten seconds before moving on.
Meng Ying wiped the corner of her eye, yawned, and stared at the title absentmindedly.
At that moment, her phone rang. She picked it up—it was Liu Qin.
“Still awake, huh?” Liu Qin clicked her tongue on the other end of the call.
“Yeah, just finished showering,” Meng Ying lied matter-of-factly.
Liu Qin chuckled. “I figured you weren’t asleep yet. I just found out something—apparently, the person who had the miscarriage today at the entrance of the Hall was Yang Tong’s sister. And guess what? Her sister is actually a screenwriter for Interstellar! No wonder Huaying fought so hard to get Interstellar.”
Meng Ying instinctively glanced back at the TV.
The news report had already moved on, leaving no trace of the previous story. She said, “Her sister must have had a hard time.”
“Yeah, I heard she was only about four months along. It’s really tragic.” Liu Qin, known for her sharp tongue, softened a little when discussing such matters.
“Oh, by the way,” Liu Qin continued, “since everyone drank too much tonight, you can take tomorrow off and have the meeting the day after. Isn’t that a nice surprise? Happy?”
Meng Ying chuckled. “Very happy. Over the moon.”
Liu Qin chuckled on the other end before hanging up the phone. Meng Ying put down her phone, stared at the TV for a little while longer, and then got up to return to her room.
Just then, Xu Qing called. Laughing, she asked, “How have you been lately?”
“Same as usual,” Meng Ying replied with a smile, leaning against the headboard.
“Tsk, tsk, not sharing anything about you and President Xu?”
“Nothing worth mentioning; I already told you everything before,” Meng Ying said, smiling. Xu Qing paused as if remembering something, then said, “Oh, by the way, I heard from some friends that something happened over there today? Someone had a miscarriage…?”
At the mention of this, Meng Ying instinctively recalled the sight of the blood. She made a sound of acknowledgment.
“What did the person who had the miscarriage look like? Did you see?”
Meng Ying shook her head. “No, it was too far away.”
“Oh, alright then,” Xu Qing said with a chuckle. The two chatted for a bit longer before hanging up.
The next morning, Meng Ying was woken up by a call from Liu Qin. As soon as she answered, Liu Qin laughed and exclaimed, “Oh my God, Yang Tong is getting roasted!”
Still groggy, Meng Ying mumbled a few words before falling back asleep. When she woke up again, she found Weibo in an uproar.
Last night, a drama Yang Tong had filmed last year premiered. It was an idol workplace drama, with a male lead known for his solid acting skills. Yang Tong played a spoiled and arrogant heiress entering the workforce to prove herself. The character, though headstrong and arrogant, had to start from scratch and face challenges that taught her humility—a classic “life lessons from society” trope. The drama was highly anticipated.
But the premiere turned out to be a disappointment.
Yang Tong’s portrayal of the heiress was overly exaggerated to the point of being uncomfortable to watch. Her arrogance came off as sheer rudeness, and her temper tantrums as a perpetually angry face. Her interactions with the male lead lacked chemistry, with her movements so stiff they seemed mechanical. As a result, by the end of the night, the hashtag #YangTongBadActing shot to the top of the trending list, igniting heated discussions.
Soon after, other hashtags followed:
#YangTongHasAlwaysBeenBadAtActing
#YangTongCan’tCompareToMengYing
The latter tag, likely started by someone stirring the pot, was particularly interesting. It turned out that Meng Ying had also played a similarly headstrong heiress as a minor supporting role in a previous drama. However, Meng Ying’s version, while equally spoiled, was endearing, even charmingly lovable. Some fans had even turned her character into meme-worthy reaction images, showcasing her bratty yet captivating expressions. At the time, these were only shared among a niche group of fans.
Now, screenshots and clips of Meng Ying’s portrayal were circulating on Weibo, being compared directly to Yang Tong’s performance. The contrast was glaring, making Yang Tong’s acting seem even more unbearable.
It was simply too much.
Meng Ying rarely watched idol dramas. She hadn’t even seen the one she starred in. But now, her Weibo feed was flooded with clips of Yang Tong’s heiress role. Curious, she clicked on a few, only to find the same clips repeatedly. Liu Qin called again, saying, “So those fans finally realize their goddess is terrible at acting. Tsk, she really can’t stand the test of time, huh?”
Meng Ying closed Weibo.
The platform was already ablaze with discussions, with many people comparing the two actresses:
CigaretteFlavoredYou: “Finally, my girl Ying outshines Yang Tong. Haha.”
PotatoHead: “Wow, I’m a Meng Ying fan now. If Yang Tong dares to bring her up again, I’ll roast her.”
DareToSayILoveYou: “So people are finally realizing Yang Tong’s bad acting? Congrats. I never understood why anyone hyped her—aside from her looks and figure, she’s got nothing.”
MengYing’sAdorableFan: “Watch her other dramas, tsk tsk, absolutely unwatchable. If it weren’t for the male leads carrying the show, how would they get ratings? How much did Hua Film spend buying fake fans to hype her up?”
NoDatingAllowedMom: “Oh, oh, Yang Tong’s acting has finally been exposed. (shrugs)”
BlueScarf: “Think about it—how did Yang Tong even get popular these past few years? By stepping on Meng Ying, that’s how. And there were people out there saying she’s beautiful, kind-hearted, and talented. Where are those fans now? Come take a look at your idol’s performance today. I’m dying of laughter.”
“Who’s posting all this? And why are they screenshotting like this?” Yang Tong shoved away the makeup artist, glaring furiously at the enlarged, unflattering images displayed on the tablet. After holding in her frustration for over an hour, she finally snapped, her face dark with anger.
The makeup artist and assistant instinctively stepped back, avoiding her wrath.
Yang Tong’s temper was no secret among her staff. Guan Xiao, her manager, quickly grabbed the tablet and said, “Focus on your makeup. If you don’t finish the shoot for today’s endorsement, you’ll have to reschedule it for tomorrow. Leave this to the company.”
“Handle it? Then why hasn’t the hashtag about Meng Ying’s great acting been taken down yet?” Yang Tong shot a piercing look at Guan Xiao, who paused before replying, “That hashtag has nothing to do with your acting. How’s the company supposed to suppress it?”
“Nothing to do with me? It’s clearly mocking me!” Yang Tong stood up abruptly, but Guan Xiao pressed her shoulders down. “There’s nothing we can do. That hashtag got a boost because Gu Yingdi (Film Emperor Gu) liked it. Jiu Chong Tian is promoting their project and using the momentum. And look, most of the negative tags about you have already been removed.”
True, the most inflammatory tags had been removed.
But people were still flooding her comment section with screenshots, mocking her acting. Yang Tong had always risen by stepping on Meng Ying, but now the tables had turned, and Meng Ying was gaining the upper hand. Yang Tong was seething with hatred.
Guan Xiao sighed, trying to calm her down, but just as she was about to speak again, her phone rang. She answered it, listened, and then froze. Slowly, she turned to Yang Tong, whose face was still twisted in anger.
“What now?” Yang Tong snapped.
Guan Xiao hesitated before saying, “Meng Ying got the role of Jiao Lan, the fourth female lead in Interstellar.”
“What?” Yang Tong shot to her feet.
Guan Xiao, who had been trying to de-escalate the situation moments ago, now shared her concern. “Meng Ying absolutely can’t take this role in Interstellar. If she does, you’re in trouble.”
As Yang Tong’s manager, Guan Xiao knew her limitations well. In the entertainment industry, it was all about playing to your strengths and avoiding direct competition where you’d fall short. The rivalry between Meng Ying and Yang Tong had generated buzz before, but it was fine only as long as Yang Tong came out on top. If Meng Ying kept overshadowing her, it would spell disaster.
“Of course I know that,” Yang Tong growled, her voice filled with venom.
After finishing speaking, she grabbed her phone, walked to the sofa, and dialed Xu Dian’s number.
After two or three rings, the call was answered.
The man’s deep voice carried a hint of laziness: “What is it?”
Yang Tong’s fiery mood subsided slightly as she said, “I don’t want Meng Ying to act in Interstellar. She actually got the role of the fourth female lead! I don’t want her in it.”
The sound of papers being flipped came from the other end. A few seconds later, Xu Dian chuckled, his tone sharp yet amused: “So, what do you want to do about it?”
“Replace her,” Yang Tong declared bluntly.
Caught in the heat of the moment, she didn’t realize her unreasonable demand or that the man on the other end wasn’t someone she could boss around.
On the other side, the man chuckled again. “That’s not happening. We need to respect the outcome.”
Though his tone carried a touch of teasing, it left no room for negotiation. Yang Tong froze for a moment, startled. Just as she was about to respond, the call was abruptly cut off. The beeping dial tone seemed to lodge in her throat, choking her until she felt like dying from frustration.
At Hua Film’s office.
Xu Dian put down his phone and scratched his neck with his fingers, revealing faint scratch marks. The door opened, and his assistant walked in, holding the casting list for Starbound. He placed it on the desk.
“President Xu, Director Liu just sent this over.”
“Alright.” Xu Dian casually flipped through the documents. His gaze fell on the chart, quickly landing on the fourth female lead’s name: [Meng Ying].
He stared at it for a few seconds, intending to move on, but his eyes were drawn to another name further up—the male lead, the colonel: [Gu Yan].
He paused, his lips curving slightly. After a moment of contemplation, he tapped on Gu Yan’s name and told the assistant, “Inform Director Liu to drop this actor. No matter how good his acting is, don’t cast him.”
The assistant froze, confused, but quickly nodded. “Understood.”
As he turned to make the call, he was stopped just as he reached the door.
Xu Dian’s deep voice rang out again, tinged with an inexplicable emotion: “Forget it. Let Director Liu decide everything.”
The assistant hesitated, turned back, and glanced at the striking man in a black shirt. “President Xu? No changes then?”
“Mm.”
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