Chapter 87: Extra 1
On the night of the Golden Thespian Awards in July, Meng Ying—amidst roaring applause and venomous whispers—won Best Actress for her debut lead role in Twins, becoming the youngest actress to claim the honor. The industry’s most prestigious award, judged purely on artistic merit rather than box office or hype, drew equal parts admiration and envy.
She’d attended countless screenings but rarely watched herself onscreen; the discomfort never faded. Yet tonight, as clips played during the ceremony, Meng Ying saw a stranger: the woman in the frames was her, yet not. Clutching the trophy, she bowed to the sea of peers, her prepared speech evaporating. She muddled through, cheeks burning, but at least didn’t falter.
The applause that followed loosened the knot in her chest.
Descending the steps, her heel caught—just a stumble, but it hollowed her out for a breath. Frowning, she steadied herself and returned to her seat.
The ceremony wound down with special awards. Xu Qing added Best Supporting Actress to her already overflowing collection.
—
Afterward, as the crowd dispersed, Meng Ying and Xu Qing—awards entrusted to their assistants—sought out Gu Yan. But he was distracted, missing their waves as he hurried off, phone pressed to his ear. The women shrugged.
“Home?” Xu Qing checked her watch. “My husband’s annoyingly waiting outside.”
The moment they stepped out, they spotted Gu Sui smoking near the entrance, chatting with someone obscured by the doorframe. As they approached, the figure straightened—Xu Dian, silver-rimmed glasses glinting. He extended a hand, as if expecting Meng Ying to leap into his arms.
She froze.
Then it hit her: That was the void she’d felt onstage.
Grinning, she gathered her skirts and did leap.
Xu Dian caught her with a low laugh. “Was worried you wouldn’t,” he murmured, breath stirring her hair. “Nervous wreck over here.”
Meng Ying scoffed into his shoulder as his arms locked around her. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
His scent—cherry blossoms from her bathroom soap—warmed her cheeks. Behind them, Xu Qing teased, “That was so dramatic I almost yanked her dress back.”
Meng Ying flushed and glared. Xu Qing cackled, linking arms with Gu Sui. “Supper? I’m craving your lemon chicken feet.”
Gu Sui exhaled smoke. “Eat sour food at midnight and you’ll whine all over me later.”
Xu Qing: “Liar.”
Gu Sui ignored her, eyeing Xu Dian. “Control your wife.”
Xu Dian: “I’ll just rub her stomach after.”
Xu Qing: “…”
Gu Sui: “Since when did you—” become this smooth?!
Xu Qing dragged him off, grumbling about “stone-age men.” Meng Ying laughed, meeting Xu Dian’s gaze. He kissed her forehead. “Home?”
She nodded.
The steps here were longer than the stage’s. Each time her heels caught, Xu Dian’s grip at her waist steadied her—filling every hollow space the award couldn’t.
Around them, actors and Hua Ying’s own artists stared. None had seen Xu Dian like this: softened, as if reborn. Without the silver glasses and that unmistakable face, they’d swear it was an impostor.
Hua Ying’s employees knew his visits were rare, but his distance was legendary. Many wondered why—until they noticed: the glasses amplified it. His smiles? Fire over ice. Over time, even the boldest admirers kept their distance. Those who’d tried to cross the line became cautionary tales.
—
The Maybach waited at the curb, unchallenged by lesser “luxury” cars.
(What’s the point when an S-Class outclasses even a Rolls?)
Inside, Xu Dian handed her water. She drank greedily as the car glided toward Xinyue Community—home, where the night’s emptiness couldn’t follow.
—
*
### Arrival at Xinyue Community
Xu Qing and Gu Sui were already waiting at Meng Ying’s doorstep, deep in conversation. When Meng Ying stepped out of the car, still holding Xu Dian’s hand and adjusting her gown, Xu Qing immediately broke away from Gu Sui.
“Besides the chicken, what else should we eat for late-night snacks?” Xu Qing asked, rubbing her hands together.
Meng Ying unlocked the door. “How about some wontons?”
“Perfect!”
The four of them filed inside. The apartment layout mirrored Xu Qing’s—spacious but not extravagant. While Meng Ying and Xu Qing headed to the kitchen, Gu Sui and Xu Dian settled on the couch.
Gu Sui glanced around. “This place is what, 130 square meters?”
Xu Dian: “Mm. Too small.”
Gu Sui: “Won’t be enough space if you have kids.”
Xu Dian: “Only two bedrooms.”
Meng Ying and Xu Qing exchanged a look. Then—
*BANG!*
Xu Qing slammed the kitchen door shut.
Silence.
A second later, Gu Sui pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Xu Dian.
Xu Dian flicked it away with his fingers. “Quitting.”
Gu Sui: “…”
Suddenly, the cigarette between his lips tasted bitter.
Xu Dian unwrapped a mint candy, letting it dissolve on his tongue, then pulled out his tablet and opened an app.
Gu Sui glanced over. “This the new project you’ve been working on?”
“Yeah.”
And just like that, the two men dove into business talk.
—
### Midnight Feast
The fridge was stocked with chicken dishes, prepped earlier by the housekeeper. Meng Ying took charge of cooking while Xu Qing—after disastrously failing at folding wontons—was demoted to marinating the chicken feet.
“This, I can handle,” Xu Qing declared.
An hour later, the feast was ready. Xu Qing sneakily devoured several pieces before they even hit the table—sour, spicy, and utterly addictive.
On the couch, the two men were deep in discussion, sprawled lazily, exuding an effortless charm. Meng Ying plucked a chicken foot from the plate, walked over, and—mid-sentence—popped a bite into Xu Dian’s mouth.
She leaned against the sofa. Xu Dian paused, chewed, then turned to her. “Done?”
Meng Ying nodded.
Xu Dian spat out the bone, pulled her close, and kissed the corner of her lips.
—
### Aftermath
By the time they bid farewell to Gu Sui and Xu Qing, it was past midnight. Meng Ying stretched, yawning. Xu Dian wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“Shower. Then bed.”
“I already loaded the dishwasher,” he added.
Meng Ying turned, pinching his earlobe. “Good boy.”
Xu Dian smirked. “Shower together?”
“Mm.”
She reached up, and he lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the bathroom.
What followed was a mix of indulgence and restraint—Xu Dian, mindful of her exhaustion from the awards, didn’t push too far. But enough to leave her clutching his shoulders, eyes glistening.
Back in bed, he cradled her face, kissing her softly before murmuring:
“Ever wondered what marriage tastes like?”
Half-asleep, Meng Ying only managed a drowsy shake of her head.
Xu Dian’s fingers stiffened.
Then—he bit her lip. Hard.
Pulling her flush against him, his eyes darkened with frustration—though he dared not show it too openly.
Instead, he settled for a light smack on her backside.
But Meng Ying was already fast asleep.
—
### The Next Day
At her newly established studio, Meng Ying sorted through staffing plans with HR. Her manager, Liu Qin, was swamped with a crisis involving another artist, leaving Meng Ying to handle her own team setup.
During a break, she stumbled upon a nearly buried hashtag:
#MengYingIsUnworthyOfXuDian#
The original post, from an anonymous account, was a venomous rant—only to be drowned out by Xu Qing and others’ fierce defenses. Fans had flooded the comments with screenshots of Meng Ying’s award win, slapping back at the hate.
Just as she was about to exit, a new trend caught her eye:
#TangYiApologizesToMengYing#
Tang Yi—the author behind the smear campaign—had publicly apologized after receiving a lawsuit threat from Xu Corporation.
The internet erupted.
*”Should’ve livestreamed eating shit before jail.”*
*”Your book only blew up because of Meng Ying’s performance. Ungrateful much?”*
*”No studio will touch your work now. Enjoy obscurity, ‘esteemed’ author.”*
*”New rule for Meng Ying’s fan club: Boycott Tang Yi’s books.”*
Xu Corporation’s legal team wasn’t known for empty threats. They’d already decimated several malicious media outlets in the past.
And Tang Yi?
Just another casualty in Xu Dian’s unspoken vow:
No one insults his woman and walks away.
—
Liu Qin sent a WeChat message: “President Xu quietly took care of Tang Yi for you.”
Meng Ying: “Mm.”
She casually liked all the comments bashing Tang Yi before exiting Weibo.
Next up—Interstellar hit theaters, and Meng Ying had already moved on to a new film set.
In Interstellar, Meng Ying’s performance overshadowed Yang Tong’s so thoroughly that many argued she should’ve played the female lead. But then again—who would’ve brought the fourth female lead to life like she did? As Interstellar soared, her character Jiao Lan was submitted for next year’s Golden Thespian Awards.
The industry braced itself: *Was Meng Ying about to win back-to-back awards?*
Her new film, *Crossroad*, required her to play a male role—a challenge she struggled with. The director suggested a few days’ break. Meng Ying didn’t force it. She tied up her hair and returned to the hotel.
The door opened to reveal Xu Dian by the window, phone in hand. He leaned lazily against the sill, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, a suitcase at his feet, a suit jacket hanging nearby.
Xiao Meng spotted him instantly, hastily set down the script and supplies, then fled—closing the door behind her.
Meng Ying kicked off her shoes and walked over. Xu Dian held the phone in one hand, the other spreading open in silent invitation. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“When did you get here?”
He moved the phone aside. “Just now.”
She hummed. His arm circled her waist as he resumed his call—something about medical investments. The voice on the other end was firm, vaguely familiar.
*Li Yi?*
A lightbulb went off. She gripped Xu Dian’s arm. He glanced down. “Hmm?”
Meng Ying whispered, “Is Li Yi free?”
The warmth in Xu Dian’s eyes chilled. “Why?”
His tone dripped displeasure.
Too focused on her role to notice, Meng Ying pressed, “Ask him to come here. You two can discuss business, and I’ll observe him—learn how men move.”
Xu Dian: “Not just to *look* at him?”
She tilted her head.*”Well, that too.”
His arm tightened. After a long pause, he gritted out, “No.”
He hung up, pinched her lips shut, and kissed her hard. Only then did Meng Ying realize—he’d misunderstood. Laughing, she soothed his back, parting her lips to let him in. The kiss spiraled until he spun her around, pressing her against the window.
She pushed at his hand, gasping, “I just wanted to study his mannerisms—”
“Don’t care. Don’t explain.” He reclaimed her mouth.
They tussled until Xiao Meng delivered food. Xu Dian—buttoning his shirt—retrieved the meal. Meng Ying, legs crossed on the sofa, scrolled through her phone and froze.
Zhou Yang: [Women’s happiness index in marriage reaches 80%.]
Zhou Yang: [Single women envy married ones.]*
Zhou Yang: [Shocking! 10 benefits of marriage you didn’t know!]
All blatant propaganda. She skimmed two before replying:
Meng Ying: You wanna get married?
Zhou Yang: Just sharing thoughts. For your consideration.
Meng Ying: Oh.
Then—
Yun Lu: [Wow, marriage is GREAT.]
Meng Ying: …You too?
Liu Yan: [Marriage goals tbh.]
Meng Ying: “……”
What the hell was this coordinated attack?
Xu Dian fed her a piece of lamb. She chewed, eyeing his unbuttoned collar, then his face—rarely bespectacled around her, his peach-blossom eyes intent. He spooned rice into her mouth; a grain stuck to her lip. He swiped it off—ate it himself—then glimpsed her phone.
[Wow, marriage is GREAT.]
He pretended not to see.
“They’re all sending me marriage posts,” Meng Ying muttered. “Weird.”
Xu Dian “Mm”-ed, voice carefully neutral. “Good to… think about these things.”
The last words faded.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. Eat your greens.” He nudged vegetables toward her.
“You’re the one feeding me meat!” She snatched the container, retreating to the armchair. Left with no choice, Xu Dian ate his own meal.
—
Post-shower, Meng Ying emerged in pajamas to find Xu Dian reviewing documents. She passed behind him toward the balcony to dry her hair—then spotted it.
*A wedding brochure on his suitcase.*
She arched a brow, crouched to examine it.
Xu Dian’s fingers froze on the mouse.
The document on-screen blurred.
His glasses gleamed—cool facade, internal panic.
Just as he steadied his breath—
Meng Ying stood and walked away without a word.
Not even a glance back.
Xu Dian: “？？？”
—
That night, curled in bed, Meng Ying sighed. “Tough day on set.”
“Mm,” came his muffled reply.
She rolled over, draping an arm over him. “Call Li Yi for me?”
Her tone dipped—sweet, coaxing.
Xu Dian’s throat tightened. “Fine.”
The second he agreed, he stiffened.
…Damn it.
Meng Ying chuckled, “The character I’m playing is a police officer—a former special forces soldier. I need to learn from him.”
Xu Dian: “….Fine.”
A moment later, he tried to steer the conversation back to marriage, only to realize Meng Ying had gone completely limp in his arms. He turned her over—she was already asleep.
Xu Dian: “…..”
What about the wedding brochure?
…
Not even a question?
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dragged her back into his arms.
—
### Three Days Later
Xu Dian took Meng Ying to a subsidiary of Xu Corporation. The moment they stepped in, she saw Zhou Yang, Li Yi, Wen Zeli, and Jiang Yu—all gathered in the lounge.
Xu Dian nudged her. “Observe at will.”
Meng Ying: “……”
Fine.
She settled into a single sofa while the men discussed business. Xu Dian, glasses on, lounged against the armrest, legs crossed, his tone relaxed.
Zhou Yang and the others debated a military-tech collaboration, with Wen Zeli and Jiang Yu offering advice. Mid-conversation, Zhou Yang suddenly leaned in and whispered, “You still haven’t proposed?”
Xu Dian adjusted his glasses. “No.”
Jiang Yu glanced at Meng Ying—sipping tea, scrolling her phone, occasionally studying them—and smirked. “This… hard, huh?”
Wen Zeli: “This is called cowardice.”
Li Yi nodded in agreement.
Xu Dian shot them a icy glare.
Zhou Yang laughed. “Pathetic. Truly pathetic.”
Xu Dian sneered. “You’re one to talk.”
Zhou Yang: “…Still less pathetic than you.”
Li Yi lit a cigarette. “Why does your wife keep staring at me?”
Xu Dian’s jaw tightened. “She’s looking at me.”
Li Yi exhaled smoke. “Ah. My mistake.”
—
### Dinner Disaster
After the meeting, they headed to a harbor-side restaurant. The moment the group walked in—five towering, devastatingly handsome men—every head turned. Meng Ying, masked but still feeling the daggers of envy from every woman in the room, sighed.
Inside the private room, the men sat unfazed. Zhou Yang’s phone rang—a woman’s voice, sharp before hanging up. He grinned and flipped open the menu, utterly unbothered.
Meng Ying side-eyed him.
This man…
…is digging his own grave.
—
### Post-Dinner Realizations
Back at the hotel, Meng Ying lounged against Xu Dian while he took a call. She typed notes on her phone:
– How to hold a cigarette
– Down tea in one gulp
– Same with alcohol
– Squat with legs apart
Xu Dian: “…..”
The movie might wrap soon, but his wife was turning into Li Yi.
—
### The Final Straw
Four months later, winter in LiCheng. Meng Ying, bundled in a coat, sat in a black van when Liu Qin suddenly rolled down the window.
A convoy of sports cars roared past, banners fluttering:
*”MENG YING, MARRY ME.”*
She blinked.
Then—billboards at bus stops, roses and her face:
*”MENG YING, MARRY ME.”*
Liu Qin coughed. “Proposal.”
“Xu Dian’s proposal.”
“I know.” Obviously.
The moment Meng Ying stepped out of the car at Xinyue Community, her feet had barely touched the ground when she looked up—the sky was filled with hot air balloons, each emblazoned with:
*”MENG YING, MARRY ME.”*
She turned around.
Xu Dian stood there, a bouquet of roses in hand. He stepped forward, reached behind her neck, and—with a snap of his fingers—pulled back to reveal a velvet box in his palm.
It clicked open.
A diamond ring glinted inside.
Then he knelt, his expression deadly serious. “Will you marry me?”
Meng Ying looked down at him.
His jaw was tight. Nervous.
She smiled, leaned in, and whispered, “What if I say no?”
Xu Dian was silent for a long moment. “I’ll ask again.”
Straightening, Meng Ying hummed and took two steps back. Xu Dian’s grip on the roses tightened, his teeth gritted—
—until her slender, fair hand appeared in front of him.
“Put it on,” she said, tilting her head with a grin.
—
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