Chapter 61: She Seemed To See The Seventeen-Year-Old Jiang Qi …

Yue Yuan is the daughter of a manager at one of the country’s top three media conglomerates—a born princess with all the resources at her fingertips. From the moment she stepped into the cutthroat, scheming world of entertainment, she has been pampered and carried along effortlessly.

With formidable backing and an army of paid supporters at her disposal, she doesn’t even need fans—her biggest “sponsor” is her own father.

So, all those unspoken rules of the industry—sleeping your way to the top, securing endorsements by schmoozing at banquets—none of that applies to Yue Yuan. Why? Because with her powerful connections, everyone has no choice but to address her respectfully as “Sister Yuan,” even though she’s roughly the same age as Jiang Qi.

Does she really deserve the title “Sister”? Of course not. It’s just empty flattery.

But Yue Yuan has been living in this illusory ivory tower for so long that she’s grown accustomed to the hollow praise.

In fact, Jiang Qi’s words might just be the biggest blow she’s suffered in her three-year career.

—Given her powerful background, even someone as influential as Wang Zhaoqiu wouldn’t dare outright call her acting bad.

And now… Jiang Qi claims he doesn’t even remember her?

Is her face really that forgettable? The words “don’t remember” hit Yue Yuan like a sledgehammer. Fragile and naive, she instantly clutched her handbag, knuckles whitening.

“I—I’m…” Yue Yuan hesitated, then actually tried to remind him, “We met at Director Wang Zhaoqiu’s audition last year, around October.”

“Ms. Yue.” Jiang Qi stood, his towering presence casting a shadow that made Yue Yuan instinctively take a step back. Yet his tone remained polite—coldly polite. “Did you need something from me?”

Ms. Yue? Why did that make her sound so old?

Yue Yuan’s thoughts veered off track, and she blurted out, “No need to be so formal. You can just call me by my name.”

But Jiang Qi frowned. They weren’t that close.

His gaze flickered, catching a certain figure “hiding” not too far away, and his expression instantly transformed—like a Sichuan opera mask shifting from frozen tundra to spring blossoms.

Forgetting the hesitant woman in front of him, Jiang Qi hurried over and grabbed Zhi Qi, his face lighting up. “What are you doing here?”

Tall and long-legged, he moved fast. Zhi Qi, still distracted by Yue Yuan, was caught off guard.

His grip was strong, and in his excitement, he didn’t hold back. Zhi Qi, wearing heels today, nearly stumbled—thankfully, Jiang Qi’s long arms wrapped firmly around her slender waist.

“…Let go first.” With so many eyes around, Zhi Qi pushed at him awkwardly, her voice muffled behind her mask. “I didn’t have class, so I came.”

Not far away, Yue Yuan turned, watching their interaction, her face gradually paling.

For someone as aloof as Jiang Qi to act like this with another person—it was obvious the girl in his arms was his rumored girlfriend. Which meant, at this moment, Yue Yuan had even less reason to stay.

Just as the awkwardness peaked, Qu Heng—alerted by staff that Yue Yuan was looking for him—emerged and spotted her. Smoothly inserting himself, he broke the tension. “Xiao Yuan, you were looking for me?”

Truth be told, he wasn’t close to her. Calling her “Xiao Yuan” was purely out of respect for her father, Yue Zhongze. But why was Yue Yuan here to see him?

“…” Having made up a random excuse on the spot, Yue Yuan was caught off guard when Qu Heng actually appeared. Forced to play along, she smiled awkwardly. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just passing by and thought I’d drop in.”

“Here to visit the set?” Qu Heng chuckled. “We’re on break right now—the next scene won’t start for a while. You can wait if you’d like.”

Yue Yuan quickly seized the out, murmuring something about “having other things to attend to” before making a hasty retreat, her departure almost comically flustered.

“???” Thoroughly confused by her odd behavior, Qu Heng scratched his head and muttered to himself, “What was that about?”

His gaze drifted absently until it landed on Zhi Qi, still masked, standing beside Jiang Qi.

Qu Heng blinked in recognition. Even with the mask, those bright, dark eyes were unmistakable—this was the same girl who had tearfully defended Jiang Qi in the hospital over half a year ago. Zhi Qi. Jiang Qi’s girlfriend.

After a brief pause, Qu Heng walked over to greet them.

Hearing the footsteps, Jiang Qi looked up. “Director Qu.”

“Stay seated.” Qu Heng waved him off, then turned to Zhi Qi with a teasing grin. “Girlfriend here for a visit?”

Zhi Qi remembered Qu Heng well. She pulled down her mask and smiled politely. “Hello, Director Qu.”

“No need for formalities.” He nodded slightly, hesitating as if about to say something more—until the assistant director’s voice cut through the set, shouting, “Back to work!”

The moment those words echoed across the set, Jiang Qi instantly shifted into his “immersed” state. He removed the towel draped around his neck and, with obvious reluctance, ruffled Zhi Qi’s hair one last time. “I have to go.”

“Mm.” Unused to public displays of affection, Zhi Qi smiled shyly and whispered, “I’ll be watching.”

She loved standing just outside the spotlight, close enough to observe Jiang Qi’s transformation when he slipped into character—a completely different version of him, radiating a unique magnetism.

This particular scene depicted Chen Si, the male lead, taking on a part-time job during university.

Jiang Qi had never attended college, so he’d poured extra effort into researching this part of the script. For weeks, he’d pestered Zhi Qi with questions—What do you do in university? What’s it like?—even tagging along to a few open lectures at Lan University.

On occasion, she’d even pulled some strings to get him a temporary student ID.

Just like how Jiang Qi always managed to sneak her backstage passes.

Now, dressed in a simple white T-shirt and black pants, wearing the character’s prop glasses, Jiang Qi stood under the studio lights in a meticulously constructed library set—every inch the convincing college student.

The youthful, almost overwhelming energy he usually kept restrained was now on full display, exactly when it needed to be.

Watching Jiang Qi quietly flipping through a book, his slender fingers occasionally pushing up his glasses, Zhi Qi felt a faint sense of deja vu.

—It was as if she was seeing the seventeen-year-old Jiang Qi again.

He was still just as lean now as he had been back then, but back in those days, his demeanor had been far more tense, weighed down by a quiet bitterness, as though he lived each day in restless dread—yet he still studied diligently.

Jiang Qi had genuinely, at one point, believed that education could change his fate. It was just a shame that the dream had been cut short so abruptly.

Hearing Qu Heng murmur a soft “Nice” from behind the camera as he monitored the shot, Zhi Qi couldn’t help but smile. She whispered, “Actually, Jiang Qi used to be a really good student.”

“Oh?” Qu Heng handed the camera off to the assistant director and moved closer, standing beside her as they both watched Jiang Qi under the lights. “He was that good?”

“Mhm. In high school, he ranked first in every exam.”

Even now, the thought filled her with a pang of regret. Zhi Qi lowered her eyes. “He just… never got to finish school.”

The reason why didn’t need to be spoken aloud—they both knew.

But Qu Heng seemed lost in thought. His gaze lingered on the focused young man under the spotlight, eyes narrowing slightly. He had assumed Jiang Qi was simply acting the part of a student, but now it seemed he might be drawing from real experience.

Had Zhi Qi not mentioned it, he would never have guessed that Jiang Qi had once been a straight-A student.

No wonder… no wonder the boy had such a strong moral compass. Qu Heng couldn’t help but recall how Jiang Qi had returned to the industry with a mindset of atonement, refusing to accept a single penny for his work.

If not for fate’s cruel twist, he probably would have grown into an upstanding pillar of society—both virtuous and accomplished.

Though, from Qu Heng’s professional perspective as a director, Jiang Qi wasn’t doing too badly now either. Fate worked in strange ways. Who could say for certain? If everything had gone according to plan, Jiang Qi might never have had this chance in the entertainment industry, and the business would have missed out on a rising star like him.

Still, from where he stood—both personally and professionally—Qu Heng felt he owed Jiang Qi a different kind of “payment.”

Leaning in slightly, he asked Zhi Qi in a low voice, “Miss Zhi, would you mind sharing a bit more about Jiang Qi’s past? I’d like to… understand his history to refine the script. It might help him immerse himself even deeper into the role.”

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