Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 81

An actor can make or break a show.

The crew had been halted for two days.

The producer and director were extremely anxious, while the rest of the staff and actors could only wait in confusion.

“So there’s no way we can wrap up by the end of July,” Ran Lin said to his agent on the phone, his voice carrying the same worry as the director’s. “Even if we find a replacement actress in these two days, we’ll probably have to shoot until mid-August.”

“It would be best to finish by mid-August,” Wang Xi replied. “Any later would be really difficult.”

Ran Lin was surprised. He was set to start filming <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> on August 8^th, and per his contract, even a day’s delay would mean paying a fine. He was prepared for a severe reprimand, but all he got was this response?

As if reading his mind, Wang Xi continued, “I’ve already negotiated with the <The Legend of Lantern Blossoms> crew. They’ve agreed to postpone your scenes, but they can only wait for you until August 18^th. You must join them by then.”

“Xi Jie, you really are…” Ran Lin couldn’t find the right words to describe her. Wang Xi’s thoughtfulness and efficiency exceeded all praises he could think of.

Wang Xi waited for a description that never came, amused yet focused on the matter at hand. “Any leads on the actress?”

Ran Lin sighed. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Director He has high standards for quality. He won’t settle for less,” Wang Xi said, her voice filled with concern. “But good actors are always busy. It’s rare to find someone who can commit immediately.”

Ran Lin explained, “The last actress was recommended by an acquaintance, so the director hesitated so long before terminating the contract. Now we’re wary of recommendations. After being burned once, we insist the new actress must come to the set for a trial shoot before signing any contract.”

“Having been through such a disappointment, it’s understandable the crew is being cautious,” Wang Xi replied. “But this makes it even harder to find a suitable actress. They come to help out and have to audition first.”

“……” The more his agent spoke, the bleaker Ran Lin felt about the future.

“Don’t worry,” Wang Xi reassured, sensing her artist’s despair. “In the worst case, the crew can disband temporarily. In a few months, once they find a suitable actress and everyone’s schedules align, they can reassemble and continue shooting.”

Ran Lin was struck by a sense of déjà vu at her description. Then it dawned on him. “Didn’t Director He’s last project end up doing something similar?”

Wang Xi had mentioned it offhandedly; such occurrences, while not common in the entertainment industry, do happen. But reminded by Ran Lin, she realized that indeed, it seemed to be the same director…

A long, quiet moment passed.

Finally, Wang Xi sighed. “Pursuing art always requires some sacrifice.”

Ran Lin was left speechless, wishing he could just cry in frustration.

After hanging up with his agent, Ran Lin nervously checked the new message in the crew’s group chat, fearing the worst news like “the crew disbanding temporarily”.

Thankfully, that wasn’t the case—

[Dear crew members, we urgently need a female actress around 25 years old (not a strict requirement, apparent suitability is enough). Please help spread the word. Suitable candidates can immediately come for a screen test, and the payment will be generous.]

The message was from the assistant director, but naturally, it was at the director’s behest. Having been burned by a recommendation before, the director was probably at his wit’s end to issue such a notice. Everyone understood they were seeking a replacement for Jiang Xiaoxiao, so no further details were revealed in the notice.

Without hesitation, Ran Lin shared the notice in his WeChat moments, only to realize after posting that his feed was filled with the same call for actors, all copied and pasted by his fellow crew members.

After a moment’s thought, Ran Lin also reached out privately to two female artists he had good relations with. The private messages were less formal, starting with a casual “Hello, anyone there?” emoticon, followed by the main text—

[I’m currently filming Director He Guan’s <Dyeing Fire>, a realism-themed, suspenseful, and stark movie. The crew urgently needs a female actress for the only female role (a positive character) in the movie, which is roughly the third lead. Due to the tight schedule, we need someone who can join immediately. As for the payment, although the director says it’s generous, it might be negligible compared to your usual fees 😅. It’s a rescue mission like putting out a fire. If you’re interested or know someone suitable, please contact me or help spread the word🌹.]

Xi Ruohan was the first to reply.

Ran Lin messaged at 4 p.m., and she responded within an hour—[I can’t help with the role, as I’m starting a TV series next week, but I’ve shared your post in my moments 🤏.]

Ran Lin smiled and thanked her, only to be teased for being too formal with friends.

Jiang Yi replied after Xi Ruohan, around 6 p.m.—[How long is the shooting period?]

Having been turned down by Xi Ruohan, Ran Lin had almost given up hope. Jiang Yi, who had stopped doing TV series and was picky about film roles, especially after her recent high-budget film <Chronicles of Winter>, had her market value significantly increased. Although she had expressed interest in modern dramas, she had plenty of lead roles to choose from; there was no need to turn back for a supporting role.

Because he didn’t expect much, Ran Lin was pleasantly surprised by her reply and responded quickly—[About two months.]

After asking, he realized she might not be considering the role herself; she might just want clearer information to help spread the word.

People are like that; the closer to a surprise, the more they fear disappointment.

Fortunately, Jiang Yi didn’t leave him hanging too long—[I’d like to try for the role, but my schedule is only free until July 25^th, and I can’t commit after that.]

If she started filming immediately, it would mean she had less than fifty days available.

Ran Lin pursed his lips in thought before typing—[I’m not sure if 48 days is enough for the shooting. I need to ask the director. But are you sure you’ll take the role if the schedule works? Maybe you should discuss it with your agent first?]

Jiang Yi—[This is Director He! If my agent knew my first modern film is with Director He, she’d carry me around the world in circles 😭.]

Ran Lin—[But it’s a third lead, a supporting role.]

Jiang Yi—[Isn’t there only one female role in this film?]

Ran Lin—[Yes, a screen full of rough men, you’ll definitely stand out beautifully.]

Jiang Yi—[😏 Hurry up and ask the director for me, if 48 days is enough.]

Ran Lin—[48 days]

Jiang Yi—[If the director thinks I’m suitable, I can join the crew the day after tomorrow.]

Ran Lin—[Wonder Woman.jpg]

Exiting WeChat, Ran Lin immediately called Director He.

It seemed Director He was outside, as the call was filled with noisy street sounds. “Hello?”

“Director He, it’s Ran Lin.”

“Yes, what’s up?”

“I have a friend who wants to try out for Jiang Xiaoxiao, but she only has 48 days available. Is that enough time?”

“What films has your friend been in? Do I know any of them? Or what’s her appearance and temperament like, and how about her acting skills? Please give me an objective assessment. I can’t afford another Qi Luoluo situation; the producer would go mad.”

Director He’s frustration was palpable through the phone.

The production crew was halted, leaving the producer the most anxious as money drains away daily. The cause of this situation was an actor introduced by the director’s acquaintance, making the producer’s distress evident.

“She’s Jiang Yi, the lead actress I just finished <Chronicles of Winter> with. You should remember her; her last film <Broken Bridge> was a big hit.”

“I know Jiang Yi…” Director He pondered with hesitation.

Worried the director might misunderstand, Ran Lin quickly spoke for his friend. “Director He, rest assured, she’s not the diva the internet claims. We had a smooth collaboration, and her acting intuition is great…”

“It’s not her attitude I’m worried about.” Director He found a quieter corner as the background noise lessened. “Her reputation in the industry is quite good. I’d welcome her, but you know the budget constraints. The pay we can offer is just a fraction of her usual fee, and the role is a very minor one. Are you sure she’ll come?”

“The moment she heard it was your film, she didn’t even ask about the pay. If you think we can wrap up in 48 days, she’ll join the day after tomorrow,” Ran Lin said with a suppressed laugh. “Director, you underestimate your own charm.”

There was a long silence on the other end before a deep sigh. “Ran Lin, if Jiang Yi really comes, that would solve a huge problem for me.”

“If that’s the case, it’s because you gave me the chance to play Di Jiangtao,” Ran Lin sincerely replied.

“Then we should both thank Gu Jie,” Director He admitted. “Without his strong recommendation, we might not have had this opportunity.”

Ran Lin paused, then smiled knowingly. He always felt that Gu Jie had put in a good word for him to land a role in <Dyeing Fire>, yet Gu Jie merely claimed to have “connected” them, suggesting that the director, in his urgency to find actors, would consider anyone and the final decision lay with him, not related to Gu Jie at all.

The “strong recommendation” mentioned by Director He was never in Gu Jie’s narrative.

Yet, Ran Lin had always harbored doubts, and today the director confirmed them.

But now wasn’t the time for celebrating friendship. Ran Lin revisited the most pressing concern. “Director He, will 48 days be enough?”

Without hesitation, Director He replied, “If her acting is no issue, I can make it work in 38 days!”

Ran Lin: “……”

Director He: “Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration.”

Ran Lin couldn’t help but chuckle. Director He was always so straightforward. “Okay, then I’ll go talk to Jiang Yi right away.”

“Right, I await your confirmation,” Director He said seriously.

Upon hearing that 48 days would suffice, Jiang Yi immediately contacted her agent. By just after 7:00 p.m., she had replied, asking Ran Lin to send her the address; she would be there the day after tomorrow.

Ran Lin wouldn’t let the “rescue heroine” find her own way; he quickly relayed the good news to the director and soon had the production life coordinator arrange a pickup vehicle.

Everything was settled by 8:00 p.m.

Looking at the date on his phone, Ran Lin mused that June 6^th, a date with double sixes, was indeed auspicious*.

*Clarity: In Chinese culture, the number 6 [liu] (六) is considered auspicious because its pronunciation is similar to the word to flow [liu] (流), which implies that everything will proceed smoothly.

Just as he was about to share the good news with Gu Jie, who seemed more worried than the director these days, the crew’s group chat suddenly buzzed with a new post—a link to a Weibo post: [Insider exposes Gu Jie bullying a new female actress in the crew… [from the Weibo of Entertainment Detective]]

Soon the group chat was flooded with exclamations and confusion. Ran Lin hurriedly clicked in to find that the post included five pictures: the first a screenshot of a notice in the <Dyeing Fire> WeChat group about needing a new actress for the role of Jiang Xiaoxiao, indicating a day’s halt in production. All potential identifiers were obscured, leaving only the group name and notice content; the second was a screenshot of Qi Luoluo’s Weibo, the third and fourth were photos of Gu Jie and Qi Luoluo, and the fifth a blurry photo of the crew at work, apparently taken surreptitiously.

In essence, aside from the notice confirming the replacement of the actress playing Jiang Xiaoxiao and Qi Luoluo’s “seemingly sentimental Weibo post”, there was no substantial evidence linking to the content of the post.

However, the sensationalism of the marketing account’s Weibo post painted a dramatic picture. The full article read like an in-depth report, alleging that Gu Jie had made life difficult for a female newcomer in the crew, causing her to be fired after only ten days on set to appease the leading actor. With no background to defend her, the actress had no choice but to swallow the injustice. Yet, the day the production announced a halt, she also posted a sad message on Weibo, seemingly meaningful when paired with the incident.

The sensational Weibo post by the marketing account referred to the actress as a “newcomer female actress” throughout, but the accompanying pictures already hinted at her identity to the netizens.

Ran Lin first visited Qi Luoluo’s Weibo, whose ID was “Actress Qi Luoluo”. The most popular post on her page was from the evening of June 4^th, the night the director spoke to her, posted at 11:30 p.m.—[A dream that ends. Can’t change the world, only learning to be strong.]

There were no pictures or emojis, just that sentence.

However, as the marketing account suggested, it was profoundly meaningful.

Opening the post, most comments were from sightseeing netizens and Gu Jie’s fans.

The general attitude of the sightseeing netizens ranged from curious to sympathetic—

[What could make a male star bully a newcomer female actress? Just curious, want to ask. 🤔]

[Signed a contract, joined the crew, started shooting, and then got fired. I feel sorry for you, but instead of posting these vague posts, why not speak out all your grievances?]

[This male actor bullying a female actress scenario is quite fresh. What exactly happened?]

[I feel there will be a plot twist. Not taking sides yet, just watching.]

[I’m a bit worried you’ll be blacklisted, but still hope you can speak up.]

Meanwhile, Gu Jie’s fans had a startlingly unified response, all saying—[If you slander, I’ll unfollow. Waiting!]

As Ran Lin scrolled down, the sheer number of similar comments was overwhelming.

When he finally checked Gu Jie’s Weibo homepage, he understood the power of role models.

Just half an hour before, despite the marketing account stirring up momentum, and even before the lighting assistant posted the link in the WeChat group, Gu Jie had already responded with a post on Weibo—

[Heard I bullied a female actress? Seeking evidence; recordings, photos, videos, chat histories are all acceptable. Provide evidence, and I’ll apologize! @Entertainment Detective @Entertainment Seven Princesses @Insider News @Domestic Sun Newspaper @Double Zero Dog Gossip Studio @Entertainment Super Informer @Melon Eating Association @Divine Entertainment Reporter]

Although most celebrity Weibos are half managed by their teams, especially during PR crises when the team takes over entirely, Ran Lin felt that the tone of the post and the determination to tag all the marketing accounts indicated it was Gu Jie himself.

No longer looking at the screen, Ran Lin, still in his slippers and holding his room card, went to knock on Gu Jie’s door.

“Coming—” A voice from inside responded.

Soon after, the door opened to reveal Gu Jie in gray sweatpants and a black tank top, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Still working out… Achoo!” Ran Lin began, but before he could finish his sentence, he sneezed due to the spicy scent in the air.

“No, just eating instant noodles,” Gu Jie replied.

Ran Lin, noticing the half-eaten spicy noodles and the prominently labeled “Extra Spicy” packet, understood where all the sweat came from.

“Carry on, don’t mind me.” Ran Lin gestured towards the noodles, allowing Gu Jie to continue eating.

Gu Jie seemed about to resume eating but then looked up, sensing something amiss, and asked Ran Lin, “Did you come just to watch me eat noodles?”

“I came to comfort you.” Ran Lin rolled his eyes. “But seeing you’re still in the mood for noodles, you probably aren’t too affected.”

“How can I not be affected?” Gu Jie replied, frustrated and furrowing his brows. “I’ve done a hundred push-ups and eaten two packs of noodles. Sure, I’ve sweated it out, but here…” He tapped his chest. “It still feels tight.”

“You clearly haven’t been wronged much,” Ran Lin remarked as he settled into a single sofa chair by a small coffee table. “I was on the hot search a few days ago—you saw it. That was a real mess. Qi Luoluo’s tactics are nothing compared to Han Ze.”

“But she accused me of bullying women,” Gu Jie protested, both angry and aggrieved. “Doesn’t she know why she was fired? Instead of focusing on the right things, she spends her days plotting mischief. And when leaving, she throws dirt on others; what was she thinking!”

From his debut to now, Gu Jie had always maintained a low-profile and earnest approach, not overly cultivating a public persona or fan base, and never seriously involved in any public disputes. Suddenly being thrust into the fray, he felt out of place and uncomfortable; he would rather have a straightforward fight than deal with this.

“I saw your Weibo post,” Ran Lin offered some comfort. “It’s good. If you’re innocent, let those who talk bring out the evidence.”

Gu Jie nodded. “Qiang Ge wanted to act on it, but I stopped him. These baseless rumors aren’t worth our attention.”

Ran Lin paused. “Qiang…Ge?”

“My agent,” Gu Jie replied, finally picking up his fork to continue with the noodles.

Ran Lin had only met Gu Jie’s agent once during “Drifting Stories”, briefly and without much interaction or even knowing his name. Now hearing Gu Jie refer to him as “Qiang Ge” and recalling the robust middle-aged man, he seemed even more formidable.

As Gu Jie ate, Ran Lin shared Gu Jie’s Weibo post, simply forwarding it without additional comments but clearly taking a stand.

Perhaps due to his recent involvement in controversies, as soon as he reposted it, his comments flooded with dozens of concerned messages from fans—

[Male God, be careful. You just got out of a scandal, don’t attract more trouble…]

[Can’t we just stay low and peaceful? 🤲]

[I know you and Gu Jie are close, but maybe don’t pick sides in this kind of situation…]

[It seems to be a tough period; why do all my idol’s recent films have issues?]

Seeing his fans so worried softened Ran Lin’s expression.

He didn’t linger on the comments but returned to WeChat, where the work group had quieted down. Although everyone had their thoughts on the matter, aside from the initial shock, there was no further discussion.

“Oh right.” Ran Lin remembered as he saw Gu Jie finish his noodles. “We’ve found a replacement actress, Jiang Yi.”

Gu Jie, disposing of the noodle bowl, looked surprised. “The one you acted with in <Chronicles of Winter>?”

Ran Lin nodded. “She’ll join the day after tomorrow.”

Gu Jie asked, “Is the salary settled?”

Ran Lin replied, “She said the pay doesn’t matter, she just wants to act in a modern drama.”

Gu Jie remarked, “You must have quite the influence then…”

Ran Lin: “People came here specifically for Director He.”

They chatted casually until after ten. When both felt sleepy, they decided to rest.

Gu Jie’s gloom mainly stemmed from being slandered for no reason, but he wasn’t overly worried about the negative impact it might cause. Although there were marketing accounts stirring the pot, Qi Luoluo wasn’t Han Ze, who could have made the incident dominate the trending searches. At the height of the public’s attention in the evening, it was only ninth or tenth on the trending list. By the time Ran Lin checked Weibo before going to bed, it had fallen to the thirties. Given Gu Jie’s straightforward attitude and Qi Luoluo not speaking out, Ran Lin could almost foresee that by the next morning, the issue would have blown over.

After all, there are too many celebrities making statements every day, whether it’s real fights or fake hype, it’s only exciting when they are equally matched. For a minor figure like Qi Luoluo, unless a major scandal breaks out, it’s hard to sustain attention.

The next day, Ran Lin woke up naturally. When he opened his eyes, the sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft brightness in the room.

Jiang Yi wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, so it was destined to be another day without work.

Bored, Ran Lin called Gu Jie to see if he wanted to go downtown for a stroll. Gu Jie, having nothing better to do, readily agreed.

So the two set out lightly dressed, wearing hats and sunglasses.

Wuhan is a city with a distinct flavor, carrying a sense of retro desolation with the pace of modern rapid change. Sitting in the car, watching the high-rise buildings and the mottled storefronts on both sides of the street, they felt a sense of traveling through the past and future.

Despite having spent months in Wuhan, they had never really explored it, so they thoroughly enjoyed their day out. If it weren’t for a call from Gu Jie’s agent, they might have even headed to the food street that evening.

As the call came in, the sky was darkening, and the streetlights were just coming on.

Standing by the bustling street, Ran Lin listened to his friend on the phone, aimlessly watching the passing vehicles. When he looked back, his friend’s face was even darker than the night.

Ran Lin didn’t hear what Gu Jie said, but he had a vague sense of foreboding. “What’s wrong?”

Gu Jie shook his head and said, “Let’s go back to the hotel and talk.”

Since they were just wandering, they hadn’t used the crew’s car and had been taking taxis. Now, conveniently by the roadside, they hailed a cab.

Curiosity held in check, Ran Lin thought since Gu Jie said to go back to the hotel, they’d wait and ask there. But on the way, Director He called Gu Jie, and as soon as they arrived at the hotel, Gu Jie rushed to Director He’s room.

Ran Lin’s unease grew stronger.

Back in his room, he first checked the work group on WeChat, but the last message was still from yesterday’s “shock”. The group had always been lively since its creation, with members joking around frequently, but the silence from yesterday to today was unsettling.

Exiting WeChat and pondering for a moment, Ran Lin was about to open Weibo when his phone rang. It was Wang Xi.

“Xi Jie?” Ran Lin knew his agent wouldn’t call without reason, and it was likely something urgent.

“What are you doing?” Instead of asking about the situation, the agent started with small talk.

“Just got back from outside…” The more circuitous the agent was, the more anxious Ran Lin became. “The crew stopped working, so I went out for a stroll.”

Wang Xi: “Alone?”

Ran Lin: “With Gu Jie.”

Wang Xi: “…”

Ran Lin: “Xi Jie, just tell me what’s going on. If it’s another problem, just say it. I’m used to it and can handle it.”

Wang Xi laughed briefly before getting to the point. “It’s not you, it’s Gu Jie. Who found that actress anyway, and why is she causing so much drama?”

The calls from Gu Jie’s agent, Director He, and his own agent connected the dots for Ran Lin. “Did Qi Luoluo respond?”

Wang Xi sighed: “Yes, and she responded with a bombshell.”

“What do you mean?” Ran Lin didn’t understand. “Isn’t it just about Gu Jie harassing her?”

Wang Xi explained, “That’s the apparent outcome. But why would Gu Jie bully her? The actress claims it was because Gu Jie harassed her, and she rejected him righteously, leading Gu Jie to retaliate during filming, which ultimately got her kicked out of the crew.”

Ran Lin had heard of fabricating stories, but this was far-fetched.

Furthermore, those who slander others seem to have something in common. Han Ze stole his drama <Chronicles of Winter>, then claimed Wang Xi was biased. Now Qi Luoluo was accused of harassing Gu Jie, but she was saying it’s the other way around. It seemed popular to accuse the accuser.

Ran Lin suppressed his rising emotions and asked his agent, “Do you believe Gu Jie harassed the actress?”

Wang Xi rolled her eyes, saying dismissively, “With his personality, it’s more like he’d be the one harassed.”

Ran Lin: “……”

His agent wasn’t just astute, but almost prophetic.

“But this kind of thing is troublesome.” Wang Xi’s voice grew serious. “Gu Jie can’t provide evidence of ‘I didn’t harass’ because such evidence doesn’t exist. Qi Luoluo might also lack evidence or might use fabricated chats or something as spurious proof. But either way, the public tends to believe the woman in these situations. Because it’s hard to clarify, and Qi Luoluo did get fired from the crew, any reason given now will seem like covering up for Gu Jie. Even if Gu Jie takes legal action or other measures to cool down the situation, his image will be severely damaged.”

Ran Lin was trembling with anger, more upset than when he was slandered. “So there’s no way to stop Qi Luoluo from spreading rumors?”

“There is,” Wang Xi said. “Start with Qi Luoluo, work behind the scenes to get her to clarify voluntarily, but it’s almost impossible.”

Ran Lin’s mood plummeted with his agent’s analysis. Getting Qi Luoluo to apologize, essentially admitting her wrongdoing, seemed less likely than hacking her account and making the apology seem to come from her.

Wang Xi understood Ran Lin’s feelings and knew that the suggestion she made was virtually pointless, falling silent as well.

After a while, Ran Lin realized he hadn’t yet informed his agent of the truth and immediately said, “Actually, it’s not Gu Jie who harassed her, but she harassed Gu Jie. The shooting schedule was severely delayed because of her, and the director had no choice but to terminate her contract, having already been more than fair to her.”

“Some people don’t think about what they’ve gained but only what they’ve lost,” Wang Xi said. “And by stirring up this drama, she’s made a name for herself too. It’s killing two birds with one stone, not a bad deal.”

Ran Lin asked, “Isn’t she afraid of offending Director He?”

“Even if she hadn’t done this, it’s unlikely she would ever deal with a director of Director He’s caliber in her lifetime. Besides, the entertainment industry is vast; Director He can’t cover the sky with one hand. There will always be crews willing to hire her. Put simply, an actor like her fears nothing but obscurity, so she’ll grasp at any opportunity that might make her famous. And…” Wang Xi paused for two seconds before continuing, “She definitely has a team behind her.”

Ran Lin frowned. “So this isn’t revenge but carefully planned hype?”

“There’s an element of revenge,” Wang Xi said, “But the way she posted that pitiful Weibo the day she was fired, let the marketing accounts lead with ‘bullying female actress’ yesterday, and waited until today to formally accuse harassment shows a too methodical approach. The steps are too clear.”

Ran Lin’s mind was in turmoil. He had only heard his agent’s account and hadn’t actually gone to Weibo to see the extent of the situation. But just from what Wang Xi described, he already felt helpless.

This was different from Han Ze slandering him over a role; they could counter with audition footage. But how do you counter an accusation of harassment from Qi Luoluo?

Ran Lin shook off his troubling thoughts, putting aside the question of “how to help Gu Jie” to think about something else. “Xi Jie, you didn’t call just to analyze the impact and strategy for this incident, did you?”

Of course not.

Although frustrated for Gu Jie, who has his own team to handle things, the first thing that came to Wang Xi’s mind when she saw the trending topic was the post Ran Lin shared yesterday. There were already mocking comments under that post, saying how quickly taking sides could backfire. But since the issue hadn’t escalated much yesterday, she didn’t say anything, knowing well the relationship between Ran Lin and Gu Jie.

But today was different. “The victim herself claiming harassment” and “marketing accounts ambiguously saying the actress was bullied” are two entirely different things. She feared Ran Lin, in a moment of passion, might support Gu Jie and attract unnecessary criticism.

However, as the conversation progressed, Ran Lin was eager to find a way to help Gu Jie throughout. Wang Xi could tell, so the typical advice of “don’t post anything and stay prudent” felt somewhat awkward to say.

On Weibo, everyone was watching, with no one daring to openly support Gu Jie yet. Maybe there were private messages or calls offering comfort, but publicly, no one wanted to get involved in the controversy.

But actually, a hundred private words of comfort don’t equate to one public post of support, especially at a time when public opinion is most fervent. Because the real battlefield is out in the open, anyone who steps forward is effectively shielding the involved party from the storm. Suddenly having someone stand by your side and put an arm around your shoulder feels entirely different from receiving a secret message of support.

“It’s okay. I just called to see how you were feeling.” Wang Xi finally didn’t mention her concerns.

Ran Lin might take a stand, or he might not, but as his agent and friend, she decided neither to encourage nor to stop him.

She had been warmed by Ran Lin’s popularity before; she knew how important it is to receive support when in need. If possible, she wanted to be the one guarding that warmth, not making her artist as calculating and detached as herself.

After hanging up with his agent, Ran Lin still felt something was off.

But without time to dwell on it, he quickly opened Weibo, where Gu Jie and Qi Luoluo had both topped the trending list.

Ran Lin went straight to Qi Luoluo’s Weibo to see her long-awaited response: a nearly two-thousand-word post titled “I Am Just a Minor Actress”.

It depicted her in the weakest light, detailing how happy she was to receive the invitation to the crew, how hard she worked after joining, and how she was harassed by Gu Jie, subtly refused him, and then was sabotaged, bullied, and eventually, the crew, having no other choice to protect the male lead, had to let her go—a tale more tragic than Qin Xianglian*.

*A character from Bao Zheng’s Trials of a Hundred Legal Cases, she was married to Chen Shimei, who’s a heartless and unfaithful man. Often portrayed in Peking opera, her tragic tale involves suffering from injustice. She is often portrayed as a symbol of enduring virtue and resilience, despite the extreme hardship she faces.

Most incriminating was the hotel surveillance footage she posted. The video was sped up, with clear dates and times, showing Gu Jie entering her room and leaving about twenty minutes later. The camera angle only showed half the corridor leading to Qi Luoluo’s room, not including Ran Lin’s side, and ended as Gu Jie closed the door, so any aftermath was omitted.

The entire video lacked context, making it seem like Gu Jie went to Qi Luoluo’s room on his own, stayed for twenty minutes, and then left.

Ran Lin knew what Gu Jie had done; if he remembered correctly, his friend said he went in to rehearse lines, and then Qi Luoluo started crying and throwing herself at him.

But the public didn’t know what really happened inside, and the surveillance footage, combined with Qi Luoluo’s lengthy post, seemed to confirm the harassment accusation.

Under Qi Luoluo’s post, there were no visible comments from Gu Jie’s fans or the usual onlookers; it was filled with sympathizers and justice warriors.

As Wang Xi said, Qi Luoluo’s post seemed professionally done, criticizing Gu Jie while subtly placing the crew and the director in a “misinformed” and “reluctantly accommodating the male lead” light, offending no one but Gu Jie.

It was Director He who decided to terminate her contract after discussing with Gu Jie, and Qi Luoluo must have anticipated that Gu Jie would mention her behavior to the director. Yet, she restrained herself to only target Gu Jie, not implicating Director He at all. Minor actors might be sensitive, but major directors are untouchable, at least openly. The careful balancing of stakes and precision in her accusations made Ran Lin skeptical that it was all Qi Luoluo’s doing.

Disturbed by Qi Luoluo’s post, Ran Lin turned to Gu Jie’s page, only to find that a few minutes ago, Gu Jie had updated his Weibo—

[I don’t look for trouble, but I am not afraid of it.]

A seemingly fragile statement that appeared as if it could be blown away with a gust of wind.

Without opening it, Ran Lin could imagine the mockery below because, without evidence or rebuttal, it was just an empty slogan.

Yet, Ran Lin felt as if he could hear his friend’s resolute and firm voice beside him—Gu Jie had pinned that post.

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