Chapter 6 : Rainy Days and New Promises

Rain fell again.
Shen Mengke sat by the bed, glancing out the window.
The relentless downpours lately made her worry about the pear tree in her hometown’s courtyard.
How many years had it been since she’d gone back?
She couldn’t recall.
That tree she’d planted herself was probably long dead.

All doors and windows were shut, plunging the room into dimness.
Only a flickering candle on the table cast a faint glow.

Shen Mengke, hair half-loose, hugged her blanket, curled up in the corner of the bed.
Thunder rumbled outside, rain slamming the windows in a defiant, warning rhythm.

A gust blew the window open, curtains billowing like hands reaching for her—or women dancing in the wind, graceful and seductive.
Shen Mengke closed her eyes, opening them slowly once the wind stilled.
She scanned the room cautiously.
The candle had gone out when the gust hit.

The storm raged, winds howling, clouds hiding the moon.
Inside and out, darkness reigned.
Shen Mengke pulled the blanket over her head, then peeked out with one eye, carefully observing.
She slid off the bed, relit the candle, and moved to close the window.

A sharp, metallic scrape pierced her ears—a sword lunged toward her.
Startled, Shen Mengke stumbled back, knocking into the table, toppling the candlestick.
Darkness swallowed the room again.
Hot wax splashed her hand, tears springing from the pain.

Before she could react, the sword hovered before her.
She shrank back, then slowly looked up at the figure in the dark.
Lightning flashed, revealing a grotesque, fanged face.
“Ah…”
Her scream was cut off by a hand clamping her mouth.

“Don’t scream.”
That terrifying face loomed close, staring.
Shen Mengke trembled but nodded obediently.

The hand released her.
Seizing the moment, she spoke.
“I’m Lin Shutang, Third Princess of Jiuli.
Kill me, and our countries will go to war.”
The figure laughed.
“You think I’d care about war if I’m here to assassinate in the palace?”
Shen Mengke faltered, then pressed on.
“Why kill me when you could kill Shen’s emperor?”
She added, “If you didn’t care, you’d have killed me after my first word.”
Pausing, as if choosing words or studying her opponent, her teary eyes and trembling lips betrayed her fear.
“You don’t want war.
You want chaos in Shen, don’t you?”
She knew the new Shen emperor’s rule was shaky, with factions stirring, even Jiuli sending her as a pawn.
Though she didn’t know her own role.
The figure chuckled, sheathing the sword.
“On Princess Li’s orders, I’m delivering something to you.”
She pressed a white porcelain bottle into Shen Mengke’s hand.

Princess Li—Lin Shuli, Lin Shutang’s elder sister, Jiuli’s First Princess.

Shen Mengke took the bottle, not asking questions, and poured its contents into her mouth.
The figure froze, reaching to stop her, but Shen Mengke hurled the bottle, striking her head.

Tears streamed down Shen Mengke’s face, her cries growing more aggrieved.
“Your Majesty, why go this far…”

“Cut!”

Lights snapped on.
Shen Mengke squinted, closing her eyes as tears flowed uncontrollably.
She moved to wipe them, but a soft tissue was pressed into her hand.
She froze, murmuring thanks, clutching it tightly before loosening her grip.

Her eyes adjusted to the light.
She dabbed her tears, but they kept coming.
She was too deep in the role.

Sent alone to a foreign land, surrounded by untrustworthy strangers, mocked by Shen’s emperor using her sister as bait…
The sister she trusted most had sold her to another kingdom without hesitation.

The makeup artist hurried to touch her up.
Shen Mengke dried her tears, about to stand when a hand appeared before her.
She looked up, startled.
Behind the terrifying mask was a strikingly delicate face, smiling as she pulled Shen Mengke to her feet.

It was Xu Shinian, the drama’s co-star, playing Shen’s emperor, Shen Shiwei.
By industry standards, Xu Shinian was Shen Mengke’s senior, having debuted earlier with several lead roles, though only slightly older.
Shen Mengke thanked her softly, standing to adjust her costume.

“Dreamy, your state in that scene was spot-on!”
Director Ruan Xiangzhu—known as Director Sunny—never held back praise or criticism.
Yesterday, she’d chewed Shen Mengke out, shattering her confidence.
Shen Mengke smiled.
“Sunny, I think I’m getting it.”

Ruan Xiangzhu, in her forties, was an internationally acclaimed director.
Her films were all original scripts, shot regardless of IP size or actor pedigree, as long as the story and talent were there.
She’d even poured her own money into projects, nearly going bankrupt.

Initially, no one knew she was directing Heart’s Query.
Using her pseudonym Sunny, she flew under the radar.
But nothing stays secret in the entertainment world’s camera-filled chaos.
An original script, a renowned director, and a taboo same-s*x theme—each alone was fine, but together?
Explosive.
When the cast and director were announced, it trended for three days.
Many reached out to Ruan Xiangzhu, but she turned them all down, even dusting off her dormant Weibo:
[@RuanXiangzhu: Cast is set.
No need for your concern.]

Shen Mengke had been stunned to see Ruan Xiangzhu at her audition.
She nearly backed out.
Her performance was shaky, and Ruan’s expression wasn’t promising, but she gave her a chance.

“Can you cry?” Ruan asked.
Shen Mengke nodded, dazed.
“Yes.”
“Cry now.”

Shen Mengke was thrown—no context, no scene, just tears on command?
But as soon as Ruan spoke, tears fell, round and full, like pearls fresh from an oyster, hitting the floor.
Ruan showed no reaction, telling her to wait for news.

That usually meant rejection.
Shen Mengke had Fan Shi scout other projects, but three days later, she got the call—she was the lead.
She was so thrilled she couldn’t sleep.

But Shen Mengke wasn’t a natural.
A textbook actress, her skills were all theory, no lived experience.
Since shooting began, she’d taken the brunt of Sunny’s “greetings.”
After too many harsh notes, her confidence crumbled, leading to her drunken escape last night.

Now, seeing Sunny’s approving look, Shen Mengke felt genuine joy.

Sunny said Shen Mengke was too hard on herself, chasing the wrong path.
She rejected her academic roots, obsessing over experience.
Not every role needs living it, but emotion is key.
Anyone can cry or laugh, but doing it beautifully, vividly—that’s skill.

Sunny believed Shen Mengke had spirit and talent, just missing the spark to ignite it.
Shen Mengke wasn’t so sure.

While touching up her makeup and discussing the next scene with Sunny and Xu Shinian, Jiang Ranran arrived.
Shen Mengke froze at the sound.
She’d assumed Jiang was already on set—two hours had passed since she arrived.
She didn’t know Jiang’s call time with Sunny, but those fans outside had waited at least that long, if not more.

Their cheers echoed, stirring a mix of envy and something else in Shen Mengke.

Jiang Ranran entered with a grand entourage—agent, assistants, bodyguards—wearing sunglasses and trendy clothes, striding confidently.
An assistant held a black umbrella, obscuring her face from Shen Mengke’s view.
She sensed coolness—not just in vibe but in style and demeanor.
She recalled fans’ online takes: Doesn’t slay men but absolutely slays women, human heart-cutter, lesbian icon…

Jiang reached Sunny, the umbrella was lowered, and she removed her sunglasses, smiling.
“Director, sorry I’m late.”
Her eyes curved, black hair cascading like a waterfall, face bare yet flawless.
She glanced at Shen Mengke, her bright, beautiful eyes striking.

“Teacher Xu Shinian, Teacher Shen Mengke, pleasure to meet you.”
Polished yet faintly arrogant, Shen Mengke marveled—this was youth?
She and Xu Shinian returned the greeting.
As Jiang went to talk with Sunny, Xu Shinian leaned close, whispering, “How old is she?”
Startled by the warm breath, Shen Mengke stepped aside.
“Just turned twenty, I think…”
Xu Shinian sighed.
“So young…”

Shen Mengke nodded, sipping from a water bottle Xiao He handed her.
Seeing Sunny and Jiang deep in conversation, and Xu Shinian busy on her phone, Shen Mengke figured the next scene was a while off.
She sat, script in one hand, sipping water, reviewing lines.
Xu Shinian looked up, scanning Jiang and Sunny, then Shen Mengke, before sitting beside her.
Shen Mengke, unaccustomed to sudden closeness, jolted, nearly choking on her water.

She swallowed, turning to Xu Shinian politely.
“Got plans tonight?” Xu asked bluntly.
Shen Mengke hesitated, shaking her head.
“Perfect.”
Xu grabbed her hand.
Shen Mengke stiffened but didn’t pull away, holding her breath, watching.

“You said you’re a big Yuan Yushan fan, right?”
Shen Mengke nodded.
“Well, there’s a party tonight.
She’ll be there.
Wanna come?”
Shen Mengke’s eyes lit up.
“Really?”
Xu nodded, smiling.
“Great.”
Shen Mengke agreed, grinning.
Xu released her hand, stepping away to make a call.

Shen Mengke watched her, a flicker of doubt in her mind.
Yuan Yushan, a child star turned icon, was only in her thirties.
At twenty-three, she’d swept major awards with one drama, dominating Chinese film and TV accolades.
Her black-and-red reputation carried massive influence.
To Shen Mengke, she was a goddess—many of her acting techniques came from studying Yuan’s films.
Once, a comment comparing her acting to Yuan’s thrilled her for days, though her fans quickly had it deleted.
Yuan wasn’t known to be close to anyone, but Xu Shinian’s industry connections were vast.
Doubt lingered, but the prospect of meeting Yuan Yushan washed it away.

As she mused, her phone pinged with a message.
[Client-LittleTaoist: Free today?
Let’s sign the contract.]

She almost declined, but her fingers paused.
Lately, stress had her craving release—wild, physical release.
Sign the contract, and Chen Yanxing could start fulfilling her friend duties sooner.
Shen Mengke licked her lips, a sly grin forming, and replied:
[In a rush?]