Chapter 22 : Moonlit Regrets and Midnight Calls

Shen Mengke finished washing up early but tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

The living room had gone quiet—Shi Shuiyin’s playful noise had faded, signaling rest.
Shen didn’t know the hour, lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
She realized she’d unconsciously vented her inner turmoil at Wu Yanxing.
She knew her flaws well—when upset, she was a firecracker ready to explode.
Mindful of the show, cameras, and strangers she had to impress, her frustrations had simmered all day.
Yet, with Wu Yanxing, she’d let go.
Maybe because Wu wasn’t in the industry, posing no threat to her life.
Or because Wu had seen her at her lowest.

Shen sighed softly, closing her eyes.
Once her mind started racing, sleep was doomed.
Used to such nights, she tried to clear her head when a ping sounded.
Startled, she sat up.
Was it her imagination?
On a show, who’d ping a guest’s door this late, unless it was a prank?
Another ping.
She flicked on the bedside lamp and opened the door.

Outside, Shu Yun stood in a sheer white nightgown, clutching a pillow, frowning.
“Mom?” Shen blurted, shocked.
“I…”
“My room’s got bugs.
You know I’m terrified of them…” Shu hugged the pillow tighter.
“No clue how many are there, I can’t touch them, and it’s too late to bother the crew.
I had to come to you.”
“Dreams, can I stay here tonight?”
Shu’s brows furrowed, her eyes glinting with tears, pitiful and innocent.
Shen hesitated.
She knew Shu’s fear—once, a tiny bug had made her cry.
But… this was a filmed show.
A corridor camera was rolling.
Would this be edited out?
Seeing her struggle, Shu sighed.
“Forget it, I won’t trouble you.
I’ll crash on the couch.”
As she turned, Shen grabbed her.
Not only could she not bear Shu sleeping alone, but if that aired—Shu leaving her room for the couch—she’d be vilified.

“Come in,” Shen said, stepping aside.
Shu smiled.
“You’re the best.”
She kissed Shen’s cheek.
Shen froze, stunned, even as Shu entered.

The corridor camera hummed.
Shen didn’t know what it caught, but regret hit.
Why wasn’t she asleep?
Why open the door?
Why join this show?

Closing the door, she returned inside.
Shu sat on the rug.
Helplessly, Shen said, “Mom… can you maybe…”
She faltered, unable to finish.
“What?” Shu looked up.
“This is a show, so… no random kissing.
And… we’re long over.”
Shu laughed.
“I thought this afternoon, when you didn’t pull away, meant we were back on.”
“It’s a dating show, sure, but no kissing without… cameras off, okay?”
Shen stammered, shaking her head.
“No.”
Shu’s eyes shifted, dim in the faint light.
Shen couldn’t read her.

“Ten… you’ve got someone new?” Shu asked.
“Xu Suishui?”
“No, she’s just a friend,” Shen frowned.
“You just don’t like me anymore?”
“It’s not that…” Shen pursed her lips.
“Mom, I don’t mean it like that.
I just don’t want to date anyone now.
And us… a kiss doesn’t fix everything.”
Shen’s smile softened, chuckling.
“You’re relentless.”
In the dim light, Shu’s smile wasn’t reassuring.
Shen didn’t buy her teasing tone—she knew when words hid truths.
Shu’s excuse only worsened her sleeplessness.

All night, her mind battled two figures: Wu Yanxing, bound by their contract, and Shu Yunli, tied to her first love.
They weren’t fighting for her.
After countless wakeful moments, Shen gave up, sitting up.
Glancing at the sleeping Shu, she grabbed her phone, slipped on a jacket, and stepped out.
In the dark, Shu sat up.

Summer nights weren’t cool.
In a t-shirt and shorts, draped in a thin cardigan, Shen sat on the courtyard swing, swaying gently.
The moon was stunning, full, surrounded by stars, no clouds.
She snapped a photo, planning to post on her main Weibo for the first time in ages, only to find her account locked.
Frowning, she realized the password was changed.
Stars’ accounts were company-controlled—her agency, with her contract nearing its end, had reclaimed it.
She laughed, furious.
It was a standard expiration, not a bitter split.
Companies rarely clashed so openly with talent, knowing their value.
Some even gifted stars their branded profiles—why burn bridges?

Gripping her phone, she sneered and called Fan Shi Hao, heedless of the hour.
“Give me my Weibo back!”
Raised with manners etched into her bones, Shen never disturbed others so rashly, even in anger.
But tonight, she snapped.
Her reason screamed it was wrong, but she didn’t care.
She’d apologize later—she refused to swallow this slight for pride’s sake.

Fan, jolted awake, was dazed.
Hearing Shen, she grew more confused.
“Your Weibo’s what?”
She sat up, switched on a light, and checked another phone.
A trending topic hit her:
#Shen Mengke Jumps to Fanxing Entertainment

Fan blinked, rubbing her eyes to confirm, then spoke.
“You’re going to Fanxing?”
Shen, fuming, froze.
“How’d you know?”
“You’re trending.
Isn’t that why you called?”
Shen’s heart sank.
Her honed crisis instinct drove her to check Weibo’s top trends:

1. #Shen Mengke Jumps to Fanxing Entertainment
2. #Shen Mengke Bows at Set
3. #Shen Mengke Sincere

She tapped the first.
Fanxing’s official account had liked a post about her.
Her first thought: Wu Yanxing’s revenge?
No, Wu wasn’t that petty.
But Fanxing’s mere like, with no comment, let the buzz fester.
Everyone assumed she was joining Fanxing.
Some dug up her still-active contract with JING, accusing her of breach.
Shen sighed, exhausted.
Who had she crossed?

“I see,” she said, hanging up.
No mood left to admire the moon or stars.
Fan, cut off, quickly dialed another number.
“Sorry for the late call, but it’s about Shen Mengke…”
Shu, by the window, watching Shen in the courtyard, said, “I know, go on.”

Shen lingered outside, staring at her phone.

Shen Mengke: [Boss Ren, I’m Shen Mengke.
I got your contact from Miss Wu and apologize for disturbing you late.
Two things: I’ve decided to sign with Fanxing Entertainment and arranged to meet Miss Wu the day after tomorrow evening—she likely informed you?
I’d like to discuss the contract in person.
Second, regarding the Weibo trend and Fanxing’s like, I don’t know if it was a mistake or intentional, but it’s causing negative impact for both sides.
How should we handle this?]

She kept her tone deferential, expecting no reply tonight.
As she glanced up to count stars, a response came:
[I’ll handle it.]

Shen blinked.
Up this late, on her phone—did Boss Ren have insomnia too?
Even bosses had troubles?

Ren Zhou wasn’t sleepless—someone else was.
When Wu Yanxing’s call woke Ren, she nearly cursed.
“Wu Yanxing, this better be good!”
Ren’s morning temper was fierce—she’d have blocked anyone else.
“What’s with the trend?” Wu asked.
“What trend?” Ren groaned, checking the time.
“Midnight, and you’re surfing?”
“Shen Mengke’s trend.”
“Didn’t I tell you tonight?
You said you didn’t care.”
“Not that—the Fanxing like on her post.”
Ren frowned, recalling her casual action.
“Building her buzz.
A rare positive trend, what’s wrong?”
“It’s bad.
Check it.”
Wu hung up.

Ren stared at the ceiling, hissed, and opened Weibo.
The narrative had soured.
Shen’s bowing photo had shifted from “sincere” to “fake” after Fanxing’s like.
Worse, tags like #Shen Mengke Breach, #Shen Mengke Betrayal, and #Shen Mengke Dishonest emerged.
Unlike Wu, who’d been exiled to obscurity by her family, Ren knew the industry’s games.
This was deliberate sabotage—coordinated bot accounts, identical phrasing.
Shen’s team was oddly silent, her fans scattered, and the late hour amplified the unchecked tags’ rise.
Ren chuckled, intrigued, sitting up and turning on the light.
She’d barely followed Shen before her link to Wu, knowing only her poor reputation and low profile.
Now, it seemed Shen’s bad press was orchestrated—someone had targeted her pre-fame.
A rural girl, no backing, no threat—why preemptively crush her?

Ren switched to Fanxing’s account and posted:
[@Fanxing Entertainment: Shen Mengke is an exceptional actress.
We look forward to working with you @Shen Mengke]
Fanxing followed Shen instantly.

Everyone knew Fanxing’s clout.
Their vague statement deterred attacks on them, redirecting heat to Shen.
Soon, Shen’s studio—JING—issued a statement: Shen’s contract was nearing its end, but she’d renew with JING.
Online jump rumors were false.
Clearly, JING’s order.

Ren saw it, frowning.
Shen, glued to her phone, saw it too, gripping tighter.
Seven years of partnership, ending in betrayal.

Shen scrolled comments on JING’s minute-old post, already hundreds strong:

[Why renew?
What good has JING done?
Suppressing dramas, no decent resources!]
[No variety, no aired dramas—why stay?
To be drained?]
[JING’s been trash forever.
Finally free, and this?]
[Was this posted behind Sister’s back?
Who’s your boss?]
[Clear rumors, don’t make them!]
[@Shen Mengke, you say!
Renew or not?]
[@Shen Mengke!]

No one wanted her to stay with JING.
Shen’s heart twisted, conflicted.

She renamed her burner account, drafting a post under moonlight, but hesitated.
One impulsive act tonight was enough—she couldn’t risk another.
The longer in the industry, the more she knew not to speak online rashly.
Her finger hovered over “Send” when the door creaked.
Like a caught schoolkid, she hid her phone, turning.
Shu stood in the doorway, smiling.

Her white nightgown glowed translucent in the moonlight, like gossamer draped over her.
Dark hair, slightly messy, veiled her chest, her pale skin luminous against the night.
She approached.
“Why out here?”
Shen didn’t answer, scooting over.
Shu smiled, squeezing beside her.

The swing was meant for one, but both slim, they fit.
Shen pointed skyward.
“Counting stars.”
Shu didn’t look up, staring at Shen.
“How many?”
“Three hundred… maybe five.
Lost track, they blur.”
“Count the moon instead.
Just one, always there, seen or not.”
Silence fell.
Shen gazed at the stars until her neck ached, a tear sliding down.

“Mom…”
She bowed her head, tears splashing her bare thigh.
“Mm,” Shu hummed.
“I kinda hate you right now.”
Shu’s gaze dropped to the tear-stain, humming softly again.
Shen inhaled deeply, exhaling.
“If you’d pushed harder back then, maybe I’d have taken that role.
Would I still be this… nobody?”
Shu reached for Shen’s hand.
Shen dodged but was caught, held tight.
“If I hadn’t trusted you, signed with this agency, then…”
Her voice broke, words unsaid.
No more tears fell.
“Sorry,” she said, laughing bitterly.
“Sometimes I’m pathetic.
Grown up, yet blaming others first.”
“Before you came back, I even thought of quitting…”
Shu’s grip tightened, lips parting, but no words came.

They sat in silence until Shen’s phone rang—a strange number.
Hesitating, she answered.
“Taking a call.”
Freeing her hand, she stepped aside, feeling fleetingly unshackled.

“Hello?”
She rarely took unknown calls, usually needing three or four tries.
But today, using it as an escape, she didn’t hang up.
She braced for scams or harassment—anything but Wu Yanxing.
“It’s me.”
Wu’s voice cleared the stifling air like a breeze.
Shen froze, tears falling.
“You…”
“Uh…” Wu paused.
“Ren Zhou asked me to check—still renewing with your agency?”
“No,” Shen said instantly.
“I’m done when the contract’s up.”
Wu seemed to exhale.
“Good, got it.”

A brief silence.
“So…”
“Ren Zhou…”

They spoke at once, stopping.
Wu: “You first.”
“I was wondering why Ren didn’t contact me directly.
She just replied.”
“She’s… busy.”
“Busy?
This late?”
“Boss life, always busy.”
“Oh.” Shen glanced at the flowers by her feet.
“What were you gonna say?”
“It’s late, just saying goodnight.”
Shen bit her lip, eyeing the moon.
“Yeah, late.
Goodnight?”
“Goodnight.”