That night was destined to be anything but calm.
The producer walked out in a daze, visibly shaken. He hadn’t gone far when He Tianzhuo spotted him from a distance. Without needing to ask, he already knew the answer.
He let out a cold laugh, turned around, and headed straight back to the room to pack his things and leave.
But when he started packing, he realized all their luggage had been packed by Su Qingli this time. There were two suitcases, but now, not a single one was in sight. His belongings were scattered across the couch, clearly tossed out separately.
His breathing grew heavier. He didn’t bother with anything else—grabbed only his important documents and stormed out.
The producer stared at He Tianzhuo’s stormy figure and had a sinking feeling.
As a renowned director, He Tianzhuo had long built his team—everyone from assistant directors to production staff was loyal to him. If he left, the whole team would likely collapse.
That fear had barely taken hold when his phone began to buzz nonstop.
[Director He says he’s leaving. What happened?]
[Producer Zhang, did something go down? Are we still filming this drama? Director He told us all to leave!]
[…]
Zhang, the producer, felt the world spin. He grabbed the wall to steady himself, his heart pounding like a drum, panic flooding his chest. This was a disaster. He should’ve never turned down the project that Director Li offered him before. He just had to choose this one instead.
And now? He was left with nothing.
Just then, his phone dinged again.
He opened it to find a new Alipay transaction.
Zhang paused, then tapped into the details.
It was a transfer of 200,000 yuan, with a message attached:
[Help me find a reliable production team. No need for a head director, but I want everyone else. The remaining 300,000 will be paid upon completion.]
Zhang’s eyes immediately locked on the sender, Su Qingli.
He wiped his face, counted the zeros just to be sure, confirmed it was indeed 200,000, and instantly perked up. He quickly typed a reply:
[Got it!]
Even though 500,000 wasn’t a huge amount for him, getting that much just to connect her with a team? That was practically free money!
As a producer, he had access to more teams than he could count.
In this industry, everything revolved around money, including him. He was so worried earlier because he thought the whole drama would fall apart. But now, judging from Su Qingli’s attitude, the show was going forward after all.
She didn’t want a head director, which probably meant she had someone better lined up. If the crew was secured, what was there to worry about?
As long as Feng Sha stuck to the novel faithfully, it might not be a mega-hit, but a moderate success was definitely within reach. That would still be a solid credit to add to his résumé.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Producer Zhang decided to stay and get to work.
Inside the room—
A teenage girl, around eighteen or nineteen, sat on the couch, curled up with her arms around her legs, her brows furrowed deep in thought.
She had a sweet, fresh look—her features were well-defined, and even without makeup, she looked stunning. With makeup, her beauty would only be enhanced. But unlike the obedient, girl-next-door image she projected in public, the girl at this moment gave off a distinct aura of being unapproachable.
Pacing around the room anxiously was a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She didn’t dare approach the younger girl directly and just fretted quietly on her own.
As time ticked by with no updates, the woman finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and whispered,
“Muyun, maybe you should ask Su Yan what’s going on? I’m really scared this whole thing’s going under.”
Zhao Muyun frowned and glanced at her aunt. “I’ve been trying not to act too concerned. If I go asking now, it’ll look desperate. Don’t worry—he’ll tell me. But you…”—she paused—“…you know Director He, and that kind of relationship too. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”
Had she underestimated her aunt this whole time?
After all, five years ago, her aunt had suddenly returned home after a divorce and never spoke of her ex again. Could it be she had cheated with He Tianzhuo, gotten dumped by her husband, and then been kicked out by Su Qingli?
Zhao Rongrong stammered for a while before finally whispering, “It’s not… it wasn’t like that…”
Zhao Muyun looked disappointed, but mostly just annoyed by how spineless her aunt was.
To be fair, Zhao Rongrong was objectively more beautiful than she was. But her personality was a classic “clinging vine”—overly obedient, easily bullied, never someone who could stand on her own unless she met a truly reliable man.
Zhao Muyun waved her off, and Zhao Rongrong immediately shrank back to the corner, obediently pulling out her phone, not daring to meet her niece’s eyes.
Unlike her, Zhao Muyun had lived a second life.
Rongrong was only twenty-five, but because she didn’t know how to dress herself up, she looked older.
The Zhao family lived in a small town with average means and a tough environment. Many girls dropped out after middle school to work in factories. Zhao Rongrong had been obedient and did well in school—she made it to high school. But when she got into a relationship, her grades slipped, she failed her college entrance exam, and she married her boyfriend.
Everyone expected her to follow the typical path—have kids, raise them, be a good housewife.
But then her in-laws had an accident and couldn’t help them anymore. Her husband didn’t want to work hard and told her to work at a club as a server, because it paid well.
The club owner took a liking to her looks and convinced her to take on a bit of “extra work”—serving drinks, entertaining guests, but no sleeping with clients. Her earnings went up, and her husband never suspected anything.
Then she met He Tianzhuo.
He seemed to genuinely like her, always asking for her by name when he visited, and their relationship grew closer over time.
If Su Qingli hadn’t shown up that one night, it was obvious what would have happened between them.
But before things could cross that line, Su Qingli stormed in, and her ex-husband, having caught wind of the situation, showed up in a rage and stabbed He Tianzhuo.
After that, Zhao Rongrong was scared out of her mind. She divorced her husband and fled home that very night, never daring to go near that world again.
Fortunately, over the past five years, the Zhao family hadn’t been strapped for cash. Though they kept trying to marry her off, she always declined—still hung up on that bit of sentiment. Then, when she heard her niece was entering the entertainment industry, she immediately volunteered to come along to “take care of her.”
The Zhao family, worried for Zhao Muyun’s safety—especially now that she was making good money—agreed. That’s how she ended up being found out.
But she still didn’t dare speak of the past.
Especially since where He Tianzhuo got stabbed… was a very dangerous spot.
Zhao Muyun didn’t dislike her aunt—just couldn’t respect her. If she had her looks, she wouldn’t have to scheme so hard to get ahead. Seeing her aunt curled up in the corner, she sighed.
“Don’t be like that. People will think I’m bullying you. It’s not like we don’t have a bed—just go to sleep, it’s late.”
“Okay.” Zhao Rongrong replied softly and went to bed without another word.
Not long after, Zhao Muyun’s phone rang.
It was a call from Su Yan.
Her heart instantly skipped a beat as she pressed the answer button.
On the surface, Zhao Muyun appeared calm, but in truth, she was nervous too. Still, girls who are too calculating are rarely liked, so even if she was, she had to hide it. Acting laid-back and indifferent tended to draw more sympathy anyway.
She held the phone to her ear. “Oh? You’re still up?”
Su Yan’s tone was heavy. “Yeah. I think my aunt is serious this time. I told her I’m not acting anymore, and even my uncle’s backing out, but she still won’t budge. She’s even asking us to pay breach-of-contract fees.”
“Huh?” Zhao Muyun sounded surprised, frowning in frustration. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I didn’t know my aunt and your uncle knew each other from five years ago… and I didn’t expect the screenwriter to be so sensitive about it…” She gave a bitter laugh. “It’s such a shame to miss out on this drama. I loved the novel. Ugh…”
Hearing the disappointment in her voice, Su Yan’s heart ached. There was no bitterness, no blame directed at Su Qingli for her impulsive decision—just genuine loss and regret.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know what’s gotten into my aunt.”
Sam Williams On TYMIMA Chapter 152