Chapter Seventy-Seven: On the Self-Cultivation of an Idol

When Bai Chenxi returned from her meal, she immediately sensed a change in the atmosphere on set. The girls all wore dreamy expressions, their hearts clearly aflutter, and even the crew seemed to radiate a newfound vitality.

She sat down and asked Xiaoyu, “Did something happen while I was eating? Why is everyone so cheerful?”

Xiaoyu, who was reviewing Bai Chenxi’s shooting schedule, adjusted her glasses and replied, “Oh! Xia Yan just joined the cast.”

“Xia Yan? The singer-dancer? The most popular idol right now?”

Bai Chenxi had seen his performances before—handsome and captivating on stage, it was truly a delight to watch.

Xiaoyu, ever composed, simply nodded. “Yes, that Xia Yan.”

Bai Chenxi eyed her curiously. Wasn’t someone like Xia Yan exactly the type to win over young women? Yet Xiaoyu remained unmoved.

“Xiaoyu, aren’t you even a little excited?”

Xiaoyu looked puzzled. “Why should I be?”

“But he’s Xia Yan! Don’t all the girls these days adore idols like him?”

Xiaoyu habitually adjusted her glasses again, her tone unruffled. “Oh, I don’t follow celebrities.”

Bai Chenxi was about to offer Xiaoyu a heartfelt lecture—after all, it seemed a shame for such a young woman to be so serious.

Just as she opened her mouth, the person in question walked over. Bai Chenxi looked at Xia Yan appreciatively—he was undeniably good-looking, a true feast for the eyes.

When Xia Yan caught Bai Chenxi’s gaze, a fleeting impatience crossed his eyes. Only after his manager nudged him did he hastily mask his displeasure.

The manager led Xia Yan over, and Bai Chenxi stood to greet them. She reached out, but Xia Yan’s manager quickly took her hand instead, saying, “Hello, Chenxi! Xia Yan is new to acting. Please forgive him if he makes any mistakes.”

Bai Chenxi recognized the polite platitude and responded with a gentle smile, “Of course, that’s only natural.”

After a brief exchange, the manager guided Xia Yan away. From start to finish, Xia Yan hadn’t spoken a word to Bai Chenxi. In fact, when she approached, he subtly took a step back.

Bai Chenxi, usually oblivious to such things, didn’t notice, but Xiaoyu, standing behind her, did. For once, she fixed her gaze on Xia Yan.

“He’s avoiding you,” Xiaoyu remarked quietly once the manager and Xia Yan had left, startling Bai Chenxi.

“Is that so?” Bai Chenxi shrugged. “I suppose it makes sense. I’m known for courting publicity; it’s only natural for an idol like him to keep his distance.”

But in truth, Bai Chenxi underestimated the self-restraint of an idol. Even though her character, Imperial Concubine Tang, and Xia Yan’s character, Prince Duan, barely shared any scenes, they still worked in the same crew and inevitably crossed paths. Xia Yan’s efforts to keep away from her were understandable—until one day, when Bai Chenxi greeted him, and he fled as if he’d seen a monster. That was too much.

She lowered her still-raised hand and watched him leave in exasperation. “Isn’t that a bit much?”

If “the art of idol self-discipline” were a course, Xia Yan would surely earn top marks.

Suddenly, someone patted Bai Chenxi’s shoulder. “Hey, Chenxi, what are you looking at?”

Turning, she saw Mi Mu and immediately threw her arms around her, half-complaining, “Mumu, I think someone dislikes me.”

Ever since Mi Mu had spoken up for her amid everyone’s gossip, they had become acquainted. To their surprise, they discovered many shared interests and quickly became friends—the first female friend Bai Chenxi had made in the industry.

Mi Mu glanced in the direction Bai Chenxi had been looking but saw nothing, so she comforted her, “Our Chenxi is so beautiful. How could anyone dislike you? He simply lacks taste.”

Bai Chenxi nodded in agreement. “Exactly.”

Mi Mu’s face grew serious. “But, Chenxi, be careful. I saw the way Meng Ling watched you during filming—she might be planning trouble.”

Bai Chenxi looked at Mi Mu with gratitude. “I knew you were the best, Mumu.”

From a distance, Meng Ling watched Bai Chenxi and Mi Mu embracing. Bai Chenxi, maybe I can’t deal with you, but I can still deal with those around you.

A sharp slap rang out on set. Meng Ling hurried over to Mi Mu, her face panicked. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose. Are you all right?”

Mi Mu dodged Meng Ling’s reaching hand, smiling gently, “I’m fine, Sister Meng Ling.”

Director Li called out from afar, “Meng Ling, why did you stop? Keep going!”

Meng Ling bowed to the director. “Sorry, Director.”

“All departments, get ready. Let’s go again.”

As she passed Mi Mu, Meng Ling whispered, “You’d better watch your face. Such a beautiful face—if it gets ruined, that would be a shame.”

She waved her ring-adorned hand in front of Mi Mu’s eyes. The concubine Meng Ling played swept everything off the table with a single motion. “Useless thing.”

Mi Mu, in her role as a palace maid, knelt and trembled. “Your Grace, please calm down. Spare me, Your Grace.”

The imperial concubine glanced at her own hand, ignoring the supplicant at her feet. “Spare you?”

With that, she raised her hand. Mi Mu, cowering on the ground, saw the malice in Meng Ling’s expression and the cold glint of the ring. Fearfully, she shielded her face.

“Cut! What’s going on with that maid? If you can’t get this right, you don’t need to be in this scene.”

“Director, it’s clearly—” Bai Chenxi stepped forward to explain for Mi Mu, but the director cut her off impatiently.

“Be quiet and watch.” Bai Chenxi bit her tongue, frustrated—it was Meng Ling who was deliberately frightening Mi Mu.

Meng Ling then loudly feigned concern, “Director, don’t blame her. I really did hit her just now—she was just scared. Let’s do it again; I’m sure we’ll get it right.”

She even helped Mi Mu up with a smile. “Sorry about before, let’s try again.”

But as she leaned in, she whispered, “How did that slap feel? There’s more to come.”

She brushed her hand against Mi Mu’s costume, all innocence as she said encouragingly, “Do your best!”

Mi Mu glanced behind Meng Ling, her gaze darkening at what she saw. She lowered her head meekly. “I understand, Sister Meng Ling.”

Blood trickled down Mi Mu’s face from a scratch, and she whimpered in pain. Suddenly, reporters appeared from nowhere, cameras flashing. Meng Ling froze in shock.

“I didn’t do it, I didn’t,” she stammered, pale-faced.

Meng Ling had only intended to teach Mi Mu a lesson and give Bai Chenxi a warning, not actually injure her. She’d only meant to scare her—after all, a scandal would hurt everyone.

But what had really happened? Meng Ling abruptly looked at Mi Mu, who was crying and clutching her wounded face.

Meng Ling reached out, pointing at Mi Mu. “It was—”