After Transmigrating Back, I Became My Own Stand-in - Chapter 8

Lin Chi and Shen Tianqing had known each other for years and were fond of trading barbs. Shen Tianqing hadn’t given her any face earlier, so today, Lin Chi was going to give her something to do.

Shen Tianqing didn’t like to talk much in these settings, but since everyone already perceived her as having that kind of personality, no one found it strange. If she were to suddenly become chatty and social, that would be terrifying.

“I’m very expensive.”

Shen Tianqing flicked her eyelids. Her hand, which had been busy with a “gacha” mobile game, paused. She hadn’t wanted to come to this dinner in the first place. But she didn’t want to go home either; Tan Tan had been around lately. Word was she had divorced that foreign brother-in-law and didn’t plan on leaving again. If Shen Tianqing went back too early, they would run into each other. If she stayed at her own place too often, her mother would nag her about not loving her anymore.

Lin Chi gave a short laugh. There were station leaders, company executives, directors, and editors at the table. She naturally took over the conversation, looking at the producer of the variety show: “Our Director Shen joining wouldn’t be considered a ‘drop in status,’ right?”

The producer froze for a moment, then scrambled to put on a smile. “Of course not! Being able to invite Director Shen to grace us with her presence would be the best thing possible.”

Shen Tianqing had never been on a variety show. Her time in front of the screen totaled only three years before she moved completely behind the scenes. Plus, since she produced her own shows, no one had even considered this angle.

Online, Shen Tianqing’s popularity was massive. While most directors won people over with talent, she was someone who had the visuals to be an idol but used her talent to crush everyone else. Her scandalous reputation made people gossip endlessly, yet she was so unapproachable that no one dared to make a move on her.

The official reason for Qiu Chao’s refusal was a schedule conflict, but everyone knew it was because she had a falling out with the CEO of Whale Video. That woman’s reputation for being cold-hearted wasn’t new; when Yan Xiao was in a car accident and hadn’t even died yet, she had fled the scene without even keeping up appearances. It was quite ugly, which explained why Yan Muyu was so resentful.

While such a guest would be topical, she couldn’t compare to the “cost-performance ratio” of having Shen Tianqing on the show. The producer looked at Shen Tianqing with eyes that were practically glowing green with greed.

Everyone at the table turned to her. Yan Muyu, who was temporarily handling her brother’s affairs after her former sister-in-law’s flight had disgraced the family, naturally hoped Shen Tianqing would lend a hand.

The private booth was decorated in a Republic-era style, with a gramophone playing The Interrupted Dream. Yan Muyu had set up this gathering specifically for Shen Tianqing—otherwise, she wouldn’t have picked this location or this music.

Shen Tianqing seemed to have no appetite. Her mother nagged her every day about being “skin and bones,” but it wasn’t actually that dramatic. However, when she took off her wool coat and adjusted her ruffled blouse, the tinkling of her bracelets revealed a tattoo on her wrist—a withered flower on her ulnar styloid process, looking somewhat desolate.

When Lin Chi first introduced Yan Muyu to Shen Tianqing, Yan Muyu spent a long time trying to figure out the “vibe” the woman gave off. Eventually, she blurted out: “Though it’s quite rude of me to say… I always feel like she looks like someone whose husband just died…”

She thought it was a mean thing to say and didn’t dare repeat it, but Lin Chi just laughed. “A widow, right?”

Yan Muyu nodded. It was a sense of “lonely desolation” that was incredibly infectious. Yet, her features didn’t look bitter; it was just that her solitude had coalesced into a gloom that made people afraid to look her in the eye, as if one glance would submerge them in an overwhelming flood of regret.

Years ago, Yan Muyu and Shen Tianqing were classmates. One was a star student researching adult toy design, the other a high-profile newcomer in the directing department. When they first met through Lin Chi, both thought the other was “no good bird.”

“Did her boyfriend die?” Yan Muyu had asked.

Lin Chi both nodded and shook her head. “Does she look like a heterosexual to you? It wasn’t a boyfriend who died; it was her sister’s girlfriend.”

Yan Muyu gasped, her eyes widening with gossip. “She liked her sister’s girlfriend?”

Lin Chi, being several years older and having family ties to the Shens, knew more than most. “Ask her yourself. Who knows, you might be the ship that carries her out of her sea of bitterness.”

Yan Muyu had no interest in Shen Tianqing. She liked both men and women, but she didn’t like this “cold and spicy” type. She shook her head. “I don’t want to be kicked out. Shen has too much ‘story’ in her eyes; I can’t be her savior.”

Later, as they became close, Yan Muyu learned that behind that cold exterior were “special hobbies” bordering on self-destruction—as if every second of being alive was torture. She needed new things to maintain a desire for survival. Like high-end body toys custom-ordered from Yan Muyu, or “cultivating” starlets while refusing to engage in actual emotions.

To Yan Muyu’s surprise, the usually difficult Shen Tianqing was uncharacteristically agreeable today. “Sure.”

The producer was stunned. Yan Muyu sensed a trap. “What are the conditions?”

Shen Tianqing didn’t like to drink. At every party, she was the “wet blanket.” While everyone else had alcohol, she had milk. She looked at her glass. “No conditions. You’ve already arranged someone for me.”

Yan Muyu’s skin began to crawl. She looked at Lin Chi, who just tilted her head and said nothing. “Just say it, don’t talk in riddles.”

Shen Tianqing looked up. “It’s nothing. Doesn’t your show pick scripts randomly? Can I add a few to the script library?”

Yan Muyu nodded. “Add them. You’re the ‘talented Director Shen’; the films you want to add are surely mandatory viewing.” She praised her excessively.

Shen Tianqing laughed. “Then can I add a ‘body art’ piece?”

“Grandmother, please spare me!” Yan Muyu cried. “I don’t want the show to be shut down. Just cooperate with me on the show. Besides, you have experience with this kind of live-stream format.”

Shen Tianqing: “We’ll talk about which scripts later. If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”

“What’s the rush?” Yan Muyu asked. “Even Lin Chi, who has a kid, isn’t rushing back. Play a bit longer.”

Shen Tianqing: “What is there to ‘play’ with you?”

Yan Muyu (whispering): “What, are you rushing back to see that little canary you’re protecting?”

Yan Muyu hadn’t met Meng Heng but had heard she was a “golden flower.” She was “black-and-red” famous. Shoving her into the variety show wouldn’t lower the projected ratings and would add “heat,” though they’d had to spend a lot of time revising the script for her. It was a big project. Now that Shen Tianqing was joining, Yan Muyu assumed she’d have to keep the two apart, given Shen Tianqing’s quirk of not wanting to be too close to her own “canaries” in public.

“I’m not in the mood.” Shen Tianqing had just pulled fifty gacha cards without a single SSR; she was annoyed.

The Shen family was a “reconstituted” home. The children had moved out after marrying. Tan Tan had married abroad and had children, rarely returning. Shen Tianqing lived with her parents. Although she had bought her own house after returning from studies, her mother insisted she stay at the family home often.

The snow was heavy. A fire was burning in the fireplace. Her mother, Chen Geni, was knitting on the sofa while Tan Tan watched TV with her. The brothers were upstairs talking to their father. Two nephews and a niece were watching TV; when they saw Shen Tianqing, they called out “Auntie.”

Shen Tianqing gave them a small smile. Chen Geni looked up. “You’re back? Did you eat with Lin Chi?”

Shen Tianqing: “Business matters.”

Tan Tan turned around and smiled. She looked more like Chen Geni than Shen Tianqing did. “Little sister.”

Shen Tianqing nodded. “Hello, Sister Tan Tan.”

Tan Tan had been back for a while but rarely saw Shen Tianqing. She didn’t ask why; both knew the reason. The family didn’t speak of it, though the mother had complained privately that there was no need for things to be so tense after so many years. But she didn’t dare say it to Shen Tianqing’s face—this daughter had a hardened personality, and everyone was afraid of her temper.

The atmosphere turned awkward again. Chen Geni broke the silence. “Tian-nan, come sit and talk with Mom. Have you been busy lately?”

Shen Tianqing hummed an affirmation even though she wasn’t. Her mother swatted her arm with a knitting needle. “Liar. Lin Chi said you haven’t even been going to work.”

Shen Tianqing laughed. “I go when I feel like it. She can’t control me.”

Chen Geni sighed and grabbed her hand. “No matter how busy you are, come home to eat. You’ve lost weight again; even a kitten eats more than you.”

Shen Tianqing: “The cat I raised is just like me.”

Before her mother could speak, Shen Tianqing added, “Mom, I have to go record a show next week. You and Sister can go on the Spring Festival vacation together.”

Tan Tan lowered her head. Her child hugged her arm, asking to change the channel.

“What kind of show? Aren’t you a director?”

Shen Tianqing: “Just a variety show.”

Chen Geni hummed, then added, “Your Auntie Jiang’s daughter is back from abroad. Would you like to…”

Just then, the TV stopped on an outdoor variety show featuring Meng Heng looking for clues.

Shen Tianqing shook her head. “No need. I never told you, but I’m ‘together’ with a minor celebrity now.”

Everyone knew what “together” meant in this context. Chen Geni knew about the messiness of the entertainment circle, but she was blindly confident in her daughter and didn’t believe the rumors. Hearing Shen Tianqing say it so casually left her unsure how to react.

In the next second, her youngest daughter tilted her chin toward the screen. “This one.”

Tan Tan also looked. It was a close-up shot; Meng Heng’s face occupied the 85-inch screen.

Shen Tianqing asked her: “Sister, what do you think of her?”

As she asked, the other two adults on the sofa felt a chill. Shen Tianqing’s gaze was bone-chillingly eerie—a look they were far too familiar with. It was the same look she had during the period of forced psychological intervention after Shi Xu’s death.

Tan Tan: “You…”

Shen Tianqing said with a smile: “Once I’ve decided on someone, I won’t change my mind. Unlike you.”