Substitute Lover [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 91

“Following us?”

Jiang Cha turned back to look, but saw only sparse traffic on the asphalt road and a few blonde foreigners walking leisurely on the sidewalk.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“That silver-gray car behind us,” Ji Fan said softly. “It’s been following us for a long time.”

Jiang Cha frowned slightly and looked back again. She did indeed see a silver-gray Audi. The person inside appeared to be Asian, wearing a pair of sunglasses—it was a man. His skin was quite dark, and because he was somewhat far away, she could only vaguely see his hands and arms on the steering wheel; they were very muscular. Rather than an arts professional attending a film festival, he looked more like a celebrity’s bodyguard.

“Surely not,” Jiang Cha’s heart skipped a beat. “Maybe it’s a plainclothes bodyguard traveling with some star for the festival, and they just happen to be going the same way as us.”

“Unlikely,” Ji Fan said calmly. “The film festival is a major occasion. Even for a bodyguard, they wouldn’t likely be driving a car like that.”

It was true. Celebrities coming to the film festival were all extremely image-conscious; everything from their gowns and makeup to their cars was meticulous and glamorous. The car behind them, however, was covered in dust and looked like it hadn’t been washed in ages. it was old, appearing like a used car recently purchased abroad.

Jiang Cha watched for a moment longer. The man suddenly took off his sunglasses and met her gaze from a distance. In that instant, a chill spread through her heart, much like encountering a wolf in the mountains. The predatory glint in his eyes made her heart tremble.

Jiang Cha’s heart pounded. Suddenly, Ji Fan squeezed her hand.

The touch of her palm was warm.

“It’s okay,” she said with a faint smile. “I’ve contacted the bodyguards and told them to be more vigilant.”

Jiang Cha was momentarily stunned.

Ji Fan turned her head from the passenger seat, her beautiful eyes looking at her quietly with a soft gaze. The silhouette of her long eyelashes was clear and distinct in the sunlight; with every blink, they seemed to stir the fine dust dancing in the beams of light. As Ji Fan held her hand, her body temperature felt high, warming Jiang Cha’s icy fingertips until the color returned to them.

Slowly, her anxiety began to fade.

“I don’t think so,” Yang Yan looked back and found it a bit amusing. “You shouldn’t worry too much.”

She turned to Jiang Cha and said, “He took off his sunglasses, which means he’s not afraid of his face being seen. And look, he’s already turning.”

Jiang Cha looked back.

At a crossroad, the man changed lanes and turned right, while Jiang Cha’s car continued straight.

There were traffic lights at the intersection. The light for going straight was still red, but the right-turn light was already green. Two cars passed them one after another; their blinkers flashed as they turned right and disappeared into the greenery.

The car in front was a bright red Maserati, which looked somewhat familiar.

Maserati.

Jiang Cha stared at the red car and suddenly remembered—it seemed to be the car Luo Yan used when she went to the red carpet.

Could that man have been Luo Yan’s plainclothes bodyguard?

Perhaps.

Seeing that the car had indeed taken a different route, Ji Fan felt somewhat relieved.

Some things, like the perception of danger, rely heavily on a “sixth sense”—on intuition.

Ji Fan had only instinctively sensed an unusual danger, but as for concrete clues that could withstand scrutiny, there were none.

Perhaps it really was an illusion.

In the car, Yang Yan explained further. Because they were from the same production, their red carpet gowns had been commissioned from the same designer, which was why her gown and Luo Yan’s were very similar in style and color. Such occurrences were easily exploited by the media; their favorite headlines were about “who wore it better” or “who outshone whom” on the red carpet.

When people of different status were involved, the one with lower standing was often accused of “deliberate clout-chasing” or being used as a stepping stone to be “outshone.”

In reality, one was hardly more beautiful than the other.

“If any media tries to make a fuss about the matching outfits, just tell them it was an arrangement by the production, understood?”

“Yes.” Jiang Cha nodded.

For this competition, there were two Chinese-language films. Aside from Song Baiwei’s, there was a martial arts film called The Willow Blade by another director.

That film was terrifyingly low-profile; there hadn’t been a single report about it before the festival. It seemed they were hiding their strength to make a surprise splash.

Winning an award wasn’t impossible for them.

Domestic martial arts films often conquered foreign judges with their aesthetic atmosphere. After the Cannes premiere of The Willow Blade, the media publicized it heavily, saying that Director Song had met a powerful competitor and whether she would win was still an unknown.

The cast of that film was also very strong. Besides another award-winning actress who had won Best Actress at the Golden Horse Awards multiple times, the male lead was a big shot in the industry known for action movies. Aside from the Chinese-language competitors, other films were critiqued by the media as having “major selection issues”—the French entries this year were panned by critics after their screenings as being poor-quality, two or three-star “trash” movies.

By comparison, the quality of the Chinese-language films was notably higher.

“The selection this time really isn’t great,” Jiang Cha murmured, curled up on a beige small sofa, holding a copy of SCREEN magazine.

This magazine provides ratings at Cannes every year. The critics come from various countries, and their scores are very predictive, essentially reflecting the views of mainstream Western critics on the 19 films.

Jiang Cha was wearing a thin beige bathrobe. Her damp, dark hair draped over her shoulders; it hadn’t been dried yet, and glistening water droplets still clung to it. A patch of the thin fabric from her shoulder to her chest was wet, clinging to her warm skin. Her features were softened by the mist; her dark, long eyebrows were exquisite, her face lovely, and her soft lips were touched with shimmering droplets of water.

Ji Fan sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Jiang Cha tensed slightly. “Don’t.”

A flush rose on her soft, snow-white profile, and her long eyelashes fluttered uneasily.

“What’s wrong?”

Ji Fan’s red lips pressed against her ear, lingering at her delicate neck and earlobe with gentle kisses. The touch of her lips was hot, her pressure compelling.

The hem of the bathrobe was quite short. When she stood, it reached just the top of her thighs, but as she sat, the hem slid up, exposing her legs.

Their bathrobes were the same size. As their skin pressed together, Jiang Cha’s was warm, almost hot, while Ji Fan’s skin felt smooth and cool.

However, aside from this cross-collared bathrobe, Jiang Cha had no other covering.

She pressed her legs together slightly, feeling quite embarrassed.

“What did the ratings say?” Ji Fan asked softly in her ear.

Her breath was warm, her voice carrying a slightly husky texture.

Jiang Cha’s temperature was high where they touched.

She calmed herself slightly, held up the magazine, and flipped to a certain page for Ji Fan to see. “The daily ratings are out.”

“Mm.”

The magazine was dense with English text. Ji Fan glanced briefly at the black background. On the poster for Camel Cigarettes, Jiang Cha was wearing a moon-white qipao with a slit reaching up to her hip; her red lips were like a dot of vermilion ink.

“You look very good in a qipao,” Ji Fan commented, seemingly casually.

Jiang Cha already guessed what she was thinking. She shrank back slightly, her cheeks burning hotter.

“Director Song’s film is tied for first with a British film. The rating is 4.1 out of 5.”

“Mm.”

Ji Fan asked again, “What about that martial arts film? It was hyped quite a bit before.”

“Second,” Jiang Cha smiled gently. “That film has beautiful visuals, but the plot is thin and the characters are one-dimensional. It can’t compare to Director Song’s.”

“Mm.” Ji Fan’s expression remained indifferent.

Jiang Cha continued, “However, the Best Actress award might go to the lead in that film, Zhang Zifeng.”

Zhang Zifeng was on a similar level as Luo Yan—a multi-award-winning actress. She was already famous before Jiang Cha even knew what the entertainment industry was. However, as the saying goes, the new generation surpasses the old; lately, Luo Yan, who debuted later, had actually seen better development.

Jiang Cha compared Luo Yan and Zhang Zifeng as potential winners for Ji Fan.

Ji Fan, however, gave her ear a gentle bite.

“Is there anyone like you?”

“Hmm?” Jiang Cha turned her head, looking confused.

“Why can’t it be you?”

As Ji Fan said this, her fair, cool fingers were already grazing Jiang Cha’s waist, giving the sash a gentle tug.

Jiang Cha: “…”

She pursed her lips, feeling Ji Fan hook her waist again, pulling her upward.

The covering on her legs slid up once more.

The hem of the bathrobe had already reached her waist.

Below the waist, there was no longer any cover.

Jiang Cha shrank back slightly under her gaze, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, making her so flustered she didn’t know what to do.

Ji Fan looked down at her and smiled gently, her red lips parting to capture her earlobe.

……

A sliver of light shone in.

A light rain had started outside, pitter-pattering, very quiet.

The rain fell for over an hour before gradually stopping. The surface of the sea was a shimmering gold in the sunlight. The air was fresh, and the sea breeze blew in waves, carrying the sound of the tide.

The waves rolled over one’s consciousness, tossing it high before dropping it in a weightless fall.

……

Jiang Cha’s long eyelashes trembled as she slowly woke up. The person behind her was hugging her waist, her fair nose pressed against Jiang Cha’s neck, eyes still closed—it was unclear if she was awake. After the ordeal, both were covered in sweat. The sleepwear was uncomfortable against their skin, so Jiang Cha carefully moved the arm from her waist and sat up.

Ji Fan was awake too.

She hooked her arm around Jiang Cha’s waist, pulling her back, and pressed her red lips to her delicate neck, leaving a kiss.

“Good morning,” Ji Fan said.

“…” Jiang Cha paused for a moment. “It’s afternoon.”

The festival had been underway for over a week. During this time, the various halls screened the films in competition. Aside from the main unit, there were also other special screening rooms. It was said that the jury members had been taken to a mountain, their phones confiscated, to deliberate in total isolation.

Morning, the final day of the film festival.

Jiang Cha changed into her gown and walked out of the hotel.

Because the car would stop at the red carpet entrance where reporters would be taking photos, Ji Fan could not ride with her.

“The internet is guessing whether the Best Actress will be Luo Yan or Zhang Zifeng. No one is guessing you.” Yang Yan glanced at her and couldn’t help but laugh. “Forget it, you just focus on being beautiful. Being a background character isn’t bad either.”

Jiang Cha’s red lips curved; she didn’t mind the joke.

Yang Yan helped her tidy a stray lock of hair at her temple.

As she watched, she marveled silently—this face was truly kissed by an angel.

Her dark hair was pinned up, exposing her slender swan neck. Her glistening, small earlobes were adorned with tassel silver diamonds that swayed slightly as she moved, reflecting a clear, cold light. Her gown was a silver-white long dress, its flowing light like moonlight—cool and distant, making her aura appear ethereal and detached from the world.

“Am I ready?” Jiang Cha blinked.

“Yes, get in the car.”

Just as she was about to leave, after only a few steps, a shout came from behind.

It was Luo Yan’s voice.

“Is she here?” Yang Yan looked back.

Luo Yan had just stepped out of the elevator and was walking out, followed by four bodyguards and her manager. The style of her gown was very similar to Jiang Cha’s, but the color was different; hers was a brilliant red, striking and vivid, which, combined with her makeup, gave her a seductive charm. Jiang Cha’s was silver-white, more elegant, and the hem was slightly shorter, reaching the calves and exposing her fair ankles.

Luo Yan saw her from a distance and hurried over. When she reached them and looked at Jiang Cha, a complex expression flashed in her eyes, as if she were hesitating to speak.

“What is it?” Jiang Cha asked.

Luo Yan’s lips parted a few times, but she only shook her head.

Seeing her so indecisive, her manager took over and went straight to the point:

“Miss Jiang, may we exchange cars with you?”