What's Wrong with Spoiling You? [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 2

A light rain graced the heavens, stirring ripples across the lotus pond.

Hazy mist veiled her vision as she walked in a plain white qipao, her long hair coiled up with a few loose strands dancing in the breeze. The delicate pipa collar of her dress framed her fair neck, while butterfly buttons adorned her slender waist, fluttering amidst embroidered dark orchids.

Her graceful figure drew nearer, revealing her unhurried steps across the bridge beneath a bamboo-framed silk umbrella. Her brown eyes exuded serenity, her solitary silhouette standing quietly, leaving behind a faint trace of jasmine fragrance lingering in the rain.

Just a fleeting glimpse—that familiar figure vanished in an instant. She lifted the hem of her dress and chased after it. “Yun Qing!”

The director, watching the sudden dash off the bridge, was momentarily stunned. He turned to his assistant, puzzled. “What Yun Qing? When was this scene added?”

“No added scene—she just ran off,” the assistant whispered in reminder. The director snapped to attention, immediately berating the crew. “Are you all idiots? Go find her now!”

As his words faded, Yun Bo appeared at the bridgehead, her expression tinged with disappointment.

Youyou hurried over with a handkerchief. “Duanduan, what happened?”

Yun Bo took the handkerchief, her gaze lingering on the spot where the figure had appeared, hoping she might return.

As time passed, the figure never reappeared beneath the bridge, and her racing heart finally settled. Since her rebirth, Yun Bo had cycled countless times between excitement and despair, yet she remained steadfast in her belief—if she could be reborn, so could Yun Qing.

The director, who had gone to great lengths to coax the retired actress back, quickly approached with concern. “Duanduan, can we still shoot?”

Yun Bo withdrew her gaze and shook her head. “Let’s shoot tomorrow. I’m a bit tired.”

She returned the handkerchief to Youyou and said, “Come with me. There’s something I need you to do.”

Youyou, long accustomed to her theatrical cadence, quickly apologized to the director before following.

In the dressing room, Yun Bo requested a brow pencil and a blank sheet of paper. After a long pause, she set the pencil down, her fingertips brushing the paper.

How could such crude tools ever capture her beauty?

…

At dawn, Tan Yun stretched as she opened her door, her gaze landing on a beige opera costume embroidered with colorful butterflies on the ground. With a surprised “Huh,” she picked it up—it was the very costume from The Peony Pavilion.

Curious, she held it up against herself and found, to her surprise, that it fit perfectly. Puzzled, she glanced at her neighbor’s door, assuming it must have been left behind during a move. After dusting it off, she knocked.

Several knocks later, the door remained shut.

She checked her watch and, pressed for time, took the costume inside before rushing downstairs.

As she stepped out to grab her bicycle, she felt a gaze upon her. Looking up, her eyes met a woman in a pink nightgown—her face cool and composed, lips slightly pursed.

“So beautiful,” Tan Yun marveled inwardly, staring dumbstruck at the vision above, completely forgetting about work.

The woman’s lips parted as if to speak. Tan Yun froze, her gaze fixed on those lips—until her mother’s sharp voice shattered the moment. “What are you standing around for? Get to work!”

With a startled “Ah!” Tan Yun scrambled for her bicycle. When she looked up again, the beauty had vanished.

Sighing in regret, she pedaled off to the office in haste.

All morning at work, the image of the neighbor’s beauty with her delicate pink lips lingered in her mind, making her restless with longing. She couldn’t help but regret sleeping through the day the beauty had moved in next door.

The moment her shift ended, she pedaled her bicycle home in a hurry. Just as she reached the final step of the staircase, a glimpse of a slender, jade-like hand vanished from sight. Tan Yun smacked her chest in frustration, quickly fumbling for her keys to unlock her own door.

The moment she stepped inside, she saw her mother slicing apples, with an assortment of fruits from different seasons laid out on the table. A sense of foreboding washed over her. Rushing to the couch, she nearly wailed, “Mom, where’s the Opera costume that was on the sofa?”

“Returned it to the neighbor next door,” her mother replied. “She came by specially to thank us, brought all these fruits, and even stayed for a while. She just left.”