Exchange of Movie Queens - Chapter 26

It was midsummer, and the flowers in the Deng residence’s garden were in full bloom. Ruan Yesheng walked along the path lined with pressed blossoms and lush leaves, while Xi Mo accompanied her at a measured distance. The camera followed their steps, slowly advancing.

 

 

All eyes were on this focal pair.

 

 

The crew watched intently out of professional necessity, while Feng Tangtang stared in sheer admiration. Sitting under a parasol with a pile of snacks in her arms, she absentmindedly held a potato chip she had plucked from a bag, forgetting to eat it as she gazed at Xi Mo and Ruan Yesheng filming. Her expression was almost dazed, her heart screaming with excitement—she had reached the pinnacle of fandom, ascending to unparalleled heights.

 

 

Seeing Ruan Ruan and Sister Xi share the screen—Feng Tangtang was about to cry.

 

 

After waiting for the scripted moment, Ruan Yesheng tilted her head slightly to glance at Xi Mo beside her and spoke, “Ding’e, Father wants to send me into the palace.”

 

 

Xi Mo clasped her hands together in front of her, poised with a blend of humility and dignity, but remained silent.

 

 

In the early days, Deng Sui held nothing back from Ding’e. Ding’e was not one for words, often serving as a listener, and Deng Sui knew this well. Even without verbal responses, Deng Sui could confide in her naturally—she knew Ding’e was listening attentively.

 

 

So Ruan Yesheng met Xi Mo’s eyes and continued, “Earlier, he called me to his study and said that since I’ve come of age, certain preparations should be made. The implication was that he had already submitted my portrait and records for His Majesty’s consideration.”

 

 

Xi Mo said nothing else, her gaze fixed ahead as she replied softly, “Miss, the swing is just ahead.”

 

 

“Then let’s hurry.” Ruan Yesheng smiled brightly, turning to take Xi Mo’s hand and leading her toward the swing. Xi Mo stumbled slightly before following with stiff reluctance, her steps awkward. Ruan Yesheng teased her affectionately from the front, “You really never change, do you? Such a wooden block.”

 

 

Xi Mo lowered her head at the remark and murmured, “…Mm.”

 

 

According to the script, Ding’e’s reserved demeanor was meant to contrast with Deng Sui’s youthful exuberance, and Xi Mo played it perfectly. Ruan Yesheng matched her seamlessly, yet Xi Mo couldn’t shake the feeling that her tension wasn’t just acting—it felt rooted in reality.

 

 

Whether it was the summer heat or something else, her palms grew slick with sweat, the clammy sensation making her uneasy.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng noticed and loosened her grip slightly, only to tighten it again.

 

 

That discomfort deepened with the shift, forcing Xi Mo to steel herself and hold on.

 

 

Many believed actors were mere performers, their emotions scripted and their expressions masks. Some actors would indignantly refute this, insisting they poured their true selves into their roles—that they became the characters. But when Xi Mo heard such arguments, she remained indifferent.

 

 

Perhaps she had long since dissected herself thoroughly, accepting that this was simply who she was. To her, those words weren’t insults—just statements of fact, unworthy of rebuttal.

 

 

 

She displayed remarkable acting skills in public—crying when needed, laughing when appropriate, gazing with affection or breaking into hysteria, every expression and movement captivating the audience. Characters came alive in her hands, as if infused with souls. Though she had many detractors, few ever criticized her acting. It was precisely this effortless mastery that earned her countless devoted fans with each role. Enraptured by her performances, these fans blurred the lines between fiction and reality, often addressing her by her character’s name in daily life. Their fervor for the roles was projected onto Xi Mo, intensifying their adoration to near obsession.

 

 

Yet Xi Mo knew acting was just that—acting. No matter how authentic her portrayals, they remained performances. While many actors fell for their co-stars by immersing too deeply into roles, she maintained an almost clinical detachment, ruthlessly separating her craft from her true emotions. For the sake of acting, she could dissociate at will, always aware that none of it reflected her real self.

 

 

But now, facing Ruan Yesheng during a simple rehearsal—just trivial details—she unexpectedly felt genuine unease stirring within. This wasn’t performed; perhaps it was her first taste of such unfamiliar discomfort, leaving her momentarily unsettled.

 

 

Fortunately, Xi Mo possessed strong self-regulation. She soon composed herself, suppressing the unpleasant sensation. Returning to her character Ding’e’s state, she coolly delineated between role and identity before resuming filming.

 

 

As cameras adjusted positions—one focusing on their close-up—Xi Mo carefully helped Ruan Yesheng onto the swing. Playing Deng Sui, who deeply relied on Ding’e, Ruan Yesheng smiled up at her: “Push slower this time, and not too high.”

 

 

“Don’t worry, Miss,” Xi Mo replied.

 

 

Pushing the swing under the scorching sun, the light seemed to turn translucent, forming radiant halos that made one squint. When the swing returned, Xi Mo steadied Ruan Yesheng’s waist to prevent falls. Glancing down, she saw sunlight glinting off the hair ornaments like scattered stars.

 

 

Watching from the sidelines, Feng Tangtang found the scene inexplicably romantic. Something felt off, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. An inexplicable excitement surged through her veins. Noticing bodyguard Gu Qisong standing rigidly nearby like a watchtower, she waved him over to share their shade.

 

 

“Brother Gu, want some chips?” Feng Tangtang offered an open bag.

 

 

“Thanks,” the stoic guard acknowledged but didn’t eat, his vigilant eyes locked on the filming site. Since the dead chicken incident, he’d remained taut as a bowstring, refusing to lower his guard.

 

 

 

Feng Tangtang knew he was dedicated to his work and didn’t want to disturb him further. So she just held the potato chip bag in her hand, continuing to watch with great interest, casually raising it so Gu Qisong could reach over if he wanted some.

 

 

Over there, Ruan Yesheng had her back to Xi Mo, still immersed in the scene, saying, “What do you think about me entering the palace?”

 

 

Xi Mo gently pushed the swing and replied, “I have no thoughts of my own. Your thoughts are my thoughts, so whatever you feel now, you can tell me. I’m listening.”

 

 

She had already freed herself from the earlier discomfort of accidentally slipping too deeply into the role. It felt as if her soul had detached, allowing her to coldly observe herself acting opposite Ruan Yesheng. Her acting was flawless, and with the breeze swirling around, she found a familiar ease in this deep calmness, finally casting away that invasive feeling in her heart.

 

 

Good. She was still her old self.

 

 

Nothing had changed her.

 

 

…And certainly not because of the woman before her.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng still wore a faint smile, but she tilted her head slightly, as if troubled by something. “I’m willing to enter the palace. I understand Father’s intentions—Grandfather has long passed, and though the Deng family still basks in his legacy, we fear the emperor’s favor may wane in time. He wants me in the palace to secure our family’s future. The court is turbulent now, with His Majesty and Empress Dowager Dou locked in a hidden struggle. Father doesn’t know which side to take—afraid of displeasing the Empress Dowager one day and inviting disaster, yet also wary of angering His Majesty. He’s trapped in the middle, trembling with fear. He says upheaval in the court is inevitable, but no one knows when. If I enter the palace, I can serve both His Majesty and the Empress Dowager, keeping watch for Father. Should that day come, at least we won’t be caught unprepared, left at others’ mercy.”

 

 

Ruan Yesheng delivered this long monologue flawlessly, her expressions and movements flowing naturally. Feng Tangtang was so engrossed she forgot to eat, thinking to herself that when Xi-jie wasn’t losing her temper and focused on acting, she was absolutely goddess-like. She was on the verge of becoming a full-blown fangirl—one who suspected she might have Stockholm Syndrome, no less.

 

 

At some point, another person had joined them—a makeup artist waiting for touch-ups. The makeup artist watched intently, even helping herself to Feng Tangtang’s snacks. The two fangirls munched away like squirrels, occasionally exchanging awed whispers about the acting, while Gu Qisong stood stiffly nearby like a wooden pole.

 

 

Then Ruan Yesheng chuckled softly. “Ding’e, here I am talking about what will happen after entering the palace, as if it’s already decided. But nothing’s set in stone yet—I’m getting ahead of myself.”

 

 

Xi Mo replied coolly, “With your grace and intellect, entering the palace is inevitable if you wish it. But though you’re willing, you’re not happy about it.”

 

 

Back and forth they went, each perfectly matching the other’s performance.

 

 

 

Ruan Yesheng now signaled Xi Mo to push the swing higher. She sat lightly on the swing, like a free-flying bird: “I entered the palace for the Deng family. Having never met His Majesty before, yet having to serve by his side—how could I be happy? But I thought that after meeting him, we could slowly develop feelings. If I truly loved him, naturally I’d be much happier. Third Brother was unwilling for me to enter the palace, extremely dissatisfied, saying my thoughts were naive. When Father found out, he scolded Third Brother, though I don’t know where he’s run off to now.”

 

 

The swing steadied in Xi Mo’s hands, and in that brief pause, Ruan Yesheng looked up: “Ding’e, do you think I’m naive?”

 

 

Xi Mo gazed into her eyes, seeing the light shining within, and her heart tightened inexplicably.

 

 

For some reason, in those seemingly pure yet distant, lost eyes, she caught a glimpse of the past—a youthful past.

 

 

Back in university, she had once called Ruan Yesheng naive, and in a tone laced with irritation and frustration.

 

 

At that time, her aura alone was enough to make everyone around her keep their distance. Yet Ruan Yesheng always approached her as if no one else existed. Xi Mo had considered them barely acquainted, but Ruan Yesheng seemed oblivious to that. Perhaps by coincidence, Ruan Yesheng had run into her twice at the same intersection, and afterward, she began waking up early to wait for Xi Mo there.

 

 

Xi Mo, however, had been unaware of this, having changed her route to class for certain reasons. Only once, when she passed by that intersection again, did she see Ruan Yesheng waiting there.

 

 

Back then, Ruan Yesheng had still been that youthful figure, dressed in a snow-white dress. Even in the light drizzle, she could twirl under an umbrella, smiling as she kicked at fallen petals in the rain.

 

 

“Naive. Immature.” Those were the words Xi Mo had said as she walked past her.

 

 

In her memories, Ruan Yesheng had indeed been naive once.

 

 

But then she changed. After a long leave of absence, when she returned, Xi Mo almost didn’t recognize her.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng transformed so quickly, her growth as rapid as if it might burst from her bones. After just a short time apart, all traces of her youthful innocence had vanished. She became mature, poised, and measured in her interactions—living, evolving into the infamous enchantress of the campus. She was clever, alluring, wearing a smiling mask no one could see through, moving effortlessly through the crowd with practiced ease.

 

 

The camera continued rolling. From the start until now, Lin Qitang hadn’t called for a cut, his entire demeanor radiating satisfaction. He had no idea what Xi Mo was feeling—after all, everything on the monitor screen was nothing short of perfect. He hadn’t expected the two of them to collaborate so seamlessly on their first try, with little prior adjustment. Lin Qitang was delighted, and the crew was even happier. The smoother the shoot, the easier their work, sparing them endless retakes.

 

 

Xi Mo’s palms grew damp with sweat again, just as before.

 

 

Fortunately, the script didn’t require Ding’e to speak at this moment—these lines still belonged to Deng Sui. Ruan Yesheng smiled self-deprecatingly: “Well, it doesn’t matter. Once I enter the palace, everything will be different. Third Brother worries about my naivety, but it’s truly unnecessary.”

 

 

A distant look flickered in Xi Mo’s eyes. Remembering the Ruan Yesheng of the past, she nearly lost herself between memory and reality. That deep, penetrating feeling left her unsettled once more.

 

 

 

Clueless about the truth, Lin Qitang watched Xi Mo’s close-up facial expressions on the monitor, observing her perfectly conveyed emotions. His face twitched with excitement, though he tried to maintain his dignity as a director and suppress his exhilaration. He held it in so hard his eyebrows trembled.

 

 

Xi Mo’s hand rested on Ruan Yesheng’s waist as she gently pushed the swing again.

 

 

Her voice was soft yet tender, drifting through the summer light: “I’ll stay by your side, my lady. If you’re in the palace, then I’ll be in the palace. Even if the future is uncertain, you can still remain innocent before me.”

 

 

—Oh my god!

 

 

Feng Tangtang nearly jumped up from her chair with the makeup artist, ready to scream and wave imaginary flags. But since she had no flag, she could only shake her nearly empty bag of chips—only to find Gu Qisong, expressionless as ever, munching on her chips while watching Xi Mo and Ruan Yesheng’s scene with quiet fascination.

 

 

Feng Tangtang realized her “Brother Gu” might have just joined the fan club.

 

 

As Xi Mo finished her line, Ruan Yesheng swung back on the swing, her heart pounding. Unable to resist, she glanced up at Xi Mo again, her ears burning red.

 

 

Xi Mo, noticing Ruan Yesheng’s flushed ears, met her gaze—and suddenly flustered, both of them lost the rhythm of the swing. It swayed unsteadily, and Ruan Yesheng, unbalanced, lurched forward as if about to fall.

 

 

Lin Qitang, who had been so absorbed in the smooth filming that he nearly forgot the word “cut,” nearly toppled off his chair in alarm. “Cut!” he shouted.

 

 

The set, previously hushed in concentration, erupted into chaos. Feng Tangtang, Fan No. 1, shot to her feet in worry, while newly minted fan Gu Qisong scowled, almost rushing forward.

 

 

Fortunately, Xi Mo had already reached out to steady Ruan Yesheng. When that wasn’t enough, she instinctively stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Ruan Yesheng from behind, finally stabilizing the swing.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng sat frozen on the swing, Xi Mo’s arms locked firmly around her.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng: “…”

 

 

Xi Mo, sensing the silence and seeing Ruan Yesheng’s ears now practically crimson, stiffened.

 

 

Then she realized the softness in her hands—her face paled, then flushed—and she hastily withdrew her hands from Ruan Yesheng’s chest.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng quickly hopped off the swing, turning to stand rigidly, lips pressed together, her eyes bright with something unspoken—like a virtuous maiden who’d just been slighted.

 

 

Xi Mo: “…”

 

 

…I wasn’t harassing you!

 

 

…Those were my own br3asts to begin with!