Exchange of Movie Queens - Chapter 29

Ruan Yesheng had always kept that unspeakable sentiment of hers well-hidden, buried deep where no one could see.

 

 

Yet even after years of suppression, it could hardly be called a mere sprout.

 

 

After all, through their long university years as classmates, she’d had plenty of opportunities to interact with Xi Mo. During those encounters, that sentiment had grown significantly—though far from flourishing, it had at least reached a tender, verdant stage. But then certain events unfolded. She withdrew from the entertainment industry, and as the gap between her and Xi Mo widened, their meetings became increasingly rare. The hope she clung to grew fainter, and to spare herself further disappointment, she buried it even deeper, even resolving at one point that it might never see the light of day again.

 

 

Now, however, Xi Mo—perhaps unwittingly—had lifted the shroud covering that plant and, just as carelessly, sprinkled it with water. The frail sapling in Ruan Yesheng’s heart, long starved of nourishment, now basked in this unexpected rain, eager to stretch toward the wind and grow.

 

 

Years of hardship had sanded away her youthful edges, polishing her into a smooth, cunning fox. Yet in the deepest corner of her heart, a tiny patch of innocence—or perhaps childishness—remained. However cramped that space might be, it endured.

 

 

Give her a simple piece of candy, and she could savor its sweetness for days.

 

 

After washing up, Ruan Yesheng chewed on the “goodnight” Xi Mo had given her and quickly drifted into sleep, her dreams just as sweet. It had been years since her university days, when she’d shamelessly pestered Xi Mo for those nightly farewells. The parking lot where they’d once stood had long since been demolished, erased from existence. Now, at last, she had another chance to hear those words again. What might seem like an ordinary, forgettable evening greeting to most held a special, profound happiness for her.

 

 

Spurred by this joy, that tender plant seemed to surge overnight, even sprouting a few new leaves. This emotional growth had an indescribable effect on her, so much so that she could barely contain her delight and excitement.

 

 

She carried this happiness through the night and woke early the next morning, still buoyed by it.

 

 

When Feng Tangtang knocked and entered, ready to prepare for the day’s filming—tidying scripts, fetching breakfast, or handling other small tasks—she was stunned to find “Sister Xi” already fully prepared. The room was spotless, and the woman sat leisurely at the table, breakfast laid out, reviewing her schedule.

 

 

Feng Tangtang’s usual greeting—”Sister Xi, what would you like for breakfast? I’ll go get it for you”—caught in her throat and died unspoken.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng looked up and smiled at her. “Good morning.”

 

 

Feng Tangtang immediately felt like the worst human alive.

 

 

Perhaps poisoned by too many palace dramas, she suddenly saw herself as a negligent maid who’d overslept—how could she arrive so late, leaving Her Majesty to dress herself! To do her own makeup! To eat her own meal! No—how dare she fail to hand-feed Her Majesty!

 

 

 

“Tangtang, sit down,” Ruan Yesheng said with a smile still on her face.

 

 

When Feng Tangtang heard “Sister Xi” mention yesterday morning that this nickname wasn’t exclusive to Ruan Yesheng and that she’d also be calling her Tangtang from now on, she had mentally prepared herself. But now, hearing it in person, she realized she still needed some time to get used to being addressed this way by “Sister Xi.”

 

 

Ruan Yesheng pointed at the chair again, and Feng Tangtang had no choice but to sit down mechanically, continuing her internal self-reflection.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng said, “You like pork chop buns, right? I brought you one when I went out for breakfast. I’m not sure how authentic the ones in Hengdian are, but give it a try.”

 

 

Feng Tangtang stared at the pork chop bun as if it contained deadly poison—no, perhaps even more shocked than if it had poison.

 

 

If it had been Ruan Ruan sitting in front of her, everything would have felt perfectly natural. But this was Sister Xi doing these things. She really needed some time to adjust.

 

 

Seeing Feng Tangtang hesitate to eat, Ruan Yesheng picked up a fork, cut a small piece, and placed it on Feng Tangtang’s plate. “I’ve already finished getting ready, and you came quite early today. We have plenty of time, so take your time eating. We can head to the makeup room afterward.”

 

 

As she spoke, she casually poured Feng Tangtang a glass of milk.

 

 

Feng Tangtang was completely dumbfounded, feeling as if she were floating on air.

 

 

After a long moment, she finally snapped out of it and nodded. “Oh, oh, thank you, Sister Xi.”

 

 

After eating for a while, she cautiously asked, “By the way, Sister Xi, how did you know I like pork chop buns?”

 

 

For Ruan Yesheng, smoothing over such a question was a piece of cake. She replied casually, “Back at the company, I happened to hear you and the others asking Gu Qisong to order takeout. Didn’t you specifically request a pork chop bun and emphasize how much you loved it? Unless I’m remembering wrong?”

 

 

Feng Tangtang was a little touched, thinking to herself how attentive Sister Xi was to remember such a detail.

 

 

She was a simple person. While she might be surprised and unsettled by sudden changes, she would also try her best to rationalize them. As she ate the delicious pork chop bun, she racked her brain for a plausible explanation, and gradually, she accepted everything she was seeing.

 

 

Once she accepted this new reality, Feng Tangtang’s limited brain capacity led her to a colossal misunderstanding: Maybe Sister Xi was just unaccustomed to having me as her assistant before, which was why she seemed distant. After all, anyone would keep their distance from someone they weren’t close to, especially someone of Sister Xi’s status. But now, after spending more time together—especially working together on set—she must have started considering me a friend.

 

 

Since she’s being so nice to me now, as her assistant, I should shine even brighter! To ensure Sister Xi can focus on filming without worries, I’ll take care of all the logistics. I vow to dedicate myself to the great revolutionary cause of looking after Sister Xi!

 

 

Feeling the need to shine even more, Feng Tangtang finished her breakfast, cleaned up the trash, and wiped the table five times over.

 

 

Unaware of Feng Tangtang’s colossal misunderstanding, Ruan Yesheng, still basking in the afterglow of last night’s happiness, continued walking in bliss. By the time she reached the makeup room, her steps seemed to carry a light breeze.

 

 

 

Xi Mo held a very high status, and Ruan Yesheng, now wearing her skin, naturally enjoyed such preferential treatment. Every crew member passing by would greet her with a “Good morning, Sister Xi,” to which she responded with a smile. Those who greeted her were momentarily stunned by her unusually sweet smile this morning. In their past impressions, Xi Mo had always been an untouchable flower on a high peak—someone they admired from afar. Though Xi Mo had always been polite, nodding and saying “Hello” to every staff member who greeted her, and occasionally offering a faint smile to familiar faces, she had never smiled this warmly before.

 

 

Under the influence of Ruan Yesheng’s radiant smile, the crew members felt as if they were basking in spring sunshine, nearly floating on cloud nine.

 

 

Seated before the mirror waiting for makeup, Xi Mo turned her head and caught sight of Ruan Yesheng—and the smile plastered on her face.

 

 

Watching her own face, now under Ruan Yesheng’s control, wear such an expression made Xi Mo’s teeth ache.

 

 

Was Ruan Yesheng out of her mind this early in the morning?

 

 

Ruan Yesheng sauntered over leisurely and took a seat in the chair beside her.

 

 

The makeup artist hadn’t arrived yet, so Ruan Yesheng leaned against the vanity, propping her chin in her hand, staring at Xi Mo without blinking. There was a faint, inexplicable pout in her gaze, yet she remained silent, simply looking at her with eager anticipation—as if her eyes were clearly saying, Why aren’t you greeting me?

 

 

Xi Mo: “…”

 

 

Yes, I did say goodnight to you yesterday.

 

 

But since when is there an international law requiring me to say good morning to you today?!

 

 

If you want to hear it so badly, then say it first! As long as you say it, I’ll definitely say it back!

 

 

What’s the point of staring at me like this, waiting for me to speak first?!

 

 

Ruan Yesheng continued to gaze at her, seemingly buoyed by some inexplicable joy, the coquettish smile lingering at the corners of her eyes, refusing to fade anytime soon.

 

 

Affected by that smile, Xi Mo suddenly felt reluctant to disappoint her—ever since they had switched bodies and entered this cursed production, she had, against all odds, found herself repeatedly unwilling to let Ruan Yesheng down.

 

 

She was beginning to think she might be losing her mind.

 

 

“Good morning,” Xi Mo finally relented, giving in to the hope practically written in Ruan Yesheng’s eyes, though her tone was half-hearted at best.

 

 

She knew that because she had said goodnight yesterday, she had set a precedent. And given Ruan Yesheng’s usual mischievous tendencies, she would undoubtedly insist on exchanging greetings every single day. If Ruan Yesheng was determined to torment her—persisting with daily good mornings and goodnights, or staring at her with those pleading eyes, silently demanding that Xi Mo say it first… Wait, did I just describe Ruan Yesheng as “pleading”? Xi Mo thought. I must truly be out of my mind. Do I need to see a doctor?

 

 

Her thoughts spiraled, but her expression remained composed, revealing nothing.

 

 

In any case, if she didn’t respond, it would be impolite—and her upbringing, which had always emphasized propriety, would never allow that.

 

 

To avoid rudeness, she might just have to resign herself to a daily routine of exchanging pleasantries with Ruan Yesheng.

 

 

And Ruan Yesheng, having finally heard what she wanted, replied with satisfaction: “Good morning.”

 

 

 

She probably hadn’t considered Xi Mo’s complicated thoughts, still immersed in her own perceived happiness, and extended an invitation without any ulterior motives: “I checked the schedule—there’s no night shoot today, and we wrap at 5:30. How about having dinner together?”

 

 

Xi Mo studied Ruan Yesheng’s expression, wondering why she was being so unusually attentive today, and didn’t respond immediately.

 

 

Noticing her silence, Ruan Yesheng added, “The whole crew knows we were university classmates. Since we’re working together now, I think we should act closer to make it seem natural. Otherwise, people might assume there’s tension between us. I don’t mind, but I’m thinking of your image—if we only interact during shoots and act like strangers otherwise, they’ll get curious and start gossiping again. Don’t you hate all that gossip?”

 

 

Though Xi Mo hadn’t agreed right away, she actually had no intention of refusing the dinner invitation.

 

 

Besides, Ruan Yesheng’s reasoning was sound—there was no good excuse to decline.

 

 

After a moment of scrutiny, Xi Mo nodded. “Alright, thanks for the invite.”

 

 

For some reason, Ruan Yesheng seemed unusually docile today.

 

 

Initially, Xi Mo had braced herself for Ruan Yesheng’s usual sharp-tongued remarks—ready to retaliate—but this sudden warmth caught her off guard. With no trace of sarcasm, and given Xi Mo’s tendency to yield to softness rather than hardness, her guard dissolved instantly. She even found Ruan Yesheng slightly more agreeable.

 

 

Two makeup artists approached one after another, ending their conversation.

 

 

The lead makeup artist glanced at Ruan Yesheng in the mirror and smiled. “Xi-jie, you seem especially happy today?”

 

 

Only then did Ruan Yesheng realize she’d overdone the smiling this morning—probably exhausting Xi Mo’s annual quota in one go. No wonder Xi Mo had looked so bewildered earlier. She quickly adjusted her expression, settling her lips into Xi Mo’s signature slight curve—neither too warm nor too cold, perfectly balancing aloof elegance with just a hint of condescending approachability. A masterclass in pretentiousness.

 

 

With practiced nonchalance, she replied, “Really? That obvious?”

 

 

Xi Mo sat rigidly beside her, whatever goodwill she’d felt shattering instantly.

 

 

Obvious? It’s glaring!

 

 

I don’t even smile like that! Are you secretly my anti-fan?!

 

 

Today’s filming remained at the Deng residence.

 

 

Due to post-production editing, scenes weren’t shot chronologically but prioritized resource efficiency. Once all Deng residence scenes were completed, they’d move to the Han palace set. Currently, Yan Mu (playing Emperor He of Han) and Liu Yusi (playing Empress Yin) were filming their scenes at the palace under the B-unit director’s supervision, rushing through key interactions. Large productions typically split into multiple director teams to accelerate progress—Yan Mu’s group was with the assistant director in B-unit, while Ruan Yesheng and Xi Mo’s pivotal scenes in A-unit were personally overseen by director Lin Qitang.

 

 

“Ding Pei, get ready for your entrance!” Lin Qitang called out.

 

 

 

Ding Pei was originally a talent show singer. Though he had some fans, he had no acting experience and was a complete novice in television dramas. Standing at the entrance with the imperial edict prop in hand, he looked visibly nervous.

 

 

“Action!” Lin Qitang called out.

 

 

Ding Pei played the role of Zheng Zhong, a eunuch trusted by Emperor Liu Zhao. After Deng Xun’s death, Liu Zhao sent Zheng Zhong to the Deng residence to offer condolences and deliver an edict to Deng Sui.

 

 

In truth, this edict had been coaxed from Liu Zhao by a high-ranking official from the Xiao Yin family. At the time, both Xiao Yin and Deng Sui had been selected by the emperor, though Xiao Yin had yet to enter the palace—far from the day she would later become empress. Aware of Deng Sui’s beauty, Xiao Yin feared that if they entered the palace together, Deng Sui would overshadow her. Anxious, she had the official backing her manipulate the circumstances of Deng Xun’s death.

 

 

The official told Liu Zhao that with Deng Xun’s passing, Deng Sui was in mourning, and bringing her into the palace now would bring ill fortune upon the imperial court. However, since the imperial summons had already been issued—and an emperor’s word was unchangeable—he suggested Deng Sui first observe three years of mourning for her father before entering the palace.

 

 

It was a cunning plan. In those three years, Xiao Yin could secure her position. Moreover, the harsh conditions of mourning would likely wear Deng Sui down, leaving her haggard by the time she entered the palace—unlikely to catch the emperor’s eye.

 

 

At Lin Qitang’s cue, Ding Pei stepped into the camera’s frame and walked toward the mourning hall where Deng Xun’s coffin lay.

 

 

The set was draped in white mourning banners. Xi Mo knelt silently in a corner, where she wouldn’t get much screen time—her role was simply to remain still. Meanwhile, Ruan Yesheng, dressed in mourning robes, rose wearily upon Ding Pei’s entrance and approached him with a lifeless expression.

 

 

Ding Pei announced, “By His Majesty’s edict!”

 

 

Ruan Yesheng knelt deeply, her head bowed. “May His Majesty be at peace.”

 

 

Ding Pei glanced at her before stiffly reading from the edict: “Protector of the Ailing Commandant Deng Xun, benevolent and refined…”

 

 

He had barely begun when some on set couldn’t hold back quiet snickers. Hearing the laughter, Ding Pei realized he had likely just humiliated himself, his face flushing with embarrassment as he faltered, unsure how to continue.

 

 

Ruan Yesheng remained kneeling, motionless. Since Lin Qitang hadn’t called cut, she stayed in character, listening respectfully.

 

 

Lin Qitang was stunned by the blunder. “Protector of the what?! Do you run a sheep farm or something? What kind of nonsense is ‘Protector of the Ailing’?! It’s ‘Protector of the Qiang’—Qiang, the ancient tribe!”

 

 

The script supervisor stared blankly at Ding Pei, then at Lin Qitang, as if both were hopeless.

 

 

Seeing the script supervisor’s expression, Lin Qitang realized his mistake—Ding Pei hadn’t said “sheep,” but “ailing.” Still, misreading the character based on its top half was inexcusable. Clearing his throat, he snapped, “Not ‘sheep’ or ‘ailing’! It’s ‘Qiang’—the ancient tribe! How did you even manage this?!”

 

 

Ding Pei reddened further, hastily apologizing. “Sorry, sorry!”

 

 

“Reset and start over!” Lin Qitang ordered.

 

 

 

Ding Pei’s face flushed red then turned pale in quick succession. She hurriedly said to the kneeling Ruan Yesheng, “I’m sorry, Sister Xi! Now I’ve made you kneel all over again!”

 

 

Ruan Yesheng stood up with a smile. “It’s alright, don’t be nervous.”