Hi, Wifey! [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 12

The barbecue arrived quickly. Fu Xia was terrible at ordering—she picked many items that were filling yet hard to digest, with more vegetables than meat, and even some bizarre choices.

Like sliced lamb eyes and oversized kidneys that no one wanted to eat.

Fu Xia loudly insisted that kidneys were a must for barbecue, but when Cheng Wanyu asked if she’d actually eat them, she bolted faster than anyone. By the end of the meal, aside from two normal lamb skewers, she had given everything else to the crew staying at the hotel.

Her reasoning was simple: “Other actors in the crew have to watch their figures. Who can eat barbecue at night?”

The next day, Zhou Wen found out about Fu Xia’s late-night barbecue feast. A weigh-in confirmed she had gained half a pound, so Zhou Wen punished her by forbidding her from eating all day—only water was allowed.

At lunch, while everyone else enjoyed their meals, Zhou Wen sternly returned Fu Xia’s portion and tossed her two bottles of water instead.

Fu Xia’s stomach growled loudly, but Zhou Wen, sitting right beside her fiddling with her tablet, ignored the symphony of hunger and said dismissively, “Serves you right for eating barbecue at night. Do you know how hard it is to lose half a pound? Female celebrities must always watch their figures. It’s summer now—you can’t hide extra weight like in winter. Do you really want to exist only in retouched photos?”

“I do,” Fu Xia groaned, slumping over the table. “Photoshop is amazing. You can have legs as long as you want. If I could choose, I’d want legs from my chest down and be two centimeters taller.”

She pouted at Zhou Wen. “Wen-jie, I won’t order barbecue at night anymore. Please let me eat just one bite. I’m so hungry.”

Zhou Wen replied coldly, “No.”

“What about two cucumbers?”

“No cucumbers either.”

Without looking at her, Zhou Wen pulled out a bottle of water from her bag and tossed it over. “If you’re hungry, drink water.”

Fu Xia: “…”

This was just unfair.

Drinking too much water would make her bloated!

She chugged two bottles, hiccupping nonstop, but her stomach remained hollow—it didn’t help at all.

Just then, a figure walked in carrying a large bag, handing out snacks to everyone. Fu Xia’s eyes lit up as the person approached.

Fang Chushi rummaged through the grocery bag and pulled out a packet of plain potato chips, offering it to Fu Xia. “Teacher Fu Xia, have some snacks. I just bought them from the supermarket.”

Zhou Wen frowned and pushed the chips away, glaring at the unfamiliar actor. “Sorry, Xiaxia can’t eat right now, especially junk food like this.”

Fang Chushi smiled, revealing small canine teeth. “Come on, sis, don’t be so strict. If not chips, I’ve got bread and drinks too.”

Fu Xia’s eyes sparkled with hope.

But Zhou Wen remained unmoved, staring coldly. “I said no. What’s your name? Don’t you know female celebrities can’t snack?”

Fang Chushi withdrew his hand. “Fine, no snacks then. I’ll head off.”

Fu Xia watched helplessly as her potential meal vanished. Her stomach let out another loud growl.

Zhou Wen crossed her arms as she watched Fang Chushi’s retreating figure and asked Fu Xia, “Who is that guy? I don’t remember seeing him before.”

Fu Xia rubbed her flat stomach and whispered, “A newcomer who joined with investment. He just arrived two days ago.”

“Oh.” Zhou Wen said disapprovingly, “He even tried to offer you chips. Clearly up to no good. Doesn’t he know you count your noodles strand by strand?”

Fu Xia smacked her lips, thinking two strands of noodles wouldn’t be bad right now.

Seeing her pitiful expression, Zhou Wen couldn’t help but pull out a small pack of boiled meat from her bag and toss it to her. “Here, eat. Look at your drooling. Finish it quickly—we still have filmed this afternoon.”

Fu Xia hugged the boiled meat and started eating. Though not as tasty as barbecue, at least it filled her up.

During the lunch break, Fu Xia had planned to rest, but unexpectedly, Fang Chushi came over with a script in hand, sitting directly across from her without hesitation, their eyes meeting.

Fu Xia glanced up at him but didn’t speak first.

Fang Chushi smiled and said, “Teacher Xiaxia, I was wondering if you could run lines with me. Do you have time now?”

Fu Xia looked toward the set where everyone was busy filming Cheng Wanyu. Seeing it wouldn’t be her turn anytime soon, she replied, “Sure.”

Fang Chushi grinned and handed her a freshly printed script, with their dialogues highlighted in red, appearing meticulous and serious.

“Teacher Xiaxia, my scenes are newly added, and we might film them today,” Fang Chushi explained. “Right here—you run into me on your way home in the evening, and then we realize we live in the same neighborhood.”

As Fu Xia skimmed the new script, her first thought was: More lines to memorize.

Memorizing lines was already a struggle for her, and now, because of Fang Chushi’s investment-backed entry, she had even more to learn. Her expression immediately darkened.

Flipping through their shared dialogue, she found it was quite lengthy, and her face soured further.

Fang Chushi was baffled. Why was Fu Xia giving him attitude before they’d even started?

Good grief, this woman is impossible to work with.

Unaware of his reaction, Fu Xia frowned at her lines and muttered, “Why so many words? And half of them are pointless.”

She hated memorizing filler lines—like reciting tongue twisters—useless and exhausting.

Fang Chushi pointed at the script. “Isn’t this where we just met and exchange information? Then I invite you to dinner, and you politely decline?”

Fu Xia scowled. “Isn’t this too much dialogue? We already broke up. Why would I ramble on for so long? Realistically, shouldn’t I just roll my eyes and walk away?”

“…” Fang Chushi tried to explain, “But at this point, you still have feelings for me. Plus, since we live in the same neighborhood, your impression of me isn’t that bad.”

Fu Xia countered, “But didn’t we break up?”

Fang Chushi: “Even after breaking up, there’s still some lingering affection.”

Fu Xia stared at him. “I’ve had plenty of exes. With every breakup, I couldn’t wait to avoid them. Why would you be any different?”

Fang Chushi pressed his lips together. He wanted to snap back but remembered his mission for joining the production. Forcing a smile, he said, “Maybe because I’m better-looking?”

A normal person would probably laugh it off at this point, but Fu Xia wasn’t normal—strictly speaking, she was a normal person who didn’t want to memorize so many lines. So she picked up the freshly printed script and said to Fang Chushi, “No, this doesn’t fit my character’s personality in this drama. I want the screenwriter to change the lines.”

Seeing her about to confront the screenwriter, Fang Chushi shot up from his seat in a panic. He knew his excessive lines were the result of secretly sending the screenwriter a 5,000-yuan red envelope to pad his scenes with meaningless dialogue for more screen time. If Fu Xia intervened, his money would have been wasted!

“Teacher Xia,” Fang Chushi hurried after her, displeased. “I don’t see any problem with these lines. The screenwriter is already swamped—let’s not waste their time. We should focus on rehearsing.”

“No.” Fu Xia glared at the long-winded nonsense, irritation flaring. “These lines ruin the character. They have to be changed!”

She refused to perform a verbal marathon!

Nor would she spout all that nonsensical drivel!

Fang Chushi was indeed short-tempered. He glared daggers at the back of Fu Xia’s head as she marched toward the screenwriter, gnawing his nails in frustration while shooting venomous looks at her retreating figure.

This woman was impossible! At their first meeting, she’d accused him of lying about his age and mocked his neck wrinkles. Now, at their second encounter, she was demanding script changes. Fang Chushi couldn’t tolerate it—he viciously plotted to dig up some dirt on her. If he didn’t put her in her place soon, she’d keep walking all over him.

As Fang Chushi schemed, he suddenly felt someone’s gaze on him. Turning instinctively, he spotted Cheng Wanyu watching him from the crowd.

Cheng Wanyu, apparently on break between scenes with a makeup artist touching up her look, sat calmly in her chair. Her dark eyes held an inscrutable depth as they locked onto Fang Chushi.

Uncertain how long she’d been observing him, Fang Chushi hastily schooled his expression into neutrality. He bowed politely in greeting before scurrying away to another area.

Ultimately, Fu Xia successfully convinced the screenwriter to revise the script—changing their first meeting from a dinner invitation to a fleeting glance from behind a car before she ran off.

Not only did this leave Fang Chushi with fewer lines, but it also nearly erased his screen time altogether. Fuming, he sulked through the entire day’s shoot before storming off the moment his scenes wrapped.

By evening, exhaustion weighed on the entire crew. The midsummer heat lingered even at dusk, turning the outdoors into a sweltering sauna. Zhou Wen whisked Fu Xia straight back to their hotel.

In the air-conditioned car, Fu Xia sipped an iced drink while scrolling through her phone.

Zhou Wen glanced at her through the rearview mirror. “Filming’s been smooth lately. There’s a charity gala next month—you’re invited, and the company’s already arranged everything. I’ll brief you on the details later.”

Fu Xia nodded absently. These events were Zhou Wen’s domain, and she never paid them much mind. As long as she got the rundown the night before, it was fine—all galas were essentially the same, just with different packaging.

Zhou Wen was already accustomed to her absent-minded demeanor and simply shook her head without paying further attention, continuing to handle matters on her tablet.

Meanwhile, Fu Xia, sitting in the back row, suddenly brightened up. She noticed that the author she had been following had updated, and this author had even sent a private message to Fu Xia’s alternate account.

The author of “Unrestrained as the Tide,” Sour Fish Fried Noodles, wrote: “Hey there, Daddy~”

Sipping her cold drink, Fu Xia wondered with bemusement if young people these days just called everyone “daddy” online.

Sour Fish Fried Noodles sent another private message: “Thank you, Sugar Daddy, for the generous tip! I’ve set up a reader group—would you like to join?”

Fu Xia pondered for a moment. She wasn’t really inclined to join, after all, she wasn’t a genuine fan of the Cheng-Fu pairing.

Sour Fish Fried Noodles added: “There are exclusive steamy benefits for members~”

Fu Xia: “…”

Fu-Three-Year-Old: “Send me the group number.”