How Can a Construction Foreman Be the Public Girlfriend of a Top Celebrity? - Chapter 36
Chapter 36
“Why do you always ask questions like that?” If there weren’t a glass panel between them, Zheng Ling would’ve given A-Liao a good punch.
A-Liao pouted, “So, you haven’t slept together yet, huh? I’m waiting to be your kid’s godmother when I get out, you know.”
Zheng Ling cursed her out before asking, “Do you have anything you want me to tell your parents?”
“Nope. It’s not like I’m never getting out.” A-Liao genuinely didn’t have anything to say. She was never the sentimental type. As long as the sky didn’t fall, nothing really mattered to her.
“Alright then. Take care of yourself. Time’s almost up—I’m heading out,” Zheng Ling said, glancing at the time on her phone.
A-Liao hung up and mouthed a silent “bye-bye.”
Zheng Ling nodded, and A-Liao followed the prison guard back inside.
As Zheng Ling exited the prison, she looked at the towering walls with a heavy heart. In a world like this—riddled with barbed paths and bloodstained roads—were they truly destined to adapt and survive as the times changed?
Meanwhile, Shu Xuan had accepted a new drama, produced by a team invited by Li Li. When Da Tou arrived with the script, Shu Xuan was in the courtyard planting flowers.
She had always loved flowers. As a child, she used to plant all sorts in the wild fields near her hometown, but they were later dug up completely by her father. For years, she didn’t see a single bloom—until her father was killed by her mother. Only then did Shu Xuan finally get the chance to grow flowers again.
In a kind of symbolic provocation, she planted camellias over her father’s grave. Every year when they bloomed, it was as if they reminded her: her father was dead, and the shadow of her abusive childhood should also be laid to rest.
“Teacher Shu, here’s the script from Teacher Li Li—it’s a dual-female-lead drama called Mountain Reflects the Southern Moon,” said Da Tou as he crouched down and handed her the script.
Shu Xuan was still holding her small trowel, patting the soil. She clapped the dirt off her hands. “Dual female leads?”
“Yeah. I skimmed through it—it’s about a woman from the Republican era who time-travels to the present and falls in love with someone. Teacher Li Li’s role swaps souls with you. She’s in her sixties and wakes up in the body of someone in their twenties,” Da Tou explained.
Shu Xuan found the concept interesting. She went inside with Da Tou to read the script more carefully.
It was indeed a dual-female-lead drama. Li Li’s scenes were limited; most of the dialogue was between Shu Xuan and another actress—whose role hadn’t yet been cast.
When Zheng Ling came home, Shu Xuan was doing yoga. She had even hired an acting coach, since this role required her to play a sixty-year-old’s soul in a younger body. Posture, language, and facial expressions were crucial. As someone without formal acting training, Shu Xuan had to put in extra effort to hold her own on set.
“Teacher Shu, have you eaten?” Zheng Ling asked as she changed shoes by the door. She noticed freshly turned soil in the courtyard.
Last time, when she asked Shu Xuan to help plant a pomegranate tree, Shu Xuan claimed she didn’t know how. So how was she planting things now?
“I have. I left yogurt in the fridge for you—don’t forget to drink it,” Shu Xuan said, switching to another yoga pose. She looked like a spider spinning silk.
After washing her hands, Zheng Ling grabbed the yogurt and sat cross-legged on the couch. “Teacher Shu, didn’t you say you didn’t know how to plant things?”
“Hm?” Shu Xuan looked confused.
“Last time when we planted the pomegranate tree, you asked me to teach you step-by-step. Were you just pretending?” Zheng Ling squinted at her suspiciously, spoon in mouth.
Shu Xuan shifted from her spider pose into a frog-like one. “If that’s how you want to interpret it, I can’t stop you.”
Zheng Ling: “…”
“I have to go to Dongcheng Film Studios next week to shoot a scene. I’ll be away for a while,” Shu Xuan said, sweat glistening on her forehead. She wasn’t sure why she was reporting her schedule to Zheng Ling—maybe it was because of the marriage license?
Yes. That must be it.
“Oh, Teacher Shu is quite busy,” Zheng Ling replied in a flat tone.
Shu Xuan wiped her forehead with a towel. “It’s manageable.”
Zheng Ling finished her yogurt, and even when Shu Xuan came out of the shower, she was still sitting on the couch.
“Teacher Shu, when you’re not busy… can you text me sometimes?” Zheng Ling looked up. Backlit by the light, Shu Xuan’s silhouette was outlined in a soft glow—her high nose bridge even revealing a bit of fine fuzz.
Shu Xuan looked at Zheng Ling’s earnest, innocent eyes, touched with a blush at the corners.
Her heart stirred. Her lips parted slightly. “I can.”
Over the past few months, Zheng Ling had grown used to having someone else in the house. The thought scared her. She had never experienced this before. When two people spend so much time together, parting—even temporarily—feels unnatural.
Before Shu Xuan left for Dongcheng, Zheng Ling packed two thick quilts and one of their home pillows for her.
She said, “Teacher Shu, when I’m not around, you still need to sleep well. If you see these quilts, you’ll think of me.”
Xiao Ying, who was opening the nanny van door, muttered as she shoved the pillow inside, “You say that like you two actually sleep together.”
Zheng Ling smirked. “Adults are talking. Kids should stay out of it.”
Shu Xuan smiled faintly. She knew Zheng Ling was probably just used to having her around, so she said, “Boss Zheng, if you miss me, you can always send me a message.”
“I’m super busy every day. But if Teacher Shu takes the initiative to text me, I might be able to spare a little time to reply,” Zheng Ling pouted—her lips shaped like a hook, you could hang a plastic bag on them.
Xiao Ying shook her head. “So stubborn.”
After Shu Xuan left, Zheng Ling was alone again. Lying in bed, she tossed and turned, unable to sleep well even into the night.
She crept out of her room toward Shu Xuan’s bedroom. Halfway there, she stopped sneaking around and started walking proudly. Shu Xuan wasn’t home—no need to tiptoe.
Her hand hovered over Shu Xuan’s doorknob. Was it inappropriate to enter her room without permission?
After a few minutes, Zheng Ling returned to her own room.
She had a shameful thought: she wanted to lie in Shu Xuan’s bed, use her pillow, and sleep under her blanket.
As soon as this idea popped up, Zheng Ling scolded herself harshly. Even if they were married, Shu Xuan was her own person. Entering her room without consent wasn’t right. Boundaries had to be respected.
Zheng Ling admitted that she had developed feelings for Shu Xuan—but until those feelings were mutual, she’d have to keep herself in check.
Shu Xuan was away in Dongcheng for an entire week, and Zheng Ling couldn’t sleep the whole time. They barely exchanged any messages.
During the day, Zheng Ling was swamped with work at the construction site. Shu Xuan was busy filming too. Sleep-deprived, Zheng Ling felt like she was on the brink of collapse.
Yang Lei handed her some supplements. “Ling-jie, maybe take some tonic? I know we’re different biologically, but I think some of this still applies.”
Zheng Ling threw a pack of tissues at his head. “What kind of nonsense are you thinking about? I just can’t sleep.”
“What’s going on?” Yang Lei picked up the tissues.
“Teacher Shu is out of town filming,” Zheng Ling said, leaning her head back. “Do all marriages end up like this?”
Yang Lei chuckled. “Ling-jie, who would’ve thought? You were so miserable when you were forced to marry, and now look at you.”
“It’s not the same,” Zheng Ling muttered as she opened Weibo. Shu Xuan’s studio had posted an update.
The photo showed Shu Xuan having a meal with another actress—and when the woman turned her head, Zheng Ling’s jaw dropped. Wasn’t that Chen Ju?
Turns out, the other female lead in Mountain Reflects the Southern Moon was Chen Ju. She was a newcomer recommended by Li Li, who thought Chen Ju had an intuitive acting quality, kind of like a younger Zhou Xun. Online, people also said she looked like Zhou Xun in her youth.
Zhou Xun’s fans replied, “Both are beautiful in their own way—each unique!”
“What is it?” Yang Lei asked, noticing Zheng Ling’s blank expression.
“Nothing,” she said, quickly turning off her phone. “Anyway, what were you saying just now?”
Yang Lei finally got to the point. “It’s like this—the cost of materials in Nancheng has gone up. And with so many projects running simultaneously, not just cement and steel, even powder and wires are running low. We’ll need to find new sources.”
“I thought we were sourcing directly from the Nancheng Group?” Zheng Ling frowned.
“We are. But Nancheng’s real estate isn’t keeping up. Supplies are limited, so some vendors are hiking prices. And transportation costs have skyrocketed—bringing stuff in from outside doubles the cost.”
Zheng Ling tapped the table with her fingers, thinking. “We’ll source from a neighboring city. I’ll calculate the cost.”
But even transportation alone would double the baseline. Plus, Nancheng’s focus on tourism meant strict environmental protection. Manually mining stone, sand, and mud was out of the question.
“Ling-jie, no need to calculate—it’s not cost-effective. Unless…” Yang Lei trailed off.
“Unless what? Don’t talk like some drama character. If you don’t spit it out, I’ll kick you downstairs,” Zheng Ling snapped.
Yang Lei cowered. “Unless you could ask Secretary Chen for a favor. Maybe he could put in a word with the Nancheng Group.”
Zheng Ling flatly refused. “Absolutely not. And don’t you dare tell anyone we know Secretary Chen.”
Secretary Chen had already returned the money she tried to gift him before—clearly keeping boundaries. He trusted her on this project. If she bothered him about trivial things like this, it could be misunderstood, especially since anything involving money is highly sensitive. Zheng Ling wouldn’t take that risk, and neither would Secretary Chen.
Tourism funding had already been approved. Projected costs were set. With limited profit margins, Zheng Ling had to find a bulletproof plan.
After Yang Lei left, Zheng Ling scoured Nancheng Group’s website, hoping to find alternative suppliers.
Their previous reservoir project had used locally sourced materials—but developing tourist attractions was completely different. To protect the environment, they had to bring in materials from elsewhere.
As she scrolled, she spotted a somewhat familiar face—someone named Wu Yi. She couldn’t place where she’d seen her before.
Just as she was trying to recall, a message from Shu Xuan popped up on her screen.