It’s Okay to Divorce - Chapter 07

Chapter 07

The two hailed a taxi.

After getting in, the driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror and clicked his tongue. “You two staying at a five-star hotel? That’s pretty extravagant.”

Zou Tingchen switched to a Northeastern dialect. “We’re farmers back home, got money in the village but nowhere to spend it. Brought the wife to the city for a checkup, figured I’d let her experience a five-star hotel. She’s been with me her whole life, endured plenty of hardships—no way I’m skimping on this.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Business has been tough these years for everyone except you farmers—you’re raking it in. Life’s about hard work, but you’ve gotta know how to enjoy it too. If I had the cash, I’d splurge on a five-star stay myself!” The driver chuckled and asked, “By the way, I hear that hotel’s got celebrities. You spot any stars?”

“As if stars would show themselves to folks like us?” Zou Tingchen’s expression and tone were spot-on for a genuine country bumpkin.

Mu Mian had to admit defeat—Oscar owed Zou Tingchen a little golden statue!

Once they reached the hospital, Zou Tingchen helped her up to the fourth floor and headed straight for Su Xing’s office.

Su Xing arranged a room and a doctor for them.

After the prenatal checkup, Mu Mian lay on the hospital bed, holding her phone and playing a game.

Su Xing pulled Zou Tingchen aside, eyeing him up and down with a look of disdain. “What’s this? The Film Emperor and Empress playing cosplay?”

Zou Tingchen dropped the farmer’s rustic vibe and reverted to his true aura.

His face was expressionless, the film emperor’s refined elegance radiating from his very bones—even in ragged clothes, it couldn’t hide his charisma.

It was already ten o’clock; the pregnant Mu Mian needed rest.

Zou Tingchen grabbed Su Xing by the collar and dragged him out of the bedroom.

Leaning against a white wall in the living room, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it between his lips, and explained to Su Xing, “Just keeping a low profile, honing my skills.”

The role-playing had been Mu Mian’s idea. She’d goaded him, asking if he dared to trash his image.

Of course he did.

Art comes from life, and actors should challenge diverse roles. In the end, he’d nailed this one, and it felt damn good.

“I really don’t get artists’ thinking,” Su Xing shot him a glance, then added, “Your wife’s about to give birth, and you still haven’t quit smoking? Zou Tingchen, where’s your self-control?”

Zou Tingchen’s eyes sharpened as he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, his voice low. “Starting today.”

His addiction wasn’t bad; he could quit anytime.

Around eleven, they got the prenatal report—everything with the baby was normal.

Mu Mian lay on the bed, letting out a sigh of relief, and asked him, “How does it feel to be looked down on?”

“Hm?” He paused, not catching her meaning.

Mu Mian rubbed her belly. “Guess you didn’t go deep enough with the role, Film Emperor Zou. Acting’s not just about looking and sounding the part—you’ve gotta dive into the character’s mindset too.”

Zou Tingchen got it and replied, “Not great. Pretty humiliating.”

In the elevator, running into Yun Pei and getting that disdainful look had genuinely stung.

Everyone’s equal—why couldn’t a farmer stay at a five-star hotel?

In that moment, Zou Tingchen had wanted to whip out a wad of cash and slap it across Yun Pei’s face: I’ve got plenty of money, you hear!

Of course, that impulse was purely from the character’s perspective.

Mu Mian lowered her head to her game, not glancing up at him. “So now you get how I feel when those online trolls trash-talk me?”

“I think I do.” He nodded. “Next time we kiss, I’ll make it count—bust that ‘bad breath’ rumor wide open.”

Mu Mian snorted. “Zou Tingchen, got any plans for the future? After the shoot wraps, what then?”

He’d thought about it, of course. “Head to a small fishing village in North America, stay a couple of months. We’ll come back after the baby’s born.” He paused, then added, “Don’t worry, it’s pretty isolated there—no one’s likely to recognize us.”

Mu Mian nodded, with no objections to his plan.

It was getting late; sleeping before two was crucial for a pregnant woman.

Zou Tingchen told Mu Mian to nap first—he’d take her back to the hotel at five in the morning.

After a full day of filming with her belly, Mu Mian was exhausted. She rolled onto her side and drifted off, her phone dropping onto the pillow, screen still lit.

Her game was still running, her team battling fiercely while her character lagged behind.

Zou Tingchen glanced at her screen and decided to finish the round for her.

—

The next morning.

Ming Wei’s call yanked Mu Mian from her dreams.

She sat up reflexively, the movement too abrupt, waking Zou Tingchen on the nearby sofa.

The film emperor looked unruffled, his dark hair slightly messy, his complexion pale from lack of sleep.

He got up and splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom.

Mu Mian clutched her phone, watching him.

Zou Tingchen wasn’t exactly aloof, but he was definitely the quiet type.

Her sudden sit-up had caused a twinge in her belly.

She rubbed her abdomen and called Ming Wei back.

“Have you checked Weibo?”

Ming Wei’s voice was urgent, laced with anger.

Mu Mian logged into Weibo—thousands of unread notifications.

She opened the latest forwards, all tags from gossip accounts. She and Yun Pei had rocketed to the top of the hot search.

Yun Pei had posted on Weibo, vaguely accusing a senior of bullying a newcomer and personally attacking her.

Yun Pei hadn’t named names, but the gossip accounts jumped on it with headlines like:

“Yun Haodong’s Beloved Daughter Enters Showbiz, Suspected of Being Bullied by a Certain Film Empress.”

Someone leaked that Yun Pei was filming It’s Okay To Divorce, so everyone knew exactly which film empress they meant.

The news blew up Weibo, and Mu Mian’s fans swarmed in to fight back.

Comment 1: “Gossip accounts, go explode in place. Our Kapok Queen is all about the offense—why would she stoop to messing with her image over some C-lister? Heh heh heh.”

Comment 2: “Trust our Queen—gossip accounts, explode already. Don’t drag her into your topics for clout; we’re not playing!”

Comment 3: “Heh heh, the brainless fans are hopping mad. The post didn’t name anyone, right? Is your Kapok the only Film Empress in the world? Hilarious.”

Comment 4: “I’m team Yun Pei this time. She’s Yun Haodong’s little princess—people line up to kiss her feet. Why would she need to ride your Queen’s coattails? I seem to remember your Film Empress stepping on her dad’s name for hype not long ago. Maybe she’s already the stepmom.”

…

Mu Mian felt a bit helpless, setting her phone on her belly with a long sigh.

She and Yun Pei were under the same company—this was clearly the company’s hype tactic, stepping on her to boost the newbie. It wasn’t the first time they’d pulled this.

She was thirty, after all; the company was desperate to push fresh faces.

Yun Pei had looks, decent acting among the rookies, and built-in buzz—she was the current golden child.

Mu Mian wasn’t as pissed as she’d expected.

After all, hurting her would backfire on Yun Pei, too—her fans would lash out, costing some public favor.

Ming Wei said, “Mianmian, the company’s gone too far this time. Hyping Yun Pei is one thing, but dragging you down like this?”

From a manager’s standpoint, Ming Wei hated seeing her artist’s public image take even a minor hit.

The company had been sleazy about it; Ming Wei had talked to them, but they brushed her off, claiming fans were bored of the usual film emperor-empress banter and needed fresh drama to keep Mu Mian’s heat alive.

Ming Wei spat. “We need this crap to stay relevant? Damn it, they’ll do anything to push Yun Pei. Bunch of bastards.”

Netizens seemed hooked on the Mu Mian-Yun Pei gossip.

Online, rumors flew that Mu Mian had long married into wealth, becoming Yun Pei’s stepmom.

Mu Mian closed Weibo and told Ming Wei, “I’m fine carrying the kid, but they’ve gotta ask if I’m willing. No heads-up, just stepping on me for clout—heh, do they really think I’m her stepmom?”

Her belly rose and fell with her emotions.

Zou Tingchen emerged from the bathroom, seeing Mu Mian fuming on the bed, and asked what had happened.

Mu Mian tossed him the phone. “See for yourself.”

Zou Tingchen frowned.

Her company had no sense of proportion—sacrificing a film empress’s public goodwill just to boost a newbie?

Mu Mian had been with Donghua Media for ten years, scraping together most of her resources herself; the company had given her scraps.

Donghua was infamous for hype—their artists rose on trashy dramas and viral scandals, flaming out just as fast. No long-term planning; they milked them dry and ditched them when the value ran out.

In such a cutthroat setup, Mu Mian’s rise was genuinely surprising to Zou Tingchen.

He knew her company inside out. Recalling the news of her contract nearing its end, he asked, “Planning to renew?”

Mu Mian sat on the bed, braiding her hair. “Hell no. I was young and naive, and I signed for ten years straight. Sticking it out this long repays Yun Haodong for giving me a shot.”

“Join Shijia?” Zou Tingchen extended the invite. “I’ll give you shares.”

Shijia Media had started as Zou Tingchen’s studio. Two years back, he’d partnered with his old company, Huanli Film and TV, under a studio deal. Gaming giant Jingling World pumped in 700 million, and the studio rebranded to Shijia Media.

Mu Mian thought she’d misheard. “You’re not joking?”

Zou Tingchen’s eyes were steady. “Want to join my team?”

His artists had been killing it these past couple of years; every drama he starred in featured one of them. In this one, the second male lead, Fu Yu, was signed to his studio.

Shijia Media’s valuation hit 6 billion, the highest for a celeb-controlled public company. Zou Tingchen had turned millions into billions—a legend among artists.

He held about thirty percent of Shijia; it was a dark horse now, with solid talent and scripts. If Mu Mian jumped ship, her career could hit new heights.

The offer was tempting as hell.

Seeing her waver, Zou Tingchen added, “Here, you won’t face any BS. Think about it—as the mother of my child, it’s only right I look out for you.”

Mu Mian stared at his serious face, realizing he meant it, and blinked.

He actually had some real backbone.

Not renewing was a decision she and Ming Wei had made ages ago.

But with Zou Tingchen dangling this carrot, she couldn’t shake the feeling of a trap.

Mu Mian called Ming Wei for her take.

Ming Wei was mid-sip and choked, coughing hard over the line. “Holy sh1t… the film emperor hasn’t fallen for you, has he?”