Mistakenly Married a Substitute Wife, Falling in Love with the Movie Queen - Chapter 51

“A lying canary must be punished…”

After her two variety show appearances went viral, propelling her to trending search status and a small breakthrough into the mainstream, Shen Shuangjing became an overnight sensation, the darling of every production team. Variety show offers poured in like snowflakes.

The scripts ranged from trending talk shows to long-running, nationally beloved variety programs. Several major hit shows even invited her to become a permanent MC for their new seasons.

Shen Shuangjing reviewed the proposals and instructed Meng Manli to reject them all.

She preferred acting to variety shows.

She saw herself as an actress first and foremost. While variety shows could bring massive exposure, she yearned to be recognized for her work. Variety shows updated and faded quickly, but only film and television projects could endure through time, transcending centuries to achieve lasting immortality.

Understanding and supporting her vision, Meng Manli sifted through scripts but found none suitable. However, she discovered a promising variety show invitation that aligned with Shen Shuangjing’s criteria.

“ I Want to Be an Actor ?” Shen Shuangjing took the proposal and read the title aloud.

I Want to Be an Actor is a performance-based reality show produced by Tomato TV. While formatted as a variety show, its core concept revolves around acting competitions. Participating actors team up to perform short dramas, with winners advancing and losers eliminated. Throughout the process, veteran industry mentors provide critiques and guidance.

After three days of deliberation, Shen Shuangjing couldn’t find a reason to refuse.

The show offered opportunities to act, guidance from heavyweight mentors, and, most importantly, simultaneous filming and broadcast, which would allow more viewers to recognize her talent.

Filming took place in the city, four days a week, with grueling schedules of over ten hours per day. During production, Shen Shuangjing left home early and returned late, collapsing into bed the moment her head hit the pillow.

Sang Baili noticed Shen Shuangjing’s notebook, which she kept glued to her hand on set. Its pages were densely filled with theoretical knowledge, including acting tips from the mentors and excerpts from film industry textbooks.

Sang Baili jokingly teased her about “studying for the postgraduate entrance exam,” but beneath her casual demeanor, she felt genuine concern. She even borrowed a chef from a friend to ensure Shen Shuangjing was nourished with gourmet meals daily.

Shen Shuangjing didn’t have much appetite. The show’s filming schedule was tight and the tasks were demanding. When she wasn’t filming, she was either memorizing lines or rehearsing, pushing herself to the brink of obsession.

Sometimes, caught up in rehearsing scenes or coordinating with her teammates on set, she would forget to eat altogether. As a result, she often only managed two meals a day.

Though exhausting, the experience was deeply fulfilling. She savored the joy of acting, learning the craft through repeated rehearsals and constant study.

When the third episode aired, it featured the first group performance competition. This marked Shen Shuangjing’s first time seeing herself act on screen in a proper role, unlike her previous life when she had only dipped a toe into the industry, playing a nameless corpse that was barely visible on screen.

Many viewers and fans were deeply moved by Shen Shuangjing’s performance, and her fanbase of acting enthusiasts grew exponentially.

The screen’s glow illuminated Shen Shuangjing’s face, reflecting the radiant light in her eyes. In her heart, she vowed to herself that her next performance would surpass this one.

Nearly two months had passed since the show’s premiere, and it was nearing its conclusion. Most of the participating actors had been eliminated, but Shen Shuangjing had successfully advanced to the semifinals.

The semifinals featured four teams and four scripts. Shen Shuangjing’s group drew the least popular script, The Domineering President Falls in Love with Me.

It was cheesy and outdated.

The domineering president trope had long passed its prime. The group members protested to their mentors, demanding a change of script. But the mentors insisted that “extreme cheesiness is the new cool” and that “classics never go out of style.”

They refused to let them switch scripts.

The group members tossed aside the script for the main characters and began arguing over who would play the assistant and the nanny.

In today’s audience’s tastes, stories that subverted tropes were the mainstream.

Viewers no longer cheered for the domineering president’s forced romance with his canary. They had grown numb and weary of the same old obsessive president archetype.

Audiences now preferred stories about independent-minded, clear-headed, and normal people. Even if the character sounded ordinary—a president’s assistant or a nanny—ordinary people were the true protagonists who sustained the world. Their moments of brilliance were equally dazzling, legendary, interesting, and worthy of being written about.

The group members argued fiercely, while the scripts for the actual protagonists—the domineering president and his canary—remained untouched.

Shen Shuangjing didn’t compete with them. She took the role no one else wanted: the domineering president.

Under the glaring spotlight, even the smallest speck of dust couldn’t hide.

The instructor, holding a microphone, asked jokingly, “Are you afraid you couldn’t compete?”

In the previous episode, Shen Shuangjing had played a blind but resilient “pure white flower” character. True to the archetype, she should have bitten her lip, wrung her hands, and with tear-filled eyes, declared that humility was a virtue, that she was willing to sacrifice her own desires to fulfill everyone else’s dreams—a performance that would have naturally earned a wave of sympathy.

But Shen Shuangjing’s mind wasn’t wired for such convoluted tactics. She replied, “Playing the President is fine too. I’ve wanted to get rich overnight for ages.”

Her group members didn’t understand, yet they were deeply moved by what they perceived as Shen Shuangjing’s selflessness.

Playing a character who could “ooze oil” required abandoning all pretense of being an idol. Wasn’t she afraid of being turned into memes by vulgar netizens later?

What a sacrifice.

Sang Baili received the call six hours later, after the day’s filming had concluded.

The hospital was brightly lit at night, the air thick with the antiseptic smell of disinfectant.

Sang Baili stood outside the patient’s room, gazing through the glass at the girl sitting on the bed by the window.

Shen Shuangjing’s head was wrapped in a half-circle of gauze, her face pale. Her head was bowed, obscuring her expression, making her look rather pitiful.

The doctor said, “There’s no amnesia, and hospitalization isn’t necessary. We’ve conducted a CT scan, and the results show a bl00d clot in the patient’s head caused by the car accident. She may experience memory disturbances in the coming days, but medication isn’t required. She should recover naturally within a few days.”

“How many days exactly?” Meng Manli, who had rushed to the hospital after hearing about the accident, greeted President Sang and asked anxiously, “Director Guo’s film is scheduled for promotional events next week. Will this affect the campaign?”

The doctor shook his head, replying cautiously, “It’s difficult to say. It depends on the patient’s individual condition. In some cases, the confusion clears within hours; in others, it may last up to a week.”

Sang Baili frowned. “What do you mean by ‘memory disturbances’?”

The doctor adjusted his black-framed glasses and explained in layman’s terms, “She may struggle to distinguish between reality and fantasy. For example, we had a patient who had watched a video of tourists accidentally eating poisonous mushrooms before their accident. Afterward, they firmly believed they were a poisonous mushroom and tried to call the police to arrest themselves. Fortunately, that patient regained clarity within a few hours and was released from the police station after writing a statement of remorse.”

Sang Baili: “……”

Meng Manli: “……”

Sang Baili asked, “Do you know what the patient’s current delusions are?”

The doctor gave a helpless look. “This requires communication between the family and the patient. Since arriving at the hospital, she hasn’t cooperated with the examination, saying fewer than three sentences the entire time.”

Those sentences were: “Thank you. My assistant will transfer your payment,” “This hospital bed is far too beneath my noble status,” and “I don’t care what you think—I don’t believe I’m sick.”

The doctor diplomatically added, “Her current demeanor is rather haughty.”

Manager Meng rubbed his temples in frustration. “Are you sure hospitalization isn’t necessary?” He still felt it would be the more appropriate course of action.

Sang Baili disagreed. “No need. I’ll take her home and monitor her condition. If any issues arise, we’ll bring her back to the hospital immediately.”

For now, the situation didn’t seem too serious. At least Shen Shuangjing wasn’t running around shouting that she was a poisonous mushroom and demanding to be arrested.

Perhaps her condition was milder than initially feared.

Meng Manli said gratefully, “Then I’ll leave it to you, President Sang.”

After gathering the information, Sang Baili pushed open the door and met Shen Shuangjing’s gaze.

Shen Shuangjing blinked. “You actually came?”

Her cool voice was like sweet, crisp coconut juice, yet it dripped with ruthless indifference.

The light fell across her profile, highlighting her high, straight nose as if sculpted by a master artist.

Realizing Shen Shuangjing might not be as normal as she seemed, Sang Baili ventured, “Should I not have come?”

The corners of Shen Shuangjing’s eyes flushed red, her porcelain-white skin glowing like a warm light in the dusty room.

She hummed softly, pinched Sang Baili’s chin, and forced her to meet her gaze. “You’re my pet canary. Who else would you visit if not me?”

Sang Baili: “…I’m your pet canary?”

Shen Shuangjing shot her a sidelong glare, her beautiful eyes blazing. “Don’t forget your place. I’m the one paying for your sister’s tuition. If you want me to continue covering her expenses for the second semester, don’t anger me. Be a good girl and please me.”

Reasoning with a madwoman was futile. Sang Baili glanced at the glacier-white quilted bag on the nearby stool, a sudden thought striking her. She rummaged through it and pulled out a script.

Shen Shuangjing was furious. How dare the Canary rummage through her bag without permission?

Such arrogance, taking her favor for granted.

Sang Baili skimmed through the script, understanding that Shen Shuangjing had cast them both into the roles of her upcoming performance.

In the script, Shen Shuangjing was a business titan whose every gesture could send shockwaves through Huaguo’s economy. Sang Baili played the role of a pitiful Canary, plucked from obscurity at a cocktail party. The Canary had relied on Shen Shuangjing to clear her debts, but her proud nature made her resentful of her benefactor.

The script was pure melodrama, summarized in four words:

Forced Possession.

Shen Shuangjing blinked, watching the audacious Canary finish reading her multi-billion-dollar contract right in front of her. After rolling it up and returning it to her bag, the Canary extended a hand toward her.

“Let’s go back. The doctor said you don’t need to stay overnight.”

Shen Shuangjing tilted her sharply defined jaw slightly, rejecting Sang Baili’s conciliatory gesture. She wanted to teach the Canary a lesson: for daring to touch her things without permission, Sang Baili would be punished by being denied any physical contact with her for the next hour.

Back at the villa, Shen Shuangjing stared at the single set of toiletries in the bathroom, lost in thought. She remembered sharing a room with her Canary, spending every moment together, their belongings arranged in matching pairs by her assistant.

Where did everything go?

After a moment, Shen Shuangjing convinced herself that the Canary must be sulking over their morning argument and had moved her things into the guest room.

Considering Sang Baili’s initiative to visit her in the hospital today, Shen Shuangjing decided to magnanimously forgive her for secretly moving her belongings.

Stepping out of the bedroom, she found the slender woman gazing at her phone. Sang Baili quickly turned off the screen and looked up with her radiant eyes.

“What were you secretly looking at?” Shen Shuangjing asked.

Sang Baili pressed her lips together. “Nothing.”

She had been researching how to interact with patients suffering from memory disorders, withholding the truth to avoid agitating Shen Shuangjing’s brain and hindering her recovery.

Growing increasingly frustrated with Sang Baili’s recent disobedience, Shen Shuangjing lifted a strand of the woman’s curly hair, brought it to her nose, and inhaled deeply. With a domineering smirk, she teased, “Woman, you’re playing with fire. I command you to reveal your secrets.”

She stood at the apex of Jing City’s social pyramid, where everyone was transparent to her. Yet, she couldn’t fathom the heart of the canary she had nurtured for so long.

Sang Baili nestled into the sofa, lazily tilting her neck back. She had never seen Shen Shuangjing like this—her tone was harsh, her demeanor aggressive, as if refusal would lead to immediate consequences.

Complying with Shen Shuangjing’s expectations, Sang Baili played the part of a stubborn, untamed canary. “I wasn’t hiding anything from you,” she insisted.

According to the script, Shen Shuangjing should have stormed out next. Sang Baili pondered how to persuade her to stay. After all, running away late at night and having to be found would cause unnecessary trouble. It would be better to resolve things at home first.

But Shen Shuangjing didn’t follow the script.

She knelt astride Sang Baili’s waist, her legs spread wide. Her icy fingertips, radiating a chill, brushed against the smooth skin of Sang Baili’s neck, slowly sliding inward.

Her pupils were pitch-black, appearing almost childlike when she focused intently. Now, those beautiful, innocent almond-shaped eyes gazed down at Sang Baili’s eyes like a deity scrutinizing her devotee, softly pronouncing judgment: “A lying canary must be punished.”