Provoking Fire [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 25

It was a small, exquisitely packaged gift box, carefully protected by a layer of square, three-dimensional foam paper.

Chu Xiyue used a box cutter to peel away the layers of packaging, revealing a 250ml bottle of perfume. The glass bottle was adorned with intricate patterns, but it bore no logo from any major brand, nor even any text. A scent strip lay beside it. She picked it up, pressed the pump, and a refreshing fragrance filled the air.

The top note was a rich Bulgarian rose scent, lighter than essential oil, avoiding overwhelming intensity while precisely capturing the olfactory nerves. As the fragrance diffused, it felt like dancing through a rose-filled town.

Chu Xiyue had always favored pure, mature rose fragrances. From “Rose of the No-Man’s Land” to “Fox Head,” “Rose 31,” “Café Rose,” and “Damascus,” she had collected nearly every perfume with this floral note.

Having amassed such a collection, she could usually identify a perfume’s origin with just a whiff of its top note. Chu Xiyue was intimately familiar with both mainstream and niche brands, and this fragrance clearly belonged to none of them.

The fragrance was remarkably unique, with rose notes intertwined with the crisp, cool scent of white tea. The tea’s icy coolness tempered the rose’s overly rich, sensual warmth, creating a perfect balance of fire and ice that firmly captivated her keen sense of smell.

It was so compelling that she couldn’t resist wanting to delve deeper into the transitioning middle notes.

Chu Xiyue, who had some knowledge of perfumery—though not an expert, she was at least well-informed—correctly guessed that this was a custom-blended fragrance. The daring combination of ingredients revealed the perfumer’s exceptional creativity, making it unlike any mass-market scent.

Moreover, the fragrance suited her perfectly. Chu Xiyue couldn’t resist spraying a little on her wrist, savoring the delicate, warm notes as they melted into her skin. After a moment, she took a photo and sent it to Su Yan, asking directly where she had found the designer.

Su Yan didn’t reply immediately, but Chu Xiyue was already content. Gone was the listless mood she’d worn at the bar. She even opened the refrigerator, mixed cocktails and ice, and made herself a fresh drink. Stretching out on her soft, comfortable sofa at home, she kicked up her long legs without a care for appearances and began scrolling through short videos on her iPad.

Her leisurely downtime was abruptly interrupted, as if someone were deliberately trying to tease her. Yao Xin’s urgent call came through, and she immediately blurted out:

“Chu Xiyue, I need to tell you something important. The female lead of your new production is in serious trouble. You need to keep a low profile and watch what you say. Don’t get dragged into this. If the production company insists on protecting her, we’ll walk out. We can afford to lose this project—we’re not going to waste our time working for them for nothing!”

Chu Xiyue glanced at her iPad. It was 2 a.m. She couldn’t help but chuckle in exasperation, thinking, Yao Xin really doesn’t treat me like an outsider, calling at this hour without hesitation.

But Yao Xin only used her full name when she was dead serious. At first, Chu Xiyue thought something had happened to her personally. But as she heard the situation escalate to the point of a potential walkout, she straightened her posture on the sofa, sitting up properly, her expression turning grave.

“What do you mean? Is something wrong with An Tong?”

An Tong was a rising star who had gained popularity around the same time as Chu Xiyue. While her acting skills were decent, her true strength lay in her natural charisma and her expressive eyes that seemed to speak volumes. Though not the most conventionally beautiful in the star-studded entertainment industry, An Tong possessed a memorable presence, her nuanced eye work being particularly captivating.

The actress was renowned for her gentle temperament, always smiling warmly and radiating approachability. Her public image was impeccable. Chu Xiyue was set to co-star with her in a light yuri film, with filming scheduled to begin next month. The production team had already intentionally leaked rumors to generate buzz, and both actresses’ fanbases were eagerly anticipating the project. Just as official promotion was about to ramp up, this scandal erupted.

Yao Xin sighed.

“Check Weibo yourself. It’s trending everywhere. The production team will likely need to issue a statement by tomorrow at the latest. See what’s being said, and if they suggest continuing to work with her, let me know. I’ll handle it.”

With that, Yao Xin hung up, having delivered her message.

Chu Xiyue immediately opened Weibo. Sure enough, the top trending topics were ablaze with the word “爆” (Explosive).

#AnTongSleepsWithFans

#AnTongCheatsOnMultiplePartners

Clicking through, she found a lengthy, tearful accusation from an anonymous account claiming An Tong had cheated on them while they were dating. Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of text, Chu Xiyue skipped to the summarized versions shared by marketing accounts. The gist was that the actress had been communicating with several major fans, leading them to believe they were in exclusive relationships. When the fans discovered they weren’t the only ones, they collectively exposed her.

An Tong possessed the quintessential “mature woman” look: tall, long-legged, with captivating fox-like eyes. She was also skilled at maintaining her public image, a natural magnet for female fans and immensely popular among women.

Yet her downfall came swiftly and unexpectedly.

At two in the morning, while some dedicated gossip hounds remained vigilant, most had already succumbed to sleep, needing to wake up for school or work the next day. An Tong, a highly influential and pampered artist within her agency, had already begun efforts to suppress the trending searches.

However, for a celebrity with such massive public exposure—especially one who had been subtly promoting her new drama and frequently appearing in the public eye—completely erasing the buzz was virtually impossible. As dawn broke, the discussion would inevitably reignite, not to mention the rival camps lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.

Chu Xiyue scrolled through the trending searches for a while, feeling increasingly annoyed.

This wasn’t merely controversy; it was a one-sided condemnation. Whether or not An Tong had actually cheated during her relationship, excessive contact between an artist and their fans was inherently considered “private communication,” a cardinal sin in the industry.

Moreover, An Tong’s girlfriends had exposed a stark contrast between her public persona and her private behavior—arrogant, manipulative, and utterly shocking.

If the drama were to be officially announced now, riding this wave of outrage, it would be crushed by the overwhelming backlash.

After all, in the entertainment industry, the chat logs, photos, videos, and voice recordings provided substantial evidence. A comeback seemed nearly impossible. Even if the internet’s memory faded, future drama promotions would inevitably suffer.

During the initial contract negotiations, An Tong had leveraged her distant family ties to a shareholder in the production company, insisting on the lead role. Chu Xiyue, who had never particularly cared about being the first or second lead, found the script suitable and accepted the second lead role. However, she refused to waste months of her time and energy on a project with such a problematic co-star, especially one who would tarnish her reputation.

Yet her contract was already signed, and the script was genuinely promising. She didn’t want to abandon the project so easily. If the production team insisted on protecting An Tong, even delaying the start of filming, it would disrupt her carefully planned schedule and create a mess on all fronts.

For many involved, this was destined to be a sleepless night.

Su Yan was no exception.

She plucked the petite, heavily made-up girl from the noisy atmosphere of Constant Star. Even after getting into the car, the girl remained tipsy, leaning against the window with hazy eyes, gazing out at the passing scenery.

Back at home, Su Yan mixed her a hangover-relieving fruit juice. Su Xiaxia slumped against the cool countertop, her drunken gaze fixed on the woman’s face. Noticing Su Yan’s usual cold, aloof expression, she pursed her lips before softening her tone.

“Sister, Third Cousin’s wedding is just around the corner. If you still refuse to go back, Third Uncle will think you’re still holding a grudge over what happened years ago. Uncle says we’re family, and we shouldn’t be so distant. You were just a child back then and didn’t understand how hard it was for a widowed mother. Even if Aunt had taken that land alone, she couldn’t have held onto it. You’ve earned so much these past few years—you could buy the whole village if you wanted! Why are you still clinging to such petty grievances?”

Su Xiaxia was a relative, sent by the family to persuade Su Yan. Seeing the woman’s icy demeanor, Su Xiaxia didn’t dare mention the family’s growing disapproval. Following the elders’ instructions, she adopted a gentle, conciliatory approach with her rebellious cousin.

In truth, Su Xiaxia didn’t feel that way at all.

Having experienced the dazzling prosperity of B City, she now felt deeply dissatisfied with her small hometown where she was still in school.

In the dazzling heart of the city, bars sold drinks for three or four figures, their flamboyant attire and fragrant hair, the crimson lights and emerald liquors, all beckoning patrons to lose themselves in this sleepless city’s gentle embrace. Yet, opportunities like these, so rare for her, were now casually offered by Su Yan, slipping through her fingers for them to freely seize.

Su Xiaxia felt that she and the Su Family behind her were among the most pitiful of celebrity families, having reaped absolutely no benefits. She couldn’t understand why Su Yan had stayed away from home for so long, supposedly still sulking over childhood grievances.

She instinctively disliked Su Yan’s rebellious streak and her aloofness, which seemed to set her apart from everyone around her—a haughty detachment in Xiaxia’s eyes.

Especially after Xiaxia spoke, expecting at least some reaction, perhaps even a retort. Instead, Su Yan didn’t even glance at her, as if their interaction had ended the moment she’d fulfilled her duty of picking her up.

Su Yan sat expressionlessly on the sofa, scrolling through her phone. Suddenly, her elegant eyebrows arched slightly, a flicker of emotion finally breaking through her icy composure. Energized by this, Xiaxia leaned closer, feigning drunkenness, eager to glimpse the secret on Su Yan’s screen. She asked with a playful grin:

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Is it your boyfriend?”

Just as Su Xiaxia was about to touch her, the woman suddenly stood up, leaving behind only a cold, proud silhouette that quickly vanished into the room.

Once the noisy Su Xiaxia was gone, Su Yan finally clicked on the trending topics and confirmed several times that An Tong was indeed the female lead Chu Xiyue would be working with on her next project.

Chu Xiyue had taken on a light yuri film.

As a rising star who had gained fame for her striking looks upon her debut, Chu Xiyue’s scripts were generally of high quality. Even her idol dramas were known for their intense emotional tension and captivating romantic atmosphere, relying on strong storytelling rather than cheap gimmicks like excessive kissing scenes. Su Yan had watched all of Chu Xiyue’s performances and found her acting quite impressive for someone who had only been in the industry for two years—talented and noteworthy.

The new script told the story of two demon hunters in an ancient fantasy setting. The plot followed their journey from initial antagonism to mutual respect, with one character being rigid and the other unrestrained, creating compelling tension between them. It was a classic commercial film.

Su Yan rarely took on commercial projects these days. These films required extensive promotional efforts and social media engagement, a trend where even quality films struggled to gain attention without aggressive marketing campaigns. Studios competed fiercely to boost traffic, buy publicity, or add sensationalized kissing scenes to attract casual viewers.

Given An Tong’s scandal, experience suggested that if the controversy escalated, any production team with foresight would replace the lead actress before filming began to minimize losses.

The directors had previously approached Su Yan for the role. Both the female lead and second lead were mature, sophisticated types, and her acting skills and presence suited either role perfectly. However, Su Yan had been juggling multiple scripts at the time and turned down this commercial film, as it wasn’t a priority.

Later, the spy drama she had been looking forward to also ran into production delays, forcing its postponement. Su Yan wasn’t the type to pack her schedule to the brim every year, and her agency and manager respected her preferences. She often used her downtime for self-improvement.

But…

An audacious thought took root in Su Yan’s mind and refused to leave, festering and expanding relentlessly.

Even after she unrolled her yoga mat, completed her workout, and exhausted her physical energy, the idea only grew stronger. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the floor, wiped the light sweat from her forehead, and waited for her breathing to steady before making a call.

As the gossip-hungry masses woke up, the An Tong scandal indeed escalated rapidly. Everyone was frantically catching up on the drama they’d missed by going to bed early the night before, absorbing all the rumors and innuendo. While not necessarily believing everything, the buzz around the story surged exponentially.

Meanwhile, An Tong’s company swiftly issued a statement, leading with a lawyer’s warning letter. This tactic aimed to create confusion and intimidate those spreading sensationalist claims about An Tong’s alleged drug use and participation in group s3x. The bright red company seal seemed to vouch for her innocence.

The company had worked tirelessly through the night, including An Tong herself, who now sat in her manager’s office with bloodshot eyes, looking both docile as a rabbit and utterly dejected.

After a night of deliberations, the company’s plan was to urgently contact the victims, persuade them to downplay the incident, and have An Tong issue a sincere apology, playing the victim card. This strategy should have resolved the crisis. However, just as the plan was finalized and the victims bribed, several suddenly turned against them, escalating the scandal even further.

Seeing that the situation couldn’t be contained, the production team finally took action, decisively abandoning An Tong. The financial losses were minor compared to the stakes. With the filming date already set and locations rented in advance, abandoning the project was out of the question. Even An Tong’s familial connections couldn’t justify such a drastic measure.

Thus, the production team found themselves in as dire a predicament as An Tong. The filming date was fast approaching, and replacing a lead actress mid-production was no simple task. Both the female lead and second lead were mature, sophisticated types. The new lead actress needed to match Chu Xiyue’s star power, possess comparable height and presence, and have the availability to take on the role.

With the start date looming, actresses with open schedules were scarce. The production team was frantic, and rumors circulated that the Director had developed several new gray hairs overnight. He was making calls everywhere, but every response was a polite refusal.

Few actresses were willing to step in at the last minute to save a project. Even those with open schedules claimed to be unavailable. After all, if the film underperformed, the last-minute replacement would likely become the scapegoat. Such a thankless task held little appeal.

Since the production team hadn’t asked An Tong to continue, Chu Xiyue had nothing left to do. Although the script was indeed good, she could simply follow her manager’s advice and withdraw from the project.

Given the current situation, the production team would likely have to pay breach-of-contract fees.

So, while the production team was scrambling frantically, Chu Xiyue was living a leisurely and carefree life. She spent her days at home preparing delicious low-calorie meals, watching anime, and playing games. Several days later, her manager called again, but this time, instead of the previous panic, her voice was filled with joy and a hint of confusion:

“Yueyue,” Yao Xin said, “the director’s team wants you to come for an audition right now.” After a pause, she couldn’t resist asking, “Are you and Teacher Su quite close?”

“Huh?”

Chu Xiyue was feeding her pet turtle at home when she heard her manager’s words. She couldn’t immediately understand what Su Yan had to do with being asked to audition.

Yao Xin, who had worked with Chu Xiyue for so long, could tell from her genuinely puzzled tone that she wasn’t pretending. She decided to be frank:

“The production team was at their wits’ end. They were even considering taking the risk of facing backlash from your fans by auditioning other young actresses or asking you to switch roles and play the female lead. I felt the female lead’s personality didn’t quite suit you, so I asked them to reconsider. Then today, Teacher Su called to ask if she could audition for the role again.”

Chu Xiyue was stunned.

Skeptical, she opened her chat window with Su Yan. Their last conversation had been several days earlier when Chu Xiyue had asked about the perfume’s origin. Su Yan, with her old-fashioned habits, had replied the next day, explaining that the perfumer was a friend who had already flown abroad, leaving Chu Xiyue feeling quite disappointed.

They hadn’t spoken much since then, but Chu Xiyue clearly remembered that Su Yan hadn’t taken on a commercial film like this in a long time. While the script’s plot was decent, it was clearly the kind of blockbuster aimed at box office success, with little chance of winning awards.

Chu Xiyue had assumed Su Yan’s ambitions now lay in the international arena. Though she hated to admit it, Su Yan and she were on entirely different paths. Chu Xiyue knew her own niche: a top-tier young actress. Her priority was to amass fans and solidify her position as a traffic queen during her youth. Transitioning to more serious roles could wait.

Could Su Yan have agreed to the publicity stunt earlier to further boost her own popularity?

“Alright, hurry up and get ready by 3 PM. If nothing changes, you and Teacher Su will likely be working together again for a while.”

Seeing Chu Xiyue’s silence, Yao Xin sighed, her tone ambiguous—whether pleased or worried. The word “again” hung in the air, subtly loaded with meaning.

Chu Xiyue stared blankly, stunned.

After washing her face and tidying up, Chu Xiyue decided to leave without makeup, figuring a bare-faced look would suffice for an audition. But she couldn’t resist grabbing her phone and dialing Su Yan’s number. This time, Su Yan answered quickly, her slightly husky voice coming through the line with a hint of raspiness, as if she had just showered and was still dripping wet. Chu Xiyue could almost feel the fresh, watery mist emanating from the phone.

“Why did you suddenly decide to take this role?” Chu Xiyue asked bluntly, cutting straight to the chase.

“What? Is Teacher Chu allowed to act, but I’m not? Are you unhappy about continuing to work opposite me?”

“Who said I’m unhappy?” Chu Xiyue snapped, her voice rising slightly. Su Yan always had a knack for pushing her buttons with just a few words. “I was just kindly reminding you—have you even read the script? There’s bound to be promotional stunts and hype. If you’re not into that, you should say so now, so I can mentally prepare.”

There had been instances before where one lead was unavailable, forcing the other to tour with a cardboard cutout of their co-star. It was a rather undignified practice, and Chu Xiyue doubted Su Yan would agree to it if she took the role. Hence, she’d come to warn her. If Su Yan did accept, their on-screen CP could get another boost, and more importantly, Chu Xiyue’s “health bar” would last longer—the longer, the better.

As Su Yan listened to Chu Xiyue’s examples, she nearly smacked her in the face with her mental abacus, completely oblivious to her own rudeness. She couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly.

“Well, since you’re reminding me, why don’t you just have the cardboard cutout printed and shipped straight to my house? That’ll save me a trip.”

Su Yan’s voice naturally carried a cool, detached quality. Without softening her tone, her words left Chu Xiyue momentarily unsure whether she was joking. Chu Xiyue froze for a moment before finally responding with a sigh, “Su Yan, you’ve turned wicked.”

She desperately wanted to report Su Yan to her fans—this woman was clearly incorrigible.

At precisely three o’clock, Chu Xiyue arrived at the audition set.

The director, who had been frantic with anxiety, now greeted Chu Xiyue with his usual warm smile—perhaps even more radiant than before, as if she were a lucky charm. Although An Tong had left, Su Yan had arrived, surpassing her in both looks and acting talent by a significant margin. Even if An Tong had some distant family ties to the crew, they were merely distant relatives, and any favor owed to her paled in comparison to the benefits of having Su Yan on board.

Chu Xiyue noticed the director’s unusually gentle gaze and the other crew members’ teasing or curious glances directed at her.

As Su Yan was still preparing, Chu Xiyue naturally became the center of attention.