She Said: A Passionate Kiss [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 14
“The signal was supposedly down on the mountain—how did you manage to call for help?” the reporter pressed.
Qiang Huai thought for a few seconds. “Through a location-based app. But it’s still in beta testing.”
She knew SW Corporation hadn’t officially promoted it yet, so it wasn’t appropriate to bring it fully into the spotlight.
The reporter asked again, “Would it be okay to show it to everyone?”
Qiang Huai nodded slightly and lifted her phone briefly, just enough for a quick flash—but many viewers still managed to screenshot it.
SW Corporation was quick to act. As the incident went viral, they immediately announced Qiang Huai as the spokesperson for the app. That same night, they officially named the app Search and launched it in select app stores, saving a substantial amount on marketing thanks to Qiang Huai’s unintentional promotion.
On Gu Pingwan’s end, she added a chat box feature to the app to make it easier for users.
After filming the ad, Qiang Huai returned to Jin City and came down with a severe cold.
When Gu Pingwan texted her, she was asleep.
When Xiaoyu came to Qiang Huai’s villa to drop off food, she found that Qiang Huai had a fever. She immediately put on an N95 mask, terrified of catching it herself.
“Miss Qiang, take some ibuprofen first.” Xiaoyu placed the meds on the nightstand and poured her a cup of warm water.
Qiang Huai struggled to sit up and used an ear thermometer to check—fortunately, it was just a little over 38°C (100.4°F).
She took the medicine and quickly drifted back to sleep.
Gu Pingwan found it odd that Qiang Huai hadn’t replied in so long—she was usually lightning-fast.
She sent another message:
Gu Pingwan: “Qiang Huai, thank you for promoting our app.”
The phone buzzed and woke Qiang Huai. She groggily reached for it and saw several unread messages from Gu Pingwan. Squinting toward the darkened window, she realized it was already nighttime.
Qiang Huai: “No need to thank me.”
Her body still felt weak from the meds.
When Gu Pingwan received the message, she had just gotten off work. She was heading home to clean before her mom’s discharge from the hospital the next day. From then on, her mom would just need chemo three times a week.
Gu Pingwan: “Want some late-night food?”
Qiang Huai hadn’t eaten much all day, and the message made her stomach growl.
But she wasn’t sure if she had COVID, so she didn’t dare risk infecting Gu Pingwan.
Qiang Huai: “Maybe in a few days. I’m a bit tired lately.”
Such a shame to fall ill just when Gu Pingwan finally took the initiative.
Gu Pingwan replied with an OK emoji and took a ride home.
She thoroughly cleaned her place, put fresh sheets in her mom’s room, and placed a bouquet of carnations in a vase.
While tidying up her own room, she found a dusty old box under the bed. Inside were some worn books—and tucked inside one was a shiny fruit candy wrapper.
She was instantly taken back to the summer of senior year. She and Qiang Huai hadn’t spoken much back then. After PE class on a hot afternoon, everyone was drained. The classroom fans creaked as they spun. Beads of condensation formed on soda bottles.
Gu Pingwan was resting her head on her desk when a sudden commotion broke the silence.
Qiang Huai and another girl walked in carrying two boxes of instant noodles. The other girl shouted, “Thanks to President Qiang for the snacks and drinks!”
Then Qiang Huai began distributing all kinds of snacks and drinks. Some boys even fought over their favorite soda flavors.
Gu Pingwan, jolted awake, didn’t get annoyed. She picked up her English test to do some more practice.
Suddenly, a pack of fruit candy landed on her test. She looked up—but only saw Qiang Huai’s back.
Smiling, she held the candy wrapper. The shadow of her youth became vivid again, like something that had always been there—but always just out of reach.
She tucked the memory away, cleaned the books, and put them back in the box.
That Universe Knows All book set Qiang Huai had gifted her was still there. She pulled out one volume and read for over an hour before falling asleep.
The next day, she took a day off work. After handling her mom’s discharge, she brought her home.
Mrs. Gu had grown tired of the hospital and immediately took a nap upon returning.
That afternoon, Gu Pingwan took her mother shopping for new clothes and treated her to a Western dinner.
Mrs. Gu had been worried that her condition might burden Pingwan—but now it seemed everything was going better than expected.
Before bed, she gently brought it up again: “Xiaowan, when are you going back to the research institute?”
Gu Pingwan was warming up milk. “Mom, let’s talk about that once you’re fully better, okay?”
“I am better! I can take care of myself now. I’ll just go for treatments regularly.” Mrs. Gu turned away in mock irritation.
“Alright, alright,” Gu Pingwan chuckled, kneeling beside her, hands on her mom’s knees. “Look, I’m working on a project right now. At least let me finish that first.”
Mrs. Gu took the milk. “Okay then, but once it’s done—you’re going back.”
Gu Pingwan nodded. After leaving the room, she looked at the space-themed wall in the living room, lost in thought. She finally took a melatonin pill and went to bed.
Meanwhile, Qiang Huai was curled up on the couch gaming. She had mostly recovered—just some lingering aches. Even Xiaoyu, dropping off food, was still taking full precautions as if she were radioactive.
Qin Jie had dropped off a few scripts to review. They planned to schedule her next role after the Search commercial wrapped up.
After winning a round of gaming, Qiang Huai felt oddly empty. She slung her leg over the back of the couch and flipped through the scripts upside down.
There was a high-budget historical drama, a war epic—genres she’d done before. But one script at the bottom caught her attention.
It was a China-Korea co-production, a campus film shot in China but set in Korea.
At first, she assumed it was just another clichéd coming-of-age drama. But as she read, she got more and more intrigued.
The story centered on school bullying. Qiang Huai’s character—the protagonist—was a victim of relentless bullying growing up, and later faced harassment at work. No one stood up for her online, especially after it was revealed she was a lesbian. The media refused to report it as it was deemed too controversial.
Desperate, the girl prepared to end her life—she overdosed and stood on a rooftop, terrified she might survive. A female celebrity stopped her and promised to speak out.
The celebrity dressed in makeup that mimicked injuries, donned a bikini, and held a sign in the town square. Curious onlookers snapped photos. At first, no one recognized her. Then she removed her mask. Public outrage exploded. The girl’s school and workplace were investigated thoroughly.
As the story unfolded, Qiang Huai felt a heavy weight on her chest.
Though the setting was Korea, the reality it portrayed existed everywhere.
She called Qin Jie. “I want this role.”
“I knew you’d pick that one,” Qin Jie said, busy scribbling notes with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear.
Qiang Huai stared at the ceiling. “But I don’t want to play the main girl—I want the role of the celebrity.”
Qin Jie paused. “That role’s second lead. Playing the main girl could win you an award—are you sure?”
“Of course. That role’s made for me,” Qiang Huai said with a smile.
“Alright, I’ll contact production. Just know the second lead pays a lot less.” Qin Jie capped her pen and closed the file.
Qiang Huai tapped her fingers. “I like the character.”
…
Just as she ended the call, her phone rang again.
She frowned—it was her father.
“You little rascal! How long has it been since you called us?” he barked, full of energy. Her mom could be heard trying to calm him in the background.
Qiang Huai put the call on speaker. “Didn’t you say you didn’t care for me? Calling you only upsets us both, so what’s the point?”
Her dad shouted back, “Yeah, you’re making big money now and don’t even care about our little nest egg anymore, huh?”
“Please, don’t flatter me,” she retorted. “If I fall from that pedestal, you’ll be the one cleaning up the mess.”
“You brat! When are you coming home? We’re planning to have a second child!”
“What? You two are that old and still trying? How inspiring~” Qiang Huai counted on her fingers. She hadn’t been home in almost two years.
She’d never had a great relationship with her family. Living under the same roof usually led to constant friction, so she’d simply stopped visiting.
Her dad roared, “We’re adopting!”
“Get home soon—three villas are waiting. Wait too long and you won’t even get a crumb!” he yelled before hanging up.
Qiang Huai rolled her eyes—but yeah, it had been a while.
She had stopped taking her parents’ money since college. They wanted her to study finance abroad and work for the family business. When she chose to attend a drama school instead, the already strained bond grew colder.
Thankfully, she was good at managing her emotions—or she might’ve been destroyed by a family that equated money with love.
Whenever she got bad grades as a kid, they’d say, “We spent so much on your education, and this is what we get?”
She used to brush those comments off. As she got older, she’d cope by binge spending—crying into Chanel bags, wiping her tears with Gi T-shirts, having meltdowns in first-class cabins.
Once fully recovered, Qiang Huai bought a ticket to Jiang City. Her family originally lived in Jin City, but after her parents’ business expanded, they settled in Jiang City. They still visited the old house in Jin City during holidays to pay respects.
She picked up a few things at the duty-free store, grabbed a jug of liquor from a local alley, and headed home—where her mom came rushing out to greet her.
“My sweet baby! Come here and let Mama see you—why’re you so skinny?” her mom said in their Jin City dialect.
Qiang Huai wasn’t used to such affection. It felt awkward, like her mom was trying to make up for years of emotional absence all at once.
“Mom, I got you something. Where’s that old man?” she handed the items to the housekeeper.
Her mom pointed toward the kitchen with her mouth. “He’s in there cooking.”
Qiang Huai smiled—typical. Loud and grumpy, but secretly soft-hearted.