She Said: A Passionate Kiss [Entertainment Industry] - Chapter 38

Movies themed around national security are notoriously difficult to make. There were several screenwriters following the production crew, all gathered around the director to discuss the script.

 

Gu Pingwan was arranged by Xiaoyu to stay in a small room on the first floor. The room had a window that just so happened to overlook the filming set.

 

Xiaoyu even brought her fruit and sunflower seeds, placing them on the table. Gu Pingwan looked like an old-time theatergoer, snacking on seeds while watching the scene unfold. It was quite the leisurely experience.

 

Qiang Huai had just finished with hair and makeup. She wore an off-white suit with a party pin on her chest. Her hair was slicked back immaculately, and her piercing gaze was enough to send chills down someone’s spine.

 

It was Gu Pingwan’s first time seeing Qiang Huai in this kind of look—it was eye-catching and refreshing.

 

“Chief Engineer Gu, what do you think? Isn’t our Teacher Qiang just dashing?” Xiaoyu sat across from her with a love-struck expression, resting one hand on the windowsill as she asked.

 

“Mhm. I’ve never seen her like this before.” Gu Pingwan answered sincerely.

 

Qiang Huai walked over to the director and greeted him. The two began discussing the next scene. There was a water scene scheduled for today, and the director was checking whether Qiang Huai was physically prepared for it.

 

“Of course, no problem at all.” Qiang Huai knew today’s scene involved water, so she had specifically used a tampon in advance.

 

“All right, then thank you for your hard work, Teacher Qiang.” The director lowered his voice and gave the signal for the crew to get ready. The current scenes were being filmed indoors.

 

Later, they’d move to the outdoor shoot—a scene where the female lead rescues a drowning child.

 

Gu Pingwan found herself admiring the stamina of these actors. Take Qiang Huai, for example—she could go without sleep at night and still be full of energy the next day. And she was on her period too. If it were her, she’d probably already have collapsed on set.

 

As the camera zoomed in on Qiang Huai, her line delivery was flawless. During her dialogue with her in-film coworkers, her emotional immersion was obvious and strong.

 

Movies about national security often touch on topics related to computing, and Qiang Huai’s appearance fit the character perfectly.

 

The entire morning’s shoot went smoothly—Qiang Huai nailed every scene in a single take.

 

Gu Pingwan was quietly impressed. Listening to Qiang Huai recite all those technical lines without missing a beat made her believe what Qiang Huai had once claimed: she could memorize her script after just one read-through.

 

After filming, Qiang Huai spoke briefly with the director. The director, following her line of sight, spotted Gu Pingwan and smiled, nodding in greeting.

 

Gu Pingwan returned the greeting politely. Still in costume, Qiang Huai walked over to the window of the small room.

 

She leaned one hand on the doorframe, bent slightly at the waist, and gently brushed Gu Pingwan’s nose with her finger. “Be honest—was your sister handsome or what?”

 

Gu Pingwan felt like someone was watching and didn’t dare move her head. Her ears flushed red instantly.

 

“Hand-handsome,” she stammered, sounding like someone who’d just had their mouth covered.

 

“Are you bored?” Qiang Huai straightened up and leaned against the windowsill.

 

“Not at all. It feels like I’m watching a live sitcom. It’s actually pretty fun.” Gu Pingwan, feeling a bit embarrassed, touched the tip of her nose where Qiang Huai had just brushed it.

 

Seeing this, Xiaoyu tactfully vanished from the room, doing her best to turn herself invisible.

 

“I need to correct you on one thing. I’m older than you—you should be calling me ‘big sister.’” Gu Pingwan said seriously.

 

Qiang Huai squinted, smiling. She found Gu Pingwan delightfully amusing. “All right, all right. Next time, I’ll call you big sister… somewhere else.”

 

Gu Pingwan looked confused. “Why somewhere else?”

 

“Youngsters shouldn’t know too much,” Qiang Huai said, gently tousling Gu Pingwan’s fluffy hair like she was petting a kitten.

 

Then she walked away, leaving a dazed Gu Pingwan behind.

 

The director planned to shoot the water scene during midday when temperatures were a bit higher, so Qiang Huai wouldn’t feel too cold in the water.

 

The crew had coordinated with traffic police in advance. By the time they arrived at the Yongding River, it was lunchtime and there weren’t many people around.

 

Gu Pingwan rode in the same car with Qiang Huai and Xiaoyu. On the way, she asked with concern, “Are you sure your body can handle it?” It was still cold in Beijing this March—about 11°C.

 

Qiang Huai was holding a mirror, checking her makeup. “Are you worried about me, Student Gu?”

 

Xiaoyu watched their interaction with a delighted look, like she was witnessing her favorite ship become canon.

 

“Can you ask the director to move the scene to a later time?” Gu Pingwan asked hesitantly.

 

“We could, but it wouldn’t be ideal.” Qiang Huai explained, knowing Gu Pingwan didn’t understand filming procedures. “The crew already arranged everything ahead of time. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of people have prepared for this one scene. If I ask to delay it for personal reasons, that’d be really unprofessional.”

 

“Besides, I’m being paid a lot. If I can’t even maintain basic professionalism, how could I show my face in this industry?”

 

Though she said it jokingly, Gu Pingwan couldn’t help but worry. It was freezing, and Qiang Huai was on her period—how could she handle that kind of cold without any protection?

 

The child she was supposed to rescue would be portrayed by a dummy in the water and replaced with a real child once ashore. Only Qiang Huai had to do everything—from wide shots to close-ups, even delivering lines while wet—without a stand-in.

 

Before, Gu Pingwan had imagined someone like Qiang Huai, with such a high status, could set her own terms on set. But she’d overlooked something—being a good actor came first.

 

Truly great actors were professionals with strong ethics.

 

She remembered what she’d once said about Qiang Huai being “aloof and above it all,” but that wasn’t true. Qiang Huai treated everyone with equality, including an old high school classmate like her.

 

…

 

Once everything was ready, the director called “action.” Professional rescue staff were already stationed onshore.

 

Gu Pingwan was originally told to stay in the van, but she couldn’t sit still. She grabbed a towel and a thermos and stood just behind the camera.

 

As the camera zoomed in, the whole crew fell silent.

 

Qiang Huai charged into the river without hesitation. She dove in headfirst, fully submerging herself before swimming hard toward the child dummy placed in advance.

 

As time passed, passersby who’d finished lunch started to gather out of curiosity. Some saw a figure in an off-white suit flailing in the water—and realized it was Qiang Huai. They immediately began taking photos and videos.

 

Watching Qiang Huai deliver lines to the dummy in the water, Gu Pingwan’s heart ached. She just wanted the scene to wrap quickly so Qiang Huai could come out.

 

After finishing her lines, Qiang Huai began swimming back to shore with the dummy. Her soaked hair clung to her face, giving her a disheveled yet beautiful look.

 

The shoot lasted just over ten minutes, but to Gu Pingwan, it felt like ten hours.

 

As soon as Qiang Huai emerged from the water, the crowd onshore erupted into cheers and screams.

 

“Qiang Huai!!”

 

“She’s gorgeous!!”

 

“Go hubby!!”

 

Hearing the last shout, Gu Pingwan turned around. It came from a girl in the crowd.

 

They wouldn’t be filming the child rescue onshore, so Qiang Huai exited the scene—shivering.

 

Gu Pingwan rushed to her with a towel and thermos. After thanking the crew, Qiang Huai followed her into the van.

 

As Gu Pingwan unscrewed the thermos, she suddenly noticed that Qiang Huai’s pants were stained red.

 

“Uh—” Gu Pingwan flushed. “You should probably change.”

 

Qiang Huai looked down and saw the bl00d on her thigh. Internally, she cursed—this was even more embarrassing than that time in high school when she’d kissed Gu Pingwan’s knee out of impulse.

 

She had used a tampon and prepared well—how did this still happen?

 

After thinking about it, she realized the vigorous motion in the water must’ve caused it.

 

Qiang Huai took a quick shower in the van and changed into a clean set of identical clothes. When she came out, Gu Pingwan had somehow ordered brown sugar tea from a food delivery app.

 

“Here, drink this first,” Gu Pingwan said. She knew they still had one more scene to shoot onshore.

 

“Thanks.” Qiang Huai smiled and accepted it. Neither of them brought up what had just happened. After all, it was a normal biological event—no need for shame.

 

Qiang Huai was more embarrassed that she’d had two “social deaths” in front of Gu Pingwan: once yesterday when Skirt Skirt’s dog dug a sanitary pad out of the bathroom trash, and now this.

 

After the final scene, Gu Pingwan was called away by Teacher Ji. Qiang Huai, exhausted, returned to the villa.

 

Skirt Skirt hadn’t left yet and came screaming from inside.

 

“Holy crap, Qiang Huai! You made it onto the trending list for leaking during your period!”

 

Qiang Huai, who’d been dozing off, instantly perked up. “What?!”

 

Trending Topic: #QiangHuaiFilmingWhileOnHerPeriod — The post included a picture of Qiang Huai in the water, her pale trousers stained red.

 

Agent Qin immediately called, “I’ve asked the PR team to suppress the trend. Don’t worry.”

 

Qiang Huai thought about it. “It’s not that big of a deal. What woman doesn’t get a period?”

 

“You’re a female celebrity though,” Qin replied.

 

“So what? The photo doesn’t show anything private—it’s a natural thing.” Qiang Huai didn’t think it was a big deal. Gu Pingwan had acted like it was totally normal too.

 

“Don’t suppress the trend,” Qiang Huai said, then hung up.

 

Skirt Skirt kept a close eye on her reaction and, seeing no signs of distress, relaxed.

 

The comments under her post were full of disgusting remarks, mostly from creepy men—but some came from women too.

 

“Ugh, a female celeb doing this? Really?”

 

“This is the most disgusting news I’ve seen all year.”

 

“I’m a woman and even I can’t deal. Qiang Huai should’ve taken better care of herself.”

 

“I’m gonna hurl. I can’t look at her the same again.”

 

The internet was flooded with comments. Many clickbait accounts used the “red pants” picture as their thumbnail.

 

Qiang Huai logged onto her main Weibo account and posted a response:

 

“I changed into a tampon before filming, but it still wasn’t enough to prevent what happened. Clearly, I’m at fault—for being a woman, for having a period, for filming in freezing water while on my period. I may be wrong in many ways, but one thing I won’t accept is menstrual shame. According to incomplete statistics, 40 million women in our country can’t afford sanitary pads. 12% of women use unqualified sanitary products. That’s what we should be discussing, not criticizing a woman for having her period while working.”

 

The internet exploded.

 

Many men and women began discussing the real issue. The previous toxic comments were reported en masse. People said:

 

“Yeah, I used to hide my period. But now I feel like I don’t have to.”

 

“Exactly! Why are female celebs held to such unfair standards? Male actors get away with cheating and drug use.”

 

“I didn’t realize so many women couldn’t afford sanitary pads.”

 

“I’m a guy and I don’t think this is a big deal. Those creeps in the comments need to get lost.”

 

“Everyone’s talking about sanitary pads, but I’m just heartbroken she had to film in freezing water while on her period.”

 

Public opinion shifted. People began discussing how to donate pads. The All-China Women’s Federation also posted on Weibo, supporting Qiang Huai and promoting an end to period shame.

 

Still, some men said things like, “Tampons go in, right? She must be immoral.”

 

They believed using tampons was indecent and that women who used them weren’t “good.”

 

Qiang Huai couldn’t help but laugh at how absurd it was. Before she could clap back, a representative from the Women’s Federation contacted her:

 

“Teacher Qiang, we’d like to invite you to co-found a sanitary pad donation program. Would you be interested?”

 

Of course, she was. She asked Qin to coordinate with them directly. She had once seen news about girls using socks as pads and wanted to do something, but back then, she didn’t have the platform.

 

Now, thanks to this incident, she could finally make it happen.

 

Gu Pingwan also saw the headlines and reposted Qiang Huai’s Weibo.

 

Her own account was verified as a researcher at the Chinese Academy of Sciences’ Software Institute. Though she didn’t post often, the official institute account did annual Q&A sessions, and she’d registered her profile back then.

 

She didn’t have many followers—just over 10,000—but they noticed the repost.

 

“Good news: our fav posted. Bad news: it’s a repost.”

 

“Engineer Gu is following the topic too?”

 

“No wonder I follow you! Girls, let’s support each other!”

 

She scrolled through a few comments and was about to message Qiang Huai, but worried it might be too late at night and decided to sleep instead.

 

The Women’s Federation worked quickly. By the next morning, they officially named Qiang Huai as the program ambassador. Qin loved this kind of opportunity—it boosted her national popularity and gave her a positive public image.

 

People’s Daily criticized the disgusting comments. The man who said tampon users weren’t good women had his post pinned and was forced to delete his account.

 

Netizens dug into his background and found out he’d been dating five women at once. Those girlfriends teamed up to expose him online.

 

Thanks to this incident, people began focusing on period shame. Many women recalled feeling ashamed at 12 or 13. Some still felt that way into their twenties.

 

Seeing Qiang Huai—a public figure—act so unapologetically helped them let go of their own shame.

 

The Women’s Federation coordinated with Qiang Huai’s company. With her approval, Qin allocated a large sum of money to build a monthly sanitary pad distribution program.

 

Preparations would take time, but once the news was public, many volunteers joined to help donate sanitary products and clothing to girls in impoverished areas.

 

The next morning, Qiang Huai woke up to find Gu Pingwan knocking on her door again.

 

“What, here to deliver love-filled breakfast today too?” Qiang Huai had already freshened up and come downstairs.

 

Smiling, Gu Pingwan raised the food over her head. “I got called away by Teacher Ji yesterday and couldn’t keep you company—this is to make up for it.”