She's Crazy, I Love Her - Chapter 16

Just after seven in the morning, He Hongmei sent a message complaining that the elderly woman refused to take her medication, had smashed a water glass, and nearly injured someone.

Chi Yue had been filming a night scene until after two in the morning, then stayed up late recording a birthday greeting for Meina. Exhausted, she didn’t wake up until eleven that morning. Seeing the message, she immediately checked the security camera footage.

Thankfully, it was just a minor disagreement. The old woman sometimes forgot why she needed to take her medication and didn’t recognize He Hongmei. When frightened, she would shout and accidentally knock over the glass.

Chi Yue closed the app and video-called her grandmother. The elderly woman was scrolling through videos on her phone and beamed at the sight of Chi Yue, calling her “Yueyue” repeatedly.

“Hello, Grandma,” Chi Yue said. “Remember to take your medicine and listen to He Hongmei. And don’t worry, everything’s fine.” She then shared some anecdotes from the film set.

The old woman and He Hongmei listened with fascination, and they hung up in good spirits.

Chi Yue sighed in relief and went to wash up.

He Hongmei had always taken excellent care of her grandmother, but the constant news reports of caregivers mistreating the elderly online had made Chi Yue anxious. Before filming began, she had returned home for two days to personally bathe and dry her grandmother’s hair, only feeling at ease after confirming her well-being.

When Chi Yue left that day, her grandmother still thought she was going to school, urging her on from behind, worried she’d be late and get scolded by her teacher.

Chi Yue squeezed two pumps of serum onto her face, thinking that perhaps once her paycheck from this project arrived, she could finally bring her grandmother to live with her. The only question was whether He Hongmei would be willing to come and care for her.

But maybe it was too early to be thinking about that. After all, when the production team signed her, Wenhui Media hadn’t even existed yet. The contract still stipulated the pay for a low-budget web drama, which meant taxes, daily expenses during filming, and a ninety percent cut for the company would all be deducted first.

Chi Yue patted her cheeks in the mirror and used her fingers to lift the corners of her mouth into a smile.

Cheer up. Things are getting better, aren’t they?

Now that the Hua Fangfei project had been upgraded, its pre-production publicity had quadrupled. The original author was personally revising the script, the actors were filming on location, and they could even hire a hundred extras at once.

In this industry, it’s common for success to build on success. Since she had landed the lead role in an S-tier project, future opportunities would inevitably be better, and her salary would gradually catch up. She might even become a sensation, a true star, giving her the chance to break free from her contract with the company.

Keep going, Chi Yueyue!

After getting ready, she arrived on set to find Director Zhao Ming and the crew still finishing lunch. They greeted her warmly with smiles.

“Xiao Chi, you’re here early! Have you eaten yet?”

Casual, friendly, and without a trace of awkwardness—as if the previous tensions had never existed.

At the pre-production dinner the night before filming began, Sun Zhiping had loudly boasted about the necklace Qi You had given her, exaggerating their relationship to the point of absurdity. He practically claimed that Wenhui Media’s entire investment was due to Chi Yue’s influence.

Chi Yue had told Sun Zhiping countless times that she had no connection to Qi You, but he continued to spin wild tales, leaving her mortified throughout the entire meal.

Thankfully, Sun Zhiping never mentioned it again after He Wen arrived the next day.

Chi Yue looked at Zhao Ming and forced a smile. “I’ve already eaten.”

She turned and walked to a corner, where her assistant pulled up a chair for her.

Chi Yue’s hair and makeup were immaculate, adorned with shimmering tassels and exquisite jade pendants. She sat down carefully and asked, “Did the morning shoot go poorly? Why are they only eating now?”

“The shoot went quite smoothly,” the assistant coughed before leaning in to whisper, “The director ordered lunch from Jade Pavilion today. It’s a long drive, so it arrived late.”

Chi Yue frowned at this news.

It was hard to say whether her earlier confidence in the future hadn’t been shaken by the environment. After all, the entire film crew was now operating in an atmosphere of superficiality.

Zhao Ming had personally assembled the team for Hua Fangfei. Before Wenhui Media’s involvement, the director, screenwriter, cinematographer, lighting crew, and everyone else had been prepared to shoot quickly, scrape by, and collect their paychecks as soon as possible. But when Wenhui Media stepped in, the entire crew, led by Zhao Ming, suddenly developed a sense of inflated grandeur, like paupers who had struck it rich overnight.

Scenes were filmed and refilmed endlessly, costumes were changed repeatedly, and even the stunt team’s manpower doubled.

The drama, originally scheduled to wrap in three months, now had its final scenes pushed back to five months later.

“What can you shoot in three months? Good works require meticulous refinement. Let’s put our hearts into this and not tarnish the production company’s reputation.”

“If they chose our script, it means we have something worthwhile. In this industry, even Fatty Wang’s trash dramas can become blockbusters. Why can’t we?”

“Let’s aim to be this year’s dark horse. We’ll make a splash and show the market what we’re capable of.”

After so much grand talk, even Chi Yue was starting to believe it.

She opened the script, trying to suppress her inner restlessness.

The afternoon’s focus was on the confrontation scene between the male and female leads. Hua Fangfei was set in a fantasy world, and the original plan called for minimal action sequences, relying heavily on special effects. Now, however, the set was rigged with wires for aerial stunts everywhere.

Chi Yue and the male lead performed over a dozen takes in the air. Each time the director called “Cut!”, the acting coach and action choreographer swarmed them, offering corrections and adjustments, as if fearing they weren’t being dedicated or precise enough.

Chi Yue remained patient, revising her performance repeatedly. Though not formally trained, her learning ability was still sharp. While she couldn’t always perfectly replicate the instructors’ demands, she consistently met the majority of their requirements.

After a morning of strenuous filming, Chi Yue’s legs were so tired she could barely stand.

Her assistant helped her over to the director to review the footage. Zhao Ming was on the phone at the time.

In her dazed state, Chi Yue faintly heard Qi You’s name.

Even though she wouldn’t admit it, her heart still fluttered slightly.

Zhao Ming quickly ended the call and asked someone nearby, “Where’s Producer He?”

The person looked around. “Producer He doesn’t seem to be on set today.”

Zhao Ming grunted in acknowledgment and lowered his head to reply to a text message, his expression darkening.

Chi Yue thought she might have misheard, but after waiting a moment, she casually asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing,” Zhao Ming replied, looking up. His attention immediately shifted to the monitor as he began pointing out details. “Your movements in this take are much better—more fluid than before…”

Chi Yue didn’t press further.

The next day, Producer He Wen was still absent from the set. Wenhui Media was one of the two major investors in the production, having contributed the majority of the funding. Normally, they would have a representative on set daily, and as the producer, He Wen made it a habit to visit regularly whenever he had time.

During the morning’s dialogue scenes, the director kept glancing at his phone, forgetting to call “Cut!” several times.

By afternoon, he had completely stopped directing, leaving the entire A-team’s camera work to the assistant director.

Chi Yue gradually sensed something was amiss.

Sure enough, as the final scene of the day wrapped up, Zhao Ming suddenly approached her.

“Xiao Chi, have you been in contact with President Qi these past two days?”

Chi Yue didn’t answer, only raising a questioning eyebrow.

Zhao Ming scratched his brow, looking troubled. “Well, according to the contract, Wenhui should have transferred the funds yesterday, but for some reason, we haven’t heard anything yet.”

It wasn’t uncommon for investors to delay payments on film sets. Chi Yue replied calmly, “Maybe there’s a procedural delay. It’s only the second day.”

Zhao Ming sighed. “You’re right. I’ll check again.”

On the third day, when a small group scene was set up, the camera frame was suddenly crammed with over twenty extras. Zhao Ming erupted without warning, storming over to berate the assistant director mercilessly.

“Who told you to bring in so many people? Are you burning money? Send them all back where they came from!”

The atmosphere on set instantly soured.

That evening, Sun Zhiping called Chi Yue to inform her that Wenhui Media was demanding an audit.

Chi Yue asked, “Will there be any problems?”

Sun Zhiping chuckled. “What film crew doesn’t have problems?”

Chi Yue fell silent. The film crew’s accounting practices were notorious: inflated expenses, kickbacks, and dual contracts had become almost standard practice.

Sun Zhiping dismissed the matter casually. “What’s done is done. Even if they find something, it’s not like we can stop filming now. At most, they’ll give us a slap on the wrist.”

Yet the nerves at the back of Chi Yue’s head continued to throb incessantly, refusing to quiet down. The fluorescent green lines she had highlighted in her script seemed to leap before her eyes.

After staring at the script for a while, she tossed it aside, still restless.

Chi Yue had a vague, uneasy suspicion, but she dared not voice it.

Could this be because of her?

But would they really go that far?

She racked her brain, but all she could recall was their last parting.

Is there anything else?

A simple, ordinary question.

Chi Yue shook her head, forcing herself to remain calm. After all, even when face-to-face, she struggled to discern Qi You’s true emotions. How could she possibly understand her now?

And indeed, events were spiraling downward exactly as she had feared.

Though filming hadn’t halted, many crew members suddenly found themselves idle. For a simple two-person scene, over a dozen prop handlers, lighting technicians, set hands, and other non-essential personnel stood around, their presence both conspicuous and unsettling.

When asked, they claimed the director had temporarily suspended their tasks. With nothing to do and nowhere to go, they could only loiter aimlessly.

Even outsiders who didn’t know the full story could sense something was off.

Chi Yue was slowly being pushed onto the pyre amidst the increasingly bizarre atmosphere.

Zhao Ming had run off for three days, only to return empty-handed with a massive blister on his lip, nearly kneeling before Chi Yue in apology.

Sun Zhiping also flew in immediately, his tone shifting dramatically from their last encounter.

“Zhao Ming’s really screwed up this time,” Sun Zhiping said. “The accounts don’t match up. Forget about filming—he might even end up in jail.”

“Look, Chi Yue, why don’t you contact President Qi first? Let’s sit down and talk things through, figure out where we went wrong,” Sun Zhiping continued. “We’ll apologize, make amends—whatever it takes.”

Chi Yue’s hands and feet were ice-cold. After a long pause, she finally said, “I’ve told you countless times, I have no connection to her, and I can’t contact her.”

“Chi Yue,” Sun Zhiping’s expression instantly turned sinister. “Do you really think I believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

Chi Yue’s mind went blank. She threw her phone across the table. “If you don’t believe me, check it yourself.”

Sun Zhiping grabbed her phone without hesitation, scrolling through her contacts, messaging apps, and even her photo gallery.

A few minutes later, he tossed the phone back onto the table, his finger hovering over He Wen’s chat window.