The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Xu Weishuang quickly slipped into character as well. The two hadn’t discussed the script at all — this was entirely improvised.

And yet, her demeanor shifted again. The gentle, refined aura from before completely transformed. Facing Yan Muyu’s cold breakup expression, her eyes instantly turned red.

Yan Muyu’s emotions were restrained, tightly controlled — Xu Weishuang, on the other hand, chose to externalize hers.

She bit her lip hard, shaking her head repeatedly at Yan Muyu, tears streaming down her face in an instant. She looked like a discarded pet, pleading pitifully with its master.

“No… no breakup…” she cried out, her emotions keeping pace with Yan Muyu’s intensity.

Her sobs trembled in the air, her voice broken and swallowed by her grief.

With trembling hands, she cupped Yan Muyu’s face, fingers lightly stroking her cheeks:
“I know you don’t mean it. We promised to be together forever. Did I do something wrong? If you blame me, if you’re punishing me — then fine! But please, don’t leave.”

Xu Weishuang’s movements were intimate yet delicate, portraying her clinging attachment to her lover with heartbreaking clarity.

But Yan Muyu pushed her away. Though she wore a deliberately cold expression, the dampness in her eyes betrayed her. The rise and fall of her chest and the heavier breaths exposed the real pain beneath the mask.

She opened her mouth and spoke the most devastating words with near desperation:
“But I don’t love you anymore. I’ve been enduring for years, compromising again and again. I’m just… so tired.”

“Xu Weishuang, let me go. Let us both go.”

Tears pooled in Yan Muyu’s eyes, trembling at the edge, but they never fell.

“Don’t say that,” Xu Weishuang begged, her tear-filled eyes fixed on her. She shook her head with everything she had, completely choked with sobs.

Always graceful, Xu Weishuang now bent her straight back, collapsing under the weight of that cruel sentence — like all her strength had been drained in a single moment.

Yan Muyu closed her eyes then, turning away to leave. And in that very instant, her tears broke free.

Still, she held it in, biting her lip to stop even the faintest sound from escaping.

“I love you!” Xu Weishuang suddenly cried, wrapping her arms tightly around Yan Muyu from behind, tears falling freely as she shouted her unwavering love.

“I love you.”

“I love you.” She repeated it again and again — amidst her tears, amidst her despair and agony.

Her sobs were so raw that everyone watching felt their hearts twist. Her brokenness was unbearable. No one doubted the sincerity of her love — everyone was emotionally swept away by her.

But Yan Muyu never turned around, never responded. With her back to Xu Weishuang, she remained just as grief-stricken, unable to make a sound.

Her tears were more restrained — all of her sorrow concentrated within her body, as though it might explode at any moment, yet still she held it all in.

The audience around them had been completely drawn in. Even their breathing became quieter without them realizing — the two actors’ pain washed over them in waves, almost threatening to drown them.

It wasn’t until Yan Muyu finally called “Cut” that the room exhaled in collective relief and came back to their senses.

“Apologies for the display,” Yan Muyu said humbly as she bowed. She had performed in theater before — even had a stretch where she focused solely on it and achieved notable success.

This performance, for her, was well within her comfort zone. While the audience was emotionally wrecked, she didn’t find it difficult to act.

And yet, when Xu Weishuang said “I love you,” something in Yan Muyu’s heart trembled — though she quickly reminded herself it was just a line, just part of the scene.

She hadn’t expected Xu Weishuang to act this well. Theater requires amplified emotions — there are no cameras to catch subtle expressions. Everything, from the voice to the gestures, must be heightened and clear.

Yan Muyu already knew Xu Weishuang had strong acting skills — she had seen her work before. Xu was undoubtedly a gifted actress.

But until today, she’d only considered her a rough gem — promising but unpolished, immature and imperfect.

Now, after sharing a scene with her, Yan Muyu couldn’t help but revise her judgment.

This uncut gem… was far more precious than she’d imagined.

In acting, there’s a divide between the “experiential” and “technical” schools of thought. Yan Muyu believed that truly great actors were masters of both — but occasionally, some individuals leaned strongly toward one side.

In the entertainment world, Best Actress Luo Qin was the definitive example of the technical school — demonstrating how skill itself can become emotion.

She always managed to deliver exactly the right emotion for a role, never letting it feel like “acting.” Every movement, every tone, was perfectly calibrated.

But Xu Weishuang… after just this one scene, Yan Muyu could already tell — she didn’t fit into any established category.

Xu Weishuang became her character completely. From the moment she entered the scene, she lost her real self and transformed entirely.

Yan Muyu turned to look at her — at Xu Weishuang, who was now expressionless as she wiped tears from her eyes. The corners of her eyes were still red, and sorrow lingered within her gaze.

This was dangerous.

A performance style that involved completely discarding the self was extremely risky.

There had been actors in the industry who ended up with psychological trauma because of this. Some even went insane from being unable to exit their roles.

But it was also a sign of rare talent.

Not everyone is blessed by the heavens — not everyone is born with such a gift.

The pure and sincere emotion Xu Weishuang poured into her acting moved everyone. For Yan Muyu, who faced her directly in the scene, the feeling was even more visceral.

It was an aggressively immersive style — her emotion enveloped Yan Muyu like an airtight spiderweb, wrapping around her, consuming her.

Xu Weishuang still lacked maturity — the pressure she exerted wasn’t quite enough to threaten Yan Muyu.

But if she were to grow into her potential…

Yan Muyu’s lips curved slightly as she stared at Xu Weishuang, letting out a soft laugh.

The laugh was barely audible — only Xu Weishuang, who was close enough, heard it. She paused her movement, glancing at her in confusion.

It was rare for Yan Muyu to openly anticipate someone’s growth. She loved acting, even to the point of obsession. The industry knew her attitude — but few had heard her truly praise another actor.

Because she herself had such a high level of talent, she viewed others’ performances with a critical eye. Very few actors could challenge her anymore — until she saw Xu Weishuang’s performance just now.

“Xiaoshuang did really well too,” Yan Muyu said, addressing her as a senior might. “I even felt a little pressure from you.”

Coming from someone like her, it was high praise — though, considering they were still legally married, some might have taken it as mere sweet talk between wives.

Those around them couldn’t detect the deeper meaning behind her words. They only laughed and teased Yan Muyu for being so affectionate with her wife.

Xu Weishuang met her gaze. Compared to the lighthearted joking around them, it was the woman in front of her who made her feel a distinct sense of pressure.

Her heart felt heavy. She pursed her lips and accepted the praise with a quiet, “Thank you.”

As she slightly lowered her head, the sense of pressure intensified.

Yan Muyu’s shadow fell perfectly across her, enveloping her — swallowing her whole.