The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

Xu Weishuang had considered that Yan Muyu might say something like this — that she might not want to end their relationship, because Yan Muyu really enjoyed the feeling it gave her.

 

Given Yan Muyu’s personality, it wouldn’t be easy for her to find someone else she could completely relax around and show her true self to. So Xu Weishuang had thought that maybe Yan Muyu wanted to maintain contact.

 

They were still the same as before. This time, however, Yan Muyu would provide her with resources, and Xu Weishuang would maintain their sexual relationship — a mutually beneficial arrangement.

 

Whether they divorced or not actually meant very little to Yan Muyu.

 

Marriage simply allowed their intimacy to escape public scrutiny, to avoid the gossip of others.

 

Xu Weishuang had thought Yan Muyu would directly propose terms. Last time they went back to the Yan family’s old house, Xu Weishuang had already sensed her intention.

 

After all, Yan Muyu wasn’t someone who allowed others to see her in a pathetic state.

 

She had deliberately let Xu Weishuang see how the Yan family reacted to their divorce. She knew full well her behavior had angered the old matriarch and had purposely let Xu Weishuang witness her embarrassment.

 

Afterward, she claimed she would take care of it — yet never said exactly when.

 

These were all traps she had deliberately set.

 

They couldn’t fool Xu Weishuang, and Yan Muyu knew that. Xu Weishuang didn’t care about the marriage certificate, nor did she care about a divorce certificate.

 

Even without the divorce, Xu Weishuang had already moved out to live at the Xianning Theater. She didn’t need to report anything to Yan Muyu.

 

Xu Weishuang wasn’t in a hurry to process the divorce, because six years of marriage held no real meaning for her.

 

She speculated about Yan Muyu’s intentions, trying to find a logical reason for her behavior.

 

But she hadn’t expected Yan Muyu to so bluntly say the word “want.”

 

“Want” represented desire. It revealed Yan Muyu’s true feelings.

 

And yet, Xu Weishuang could never see through her. She couldn’t be sure what Yan Muyu truly meant.

 

She looked up into her eyes, trying to discern her sincerity.

 

But Yan Muyu looked back at her with a smile — not expressing anything, revealing nothing.

 

Xu Weishuang fell silent. She heard the rain outside growing heavier, and from the corner of her eye saw that the sky had turned a dull gray.

 

“Pfft, did little Shuang really believe that?” Yan Muyu suddenly teased, her joking tone slipping into Xu Weishuang’s ears.

 

“After we divorce, of course we won’t keep up our ‘special’ relationship. That’s what we agreed on from the start, isn’t it?” Yan Muyu’s gaze followed her intently, her eyes filled with emotions Xu Weishuang couldn’t read. “There’s nothing between us worth holding onto. Isn’t that right?”

 

Xu Weishuang heard her words, her eyes trembling slightly before she softly replied, “Yes.”

 

There was indeed nothing between them worth holding onto.

 

It was just that she hadn’t fully sorted herself out yet.

 

Yan Muyu smiled upon hearing this, her eyes lowering, hiding her emotions. She lifted her coffee cup, took a sip, but clearly didn’t like the taste and put it down after just one.

 

Then she said, “But you know the situation with the Yan family — I still have things to handle. I’ll have to trouble little Shuang to wait a bit longer.”

 

“Having Shi Yan look after you for a while is my way of making it up to you. And after all, we’ve been together legally for six years. I don’t want to see you get eaten alive by the industry.” Yan Muyu exaggerated on purpose, her tone teasing, and as she spoke, she reached out to touch Xu Weishuang’s cheek. Her gaze softened as it lingered at the corner of her eye.

 

“This face — I really like it. Go act cleanly and purely. Don’t disappoint me.”

 

Her appraisal was like inspecting an object. Xu Weishuang lowered her eyes again, still unable to see the rain stopping outside. The world always seemed this gloomy.

 

In the end, Xu Weishuang accepted Yan Muyu’s arrangement, but doing so left her feeling uneasy.

 

Everything Yan Muyu said was reasonable. The unreasonable one was Xu Weishuang herself.

 

After Yan Muyu left, Xu Weishuang’s life didn’t change much. She continued basic acting training at the theater.

 

Since their impromptu performance, Chen Xin’s attitude toward her had improved significantly. She even came by after rehearsals to talk with her.

 

Only then did Xu Weishuang realize how different Chen Xin was from her.

 

Chen Xin was passionate and approachable — not as naïve as Dan Keke, nor as gentle and tolerant as Yan Muyu usually was.

 

She was earnestly forthright, brimming with the confidence and pride of someone gifted, bold and unrestrained.

 

Her initial opposition to Xu Weishuang came from defiance. During that performance, she was outshined due to her lack of focus. Later, in private scenes with Xu Weishuang, she showed the strength that made her the lead actress at the theater.

 

But she wasn’t trying to prove anything — it was just that Xu Weishuang truly had talent. Acting opposite her gave Chen Xin pressure and motivation to fully engage.

 

She also finally understood why Teacher Lin had accepted Xu Weishuang as a student, and why she insisted Xu Weishuang continue with basic training.

 

Teacher Lin always emphasized mastering the basics — not only because Xu Weishuang had been away from acting for six years. Acting isn’t just about immersing in a role; technique matters, too.

 

And being too deep in a role can be painful. Xu Weishuang needed tools to help herself enter and exit a role.

 

Getting into character wasn’t hard for Xu Weishuang — getting out was.

 

Her acting career had just begun, so she hadn’t sunk too deep yet.

 

Chen Xin understood Teacher Lin’s intentions, and acting with Xu Weishuang also helped her in return.

 

Not that she was that altruistic — she deliberately tried to suppress Xu Weishuang in scenes, using her own experience and skill to throw her off balance.

 

After all, a six-year hiatus meant that no matter how talented Xu Weishuang was, she couldn’t always outperform a seasoned lead.

 

Chen Xin enjoyed this kind of sparring and got used to Xu Weishuang’s quiet demeanor. Once she realized Xu Weishuang wasn’t as aloof as she seemed, she occasionally teased her.

 

Teasing someone cold like that — their confused and serious reactions were often quite funny.

 

“You should just stay at the theater. I can tell you like it here,” Chen Xin said after a performance, when the theater crew gathered for a celebratory meal.

 

It was Chen Xin’s first solo performance as a lead.

 

Naturally, a play doesn’t have just one actor, but today was a tradition at Xianning Theater.

 

When the theater promoted a new pillar actor, they would have her perform a silent monologue on stage alone — no support, no partners — to prove her strength and charm to the audience.

 

Chen Xin technically wasn’t ready yet. She was supposed to be guided by a veteran until she could stand on her own.

 

But the previous lead had suddenly left, and all the plays had to be reworked. The theater had changed its system.

 

A young lead, imperfect but full of promise.

 

Chen Xin’s silent performance and the formal show afterward went smoothly. Afterward, she drank a lot and, trying to escape more rounds, slipped outside the restaurant for some air.

 

She didn’t expect to find Xu Weishuang standing at a corner by the right door, quietly watching the cityscape.

 

Xu Weishuang always looked so alone. Chen Xin had noticed that from the beginning.

 

She walked over and said with a smile, “You should stay. You seem to like it here.”

 

Maybe it was the alcohol — her brain was still clear, but her speech was a bit slurred.

 

“But you’d better not stay at Xianning. I don’t want to compete with you,” Chen Xin added with a groan.

 

Then she felt ridiculous — why admit she was afraid so easily?

 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Xu Weishuang replied unexpectedly.

 

The city streets were lit with neon lights, dazzling in their flashiness — the image of prosperity burned into people’s minds.

 

As if that was what life was — noise, separation, continuing on.

 

Chen Xin didn’t have many real friends. Xu Weishuang wasn’t one either — they barely knew each other.

 

Chen Xin had initially seen her as a rival, jealous of the favor she received from Teacher Lin.

 

Later, after resolving her feelings, they acted together frequently — but that was it.

 

Still, Chen Xin felt a little reluctant at their impending goodbye.

 

Maybe because they were the same age. Maybe because they were both more gifted than most.

 

She felt a rare sense of kinship.

 

“Good for you,” Chen Xin smiled. “I hope you have a bright future.”

 

Xu Weishuang nodded and returned a blessing of her own: “Congratulations.”

 

Chen Xin laughed. Hearing that from Xu Weishuang was rare.

 

“Why does it feel like graduation? Everyone going their own way, never to meet again. Standing on a field delivering a sad speech.”

 

“We’re not that close, are we?” Chen Xin said.

 

“No,” Xu Weishuang nodded.

 

They weren’t. But Xianning Theater had been a new beginning — even Xu Weishuang couldn’t help but feel a little sentimental.

 

…

 

Xu Weishuang’s departure didn’t draw much attention. Other than Teacher Lin and Chen Xin, she hadn’t interacted with many others.

 

Yan Muyu arranged for Shi Yan to escort her and act as her bodyguard. Six years ago, she had entered the industry with immense talent, winning Best Supporting Actress with her debut film.

 

But six years had passed. The entertainment industry had moved on. The audience had forgotten who she was. If not for a recent web drama where she stood out — and her status as Yan Muyu’s legal wife — fans wouldn’t have remembered her at all.

 

Shi Yan had already contacted her and Teacher Lin. Since Xu Weishuang didn’t yet have any notable projects, Shi Yan didn’t plan on putting her into a film set right away.

 

Instead, she’d continue to hone her skills at the theater, waiting for the right moment to reintroduce her to the public eye.

 

Shi Yan had also been informed of the divorce plans. At first, she was deeply frustrated. But being a decisive person, she quickly made a plan.

 

“We absolutely can’t announce the divorce right now. Wait until Xu Weishuang gains some popularity first. Also, whatever you two have agreed privately, I won’t let this negatively affect Muyu,” Shi Yan had said bluntly in a video call with both of them. As Yan Muyu’s manager — and under contract — she was willing to help Xu Weishuang as a friend, but only within limits.

 

Yan Muyu understood and didn’t argue.

 

“I’ll cooperate fully,” Xu Weishuang agreed without objection. That had always been her plan.

 

It just meant the divorce would be delayed again.

 

During the call, Xu Weishuang watched as Yan Muyu smiled apologetically on screen, and something tugged at her heart.

 

She knew Yan Muyu was stalling.

 

She just didn’t know whether it was because of the Yan family, public opinion, or some other reason.

 

Since asking for the divorce, Xu Weishuang had found herself unable to read Yan Muyu anymore.

 

Now, she was leaving the theater because Shi Yan had arranged for her to participate in a variety show about acting.

 

Golden Channel had launched a reality competition show called “She, the Actress”, where 50 female actors would compete in stage drama performances. One would be selected through multiple elimination rounds and awarded a custom-made film project.

 

The show featured mostly young actresses, since youth sells, especially in an era of digital traffic and social buzz.

 

Many actresses were eager to join — not just for the exposure, but because the mentor lineup was stellar: the immensely popular and skilled Yan Muyu; recent Best Actress winner Luo Qin; long-respected actress Qiu Shu; and finally, legendary director Tao Qianxiu.

 

The winner would get a lead role tailored by Director Tao herself.

 

With such a lineup and reward, no wonder everyone was desperate to join.

 

Thanks to Shi Yan, Xu Weishuang was on the guest list — a backdoor entry that let her bypass the large-scale auditions.

 

“I arranged for Xiao Shiyi to pick you up. She’s about your height, very cute and sunny. She’s worked as an assistant before — you’ll recognize her immediately,” Shi Yan explained over the phone.

 

“The audition is in three days. After that, Xiao Shiyi will handle all your daily needs. I’ll see you on set with Muyu then.”

 

Shi Yan spoke so quickly Xu Weishuang couldn’t even get a word in. Only when she paused did Xu Weishuang finally manage to say, “Okay.”

 

Shi Yan didn’t care about her personality. As a manager, she had her own rules — even Yan Muyu had to follow them.

 

“I’ll coordinate your script and public persona with the program team. You don’t need to worry about anything — just be good and follow orders,” Shi Yan said firmly.

 

She didn’t like disobedient or overly eccentric artists.

 

Xu Weishuang exhibited exemplary compliance—something Shi Yan appreciated after their six years together and that Xu Weishuang, not being versed in industry norms, had no intention of challenging. Shi Yan was pleased and reminded her of a few instructions before ending the call.

 

Alone, Xu Weishuang flew to Xiannan City. Upon landing, she received a call from Xiao Shiyi:

 

“Hello, Teacher Xu. I’m waiting at Exit 8. You can come out once you collect your luggage.”

 

Xu Weishuang responded and was a bit surprised by Xiao Shiyi’s voice—it was deep and husky, with a northern accent, far from what Shi Yan’s “sweet girl” description suggested.

 

That puzzlement lingered until she saw Xiao Shiyi in person:

 

“Teacher Xu! Over here~”

 

Xu Weishuang exited near gate 8 and saw a petite girl, about 1.5 meters tall, wearing a cream-colored sweatshirt with a cute bunny print. She waved enthusiastically and called out Xu Weishuang’s name.

 

The contrast amused Xu Weishuang, though her face remained impassive. She walked over without even quivering an eyelash.

 

“Hello, Teacher Xu. I’m Xiao Shiyi. Shi Yan mentioned me to you, right?” Xiao Shiyi greeted warmly, unaffected by Xu Weishuang’s cool demeanor.

 

“Hello,” Xu Weishuang replied with a neutral tone.

 

Her soft face and small stature belied her deeper, husky voice—it felt unusual. Still, Xiao Shiyi, experienced as a celebrity assistant, quickly outlined the plan:

 

“First, we’ll go to the hotel. Tomorrow we’ll do fittings and draw lots. On audition day, they’ll have you try out with Luo Yinghou’s team.
Even though you’re there just for formality, the show will air your audition. They’ll highlight topics about you and Teacher Yan—so prepare a performance that stands out, to avoid misleading tabloids.
But don’t stress too much—Shi Yan will manage your exposure and the public’s interest.”

 

As Xiao Shiyi led her toward the open-air parking lot, Xu Weishuang listened silently—aloud responding with a single “Mm.” Xiao Shiyi noticed her stillness and felt a rise of anxiety: Few newcomers are this composed—not even asking questions. Is she arrogant? Or uninterested?

 

The drive to the hotel passed without more words. When they arrived, Xiao Shiyi opened Xu’s room first:

 

“This hotel was booked by Shi Yan—close to the venue. You’ll stay with Teacher Yan, though she won’t arrive until the day after tomorrow.”

 

Again Xu replied only “Mm.” Xiao Shiyi shrugged, thinking she was getting used to Xu’s frosty demeanor—after all, work is work, even if the boss is difficult.

 

“Rest well. Tomorrow we start early with styling. When you and Teacher Yan appear on camera together, it’ll look fantastic,”

 

Xu Weishuang found her amusing but remained reserved, nodding quietly. Xiao Shiyi closed the door, happy to end a successful first day.

 

That night, Xu struggled to fall asleep but she remained obedient, clearing her mind and closing her eyes.

 

The next day, Xiao Shiyi brought her to fittings and a rehearsal at the production site. Xu expected to see Yan Muyu but she was too busy—only arriving right before auditions.

 

Shi Yan then led Xu Weishuang to Yan’s dressing room. Yan, rudely awakened from a nap, looked in the mirror and saw Xu at the door—smiling softly, her instinct being to turn fully toward Xu.

 

“Don’t move,” the makeup artist interrupted teasingly, “even if you want to look at your wife, wait until I finish your makeup.”

 

Clearly joking, the makeup artist knew just enough about their relationship. Yan smiled and stayed quiet—today the schedule ran late, and she couldn’t afford delays.

 

Xu Weishuang ignored the teasing and obeyed Yan’s wave, stepping forward as Yan asked.

 

“Why are you like such a well-behaved little pet?” Yan cooed at Xu, sitting with her eyes fixed on Xu Weishuang.

 

To others, this might just look like affectionate teasing between spouses. But Xu felt a flicker of confusion—Yan seldom spoke this playfully in public. “Little pet” was a term reserved for punishment—a command: “please your master.”

 

Her body immediately warmed at those words. Even after so long apart, she still reacted, a testament to Yan’s influence.

 

Xu exhaled softly, leaning against the makeup table, looking down and meeting Yan’s intense gaze. Despite standing taller, she suddenly felt overwhelmed.

 

Yet, unlike before, the pressure felt right.

 

Yan reached out, taking Xu’s hand—her fingertips tracing Xu’s joints, casual but intimate. Xu felt a knot in her throat; Yan’s behavior was confusing, maybe even maddening. As long as she was near Yan, she was affected—and now she couldn’t simply let go. Others would misunderstand.

 

She looked to Yan, who smiled back tenderly—overflowing with affection.

 

Xu closed her eyes, realizing that emotion was just for show—for the world.

 

“So, our Oscar Winner can be so lovey-dovey in front of her wife? Why didn’t you bring her out sooner? Oh, I get it. You don’t want others seeing how beautiful your wife is. You want to keep her hidden,” the makeup artist teased, clearly reading their chemistry.

 

Yan merely laughed, offering no retort. Xu said nothing—choosing to be a silent, beautiful presence as usual.

 

Then Xiao Shiyi came to prompt them off to auditions. Yan rose, producing a pair of icy-blue earrings:

 

“I chose these just for you—they suit your look today.”

 

The earrings were delicate butterfly flowers in ice-blue, with two crystal teardrops. They matched Xu’s butterfly choker perfectly.

 

Xu stared at them in realization—Yan had styled her today, using symbols like the choker and the “little pet” quip to signal something only Xu understood.

 

She felt heat flood her—uncontrollable, electrifying.

 

Her heart thudded wildly—even if she tried to mask her face, Yan saw it instantly.

 

Such displays were unprecedented in public; she had crossed a boundary.

 

Xu tried to shake her head, pleading silently for mercy. She slowed her breathing—but Yan deliberately closed the distance to help put on the earrings.

 

Yan allowed no room for refusal. Her close proximity, in spite of non-publicity, still looked intimate between wives—acceptable on camera.

 

They weren’t on camera at that moment, and no one minded. They even smiled—and moved aside thoughtfully.

 

But for Xu Weishuang, this nearness made everyone else disappear. She could feel her pounding heartbeat and Yan’s whispered breath at her ear:

 

“You’re so sensitive,” Yan murmured while fastening the earring, pinching Xu’s earlobe gently—creating a flicker of blush. Her whisper was so soft it disappeared—perhaps intentionally discreet.

 

The gentle laughter and intimate tone lingered in Xu Weishuang’s senses—even if she shut down her other perceptions, she could still feel them. She was too familiar with Yan Muyu’s touch; it was etched into her body like a permanent mark.

 

“You haven’t been wearing earrings—or your ear plugs—lately. You seem closed off,” Yan Muyu said as she pinched Xu’s earlobe.

 

Xu remained silent. In the theater, she didn’t need to dress up, so her grooming had lapsed. Suddenly, something clicked—her entire body stiffened.

 

In an instant, a sharp pain surged through her, spreading like wildfire.

 

“Alright,” Yan Muyu whispered with a mischievous smile—she had just pierced Xu Weishuang’s earlobe with an ear stud, ignoring whether it hurt.

 

Of course it hurt; this wasn’t the first time Yan had done something like this.

 

Xu trembled all over, the pain forcing her to bend slightly. Her head brushed against Yan’s shoulder, creating the appearance of a close embrace from behind.

 

She bit her lip hard to suppress a cry. Yan gently lifted her chin and licked the bl00d from her fingertip where she’d touched Xu’s bleeding earlobe.

 

“And the other side’s empty,” Yan continued, eyes half-lidded with predatory intent. “Come closer, Xiaoshuang.”

 

Xu’s body went icy—but it wasn’t fear. Pain and arousal merged, every breath tightening her nerves. She dared not make a sound, fearing others might notice.

 

She was both in pain—and physiologically aroused.

 

Yan held the other earring before her and Xu, trembling, leaned in. She lowered her head, biting her lip, deliberately controlling her breathing as Yan pierced the other lobe.

 

The silver needle pierced flesh, and Xu nearly cried out. She gritted her teeth and clung to Yan’s warm body, using everything she had to silence her response to the pain.

 

“You’re too sensitive,” whispered Yan, holding her earlobe between thumb and forefinger, rubbing it lightly and making Xu blush.

 

She licked her lips and stepped back. “Go ahead—do well, Xiaoshuang.”

 

Around them, no one sensed anything unusual. The makeup artist cheered, “I’ll be rooting for you!”

 

Xu nodded gratefully and hurried away, her face pale—little Shiyi immediately noticed.

 

“Teacher Xu, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine.” Xu gripped her fingertips and regulated her breathing to mask her pain.

 

Shiyi’s concern was clear, but Xu wouldn’t elaborate. As a new assistant, Shiyi sensed her reticence and didn’t press further.

 

Shortly before the audition, Xu’s phone buzzed—Yan Muyu sent a message: “I want to see Xiaoshuang cry.”

 

Xu locked her screen and handed the phone back to Shiyi without replying. Shiyi was surprised, but Xu just walked swiftly toward the set.

 

At the venue, coaches gave encouraging speeches. Auditioners were paired and introduced into coaches’ rooms; half would be eliminated on the spot.

 

Xu was pre-assigned to Luò Qìn’s room—a spot arranged by her manager—but her success would depend on her performance.

 

She’d prepared thoroughly, but her mind was scattered. The pain in her ear disrupted her focus; the blend of pain and arousal pulled at her attention.

 

She let her hair down to hide the reddened, swollen earlobe and kept her head bowed. The wait felt torturous. Fortunately, she was soon called.

 

Her partner, Gē Zhú, spoke nervously as the younger sister. Xu entered with measured grace, sorrow in her eyes. When Gē’s character grabbed her, Xu’s hand went to her ear, causing a flicker of pain—and she nearly broke character.

 

Then she remembered Yan’s message: “I want to see Xiaoshuang cry.”

 

Xu clenched her fists, holding Gē close. Then tears spilled down her cheeks—her sorrow was real, her portrayal raw.

 

By the time Luò Qìn called time—”Five minutes!”—she had made an unforgettable performance.

 

“Very good!” said Luò Qìn. “Many strong contestants today, but you, Xu Weishuang, are the first I’d promote without hesitation.”

 

Xu, tears still falling, shook with emotion. Luò Qìn handed her a tissue and praised her: “There’s a polish to your performance—emotional control yet deeply affecting. But next time, focus fully.”

 

Xu understood that she had slipped—she bowed gratefully.

 

She advanced to the next round, but her ear throbbed painfully. As she exited, many looked at her with admiration.

 

Since the show hadn’t ended airing yet, she had to stay. The pain worsened over time. She refused dinner, choosing to return to the hotel.

 

Shiyi escorted her. At the door: “See you tomorrow at 7 AM.”

 

Xu nodded, entered her room—and froze.

 

Yan Muyu was already there, standing by the window with her back to Xu.

 

“Xiaoshuang’s back,” Yan said gently as she turned.

 

Behind Yan, the night lights of Xiannan City glimmered like stars. Yan’s smile was radiant; the tear mark beneath her eye shimmered among the lights.

 

Xu recalled that Shiyi had said they would stay together in the same room. She looked up at Yan—though smiling, Yan had an unmistakable edge. She’d dropped her mask.

 

Xu’s breath hitched—but she wasn’t afraid.

 

“Don’t just stand there—come closer. Let me check your ear. Is it still painful? Is it inflamed?”

 

Yan spoke tenderly, feigning concern while drawing Xu deeper into her trap.

 

All day, Yan had been testing her. From the piercing in the dressing room to the message, it was a deliberate probe: would Xu break?

 

Xu hadn’t resisted earlier. She had endured the pain. And she’d gotten through the shoot.

 

Now Yan tested her again—pushing boundaries, seeing how far she could go.

 

Xu didn’t know her own limit—so she stepped forward.

 

She stood before Yan, reading the teasing in her eyes. “I miss your body,” Yan confessed.

 

Xu looked up, seeing possession blazing in Yan’s gaze—and hearing her voice.

 

She couldn’t resist.

 

Her breathing deepened; she began removing her clothes, following Yan’s command.

 

Standing before Yan completely naked—all except for the black butterfly choker still encircling her throat—like a testament: she was still a “well-behaved little pet.”