The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 29

Chapter 29

 

From the moment Director Tao cast her vote for Xu Weishuang, the increasingly absurd developments had left the livestream audience speechless. The comment barrage in the livestream chat filled the screen:

 

“?????????? Director Tao criticized her so harshly and then voted for who???”
“Is the show blatantly rigging the votes now?”
“Do you even know who Director Tao is? She’s directed national-level performances. No entertainment variety show would dare make her rig votes.”
“Get used to it—she once publicly scolded Luo Qin too, but when Luo Qin won Best Actress, Director Tao handed her the award and even called her her favorite actress. They’re close in private.”
“Director Tao may dislike actors who deviate from the script, but she truly loves actors with talent and intuition. Anyone with a discerning eye could see Xu Weishuang’s spark. That speech sounded less like criticism and more like guidance.”
“Exactly. Her vote reflects who she truly believes deserves to advance. Even if they made a mistake, sincere remorse counts. The production team doesn’t have the power to sway Tao.”
“Stop trying to whitewash her. Just because someone can act doesn’t mean they can do whatever they want. Xu Weishuang’s involvement directly got Zhuang Shitao eliminated. Is that fair?”
“None of the actors voted for Xu Weishuang—only the directors. It really shows that only actors can empathize with each other.”
“Director Liu just genuinely likes Xu Weishuang. He’s clearly a fan. Maybe he’s admired her since six years ago.”
“That’s just how Director Liu is. Before the show aired, he said, “No one compares to her,” and on-air he boldly declared, “I admire Xu Weishuang.””
““Admire” is a very… loaded word.”
“Let’s not go there—his wife is literally sitting on the panel. He’s just admiring an actress as a director, that’s all.”
“You’re all arguing while I’m fully shipping this. Yan-laoshi usually avoids commenting on his wife’s performance, but as soon as Director Liu made his move, he got jealous on the spot.”
“LOL. Director Liu compliments Xu’s performance, and Yan Muyu immediately jumps in to speak on her behalf. Total possessiveness.”
“Oh please. Yan Muyu stans trying to defend Xu Weishuang now? Why should a manipulative woman like her stay in the competition?”
“Then go vote. What’s the point of ranting? Tao voted for her—not Yan Muyu. He never gave her special treatment.”

 

The chat was chaotic, the viewership kept soaring, but the program moved forward as scheduled. In the end, the host announced that Xu Weishuang and Jiang Ye were placed on the “pending” list, while Zhuang Shitao—receiving zero votes—was directly eliminated.

 

Zhuang Shitao cried as she gave her farewell speech, her sorrow and grievance fully displayed. Her fans in the livestream went wild, cursing out Xu Weishuang and even dragging Directors Tao and Liu Yuebai into the mess.

 

The entire atmosphere in the comment section turned toxic.

 

Zhuang was an idol with a well-organized fandom. With her team stirring things up in their fan group, the masses grew furious, swarming the show’s official accounts to vent their outrage.

 

Worse, they began manipulating public opinion to tarnish Xu Weishuang’s image.

 

Shi Yan, witnessing the spiral, was getting a headache. She bought counter-water-army (bots) to fight back against Zhuang’s fans and told her team to brainstorm ways to salvage Xu Weishuang’s reputation.

 

But Xu’s actions and words were indeed problematic. Even at the peak of buzz, it was impossible to fully reverse public opinion overnight. All she could do was let things run their course for now.

 

“Contact Zhuang Shitao’s team. Negotiate some terms. Just don’t let this spiral out of control,” Shi Yan said, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hated artists who were unpredictable like this.

 

But none of this affected Xu Weishuang at the moment. She didn’t care how the internet viewed her. In fact, when she acted, she hardly ever spared energy for unnecessary thoughts.

 

Besides, she had cut herself off from the audience for six years—after she left at her peak, she hadn’t really followed entertainment news. What little she did know came from others’ mouths, usually involving Yan Muyu.

 

She had been living in seclusion. In terms of being out-of-touch with the modern entertainment world, she might’ve been even more of a relic than some of the older actors.

 

Now, she and Jiang Ye sat in the “pending” seats. Xu’s face was colder than before—she radiated a frosty intensity.

 

From the moment Liu Yuebai spoke, Xu’s expression had gone cold.

 

She’d always admired Yan Muyu: someone who wore a friendly mask, buried their truth, and still managed to live brilliantly in the sun.

 

Loved by many. Doing what she loved. Unleashing her full potential.

 

Xu, on the other hand, hid. She shut herself off from the world completely.

 

But even so, Yan Muyu had left a mark on her.

 

Now she, too, had learned to wear masks. Learned to protect herself with pretense.

 

Fake, but functional. Protective.

 

She could no longer rely on others to lead her, to shelter her.

 

First, it was Liu Yuebai. Later, Yan Muyu.

 

She donned her cold, emotionless mask to hide her true pain.

 

For six years, she’d almost never thought about Liu Yuebai again.

 

She’d nearly convinced herself she could let go.

 

But the moment Liu Yuebai appeared before her again, it was as if every nerve in her body remembered the pain.

 

So, so painful.

 

Back then, she had desperately tried to convince herself she liked that kind of thing. Even after Liu Yuebai abandoned her, she sought out Yan Muyu—trying to prove she could endure it. That she was strong enough to be worth staying with.

 

But after being with Yan Muyu for real, she finally understood—it wasn’t the same.

 

The lies she told herself shattered completely.

 

Yan Muyu’s eyes when she looked at her, her gentleness when she touched her—even when she held her by the throat, teaching her—she was always watching carefully to make sure Xu could bear it. That mad love was always tempered with caution, as if terrified of actually hurting her.

 

Only after that did Xu finally realize—Liu Yuebai had only ever hated her. Or at best, held a twisted kind of hate born from a warped relationship. And that all the pain she endured back then—she never actually liked it.

 

She couldn’t let go.

 

Because her mother’s words still haunted her.

 

Because the pain had been etched into her body. And now that she saw Liu Yuebai again, the buried trauma surged up without warning.

 

Liu Yuebai should never have come back. Should never have gotten close again.

 

But Xu fought to contain it. She refused to let her feelings show on the show. She didn’t want to make things difficult for Yan Muyu.

 

So, she focused entirely on Yan Muyu—watching her seriously evaluate other performances, offering gentle, constructive feedback to the actors.

 

She had rarely seen this side of Yan Muyu at work: professional yet charming. She critiqued every contestant with precision and gave helpful advice.

 

Yan Muyu always had a great reputation, inside and outside the industry. Today, she was proving it again.

 

Xu had always thought Yan Muyu’s warmth was an act—a necessary mask for fitting into society. But now, watching her interact with the younger actors, she seemed genuinely invested in guiding them, genuinely happy to see them improving.

 

Xu was captivated, trying to understand this side of her, breaking down everything she said.

 

Until Xu Xia took the stage.

 

Because of the network ban Shi Yan had imposed before the show, and Xu Weishuang’s own disinterest in researching the other contestants, she hadn’t known that Xu Xia was participating.

 

She didn’t know whether she’d missed it entirely, or if Yan Muyu had protected Xu Xia so well that no word got out.

 

Even after Xu Weishuang’s own scandals blew up online and Yan Muyu got dragged into them too, the woman who had once sparked the cheating rumors—Xu Xia—had barely been mentioned.

 

Shi Yan had explained that much of the hate Xu Weishuang received came from other agencies buying bots to smear her.

 

But then why had Xu Xia emerged untouched?

 

Xu didn’t understand the inner workings of the entertainment world, but logically, if Yan Muyu hadn’t been shielding Xu Xia, she should have been caught in the backlash.

 

Even though the cheating rumor had been cleared quickly, haters still used it to tarnish Yan Muyu. They said Xu Weishuang was powerless to resist her, and that Xu Xia was her “canary” on the side.

 

Some even dug up Yan Muyu’s late “white moonlight,” Si Yu. Long-time fans knew of her—Yan had debuted alongside Si Yu, and though they’d never confirmed a relationship, they had many CP fans. After Si Yu’s death, Yan Muyu publicly mourned her every year.

 

That’s why many of Yan’s fans had found her sudden marriage to Xu Weishuang suspicious.

 

Xu Weishuang did have eyes a bit like Si Yu’s. It was easy to believe she was a stand-in.

 

But those were just rumors. Yan Muyu had long since clarified everything.

 

She had explained to Xu Weishuang that Xu Xia was Si Yu’s cousin.

 

Xu had never believed Yan would lie about something like that. But someone related to Si Yu… that alone would be worth Yan’s devotion.

 

Xu didn’t mind Si Yu’s existence. She lowered her gaze—she never cared about her own status.

 

She and Yan Muyu were simply using each other. No extra emotions involved.

 

She turned her attention back to the stage. Xu Xia’s acting was decent—better than her two teammates.

 

During evaluations, Yan Muyu smiled at her and said, “Nervous?”

 

She spoke gently, didn’t rush to critique her—asking that first question was clearly calculated to give Xu Xia extra camera time.

 

And in this industry, every second mattered.

 

On reality shows, audiences aren’t just looking at your talent—they’re also observing your personality and inner character.

 

A likable personality can sometimes win over the audience more easily.

 

“I-It was okay. I felt like my heart was going to jump out of my chest backstage, but once I got onstage and had a script to follow, I knew what I had to do,” Xu Xia answered nervously, her shoulders shrinking in tension.

 

Despite saying she was fine, her hands were trembling when she picked up the microphone. Yan Muyu chuckled and teased her. Xu Xia pressed her lips together and replied, “That’s because I had a script while acting—right now I don’t have one… Maybe give me another script?”

 

Her response made the audience laugh, even Yan Muyu couldn’t help but laugh: “If you want a new script, you’ll have to make it to the next round first.”

 

Xu Xia was familiar with Yan Muyu, and after a bit of conversation, she began to relax and braced herself for the judges’ comments.

 

“As a young actress, your performance was quite good. You have a solid foundation, your facial expressions and body language are well controlled, and your line delivery is emotionally engaging. I’m looking forward to your future performances.”

 

Xu Weishuang listened to Yan Muyu praising Xu Xia and watched as she cast her advancement vote for her. Judges tend to be more lenient with younger actors. Xu Xia received four votes and advanced directly. Overjoyed, she couldn’t help but turn and look at Yan Muyu with excitement.

 

When people share joy, they instinctively seek out the person they care about the most.

 

Everyone knew Xu Xia was signed under Yan Muyu’s company, and there had even been rumors about them. But Yan Muyu didn’t avoid suspicion—she openly praised Xu Xia and voted for her without hesitation.

 

Xu Weishuang was aware of their relationship. She lowered her eyes, avoiding the probing gaze that Liu Yuebai sent her way.

 

The filming set was noisy, and Xu Weishuang closed her eyes, suddenly craving silence.

 

But she was amidst the hustle and bustle, with no peace to be found—no escape.

 

She used to hide under Yan Muyu’s protection, but now that Yan Muyu was just a few steps away, Xu Weishuang didn’t even want to look in her direction.

 

Because the smile on Yan Muyu’s face was so warm and tender, her gaze affectionate—as she looked at Xu Xia and everyone else.

 

The rest of the taping went smoothly. After all the performances ended, the audience votes were tallied to let contestants in the “pending” group fill the final spots.

 

Jiang Ye’s performance was strong. If not for Liu Yuebai and Director Tao giving their two votes to Xu Weishuang—pushing Jiang Ye into the pending group—she would have advanced easily. So Jiang Ye’s audience votes were high, and she almost certainly advanced.

 

Xu Weishuang’s votes, on the other hand, were borderline. Some disapproved of her behavior, while others acknowledged her skill. In the end, she secured the last spot by a slim margin.

 

Yan Muyu was surprised by the result. She hadn’t instructed Shi Yan to intervene in the voting. This role was meant to give Xu Weishuang a few episodes’ worth of exposure to announce her return to the public. Other than securing a preliminary audition, Shi Yan hadn’t made any deals with the production team.

 

So unless the votes were indeed authentic—or the production team wanted to keep Xu Weishuang around as a hot topic—it wouldn’t have happened.

 

Sure enough, the moment Xu Weishuang’s advancement was announced, the live chat exploded and online discussions surged.

 

Most of the commentary was negative. Shi Yan understood the production team’s intent—it was likely that some of the vitriolic comments were being stirred up by the show’s own hired commenters.

 

But sometimes, for an artist with zero name recognition, even infamy brings attention.

 

It was a fast-track method to generate traffic.

 

Especially since Xu Weishuang had both real skill and Yan Muyu’s support behind her. She wouldn’t lack future resources, and “cleansing” her public image wouldn’t be too difficult.

 

The production team understood this, which was why—even knowing she had Yan Muyu backing her—they still dared to play this card.

 

It was a gift of popularity—something countless entertainers dreamed of but never received.

 

Still, Shi Yan checked in with Yan Muyu. After all, not every artist could endure full-blown cyberbullying.

 

Given Xu Weishuang’s unique situation, Shi Yan needed to be careful.

 

“Shi Yan-jie, do whatever you think is best. Just tell her not to look at it, and she won’t,” Yan Muyu laughed. “She’s very obedient.”

 

If it were about Yan Muyu herself, Shi Yan would have laid out all the pros and cons with a cold face and forced her to agree to the most rational plan. There’d be no polite negotiation like this.

 

“Xu Weishuang is just… deceptively fragile, isn’t she?” Yan Muyu laughed, seemingly relaxed.

 

Perhaps she was picturing Xu Weishuang’s appearance—her gaze softened.

 

Xu Weishuang looked cold, distant, hard to approach, yet also carried a sense of broken fragility.

 

Not the kind of softness that inspired protection, but the kind of fragility one sees in a priceless artifact behind glass—too precious to touch.

 

People instinctively feared she would be damaged by the outside world, that any crack would ruin her completely.

 

But Xu Weishuang only looked like that.

 

“You should just ask her directly. She can handle her own affairs. I’m her wife, not someone who makes decisions on her behalf.” Xu Weishuang wasn’t a delicate ornament in a display case. She obeyed—when she wanted to.

 

Yan Muyu was her refuge, not her cage.

 

Besides, if she wanted to leave, she would. She wanted a divorce, and so she filed for one. Yan Muyu had never truly controlled her.

 

Sometimes, Yan Muyu did want to lock Xu Weishuang away—keep her in their marital home, out of everyone’s sight. She wanted her to spend every day moaning beneath her, whispering love only to her.

 

Yan Muyu took a deep breath to calm herself.

 

After their talk, Shi Yan really did go find Xu Weishuang. When she got a confident answer from her, she felt somewhat relieved.

 

Despite the chaos caused by Xu Weishuang’s comments during the live broadcast, she was at least obedient and able to withstand the public pressure. So things weren’t too bad.

 

Shi Yan also gave some instructions to Xiao Shiyi, telling her to strictly keep Xu Weishuang off social media, and passed along a message from Yan Muyu:

 

“Oh, Muyu said after your interview, go to her car. You’ll go back together.”

 

Xu Weishuang nodded in acknowledgment.

 

Her interview dragged on. The staff asked many questions, and Xiao Shiyi had prepped her with guidelines and simulated responses in advance. So even when tricky questions came up, she handled them smoothly without revealing any weak points.

 

When it finally ended, Xiao Shiyi came to get her and take her to Yan Muyu’s car.

 

“Teacher Yan might be a bit late. The mentors have a different schedule—they still have to do contestant summaries and such. It was on the schedule earlier. We’ll wait for her in the car,” Xiao Shiyi explained while walking.

 

Yan Muyu’s car was parked in a designated underground lot, reserved only for actors and staff to avoid paparazzi.

 

By the time Xu Weishuang came out, it was getting late and the garage had emptied out. They found the car, and the driver, already informed, quickly opened the door. To their surprise, someone else was inside.

 

Xu Weishuang looked up—and met Xu Xia’s gaze.

 

Her breath caught. Her eyes turned sharp and cold.

 

“Xu-jie.” Xu Xia noticed her expression—piercing cold that made one shiver.

 

But she didn’t seem to mind. From her observations, this was Xu Weishuang’s usual look.

 

She greeted her, but Xu Weishuang didn’t respond. She simply got in with Xiao Shiyi, not asking why Xu Xia was there.

 

Since Xu Weishuang didn’t ask, Xu Xia took it upon herself to speak up, ignoring the distance between them and locking eyes with her.

 

“Did you see my performance today? What did you think?” she asked, as if assuming she had watched.

 

Xu Weishuang had indeed seen it—and seen Yan Muyu praise her, even cast her vote without hesitation.

 

But she didn’t understand why Xu Xia was bringing it up now. Yan Muyu had said there was nothing between them—then why did Xu Xia seem like she was provoking her?

 

Xu Weishuang pressed her lips together and coldly replied, “It was good.”

 

“How about we pair up for the next round?” Xu Xia smiled.

 

The next challenge had already been announced—it would be duo performances. Popularity votes would determine pairing order: higher-ranked contestants could pick their partners, and the chosen one could not refuse.

 

Xu Xia ranked 12th in popularity; Xu Weishuang had just barely made the cut—last in line.

 

If no one ahead picked her, Xu Xia could, and she wouldn’t be allowed to say no.

 

Xu Xia’s question wasn’t really a question—it was an assertion of dominance.

 

Xu Weishuang remained emotionless, staring back with steady eyes. Xu Xia was aggressive, but Xu Weishuang didn’t flinch.

 

“Fine,” she answered plainly, like it didn’t matter at all.

 

She didn’t know what Xu Xia was trying to do and didn’t care enough to figure it out.

 

She was used to hiding—just trying to keep herself calm.

 

But Xu Xia was like sticky candy that refused to go away.

 

“Xu-jie, has she ever told you that your eyes look like someone else’s?”

 

Xu Xia had been staring at her the whole time, even while speaking—intently, unwavering. At first, Xu Weishuang hadn’t noticed what she was looking at, but now she understood.

 

Peace was still out of reach, thanks to Xu Xia’s endless chatter—and Yan Muyu hadn’t warned her someone else would be in the car.

 

“No. She’s never said that,” Xu Weishuang’s voice turned even colder—colder than usual, noticeably so even to Xu Xia.

 

Xu Xia paused, then looked at her more intently. After a while, she dropped her gaze and sighed, almost involuntarily:

 

“You’re really pitiful.”

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t understand—what made her pitiful?

 

Was it because she was Yan Muyu’s wife, yet actually just a stand-in for Si Yu?

 

So anyone could pity her?

 

There was no so-called “love” between her and Yan Muyu. The word “pitiful” didn’t apply.

 

But something inside her was burning.

 

A spark turned into a growing fire, heating her chest, scorching her throat—

 

She couldn’t breathe.

 

She kept enduring—until suddenly, she didn’t want to anymore.

 

She exhaled sharply and, to Xiao Shiyi and Xu Xia’s surprise, opened the car door and stepped out.

 

She needed air. She didn’t want to stay in that stifling space, her already agitated heart further agitated by Xu Xia.

 

She rushed out—but still found no peace.

 

Because she suddenly saw a familiar figure up ahead.

 

Yan Muyu.

 

And beside her—smiling gently—was Liu Yuebai.

 

They were walking together.

 

Naturally, they both looked up and saw her at the same time.

 

Their eyes landed on her.

 

Why was Yan Muyu walking with Liu Yuebai?