The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 3
Chapter 3
A night of indulgence, traces all over her body.
Because Xu Weishuang broke the rules last night—lifting her own veil—the punishment became even more severe.
Yan Muyu was always cautious in such matters. Though pain was occasionally part of the discipline, she never intended to hurt her, and her methods were varied.
The rules they had initially agreed upon were mutually accepted, and Xu Weishuang understood clearly that they were not to be broken.
So when she was pinned down on the mattress, her nape gripped tightly by Yan Muyu’s fingers, the suffocating sensation mingled with waves of intense pain through her body—Xu Weishuang didn’t resist anymore.
She wasn’t good at making sounds. No matter how she was tormented, she would rather endure in silence than utter those unspeakable words.
Yan Muyu seemed to enjoy hearing them. In the past, she would often force Xu Weishuang to make sounds, using every method until Xu Weishuang collapsed, completely unable to bear it.
But after realizing Xu Weishuang truly disliked it, she eventually stopped forcing her.
Last night, Yan Muyu’s punishment escalated to the point that Xu Weishuang nearly passed out. Yet Yan Muyu was always measured—keeping her right at the edge, unable to fall or escape, torturing her until she was completely drained.
Xu Weishuang had never imagined she could endure so much. Many times, she thought she was on the verge of collapse, yet always managed to hold out until Yan Muyu said stop.
It was only when dawn came that it stopped.
Yan Muyu was used to hiding her true self during the day. Even at home, she strictly upheld this principle.
When Yan Muyu’s hoarse voice turned deliberately gentle, kissing Xu Weishuang tenderly in consolation as she lay on top of her—
That was when Xu Weishuang knew the punishment was finally over.
Her whole body was soaked. Her usually pale face had turned flushed from lack of oxygen.
Exhausted to the point that she could barely open her eyes, her limbs—finally freed—were so numb they no longer felt like her own.
Turning her head to look out the window, sunlight seeped faintly through the white gauze curtains. Yan Muyu gently brushed aside the damp hair on her forehead and used tissues to wipe the wetness from her face.
“Want me to open the window?” Yan Muyu kissed her cheek and softly asked, noticing her squinting toward the window.
“Mm.” Xu Weishuang could only hum faintly from her throat.
Yan Muyu understood and pressed a button on the bedside control panel. The glass window opened automatically.
Morning light poured in as the mist dispersed. A beam of sunlight slipped into the room along the window sill. The breeze carried the scent of dew, bringing a cool freshness with it.
Xu Weishuang’s overheated body seemed cleansed by this morning wind. She opened her eyes, gazing outside, and slowly exhaled—a breath so weak it vanished into the wind in an instant.
As if it were the final trace of her vitality.
Yan Muyu didn’t know what she was looking at and didn’t disturb her. Instead, she got up to fetch a towel, gently cleaning the marks on Xu Weishuang’s body.
She must have been too exhausted—staring out the window, Xu Weishuang drifted off to sleep again. By the time Yan Muyu noticed, she had been asleep for a while.
With a helpless smile, Yan Muyu carried her to the bathroom for a quick wash. She herself had maintained a fitness routine—female celebrities either had to starve or exercise to stay slim.
Yan Muyu had high popularity and a packed schedule. Starving was unsustainable. She had tried it years ago, but after fainting once on set, she committed to fitness instead.
Xu Weishuang was naturally thin. According to the housekeeper, her thinness wasn’t from dieting but from poor health—no major illnesses, just a constant stream of minor ones.
After washing her, Xu Weishuang briefly stirred, half-awake, then quickly fell asleep again.
Yan Muyu smiled helplessly and carried her to another room to rest.
She herself didn’t lie down. After changing clothes, she prepared to go out.
While walking, she dialed a number. A young girl’s voice answered, and Yan Muyu’s eyes softened visibly.
Xu Weishuang couldn’t see her leaving. As she slept, her expression was peaceful—whenever Yan Muyu was home, she could always sleep soundly.
…
In the following days, Xu Weishuang didn’t see Yan Muyu again. The latter was busy, and rarely came home. Her two-day stay was only because her work happened to be in Yucheng.
Xu Weishuang was long used to this. She never complained, and Yan Muyu never asked how she felt.
She had left the entertainment industry for years, deliberately avoiding anything related to it. If someone hadn’t brought her news about Yan Muyu, she might not have known until Yan brought a new substitute home.
But Xu Weishuang didn’t trust others—so she looked it up herself.
What those people said was true. The girl Yan Muyu now kept close was named Xu Xia. Xu Weishuang had seen photos of Yan Muyu’s “white moonlight,” Si Yu. Pictures of her were easily found online. Xu Xia resembled Si Yu by at least 70%.
Especially those eyes—unlike Xu Weishuang’s cold ones, Xu Xia’s were lively and bright, reminiscent of Si Yu during her debut.
Lately, Xu Xia had appeared in many of Yan Muyu’s events, clearly being promoted and introduced to various contacts. Those people had said Yan Muyu was very attentive to this newcomer—it was true.
Turning off her phone, Xu Weishuang went to sit on the balcony for a while. The housekeeper had arrived and called her to lunch.
She hadn’t been eating well lately, her stomach in poor shape. She barely managed a few bites before frowning slightly and apologetically shaking her head at the housekeeper.
Then she went to the garden and sat down. The ache in her waist prevented her from standing too long, so she simply sat on the edge of a flower bed, hugging her knees.
“Eh…” The housekeeper had worked here for years. Though there were other staff, Xu Weishuang was usually alone, so she let most go and didn’t allow overnight stays.
She didn’t interact much with them. In the staff’s eyes, Xu Weishuang was odd, cold, and difficult to talk to. She rarely responded, and seemed unapproachable.
This housekeeper felt the same. Seeing her sit on the edge of the flower bed, she wanted to tell her it was dirty—but swallowed the words back.
They were only employer and employee—not close, no need for unnecessary concern.
Unaware of others’ thoughts, Xu Weishuang simply lowered her head, staring at the flowers.
Beautiful when in bloom, their roots buried in dirty soil—once they withered, the fallen petals became nourishment for the earth, returning to dust.
She sat there for a long time—not to admire the flowers, but because there were no tall buildings to block the warm sunlight, which wrapped her in its embrace.
Her body was always cold from chronic weakness. Only sunlight and Yan Muyu could warm her. When Yan wasn’t home, she would stay under the sun for a long time. Today was no different.
The mid-September sun was gentle, not scorching. The breeze carried the sweetness of ripening autumn fruit. Surrounded by the fragrance of flowers, bathed in warm light—
She bowed her head, breathing softly, the frost in her eyes seeming to melt in the warmth.
The breeze brushed her cheek, like a hand gently sweeping her hair aside.
As dusk quietly fell, Xu Weishuang changed clothes and went out.
She drove to Yucheng’s film base. She hadn’t been there in a long time—it felt strangely familiar.
Six years had passed, yet it looked almost the same.
“Xu Weishuang.” Someone was waiting outside the parking lot. She had striking features—even in the entertainment world, she was a recognized beauty. The moment she appeared, she was easy to spot.
Hearing her name, Xu Weishuang looked up. A woman waved at her, short hair, rimless glasses, tall and slender with delicate features.
She quickly walked over and greeted her with a nod. “Hello, Senior.”
This woman was Li Yun, her senior from university. Even back then, Xu Weishuang had minimal social interactions. Li Yun had once pestered their professor, Lin Mian, to teach her. When rejected, she turned to Xu Weishuang, who was favored by Lin.
Though she never became Lin’s student, she and Xu Weishuang became familiar through the process. Since Xu left the industry, Li Yun was the only one who kept in contact.
Li Yun had decent looks but no real talent for acting. She became briefly popular through a campus drama, but was soon replaced due to her poor acting. Recently, she pivoted to directing low-budget web dramas—and surprisingly found some success.
This time, she asked Xu Weishuang to play a supporting role in her new drama.
Li Yun usually just sent her casual texts and had never invited her to act again—this time, she was uncharacteristically insistent.
“Why me?” Xu Weishuang asked, voice low and indifferent, her pale face looking even colder.
She found it odd, but didn’t want to stay in the villa today, so she agreed to meet when Li Yun called.
“Professor Lin asked you to try.” Li Yun glanced at her, a bit shocked at how pale she looked.
Those who knew about her marriage to Yan Muyu knew she couldn’t be happy. Being someone’s stand-in was never a dignified role. Li Yun had long sensed she wasn’t doing well.
“Professor Lin’s always asking about you. She still says you had the most talent.” Li Yun smiled, though a bit helpless.
“It’s not a deep role,” she added. “You can just play casually. I just want to report back to her.”
She hadn’t expected much. If Xu wanted to act, she would’ve done it already. She only tried to persuade her for form’s sake. Though she felt regret, as a friend, she didn’t want to push.
The girl before her was like a deep, bottomless pool—unreadable, lifeless.
She pitied her.
But the coldness surrounding Xu made Li Yun a little afraid too.
Though they had stayed in touch, they weren’t truly close.
Li Yun had already prepared for her to refuse—when Xu Weishuang suddenly opened her lips and gave a surprising answer.
“All right, I’ll do it.”
Li Yun’s eyes widened in shock, staring in disbelief.
Xu Weishuang met her gaze with certainty.
“Please tell the professor,” she added calmly, “that I’ve been very happy.”
Li Yun heard the word “happy”—yet on that cold, expressionless face, there was not a trace of it.