The Paranoid Film Queen Doesn’t Want to Remarry - Chapter 32

Chapter 32

 

Although Yan Muyu wasn’t pleased, she still understood Xu Weishuang well.

 

Seeing how fixated Xu was on Xu Xia, how she stared for so long without looking away—it wasn’t hard to notice something unusual.

 

Yan wasn’t familiar with Xu Weishuang’s particular acting issues, but in the entertainment industry, there are indeed actors who have a hard time stepping out of character.
To move an audience emotionally, the actor must first believe in the performance themselves. Getting too immersed and struggling to break out afterward is understandable.

 

The world is rarely harsh on people who are talented and genuinely committed.

 

The audience waited silently for a moment while Xu Weishuang calmed herself. Once she appeared emotionally stable, the host resumed the show’s flow.

 

The judges’ evaluations were a major draw for the program. After the first episode aired, the audience had already assigned roles to each mentor:

 

• • • • • • • • Yan Muyu: Professional but gentle—offering mostly encouraging feedback, not overly critical, but capable of sharp insight into acting skills and character understanding.

 

• • • • • • • • Luo Qin: Focused on whether actors captured their roles precisely, favoring performances that spark surprise.

 

• • • • • • • • Qiu Shu: Known for her sharp and direct comments. Online fans claimed the production team gave her a “villain script” to point out flaws in every actor.

 

• • • • • • • • Director Tao: Gives feedback like he’s casting for his own film. If he dislikes a performance, he says, “You still need to work hard.” But when he likes someone, he invites them to audition on the spot.

 

Luo Qin went first. She had already praised Xu Weishuang highly during the auditions and now once again acknowledged her performance.

 

This round of competition involved duos, and the judges would begin forming teams. Xu Weishuang and Xu Xia were both expected to be picked. Of the four mentors:

 

• • • • • • • • Yan Muyu—naturally inclined.

 

• • • • • • • • Luo Qin and Director Tao—openly expressed admiration for Xu Weishuang.

 

• • • • • • • • Qiu Shu, however, preferred Xu Xia and wasn’t fond of Xu Weishuang.

 

Luo Qin glanced at Yan Muyu and Director Tao and sighed:
“Seems like I’m really outmatched here.”

 

Still, she tried her best to win them over:

 

“The two of you reminded me what acting is really about. It’s not a competition or a fight—it’s about telling a story, sincerely, for the audience.
I’m grateful for the dedication you showed.”

 

Then she turned to Xu Weishuang:

 

“Everyone thinks I’m a technical actor, but I’ve always said I love your performances. Will you consider joining my team?”

 

The host interrupted with a laugh:

 

“Luo Qin is starting her pitch already? Usually, we wait until all the evaluations are done!”

 

They quickly guided the show back on track.

 

Qiu Shu followed. As expected, she wasn’t fully sold on Xu Weishuang—despite acknowledging that her performance this time was solid, she still expressed concerns about Xu’s consistency due to her previous breakdown.

 

Xu Weishuang didn’t defend herself. After the last episode, Shi Yan had specifically called her and told her: “If you don’t need to speak on stage, don’t.”

 

Xu was obedient, knowing she’d been away from the industry too long and still needed to learn. She accepted all of Shi Yan’s advice.

 

Still, Qiu Shu didn’t push too far. It was a live broadcast, after all, and Xu had performed well. Even if Qiu had been told to play the villain, she couldn’t bash someone unjustly.

 

Instead, she chose to praise Xu Xia:

 

“Your appearance isn’t overtly seductive, but you perfectly captured the charm of the dancer’s spirit. It felt very natural—I loved it.”

 

“Thank you, mentor,” Xu Xia replied with a bow.

 

Next came Director Tao and a temporary guest mentor. They both praised the pair and gave some technical advice.

 

Then it was finally Yan Muyu’s turn.

 

The production team clearly saved her for last. After all, one actress was her legal wife, and the other was a company talent who’d recently been caught in rumors with her.

 

“You all really love a good drama,” Yan Muyu said with a helpless smile as she adjusted her mic. She looked up at the two actresses on stage.

 

She knew exactly what the production team was doing. From the very moment they paired Xu Weishuang and Xu Xia, it was a planned spectacle. The livestream was likely buzzing.

 

“Let’s start with Xu Xia. You’ve made huge progress—some parts even exceeded my expectations.
I don’t have anything to add after the detailed comments from the other mentors.”

 

Her eyes softened as she looked at Xu Xia with a gentle smile:

 

“Keep working hard, and you’ll make the company a lot of money. The future depends on you.”

 

Everyone burst into laughter. Her “boss mode” successfully lightened the mood and defused the awkwardness of the rumor.

 

Since Xu Xia had once been tagged as a scandalous figure between a married couple, the show clearly wanted to milk that tension. But such rumors, if twisted, could damage reputations.

 

Yan Muyu’s playful response showcased high emotional intelligence.

 

Xu Xia, having been prepped by her agent, immediately followed up:

 

“You got it, boss. I’ll bring in big money!”

 

“Unstoppable, the two of you,” Luo Qin blurted, unable to stop herself. The audience roared with laughter.

 

[Live Chat Comments:]

 

“Luo Jie is hilarious!”
“Someone stop her before her manager yells at her again.”
“Luo Qin carries the show’s humor. Who needs drama when we have laughs?”
“But wow, Yan Muyu handled that situation perfectly.”
“That ‘Unstoppable’ line from Luo Jie just flipped the whole vibe.”
“Emotional intelligence? Top-tier. No contest.”

 

“Luo Qin jie, stop stealing the spotlight,” Yan Muyu teased, giving her an exit.

 

Luo Qin laughed and took the cue:

 

“Hurry and give your review—I’m itching to recruit.”

 

They exchanged knowing glances, then Yan Muyu turned back to Xu Weishuang.

 

She stared for three seconds. Just as the silence turned awkward, she finally spoke:

 

“Xu Weishuang, your performance was excellent. You made the bond between the young general and the dancer feel completely believable.”

 

And that was all.

 

Everyone was surprised. Was she intentionally keeping her distance?

 

Only Xu Weishuang understood the true meaning behind those words.

 

Yan had said her name aloud—then emphasized the characters’ roles instead of the actors themselves.

 

In that moment, Xu Weishuang snapped out of her emotional fog.

 

She looked up and met Yan Muyu’s gaze. In those calm, warm eyes, she saw tenderness—undeniable affection.

 

She understood:
In front of the public, Yan Muyu still had to maintain the appearance of their legal relationship.

 

…

 

When it came time to choose teams, mentors could select contestants. If multiple mentors chose one person, the contestant would pick who to join. If no mentor selected a contestant, they were out.

 

Xu Xia was chosen by Qiu Shu.
Xu Weishuang was picked by Luo Qin and Director Tao.
Only Yan Muyu hadn’t made a decision yet—deliberately delayed by the show.

 

Everyone waited. The audience buzzed.

 

Had Yan really chosen not to pick her?

 

Then she smiled:

 

“I want to act with her.”

 

According to the show’s rules, by the fifth episode, each mentor would have their team compete internally. The best performer would then collaborate with the mentor in Episode 6.

 

So mentors also considered compatibility when choosing.

 

Choosing Xu Weishuang openly might seem like favoritism.

 

But Yan didn’t back down. She looked into Xu’s cool expression and said again:

 

“Xu Weishuang is a powerful actor. After watching her just now, I truly want to perform alongside her.”

 

Because of her love for the craft, few doubted her sincerity.

 

Luo Qin joked:

 

“You two probably already act together all the time. Leave her for the rest of us.”

 

Yan Muyu replied with mock grievance:

 

“But Xiaoshuang never acts with me in private.”

 

Even Director Tao joined in:

 

“I have a role I’ve struggled to cast. Come audition.”

 

He emphasized it was just an invitation to try out—he never promises roles on live shows.

 

Although Director Tao’s status made his invitation alone a tremendous opportunity, Xu Weishuang didn’t seem particularly excited. Shi Yan had told her that since she had just made her comeback, every project needed to be carefully planned. It would be best to wait until she signed with an agency and then map out her career path with her team.

 

Still, Xu Weishuang bowed respectfully to Director Tao, then turned her gaze directly to Yan Muyu.

 

Unlike the other actors who hesitated or feigned embarrassment for the camera, Xu Weishuang looked straight at Yan Muyu and bluntly expressed her desire.

 

“Yan Muyu is the actor I most want to work with.”

 

In that moment, her eyes were intense, filled with unhidden aggression, locked firmly on Yan Muyu.

 

The faint pressure in her gaze made Yan Muyu pause slightly. Then she lifted her chin and, for once, didn’t just smile gently—her eyes shone with pride as she accepted Xu Weishuang’s challenge head-on.

 

The cameras were fixed on them, capturing every nuance of their expressions. The audience could see everything.

 

Fans all knew that when it came to acting, Yan Muyu never backed down.

 

Some actors who had worked with her said she was serious to the point of severity on set. She had publicly stated that she despised unprofessionalism.

 

Now, as she returned Xu Weishuang’s gaze, she felt a strange thrill—and yet, it also seemed inevitable.

 

She found it novel that Xu Weishuang was confronting her so directly, though she had sensed this energy back when they acted together at Xianning Theater. Xu Weishuang’s performances had always carried a quiet intensity.

 

Back then it was faint, but now that edge was becoming more and more apparent.

 

Xu Weishuang poured her entire self into a role, refusing to let her scene partner lag behind. If the other actor couldn’t keep up, she’d force them to follow her lead. She immersed herself so fully that it overwhelmed those around her.

 

Her energy onstage could swallow all attention, dimming her partner’s light. Even when the audience saw both actors—like with Xu Xia—they instinctively believed Xu Weishuang was the one in control.

 

And in truth, she was. Xu Xia thought she was fully immersed, perfectly embodying her role. She didn’t realize she was simply being drawn in, swept up by Xu Weishuang’s tide.

 

Yan Muyu could see it clearly—after all, she was the same. Her acting style often clashed with Xu Weishuang’s; both tried to control the rhythm, to lead.

 

But they were different in one key way.

 

Xu Weishuang acted purely on instinct. She lost herself in the role, pulling others in without realizing it. Yan Muyu, however, was conscious of her dominance. Acting was one of the few times she allowed her desire for control to fully surface.

 

“Congratulations to Xu Weishuang for joining Yan Muyu’s team,” the host announced.

 

Xu Weishuang walked over to the team’s area. Four teams were arranged separately. Yan Muyu’s already had one other actor—a seasoned performer in his thirties, known for patriotic dramas. He wasn’t hugely popular online, but held industry respect and had good resources.

 

What followed didn’t interest Xu Weishuang much. She watched other actors perform but couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting back to Yan Muyu’s earlier gaze—so familiar, so piercing, it reminded her of that night in the villa, of eyes brimming with possession in the dark.

 

That Yan Muyu had shown such a look on live broadcast left Xu Weishuang stunned—and stirred something inside her.

 

Sitting in her chair, Xu Weishuang grew increasingly restless.

 

Another actress beside her tried to strike up a conversation—after all, they were on camera, and some interaction could increase their visibility. But Xu Weishuang’s cold demeanor was intimidating, and the woman hesitated.

 

She was afraid Xu wouldn’t respond.

 

How awkward would that be?

 

Eventually, the filming ended. Xiao Shiyi came over to fetch Xu Weishuang.

 

“Yan laoshi is waiting for you,” she said.

 

This time, she didn’t take her directly to the car. Instead, she led her to a hallway outside where Yan Muyu was giving a post-show interview.

 

“Yan laoshi said she’ll be quick. She asked that you wait here,” Xiao Shiyi explained.

 

Xu Weishuang nodded silently. She neither agreed nor objected, simply stood by the wall, eyes drifting through the half-open door to where Yan Muyu sat, smiling for the camera.

 

Xiao Shiyi caught a glimpse of Xu Weishuang’s gaze and allowed herself a small smile.

 

She’d been working for Xu Weishuang for a while now and had started to understand her behavior.

 

Despite seeming aloof, Xu Weishuang wasn’t hard to work with. She just rarely showed emotion. Compared to many supposedly “easygoing” celebrities, she was actually more cooperative and less demanding.

 

She stayed in her own world—except when Yan Muyu was around. Then her emotions stirred.

 

Xiao Shiyi thought Xu Weishuang wasn’t really suited for the entertainment industry. Fans needed to be pampered, and no matter how big a star you were, if you stayed cold and distant, they’d grow dissatisfied.

 

But whenever she saw Xu Weishuang act, something inside her was deeply moved. Xu belonged on stage.

 

“Are you cold? Do you need your coat?” Xiao Shiyi asked as a breeze passed through the corridor.

 

Xu Weishuang shook her head. She stared at Xiao Shiyi for a moment—long enough to make her uncomfortable—then finally tilted her head slightly and said:

 

“You’re cold? Wear it then.”

 

Xiao Shiyi was holding Xu’s coat—she hadn’t brought one herself.

 

Realizing Xu was offering it to her, she hurriedly shook her head.

 

“I’m not cold, not cold!”

 

Xu didn’t press the issue, turning back to look toward Yan Muyu.

 

Xiao Shiyi let out a quiet sigh of relief.

 

Who said Xu Weishuang had a bad temper? Her way of never probing too deeply—how rare and lovely.

 

A little while later, Yan Muyu finished her interview. The three returned to the hotel together. Xiao Shiyi helped drop off Xu’s things, then quickly made her exit.

 

Being alone with Xu Weishuang was fine. But with Yan Muyu around, the pressure was overwhelming.

 

Once Xiao Shiyi left, Yan Muyu shut the door, cutting them off from the outside world.

 

Only the two of them remained.

 

Yan Muyu moved toward Xu Weishuang, a soft smile on her lips. Her fingers grazed Xu’s waist—and she immediately felt her tense.

 

She knew Xu Weishuang far too well. Even the smallest ripple in her expression didn’t escape her.

 

She had noticed Xu’s strange behavior during the shoot. Others may not have caught on, but she knew exactly what was going on.

 

“Take it off,” Yan Muyu whispered, pressing against her.

 

They were still standing near the entrance. Yan Muyu pinned her in place, leaning in so close their breaths mingled—yet she didn’t kiss her, only hovered there.

 

Their breathing wove together like invisible threads—pulling, tangling, unable to be broken.

 

Xu Weishuang paused slightly at the request, understanding that Yan Muyu wanted her to remove her soaked underwear in that very position.

 

For anyone else, it would be deeply shameful.

 

But after a brief moment of stillness, Xu Weishuang calmly undid the button and zipper of her pants.

 

Then, under Yan Muyu’s smiling gaze, she took everything off.

 

She always listened to Yan Muyu at times like this. She looked up into her eyes, waiting for the kiss.

 

She liked being kissed by her—whether gentle, suffocating, teasing, or punishing.

 

She liked them all.

 

So when Yan Muyu finally kissed her lips, Xu Weishuang instinctively embraced her tightly.

 

But the kiss was soft—not the usual intense passion.

 

Xu sensed she was in a good mood.

 

Yan Muyu only leaned their foreheads together like this when she was happy, gently brushing her nose.

 

It was an intimate gesture, rarely seen. And whenever it happened, their lovemaking would be slow and lingering.

 

Xu Weishuang’s breathing slowed. For some reason, she felt an unfamiliar sense of longing.

 

She savored Yan Muyu’s gentle kisses on her lips, and the skin below that was slowly being teased.

 

Everything felt sweet.

 

“Sweetness” wasn’t a word that ever described them. But in that moment, Xu thought she truly tasted it.

 

Why?

 

What had made Yan Muyu so happy—happy enough to spread sugar into her mouth?

 

Xu couldn’t understand.

 

She only opened her eyes and gazed at Yan Muyu’s soft, beautiful face—the fluttering lashes, and that captivating tear-shaped mole near her eye.

 

Breathless from the kiss, she clung to her as if drowning, while Yan Muyu held her tighter, laughing softly and running a hand gently down her back.

 

Xu Weishuang was rarely treated so tenderly.

 

Their intimacy was usually rough, suffocating.

 

But now, this gentleness made her breathless in a different way.

 

She looked up, chest rising and falling, Yan Muyu’s face seared into her mind.

 

That tear mole swayed before her eyes, making her vision blur.

 

There was something Xu had wanted to say for a long time—words caught in her throat for years.

 

Now they surged up again, almost slipping out:

 

“I’ve never seen you as anyone else.”