Transmigrated as the Scumbag Alpha of a Cold Movie Queen - Chapter 25
After handing over all the contraband from her suitcase, Jia Junjie zipped it shut with a loud tug and shot an unhappy glare at Gu Qing’s luggage.
“Host, why don’t Gu Qing’s medications count?” she snapped, clearly disgruntled. She was convinced Gu Qing was enjoying special treatment just because of her celebrity status.
The host smiled pleasantly. “Because without those medications, Gu Qing’s life would be at risk. Jia Junjie, if losing any of your belongings would be life-threatening, our production team wouldn’t be unreasonable about that either.”
Jia Junjie remained visibly upset. If she’s that sick, shouldn’t she be staying home to recover? What’s she even doing here?
She wasn’t alone in that thought—but those in the industry knew there was more to the story. The real reasons behind Gu Qing’s participation were still a subject of debate.
Once everyone had handed over their luggage for transport, the group began boarding.
The production had chartered a small private plane bound for their destination—a remote island overseas.
The island featured a seaside town, a popular tourist spot populated mostly by local service workers.
After boarding, the host collected everyone’s phones and distributed filming kits along with a device that could only connect to the show’s live streaming room.
“Once we land, the livestream begins,” he said cheerfully. “Each of you will be followed by the latest pro-grade drone camera, connected directly to your personal livestream feed. Use this time to get familiar with your equipment.”
Sun Yingying raised her hand with a pout. “Can’t we have a follow-cam director instead? We don’t even know how to use this stuff. What if the drone footage turns out ugly?”
The host grinned wider. “Sure you can! A personal follow-cam director is available—for just 50 Leisure Coins per hour. You’re welcome to hire one anytime!”
Everyone: “……”
They’d done their homework before joining Carefree Vacation and had even reviewed season one carefully. But the current season’s crew? Even more ruthless than last time—charging for cameramen now too?
Already neck-deep in debt, none of them could afford that luxury. Begrudgingly, they began reading the drone manuals.
“Don’t worry,” Qi Siyu leaned in and said to Gu Qing. “I’m familiar with this kind of thing.”
As a director, Qi Siyu knew her way around every kind of filming gear. Even if the tech in this novel’s world was more advanced, she’d already figured it out quickly.
Hearing that, Jia Junjie’s face twisted in displeasure again. “Gu Qing may have limited mobility, but she’s not immobile. Having a full-time assistant just for her seems a little unfair.”
Qi Siyu was speechless. It wasn’t hard to imagine how Gu Qing must have been treated off-screen in the original novel.
Her heart ached sharply. The more she experienced it herself, the more she felt for Gu Qing.
Some suffering couldn’t be captured with just words on a page.
“I’m here, and Gu Qing has to pay the show 50 Leisure Coins per day for my assistance.”
She turned to the host. “Jia Junjie, if you’d like a personal assistant too, you’re more than welcome to—just pay 100 coins per day. Since you’re fully mobile, it’s only fair to charge more.”
The host chuckled darkly, “We treat everyone equally. Our show’s very considerate, you know—just let us know your needs.”
Jia Junjie’s face contorted. No way she’d let anyone else share her screen time. Especially not at that price.
“Unless you want to get into a car accident too and break a leg,” Sun Yingying chimed in sweetly, still clinging to her “loyal fan” persona. “Then you can enjoy all the same perks as Gu Qing.”
“You’re the one who should get hit by a car!” Jia Junjie snapped, instantly losing her temper.
“Resorting to personal attacks now?” Yu Shanmei cut in bluntly. “You really sound like one of those bitter widows who resents their husband and kids for dying just because she got a big insurance payout.”
Yu Shanmei wasn’t one to filter her words. She prided herself on being straightforward, though most people just thought she had zero tact—which was exactly why she rarely got cast anymore.
But sometimes, having someone like her around? Felt cathartic.
Several people couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
Jia Junjie looked like she was about to explode but, aware that cameras were rolling, she swallowed her curses and buried her nose in the drone manual.
Qi Siyu recalled what the novel had said about Yu Shanmei—blunt, thoughtless, but maybe… useful.
The host then handed out small, palm-sized booklets, each about an inch thick. “This is your Leisure Coin guidebook—or, in other words, the program’s store catalog.”
“Of course, if you need anything not listed, you’re welcome to talk to me privately. We can always arrange custom services. Just about anything you can imagine, our show can provide.”
Everyone immediately tossed aside their drone manuals and began flipping through the booklets.
Qi Siyu opened hers and leaned closer to Gu Qing so they could read together.
On the last page, three web dramas and one big-budget IP series were listed.
In the original story, Bai Ming’an had gotten that IP role.
This time, it belonged to Gu Qing.
Qi Siyu even planned to approach Rongshang Entertainment, the rights holder, to request a co-director position. She needed to understand how the industry worked here firsthand.
“You can look through it yourself,” Gu Qing murmured, rubbing her brow before closing her eyes. She looked every bit the exhausted patient.
“Okay.” Qi Siyu didn’t have much interest in the merchandise catalog anyway and closed the booklet, turning her attention back to the drone.
This was more her thing—tweaking settings, adjusting filters. She wanted the drone to capture Gu Qing’s beauty perfectly.
Even with gauze on her face, Gu Qing’s allure was undeniable. The fragile exhaustion only made her more captivating.
Qi Siyu didn’t know how long she stared.
At noon, the crew handed out boxed lunches. The host announced, “Folks, this is your last free meal. Once we land, everything will cost coins.”
People who had no appetite or were trying to diet quickly changed their minds. No one wanted to risk going hungry that evening.
At 3:30 p.m., the plane landed.
Qi Siyu pushed Gu Qing’s wheelchair slowly down the ramp. “Tired?”
“I’m fine,” Gu Qing replied evenly. Her legs were actually fine, and she’d been lying down the whole time. Most of her fatigue was just for show.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the host said gleefully, “our villa is 10 kilometers from the airport. You may choose from a luxury RV, a standard car, a tricycle, or a bicycle. Each mode of transport has its own cost. Or, of course, you can walk.”
The group: “…”
“What’s the maximum amount of debt we’re allowed?” Qi Siyu asked.
“Two hundred coins,” the host answered brightly. “Once you hit -200, we’ll activate a mandatory punishment.”
“What’s the mandatory punishment? And the penalty for unfinished tasks?” Bai Ming’an asked quickly.
She was currently the most in debt and clearly the most nervous.
“All punishments will be revealed once we arrive at the villa,” the host replied. “Everyone, get ready—we’re going live.”
“Huh?”
“What?!”
“Oh my god—is my makeup smudged?!”
Panic erupted as the drones took flight. The women stared into their phones, trying to catch a glimpse of their faces without a mirror in sight.
For actresses, your face is your kingdom. If your face collapses, so does your fanbase.
Meanwhile, Gu Qing remained composed, unbothered by the host’s announcement.
Even as her livestream room was flooded with viewers—climbing past one million in the blink of an eye—she didn’t react.
The drone hovered just right, angled to perfectly capture the right side of her face, including a glimpse of the bandage.
The live chat was flooded with fans concerned about her condition. Messages scrolled by in a dense stream—so much so that haters couldn’t even get a word in.
Qi Siyu watched this scene unfold, feeling a strange mixture of awe and heartache.
In the original story, the author had leaned hard into Gu Qing’s “tragically beautiful and strong” persona by stripping away everything she had. She must’ve suffered so much…
Standing behind her, Qi Siyu bent down, holding Gu Qing’s phone in front of her. Their heads touched, hair mingling. Her voice caught slightly, but she fought it back.
“Everyone’s really worried about you. You still have them… and me.”
Gu Qing turned her head slightly to glance at the screen—and at Qi Siyu’s reflection in it.
Was she… feeling sorry for her?