Whoever Falls in Love First is the Dog - Chapter 28

Chapter 28: “Wasn’t it your instruction—to take care of Chen Xingxing?”

She didn’t appear again until the end of filming that day.

Back at home that afternoon, Fan Shi came over. When she entered, Shen Mengke was curled up on the sofa watching a melodramatic costume drama: “She loved him, she loved him again; she killed the wrong person, but he saved someone he shouldn’t have…”

“Ancestor, what on earth are you doing? You’re going to break your contract—and you’ll owe a fortune. Plus, you’re about to terminate with the agency. They definitely won’t cover your fees,” Fan Shi began, but Shen didn’t take her eyes off the TV—or even glance at her.

Fan ran out of breath, the only sound now the chatter of the TV. Finally, she grabbed the remote and turned off the screen. The sudden blackout revealed Shen’s face—beautiful and furious.

“I’ve already taken leave,” Shen said, standing up to retrieve the remote and turning the TV back on.

But she didn’t look at the screen. Instead, she walked into the kitchen, pulled a soda from the fridge, cracked it open, and leaned on the bar, eyes fixed on Fan.

“Okay, you took leave. But yesterday you bailed on filming halfway—today, you didn’t appear at all. You—”

“Is Chen Xingxing showing up?” Shen cut in.

Fan froze; her lips twitched but no words came out.

Shen chuckled coldly and sipped her soda.

“You know exactly how someone like her thinks. She thought you were easy to intimidate, so she provoked you on that boat call. But you didn’t back down. You threatened her. To those arrogant second-gen rich kids, that’s a provocation.”

Chen Xingxing would never return calmly the next day. She’d be too hot-headed.

But Xingxing’s disappearance didn’t cause a fuss. Shen allowed herself a leave—and suddenly everyone’s clamoring? Because they think she’s easy? No shame.

Barefoot against shoes, she felt she had nothing left to lose. She could just walk away like Xingxing. Who was more entitled?

As she listened to the TV’s empty vows, she squeezed the can tight.

“I’m terminating my contract with JING—I want out today.”

Fan froze in shock. “You’re insane! Less than a month left… if you’d waited, there’d have been no penalties. But now, you’ll owe the full cancellation fee—”

She couldn’t finish. The worry and disbelief written on her face were real. They’d worked together for years—some care existed.

Shen left the couch, grabbed a slim card from its cushions, and tossed it to Fan.

“This is the cancellation fee.”

Fan held it like it weighed a ton. “Is this for Fanxing? Why go so far?”

Shen’s voice was cold, her heart bleeding beneath.

“There’s an extra ten million on the card—our estimate. More than enough to buy influence on Weibo.”

It all sounded heartless, but few knew how much it hurt.

That morning, she met Ren Zhou at Fanxing’s headquarters. Within two days, Ren Zhou had pieced together evidence: from troll accounts and money trails to defenses used over the past five years—all lined up clearly.

Shen sat stiffly at a couch-facing computer filled with charts. Her knuckles whitened, her nails digging into her flesh. Her hands shook, but her face remained expressionless—professional.

She had suspected someone within JING was sabotaging her. Why else would seven out of ten dramas get shelved? The others launched with no promotion and quickly faded.

And yet she still got cast. No one else took her seriously. She wondered if directors had lost their minds.

But Ren Zhou’s clues pointed to one culprit: her agency.

Evidence lay before her. Even if circumstantial, it was enough. Shen’s eyes reddened, her fists tense.

At that moment, Chen Yanxing gently unclenched her fingers, allowing her hand to relax into her palm.

“About the assistant contract—has it been arranged?” Chen asked Ren.

Ren sighed, rolling her eyes. “Listen, Shen Mengke hasn’t officially terminated with JING yet…”

“I’m terminating today,” Shen interrupted, meeting both women’s eyes. “Ren, I’ve reviewed your contract. Please reprint it. Once I’m fully released from JING, I’ll sign with you.”

She grabbed her bag, ready to leave.

As she headed for the door, Chen jumped up and seized the car keys. “I’ll drive you.”

Ren watched them leave, brow furrowed.

This morning in Yaoxhou, Chen showed Shen a digital contract. She’d insisted she hadn’t looked at it—but the next day she pulled it up on her phone. Shen had bitten her wrist, leaving a fresh red mark.

Shen glanced at the bruise, then turned away. “Why do you want to be my assistant?”

Wheels rolled. At a red light, cars halted.

Chen tilted her head. “Wasn’t that your idea? So I could take care of Chen Xingxing for you.”

Shen smiled coldly. “By becoming her assistant, right? How does being my assistant solve that?”

Chen stayed silent. The car resumed, silent as they returned home.

Back inside, Fan stood by the drink table. Shen tossed the card on it. “Fine. Wait for my call.”

And waited… for a week.

Shen didn’t mind the delay—if she waited another month, she’d pay no fee.

Fan, being discreet, logged into Twitter and pulled up Shen’s account. The same evening, Shen posted a photo of that moonlit night. Instantly, messages of concern and encouragement flooded in. She blinked back tears but quietly shut off the phone.

A week later came the second recording of “Journey of the Heart”. All the cast exchanged contacts and created a group chat. Shen entered once—and immediately muted it. The others were busy anyway; if anyone wanted to reach her, they’d message privately.

Shu Yun visited several times, each one an ordinary catch-up. Shen felt Shu had become like the sister she remembered—kind yet strangely distant.

Shu always brought food, cooking enough so Shen could freeze extras. One day, they made dumplings together. Shen’s wrapper-making was crisp, rounded, and professionally even.

Shu laughed. “I thought you didn’t cook or roll wrappers well.”

Shen grinned. “Grandma and I raised each other. During festivals, she’d get overwhelmed—so I’d roll, she’d wrap.”

Shu nodded. “My grandma did the same—until the helpers took over.”

Shen shrugged. “I never liked rolling dumplings. I wanted money to stop my grandma from having to do it. I thought: ‘One day I’ll make enough to just buy frozen ones.’”

Shu asked, “Have you?”

Finishing the last perfect wrapper, Shen paused and nodded softly.

When they stayed on neutral topics, Shen relaxed. She watched Shu pack dumplings into the freezer, smiling.

“I’m raising you like a pig.” Shen teased.

Shu smiled gently. “Pigs aren’t as cute as you. Eat more—you’re too thin.”

“I look bad on camera if I gain weight.”

“That’s not true—you look good any way.”

Shen laughed.

“Want some?” Shu asked, as boiling water began to bubble.

“Um… maybe ten… fifteen?” Shen replied.

Shu glanced at her, half-counting the wrappers, still chiding: “Ten won’t fill you?”

“My appetite isn’t big.”

They waited as dumplings steamed. Shen watched Shu bustle, then smiled quietly. Only she could make Shu do this.

“Actually, I had another childhood wish.” Shen said, amid the steaming warmth.

Shu asked softly, “What was it?”

Through the haze, Shu watched Shen fill her bowl: “I wanted a big sister,” Shen replied. “But then… I didn’t.”

“Because being my sister must be tough,” Shen explained.

Shu fell silent. Looking at Shen through the steam, she suddenly said:

“Then just be my little sister.”