Whoever Falls in Love First is the Dog - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: “@Ruan Xiangzhu: The cast is finalized. No need to trouble yourselves.”

It was raining again. Shen Mengke sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at the window. The rain had been relentless lately. She couldn’t help but worry about the pear tree in the courtyard of her old home.

How many years had it been since she last returned?

She couldn’t remember. That pear tree she had planted with her own hands must have long since died.

All the doors and windows were shut tight. The room was cloaked in darkness, with only a single flickering candle on the table casting a shaky glow.

Shen Mengke sat curled up at the corner of the bed, her hair half undone and a blanket wrapped around her.

Thunder rumbled outside, and the rain lashed fiercely against the windows—as if to protest, or perhaps to warn.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew the window open, sending the curtains flying in the air like ghostly hands reaching for her, or like countless women dancing in the storm—graceful, enchanting.

Shen Mengke closed her eyes, then slowly opened them after the wind died down.

She cautiously scanned the room. The candle had already been extinguished when the wind burst in.

Rain poured down, the wind roared, and the moon was hidden behind dark clouds. Inside and out, it was equally pitch black.

She first covered her head with the blanket, then slowly peeked out with one eye, cautiously surveying the surroundings before stepping off the bed.

She walked to the table to relight the candle, then moved toward the window to close it.

Suddenly, a sharp, grating metallic sound pierced the air—a sword came thrusting straight at her.

Startled, Shen Mengke immediately retreated, only to bump into the table and knock over the candle holder.

Darkness once again engulfed the room. Scalding wax spilled onto her hand, making her cry out in pain.

Before she could react, the sword was already at her throat.

Terrified, she instinctively shrank back, then slowly raised her eyes to look at the figure in the dark.

A flash of lightning illuminated a grotesque, fearsome face.

“Ah…”

Her scream had barely escaped her lips when a hand clamped down over her mouth.

“Don’t scream.”

The terrifying face was now just inches from hers, staring her down.

Shen Mengke trembled but still nodded obediently.

The hand finally let go. Shen Mengke seized the moment and said quickly, “I am Princess Lin Shutang of Jiuli Kingdom. If you kill me, it will mean war between our two countries.”

The intruder chuckled. “I dared to sneak into the palace to assassinate someone—you think I care about war?”

Shen Mengke was briefly stunned, then said, “If you must kill, why not the Emperor of the Shen Kingdom?”

She paused for effect, then added, “If you truly didn’t care, you would’ve killed me the moment I spoke.”

Her eyes studied the attacker, tears glimmering, lips trembling—revealing her fear despite her brave front. “You don’t want war between kingdoms. You want internal chaos in Shen.”

She knew the truth—the new emperor had just ascended the throne, and Shen’s foundation was unstable. Factions were stirring. Even Jiuli Kingdom had sent her—a puppet.

Though she didn’t yet know what her exact purpose was.

The person laughed again and sheathed the sword. “I was sent by Princess Li to give you something.”

With that, she pressed a white porcelain vial into Shen Mengke’s hand.

Li Wang—Lin Shuli—was Lin Shutang’s elder sister, the Crown Princess of Jiuli.

Without hesitation, Shen Mengke uncorked the bottle and downed its contents.

The intruder was startled and tried to stop her, but Shen Mengke hurled the vial at her head.

Tears streamed down Shen Mengke’s face. She looked at the figure, her crying intensifying.

“Your Majesty, was it necessary to go this far…”

“Cut!”

Suddenly, the lights came on. The sudden brightness made Shen Mengke squint. She closed her eyes, but the tears still flowed uncontrollably.

She was about to wipe them when a soft tissue was pushed into her hand.

Startled, she murmured a thank you, then slowly relaxed her grip on the tissue and began to dab at her face.

But the more she wiped, the more the tears came.

She had gotten too deep into character.

Alone in a distant land, with no one to trust, treated like a joke by the emperor, all in the name of her sister—the sister she had trusted most had sold her out without hesitation.

The makeup artist quickly came to fix her makeup. Shen Mengke hurried to dry her tears and was just about to stand when a hand appeared in front of her.

She froze and looked up—behind the scary mask was a remarkably delicate face, smiling as she helped Shen Mengke to her feet.

It was Xu Shinian—the actor playing Shen Kingdom’s Emperor, Shen Shiwei, and the other lead in the series.

In terms of experience, Xu Shinian was Shen Mengke’s senior. She had debuted earlier and played many lead roles, though she wasn’t much older than Shen Mengke.

Shen Mengke thanked her softly and stood up to adjust her costume.

“Mengke, you were perfect in that scene!”

The director never held back praise—or criticism. Just yesterday, Shen Mengke had nearly broken down after getting scolded.

She smiled and said, “Director Qing, I think I’m starting to get it.”

Ruan Xiangzhu, the director’s real name, worked under the pseudonym “Sunny.”

In her 40s, she was internationally acclaimed.

She only worked on original scripts, never cared about IP fame or actor seniority—if the story and cast were good, she would take it on, even at her own financial risk. She once nearly went bankrupt for a project.

Initially, no one knew she was behind this drama. She used her alias “Sunny” to fly under the radar.

But in the entertainment world, secrets don’t last—especially with cameras everywhere.

An original script, a famous director, and a taboo same-s3x theme—any one alone was fine, but together, they exploded.

So when the cast and director were announced, it stayed trending for three days straight. Countless people tried to contact Ruan Xiangzhu, but she rejected them all. She even reactivated her dormant Weibo account just to say:

“@Ruan Xiangzhu: The cast is finalized. No need to trouble yourselves.”

Even Shen Mengke was shocked to see her at the audition and almost walked out.

Nervously, she performed a scene. Ruan’s expression wasn’t encouraging but she still gave her a chance.

“Can you cry?” Ruan asked.

Shen Mengke nodded, stunned. “Yes.”

“Then cry for me.”

She was confused—no context or setup, just tears?

Still, the moment Ruan spoke, Shen Mengke began to cry. A tear rolled down her cheek like a fresh pearl, round and full, hitting the ground with a soft sound.

Ruan showed no reaction, only told her to wait for news.

That usually meant rejection. Shen Mengke started asking her agent for new opportunities—but three days later, she got the part. As the lead.

She was so happy that night she didn’t sleep.

But Shen Mengke wasn’t a natural-born actress. She was academically trained—everything she knew came from textbooks, not real experience.

As a result, she was the one Ruan scolded most during filming. More than once, she broke down and ran out to drink alone at night.

Now, seeing admiration in the director’s eyes, Shen Mengke felt a rush of joy.

Ruan had said she was too hard on herself, and also off-course—too obsessed with “experience” and not enough with emotional nuance.

Everyone could cry and laugh, but crying beautifully and laughing memorably—that was the skill.

Ruan said Shen Mengke had talent and spirit. She just needed a spark to bring it all out.

Shen Mengke didn’t really believe it.

As she touched up her makeup and discussed the next scene with Xu Shinian and the director, Jiang Ranjan finally arrived.

Shen Mengke had thought she was already here—it had been two hours since filming began.

She didn’t know what time Jiang was supposed to show up, but the fans outside had been waiting for at least that long.

She heard their cheers now, and felt a pang—was it envy? Jealousy?

Jiang Ranjan entered with quite the entourage—agent, assistant, bodyguards all in tow. She wore trendy clothes, striding in like she owned the place.

Her assistant held an umbrella over her. From Shen Mengke’s angle, it completely blocked Jiang’s face.

All she could see was that this person was cool—not cool in temperament, but in style, in presence.

She suddenly remembered how fans online described Jiang Ranjan: “Doesn’t seduce men, but slays women; a walking heartbreaker; sapphic royalty…”

Jiang walked straight toward the director. Only when she stepped under the roof was her umbrella taken down.

She lifted her head, took off her sunglasses, and greeted Ruan with a smile, “Sorry I’m late, Director.”

Her eyes curved into a crescent moon as she smiled. Her black hair cascaded like a waterfall. Her face was bare, yet smooth and fair.

She looked at Shen Mengke—those eyes were bright and striking.

“Xu Shinian, Shen Mengke—hello. I’ve heard great things.”

Poised and polite, yet with a subtle hint of arrogance. Shen Mengke couldn’t help but think: So this is what youth looks like.

They both responded, and Jiang went off to speak with the director. Xu Shinian leaned in and whispered to Shen Mengke, “How old is she?”

The breath on her ear startled Shen Mengke. She instinctively leaned back, saying, “Barely an adult. Twenty, I think…”

“So young…” Xu sighed.

Shen Mengke nodded, taking the cup of water her assistant handed her.

Watching Jiang and the director’s lively conversation, and seeing Xu busy on her phone, Shen Mengke sat off to the side, sipping her drink and reviewing her script.

Xu Shinian glanced at Jiang and the director, then back at Shen Mengke. She got up and sat beside her.

Shen Mengke was startled by the sudden closeness and nearly choked on her water.

She swallowed with a grimace and looked at Xu politely.

“Got plans tonight?” Xu asked directly.

Shen Mengke hesitated, then shook her head.

“Perfect.” Xu reached out and took her hand.

Shen Mengke froze, but didn’t pull away—just held her breath and stared.

“I remember you said you liked Yuan Yushan?”

Shen Mengke nodded.

“Well, there’s a gathering tonight. She’ll be there. Wanna come?”

Shen Mengke’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Xu smiled and nodded.

“Yes!”

Grinning, she agreed. Xu finally let go and went off to make a call.

Shen Mengke watched her go, still unsure.

Yuan Yushan—a former child star, now in her 30s, who swept all the major awards at 23. With both acclaim and controversy, her influence was massive.

To Shen Mengke, she was a goddess. Much of her acting technique was learned from studying Yuan’s films. Once, someone commented online that her style resembled Yuan’s, and she had been thrilled for days—until the comment was deleted after pressure from Yuan’s fans.

Yuan was known for keeping her distance from everyone—while Xu was known for having connections across the industry.

So while part of her doubted it, the excitement of possibly meeting Yuan drowned it out.

Just then, a message popped up on her phone.

Client – Little Taoist: “Are you free today? Let’s sign the contract.”

She wanted to say no, but her fingers paused. Lately, her stress levels had been high—and in times like this, all she wanted was intense s3x.

If they signed quickly, Chen Yanxing could get started fulfilling his “friends with benefits” duty sooner…

Shen Mengke licked her lips with wicked intent, her thoughts shifting. She replied:

“In a hurry?”