Why Does the Seductive Film Queen Keep Flirting with Me? - Chapter 21

Helping Yun Chuxian dry her hair was both enchanting and challenging.

Tang Wangyue felt a growing sense of unease, her years of self-discipline barely restraining her impulses.

Yet the more rigid and restrained she became, the bolder Yun Chuxian grew.

It started with Yun Chuxian resting her forehead against Tang Wangyue’s abdomen, then progressed to her wrapping her arms around Tang Wangyue’s waist, leaning completely against her.

Tang Wangyue hastily switched off the hairdryer and said, It’s dry now.

The movement of her abdomen as she spoke caused Yun Chuxian to tilt her head back, her chin still pressed against Tang Wangyue’s stomach.

Already?

Already? Tang Wangyue thought. I’ve been drying it for ten minutes.

Yun Chuxian’s hair was completely dry, her scalp slightly damp. Though Tang Wangyue was a homebody, she took good care of herself and knew that over-drying hair could damage it.

Unexpectedly, Yun Chuxian picked up a bottle of hair oil from the vanity and handed it to her with an innocent expression. For hair care, she said.

Hmm… Tang Wangyue accepted the oil from Yun Chuxian’s hand, paused for a moment, and replied, Alright.

The oil carried a delicate rose fragrance, light and pleasant, unlike the overpowering scents of typical essential oils.

This time, she stood behind the sofa, effectively separating them and minimizing physical contact. The heat radiating from her body seemed to lessen considerably.

But when a woman sets her sights on devouring another, she doesn’t easily let go.

A fox spirit never relinquishes its prey so easily.

When a beautiful woman turns on her charm, no one can resist.

Yun Chuxian’s beauty was universally acknowledged. Even in the entertainment industry, where beauties abound, she held her own. In the endless beauty debates among fans, her looks were the one thing no one could dispute.

When such a stunning woman fixed her bewitching gaze on Tang Wangyue, she could no longer ignore the fluttering in her heart.

After the aromatherapy session, Tang Wangyue immediately put some distance between herself and Yun Chuxian, as if the latter were some wicked woman about to devour her.

Yun Chuxian raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. She pulled out the script. What do you think the Eldest Princess felt when she saw the Emperor die?

The abrupt shift from flirtation to work talk, with no transition, left Tang Wangyue slightly disoriented.

After a moment of silence, she replied, Freedom, power, ambition.

Yun Chuxian tilted her head. What do you mean?

The Emperor was an extremely selfish man. After the Chief Minister, whom he had personally promoted, sided with the Crown Prince, the Emperor feared being forced to abdicate. If he followed the Late Emperor’s example and allowed the Empress to interfere in state affairs, he worried about the Imperial Relatives seizing power. Knowing his failing health prevented him from managing court affairs, he sought balance by supporting someone he could completely control the Eldest Princess, who had grown up in the Cold Palace. Neglected by her father and lacking maternal support, she was burdened by ominous rumors. To escape the Cold Palace, she had no one to rely on but him.

Therefore, the Emperor treated the Eldest Princess not merely poorly, but with outright cruelty. His death meant she was finally free from his control. In fact, you could say she orchestrated his demise. She felt no grief, only the satisfaction of vengeance and the liberation from all restraint. Even with the new Emperor’s ascension, she retained absolute power. Her ambition had never been limited to escaping the Cold Palace; she aspired to rule the nation, to become the Empress Regnant of this dynasty.

Tang Wangyue explained her mindset when writing the female lead. In her view, as a daughter, the female lead would feel no sorrow at the Emperor’s death.

Yun Chuxian had studied the original novel thoroughly and read the script over a dozen times, so she naturally understood the female lead well.

However, she still needed a reason to keep the little liar around.

As Tang Wangyue spoke, Yun Chuxian gently brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The gesture startled Tang Wangyue mid-sentence. Are you even listening?

Of course, Yun Chuxian said, pinching her cheek. I’m struggling with how to portray the female lead. Would she feel even a sliver of pity for the Emperor? Not as a father, but as a man who schemed his entire life, terrified of death and losing his power, only to die like this. Would she find that pathetic?

If that were the case, Tang Wangyue nodded. Playing it that way would definitely add more depth to the character.

Last time, we didn’t get to discuss the script. This time, tell me the story from the beginning, Yun Chuxian said casually, her long lashes fluttering.

Seeing Tang Wangyue hesitate, Yun Chuxian tugged at her hand, like a child wanting their mother to buy them a toy. But she was a well-behaved child, not one to throw a tantrum. Instead, she simply widened her eyes, giving Tang Wangyue a pitiful, pleading look.

Who wouldn’t soften at that?

Alright, Tang Wangyue agreed, unable to resist the urge to flip the script to the first page.

Beside her, Yun Chuxian idly played with strands of her hair, occasionally toying with her fingers. Though she seemed to be only half-listening, she could answer every question Tang Wangyue asked.

It was as if Tang Wangyue were a fascinating toy Yun Chuxian couldn’t bear to put down.

When Tang Wangyue’s throat grew dry from speaking, a glass of water, prepared just the way she liked it, was promptly brought to her lips. After she drank, a pair of soft, boneless hands settled on her shoulders.

Yun Chuxian’s hands pressed into her flesh, gentle and comforting, making it impossible to refuse.

As Tang Wangyue explained the script, she inadvertently enjoyed the pampering treatment usually reserved for A-list celebrities.

She felt herself sinking into the moment, reluctant to leave.

After finishing the first episode, Yun Chuxian casually tilted Tang Wangyue’s chin upward. A’Yue, you’re amazing.

The slightly seductive compliment flushed Tang Wangyue’s neck crimson.

No, I’m not, she demurred modestly.

Is A’Yue questioning my judgment?

No.

Is ‘no’ the only word A’Yue knows?

No…

Tang Wangyue wanted to slap herself. No, no, no! How could my vocabulary be so limited?

Yun Chuxian chuckled softly. Silly girl.

The tenderness in her voice made Tang Wangyue’s mind reel. How could a woman be so skilled at seduction?

Tang Wangyue felt her body burning, radiating heat despite the air conditioning. She wanted to flee.

As the silence stretched, Yun Chuxian murmured, A’Yue’s face is so red… Could she be thinking about something… strange?

Strange things?

What strange things? Impossible! That’s absurd!

No.

Tang Wangyue’s vehement denial only drew another soft laugh from Yun Chuxian. So you do know what kind of ‘strange things’ I’m talking about?

Uh…

She’d been tricked. In her panic, Tang Wangyue’s gaze darted around, landing awkwardly on the essential oil bottle on the table. She immediately seized on it as an excuse.

I’ll put this back.

Clutching the bottle, she hurried to the vanity, but her eyes fell on an opened box of condoms, throwing her into further disarray.

Yun Chuxian… she…?

Flustered, Tang Wangyue hastily placed the essential oil on the table and rushed toward the door, leaving only a hurried, It’s getting late. Good night.

Watching the door close behind her, Yun Chuxian’s gaze drifted to the table, where she too noticed the half-empty box of condoms.

Her body flushed instantly, a wave of mortification washing over her, as if she’d been completely exposed.

Chapter 21 Self-Sufficiency, Inevitable…

The next day, to avoid any awkwardness, Tang Wangyue left her hotel an hour early. She cycled around the Film and Television City, grabbed a quick breakfast, and only then arrived at the filming location.

Escaping is shameful, and it won’t work anyway.

The production crew was small enough that even with A and B teams, everyone shared the same space. While Tang Wangyue, as the screenwriter, didn’t need to worry about things like the shared makeup rooms, she still had to meet with the other two screenwriters to discuss the plot.

Arriving first, Tang Wangyue pulled out her laptop and began organizing her inbox into folders. Since filming for The Eldest Princess had begun, she’d been receiving a flood of collaboration requests.

Yun Chuxian’s influence wasn’t just talk. Previously, Tang Wangyue’s scripts had been performed by lesser-known actors—perhaps third or fourth-tier talents, or even those virtually unknown in the industry. But after starring in her projects, these actors gained recognition, some even rising to become top-tier traffic peanuts, a term for rising stars.

The female leads she’d launched in her previous scripts had all achieved top billing or at least equal billing. This wasn’t solely due to her scripts; it’s well-known that female stars face immense challenges in climbing the ranks. However, once they ascend, barring any major ethical scandals, their position becomes nearly unassailable.

Perhaps all they needed was a good script. After all, they had already built a solid reputation.

This reputation drove up the price of her scripts, and the caliber of actresses cast as protagonists grew increasingly prestigious.

The role of the Eldest Princess was highly coveted, but once Yun Chuxian agreed to take it, no one else stood a chance.

Yun Chuxian had won two of the three major Best Actress awards. Unless a top-tier big flower actress entered the fray—and their age wouldn’t match the role anyway—the part was hers.

Yun Chuxian’s involvement elevated The Eldest Princess from an already S-tier project to S+, prompting Jingwei Video to immediately increase its investment.

This, in turn, further enhanced the value of Tang Wangyue’s script.

Her inbox overflowed with collaboration requests from various companies. She needed to sift through them to find suitable partners.

As she was searching, Lu Zhan entered with breakfast. Spotting her, he greeted her with a smile, Screenwriter Tang, up early.

Screenwriter Lu, good morning. I just arrived myself.

Lu Zhan studied her curiously. Did you leave early last night?

Tang Wangyue paused, then nodded, using a friend as a shield. Director Mo said there was no filming, so she let me go.

Lu Zhan hesitated, about to speak, when Liu Cheng strode in. Seeing Tang Wangyue, his displeasure was palpable. Screenwriter Tang is so busy, we can only catch a glimpse of her in the morning.

The sarcasm was obvious. Combined with Lu Zhan’s earlier expression, Tang Wangyue knew someone was displeased that she had left without saying goodbye yesterday afternoon.

In truth, among the three screenwriters, regardless of seniority, the only true leader was the director. Even the assistant director, Mo Lai, was the only one with that authority.

Tang Wangyue had no interest in engaging in petty power struggles. She was here to work, not to scheme against others. Yes, I’m quite busy. I’ll head to Group B now.

Seeing her feign ignorance and calmly walk away, Liu Cheng slammed his hand on the table in fury. You have no discipline whatsoever! Do you think the production crew is some playground where you can come and go as you please?

I bet you just graduated. Your family must have pulled strings to get you this job. Do you think having Mo Lai’s backing means you can do whatever you want? Focus on building your experience instead of dreaming of instant success. Lu Zhan and I both spent over a decade climbing the ladder to get where we are. Instead of learning from us, you’re trying to sell your looks for advancement.

Tang Wangyue ?

This didn’t seem to be about her leaving without saying goodbye yesterday.

While screenwriters’ status on set wasn’t particularly high, they weren’t exactly anyone’s errand boys either.

She was a Group B screenwriter, under Mo Lai’s supervision. Sun Ran was also acceptable, but Liu Cheng and Lu Zhan were senior members, not leaders of the screenwriting team.

Even though she had left the production crew passively in Yun Chuxian’s car, she had informed Mo Lai beforehand.

Mo Lai had returned to the hotel at the same time as her, meaning her departure coincided with the end of the workday.

Liu Cheng’s accusations were baseless.

And what was this about selling her body? What exactly had she sold?

Tang Wangyue immediately pulled out her phone and started recording. Screenwriter Liu, repeat what you just said. I’ll use it as evidence when I sue you.

Sue? Evidence?

Liu Cheng was stunned. A minor argument warranting legal action?

Tang Wangyue waved her phone. If you won’t repeat it, I’m leaving. Oh, next time I’ll start recording earlier.

Liu Cheng felt a surge of frustration, his anger with nowhere to vent.

After Tang Wangyue left, Liu Cheng finally exploded, Who does this greenhorn think she is, threatening lawsuits at the drop of a hat? Does she think she owns the production crew? Doesn’t she realize the damage a lawsuit could do to the entire team?

Lu Zhan took a bite of his jianbing guozi. Young people these days… cleaning up the workplace.

Liu Cheng nearly choked. What do you mean by that?

What he meant was that someone had tried to pull rank, complaining to the Director. But the Director had simply said, It’s already past working hours. You screenwriters are done for the day. Go home.

Lu Zhan had wanted to warn Tang Wangyue at the time, but he didn’t want to offend his senior colleague, so he kept quiet.

Tang Wangyue’s seemingly reckless approach had silenced Liu Cheng for quite some time.

As Lu Zhan cleared the breakfast trash from his desk, he said absently, Screenwriter Liu is a senior. He shouldn’t hold grudges against the younger generation.

Liu Cheng, like the scripts he wrote, was full of subjective fantasies.

Even though it was supposed to be a female-lead drama, he insisted on adding romantic subplots, as if a strong, independent female protagonist couldn’t exist without a male lead to rely on.

The original novel had no male lead, which led to daily arguments between the two.

Before Tang Wangyue arrived, they had been constantly at each other’s throats, neither willing to yield. The newcomer’s arrival had briefly put their old grudges aside.

But Lu Zhan had recently learned the real reason Tang Wangyue had joined the screenwriting team.

If it were true, Tang Wangyue must want the script to be good and not be butchered by excessive revisions. The two of them should be on the same side.

As for Liu Cheng, he was a sycophantic little man. At first, he thought Tang Wangyue had connections with the director and treated her with obsequious politeness, acting overly enthusiastic. But once he learned she was only connected to Mo Lai, he tried to assert his seniority, positioning himself as her superior and attempting to drive her out.

Zheng Shen had some kind of relationship with Liu Cheng. When Zheng Shen was kicked off the production crew, Liu Cheng inevitably sought revenge.

Lu Zhan had initially considered doing Tang Wangyue a favor, but that would have been too obvious. Besides, Tang Wangyue’s approach could directly shut Liu Cheng up.

Lu Zhan’s words left Liu Cheng speechless with anger. Fine, I’ll go talk to the director.

Lu Zhan didn’t bother responding. If he actually dared to confront the director, she might have gained a sliver of respect for him.

Tang Wangyue was also pondering Liu Cheng’s sudden change in attitude. What had happened?

She hadn’t clashed with anyone… except for Zheng Shen.

Tang Wangyue immediately went to find Mo Lai. Sister, what’s Zheng Shen’s connection to Liu Cheng?

Liu Cheng? Why are you asking about him?

Since she was talking to Mo Lai, not some stranger, Tang Wangyue explained everything that had happened that morning.

Mo Lai thought carefully. Liu Cheng’s talent is mediocre at best. The only reason he’s survived in the screenwriting industry is because of his influential older brother, who’s a vice president at a subsidiary of Jingwei Video.

Realization dawned on her. Zheng Shen is his brother’s kept man.

A gay relationship?

Yeah.

No wonder.

Tang Wangyue was equally puzzled. She hadn’t offended Liu Cheng, so why was he targeting her? Now she understood.

Seeing Tang Wangyue deep in thought, Mo Lai immediately reassured her, Don’t worry. Liu Cheng is all bark and no bite. Despite his heated arguments with Lu Zhan, the script is already finalized. Group B screenwriters can only offer suggestions; whether changes are made ultimately depends on the director’s decision. I’ll handle Liu Cheng. You don’t need to worry.

Don’t interfere. I can handle this myself. She just wanted to understand Liu Cheng’s connections. Now that she knew, she couldn’t let Mo Lai make enemies.

Mo Lai had worked hard to reach her current position. As a content creator, she could always retreat to her online platform, but Mo Lai didn’t have that luxury.

Why are you being so formal with me?

It’s not about formality. I have a plan.

Tang Wangyue suspected that Liu Cheng, having chosen retaliation, would resort to further underhanded tactics. Since he had already launched his attack, she had no reason to back down.

What’s your plan?

It’s simple—just ignore him.

Mo Lai ……

Get serious. If you need my help, just ask. Otherwise, I’ll go to Mom. Even if she won’t act for me, she’ll do it for you.

Tang Wangyue nodded. I understand.

Of course, there were ways to deal with this. Liu Cheng was a screenwriter—a screenwriter who drastically altered original works. The actors in the production crew all had fans. Would they sit still knowing their roles were being butchered?

But for mere verbal sparring, such drastic measures weren’t necessary.

Tang Wangyue smiled and settled behind the monitor, watching the scenes with Mo Lai and occasionally offering suggestions. Time passed quickly.

As noon approached, Mo Lai spoke into the walkie-talkie, Alright, lunch break.

Turning to Tang Wangyue, she said, You’re a picky eater. I’ll get you one of the actors’ bento boxes.

The production crew’s more prominent actors received meals with a 50 yuan budget. This didn’t include regular staff or extras, whose meals were budgeted at 20 yuan.

Mo Lai didn’t care about the difference in cost, but she wanted to ensure her sister was well-fed.

Tang Wangyue stopped her. Just get what’s appropriate.

You screenwriters are staff too. The 20 yuan budget might not get you much.

As long as it’s edible, Tang Wangyue said.

Tang Wangyue was indeed a picky eater, but she didn’t want to be difficult at this moment. If she couldn’t stomach the food, she could always grab something after work.

Mo Lai chuckled and shook her head. Alright, I’ll go with your plan.

Just as they were about to head out to collect their boxed meals, a crew member approached them. Director Mo, Screenwriter Tang, Teacher Yun has requested your presence.

Both of us?

Yes, both of you.

They exchanged a glance. Could the director have found out about their conflict with Liu Cheng?

When they reached Sun Ran, she smiled. There’s something I need to discuss with you both.

What could possibly require a discussion with both of them?

Mo Lai smiled and said, Director, please speak freely.

Judging by the smile on Sun Ran’s face, she seemed to be in good spirits. Zheng Shen has been removed from the production crew, leaving the crucial role of Xia Liang vacant. I’ve reviewed audition tapes from several actors, but none meet the requirements.

Tang Wangyue understood the issue. She had envisioned Xia Liang as a man with feminine features, a renowned beauty whose name echoed throughout the land. To save the Eldest Princess from encirclement, Xia Liang had sacrificed himself, forcing the enemy to retreat.

Though his screen time was limited, every scene was pivotal. In short, they needed a true beauty to play the part.

Zheng Shen had been shoehorned into the role by investors. Given his somewhat effeminate appearance, they had reluctantly agreed to let him play the part.

Now that he was gone, finding a suitable replacement proved difficult.

Chu Xian suggested that since the character is male with feminine features, why not cast a woman? I thought it made sense. We need a woman who’s tall, heroic, and alluring. Chu Xian recommended someone to me.

Sun Ran turned her gaze to Tang Wangyue. Screenwriter Tang, you’re perfect. Your height is right, your posture is as straight as a pine tree, and you possess both beauty and heroic spirit. You’re exactly what we need.

Tang Wangyue ……

Mo Lai opened her mouth to speak, but swallowed her words.

Fortunately, Sun Ran only asked her to consider the offer.

A’Yue, what do you think?

Tang Wangyue pondered for a moment. I’ll go talk to Yun Chuxian.

Huh? Mo Lai was about to dissuade her, but Tang Wangyue had already walked away.

As Tang Wangyue approached Yun Chuxian’s RV, she hesitated. The memory of what she had seen the previous night made her want to retreat.

After all, who keeps condoms in a hotel room? And Yun Chuxian didn’t seem to have a partner. Besides, even if she did, why would she be attending blind dates?

Tang Wangyue genuinely believed that Yun Chuxian wasn’t that kind of person.

She took a deep breath and was about to knock when the RV door automatically slid open.

Screenwriter Tang, come in.

Yun Chuxian’s soft, seductive voice beckoned. Tang Wangyue’s feet moved instinctively, and she stepped inside.

Yun Chuxian’s hair ornaments had been removed, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. Her red gauze robe was half-undone, and she reclined languidly on the sofa.

I thought A’Yue would be avoiding me, Yun Chuxian murmured, her eyes carrying a hint of wounded reproach, as if accusing Tang Wangyue of betrayal.

Hearing this, Tang Wangyue assumed Yun Chuxian was referring to her having seen something she shouldn’t have last night. Her ears flushed crimson.

I wasn’t, Tang Wangyue protested.

Yun Chuxian’s words carried a double meaning. A’Yue always runs away. My heart has long been left dangling by you, neither up nor down. Self-sufficiency becomes inevitable.

No, why would she say something like that?

Tang Wangyue’s ears felt like they were about to steam, yet she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of delight.