Chapter 134: Rewriting the Melody

“This morning, we’ll test makeup and settle your look. This afternoon, we’ll rehearse the song. We leave for Linshan at six for the shoot tomorrow,” Chao Nan told Jiang Xiaobai. “It’ll take at least two days, with night scenes, so you’ll stay there overnight. Pack what you need.”

Chao Nan had a refined air and a subtle scholarly grace uncommon in entertainment. His words were short, his tone steady, his eyes calm—cool and mature, almost like someone older than his years.

His parts for Beyond the Illusions were already recorded. As the stylist did Jiang Xiaobai’s makeup, the song played nearby, letting her feel its mood and prep for rehearsal and filming.

The wardrobe was ready, but the makeup and styling needed matching adjustments. After changing, Jiang Xiaobai sat for her test look while Chao Nan practiced in the studio. During a break, he glanced at her nearly finished style, frowning slightly.

“Nan, what’s wrong?” his assistant asked quickly.

“The style… it doesn’t quite fit,” Chao Nan murmured, studying her.

She wore a simple red dress that gave her a lively spark. Her brows were sharp and bright, and her skin was fair like jade. Her hair was in a classic pendant-bun updo—strands looped atop her head, the rest falling naturally over her shoulders—vivid and charming.

Overall, she glowed with a striking allure, like the dawn’s brightest light, hard to overlook.

Chao Nan didn’t know much about ancient hairstyles, but he’d pictured the MV’s heroine as a poor mountain girl—pure, warm, and gentle. Seeing Jiang Xiaobai now, he doubted that image.

A poor girl this dazzling? Was that a joke?

Jiang Xiaobai felt the mismatch, too. Though she didn’t know the MV’s script, the song’s soft longing didn’t suit her look. It conveyed a tale of a noble youth, rescued after facing danger, who ultimately falls for a humble girl, only to part ways.

The stylist paused, seeing Chao Nan’s face, and smiled awkwardly. “Teacher Chao, uh, Teacher Jiang’s air seems off the plan. Should I change the hairstyle?”

Jiang Xiaobai blinked, taking a second to realize “Teacher Jiang” meant her. When did everyone start calling people ‘teacher’ these days?

Chao Nan didn’t answer right away, his eyes still on her.

Dong Ran’s heart sank, her gaze flicking to Mo Kun in silent panic. What’s this? Is he unhappy—does he want her out? 

Mo Kun, unsure too, opened his mouth to ask when Chao Nan spoke.

“You’ve heard Beyond the Illusions a few times. Do you remember the climax?”

Jiang Xiaobai nodded. The song’s melody was strong and easy to recall, worthy of his musical talent. The climax, especially, stirred the heart—picturing a man and woman staring at each other in pained goodbye.

“Good. Sing it with me a few times. I want to hear it,” Chao Nan said.

Despite being labeled a duet, her role consisted of only six lines, making teaching it easy. He gave her a few tips, keeping it clear and avoiding technical terms since she wasn’t a singer. After a few runs, he nodded and took her into the studio.

They came out after recording, and Chao Nan sat at the computer to check the take.

Jiang Xiaobai felt a twinge of nerves. The studio’s stillness rattled her—its total silence made every waver in her voice stand out. She knew she hadn’t done great. As she observed Chao Nan, she noticed him listening intently, his eyes lowered, and his expression challenging to interpret.

After a long silence, he removed his headphones and looked at her, his expression shadowed with thought.

“Uh, Chao Nan, Xiaobai’s new to this,” Mo Kun said. “If she didn’t get it, no rush—practice makes perfect. If it’s too hard, you could sing solo, and she’ll just do the filming…”

He and Dong Ran had started in the industry together, seeing countless artists—and managers—rise and fall. He had watched Dong Ran peak and crash, wanting to help but feeling too tied up with his talents. Now, with her comeback through Jiang Xiaobai, he wanted this to work.

“I’m rewriting the MV’s plot. The song needs a new arrangement too,” Chao Nan said, dropping a shock that stunned everyone.

The MV had a script—a short, set story—before Jiang Xiaobai joined. Now, he wanted to redo it?

Mo Kun blinked in confusion, ready to ask, when he noticed Chao Nan’s sudden excitement—his eyes bright as if he’d had a breakthrough. Disregarding their reactions, Chao Nan seized his score and began to write quickly, notes spilling across the page.

Jiang Xiaobai peeked over. The paper was a mess, his quick scribbles unreadable—a sign of inspiration he had to catch before it faded. She got it; when a new talisman array struck her, she’d rush to note it too.

Interrupting would be wrong. She stayed quiet, as did Mo Kun, who’d seen this spark before and held back. Dong Ran, following his lead, did the same.

The room went silent, only the scratch of pen on paper breaking it. After a while, Chao Nan stopped, humming softly as his fingers followed the tune. He tweaked a few notes, then put the pen down with a relieved sigh, a big grin spreading over his face.

“Done. Let’s go in and rehearse,” he said, smiling at Jiang Xiaobai.

She looked at her ancient outfit and nodded. “Alright.”

Chapter 135: The One Who Can Grill Fish

Jiang Xiaobai rehearsed with Chao Nan all day.

The revised score kept its tender core but added bold, free strands. She stayed in the studio with him in her red ancient costume from late morning to seven at night. Lunch was a quick takeout, as Ming Zhu ordered.

Why? Chao Nan had doubled her part.

Not quite doubled—her singing went from six lines to ten.

A perfectionist, Chao Nan was strict. One word’s pronunciation didn’t meet his standard—Jiang Xiaobai sang it naturally, but he wanted it sharp and clipped. They worked on that note for an hour. Her emotions sometimes lacked depth, too.

Still, by the end, they got the song right.

The recording was finished, but the work wasn’t over. With filming set for tomorrow, her look still wasn’t fixed. Chao Nan told the stylist his vision.

“No more gentle and plain. She’s a decisive, fiery swordswoman now—clear in love and hate. Simplify the hair—high ponytail, sharp and lively. Keep the outfit, but change the belt to a wider one, tied tight for a crisp edge. Makeup… lighter, fresher, a clean look.”

With clear orders, the stylist adjusted fast, settling the final style.

Jiang Xiaobai checked the mirror. The bright red dress, high ponytail, and adjustments accentuated her figure, with the wide belt highlighting her slim frame. Light eyeliner stretched her eyes, giving a cool, piercing look—softened only when she smiled.

Chao Nan looked her over and nodded. “Good. You worked hard today. Meet at the company tomorrow at six—we’re going to Linshan.”

“Got it.”

She changed and left with Dong Ran and Ming Zhu.

“God, I didn’t know Chao Nan was such a workaholic! He’s scary on the job—like a dictator!” Ming Zhu whispered on the way, still shaken.

She’d stayed silent in the studio all day. Chao Nan’s usual calm gave way to a stern, commanding air at work, intimidating even Mo Kun, who spoke softly around him. The pecking order was clear.

Jiang Xiaobai didn’t mind. She got serious about talismans too—a focus born of dedication.

Set to leave at six a.m., she woke before five. They reached the company ten minutes early, finding Chao Nan in the car downstairs. Seeing them ahead of time, his face softened, and he greeted them with a friendly nod.

The shoot was at Linshan, a suburban mountain range near B City with untouched scenery. One peak, known for its beauty, had been turned into a tourist spot with quaint ancient buildings—ideal for filming.

After dressing and makeup, they started.

The new MV plot cast Chao Nan as a prince caught in a power struggle with a rival state. The enemy sent assassins to kidnap him, aiming to force his father into terms. His guards died to buy him time to escape. Poisoned and staggering, he reached Xiao Qing Mountain, on the brink of death—until a red-clad swordswoman swooped in to rescue him.

She fought off pursuers and nursed him back on the mountain. Naturally, their time together sparked love.

In a typical story, the woman would care for him gently—cooking, washing clothes—winning his heart with quiet kindness. But Chao Nan’s version twisted that.

This swordswoman could swing a sword and find herbs to heal him, but cook and tend? Ha! Do you eat her food?

Living alone in her mountain hut, she had basic meals—boiled wild greens or roasted rabbit from a hunt, with flavor ignored. Half-cooked greens or burnt meat were normal enough to live on.

When she first saved the prince, she “cared” for him the same rough way. He’d never seen such cooking chaos. One bite twisted his handsome face.

A string of funny mishaps followed. Finally, feeling fed up, the prince revealed his hidden talent: exceptional cooking. His dishes amazed her—especially his grilled fish, crisp on the outside, tender on the inside, juicy and succulent, leaving her starry-eyed.

As he healed, they sparred during the day, hunted and foraged in the woods, and sat atop the mountain at night, roasting meat beneath the stars. The atmosphere was inviting.

But at the height of their love, the emperor’s men found him and delivered a decree. The neighboring princess, enchanted by him, proposed marriage to secure peace between their realms.

He refused—he loved the swordswoman, not an enemy royal. However, his sick father’s command, the kingdom’s vulnerability, and the looming threat of war weighed heavily on him. Refusing signified blood and ruin.

Upon learning his true identity, the swordswoman bit her lip, her heart aching. Seeing her pain, the prince made a rare bold move and begged her to run away, disregarding the kingdom and people.

She shook her head, gave him a piercing look, and returned to her hut. She threw out his clothes and weapons and shut the door.

He left reluctantly, ascended to the throne, and married the princess. On their wedding night, he skipped the bridal chamber and stood in the courtyard, staring toward the far mountains until dawn.

He ended the war two years later, crushed the enemy by force, and secured his rule. The princess, now a queen, faded under his cold neglect and succumbed to illness. He stayed by her bedside for her last moments, shedding a tear of guilt. When her eyes shut, he raced to Xiao Qing Mountain, acting like a lovesick youth.

But the hut was dusty, unchanged since he left, its contents frozen. Frantic, he searched, finally asking a blacksmith at the mountain’s base. She’d left two years ago, wandering the martial world alone.

The story ended with the prince issuing a royal notice—simple, unlike most. No portrait, no name, just a line and a strange signature:

“Xiao Qing Mountain, in search of reunion, my heart tethered to you, never at ease—the one who can grill fish.”

Chapter 136: Human-Shaped Talisman

That was Chao Nan’s reworked plot.

Originally, the heroine was a mountain orphan living off herb-picking, nursing the hero with skilled homemaking.

He hadn’t planned to change it—but Jiang Xiaobai’s shining beauty forced it. Stunning yet composed, neither loud nor shy, she glowed in red like a sword’s perfect match—free and bold, a true martial swordswoman.

A swordswoman as a housewife? It could work, but Chao Nan liked the new story better.

Filming went well. Jiang Xiaobai’s experience gave her a natural ease on camera, and she grasped the heroine Chao Nan pictured. Though not an actor, Chao Nan’s years of MV shoots sharpened his short-form acting, earning decent marks.

Over two days, he grew happy with her work. Only one hitch came up.

“Jiang Xiaobai, your eyes—watch how you look at me.”

Every scene clicked—except their “sweet moments.” No matter how he checked, her gaze missed the spark of love.

“You’re falling for me here,” he explained patiently. “You’re a free martial woman, but love softens you. Your eyes need a shift—something shy, tender…”

He wondered inwardly. Hadn’t she just filmed Legend of the Nine Heavens as the second female lead? Emotional scenes were standard—how had she handled those months?

Jiang Xiaobai’s heart jumped. Here it comes—the human-shaped talisman trick!

“Sorry, I forgot earlier. Let’s try again—I’ll get it right,” she assured him.

Chao Nan, half-doubting, agreed. “Fine… but don’t push too hard. We’ll go slow.”

He figured his strictness had thrown her off. He didn’t know she’d skipped her secret weapon for emotional scenes.

It was evening, the two sat shoulder to shoulder atop the mountain, gazing at the starry sky—

Well, not really. The sky was dark, with just a few faint dots if you squinted. No matter—post-production could add stars.

They gazed up quietly, a white rabbit nibbling grass nearby. Intended for roasting, the prince had spared it for its cuteness, allowing it to join their mountain stay.

Jiang Xiaobai brushed its fur, then glanced up, catching Chao Nan’s profile as he tilted his head. She paused, her eyes settling on him, slowly filling with warmth—

Good luck talisman, safety talisman, protective talisman, spirit fortune talisman… 

Silently reciting, her look grew intense. Feeling her stare, the prince turned, caught in her “passionate” gaze. They locked eyes, lips curling into shared smiles, affection unspoken.

“OK!”

The cinematographer called out, grinning.

Jiang Xiaobai exhaled, turning to Chao Nan. “How was that? Good enough?”

“Great. You… get into character fast. A real pro,” he replied, surprised. She hadn’t shown shyness—her strength stood out—but he thought it fit a swordswoman’s bold nature.

Still… something about that look felt strange.

Jiang Xiaobai smiled inside. With this trick, no emotional scene could stump her; human-shaped talismans are simply too useful! 

The remainder of the shoot proceeded smoothly, concluding by the second afternoon. They went their separate ways.

The MV, set for a solo release, was already buzzing online. Chao Nan’s fans were hyped for this key classical track. If all went well, it’d drop in a week.

Back home, Jiang Xiaobai called Yang Dan, mentioning her free schedule after filming.

“How about we meet on Saturday? Are you free?” Yang Dan asked after a pause.

Checking her mental calendar—nothing urgent—she agreed. Hanging up, she opened a drawer, took out a jade bead, and carved a protective talisman bead for herself. Already drilled, she strung it on a leather cord and wore it on her wrist. It looked pretty good.

Of the three beads, the priciest one was the clearest. Infused with spiritual energy, it shone with a glossy, translucent charm.

Seeing the first good luck bead she’d practiced on, she considered breaking it but kept it—a reminder of heavenly punishment’s risk.

As she finished, her phone rang. Lin Tingliang’s name lit up the screen.

“Xiaobai, game time?”

“You’re done filming?” she asked, startled.

“Wrapped yesterday—left the set! I’m in my dorm gaming now. Join us!” His excitement buzzed within him, mingling with the loud male voices behind him.

A college acting student, Lin Tingliang had gone back to school after filming. Among the male cast, Jiang Xiaobai hadn’t formed a close bond with anyone—neither lead Shu Jie nor second male Qiao Yan, apart from brief work discussions.

If anyone stood out, it was Lin Tingliang. He’d often found her on set, sharing snacks or fruit after ordering food. Dong Ran had thought he liked her initially, but his idolizing look showed a fanboy’s admiration, easing her worry.

He had mentioned gaming before her wrap, and she had agreed—surprised he had followed up.

“Sure, hold on. I’ll start my computer.”

Chapter 137: Five-Player Squad

Jiang Xiaobai hadn’t downloaded the game yet—it’d take time—so she told Lin Tingliang to play with his roommates first and she’d call when ready.

After downloading, registering, and reading the newbie guide, she added Lin Tingliang as an in-game friend. Then, a five-player voice chat squad started.

With Lin Tingliang and his three roommates, plus her, they had a full team.

“Xiaobai, which hero do you want?” he asked during hero picks.

The game had over a hundred heroes across five roles and lanes—a lot for beginners. Figuring out each hero was hard enough, let alone their four skills.

“How about a support? The healer’s good—team-wide health buffs,” suggested the dorm’s “big brother.”

Lin Tingliang hadn’t named them, just called them “big brother,” “second brother,” and “third brother.” He was “fourth brother.”

“A tanky support works too—no skills needed, just take hits as a shield,” second brother added.

“Uh… can I play Aina?” Jiang Xiaobai asked.

“Aina? You want the marksman?” Big brother paused.

They knew she was a total newbie—her account was made today. Being a beginner on support was tough; a damage role? Risky.

“Sure, Aina it is! She’s versatile and tough to take down. Just keep your distance,” Lin Tingliang said quickly.

Whatever my idol wants, she gets. It’s just matchmaking—play for fun! 

So Jiang Xiaobai chose Aina, a blue-haired, long-legged archer with a bold air. She picked her because the internet café clerk had used Aina for her trial run. Aina, a free hero in League of Glory, was a newbie go-to.

After picking, Lin Tingliang took the support role—not a standard healer, but a mage-support mix, dealing damage while shielding allies.

He wanted to win this—not because he hated losing, but to keep Jiang Xiaobai happy. The marksman was the team’s main damage. If she struggled, his mage pick could cover the gap, keeping them in the fight.

In the game, they went to the bottom lane. As they clashed, Lin Tingliang briefed her on the enemy heroes’ skills.

“Their marksman’s Fiwen—her ult pulls you in. The support is…”

Jiang Xiaobai was hitting minions while listening when a red blur suddenly shot out from the river bush. It charged her, throwing an axe—

“Someone’s here—pull back! That axe slows!”

Lin Tingliang fired a damaging skill at it, tossing her a shield for cover.

She retreated but took the axe, Aina’s speed dropping sharply. The enemy support dashed forward, hitting her head and stunning her. Fiwen unleashed a volley, and Jiang Xiaobai’s screen went black—

“First Blood!” the system blared, text flashing above.

Big brother coughed, his mouse hand twitching. He shot Lin Tingliang a look, Four minutes in and first blood already? Easy down there! 

Not knowing who she was, the roommates treated her casually, thinking she was a minor actor like Lin Tingliang.

“Xiaobai, you’re the marksman—don’t pass away too much, or we’re done! Push the wave slower—it’s safer,” one said.

“Yeah, hold tight. Let us grow a bit—late game, we’ll carry you!” another added.

Revived, Jiang Xiaobai took Aina back to the lane, thinking over the second brother’s tip. The café clerk had said it, too. Last-hit minions exclusively to avoid ganks while keeping the wave near her tower for safety.

She adjusted, taking just the last hits, staying cautious. Sometimes, she’d ask Lin Tingliang.

“Their top laner just used a big thunder skill—what’s that?”

Sticking by the tower kept her safe, giving her time to shift views and watch others’ moves. The bottom lane traded blows without big fights—hitting, retreating to heal when low, then coming back fresh.

Noticing her interest, Lin Tingliang explained every hero’s skills. She listened closely, nodding now and then.

Fifteen minutes into the game, her score stood at 0-1-0—just the first loss, no victories. The team score was tied at 3-3, with all contributions coming from other lanes. The roommates had shifted focus away from the bottom lane, concentrating on their own challenges.

The third brother, excelling in mid-lane, secured two victories without any losses. Bored by the lack of action below, he ventured down, sending out a signal.

“I’ll bait—follow up!” Lin Tingliang told her.

Seeing the third brother’s cue, he rushed in and hit the enemy support. They retaliated, disregarding him to launch a large skill at Jiang Xiaobai—a swamp that would ensnare anyone caught in it after a brief delay, ideal for a triple-team slay.

Another enemy came from the river. Lin Tingliang’s heart sank—she’s gone again.

But Aina twisted gracefully, dodging the swamp just as it formed. The support’s ult missed completely!

Chapter 138: Luck?

The instant the enemy support used their ult, both third brother and Lin Tingliang braced for Jiang Xiaobai’s end. That hero’s hard control was infamous—even pros struggled to dodge the swamp. Yet she’d escaped it.

No fatality sound rang out. Aina stood unharmed, leaving them stunned for a moment.

Then she moved. Raising her bow, she pulled back, a glowing blue arrow forming. With a calm release, it flew forward—

Bang!

The ice arrow hit, bursting into frost that froze its target: Fiwen, frozen mid-move.

Before it faded, the third brother and Lin Tingliang caught a faint caw like shadowy crows calling. In League of Glory’s lore, Fiwen, a dark marksman from the Shadow Temple, worshipped the immortal crow god, driven by the region’s evil thoughts.

Temple followers mastered crow skills, each tied to their talent. Fiwen’s technique was Shadow Summoning; a short chant transformed her bow into a dark arrow, drawing a struck foe into her allies’ reach—providing a terrifying advantage in battles.

The crow cries marked her chant’s start. Two seconds later, the crows would appear, dragging her target back. But Jiang Xiaobai’s ice arrow struck first, freezing Fiwen and stopping her skill mid-cast.

“Awesome!”

The third brother cheered, jumping to unload his combo on the stuck Fiwen. A fed mage’s burst was fierce—before she thawed, her screen went dark.

The support’s missed ult left them weak. In a two-on-three, their tanky build couldn’t hold. Fleeing, they succumbed to Lin Tingliang’s relentless attacks.

The river ganker froze. This wasn’t the plan—their lineup was made for control! Both Support and Fiwen had lockdown skills; however, one was missed, and the other was cut off.

Useless teammates! They withdrew, overwhelmed by a barrage of blows.

As the marksman, Jiang Xiaobai’s range let her fire shots from behind—click, click—until the system chimed.

“You have slain an enemy!”

“Jackpot! Back to base,” the third brother exclaimed, recalling his recent success and two assists, his eyes crinkling with joy.

Fiwen, their primary damage dealer, was taken down without landing a hit. In a three-on-two engagement, they secured three victories—one each for the third brother, Lin Tingliang, and Jiang Xiaobai, along with assists. It was a decisive win.

Lin Tingliang, in nearly full health despite having low mana, marveled at the twist. This wasn’t the script.

“Xiaobai, how’d you dodge that ult?” he asked, buying gear.

“Luck, maybe. The support messed up the aim,” the third brother guessed.

“Didn’t seem like it… Xiaobai?” Lin Tingliang pressed.

The swamp’s range was big—how bad would they have to be to miss entirely?

“I saw them prepping it, so I stepped aside early,” she explained.

The third brother blinked, unsure he’d heard right.

The older brothers, unaware of the details at the bottom, laughed. “Prejudged it? Nice, little sis!” big brother teased.

“Yeah, prejudged,” she confirmed, last-hitting under the tower. “They clasp their hands and raise them before casting. I moved when their hands went up.”

The trio went quiet, stunned.

Lin Tingliang paused, then burst out, “And your ult timing? Did you catch Fiwen’s cast too?”

Impossible! A rookie making pro reads? Pure luck—it had to be! The brothers thought together.

“Yep,” she said simply. “Fiwen holds her bow sideways at chest level while chanting—this distinguishes it from her other moves. It’s easy to spot.”

Each hero’s skills had unique animations. Small skills flashed too quickly to read, but ults had delays, making their setups evident if you watched.

While farming, Jiang Xiaobai tracked the skills and movements of all five enemies, her sharp memory filing them away like rune patterns—this was why she had asked Lin Tingliang earlier.

Her words left the voice chat in shocked silence.

“Holy—! You’re no newbie—you’re a god!” the second brother yelped, too excited to farm.

After two years of playing, he reacted to skills as they landed—dodging with moves or flashes. Judging them from animations? He’d never thought of it.

Chapter 139: Just Starting Out

The match concluded after fifteen minutes, with their side emerging victorious.

Jiang Xiaobai rarely crashed—pulling back at any danger—but her damage stayed low. As a newbie, she misjudged the skill levels and timing, often being either too far to hit or too close for comfort safety. Fearing loss, she maintained her distance.

I might not execute, but I won’t pass away! 

Fortunately, the third brother’s mid-lane mage became powerful, with his late-game damage dominating battles. With the help of their teammates, they won the team battles.

They played three more rounds—two losses, one win. With weekly free heroes, Jiang Xiaobai experimented with another marksman but preferred the feel of Aina best. Each game mixed their lineup and enemies’. Over four matches, she memorized over thirty heroes’ skills and casts.

After three hours, she logged off.

She’d booked a morning flight home to S City. Packing was light, but she carefully stored mountain herbs and greens from Luoyang Town for her parents to try.

“Xiaobai,” Ming Zhu called, knocking. Opening the door, Jiang Xiaobai saw her with a phone. “Sister Ran called—she said to prepare a ten-million-follower perk.”

“Ten million? What’s that?” Jiang Xiaobai asked, confused.

Ming Zhu stared. “Your Weibo followers! They’ve hit ten million—you didn’t know?”

“Oh… maybe I did…” Jiang Xiaobai rubbed her head, checking her phone. Indeed, over ten million.

An unspoken rule had formed that big follower milestones meant perks for fans. Since the “Old Bie San” incident, her Weibo had surged, especially after A Family in the Small Town aired its two parts, pushing her close to ten million. She hadn’t noticed crossing it.

“Did Sister Ran suggest anything?” she asked.

“You choose,” Ming Zhu relayed. “Some sing, some dance—show a talent, or chat with fans. Live streams are significant—celebrities engage with their followers this way. Sister Ran says if you need help, she’ll set it up.”

Live streams needed company planning—platform deals, scheduling, promotion. Jiang Xiaobai passed on that. Unfamiliar ground risked a mess. Watching Li Biying’s stream, she’d seen how tricky it was—chatting looked easy, but handling a flood of viewers took skill. Speak too little, and they’d leave; speak the wrong thing, and trouble brewed.

Online trolls weren’t to be messed with.

She leaned toward a safe talent display. As she thought, Ming Zhu spoke up. “Xiaobai, I asked our fan group. Mianmian and Juzi asked them—many want a painting video, ideally live.”

Her fan club, headed by Mianmian and supported by Juzi as deputy, was smaller than other stars.

“Painting?” Jiang Xiaobai frowned. “Didn’t they see that on the show?”

“Not enough—the edits cut too much,” Ming Zhu remarked.

An idea hit. “How about this: I’ll hold a Weibo raffle, choose two fans, and paint for them—landscapes, animals, portraits, or anything else. They will send photos, and I will post videos of the process.”

“Great! I’ll tell Sister Ran,” Ming Zhu said, her eyes lighting up as she ran off to call.

Dong Ran must’ve given orders—Jiang Xiaobai watched her nod and scribble notes quickly. Such a hard worker.

Ming Zhu drafted and posted the Weibo notice from Jiang Xiaobai’s account, scheduling the winner reveal two days later. Comments and reposts flooded in, her eyes curving with delight. “Sister Xiaobai, you’re amazing! There are so many fans already—you’re no small fry now!”

Her joy carried a proud glow. Ten million followers—a remarkable milestone!

But Jiang Xiaobai shook her head. “Zhu Zhu, my fans aren’t like others’. Their ‘gold content’… it’s pretty low.”

“Low? Why?”

“How’d I get them?” She met Ming Zhu’s eyes. “A news story—I apprehended a vicious thug, received media praise, and attracted attention. That’s the root.”

“Sure, but… what’s wrong with that?” Ming Zhu faltered.

“They might like my personality, looks, or skills—but not my work,” Jiang Xiaobai said calmly. “They admire me for Old Bie San, but that doesn’t mean they’ll care about my projects.”

Ming Zhu’s expression became serious, her mood plummeting.

“So don’t let this number trick you,” Jiang Xiaobai said. “We’re just starting.”

Ming Zhu took a deep breath, nodding firmly. “Got it, Sister Xiaobai. We’ll keep pushing together!”

No real fans yet? No problem—they would come with time.

The next day, she got home to S City. Oddly, her parents and brother were out. Auntie Zheng explained that Jiang Zhiyi had been on a business trip for several days, her father was at the company, and her mother was shopping with friends.

Jiang Xiaobai gave Auntie Zheng the specialties to prepare before heading upstairs to shower. Fresh from the bath, she heard a car outside. Drying her hair, she went down.

Chapter 140: Wavering

“Mom, you’re back—oh, Auntie Tian?”

Jiang Xiaobai saw her mother, Wu You, enter and call out, then noticed Auntie Tian behind her—the woman they had encountered on a family walk, mother of singer Ding Haoran.

“Xiaobai, you’re home!” Wu You’s eyes lit up with joy.

“What a coincidence, Xiaobai. It’s nice to meet you again,” Auntie Tian said warmly. “You’re so busy—your mom always says she misses you. It’s great you’re here now. Look how happy she is!”

“Nice to be back. I’ll stay a few days this time,” Jiang Xiaobai replied. “Mom, I brought some mountain mushrooms and greens—Auntie Zheng’s handling them.”

“Wonderful, wonderful!” Wu You beamed, changed her shoes, and headed to the kitchen to oversee the cooking.

“Please, Auntie Tian, sit,” Jiang Xiaobai said, leading her to the sofa after Wu You left.

A maid brought tea. Auntie Tian took it and started looking over at Jiang Xiaobai.

Her stare—smiling but oddly keen—made Jiang Xiaobai uneasy. She glanced at the kitchen; her mother hadn’t come back.

“Xiaobai, you’re doing so well lately. Congratulations,” Auntie Tian said softly, taking Jiang Xiaobai’s hand. “The entertainment world’s tough, but seeing Haoran and you succeed makes me glad. Speaking of Haoran, have you met him at work?”

Her grip stiffened Jiang Xiaobai’s hand. “No, we’re in different fields and companies—there’s probably no chance for us to work together.”

“Oh, what a pity! Your mom and I are so close—it’d be nice if you two could collaborate,” Auntie Tian sighed, clearly let down.

“Heh, maybe someday…” Jiang Xiaobai forced a laugh.

“What’re we talking about?” Wu You returned, breaking the moment. “Xiaobai, that thug didn’t hurt you, right?”

Seizing the opportunity, Jiang Xiaobai freed her hand, feeling relieved inside. “No, Mom, not a scratch—honest.”

Auntie Tian’s eagerness felt overwhelming, whether in her usual way or just for Jiang Xiaobai.

“Good, that was too close…” Wu You worried, then turned to chat with Auntie Tian.

“When’s Haoran coming home? It’s been a while for you too, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Auntie Tian sighed. “He’s big now, overwhelmed with work—sometimes day and night blur together. I told him to rest, but he wouldn’t listen. That boy is too driven—focused on his career.”

Ding Haoran’s fame was huge, a top young singer, on par with Chao Nan. But where Chao Nan relied on talent and a grounded style—avoiding commercial gigs—Ding Haoran’s frequent appearances gave him a flashier, less steady feel.

Auntie Tian stayed an hour before leaving, but not without inviting Wu You to an overseas fashion show in a few days.

“Mom, are you and Auntie Tian close?” Jiang Xiaobai asked.

“Fairly. She is warm and kind—rare these days,” Wu You mused, then frowned. “But she keeps mentioning Haoran and you. Feels like she’s hinting at something…”

Jiang Xiaobai had felt it too—why she’d been uneasy.

“Mom, please don’t play matchmaker,” she said quickly. “Work’s swamping me—I’ve got no time for romance.”

Auntie Tian’s words couldn’t sway her mother too, could they?

“You’re young—marriage isn’t on the table!” Wu You sat up straight. “Women need careers too. Marrying early rarely works out. Even with a good match, take time to evaluate—avoid rushing regrets. Don’t worry. Our family doesn’t need you or your brother marrying for ties. As long as they’re decent and you like them, we won’t push.”

Relief hit Jiang Xiaobai. No meddling—perfect.

“But your job? I still don’t like it,” Wu You shifted. “Even a show shoot turned dangerous with that thug…”

Her “quit the industry” talk started again.

Father Jiang returned home before dinner, excited to see her. He checked on her safety, then brought up her career:

“You’re getting noticed—seems good, but it’s a double-edged sword. The more famous you get, the less privacy you’ll have. Your life will be watched—peace and freedom will be gone. You can still step back. Think about it.”

“Dad, I don’t quit things halfway,” she replied firmly.

Though she and the original Jiang Xiaobai differed in personality, their stubbornness matched. Once they chose a path, neither budged, unmoved by others’ words—a trait carved into their lives.

Her parents weren’t shocked; they simply sighed with faint resignation.

“This path is more challenging than you imagine,” her father said, shaking his head. “Obscurity is difficult; fame comes with its own trials. Some challenges aren’t meant for someone as sheltered as you.”

She paused, then smiled, changing the topic. “I hear Zhiyi’s out of town. When’s he back? It’s been a while.”

“Not a business trip—it’s a friend’s wedding,” Wu You corrected. “He’s been gone for days—he should be back soon. I’ll call later to nudge him to come home and see you.”

After dinner and talking, Jiang Xiaobai went upstairs, leaving her parents in the living room.

“Old Jiang, we’ve fought her entertainment gig; letting her fend for herself,” Wu You said, hesitating. “Is that wrong? We cut her funds when she chose this, thinking she’d struggle and give up. She’s had a tough time these two years—but she hasn’t quit as we expected.”