Chapter 225: The Spirit-Sensing Talisman

Bo Xing felt a chill run down his spine upon hearing Jiang Xiaobai’s explanation. Even without considering the part about his fortune being drained, the mere thought of having carried a Gu insect in his necklace for years made his skin crawl.

“Now that the young insect is gone, what will happen to the mother insect?” he suddenly inquired.

“Mother-child Gu insects are extremely difficult to cultivate. They are paired, and with the child insect gone, the mother insect loses its purpose. Even if it doesn’t die, it’s now useless,” Jiang Xiaobai explained as she used a lighter to burn the two talismans. “You can rest easy now.”

Bo Xing hadn’t noticed anything unusual before, but now, as he focused, he felt a sense of lightness, as if an invisible shackle had been lifted from his body. Even his breathing felt fresher.

He looked at the shattered pieces of the pendants on the floor with a complicated expression, still feeling as though he were in a dream.

“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head back,” Jiang Xiaobai said. “If you come across any more information about Master Mu, let me know.”

Ever since Jiang Xiaobai discovered that this world also had spiritual energy, she had prepared herself to encounter “unusual individuals.” Even though the spiritual energy here was sparse, the world’s long history meant that a small group of people must have mastered certain secret techniques.

When she first noticed the anomaly in Bo Xing’s pendant, Jiang Xiaobai was already certain of this. Now, with the discovery of the Gu insect…

Using spiritual energy for personal gain wasn’t inherently wrong—Jiang Xiaobai herself did it. But once you entered this field, you had to follow its rules. Using such abilities to harm others for personal benefit was considered dark arts.

If she ever crossed paths with Master Mu, Jiang Xiaobai wouldn’t mind confronting him.

Bo Xing, however, was still in a daze. As an ordinary person, he had never been particularly superstitious, but witnessing these bizarre events firsthand had shaken his worldview. He needed time to process everything.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out,” he said, nodding.

“No need. You should rest. My bodyguards are outside,” Jiang Xiaobai replied before leaving on her own.

Back at home, Jiang Xiaobai locked herself in her room and, after some contemplation, took out a jade bead and began carving it.

The incident with Master Mu had served as a wake-up call. She wasn’t the only one with special abilities in this world—there were many hidden talents. Sooner or later, her uniqueness would be noticed by those who were observant.

For example, the beads she gave away as gifts on Weibo and the talismans she sold—any “practitioner” would eventually notice something unusual.

Jiang Xiaobai had examined the talisman inside Bo Xing’s pendant and found its runic array to be crude and incomplete. She wasn’t sure if Master Mu was just a half-baked practitioner or if the knowledge here was generally fragmented compared to the Yaoyue Continent.

Her runes were optimized, and while people here might not fully understand them, they could at least sense the flow of spiritual energy within. That alone would be enough for them to identify her.

So, she decided to create a talisman that was considered almost useless in Yaoyue but would be highly effective here—the Spirit-Sensing Talisman.

Its function was simple, it could detect spiritual energy fluctuations within a certain range, whether from a person or an object. As long as there was spiritual energy, the talisman would react.

Jiang Xiaobai could only sense spiritual energy when she was very close to it. For example, with Bo Xing’s pendant, she had to stand nearby and focus intently to detect anything. This was a limitation, but the Spirit-Sensing Talisman didn’t require such proximity.

As long as there was spiritual energy within about ten meters, it would sense it.

After carving the bead, Jiang Xiaobai attached it to her phone case with a string.

The carved bead looked like a piece of art, and when hung on the phone case, it appeared to be just a decorative accessory. No one would suspect its true purpose.

That evening, the official blog for The King of E-Sports released the promotional photos.

This time was different from her previous projects. In the past, Jiang Xiaobai had been part of high-profile productions with renowned directors and popular leads. Even if she was a minor character, she could ride on the coattails of the more famous actors.

But now, she was the female lead, and there was no one above her to carry the weight.

Fortunately, Bai Chen was more well-known than her, and the drama had a built-in fan base from the original novel. As a result, the blog post generated quite a buzz.

“Ah, my Chen is so handsome! Can’t wait to see him as Luo Tian!”

“There’s a prince! I’m definitely watching this!”

“Gao Hao’s aura is still so striking—so elegant!”

“Jiang Xiaobai looks stunning, and her style is so cool.”

“Zhao Chenyu is playing the second female lead, Chen Yurou? She’s supporting Jiang Xiaobai?”

Fans of all kinds left comments, supporting their favorite actors, while some neutral observers also chimed in with their opinions on the promotional photos.

As the male and female leads, Jiang Xiaobai and Bai Chen each had two looks in the photos—one modern and stylish, the other ancient and ethereal. Many netizens were impressed.

“When it comes to looks, Jiang Xiaobai never disappoints.”

“She’s so beautiful—this ancient look is even more stunning than the characters in the game!”

“Jiang Xiaobai seems to be in the news a lot lately. Is she about to blow up?”

Jiang Xiaobai scrolled through the photos on her phone while Ming Zhu and the others also browsed, occasionally commenting.

“The advantage of dramas adapted from novels is that they already have a fan base. The downside is… they already have a fan base,” Dong Ran said, reading the comments. “If the actors perform well, the fans will be incredibly supportive. But if they don’t, the fans will be the first to criticize.”

Book fans are fiercely loyal to the original work. Any deviation from the source material will earn their disdain, and if the actors’ appearances or performances don’t meet their expectations, they’ll mercilessly criticize them.

But what can the actors do? Roles are often determined by company negotiations and production decisions. Unless the role is a complete mismatch, actors usually accept the part rather than turn it down.

The development of the plot, the special effects, and other aspects depend entirely on the director, producers, and budget—things actors have no control over.

“This drama isn’t particularly challenging. The real focus is on the in-game scenes,” Jiang Xiaobai said. “I’ve read the script, and there aren’t any major issues. As long as the budget is sufficient and the special effects are decent, it shouldn’t turn into a disaster.”

“Yeah, as long as it doesn’t end up with cheap, laughable effects,” Linglong joked.

 

 

 

Chapter 226: Peach Blossom Spring

“Alright, let’s rest early today. We’ll be heading to the set at dawn tomorrow, and if we don’t sleep well, it’ll affect our energy,” Dong Ran reminded, glancing at the time.

The filming location wasn’t in the same city, so once shooting began, they’d have to stay there for a while. They wouldn’t be returning home anytime soon.

They had already discussed the arrangements. There was no need for both bodyguards to accompany them. One would stay at home, and the other would go to the set. Ji Wen was only needed when Jiang Xiaobai participated in promotional activities, so she could stay home unless her work required her to be on set.

Ming Zhu and Linglong would accompany Jiang Xiaobai full-time, while Dong Ran had the flexibility to come and go as needed. She would handle her work and join the set whenever required.

Upon arriving at the set, they were busy with the opening ceremony. Although Jiang Xiaobai felt the ritual was somewhat unnecessary, it was a tradition. Everyone probably just wanted peace of mind, and even the director likely didn’t believe that burning incense and offering sacrifices would guarantee smooth sailing throughout the production.

For the first time in several dramas, Jiang Xiaobai had the opportunity to film the opening scene.

In the scene, Yun Xuan was at home, dressed simply with her hair tied in a ponytail. She sat in front of her computer, controlling her character in the game as it swung a fan.

The house was shabby, devoid of any aesthetic appeal, and showed signs of age, with mold and dampness on the ceiling—a clear reflection of her difficult life.

“Sis, I’m back!” A youthful voice called out, and Yun Bao, carrying a backpack, entered the frame.

“I’ve already made lunch. It’s in the kitchen, covered with a lid. Go eat,” Yun Xuan said without turning around, her fingers continuously tapping the keyboard and mouse, her eyes glued to the screen. Suddenly, she smiled.

“I just got a Heart-Questioning Herb. Once I turn it into a healing pill, I can sell it for some money.”

She logged out of the game just as Yun Bao brought out the food and began eating quickly.

Yun Bao was in high school and didn’t live on campus. Since the school was close to home, he came back for lunch every day.

“Sis, you’re amazing! Not only are you skilled at the game, but you can even make medicine!” Yun Bao looked up from his bowl, his adorable face filled with admiration.

“Making medicine is easy. I stumbled into it by accident, and since it earns money, I might as well keep doing it,” Yun Xuan said casually, grabbing an apple to munch on.

The game she played was called Peach Blossom Spring, which had been popular for two years and had a global player base. It was the most popular game in the world, bar none.

Every year, the game hosted a global championship to determine the best players in each major class. Domestic competitions were also frequent, and winning could earn players various cash prizes.

However, most participants were combat-focused players. Others played more casually, focusing on alchemy, herb gathering, or crafting weapons. These players were known as life-skill players.

Yun Xuan’s in-game class was a Spellblade, which typically focused on leveling up and looting equipment. However, she had also mastered alchemy. Whenever she found suitable herbs, she would turn them into pills and sell them for anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred yuan.

“Sis… you’ve worked so hard. Once I’m in college, I’ll earn money to support you!” Yun Bao clenched his fist, speaking with determination.

“I’m your older sister. It’s not your job to support me,” Yun Xuan chuckled, ruffling Yun Bao’s hair. “Finish your meal, then read a bit before resting. I’ll wake you up in the afternoon.”

“I can set my own alarm,” Yun Bao said, his hair now messy. He smiled, quickly fixing it. “Sis, you should rest too. Don’t you have an exam at school tomorrow?”

“Exams are manageable. Just a few practice papers,” Yun Xuan said as she walked back to her computer. “A new map is launching this afternoon, and I want to be there for the first boss encounter.”

Yun Bao finished his meal and stood up to grab his backpack. Hearing her words, he paused. “But you stayed up until 2 AM last night and woke up early to make breakfast for me…”

“I’m still young and healthy. I don’t feel tired,” Yun Xuan said lightly.

Yun Bao’s eyes reddened. “Sis…”

“Alright, go rest,” Yun Xuan turned to him with a radiant smile, her natural beauty shining through. “I’ll take a nap after I’m done with the game. Is that okay?”

Yun Bao nodded repeatedly. “You promised! Don’t go back on your word!”

He then hurried back to his room with his backpack.

Yun Xuan watched him leave before turning her attention back to the computer. As she focused on the game, she couldn’t help but rub her eyes, revealing a hint of exhaustion.

“Cut!” Director Zhang walked over, looking pleased. “Great job! The first scene went perfectly.”

The drama’s setting was relatively simple. Yun Xuan was a college student who lived off-campus to take care of her younger brother. Most of her scenes took place in three locations: school, home, and the game.

The in-game scenes would be filmed in a studio, with special effects added later, while the real-life scenes were straightforward.

After this scene, Jiang Xiaobai had more to film, but there would be a short break in between.

During this time, Jiang Xiaobai noticed someone approaching—a familiar face. It was the girl who had spoken with Director Zhang during the promotional photo shoot.

“How’s it going?”

“It’s going well. A great start,” Director Zhang replied before remembering something. “Let me introduce you all. This is Xia Mu, the original author of the novel and also our screenwriter.”

Xia Mu?

Jiang Xiaobai was surprised. She knew the novel’s author, but she hadn’t expected her to be so young—she looked to be around twenty-five.

“Hello, Screenwriter,” everyone greeted.

Jiang Xiaobai, however, sensed that Xia Mu was more than just a screenwriter. In her previous projects, the screenwriter’s role was secondary to the director’s, but Director Zhang seemed to treat Xia Mu with a level of respect that was unusual. This intrigued her.

“Hello, everyone. Just call me Xia Mu,” the girl adjusted her glasses and smiled. “Keep up the good work. Let’s make sure we start strong on the first day.”

Everyone acknowledged her words and, after a brief preparation, resumed work.

In the story, Yun Xuan and Yun Bao were siblings who relied on each other. Their father had left them for another woman years ago, and their mother, suffering from depression, had taken her own life two years prior. Yun Xuan, being three years older, naturally took on the responsibility of caring for her younger brother.

While studying, Yun Xuan had tried to earn money through part-time jobs like dishwashing, but the physical toll affected her studies. When Peach Blossom Spring was released, she found a way to make money through the game, which became their primary source of income.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 227: Swift and Decisive

Yun Xuan had a natural talent for gaming. She was calm, quick-witted, and had razor-sharp reflexes. Her skills far surpassed those of most female players, and she could even outplay the majority of male players.

However, her sole purpose for playing the game was to make money.

By staying ahead in levels and defeating powerful monsters, she could loot valuable equipment. She would then sell these items at the right time, sometimes even auctioning them off to the highest bidder. Over the past two years, she had earned a decent amount of money this way.

When her father ran off with his mistress, he took most of the family’s savings. Her mother, devastated by the betrayal, fell into depression, and the cost of her treatment and medication drained what little was left. After her mother’s passing, Yun Xuan and her younger brother were left nearly penniless.

At the time, Yun Xuan was in her final year of high school, struggling to even afford college tuition. It was this game that helped her through those difficult times.

Jiang Xiaobai had a busy day on set, filming several scenes during the day and one more in the evening.

The evening scene depicted an incident where Yun Xuan went out to pick up her younger brother from school.

The old house they lived in had been left to them by their late grandmother. The neighborhood wasn’t the safest, with occasional fights and disturbances. Worried about her brother’s safety, Yun Xuan would wait for him at the alley entrance whenever she had the time.

That night, as Yun Xuan stepped out, she sensed something was off. It felt like someone was following her.

Frowning, she glanced sideways and noticed a shadowy figure trailing her. A cold smile crept across her face.

Just as she was about to turn a corner, the figure lunged at her.

“Hehe, Xuan Xuan, come give your big brother a hug—” The man’s words were slurred, and his voice carried an unsettling excitement.

“Looking for trouble!” Yun Xuan muttered under her breath. In one swift motion, she spun around, raised her leg, and delivered a powerful side kick to the man’s head.

The narrow alley was dimly lit, with only faint light spilling from nearby windows.

The man, already drunk, was slow to react. Caught off guard, he crashed into the wall.

The kick to his head was painful enough, but hitting the wall added to his agony. He cursed as he struggled to his feet, ready to retaliate.

“Go ahead, try it,” Yun Xuan said coldly, a small knife gleaming in her hand. The blade’s cold light seemed like a harbinger of death to the man.

“Oh my god—” Terrified, the man scrambled away, fleeing as fast as he could.

“Coward,” Yun Xuan muttered, slipping the knife back into her pocket. As she turned to leave, she saw Yun Bao standing ahead, having just returned.

“You’re back? Let’s go home. It’s getting cold,” Yun Xuan said.

“Sis, did you see who that was?” Yun Bao asked.

“Didn’t see him clearly, but I recognized his voice. It’s that bachelor from the Zhao family.”

“Him?” Yun Bao tilted his head, thinking. “How dare he mess with you? He’s asking for trouble! Sis, wait here.”

Yun Bao disappeared around the corner and returned moments later with a beer bottle in hand.

The siblings exchanged a glance, their eyes shining in the dark. They walked silently toward a nearby building.

At the foot of the building, they wrapped the beer bottle in a piece of old newspaper, smashed it into shards, and carried the pieces upstairs.

On the third floor, they stopped at the door of the leftmost apartment. Yun Bao poured the glass shards onto the floor, then banged loudly on the door.

“Who’s there? You’re really frustrating me!” a man’s irritated voice came from inside.

By the time the door opened, Yun Bao and Yun Xuan were already gone.

The man, still drunk, stepped out barefoot and immediately let out a blood-curdling scream.

“Ah! Who the hell did this?!”

Downstairs, Yun Bao and Yun Xuan were doubled over with laughter.

“Sis, you don’t need to come pick me up anymore. I’m a grown man now. I can handle myself,” Yun Bao said seriously.

“No way. I’m used to it,” Yun Xuan shook her head. “Besides, I’m carrying a knife like you told me. I’ll be fine. When have I ever lost a fight?”

“True. You’ve always been the boss. I’ve only ever seen you make other kids cry. Never the other way around,” Yun Bao chuckled.

“Exactly. Don’t worry about me.”

Their voices faded as they walked away, their figures growing smaller until they disappeared around the corner.

Director Zhang smiled with satisfaction, turning to Xia Mu beside him. “I was prepared to shoot that action scene three or four times, but she nailed it in one take. What a pleasant surprise.”

Xia Mu’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, this scene is crucial for establishing the protagonist’s character. If it wasn’t done well, Yun Xuan’s image would’ve suffered. She performed excellently.”

“Excellent” was an understatement. That swift, decisive kick was downright breathtaking!

Moreover, Jiang Xiaobai’s movements weren’t rough but graceful and fluid, her leg perfectly straight. It was a visually stunning performance. Xia Mu couldn’t help but ask, “Does Jiang Xiaobai have a background in dance?”

“Probably. In the promotional photos for her last movie, Heaven and Earth, she played a dancer. She must’ve had some training,” Director Zhang speculated.

“That makes sense. Lin Jia has high standards for actors. If she didn’t have the skills, she wouldn’t have gotten that role,” Xia Mu said, her confidence in the drama growing. “Now it seems we should thank Zhao Xiulun. This casting choice is turning out well.”

Xia Mu had initially been dissatisfied. She didn’t mind Jiang Xiaobai being cast, but she believed the process should’ve been fair—auditions and competition. If Jiang Xiaobai had won the role on her own merit, Xia Mu wouldn’t have objected.

But the role had been handed to Jiang Xiaobai without Xia Mu even meeting her, which left a bitter taste.

Today, Xia Mu had been closely observing the actors, especially Jiang Xiaobai. She had been critical at first, but now she was pleasantly surprised. There were no major issues.

If Jiang Xiaobai had a dance background, the action scenes in the game sequences should be a breeze.

With her scenes for the day wrapped up, Jiang Xiaobai bid farewell to the director and crew and returned to the hotel to rest.

The drama’s filming schedule was organized by location. Jiang Xiaobai and Lu Baobei were shooting scenes set at “home,” while Bai Chen, the male lead, was filming at the “school.” As a result, Jiang Xiaobai and Bai Chen hadn’t shared any scenes yet.

 

 

Chapter 228: Ning Ge

As time passed, Jiang Xiaobai spent most of her scenes acting alongside her on-screen younger brother, Yun Bao. There were also interactions with “neighbors” and “residents” in the story—some who helped the siblings and others who tried to take advantage of their vulnerability. However, the siblings always managed to handle these situations together.

After a few days, Jiang Xiaobai had to leave the set to participate in a new advertisement shoot for her endorsement brand, Ivan, as well as a promotional event for DS Jewelry.

She had already informed Director Zhang about these commitments, and he readily agreed to let her go.

The DS Jewelry event was straightforward. As Dong Ran had mentioned, it only required Jiang Xiaobai to make an appearance for half an hour. The actual work time was shorter than the time spent traveling to the venue.

Jiang Xiaobai’s role was simple: wear the jewelry provided by the brand, dress in an elegant gown, and stand on stage with a smile. Occasionally, she would answer questions from the host, sticking to the prearranged script.

Ji Wen was in charge of her styling. Having been idle for a while, Ji Wen put extra effort into making Jiang Xiaobai look stunning. Even with the large, eye-catching jewelry, Jiang Xiaobai’s natural beauty shone through, complementing the accessories perfectly and creating a luxurious overall look.

The Ivan advertisement shoot was more tiring, but Jiang Xiaobai’s experience made the process smoother than before, leaving the brand’s representatives increasingly satisfied.

After completing her work, Jiang Xiaobai prepared to return to the set. However, upon landing, she encountered an unexpected situation.

“Why is it so crowded up ahead?” Ming Zhu wondered.

“Maybe there’s some VIP around,” Dong Ran guessed, though she couldn’t see clearly.

“But VIPs usually take private exits, don’t they?” Linglong questioned.

As they moved forward, they saw a large crowd gathered at the arrival gate, holding signs and screaming excitedly. The sheer number of people created a chaotic scene, with some standing on tiptoes to get a better view and others perched on their partners’ shoulders, waving enthusiastically.

“Oh, it’s Ning Ge!” Ming Zhu exclaimed, spotting the banners with her name in bold letters.

“Ning Ge? Really?” Dong Ran was equally surprised, now understanding the reason for the commotion.

Ning Ge was a rising star who had recently gained immense popularity. She had played a supporting role in a drama as a charming fox spirit, blending sensuality and cuteness in a way that captivated audiences. Her scenes had gone viral on platforms like Weibo and short video sites, garnering tens of thousands of likes.

With her almond-shaped eyes, graceful ballet-trained figure, and a demeanor that balanced elegance and allure, Ning Ge had won over fans of all genders.

“Ning Ge! Goddess! I love you!”

“Ning Ge, you’re the most beautiful!”

Jiang Xiaobai and her team walked behind the crowd, gradually catching sight of Ning Ge amidst the chaos. She seemed to have attended an event, her hair dyed a soft purple—a bold choice that somehow suited her perfectly.

She wasn’t wearing a hat, only a mask, which she removed upon being recognized, revealing her slightly fox-like features.

“Please don’t crowd, everyone, keep your distance…” Ning Ge’s assistant and manager shouted, trying to manage the fans. The four or five bodyguards accompanying her also worked to keep the crowd at bay.

“Goddess, please sign this! I beg you!”

“Ning Ge, can I shake your hand?”

Jiang Xiaobai overheard fans pleading, some even reaching out desperately. However, Ning Ge held her head high, seemingly indifferent to their requests.

“Sorry, Ning Ge has a tight schedule. Please make way… Don’t push!” The assistant’s voice rose sharply, tinged with irritation, as an overenthusiastic fan nearly bumped into Ning Ge.

Jiang Xiaobai’s group had now reached the area near Ning Ge. The exit was the only way out, and there was no avoiding the crowd.

Ning Ge’s popularity was undeniable. Fans of all genders surrounded her, some holding beautifully wrapped gifts. A boy carried a giant teddy bear and a bouquet of flowers, but he couldn’t get close to Ning Ge, blocked by security and her bodyguards.

“Oh no!”

Jiang Xiaobai heard a panicked cry and turned to see a girl being shoved by a man nearby. The girl lost her balance and stumbled forward.

In the crowded space, people instinctively moved aside, and the girl ended up rushing straight toward Ning Ge.

Seeing this, one of Ning Ge’s bodyguards frowned and pushed the girl back. “What are you doing? Didn’t we say to keep your distance?”

The girl, already off-balance, fell to the ground with a thud. She was dressed in a delicate pink Hanfu, her hair adorned with traditional ornaments. As she fell, her dress tore slightly, and her hair accessories scattered. The gift box she was holding rolled away, and the sound of something breaking—likely a teacup—was heard.

The girl sat there, stunned, not even registering the pain.

Then, she saw a pair of slender, pale hands reaching out to her.

“Get up quickly. The floor is cold.”

The voice was gentle. The girl looked up to see a slender figure standing before her. The woman had long, straight black hair, a hat, and a mask, but her eyes were clear and kind, radiating warmth.

Jiang Xiaobai couldn’t stand by and watch. The girl hadn’t intentionally pushed forward; she had been shoved. Now, she looked utterly disheveled.

As Jiang Xiaobai stepped forward, Ming Zhu and Linglong also reached out to help.

The girl, still dazed, took their hands and was pulled to her feet.

“Xiao Ling, are you okay?” A tall, thin boy dressed in Hanfu pushed through the crowd, his voice filled with concern as he grabbed the girl’s arm.

“Luoluo, I’m fine. But my dress… and the little fox…”

 

 

 

Chapter 229: Juzi

Xiao Ling’s eyes welled up with tears. The Hanfu she wore to meet her idol was her favorite, but it had torn when she fell. The seams were coming apart, and her hair ornament, a delicate buyao, seemed damaged as well.

What hurt the most was the little fox figurine she had carefully prepared—now shattered.

It was well-known that Ning Ge loved foxes. Her fans had sent countless fox plushies and figurines to her company, and once, Ning Ge even filmed a video thanking them. In the video, the room was filled with fox-themed items of all sizes, creating a spectacular sight.

The little fox Xiao Ling had brought was a gift she had asked a friend to purchase from abroad. It was expensive, and breaking it was heartbreaking, especially since it was meant for her idol.

“It’s okay. If it’s broken, we’ll buy another one,” Luoluo comforted his girlfriend, patting her shoulder gently.

“What’s going on? We said not to push! What if you bumped into Ning Ge? Could you take responsibility?” The bodyguard glared at Xiao Ling, clearly annoyed.

“I didn’t push! Someone behind me shoved me!” Xiao Ling quickly explained, but the bodyguard wasn’t listening and continued to push her back.

At that moment, Ning Ge glanced in her direction.

Xiao Ling looked over excitedly, hoping her idol might say something to her. But the next moment felt like a bucket of cold water had been poured over her.

“Let’s go. It’s so crowded and noisy. So annoying,” Ning Ge muttered to her manager after giving Xiao Ling a brief, disdainful look, as if she were something dirty.

Ning Ge had been on a long flight and was exhausted. The constant noise from the fans was overwhelming, and seeing someone fall while trying to get closer only added to her irritation.

Was this some kind of stunt? Was this fan or an anti-fan?

Xiao Ling felt a chill run through her. She was face-to-face with Ning Ge, and though the idol’s voice was low, Xiao Ling could read her lips well enough to understand.

Is this… the idol I’ve admired?

“Xiao Bai, let’s go. It’s not good if we’re recognized,” Ming Zhu whispered.

Dong Ran also snapped out of her thoughts. “Yes, let’s leave quickly.”

Jiang Xiaobai nodded, pulled her hat lower, and followed them through the crowd.

“Hey, are you Jiang Xiaobai?”

After finally moving away from Ning Ge and into a less crowded area, Jiang Xiaobai was stopped by a young man.

He was tall and slim, around 182 cm, with slightly curly hair. He looked at Jiang Xiaobai with a bright, excited smile. Though his tone was hesitant, his expression suggested he was certain it was her.

Jiang Xiaobai was surprised. She had been confident in her disguise and hadn’t expected to be recognized. That’s why she had felt safe helping the fan earlier. But how had this person…

Wait!

“Are you… Juzi?” Jiang Xiaobai asked tentatively.

As soon as she spoke, the young man’s eyes lit up. He nodded eagerly, almost stumbling over his words. “Yes, yes! I’m your fan, I…”

He trailed off, his thoughts jumbled.

“You look just like your photo,” Jiang Xiaobai said with a smile, taking over the conversation. “Would you like an autograph?”

She remembered him because she had once drawn portraits for her fans. This young man was the deputy leader of her fan club, known online as Juzi.

“Yes, yes, please!”

He nodded vigorously, his excitement making a little tuft of hair on his head bounce. He pulled out a notebook and pen from his bag and handed them to Jiang Xiaobai.

“Um, could you sign a few more?” he asked softly as she began signing.

“Hmm?” Jiang Xiaobai looked up. “Planning to sell them?”

Her tone was teasing.

“No, no! It’s for some friends in the fan club. I want to send them a copy,” he explained, scratching his head sheepishly.

“How about five?” Jiang Xiaobai asked.

“That’s perfect. Thank you!” Juzi grinned. “I was so scared I wouldn’t get to see you. When I went to the arrival gate, there were so many people I couldn’t even get close.”

“Here you go.”

Jiang Xiaobai handed him the signed pages and smiled. “Thank you for your support. Please pass on my gratitude to the other fans.”

“Will do!”

Juzi stood at attention and saluted, his expression serious.

Jiang Xiaobai waved goodbye and headed to the parking lot with Dong Ran and the others to return to the set.

Ming Zhu was still excited. “Wow, we got recognized too! It’s so thrilling!”

Jiang Xiaobai had been approached for autographs before, like during the DS Jewelry event, but having someone specifically come to the airport to meet her was rare.

“It’ll only happen more often. We’ll need to prepare for crowds like Ning Ge’s,” Dong Ran said with a laugh.

At the mention of Ning Ge, Ming Zhu’s smile faded. “She was so harsh with her fans. How could she treat them like that?”

Seeing a fan pushed by a bodyguard and Ning Ge’s dismissive attitude left a bad impression on Ming Zhu.

“People who rise to fame overnight often act like that. They’re suddenly on top of the world and don’t think about the consequences,” Dong Ran said lightly. “More experienced stars know how to put on a show, even making ‘loving fans’ part of their persona. She’s just too young.”

And indeed, Ning Ge was young—only 21. The drama that made her famous was her debut, and her sudden rise to stardom was rare. It was understandable that she lacked experience in handling such situations.

“She’s pretty, but there’s something… off about her. She doesn’t seem like a proper girl,” Ji Wen commented.

As a stylist, Ji Wen focused more on a person’s aura than their looks. While Ning Ge was beautiful, her demeanor felt somewhat frivolous, which Ji Wen, as a woman, found off-putting.

Having worked with elegant and poised women from wealthy families, and with Jiang Xiaobai’s calm and graceful presence, Ji Wen couldn’t help but look down on Ning Ge’s type.

“If she’s properly groomed and polished after her rise, her aura might change,” Dong Ran remarked.

The group briefly discussed Ning Ge before moving on.

While scrolling through Weibo, Linglong suddenly exclaimed, “Oh no, Cai Cai messed up again.”

 

 

 

Chapter 230: Attracting Attention

“Hmm?” Jiang Xiaobai looked over.

“She went to a commercial performance and sang live, but netizens are calling it another trainwreck,” Linglong said, growing more interested as she played the video aloud.

The song Cai Cai sang in the video was a popular one from her former group, Rainbow Sisters, and was considered one of their signature tracks.

At the beginning, it sounded decent, but when it reached the high notes, it was clear she struggled. Her voice tightened and trembled, though it was still better than her performance on that variety show—at least she didn’t crack. It seemed she had practiced hard.

But vocal range is tricky. It’s heavily influenced by natural talent, and no amount of practice can fully compensate for those who are born with an advantage.

“This… is quite different from how she sang in the group. Her voice is nice, though,” Dong Ran frowned.

Cai Cai’s strength was her sweet voice, which was indeed her advantage.

“Yeah, in terms of skill, she really can’t compare to Xiao Qi. But I wonder what Xiao Qi’s been up to since the group disbanded. There’s been no news about her,” Ming Zhu tilted her head in thought.

“Maybe she’s preparing something big?” Linglong said casually, then continued scrolling through the comments under the video—

“Was she just coasting along before? Relying on Xiao Qi to carry her? Now that Xiao Qi’s gone, her true ability is exposed. With this kind of singing… she’s done for.”

“I’ve been supporting the wrong person. From now on, I’m only a fan of Xiao Qi. Goodbye, Cai Cai.”

“Ah, why hasn’t my Xiao Qi made an appearance yet? I miss her so much. It’s heartbreaking that she was held back for two years.”

“I suggest Cai Cai quit singing. Seriously, even actors who cross over into singing do better than her. Like Jiang Xiaobai and Chao Nan’s performance of Beyond the Illusions was pretty good.”

When Linglong read this comment, her heart skipped a beat, worried it might bring negative attention to Jiang Xiaobai. But after checking the replies, she was relieved to see many people agreed with the statement.

It seemed Cai Cai had lost all credibility. Her once-loyal fans had turned away, and her current situation was indeed awkward, with netizens showing little interest in her.

“Oh, Ning Ge’s news is trending!” Ming Zhu leaned over to look at Linglong’s phone and suddenly noticed a trending topic.

Linglong quickly clicked on it.

The hashtag “Ning Ge’s Bodyguard Pushes Fan at Airport” had just appeared but quickly climbed to the top of the trending list due to Ning Ge’s recent popularity, drawing widespread attention.

In just a short time, the comments had already surpassed 3,000.

The post was made by a passerby at the airport who had gone to pick up a friend and stumbled upon the large crowd of fans. Out of curiosity, he joined the crowd and managed to capture the moment the bodyguard pushed the fan.

The video, shot on a phone, wasn’t the clearest, but it was enough to show what happened.

In the video, it wasn’t clear that Xiao Ling had been pushed by someone else due to the crowd. She was seen rushing forward and then being harshly pushed back by the bodyguard, her hair accessories scattering and her gift falling to the ground.

The camera also caught Ning Ge, though it didn’t capture her muttered comment. It only showed her glancing at Xiao Ling, who was being helped up, before turning to her manager and leaving.

The comments were divided into two camps. One argued that fans should be rational—if you push forward, it’s no surprise you’d be pushed back. After all, the bodyguard’s job is to protect the artist, and he might not have been entirely wrong.

The other camp criticized the bodyguard for being too rough and Ning Ge for being cold-hearted, especially since it was a fan.

The latter camp seemed to have more supporters.

However, some comments also mentioned Jiang Xiaobai.

“With my sharp eyes, I can tell the woman who helped the fan is a beauty! That figure, those long legs—I’m curious.”

“Is she just a passerby? Doesn’t seem like it. She’s wrapped up so tightly, and the two tall people with her—are they bodyguards?”

“Could she be a celebrity too?”

But most attention remained on Ning Ge, with only occasional mentions of the mysterious woman who helped the fan, and those posts quickly faded.

The post gained traction not because it was bought, but because netizens naturally gravitate toward such news.

However, the tone gradually shifted.

Several influencers and magazine bloggers began criticizing artists for being cold to their fans, saying that “water can carry a boat but also capsize it,” and warning that those who achieve success shouldn’t look down on others. They also claimed such people wouldn’t last long.

Some bloggers specifically highlighted celebrities known for their “fan-loving” behavior, listing their heartwarming gestures toward fans, creating a stark contrast with Ning Ge.

By evening, the entire internet seemed to be criticizing Ning Ge.

Dong Ran saw through it—Ning Ge’s rapid rise had made her a target, and a rival likely seized this opportunity to bring her down.

Late at night, Ning Ge finally succumbed to the pressure and issued an apology.

She posted a video, her eyes slightly red as if she’d been crying. Dressed in white, she looked delicate and vulnerable.

“I want to apologize for today’s incident and to the fan who fell. My schedule was tight, and I was moved to see so many fans coming to the airport to support me, but I didn’t have time to interact. My manager and assistant repeatedly explained this to the fans, and most understood. However, some still pushed forward. My bodyguard acted too harshly, and that was wrong, but he was just doing his job to protect me. I’ve already reprimanded him…”

Ning Ge spoke earnestly in the video, her voice trembling at the end. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, as if wiping away tears, and bowed to the camera.

Her tearful, sincere apology softened many hearts, and netizens began expressing understanding.

The bodyguard’s mistake shouldn’t fall on the artist, and Ning Ge’s busy schedule made it understandable that she couldn’t attend to every fan.

Some even turned their anger toward Xiao Ling—

“I was there. Ning Ning and her team repeatedly told everyone not to push forward, but that girl in Hanfu kept trying to get closer. Who knows if she was a crazy fan with bad intentions? If I were the bodyguard, I’d have stopped her too. How can this be Ning Ning’s fault?”

“Cyberbullying is terrifying. Poor Ning Ning. Let’s protect her and leave her alone.”

 

 

Chapter 231: The Verdict

“Mindlessly chasing celebrities and causing trouble for their idols—such fans are better off not existing.”

“Our Ning Ge is kind-hearted. She was just too exhausted from her busy schedule to attend to her fans. Please understand and show some compassion. Thank you.”

At this moment, Jiang Xiaobai had already returned to the hotel where her crew was staying. When she browsed Weibo and saw these comments, she couldn’t help but frown.

Some fans always band together like this, controlling the comments section under their idol’s posts, making it seem like there’s unanimous support. Phrases like “Take our idol and leave” or “Respect their private life; focus on their work” are common.

While it might appear “united and organized,” it inevitably leaves a bad impression on casual observers.

Commenting under their idol’s posts is one thing, but some fans even go to other people’s posts to promote their idol. This behavior only backfires, turning neutral viewers into haters and damaging the idol’s public image.

This made Jiang Xiaobai think about her own fans.

She immediately brought this up with Dong Ran, Linglong, and Ming Zhu.

“So, you don’t like this kind of behavior?” Dong Ran asked after hearing her out.

“Yes. If they like me, they can just quietly follow and support me. They can chat about daily life or ask questions under my posts, and I can interact with them in fan groups. But they shouldn’t try to control the narrative or defend me blindly when something happens,” Jiang Xiaobai explained her thoughts.

Dong Ran and the others were quite surprised.

Why do some fans nowadays feel the need to control comments, leaving only formal, scripted defenses as if they were the artist’s managers? Isn’t it because the artists tacitly allow it?

Some artists even take pride in their fans’ blind defense, thinking it boosts their image. There are also artists who, when faced with controversies, stay silent, neither explaining nor admitting anything, leaving their fans to defend them. But when evidence surfaces, it’s incredibly awkward.

Yet, some fans still stubbornly defend their idols, often in a mindless manner, even arguing, “This is my idol’s private matter. Whether it’s true or not, it’s none of your business. Why should they explain or admit anything?”

Jiang Xiaobai felt this was a bad practice. Since she had thought of it now, she decided to take preventive measures.

“But what if negative news about you comes out? Should your fans just stay silent? Forget whether they can hold back—what would the media think?” Dong Ran agreed with her idea but saw potential issues in its implementation.

“If they can’t hold back, they can just post heart or flower emojis under my posts,” Jiang Xiaobai thought for a moment and said. “Also, if something serious happens, even if I don’t respond immediately, I’ll explain it to them in the fan group first. So, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I think this works. I’ll post an announcement in the group,” Ming Zhu nodded.

Now, the fan group was managed by Ming Zhu. Though she didn’t often appear, she occasionally showed up.

“Okay, add me to the group later.”

Ming Zhu agreed and immediately drafted an announcement, conveying Jiang Xiaobai’s thoughts in a polite tone.

The first to respond was the fan group leader, Mianmian. “Got it! I’ll pass it on to the members!”

Others were also stirred by Ming Zhu’s message.

“Little White Flower No. 5: Got it! We’ll do as Sister Ming Zhu says.”

“Cute Moon: Will Sister Xiaobai really come to the group to explain if there’s a controversy? That’s so exciting!”

“Big Juzi: Okay, okay, we’ll be good.”

“Lazy Cat: Caught Big Juzi! I heard you got Sister Xiaobai’s autograph? So jealous! I want to rob you!”

“Pissed to the Max: Not just one autograph—he posted a picture with five of them!”

“Little White Flower No. 99: Damn, share one with me! I’ll pay!”

“Big Juzi: All gone. I gave them away. Only one left for myself.”

“Xixi: Hehe, Juzi gave me one.”

As the group members chatted, they were shocked by a new message—Ming Zhu had invited Jiang Xiaobai to the group!

“Jiang Xiaobai Not So White: Hi, everyone!”

After Ming Zhu’s announcement, many lurkers had already surfaced. Now, with Jiang Xiaobai’s appearance, even more invisible members emerged, flooding the group with messages.

If it weren’t for Ming Zhu personally inviting her and Jiang Xiaobai’s familiar ID, they might have thought it was a fake account.

“Jiang Xiaobai Not So White: Thank you for your enthusiasm. Here’s a special little reward for you—the first five people to answer this question correctly will get a jade bead bracelet handmade by me (Ming Zhu will take screenshots as proof). The question is: What’s the name of the drama I’m currently filming?”

Some fans didn’t even see Jiang Xiaobai’s message before it was buried. Others saw the question but were too slow to answer, missing their chance. Some didn’t even remember the drama’s name and tried to search for it, but it was too late.

The five quick and dedicated fans who knew the answer secured the reward, overjoyed.

Ming Zhu posted screenshots of the winners in the group and asked them to send her their addresses privately.

The winners were ecstatic, while those who missed out were heartbroken.

“Jiang Xiaobai Not So White: Don’t worry, little ones who didn’t make it. There will be more rewards like this in the future. Also, thank you for meeting you all here. I appreciate your support.”

“Ming Zhu: Xiaobai has to go now, but she’ll be back to interact with you all later. Please take the time to read the announcement I posted earlier. We hope you can support Xiaobai in the way she prefers. It would mean a lot to us.”

The group members all agreed, promising to follow the guidelines.

But Ming Zhu knew that while they understood now, they might still act impulsively when something happened. It would take a few instances of guidance before they truly formed the habit.

Ming Zhu also privately messaged the group leaders, Mianmian and Juzi, asking them to enforce the announcement’s guidelines. They readily agreed.

After finishing the bracelets, Jiang Xiaobai handed them to Ming Zhu to arrange for mailing. She also made an extra one for Linglong, treating her the same as the five fans—all were calming charm bracelets.

Linglong didn’t think the bracelet would have any real effect but found it pretty and happily accepted it.

After all this, Jiang Xiaobai’s phone rang. It was Jiang Zhiyi calling.

“That little brat has been sentenced—three years. It’s a shame that’s the maximum penalty. I wish he could stay in there forever.”