Holding Rong Guang’s phone, Chacha did as she was told and selected many of the pictures Rong Guang had saved, sending them to her grandma.
Xu Mingli wasn’t actually very good at using the apps on these smartphones, but Chacha had once taught her how to use the most basic functions of WeChat, including how to make payments—which was useful even in the mountains when she went to the market in town.
Xu Mingli loved this feature; it always felt as if she hadn’t spent any money at all.
Rong Guang would periodically transfer some money to Xu Mingli’s WeChat account for her daily purchases.
Chacha glanced at the recent transaction history between Rong Guang’s account and Xu Mingli’s, noticed that no money had been sent this month, and transferred a thousand yuan to her.
A video call from Xu Mingli came through almost instantly.
Chacha blinked, tapped the screen lightly, and said with a smile, “Hi, Grandma!”
“Hi, Chacha!” Xu Mingli beamed on the other side of the screen. The weather back home was good, with a bright moon and few stars, just a gentle breeze. The old woman was chatting idly with a few old friends, and when Xu Mingli answered the video call, they all crowded their heads into the frame.
“Oh, it’s little Chacha.” The old ladies greeted Chacha warmly.
Chacha responded to each of them, reassuring them that she was doing well—these elderly women would often send her a bowl of food, and though it was simple, it was because she was always running around for them.
A bowl of noodles would have long turned soggy on the journey from the village to the small wooden cabin on the mountain, but Chacha always ate it happily, because she knew it was even harder for the adults who brought her food up the mountain.
What was even rarer was the kindness of their hearts.
“How’s Guangguang doing?” Xu Mingli asked with a smile.
Chacha then turned the camera around and said, “Sister is working—see, Grandma? The one gesturing with people, that’s her. She’s in costume, she looks so beautiful.”
The action director was instructing Rong Guang and Chu Feiliang on their movements. They were about to film a shot where they flew sideways up a wall, turned around, and delivered a fierce blow to a pursuing assassin, knocking them down instantly.
Amid gasps of amazement, Chacha turned the phone back to herself, her eyes curved in a smile.
The old friends had already started praising the child along with Xu Mingli. After a short while, they began clamoring to play a few more rounds of mahjong to win back the money they had lost.
Xu Mingli was also delighted. After a few more words, she hung up, saying they would talk another day.
Before she did, Chacha said, “Grandma, remember to call me if you need anything. I’m always here.”
Xu Mingli nodded with a smile—she usually contacted Chacha directly anyway, partly because she was afraid of disturbing Rong Guang at work, and partly because she couldn’t reach her. Later on, she had started contacting Chacha directly for everything.
Chacha flexed her slightly sore cheeks from smiling, and after seeing Xu Mingli accept the money, she exited the interface and decided to check the recent news.
She was still a little worried that the hot-tempered, beautiful sister might stir up trouble.
“【The Eldest Princess】 Crew Makeup Artist, Driven by Unrequited Love, Attempts to Ruin Goddess’s Face…” After Chacha read it aloud, the information from the sentence finally registered in her mind.
“Huh?” Chacha was puzzled.
Then she clicked on the story that was pinned at the very top and read it carefully.
Afterward, Chacha’s face was full of amazement. She turned to Rong Guang, who had sat down next to her at some point, and said, “Sister Guangguang, look.”
Chacha held up the phone as if presenting a treasure, her eyes shining brightly. “It has nothing to do with us?”
“It never had anything to do with us in the first place.” Rong Guang gently tapped Chacha’s nose and said with a smile, “The media is really something else…”
It was a mystery where the media had dug up this information, but they had managed to uncover the fact that Mao Xiaosong had an unrequited love for Jiang Ruyi, and even concocted a whole saga of love and resentment.
With nothing better to do, Rong Guang scrolled down and saw a piece of information at the very bottom: “According to an insider from the crew, Mao Xiaosong had repeatedly purchased Jiang Ruyi’s personal items, including intimate apparel, through a middleman. This constitutes an invasion of privacy. For multiple offenses, he was sentenced to one year and three months in prison and fined twenty thousand yuan.”
“People really shouldn’t do bad things. Retribution came so quickly,” Chacha said with a sigh. Not long ago, she had thought Mao Xiaosong’s sentence was too light, and today it had become over a year.
Rong Guang handed the phone back to Chacha and nodded. “You’re absolutely right.”
Chu Feiliang happened to overhear this sentence and couldn’t help but laugh. “What bad things are you two planning to do?”
Rong Guang hadn’t expected Chu Feiliang to hear that exact sentence. Her face flushed, and she said quietly, “Not us, it’s today’s news…”
Because many public figures were involved, the police investigation was exceptionally fast. Fearing their superiors would catch wind of it, they concluded the matter in less than a week and were now handling the transfer procedures for Mao Xiaosong, preparing to escort him back to his hometown for detention.
After reading the news, Chu Feiliang was quiet for a moment. She thought for a bit and said, “Let’s go thank the director.”
Rong Guang was stunned for a moment, then instantly understood what she hadn’t before—the production team must have intentionally protected her. In all the news reports, there was not a single trace of her personal involvement. Any mention of her was related to her character or her absence from the NO.1 concert.
Rong Guang thought for a moment and said, “Then I’ll formally find the director another day…”
“Ah, no need.” Chu Feiliang smiled, propped her chin on her hand, and thought for a moment. She then stood up from her chair and said, “Follow me, I’ll take you there.”
So Rong Guang followed behind Chu Feiliang with small steps, listening as she said, “Zhang Nanchuan isn’t the type who likes to engage in pleasantries in private. Protecting you or not was just a matter of his word. You should remember it, but there’s no need to make a big deal out of it. Just go thank him and that’ll be the end of it.”
Just as Chu Feiliang had said, when Zhang Nanchuan saw them approaching together, he had already guessed Rong Guang’s intention.
The Eldest Princess crew had a dedicated publicity team, and the backend data was constantly being monitored. They controlled the news keywords for the entire drama. The moment those three words appeared, Zhang Nanchuan, as the head director, already knew the whole story from beginning to end.
Sure enough, he waved his hand dismissively at Rong Guang and said, “Skip the pleasantries. Instead of wasting time on useless things for me, you’d be better off focusing on your acting. Your work is more important than anything. It not only makes me successful, but more importantly, it makes you successful. Don’t waste your talent.”
Rong Guang nodded in agreement but still thanked the director solemnly.
On the way back, Chu Feiliang had her hands in her pockets. Her eyes looked somewhat lazy due to the day’s fatigue.
Rong Guang took a few quick steps forward and said, “Sister, is the reason Director Zhang helped me related to his daughter?”
“Hmm?” Chu Feiliang paused, then frowned and said, “Probably a little.”
Zhang Nanchuan couldn’t stand seeing young girls being bullied, nor could he tolerate a young girl getting into trouble in his crew, right under his nose. Besides, Rong Guang had just turned eighteen. In every sense of the word, she was still a child in this industry.
The conflict of interest between Jiang Ruyi and Mao Xiaosong was obvious to any discerning person, and this incident had crossed Zhang Nanchuan’s line.
Even if the person involved hadn’t been Rong Guang, but someone else, Zhang Nanchuan would have protected them just the same.
He just didn’t like to give face to people who used crooked means.
Rong Guang sighed. Knowing it was useless, she still couldn’t help but ask, “After all these years, they haven’t found a single trace of that child?”
“No.” Chu Feiliang frowned. “The child was just over two when she was taken. Her features hadn’t even fully formed. If they couldn’t find her in the first few years, it became much harder later. Zhang Nanchuan has been paying to keep her notice on the homepage of a missing persons website for years, but there hasn’t been a single clue. The Skynet surveillance system wasn’t as advanced back then, and the car was an unlicensed black car. How could they trace it?”
Rong Guang nodded glumly and said, “Director Zhang must be a good father.”
“I don’t know if he’s a good father.” Chu Feiliang tilted her head up and said, “But his guilt towards his child and wife is real.”
Rong Guang pursed her lips and didn’t ask any more about Zhang Nanchuan’s wife. It would be like rubbing salt in a wound. Asking too much would put Chu Feiliang in a difficult position, as some things involved Zhang Nanchuan’s private life, making it awkward for her to say anything.
However, Rong Guang felt it probably wasn’t too hard to guess.
What parent wouldn’t be devastated to have their child snatched from right under their nose? What parent wouldn’t blame themselves, thinking that if only they had been more careful, or run a little faster, maybe the child wouldn’t have been taken?
These are scars buried deep by time, impossible to heal. They don’t even need to be torn open; a light touch is enough to make them bleed.
The Weibo post about The Eldest Princess crew was pushed to the top of the trending list.
Since ancient times, what people love most is watching drama. The internal conflicts and feuds within a group, things that netizens can’t see on the surface, are all the more intriguing and attention-grabbing.
“The Captain really can’t stay out of trouble no matter where she goes,” Tang Shi said while waiting backstage, seeing the news pushed to her phone during a break.
Yi Chun leaned over to look. “What’s going on?”
“Here, see for yourself.” Tang Shi tossed her the phone. “Didn’t the company say the Captain was going to film a drama? She’s even skipping our last few tour dates… Turns out she went to The Eldest Princess crew.”
Yi Chun looked at it. Seeing no one around, she returned the phone to Tang Shi, a worried look on her face. “The Captain is filming to transition her career. What are we going to do in the future…?”
The door curtain was lifted from the outside. Duan Nong walked in, head down. She glanced at the two who fell silent upon her entry. “What were you two talking about just now? What ‘what are we going to do in the future’?”
“Nothing.” Yi Chun forced a smile. “We were just wondering how we’ll get together after the farewell concert at the end of the year.”
“Get together?” Duan Nong scoffed. “We can’t even see the Captain at a four-person concert. What’s there to get together for?!”
“Speaking of which,” Tang Shi looked at Duan Nong’s expression and lowered her eyes. “Nongnong, did you see today’s news?”
“What news?” Duan Nong frowned and took her phone out of her pocket. “Where’s the news? Trending topics? The company has money to buy us a spot? Weren’t they planning to wait until the end of the year to do it all at once…”
Her voice trailed off as she clicked on the trending topic.
#RongGuangAbsentFromNO.1Concert#
#TheEldestPrincessWenMouRongGuang#
#JiangRuyiTearsIntoTheEldestPrincessCrewQuestioningTheirShelteringOfRongGuangLeadingToHerDisfigurement#
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