Mad Dog

Chapter 61: Return – It seemed like she was seeing seventeen-year-old Jiang Qi again

Yue Yuan was the daughter of one of the “three giants” of domestic media companies, born into privilege and endowed with resources. Since entering the cutthroat entertainment industry, she had been pampered and supported all the way.

With her powerful background, she was backed by a million-strong team of online fans, needing no followers; her biggest ‘financial backer’ was her own father.

Thus, she had no need to understand the unspoken rules of the industry or engage in unspoken agreements. She didn’t need to use her body to gain advantages or accompany others to secure endorsements.

Because of the big shots behind her, everyone in the industry would respectfully address her as ‘Sister Yuan,’ but in reality, Yue Yuan was about the same age as Jiang Qi.

She didn’t deserve the title of ‘sister’; it was merely flattery.

Yet, Yue Yuan had lived in this mirage-like ivory tower, becoming accustomed to such virtual adoration.

One could say Jiang Qi’s words represented the greatest blow she had suffered since entering the industry three years ago.

—To think that even Wang Zhaoqiu wouldn’t directly say she was a poor actress given her powerful background.

And now… Jiang Qi actually said he didn’t remember her.

Was her face really so unrecognizable? The ‘I don’t remember’ struck her like a hammer, leaving her a fragile, simple-hearted girl. In an instant, her fingers couldn’t help but tighten around her handbag, knuckles turning white.

“I—I’m…” Yue Yuan hesitated for a moment and even tentatively tried to remind Jiang Qi again: “We met last time in Director Wang Zhaoqiu’s audition room, probably around October last year.”

“Ms. Yue.” Jiang Qi stood up, and the strong pressure from his presence made Yue Yuan instinctively take a small step back. However, the boy’s tone was very polite, chillingly polite: “Do you need something from me?”

Ms. Yue? Why did this title make her seem so mature?

Yue Yuan’s thoughts wandered, and she instinctively replied, “No need to be so formal; just call me by my name.”

However, Jiang Qi frowned, feeling they weren’t that familiar yet.

He instinctively tilted his head, catching a glimpse of a certain ‘hiding’ figure not far away, and his expression almost transformed dramatically from frozen to blooming.

Jiang Qi no longer cared about the awkwardness brought on by this woman’s stumbling appearance; he hurried over to Zhi Qi and looked at her excitedly, “What are you doing here?”

With his long legs and quick strides, Zhi Qi, still focused on Yue Yuan, was caught off guard as he grabbed her.

His strength was considerable, and in his excitement, he was careless. Zhi Qi was wearing slightly heeled shoes today, and she nearly lost her balance from his pull—thankfully, Jiang Qi securely wrapped his arm around her slender waist.

“…Let go first.” With people coming and going, many eyes turned their way. Zhi Qi pushed him away a bit awkwardly, her voice muffled behind her mask: “I just came since I had no classes.”

Nearby, Yue Yuan turned to watch their interaction, her complexion gradually paling.

A person as cold as Jiang Qi would show such affection toward someone else; it was easy to guess that the girl in his arms was his rumored girlfriend. At that moment, she felt she had no position to stay there.

Just at this incredibly awkward moment, Qu Heng, who had been informed by staff that ‘Yue Yuan was looking for him,’ emerged from the back and, unsurprisingly, saw Yue Yuan’s figure. He interjected, breaking the silence: “Xiao Yuan, you’re looking for me?”

In truth, he wasn’t familiar with Yue Yuan and only called her ‘Xiao Yuan’ due to her father, Yue Zhongze’s, reputation. But what did she want from him?

“…” Finding a casual excuse, Yue Yuan, seeing that Qu Heng had actually come out, smiled and said, “Oh, nothing, just passing by and thought I’d stop in to take a look.”

“Came to visit the set?” Qu Heng smiled: “It’s a break right now; the next scene won’t start for a bit. Please wait.”

Yue Yuan quickly seized this excuse to find a reason to say she ‘had something else to do’ and left, her background almost resembling a hasty retreat.

“???” Qu Heng scratched his head in confusion at Yue Yuan’s actions, mumbling, “What’s going on?”

As he pondered, he unconsciously glanced over and spotted Zhi Qi, still wearing a mask, standing next to Jiang Qi.

Qu Heng froze for a moment. Even though the girl was wearing a mask, just from her bright black eyes, he recognized her as the girl who had cried for Jiang Qi at the hospital over half a year ago. Her name was Zhi Qi, and she was also Jiang Qi’s girlfriend.

After a moment’s thought, Qu Heng walked over to greet her.

Jiang Qi, hearing his voice, looked up: “Director Qu.”

“Have a seat.” Qu Heng waved his hand, not letting Jiang Qi stand, and shifted his gaze to Zhi Qi, teasing, “Your girlfriend came to visit?”

Zhi Qi remembered Qu Heng, so she took off her mask and politely smiled: “Hello, Director Qu.”

“No need to be so formal.” Qu Heng nodded slightly, pondering for a moment when he was about to say something, but the crew called for the filming to start.

Once the words ‘filming’ rang through the set, Jiang Qi would enter an ‘immersed’ state. He removed the towel draped around his neck and reluctantly ruffled Zhi Qi’s hair with his long fingers: “I’m heading over.”

“Mm.” Zhi Qi wasn’t used to being so close to him in public and shyly smiled, softly saying, “I’ll watch you.”

She quite enjoyed standing outside the spotlight while closely observing Jiang Qi’s ‘immersed’ state—that was a completely different Jiang Qi, full of his unique charm.

This scene was where the male lead, Chen Si, worked part-time during college.

Jiang Qi had never attended college, so he put in effort to study this part of the script. During that time, he often asked Zhi Qi what college was like and how to navigate it. Zhi Qi even took him to Lan University to attend several open classes.

The girl occasionally used her ‘connections’ to help him obtain a student ID.

Just like Jiang Qi often helped her get work IDs.

Now, Jiang Qi was wearing the simplest white T-shirt and black pants, donning the prop glasses from the script, and in the spotlight of the constructed library, he truly looked like a college student.

His youthful vitality was fully displayed, unrestrained when it was meant to be showcased.

Watching Jiang Qi focus on reading, his long fingers occasionally adjusting the glasses, Zhi Qi felt a slight daze.

—It seemed like she was seeing the seventeen-year-old Jiang Qi.

The boy had always been about the same slender build, but he seemed much tenser and more burdened back then, as if living in constant anxiety while seriously studying.

Jiang Qi had truly hoped to change his fate through studying, but unfortunately, that dream was abruptly cut short.

When she heard Qu Heng behind the camera softly say ‘nice,’ Zhi Qi couldn’t help but smile and added quietly, “Actually, Jiang Qi used to be a great student.”

“Hmm? You were classmates before?” Qu Heng, upon hearing this, silently handed the camera to the assistant director beside him and walked over to stand next to Zhi Qi, looking at Jiang Qi in the spotlight and whispering, “He really was good at studying?”

“Really. He was first place in every exam in high school.”

Even now, remembering this made Zhi Qi feel some regret as she lowered her gaze: “But he stopped studying later.”

As for the reason for his cessation of studies, everyone knew without needing to elaborate.

Qu Heng, however, seemed contemplative. He looked at the engrossed boy under the spotlight, squinting slightly—initially thinking Jiang Qi was ‘immersed,’ but now it seemed more likely he was performing as himself.

If Zhi Qi hadn’t mentioned it, he wouldn’t have realized that Jiang Qi had actually been a top student.

No wonder… no wonder the boy had such a strong sense of morality. Qu Heng couldn’t help but recall how Jiang Qi returned with a mindset of redemption but refused to accept any pay.

If not for fate’s teasing, he would likely have become a well-rounded individual.

Though from Qu Heng’s professional perspective, Jiang Qi wasn’t doing poorly now—fate was indeed mysterious. Perhaps, if everything had gone according to plan, Jiang Qi might not have had the opportunity to enter the entertainment industry, and this ‘purple micro star’ wouldn’t have fallen from the sky.

However, standing from his perspective, both professionally and personally, Qu Heng felt he owed Jiang Qi another form of ‘compensation.’

So the man narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to Zhi Qi and softly asking, “Miss Zhi, would you mind sharing some of Jiang Qi’s past with me? I want to… understand his history to help design the script better, making it easier for him to get into character.”