Shrine - Chapter 85

Chapter 85

Replaced…

Ruan Ruan couldn't remember how she'd hung up the phone. She couldn't hear a word of Wu Mei's incessant chattering beside her. With restrained composure, she took out the Shrine script and began to read.

Scratching her ears, scratching her arms, scratching her hair. Her scalp itched terribly.

"Mei Mei, I want to wash my hair," she said, closing the script and running to the bathroom. Shampoo got into the corner of her eye. She tried to wipe it away with a wet hand, slick and damp. Water trickled from the corner of her eye to the corner of her mouth. It was a little salty. So this was what shampoo tasted like.

Even though it smelled so fragrant.

She scrubbed furiously at her messy hair, remembering the story of the fox spirit in the Shrine script. Could she use her long hair to make a deal with the fox spirit? To let her keep acting? She didn't want to go back to a life without Shrine. But she hadn't been sleeping well. Her hair wasn't beautiful anymore; it was dry and brittle. It couldn't be traded for something as precious as Shrine.

The more she cared about Shrine, the more she loathed her current state. She had asked Wu Mei to find her a therapist, but it hadn't helped. There was nothing wrong with her, no other symptoms—just anxiety, just poor sleep, just bad acting.

So how was she supposed to fight for it? It was clearly her own fault for not acting well. It was clearly her who was dragging down the entire production.

What would those people think of her? Especially since they knew she was a "connections hire," that she had brought investment to the project. Perhaps they had never truly thought she was suitable in the first place.

With her hair dripping wet, she stared at the Shrine script lying open on the sofa.

A breeze blew past, and the pages fluttered lightly. It was like a three-dimensional object, its pages capable of holding human greed. That greed kowtowed before gods and buddhas in the form of desire, begging the heavens for pity, for just a little more.

Were they worshipping gods and buddhas? No, they were worshipping the human heart.

People placed their hearts in silent, unmoving wooden carvings, turning them into high-sounding excuses.

Ruan Ruan couldn't stop herself from thinking: if someone took over, who would it be? If they needed someone immediately, it would have to be one of Dianxing's own artists. And under Dianxing Entertainment, besides Ruan Ruan, the most famous was Qi Yuan. Her image was a good fit, she didn't have many projects, and her schedule would be easy to arrange.

But Ruan Ruan had once overheard An Lu and the others mention in a meeting that the reason Qi Yuan hadn't participated in the Shrine anthology was because she had posted a comment on social media years ago that bordered on homophobic. Although it hadn't been exposed yet, someone could make an issue of it.

So, what if… what if someone exposed it now… Qi Yuan wouldn't be able to compete for the role…

A flame ignited in Ruan Ruan's heart, trembling like a flicking snake's tongue.

Plink. A drop of water fell from the ends of her hair, extinguishing the violet flame.

Ruan Ruan went to the bathroom, took out a hair-drying cap, and wrapped up her wet hair. She dried her hands and sat back down on the sofa to read the script.

Others had their own plans. Her last resort was to fix herself.

At sunset, another notice came: the production would shut down for two days for a short break. Thanks to An Lu's warning, Ruan Ruan didn't have much of a reaction. She noticed the kitten's food had gotten damp, so she went online to order more. She debated whether to buy a sealed container for the kibble, but then it occurred to her that if she moved back into the rental apartment with Wu Mei, the place was smaller, and the less stuff, the better. So she abandoned that option and bought two sealing clips instead.

That evening, Wu Mei returned with a bag of fruit. She had also picked up a package from the courier station on the way, which she placed in the entryway before going into the kitchen to wash grapes.

This time, she washed them very slowly. Ruan Ruan could hear the steady, uninterrupted sound of running water from the kitchen. She knew at once that the person washing the fruit was lost in thought.

She handed the grapes to Ruan Ruan and asked if she could turn on the TV. Ruan Ruan nodded. Wu Mei sat down beside her, picked up the remote, and turned on the television. She scrolled through the recommended titles on the home screen, from left to right, then from right to left.

Then she, too, raised a hand and began to scratch her nose, an unconscious gesture, just like how Ruan Ruan's ears had felt itchy.

Ruan Ruan could tell she had something to say. She continued flipping through her script while looking at her gently.

Only then did Wu Mei put down the remote. Bathed in the colorful light of the TV's home screen, she said, "Did you know, I heard… I heard."

Her voice was nasal as she sniffled and stammered. She glanced at Ruan Ruan, then reached for a grape. "I heard… that Shi Ran is here."

Ruan Ruan's heart skipped a beat. She frowned. Her first reaction was: impossible.

Shi Ran was very busy. And if she were coming, she would have told her. Wu Mei didn't know Shi Ran was her girlfriend, but they were really dating. Shi Ran wouldn't possibly come without telling her.

She forced herself to calm down. Her heart felt numb, but she took a breath. What if… what if it was a surprise? Right, the last time Shi Ran visited the set, she hadn't said anything beforehand either. It was Wu Mei who had told her then, too.

Ruan Ruan's eyes darted. Just as she was about to speak, she heard Wu Mei continue, "Didn't An Lu say they were going to replace someone? Well, it's… it's that investor meeting. It seems… it's to discuss whether to replace you… to discuss whether to replace Qiao Qiao."

She scratched the back of her head anxiously, her hair making a rustling sound.

After a moment, she added, "Ah, I know! Weren't we recommended by Shi Ran? She definitely wouldn't agree, right? I mean, replacing actors in the second season happens, but the original cast is always better. Look at all those shows—one cast change and they flop so hard their own mothers wouldn't recognize them. Green Bud says it's burning money not to replace you, but would a replacement have no costs? Isn't losing audience goodwill a cost? I'd advise them to think it through."

Wu Mei muttered under her breath, trying to convince Ruan Ruan as much as herself.

"Don't worry," Wu Mei said, having successfully talked herself down. She plucked a grape and ate it. "Do you know the investment ratio between Green Bud and Shi Ran? I don't know who has more, but I feel like Shi Ran has a lot of say. If she doesn't agree, the production team can't do anything."

As the person beside her talked on, Ruan Ruan kept checking her phone, opening her chat with Shi Ran, then opening her Moments, then opening Weibo to check for a change in Shi Ran's IP address—no change. She didn't know if it was because Shi Ran hadn't logged in, or if her arrival was just a false rumor.

An uncontrollable sourness swelled in her heart, as if someone were tossing lemons inside her, the juice spilling everywhere, twisting her chest until it felt like it would burst.

Finally, she left the WeChat conversation with Shi Ran open, waiting to see when the words "The other party is typing…" would appear.

This silent vigil was too tense, too suffocating. Wu Mei couldn't take it anymore. She turned off the TV, stood up, and said to Ruan Ruan, "I'm going to take a walk. And ask around a bit."

It was like waiting for college entrance exam results. Utterly torturous.

"I'll text you if I hear anything," Wu Mei said, zipping and unzipping her jacket. "If there's nothing, I'll head home. See you tomorrow. Let's have hot pot chicken tomorrow, how about that?"

"Okay." Ruan Ruan smiled and said goodbye.

The door clicked shut. She went back to reading the Shrine script.

Qiao Qiao, bewitched by the shrine, gave birth to a greedy ambition to climb higher. She and Shen Bai shared nights of passion again and again, and she had Shen Bai get her roles at opportune moments. Shen Bai didn't have many opportunities herself, but she recommended Qiao Qiao for a role in another drama. She had her own selfish motives: she wanted to use the lingering, ambiguous atmosphere between herself and Qiao Qiao to steer the three-female-lead drama in the direction of a CP between the first and third female leads, overshadowing the second.

Qiao Qiao lied to Shen Bai, saying she loved her; Shen Bai lied to Qiao Qiao, saying she loved her.

Ruan Ruan blinked. For a moment, she was dazed. Was the script really written like this? Or was she imagining it, based on herself and Shi Ran?

She wanted to find a pen to mark up the script, to read it again, when her phone vibrated.

Her heart leaped. She snatched it up and opened the message impatiently, only to see it was from An Lu.

"Things will be easier from now on. We'll go over the work schedule tomorrow."

The message was short, but it took Ruan Ruan longer to digest than the script.

Not until the sound of the smart lock's fingerprint recognition beeped did Ruan Ruan turn her head. Wu Mei was back. She was carrying another bag of fruit, which also contained grapes.

Before she left, Wu Mei had clearly said she was going home for the night. But now she was here.

Ruan Ruan understood instantly. Shi Ran had voted yes.

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