Ji Dongyang glanced at her hand. Sometimes, this girl’s stubbornness was borderline terrifying. He spoke slowly.

“Not terrible. Still salvageable.”

Zhou Yining blinked. “…Okay.”

She knew his standards were high—even for opponents—but still, that little verdict stung.

Ji Dongyang rarely saw her look so disheartened. The corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Every actor has to be tempered before they can grow. So-called genius actors are rare. If you’re serious about this, you’ll get better. Steadily.”

Zhou Yining’s eyes widened. She couldn’t believe he, of all people, would say something like that to her.

Words like these were typical of a senior encouraging a junior. If Zhou Yining were a bit more docile on the regular, Ji Dongyang—given his status and temper—might’ve offered her pointers more often.

A’ming had been waiting in the car for a while, and Dong-ge still hadn’t shown. When he finally got out to check, he saw that little witch who’d been sobbing in Dong-ge’s arms yesterday, now tugging on his sleeve.

He’d already seen the gossip online. If anyone caught sight of them like this, it’d be a field day for rumors!

He called out, “Dong-ge, we’re running out of time!”

Ji Dongyang slipped his hand free and strode briskly toward the car.

Zhou Yining stood rooted for a second, then suddenly smiled and turned to her vehicle. Time was tight today—even A’ming, usually a slow driver, had picked up the pace. Zhou Yining considered it, then effortlessly overtook him.

After what happened yesterday, showing up to the set together just wouldn’t look right.

A’ming was long used to being overtaken by her, but still couldn’t resist grumbling. “Zhou the Little Witch drives like a maniac. Hard to believe she’s the same girl who was bawling her eyes out yesterday. She looked so pitiful, even I felt a little sorry for her.”

Ji Dongyang glanced at the Range Rover ahead. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he wouldn’t believe it either.

The harder the shell, the softer the core. Maybe that didn’t fit Zhou Yining exactly, but everyone had a fragile side. When he thought about it like that, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

He pulled down his eye mask and closed his eyes.

That little witch had stolen more than an hour of his sleep last night.

When Zhou Yining arrived outside the set, a crowd of reporters had already gathered—far more than usual. Her brows furrowed. Don’t tell me they’re here for me and Ji Dongyang…

She parked quickly and rushed to change and get her makeup done.

The makeup artist looked her over. “Not bad. You cried so hard yesterday, but your eyelids aren’t swollen.”

Seriously? Could you not bring that up?

Zhou Yining had made it through all the “concerned” glances from the crew. She’d planned to act like yesterday never happened. But even the makeup artist had to poke fun.

She forced a smile. “I still have to cry later. Might swell up after that.”

The makeup artist chuckled. “Everyone’s saying you had a breakup. Is that true?”

She hadn’t even dated anyone—how could she have broken up?

Zhou Yining smiled. “Nope.”

When everyone’s teasing you, you’ve got to grow thicker skin. That’s the only way to survive with a smile.

While she waited to go on, Wan Wei arrived.

Zhou Yining had a healthy respect for this gold-tier agent. She stood obediently, ready for a scolding. But Wan Wei had already unloaded her fury earlier this morning. Now, she mostly came to see whether Zhou Yining could pull off today’s crying scene.

Wan Wei eyed her. “It’s just a crying scene. Most girls can cry on cue like it’s nothing. But with you, it’s like asking you to ascend to heaven.”

Zhou Yining offered a faint smile. “I’m not one to cry. Just not used to it.”

Yesterday had been…circumstantial. Suppressed emotions could erupt when pushed too far.

Wan Wei looked her over again.

Zhou Yining lowered her head and let out a soft laugh. “Crying won’t get me comforted or pitied. It’s ugly, too. Might as well laugh instead.”

Wan Wei gave her a light smack. “You’re just a little girl. Having so many deep thoughts isn’t a good thing.”

Zhou Yining raised her head and smiled, one brow arched. “Not thoughts—feelings.”

But the scene still had to be shot. No getting around that.

Director Xu looked at Zhou Yining. A man in his forties, with a daughter around her age, he’d been furious yesterday seeing her cry like that. But today, he was surprisingly gentle. He walked her through the scene one more time. Everything was ready. Cameras rolled.

Ji Dongyang glanced at her—there was something different in her eyes today. She was fully in character.

All eyes were on Zhou Yining.

The moment tears welled in her eyes, the atmosphere shifted. Everyone held their breath, half-afraid she’d burst into full-on sobs again and cling to Ji Dongyang like yesterday.

Ji Dongyang, who had experienced it firsthand, shared that concern.

But Zhou Yining’s performance was unexpectedly good. Every expression, every line, is on point. She played a wronged beauty on the verge of tears, her sorrow lingering just beneath the surface. When the tear finally slipped down her cheek, it was flawless.

Even Director Xu was shocked. Behind Camera 2, he clenched a fist in excitement.

Zhou Yining was the most unpredictable actress on set—hit or miss. But today?

She nailed it.

Director Xu clapped. “Cut! Perfect!”

Even Wan Wei was stunned. This girl can’t act? I should upload this and slap every troll in the face.

As Zhou Yining pulled back from Ji Dongyang’s chest, she rubbed her cheek against him a little.

Ji Dongyang: “…”

You’ve gotten used to this now?

Then she lifted her head.

No trace of yesterday’s tear-streaked mess remained. Her phoenix eyes sparkled, lashes damp, alluring and bright.

She grinned, a little smug. “We got the take.”

Her smile was clean and radiant. Ji Dongyang turned away. “Mm.”

Director Xu called them over to review the playback.

As they walked together, Zhou Yining chirped, “Hey, Ji Dongyang—can’t you praise me just once?”

He ignored her and strode ahead.

Zhou Yining scrunched her nose at his back. What’s so hard about a little praise?!

During the break, Wan Wei’s mood had improved. “Looks like I picked the wrong day to visit. Missed yesterday’s meltdown, but you did well today.”

Zhou Yining gave a modest smile. “Guess I finally unlocked my crying mode.”

Wan Wei immediately poured cold water on her. “Don’t get cocky. You rarely nail a scene in one take.”

Zhou Yining: “…”

Fair point.

The next scene focused on minor characters. Ji Dongyang had long since returned to his dressing room.

After sending Wan Wei off, Zhou Yining made a beeline for his lounge.

Ji Dongyang had just finished a cup of coffee. Instead of resting, he was reading the script.

She slipped in, brewed her coffee, and sat across from him.

He glanced up. “Since when did this become your lounge, too?”

Zhou Yining cupped her face in both hands and smiled. “It’s so spacious. One more person won’t crowd you.”

She wasn’t short—five foot five, pretty standard. But she was slender, with a delicate frame and a palm-sized face. She didn’t take up much space.

A’ming, watching from the side, couldn’t take it anymore. “Miss Zhou, you barging into Dong-ge’s lounge like this is bound to cause misunderstandings.”

Zhou Yining rolled her eyes. What is it with A’ming and Yang Xun guarding him like he’s some national treasure?

Ji Dongyang didn’t even look up. “He’s right.”

Zhou Yining pouted, finished her coffee, clapped her hands, and stood. “Fine, I’m leaving.”

She reached the door, then spun back around, beaming. “Movie King, I’m buying drinks again tonight.”

A’ming: “……???”

What the hell? He whipped his head toward Ji Dongyang.

Zhou Yining walked out, grinning ear to ear.

Avoiding suspicion on set, huh? No need for that at home. You live right next door, after all.

A’ming was still baffled. He turned to Ji Dongyang. “Dong-ge… Did you drink with the little witch last night?”

Ji Dongyang furrowed his brows, saying nothing.

He had.