Chapter 402: New Teammates, New Combination, Marching Into the Gaming Market

Huosiyan spent a while asking around before learning that Zhang Meng wasn’t in Beijing—she was shooting a drama in Hengdian.

No one knew how she pulled strings, but she’d crashed into the “Empresses in the Palace” crew and landed a supporting role as Consort Xin.

Huosiyan acted fast, roped in a friend shooting in Hengdian, and hurried off to visit the set.

But upon arriving in Hengdian, she found no shortage of familiar faces.

Huosiyan held shares in Huayi and received pocket money from Yanli; while not wealthy beyond measure, she never lacked for cash.

With little ambition for her career, she turned down unsuitable roles and focused instead on commercial ads and Weibo events.

As previously noted, Huosiyan was a trending figure on Weibo, with follower counts among the highest, making her a prime partner for the platform.

Stars hotter than her either had no time, weren’t close enough to Weibo, or lacked sufficient popularity and influence on the platform.

Huosiyan had strong Weibo presence, ample availability, and close ties—she was always eager to support Weibo’s initiatives.

Over time, their collaboration grew tight; Huosiyan had effectively become a representative Weibo artist, appearing regularly in nearly every Weibo-related event.

Huosiyan didn’t participate in these events for free—there were plenty of benefits.

Among internet giants, Weibo had relatively low direct profits, but its traffic was enormous, its resource leverage immense, and its synergy with stars exceptionally strong.

At Weibo’s current scale, even a tiny trickle from its fingers was enough to make Huosiyan feast till her lips dripped grease.

So despite rarely shooting dramas now, she actually earned more than when she was actively acting.

She’d once considered launching a streetwear brand with Li Xiaolu, leveraging their fame and traffic to sell goods.

Huosiyan lived comfortably, but other stars lacked her luck, connections, and resources—so to earn more, they had to keep acting.

The film and TV market was just beginning to explode: more dramas were being shot, more roles available, and waves of stars settled into Hengdian.

Huosiyan claimed she came to visit Zhao Ke, but discovered Ma Yili, Xiong Naijin, and Yang Mi—all from the Teddy Sisterhood—were there too.

Only Yang and Xiong were actually shooting; Ma Yili was there to accompany her husband.

Wen Zhang had taken a drama shoot in Hengdian; with no work of her own, she’d brought her child along to keep him company.

Huosiyan hadn’t shot in ages; her closest friend Qin Lan hadn’t joined a set in over a year since giving birth, and Li Xiaolu was a classic three-days-on, two-days-off type.

Seeing her sisters working so hard suddenly made her feel pressured—she began wondering if she should join a set too.

But after dinner, when they discussed their paychecks, Huosiyan dropped the idea.

Aside from the red-hot Yang Mi, the others worked themselves to exhaustion for months and earned barely what Huosiyan made from one or two ads.

Even Yang Mi, despite Yi’an’s resource support and higher earnings, hadn’t yet become a mega-star—her income still hadn’t surpassed Huosiyan’s by a wide margin.

And don’t forget Yang Mi’s work intensity!

She worked almost nonstop for half a year—even meeting friends for late-night snacks meant showing up in full costume and makeup from her drama.

Yang Mi earned more than she did, but Huosiyan didn’t envy her—she was literally risking her life; Huosiyan preferred her own comfortable, modest earnings.

After soaking up some superiority among her sisters, Huosiyan headed to the “Empresses in the Palace” set the next day.

There were so many actresses on the set that even if she wasn’t close to them, she could still chat easily—she slipped right in.

Originally, Huosiyan had planned to head straight for Zhang Meng, but she arrived just as Jiang Xin was filming the scene where Consort Hua knelt outside the palace, begging for her brother’s mercy—she immediately forgot her urgency and happily watched from the side.

Jiang Xin knelt at the door, building emotion, when she suddenly felt someone staring—she turned and saw Huosiyan filming her with her phone, nearly jumping out of her skin.

“Director, can you ask unrelated people to leave? They’re disrupting the shoot.”

Jiang Xin knew Huosiyan would talk nonsense if she engaged directly, so she went straight to the director.

Huosiyan rolled her eyes: “I’m eight feet away and not even in frame—is that really necessary?”

Jiang Xin ignored her: “Director, there’s an outsider here—I can’t get into character.”

“Uh, Siyan, could you come over here for a second?”

Zheng Xiaolong had no choice but to call Huosiyan over—they knew each other, and Huosiyan, out of courtesy, grumbled a few words before walking over to greet the director, then watched the drama through the monitor.

Jiang Xin was furious, but chasing Huosiyan away now would look bad—everyone was watching—so she forced herself to calm down and continue filming.

Perhaps because of Huosiyan’s interference, Jiang Xin’s performance was off—she had to film it five or six times before they got a take.

As soon as the scene wrapped, Jiang Xin rubbed her knees and stormed over to confront Huosiyan.

“You short little brat—you came here to pick a fight, didn’t you?”

Jiang Xin and Huosiyan’s feud was public knowledge; their earlier exchange had been thick with tension, and savvy actors and crew had already cleared out—Jiang Xin had no restraint and launched straight into insults.

“Stop being so self-important—I don’t care about you. I just happened to walk by and glanced over.”

Huosiyan sneered: “But how did you even win that White Orchid Best Actress award? So watered-down—this scene took so many takes. Maybe I should teach you how to act.”

In terms of acting skill, Huosiyan couldn’t match Jiang Xin—but when it came to crying scenes, she still had a few tricks.

Especially this scene—Consort Hua begging, playing the victim—required tears so pitiful they’d make anyone weep, which was exactly Huosiyan’s forte.

“No thanks. If you’ve got time, focus on learning how to kiss ass.”

Jiang Xin had looked down on Huosiyan since filming “The Seven Fairies,” and still did—she mocked Huosiyan as Qin Lan’s lapdog.

Huosiyan laughed coldly: “I kiss ass because I enjoy it—better than some people who once groveled at someone’s feet calling them ‘sister,’ only to be dumped and ignored now.”

Huosiyan was Qin Lan’s lapdog; Jiang Xin had once been Dong Xuan’s little sister too—but now, because of Yanli, Dong Xuan refused to associate with Jiang Xin, and Huosiyan used that to taunt her.

Jiang Xin lacked Huosiyan’s experience and had a volatile temper—this jab left her face dark with rage, nearly lunging at her.

“What are you doing? What do you think you’re doing? Try touching me once.”

Huosiyan shouted back but kept stepping backward—physically, she was shorter and lighter; if they fought, Jiang Xin could crush her.

At that moment, Liu Tao, dressed in yellow imperial robes, noticed the tension and hurried over to grab Jiang Xin’s arm.

“Don’t act rashly—everyone’s watching.”

Jiang Xin took a breath, glared at Huosiyan: “Don’t let me see you again.”

With that, she turned and left. Liu Tao glanced at Huosiyan, half-warning, half-advising:

“The set’s full of people—news doesn’t stay hidden. If you want to trend, keep provoking. If it blows up, no one wins.”

With that, Liu Tao chased after Jiang Xin. Huosiyan frowned—she hadn’t heard these two were close. When had they become friends?

Jiang Xin… Liu Tao…

Huosiyan, thinking in her own terms, wondered if there was something between them—but quickly dismissed it.

Liu Tao was married, and Yanli never touched women who were taken—probably just good friends.

Even Wang Ou, the most socially connected, didn’t just drag every woman toward Yanli—she had plenty of normal friends too.

Others were the same: the Teddy Sisterhood, deeply entangled with Qin and Huosiyan, was rumored to be Yanli’s harem—but in truth, fewer than a third had any real connection to him.

Huosiyan chatted briefly with Sun Li and two other familiar actors, then went to find Zhang Meng.

Meanwhile, Liu Tao patiently calmed Jiang Xin’s lingering anger.

This time, Jiang Xin had taken the role of Empress in “Empresses in the Palace,” and had contributed significantly.

Through this connection, and their good rapport on set, they’d become friends.

Jiang Xin was blunt, hot-tempered, and hard to get along with—but Liu Tao was gentle, thoughtful, and had her own reasons to seek Jiang Xin’s favor, so she was extremely patient.

Yet Liu Tao didn’t surrender dominance to Jiang Xin like Yang Xue did—she didn’t occupy the submissive role in their relationship.

Instead, she used softness to gradually wrest control, like water wearing down stone.

Jiang Xin knew her own flaws and deeply sympathized with and admired Liu Tao’s resilience and courage in bearing debt—so, unconsciously, she began seeing Liu Tao as a confidante.

Thus, their dynamic was fascinating.

On the surface, Jiang Xin appeared dominant, and Liu Tao seemed to rely on her help—she was the core. But in truth, Liu Tao often swayed Jiang Xin’s thoughts, even making Jiang Xin listen to her.

Today was proof: Jiang Xin’s temper, after clashing with her old enemy Huosiyan, would normally require Yanli himself to soothe her with effort and hard tactics.

But Liu Tao simply calmed her with words alone—though Jiang Xin wasn’t fully pacified, her emotions had cooled considerably.

“Tao-jie, why did that short little brat Huosiyan suddenly show up at our set?”

Liu Tao was five years older than Jiang Xin and played the wise older sister role—so Jiang Xin called her Tao-jie, sometimes even affectionately “Tao-tao.”

Now that she’d calmed down, her intelligence returned—Jiang Xin began wondering why Huosiyan had come to “Empresses in the Palace.”

It couldn’t be just to watch her film Consort Hua’s plea—too boring, and Huosiyan shouldn’t even know what scene she was shooting today.

“Don’t rush—I’ve already assigned Xiao Li to follow her.”

Jiang Xin had been so blinded by anger at Huosiyan that she hadn’t noticed—Liu Tao hadn’t been caught up in the moment. From the start, she’d sensed something off, knew their feud, and had already ordered her assistant to keep tabs on Huosiyan, just in case.

“Tao-jie, you’re so thoughtful.”

Jiang Xin gave a thumbs-up—she didn’t call Liu Tao “sister” just because of her charm and soft tactics.

To be blunt, with Jiang Xin’s current fame, too many people were eager to flatter her.

Jiang Xin valued Liu Tao not just for her kindness and patience, but because she was sharp and clever—she helped Jiang Xin manage relationships, boosted her popularity, and even devised strategies to deal with her enemies.

On the “Empresses in the Palace” set, Jiang Xin had clashed with the lead actress Sun Li several times without losing ground—Liu Tao was largely responsible.

They chatted a while longer, then Liu Tao glanced at her phone, slightly surprised.

“She chatted briefly with Sun Li and the others, then went to find Zhang Meng. They talked for a while—Xiao Li’s still following her.”

“Zhang Meng?”

Jiang Xin remembered her vaguely—beautiful, good with people, got along well with several main cast members. Why was Huosiyan seeking her out? Was the Teddy Sisterhood recruiting?

Liu Tao didn’t understand Huosiyan’s motive either, but she thought it worth approaching Zhang Meng, to probe her intentions.

They were on the same set—just a casual chat. If nothing came of it, fine. If it threatened Jiang Xin, they could prepare in advance.

“That’s a good idea.”

Jiang Xin nodded—she had another thought: if possible, she’d sabotage Huosiyan, make the short brat suffer.

So, after learning Huosiyan had left, they went to find Zhang Meng.

Zhang Meng was baffled—what was her luck today? First Huosiyan came specifically to befriend her, now Jiang Xin and Liu Tao showed up to flatter her.

Hadn’t she even succeeded yet?!

Zhang Meng’s mind raced as she smiled warmly and played along with Jiang and Liu, feigning ignorance to their probing.

Jiang Xin was Yu Yanli’s person, and this was no secret in the circle; when she first joined the crew, Zhang Meng had hoped to curry favor by getting close to Jiang Xin and through her, to Yu Yanli.

But after several interactions, she gave up the idea.

Because she realized Jiang Xin was different from Wang Ou—Jiang Xin seemed to have little desire to share favors and would likely not help her, plus her temper and personality were hard to please; it was better to flatter Wang Ou than to chase Jiang Xin.

Hu Siyen, though Zhang Meng still hadn’t figured out her intentions, gave her the best impression among the three in terms of attitude and interaction.

Hu Siyen had a poor reputation, mainly because early on she had been too flashy and revealed some poor character traits, but her actual social skills were far from low—otherwise she wouldn’t have managed the Teddy Sisterhood so smoothly.

Considering Jiang Xin’s personality and Wang Ou’s preconceived bias after witnessing Zhang Meng’s self-recommendation, it was hard for Zhang Meng not to develop a fondness for Hu Siyen.

After the crew wrapped for the day, she was invited out by Hu Siyen to hang out.

Hu Siyen deliberately courted Zhang Meng, trying to poach her from Wang Ou, and was unusually generous—by the end of the night, Zhang Meng was already calling her “sister.”

Seeing the results were good, Hu Siyen decided to temporarily stay in Hengdian and called Zhang Meng out every day to hang out.

Even when her own scenes were few, she took Zhang Meng shopping in Hangzhou and introduced her to Yu Zheng, strongly recommending that Yu Zheng consider Zhang Meng for her next project.

Yu Zheng was now one of the top producers in Yi’an and could be called a big name in the industry; for an actor just emerging like Zhang Meng, this was top-tier networking.

This was the exact opposite of Wang Ou’s approach.

Wang Ou had given Zhang Meng some resources, but to keep her under control, she generally adopted a suppressive stance, even constantly guarding against Zhang Meng, believing her to be unreliable.

Hu Siyen, by contrast, offered benefits at every turn—taking Zhang Meng to broaden her horizons, introducing her to people, and mostly encouraging and supporting her ideas.

Even if Zhang Meng had gotten along well with Wang Ou, it would’ve been hard to resist Hu Siyen’s efforts to win her over.