Chapter Fifty-Three: Hand in Hand for the Rest of Our Lives—Is It Possible?

The following day, Shangguan Ranran and Ouyang Muya arranged to visit Xia Wanqing on set.

“Are you Miss Shangguan and Miss Ouyang?”

No sooner had the two alighted from the car than Xia Wanqing’s assistant appeared, waiting for them.

“We are. And you are?” Muya asked.

“I’m Wanqing’s assistant, Wenxing. She’s filming right now, so she asked me to bring you in.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” Shangguan Ranran said.

“No trouble at all,” Wenxing replied politely, her sweet smile instantly putting them at ease.

The set was abuzz with filming, currently focusing on Bai Xi, who played the second female lead. Several times, her character tried to persuade Xia Wanqing’s character, the third female lead, to leave the male lead so the leads could be together, only to be rebuked and humiliated in return.

A crisp slap echoed through the set.

“You wretch, how dare you slap me?” Bai Xi clutched her flushed cheek in disbelief; that line wasn’t in the script.

Ever since her fake jewelry scandal made headlines, her reputation had plummeted, and no amount of online explanations could restore it. She’d given up her angelic image, hoping this role would revive her career.

“So what if I hit you? My character is supposed to be spoiled and willful—I think slapping you fits perfectly with the storyline. Besides, you’re a high-born lady, yet you stoop to vulgar insults? Do you even know how to act?” Xia Wanqing delivered each word with precision, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

Thankfully, she was the third female lead, which meant she could bully others—how delightful.

“Cut! Makeup touch-up! Where’s her assistant? Fix her makeup, and we’ll shoot that scene again,” Director Wang called out, manuscript in hand.

He genuinely appreciated Xia Wanqing; talent always won a director’s favor, so he overlooked her actions. The assistant director and screenwriter shared his view—actors who bought their way onto the set were despised, not even worth their weight as props.

“Wanqing!” Shangguan Ranran waved to Xia Wanqing.

Only then did the crew notice Wenxing had brought two guests, and the sight of them instantly dazzled the crowd.

Shangguan Ranran wore a black base layer, topped with a green vest, paired with pale green trousers that reached her ankles, only the black tips of her shoes visible. Her figure was tall and graceful, her beauty unmatched—her brows sharp without makeup, lips naturally crimson, nose elegantly high, eyes clear as spring water. She was the very image of natural beauty, untouched by artifice.

She shed her aloofness among strangers, and as she waved, there was a hint of feminine charm, her unsmiling demeanor drawing others in effortlessly.

Ouyang Muya, in a violet knitted sweater with a V-neck, revealed her slender neck and porcelain skin. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, makeup refined, a gentle smile gracing her lips—the portrait of elegance and warmth.

“Ranran, Muya,” Xia Wanqing, dressed in a black cheongsam, strode over, her pale thigh exposed with each step, long and slender. The dress perfectly accentuated her curves. Her hair was styled in a Republic-era wave, her eyes limpid as water, her presence alluring and graceful.

“I thought you’d be bullied here in the crew,” Shangguan Ranran teased.

“How could that be? Do I look like someone who gets bullied?” Xia Wanqing crossed her arms, giving her a sidelong glance as if to say, “With my skills, is that possible?”

“Yes, yes, no one could ever bully you,” Muya chimed in.

“Muya, let me tell you—your brother is about to arrive. He comes by at this hour every day. Do you think sparks flew after the charity gala? Oh, wait, it's one-sided—tsk tsk, who knew he’d fall for someone older?”

“What are you talking about? He just gets close to anyone he finds attractive. I’ll give him a good talking-to later, make sure he doesn’t cause trouble.”

While their conversation was lively, elsewhere tempers flared.

Feng Jia was helping Bai Xi with a cold compress; the slap had been heavy, and the redness couldn’t be concealed.

“Miss Bai, I’m afraid makeup won’t cover this later,” Feng Jia said tactfully.

“Can’t you figure something out? Or do you expect me to?” Bai Xi snapped.

That wretch—how dare she hit me so hard? I won’t let her get away with this.

Bai Xi glared at the trio chatting happily in the distance, her expression growing darker. Her family, for reasons unknown, had somehow offended Huangpu Shenqing—the man she’d liked the moment she entered the Huangpu household.

She suspected Shangguan Ranran’s seductive ways were to blame.

“I’ll find a way, I’ll look for new powder,” Feng Jia replied promptly.

“Remember to save the footage from that scene for me.”

“I understand. I’ll go now.”

Feng Jia, under the pretense of reviewing Miss Bai’s performance, copied the recent video before seeking another makeup artist and borrowing some powder.

Soon, a commotion swept through the crew.

Even the male lead, Shang Mingcheng, and the female lead, Zhen Mi, heard it from the lounge.

Ouyang Mufeng arrived in his flamboyant Bugatti Veyron, followed by three Pagani cars filled with fruits, wines, and delicacies—enough for a lavish party.

He parked, had the cars opened to reveal their sumptuous contents, then unveiled a banner from his own car:

Miss Zhen, you are the radiance of sun and moon, the rainbow after rain, the romance of spring—you are all that is beautiful to me. I wish to hold your hand for the rest of my life. Will you?

“Muya, do you see this? Haha, I’m dying—he even brought a banner!” Xia Wanqing exclaimed gleefully from behind the crowd.

“I’m going to take a look,” Muya started forward.

“Wait, let’s watch first,” Xia Wanqing pulled her back.

Ouyang Mufeng instructed his men to unload everything, and the crew pitched in to help.

He strode forward, holding roses, impeccably dressed and exuding confidence. He caught sight of a familiar figure, but paid no heed, his attention focused as he knocked on the lounge door under everyone’s expectant gaze.

Knock, knock.

Inside, Shang Mingcheng chuckled when he heard the sound. “That young master from the Ouyang family is nothing if not persistent.”

There were five or six people in the lounge, all assistants and makeup artists.

Zhen Mi’s assistant hesitated. “Miss Zhen, what do you think…”

“Let him in,” Zhen Mi sighed, rubbing her forehead. Hadn’t they just settled this yesterday?

The assistant opened the door, allowing Ouyang Mufeng to enter.

The door was left ajar, and Shangguan Ranran and her companions slipped in with the crowd.