Chapter 58
Chapter 58: Scolded to Tears, Meeting at the Art Exhibition!
Ye Jia Ling was known for being clever, considerate, and good at reading the room. How could she make a mistake this serious?
And on something as basic as costumes?
“President Quan, the crew knew nothing about this,” the producer said quickly. “Please believe us. Zhao Yan Group is our biggest investor—we’d use Zhao Yan Group products for everything if we could, even our rice bowls!”
Quan Zhao Ning’s gaze stayed indifferent, unimpressed by the flattery. “We’ll talk when they get here.”
“Yes, of course.” The producer wiped sweat from his brow. “Please sit. I’ll bring her over right away.”
As he shoved his assistant to hurry, he cursed Ye Jia Ling and her team under his breath.
Meanwhile, in Ye Jia Ling’s dressing room, she was preparing for the first scene.
“Jia Ling.”
The agent knocked and rushed in, barely containing her excitement. “Good news. President Quan came in person and asked to see you by name!”
“President Quan wants to see me?” Ye Jia Ling jolted. “President Quan of Zhao Yan Group?”
“Is there another President Quan?” the agent laughed. “It’s her. Jia Ling—you’re about to soar.”
Ye Jia Ling might be a rising star, but in front of Quan Zhao Ning, she had no power at all. She wasn’t even important enough to be brought along to the banquets Quan Zhao Ning attended.
Ye Jia Ling hurried to the mirror. “Is my makeup smeared? Check for me.”
“It’s perfect,” the agent said, ushering her along. “Hurry. Don’t keep President Quan waiting.”
On the way out, Ye Jia Ling asked the assistant cautiously, “Did President Quan say what it’s about?”
“Go and you’ll know, Miss Ye,” the assistant replied blandly.
Clutching her excitement in place, Ye Jia Ling arrived at the producer’s room.
Before she could step inside, a voice cut through the doorway.
“Answer from outside. Don’t come in.”
Ye Jia Ling’s ears rang. Her face drained of color. “I…”
“What is going on with you people?” The producer stormed out, anger flaring. “Who is providing your costumes? This time the outfits are from President Quan’s side! We’re shooting costume photos today—what kind of nonsense is this?”
Costumes weren’t even his department. If Quan Zhao Ning hadn’t brought it up, he wouldn’t have known Ye Jia Ling wasn’t wearing the agreed outfit.
The agent went white. “What?!”
Wan Tian Qing—a nameless costume company—since when did it have anything to do with Zhao Yan Group?
Yesterday, she’d said those arrogant, insulting things right to their faces—
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“President Quan,” the agent said desperately, “this is a misunderstanding. Truly—”
“Stop talking and change,” the producer snapped. “Now.”
Ye Jia Ling’s hands shook as she reached for the buttons.
“No need.”
Quan Zhao Ning’s voice carried—calm, crisp, final. “You returned the outfit yesterday. It’s already been given to someone else. There aren’t extras. Keep wearing what you have.”
The words sounded mild.
But Ye Jia Ling swayed anyway. Cold sweat soaked her palms, her spine, her forehead.
The producer’s face twisted. “Why are you still here? Get out!”
“President Quan, I’m sorry,” Ye Jia Ling blurted, voice breaking. “I’m truly sorry.”
The agent dragged her away. Only when they reached a quiet corner did she stamp her foot, frantic. “We miscalculated. That company isn’t even a Zhao Yan Group subsidiary—it’s new, and we didn’t recognize it!”
Sheng Group had offered them a deal, and they’d been ready to accept.
After checking Wan Tian Qing’s background, the agent had relaxed—and those harsh conditions yesterday had been meant to make them back off.
Now the backlash had come like a blade.
Ye Jia Ling wiped tears, trembling. “Am I going on President Quan’s blacklist? What do we do?”
“Focus on filming,” the agent said, forcing steadiness she didn’t feel. “That matters most. I’ll see how we can fix this.”
Offending Quan Zhao Ning?
Even their entire company wouldn’t dare.
The agent hurried off to contact superiors and beg for a solution.
—
Ding!
Ye Wan Lan glanced at her phone while eating breakfast. A new group message lit up the screen.
The group name was One Big Happy Family.
[Jiang Xu Lin]: Told you I’m the gentlest, right?
My aunt’s bodyguard said she scolded that Ye-someone until she cried on set.
[Cheng Qing Li]: Add a condition: in your family, you’re the gentlest.
[Jiang Xu Lin]: Truth. Wait until you meet my little sister, then you’ll see what “explodes at a touch” really means.
“A Lan,” Lin Huai Jin said, setting a fresh cup of soy milk in front of her, “you came back late yesterday. I didn’t get to ask. How was the guqin lesson? Did you learn anything?”
“There wasn’t a lesson,” Ye Wan Lan said. “I chased the teacher off.”
“What?!” Lin Huai Jin nearly choked. “Didn’t I tell you to hold back?”
Lin Wen Li and Xu Pei Qing both looked over, startled.
“I did,” Ye Wan Lan said lazily. “That’s why I only said I’ve learned Lang Tao Sha.”
Lin Huai Jin stared. “…That is not what I meant.”
You should’ve said you can play “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. We’ll find another teacher. Another day I’ll ask around at the Gu Qin Association. I’ll find someone with top-tier patience.”
“Uncle,” Ye Wan Lan said.
“Hm?”
“Don’t you think they still can’t be my teacher?”
Lin Huai Jin blinked. “Huh?”
“If you don’t think so, that’s fine.” Ye Wan Lan took a sip of soy milk. “Grandma will bring me straight to River City Gu Qin Association when the time comes.”
She set the cup down. “I’ll talk to the president directly. You can rest.”
Lin Huai Jin was still trying to process that when she stood.
“You’re leaving this early? Where are you going?”
“To see my teacher,” Ye Wan Lan said, slipping on her bag. “Uncle, Aunt—don’t save lunch for me. I’ll eat out today.”
“Wait—what teacher?” Lin Huai Jin grabbed at the air like he could catch the answer. “Teacher of what?”
“Kun Qu Opera.” Ye Wan Lan walked out.
Lin Huai Jin sat there, baffled. “Since when does she know Kun Qu Opera?”
Lin Wen Li fell silent for a long moment. “I can’t imagine it.”
He couldn’t reconcile the cousin who could knock down a Qin Family guard with her fists… with someone in stage costume, singing Kun Qu Opera.
Maybe—
Maybe it really was a strange kind of contrast.
An hour later, Ye Wan Lan met Yan Ting Yue at South City train station.
“A Lan—over here.”
Yan Ting Yue was delighted. She held Ye Wan Lan’s hand tightly. “If I don’t see you for one day, I miss you.”
“Teacher, I brought you a gift.” Ye Wan Lan handed her a small sachet. “Wear it. It calms the mind and steadies the spirit.”
Yan Ting Yue took it—and went still. “Su Embroidery?!”
The stitching was fine as hair, the technique elegant, the pattern graceful. It could only be Su Embroidery.
“Teacher has a good eye,” Ye Wan Lan said with a faint smile. “It is Su Embroidery. We haven’t expanded production yet. I brought this first so you could take a look.”
Yan Ting Yue traced the sachet with trembling fingers. It was barely the size of a quarter of her palm.
Moisture gathered in her eyes. “Good… Su Embroidery. If it’s Su Embroidery, then it’s truly good.”
Five years ago, she’d just stepped down as vice president of Yun Jing Art Association when news came: one of the few remaining Su Embroidery inheritors had died in a car accident—right here in South City.
That was one of the reasons she’d come to South City to live in seclusion.
She had wanted to know whether it was murder or misfortune, but she’d never found an answer.
Two inheritors gone, and Su Embroidery had been left tottering on the edge.
And now… now she was seeing embroidery like this again.
“Teacher,” Ye Wan Lan said softly, “don’t cry.”
Yan Ting Yue hurriedly wiped her eyes and forced a laugh. “Look at me—on a good day, being so sentimental.”
Then her gaze steadied. “Perfect timing. I wanted to discuss something with you.”
“Please,” Ye Wan Lan said.
“I want to form a Kun Qu Opera troupe,” Yan Ting Yue said. “I want to bring Kun Qu Opera into the public eye—make it something people truly see, not something distant and lofty.”
Only fresh blood could keep it alive. Only new voices could make it strong.
Ye Wan Lan nodded. “Teacher, we’re thinking the same thing. Do you have candidates in mind?”
“A few,” Yan Ting Yue admitted. “But not enough. And I don’t know if they’ll be willing.”
“I’ll look too,” Ye Wan Lan said. “I just took over an entertainment company. There are many young trainees. We can see if any of them have the right foundation for Kun Qu Opera.”
Yan Ting Yue smiled, relief plain on her face. “With you here, A Lan, I haven’t felt this at ease in decades. Let’s go to the exhibition first. We’ll talk properly over dinner.”
The exhibition was hosted by the South City Art Association at the Arts Center.
It was opening day. Only internal guests and painters with contributions to traditional Chinese painting had been invited.
Sheng Yun Yi was among the invitees, with Zhou He Chen at her side.
“What’s wrong?” Zhou He Chen asked. “You seem upset.”
Sheng Yun Yi sighed. “My father just got a call from Ye Jia Ling’s team. They said there’s an emergency and they can’t cooperate with us.”
“There’s more than one celebrity in the industry,” Zhou He Chen said evenly. “I’ll look into other options.”
“He Chen, thank you,” Sheng Yun Yi said, the smile returning—sincere and warm.
“Miss Yun Yi, Mr. Zhou—we’re here.”
The driver parked at the entrance of the Arts Center.
Sheng Yun Yi stepped out. “He Chen, there are a lot of famous masters here today. We should meet people.”
The name Yong Ning School was always a lure to traditional painting masters.
She wanted to see which masters had come.
At the same time, Ye Wan Lan and Yan Ting Yue arrived.
Yan Ting Yue had been in seclusion for years, but her status still carried weight. The moment she stepped out of the car, staff hurried over to greet her.
Sheng Yun Yi saw it and immediately realized Yan Ting Yue wasn’t ordinary. She stepped forward. “Excuse me—”
A shadow crossed her path, blocking the light.
Ye Wan Lan lifted the brim of her hat and turned to look at her, expression unreadable.