Jane drove more than three hours before bringing Rosie Scott to the film crew.
Once again, it was that Ancient Village surrounded by verdant greenery. Apart from those wooden houses with red pillars and flying eaves, all that remained were a bunch of biting mosquitoes.
Rosie Scott stepped out of the car and looked around, seeing some staff busy, but no other artists in sight.
Jane opened her phone, intending to book a hotel first, settle her in, and then take her to the set.
Rosie Scott stretched her neck out and leaned closer, grinning: "Sis, is there a hotel nearby?"
"No hotels, only guesthouses."
"Well, which guesthouse is Blake Shaw staying at?"
Jane shot her a look, scaring Rosie Scott into closing her mouth. She pouted: If you won't say, you won't say. Anyway, once I ask around at the crew, surely someone will know.
Rosie Scott, carrying her luggage, followed behind Jane. Wearing a hat and sunglasses, she really didn't look like an artist, more like Jane's little assistant.
Because the crew was filming there, guesthouses in Ancient Village were in high demand. If not for Jane's few friends, they would still be standing on the roadside now.
"Guesthouse rooms are tight. You and I will share a room." Jane's luggage was simple, just a bag; she carried more documents than anything, unlike Rosie Scott, whose entire suitcase was filled with clothes and makeup.
The young girl was genuinely admiring of women like Jane—quick in action, efficient, successful, and respected.
That's why Rosie Scott could defy nearly everyone but wouldn't dare defy Jane.
"Ms. Lindsey, how long do you usually work each day?"
"About a dozen hours."
"Aren't you tired?"
Jane paused her actions, looking at Rosie Scott's playful yet subtly flirtatious face: "In this circle, there's always someone working harder than you, but some are born not needing much effort to succeed."
Rosie Scott wised up, not responding, just staring at her with big eyes. She had learned there were no kind words from this woman's mouth.
With a cold smile, the woman pinched her chin: "Just like you, a beautiful woman."
The young girl's hair stood on end; she pushed her hand away and sprang up from the bed. Rosie Scott understood the implication in Jane's words: In this circle, those who climb the ladder with just a pretty face usually have been on the bed of a director or producer.
What she despised most was using connections, and those who muddy the waters.
Rosie Scott quickly changed into a fresh outfit, put on a mask and hat: "Sis, let's hurry to the set."
Jane folded her arms, tilting her head to look at her energetic appearance, a shallow smile at the corner of her mouth: "Blake Shaw is also staying at this guesthouse. I'm not telling you to do anything outrageous, but rather not to do anything outrageous. You're an actor now, not Blake Shaw's fan."
"I understand." Rosie's heart was aflutter, her eyes brightened, nodding enthusiastically.
-
In the blazing summer heat, it took about ten minutes to walk from the guesthouse to the film crew, and the young girl began to sweat. She fanned herself with her hand, parched as she followed behind Jane, seeing her back soaked, but the woman wore only a sun hat, striding without revealing a hint of difficulty.
Jane was never fussy, but she never thought Rosie was attentive. Rosie somehow got hold of a sunshade umbrella, suddenly covering the woman's head, with a breeze underneath—the pole of the umbrella had a small fan.
The breeze was strong enough to lift the damp black hair at the temples.
"I borrowed it." Rosie smiled, eyes curving, a little clueless; afraid of her in the morning, now she stuck to her.
Jane's face stayed expressionless, casually saying: "Remember to return it."
Gradually approaching the set, they could vaguely see the hustle of busy staff, several cameras running, the director orchestrating through a walkie-talkie in front of the monitors.
"Mr. Shaw, that's good, this segment was nice, but I think you can add more tenderness. Though you're esteemed as the Immortal Venerable, you'd naturally feel the desire to care for a little girl. When you see her hurt, first let concern show in your eyes before layering it with calm, deep affection."
Rosie Scott closely followed Jane, finally glimpsing the man in the scene through the gaps in the crowd. He stood tall like jade, with an extraordinary presence, immediately adjusting his posture upon the director's explanation.
"Alright, Director, let's do another take."
This time, Blake Shaw descended from the sky, waving his hand to sweep away the bullying little fairy with Spiritual Energy, then knelt beside the injured heroine, cradling her bleeding figure.
His deeply affectionate gaze hinted a touch of tenderness: "Lucy, where do you feel unwell?"
Rosie Scott admired Blake Shaw's acting, truly worthy of being a cinema king.
The camera shifted to Melody Sutton, who was unnaturally spitting out fake blood without any elegance, even frothy; before she could deliver her lines, the director shouted 'cut!'
Rosie Scott snickered softly, Jane immediately shot her a look: "What, you think your acting is better than hers?"
"No." The young girl bowed her head.
"Hmph, knowing one's limits is good, strive to learn from others' strengths."
"Alright." Rosie Scott, in front of Jane, was like a little quail.
The director stormed closer to the scene, chest heaving with anger, hands on hips: "Melody, look at yourself. When spitting blood, stop thinking about just getting it out quickly, focus on beautifully spitting out a mouthful of blood."
"Director, I'll fix it, please don't be mad, can we do another take?" The young girl widened her eyes adorably at the director, unabashedly acting cute on set.
"Another take? How many have we done? Go aside and practice spitting blood, staff, get ready for the next scene." The director sighed deeply, shaking his head as he walked away.
As soon as the director left, the makeup artist circled Blake Shaw for touch-ups, while the lead actress Melody Sutton, holding a bag of fake blood, with an assistant holding a mirror, indeed began practicing spitting blood beside.
Jane tilted her head and whispered to Rosie Scott: "See? Those who enter through connections falter in real trials, delaying the entire crew's progress. Even if you're a big shot, nobody likes you."
"Ms. Lindsey, how do you know she entered through connections?" Rosie Scott knew about Melody Sutton's shady background from past lives, but how did Ms. Lindsey know?
Jane glanced at her, like looking at a fool: "A girl group member who only knows how to dance, landing such a big gig; anyone with brains knows she's not clean, right?"
Rosie Scott suddenly realized that in fact, anyone with insight could see through it. But, in the past life, why would Blake Shaw, even if he saw through Melody's means, end up with her?
What tricks did Melody Sutton use?
Jane nudged her with an elbow: "I'm going to see the director, you stay here and watch, don't stir up trouble, got it?"
The young girl, absent-minded for a long while, fixated on the girl practicing spitting blood far away.
"Hmph, let's see what tricks you have." Rosie Scott withdrew from the crowd, heading towards Melody Sutton.