Sweet Wife in My Arms

Chapter 124: The Old Will Have To Make Way For The New

Call Me Xiao Ming: “^^^^ Slowpoke, I’m already kneeling before the altar to my goddess. Is this her new show? A Xianxia? My lovely goddess was born to act in period costume dramas, she looks like a fairy herself!”

Innocent Auntie: “My daughter is sooo beautiful it makes me scared someone might steal her away from me!”

Fake Innocent Auntie: “^^^^ What are you talking about? She’s MY daughter, not yours!”

The other Weibo followers reacted to the above exchange with sweatdrop emojis, but they understood where the two “Auntie”s were coming from. It was only natural for women to want beautiful daughters, and Yan Huan, who was only 20 years old, was at the perfect age to be an “auntie-killer” for all the middle-aged women out there.

The two “Auntie” fans dominated the entire comments section with their endless bickering, but Yi Ling, who was managing the Weibo, did not mind. She was delighted and proud to see the passion they had for their idol.

Journey to Fairyland had started filming.

The Xianxia show employed the latest green screen and CGI technology. The sets looked bland during the actual shoot because the backgrounds would be added in digitally during post-production. The audience were in for a real treat—the CGI was extremely realistic—but the actors could only imagine what the set would look like in the final cut.

The first scene they would be filming was the male lead’s journey into the mountains, in search of the so-called “fairyland.” The actor for the lead male role was someone Yan Huan was already familiar with: Qi Haolin. She had acted opposite him in Love and Tribulations. In this show, however, he was playing a markedly different character: an ordinary human boy named Yan Boxuan.

Qingshan Mountain—on the peak of the mountain was “fairyland,” where aspiring humans went to cultivate and harness the heavenly arts. These cultivators had to spend a hundred, perhaps even a thousand years, to attain immortality and fairyhood—an eternity to the average human, but no more than a blink of an eye for the cultivators.

Yan Boxuan wiped the sweat from his forehead. He had been climbing for ages, but there seemed no end to the steps before him. He had heard that there were 9,999 steps on Qingshan mountain, and that only those who could climb all the way to the top would be deemed worthy of learning the heavenly arts.

But he had climbed for three days and three nights now, and still could see nothing ahead aside from an endless expanse of clouds. There was nothing else here.

Yan Boxuan sat down. He looked at his worn-out shoes. One corner of his mouth had cracked; he licked at it tentatively, tasting his own blood.

Was it better to give up? He had to ask himself whether he truly believed he had it in him to climb all the way to the top. At this rate, he ran the very real risk of dying before reaching the top. He considered giving up and turning around to go back down.

No. He shook his head. Going back down was not an option. He had to continue upwards and reach the top of Qingshan Mountain, no matter what. He had to see the so-called “fairyland” with his own eyes. He got to his feet, but his knees immediately gave way; he collapsed, the hard edges of the steps digging into his flesh and rattling his bones. It was extremely painful, but he gritted his teeth and did not cry out. Instead, he got to his feet again and began climbing the steps, one by one.

The clouds suddenly gathered around him. He struggled through the thick clouds; when he finally burst through, he was greeted by the sight of a lofty fairy palace and the faint tones of heavenly music. It was a breathtaking sight. On the palace balconies were students in white uniforms, practicing the heavenly arts in neat rows. Above them, in the sky, several people were whipping through the air on flying swords.

Elsewhere, a water mirror hovered above a pool. It showed Yan Boxuan’s slow, painstaking journey up the steps.

Sitting right at the edge of the pool, before the water mirror, was a young girl dressed in the white student uniform. Around her waist was a long, light blue silk ribbon. Her white and blue attire brought to mind visions of white clouds drifting across a clear blue sky—a fitting color palette for an otherworldly fairy.

Her cheeks were cupped in her hands as she stared at the view in the mirror, her long lashes fluttering with curiosity. She had one lovely, alabaster foot in the pool of water before her, and was distractedly splashing the water with it. Sprays of water burst into the air with every mindless kick.

“Miss, Miss! The chief is looking for you.”

A maid hurried into the room, lifting her long skirts to avoid tripping over them. Her hair was disheveled from all the running. As soon as she found Qing Yao, she immediately doubled over to catch her breath, her hands upon her knees. She was exhausted.

“Miss, the chief wants to see you.”

Ping! The water mirror shattered into a million water drops in mid-air. They disappeared without a trace.

The young girl sitting at the pool turned around. She was hauntingly beautiful; her exquisite features shone from her flawless complexion, and her cherry red lips were curved into a slight smile.

The maid was suddenly struck dumb. She was horrified to discover that she could not remember her next lines.

All the color drained from her face. She waited nervously for the director to yell “cut,” but before that could happen, the young girl before her stood up and walked over to her, barefooted. Qing Yao stopped in front of the maid, lifted her hand, and gently flicked the maid on the forehead.

“Are you coming with me or not, you silly goose?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The maid quickly lifted her skirts and followed Qing Yao out the door.

“Cut! Excellent, good job.”

Yan Huan rubbed her arms as soon as the cameras stopped rolling. The set was chilly, and she was barefooted.

“Thank you,” said the actress who played the maid, her face filled with sincere gratitude. If Yan Huan had not bailed her out just now, she would have had to redo the scene many times over. That would have been extremely embarrassing for her, and a huge waste of time for the entire production. Personally, she did not mind making a fool of herself, but she did not want everyone on the production team to be annoyed with her for slowing them down.

“Ugh, it’s so hard when you’re just starting out,” the actress added unhappily. She could not stop worrying about her career in showbiz.

“You’re welcome. You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Yan Huan laughed. “I’m new, too.” She stuck out her tongue in a down-to-earth gesture of friendly sympathy. It was true—she was still a no-name actress in the industry.

“That new actress is pretty good,” said Liang Chen to her manager. She had seen at once that Yan Huan was different from the other run-of-the-mill actresses.

“Yes, she’s really good.” Qi Haolin was sitting beside her, drinking a cup of water. “She’ll blow you away with her acting, you’ll see. She may be young, but the way she brings her character to life will give you goosebumps. She’s on a completely different level.”

“Oh? And how would you know?” Liang Chen cocked her head. She was in her early 30’s, but it did not seem at all strange for her to behave in such a cutesy manner. She had the charms of both a young girl and a mature woman—it was an incredible combination, a feat only Liang Chen could pull off.

“Haha...” Qi Haolin laughed. “Haven’t you heard? I acted opposite her in Love and Tribulations.”

“I didn’t know that, actually.” The production team for Love and Tribulations had offered Liang Chen a cameo role, but she had been shooting a film abroad at the time, and had not been able to find the time in her schedule for it.

Liang Chen and Qi Haolin were both signed to the same agency. It was only natural for her to try to look out for him, as he was her junior. It was not their first time working together on the same project; they knew each other very well, and had excellent chemistry together.

Liang Chen’s gaze flickered to Yan Huan once more. The young actress was really good; in fact, she had surpassed all her expectations. She had the talent, the face, the figure, and the natural aptitude to be an actress. And she was still very young.

Liang Chen knew that the saying was true: the old had to make way for the new, eventually. It did not just apply to showbiz, but to the entire world. That was just the way things worked. Soon enough, she, too, would be past her expiration date, and the younger actresses would rise to replace her. But she was neither envious, resentful, nor afraid of the inevitable. She had enjoyed her time in the limelight. Her life had been far from mundane, thanks to her eventful career. What more could she ask for?