"That damn bald head is simply, simply, simply a blockhead—no, a stone head—no, a brick, and hollow at that!"

Fang Jiang was so enraged she stumbled over her words while cursing Zhou Zhi, making Zhou Zhi the first to achieve this feat—whether there would be others in the future remained unknown, but she was undoubtedly the pioneer. Having known Fang Jiang for twelve years, this was the first time she had seen her so furious she seemed ready to smash her phone against someone's skull to see if it contained sh.it, brains, or just worn-out cotton batting.

Meng Shizhen outwardly joined in scolding Zhou Zhi for not knowing what was good for her, while inwardly ten thousand tiny hands were applauding.

What a splendid rejection, what a marvelous refusal, what an absolutely brilliant turn-down!

If Zhou Zhi hadn't refused, Meng Shizhen would have been the one pulling her hair out, and eventually crying her eyes out. Fang Jiang's rare moments of madness were one thing, but what was truly remarkable was that someone had appeared at just the right moment to stop her.

This is a life-saving intervention.

Stage plays were time-consuming, labor-intensive, and hardly profitable. Setting aside preliminary time costs and other expenses, just looking at box office revenue—with Fang Jiang's reputation, the best she could hope for was a small theater at Shanghai Drama Center. At full capacity, that meant three hundred seats. At one hundred fifty yuan per ticket, three hundred tickets would only bring in forty-five thousand. Unless Fang Jiang performed a one-woman show covering only venue fees, labor costs, management fees, and costume/prop expenses, there would be additional actor costs, plus separate rehearsal expenses.

How many shows could Fang Jiang perform? Ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred? She'd have to do nothing else all year, just performing. The entire studio would be left drinking the northwest wind. Even if she managed a hundred shows, the earnings certainly wouldn't compare to a single variety show appearance.

She must be out of her mind.

"She's out of her mind!" At this point, Fang Jiang had no intention of winning her over with charm. "Do you know what she told me? I kindly asked if she'd like to try screenwriting, and she actually told me to stop playing around. Playing at what? Playing at what! Was I playing with her? What's so fun about her anyway. Could I cut off that bald head and use it as a soccer ball? Even if I could, I don't play soccer. Can't a person have some confidence? I said I admired her, why didn't she believe me? I said she was good, and she didn't believe that either. She insisted on wallowing in obscurity, only finding satisfaction in being ignored. As if that makes her cultured and sophisticated—'too good for the masses,' What a fool! She even told me to focus on acting in brain-dead dramas and not entertain wild ideas that would lose money, saying my agent would be unhappy! What's it to her? It's my money to lose. Sister Shizhen, would you be unhappy?"

No, she'd be thrilled. Such profound understanding. Meng Shizhen wanted to immediately place an order for a commendation banner to be made for Zhou Zhi. Of course, she'd never admit it aloud. "Your decisions—under normal circumstances, I always support them. It's just a small theater, how much could it possibly lose? Losing money doesn't matter, as long as you're happy."

Round and round it went, but the underlying message was clear: she didn't approve.

Fang Jiang had cursed Zhou Zhi for fifteen minutes over the phone, and for another forty-five after hanging up—and that was before Meng Shizhen arrived. From the moment Meng Shizhen entered until now, half an hour had passed with Fang Jiang still ranting about Zhou Zhi.

Song Yuan had heard it all, from "Da-da, how could you be so foolish?" to "Da-da, you poor thing." Now she was huddled in a corner, pretending to be deaf. She desperately wanted to message Zhou Zhi to ask if she'd been sneezing.

"Xiao Yuan!"

Suddenly called upon, Song Yuan jumped. "Here."

"What's so great about her anyway? I'm done reading her stuff. Recommend me someone else." Repeated rejections were more than Fang Jiang could accept.

"Someone else for what?"

"Baihe novels, Baihe authors. It's not like that bald head is the only one in the world who writes Baihe."

The boss gave the order, and the other boss didn't object. Song Yuan immediately complied, tossing her original intentions aside and leading the big star down the crooked path of Girls' Love novels, never to turn back.

On the other side, the bald woman held her dog.

"Gang Kai, tell me, does no good deed go unpunished these days? I kindly advised her that stage plays don't make money and are a waste of time, but she just tore into me with a barrage of insults and personal attacks."

Gang Kai lazily wagged her tail.

"This time, I didn't mock her or tell her to use her money to buy awards. I was thinking of her. Why doesn't she consider how difficult it is for anyone to resist such temptations? Do you know, my heart is blee.ding. Gang Kai, Gang Kai, don't you agree?"

Gang Kai swatted Zhou Zhi's face with her paw.

Grabbing the dog's paw and giving it a playful bite, Zhou Zhi sighed. "Alright, saying my heart is blee.ding might be a bit exaggerated. Part of it is that I don't think she'd act well. But honestly, what right do I have to criticize others? I'm nothing special myself—I can't even climb the monthly rankings. Hey, Gang Kai, the big star said she thinks my writing is quite interesting. Do you believe that? Would she read my novels? Does she have that much free time? I can't figure it out—why me? It doesn't make sense. Do you believe in such pie-in-the-sky luck? I've never even won a ten-yuan welfare lottery. But don't worry, Gang Kai, for the sake of your food, I'll keep writing diligently and strive to become a popular author. Once I'm famous, I'll open a Taobao store. I've already thought it through—we'll sell socks and girls' underwear, and you'll be the brand ambassador. I'm still hesitating over the brand name. It could be 'Now,' or in Chinese, 'Nào,' or maybe 'NoNo (Nào.)' The logo will be a big plaster, and we even have a ready-made slogan: 'I don't have it, but it's fine.' Gang Kai, Gang Kai, what do you think?"

Annoyed by her incessant chatter, Gang Kai jumped off the sofa, lay down on the floor, and turned her back to Zhou Zhi.

"Stupid dog," Zhou Zhi scolded. "Ignore me, and I'll beat you up."

Gang Kai wagged her tail, already seeing through her empty threats.

Zhou Zhi took a photo of the dog's back and posted it on her social media.

—Authentic "dog ignores me" brand, wuwuwu.

That evening, Fang Jiang came across Zhou Zhi's "dog ignores me" post and silently praised the dog for doing a great job. She wouldn't actually hit the like button, though, lest the annoying bald woman get too full of herself and think Fang Jiang was paying attention to her. Hmph.

"Xiao Yuan, find out what canned food and snacks Border Collies like tomorrow and buy a case. Make sure it's good quality." The big star was ordering her assistant around at all hours.

Song Yuan replied instantly: Understood.

A moment later, she sent another message: Where should I send it?

Where to send it? Fang Jiang hesitated. She couldn't just send it directly to Zhou Zhi like before. She was still angry and had already decided to cut ties with her. Sending the package would seem like she was trying to make up. Why didn't the dog have her own address and name? Having to go through the dog's owner to send something to the dog was so annoying, wasn't it?

"Can SF Express deliver directly to the dog?"

Song Yuan: It's quite heavy. Border Collies are medium-sized dogs—they probably can't carry it.

Fang Jiang thought it over again and again: Forget it, forget it. For the dog's sake, just send it directly to that annoying person. Remember to specify it's for Gang Kai.

Song Yuan received the message and was still wondering who "that annoying person" was when she saw Fang Jiang recall the message.

After a while, another message came through:

—Never mind, I'm not giving it.

Song Yuan's mind instantly bloomed with a cosmos flower. This dialogue, this plot, these character settings—if placed in a Girls' Love novel, it would undoubtedly become a million-word sweet romance, with ready-made titles like:

The Tsundere Best Actress and the Proud Author
Love Her, Love Her Dog
Rivals Should "Bond," Not Break Up
The Best Actress Is My Wife, the Author Is My Love

Netizens adore shipping couples, especially celebrity pairings. As one of the queer community's goddesses, Fang Jiang already had numerous fan-made pairings—crossing borders and oceans, appearing everywhere, with dedicated fan edits.

But Song Yuan never imagined a pairing straight out of a novel plot: her beloved author and her goddess boss. After rolling across her bed three times, Song Yuan calmed down. Fiction is fiction, reality is reality. Fang Jiang always disliked gossip, remained indifferent to fan edits, and was now practically at war with the author. Whether she might like women aside, getting her to like anyone was harder than reaching the sky. An agent's daily worries typically revolve around three major issues: drugs, fights, and relationships. Boss Meng often lectured other artists, but with Fang Jiang, she never brought it up.

Before joining the company, Song Yuan once asked Meng Shizhen whether, as a celebrity assistant, she should report any hidden relationships directly to her. Meng Shizhen laughed for a long time and said not to worry about Fang Jiang—she was an "insulator."

After five years working with Fang Jiang, Song Yuan fully understood what "insulator" meant: unless work required it, she never dined or shopped with others; if not working, she stayed home—a certified homebody. Toward admirers, she outright rejected direct advances and played dumb toward hints. Men, women, old, young, handsome, muscular, beautiful, wealthy—none could conduct electricity (her affections).

Some young heirs swore Fang Jiang liked women, but even when women expressed interest, she never showed any warmth.

When asked about ideal partners on shows, Fang Jiang consistently replied: "It's up to fate. When fate arrives, I'll know. Destiny always gives unexpected answers."

Perhaps their circle was a blind spot for destiny—surrounded by beautiful people daily, yet only buds were seen, never blossoms.

In private, Song Yuan had gossiped about it. Fang Jiang said, "Love me, and I'll love them back." For a moment, Song Yuan couldn't tell which was harder: loving or being loved.

Meng Shizhen had the final word: mutual love is the hardest.

After fiercely scolding Zhou Zhi, Fang Jiang returned to her usual charming self for many days—proper in public, listless in private. She no longer talked about seeking thrills or obsessed over unfinished "stealing" achievements. After work, she went straight home to rest. Previously, she'd mention the bald woman; now, she didn't bring her up, not even the dog. Song Yuan suddenly missed her hysterical laughter—at least then she had experienced brief moments of joy. She also felt a silent sorrow for Zhou Zhi. The two perfectly matched characters hadn't even had a chance to spark a flame before becoming yesterday's news.

Zhou Zhi probably still didn't realize how close she had been to becoming a sugar daddy.

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