The superstar came with a storm and left in a hurry, which was perfectly reasonable and expected.

If she had left completely clean, that would have been fine, but she inexplicably left a little tail for others to dwell on.

Since there was no contact and no need for contact, why keep the WeChat? Zhou Zhi had been waiting for her to delete it. Presumably, the superstar was too busy with important matters and had completely forgotten about it. But was this appropriate? A renowned superstar leaving her Moments open—wasn't she afraid Zhou Zhi might screenshot and broadcast it on Weibo?

Scrolling through Moments, Zhou Zhi would see Fang Jiang's posts—a series of eye-rolling emojis for several days in a row.

Each eye-roll seemed directed at her. But one shouldn't have too high an opinion of oneself, she had already occupied the kiwifruit quota, so she couldn't monopolize the eye-rolls too.

Zhou Zhi opened the chat box several times, wanting to ask her: Who were those eye-rolls for? Had they rolled out of the frame?

But why ask?

If the other person replied, "What's it to you?" how would she respond?

Could she say she was curious? Or confirm whether the eye-rolls were related to her?

The superstar would surely say she was overthinking.

Well, indeed, she was overthinking—being dwelled on by a national superstar. Lingering resentment, constant preoccupation—when it came down to it, it was all a form of dwelling.

Humans are so foolish—sometimes awkward and resistant, but once it's gone, they miss it, twisting and turning, making a fuss.

After all, Fang Jiang was a well-known figure. If someone accidentally added Cheng Hanzhi on WeChat, wouldn't they be scratching their heads in anxiety? Every word spoken, whether to say it or not, would require careful consideration. They'd want to observe, to participate, but fear being plucked off like an insignificant leg hair.

Zhou Zhi remained oblivious. In her mind, Fang Jiang had already risen from being a talentless pretty face she didn't care about—to someone worthy of comparison with Cheng Hanzhi.

As for Cheng Hanzhi, her self-perception was that of an actress—ethereally beautiful, self-directed and self-acted.

Zhou Zhi loved her portrayals of fierce women the most. Just seeing her face could make Zhou Zhi roll on the ground seventeen or eighteen times, bouncing up and down with delight.

If she could choose the performers for the characters in her writing, Zhou Zhi would uniformly pick Cheng Hanzhi.

The eternal, the one and only.

This was also one of the reasons she was reluctant to collaborate with Fang Jiang—too many daydreams and fantasies, and the reality would fall too short. She couldn't accept it. It wasn't that she didn't know she was being unrealistic, but who didn't have their fantasies?

Buried in Gang Kai's belly, Zhou Zhi was suddenly awakened by a foul smell. She yelled, "Gang Kai, you farted!"

Gang Kai jumped off the bed, shook her fur, and without even a glance, headed to the kitchen for a drink. The slurp-slurp sound seemed to say: "A fart, just for you."

Moments and Weibo nowadays were like knot-tying records, and such mischief naturally had to be documented, eliciting countless "Hahahahaha." Moments was such a strange place—rumors got reposted, serious matters were ignored, and only by posting food or pets could you tell who hadn't blocked you.

Was there, or wasn't there?

Fang Jiang had never left a trace in Zhou Zhi's Moments, and Zhou Zhi hadn't either. Zhou Zhi always lurked silently, gritting her teeth, never giving in to the urge to interact.

And what about Fang Jiang?

Fang Jiang sat in the vibrating massage chair of the VIP airport lounge, boredly waiting for her flight. As a brand ambassador, she was obligated to attend the brand's major events. With early spring arriving, the year-round promotional campaigns were kicking off, with both cosmetics and luxury brands seizing the promotional spotlight early on.

She idly scrolled through Weibo while her assistant's occasional giggles drifted into her ears. Leaning over to take a look, she saw the young girl was hopeless—constantly reading online novels without any ambition.

"Xiao Yuan."

"Yes, yes, what do you need, Teacher Fang?" Reading novels was one thing, but work must never be neglected. The moment Fang Jiang called, Song Yuan responded.

"That website you showed me—are the novels on it flawed? Look at this one, the sentences don't make sense, and the writing is incoherent. And that one, what kind of plot is that? It's insane—stuffing pork ribs into the lower body, then taking them out to make sweet and sour ribs. Even the Japanese wouldn't do something like that. And it's not just ribs; there are grapes, eggplants, cucumbers, cherry tomatoes... Good grief, is this a juicer? Next, are they going to stuff yams in there?"

Song Yuan was stunned that Fang Jiang had actually read Girls' Love novels, and such shocking ones at that. Given the amount of information in Fang Jiang's words, she quickly glanced around to assess the situation and see what others were doing.

"Stop looking. It's a VVIP lounge, there's no one else here. Xiao Yuan, aren't Baihe novels supposed to be about women loving women? Is this what love looks like? Reading this is making me lose interest in se.x."

Half of Song Yuan's anxiety subsided, and she said, "Teacher Fang, there's a saying: 'In the name of love, how many sins are committed.'"

In her heart, she thought: Have you ever been passionate?

Fang Jiang twitched her lips. Thanks to Song Yuan's recommendation, she had spent her free time these past few days browsing novels on the website, as if she had entered another dimension. "There's one novel where hickeys on the chest spell out 'Merry Christmas' in English. Even if it's in English, that's just impossible. Is the person a fetishist who kisses like a printer? And another one—clearly, it's per.verted harassment, but it's forced into becoming true love. Is this love? Is this even love? This is perversion! No wonder I have no desire to be in a relationship."

Song Yuan stifled a laugh. "Why do you always end up reading these train wrecks? For years, you never read this stuff, and it's not like you ever wanted to be in a relationship anyway."

"This is the straw that broke the camel's back."

"There are good ones. I recommended the popular ones to you, didn't I?"

"Popular? Freshly baked sh.it is still warm. That incoherent mess was popular and even made the gold list. There are so few readable ones—it's not much different from the dramas we film."Well, it's all thanks to the support of our peers."

After a while, Fang Jiang asked again, "Is dating between women that strange? Wanting to be together for a lifetime before even starting a relationship—how is that any different from being in prison?"

"You can't say that..."

"Staying together without feelings, suffering through it, is even worse than prison. At least life sentences can be reduced."

Song Yuan was speechless, unsure how to explain the beautiful ideal of "one love for a lifetime" to a love-illiterate like Teacher Fang.

Then, Teacher Fang dropped a bombshell that nearly shattered Song Yuan's closet door.

"Xiao Yuan, do you like women?"

"I..." An impulse to come out surged through Song Yuan's mind. She wanted to just tell her boss: Yes, yes, yes, I'm a lesbian. But I won't covet you, I have no inappropriate thoughts about you, and it won't affect my work.

Would Teacher Fang accept it? Would Boss Meng accept it? Even though they had never shown any disdain, discrimination, or prejudice toward homose.xuality.

But...

"This isn't the point." Fang Jiang didn't notice her assistant's inner turmoil. The world depicted in the novels had already overturned her understanding, leaving her utterly perplexed. "The point is, do people who like women possess some kind of extraordinary talent?"

The sudden surge of excitement was dashed by the dismissal of its importance. Song Yuan deflated, feeling somewhat relieved yet disappointed. "What kind of talent are you referring to?"

"Being able to climax just with their fingers."

"Huh?"

"Look, those characters in the novels, after being drugged with aphrodisiacs, can just wiggle their fingers and... release." Fang Jiang genuinely didn't understand. When she read it the other night, she almost messaged Zhou Zhi right away. Thankfully, at the last moment, reason prevailed—or rather, she held back out of sheer stubbornness—until now.

"Ah, that... well, it's a long story."

"Do they grow some kind of tentacles?"

"Not at all."

"Then are their erogenous zones extended to their fingers? Can you do it too? If your phone is on vibrate mode..."

"Don't let your imagination run wild." Unable to bear her boss asking absurd questions with such an innocent expression, Song Yuan said, "Teacher Fang, please don't make wild associations."

Those cliché and over-the-top authors are going to be the death of me.

This wasn't it, that wasn't it, and she kept saying it was a long story without explaining what was actually going on. Fang Jiang was annoyed.

Useless assistant, unreliable.

If she still wondered about this issue next time, she'd go ask that damn bald-headed author.

Thinking of the bald-headed author, Fang Jiang felt a sense of smug satisfaction. "And that bald-headed 'da-da' of yours isn't all that great either. Just like you said, she only stands out because of the poor competition. Other authors are seventeen or eighteen, or at least college students, but her? Thirty-four years old, mixing in with the kids, her thoughts and ideas are different from theirs, so of course she stands out. But she's not exactly outstanding either. Tch, and she has the nerve to laugh at my lack of acting skills. In my opinion, we're about the same level—the pot calling the kettle black. Just wait and see how I teach her a lesson."

How to teach her a lesson?

Give her a taste of her own medicine.

Fang Jiang wasn't reading Girls' Love novels without a purpose. As the saying goes, know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated. To teach someone a lesson, you have to strike where it hurts. Just like during their argument the other day, that damn bald-headed author hit her sore spot, making her jump with anger yet unable to retort. So she'd mimic the same approach and give the bald-headed author a taste of her own medicine.

Who doesn't know how to make a PowerPoint?

As a successful person, Fang Jiang naturally didn't have the time to create templates from scratch—after all, she hadn't touched the software in over a decade and was out of practice. But she could always turn to Taobao. What can't you buy on Taobao? She bought a nice-looking template and just modified the rest.

Lately, her free time had been mostly spent reading novels and working on the PowerPoint. Comparative data, strengths and weaknesses analysis—completing it gave her a great sense of accomplishment, far better than forcing smiles for a photoshoot. If she hadn't entered the entertainment industry back then, Fang Jiang felt she could have excelled in any field.

Truly a perfect blend of intelligence and beauty.

Fang Jiang said in a mocking tone, "That bald-headed 'da-da' of yours is just pitiful. Other authors get eight thousand favorites with just eighteen chapters, but her? After two hundred chapters, she barely has over five thousand favorites. Others are afraid of not having enough words and cram as many as they can into their writing, but her? She's always concise, using three words where she could write a long sentence. Even Gu Long wrote extra lines just to earn more from his manuscripts. Now I know why she's bald—after racking her brains until she went bald, she still doesn't earn enough to buy hair growth treatments. She's broke."

After conducting a SWOT analysis, she gave Zhou Zhi a suggestion: prioritize earning money before writing, don't be picky and turn down opportunities to make money—at least ensure a stable income so you won't struggle over small amounts. Once you have money, write whatever you want—ki.ll off characters if you wish, make it as tragic as you like.

Song Yuan was dumbfounded. As a die-hard fan, she realized she was nowhere near as devoted as Teacher Fang.

The topic finally ended when staff came to remind them to prepare for boarding.

As the plane soared into the sky and the landing gear retracted, Fang Jiang suddenly said to her assistant, "Xiao Yuan, whether you like men or women is your freedom. You have the right to pursue your own happiness. I only care if you're dedicated to your work, and so does Sister Shizhen."

Sunlight streamed through the window, making her eyes sparkle. Fang Jiang added, "Nothing is more important than facing your true self and being your authentic self."

Author's Note: A big star who blurts out such blunt truths? You're going to get yourself into trouble!

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