She Wants to Divorce Me

Without Bian Yuting’s intervention, Manager Su Ci still found a role for Ji Yaoguang—a tea-serving maid to the second female lead, with an almost negligible screen time. In two days, “The Treacherous Courtier” would begin filming in a film studio in the neighboring city. Given Ji Yaoguang’s minor role, she didn’t need to rush there, but her urgent desire to see Chang Yu overcame everything else. She knew Chang Yu’s anger hadn’t subsided, and she knew where Chang Yu was staying after moving out, but she didn’t dare visit or even linger near her building.

“Neither soft nor hard approaches work. She’s truly impenetrable,” Ji Yaoguang muttered resentfully, poking at her phone screen in the car. She saw her Weibo comments section had turned into a battleground, a cacophony of arguments. Meanwhile, Chang Yu hadn’t responded at all. She hadn’t announced their divorce, nor had she affirmed Ji Yaoguang’s words about their relationship. She had simply reposted a message from the production team.

“The Treacherous Courtier” was based on a popular novel, and fans had been speculating about the cast long before. When the main cast list was released, it caused an uproar. Fans of different actors and the original novel clashed, each with their own opinions. For the novel fans, while excited to see their favorite characters brought to life, they also feared unqualified actors might ruin the adaptation. They had little complaint about Chang Yu as the female lead, Yun Yanhui. After all, Chang Yu was beautiful, a child star with innate talent, and her acting skills were beyond reproach. However, for the second female lead, some had guessed it might be Ji Yaoguang, prompting a barrage of criticism from anti-fans. The actual cast member was a rising starlet with a typical Mary Sue face, previously only in youth dramas. Many commenters remarked: “Ji Yaoguang might have been better after all.”

Seeing such comments, Ji Yaoguang couldn’t help but chuckle. This startled Manager Su Ci, sitting beside her. She glared at Ji Yaoguang, who was happily playing with her phone while hugging a cushion. Su Ci snatched the phone away, gritting her teeth in frustration. “What are you laughing at? How can you laugh? Can’t you have some ambition? I worked hard to get you some roles, and what do you do? Insist on playing an insignificant, forgettable little maid. You’re really regressing. Acting skills can be honed, but at least now you can rely on your looks. Why aren’t you seizing the opportunity to increase your visibility?”

“Eh?” Ji Yaoguang blinked, responding innocently, “I just know my limitations, so I plan to start from the bottom, first as an extra, then gradually improve myself.”

Talking nonsense with such a straight face—only a fool would believe her! Su Ci retorted irritably, “You think I don’t know you? Is it Director Li Ou’s reputation that attracts you? When he criticized your acting before, you swore you’d never act in his films. But now? It’s for Chang Yu, isn’t it? I don’t know what conflict you two are having, but I do know that if you continue like this, the company will shelve you, and I’ll be out of a job too.”

Managers who indulged their actors like this were truly rare. Ji Yaoguang smiled, patting Su Ci’s hand, and responded grandly, “Sister Su, if you get fired, I’ll hire you. I’ll be your boss.”

“You?” Su Ci’s eyes showed a hint of doubt. Following Ji Yaoguang’s joke, she teased, “How much savings do you have? Don’t let us end up sleeping under a bridge.”

Ji Yaoguang hugged the cushion, smiling, “That won’t happen. I might lack many things, but money isn’t one of them.”

“Tsk.” Su Ci eyed Ji Yaoguang up and down, finally speaking after a long pause, “You’re not some tycoon’s illegitimate daughter, are you?” She rarely heard Ji Yaoguang mention her parents or family, and online information was blank, except for the spouse column which listed Chang Yu. The more she thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. After all, when she first started managing Ji Yaoguang, the girl had been naive and disheveled, facing numerous instances of harassment. If she had a powerful background, why would she have endured all that?

Completely unaware of where Su Ci’s thoughts had wandered, Ji Yaoguang maintained an air of mystery before her manager. She curved her lips into a flawless smile, deliberately lowering her voice, “Guess.” Ji Yaoguang’s voice was pleasant, different from Chang Yu’s clear spring-like tone. Hers had a hint of softness and allure, quite captivating. From the beginning, recognizing Ji Yaoguang’s vocal potential, Su Ci believed that with proper training, she could become a top-tier singer. But this fool insisted on debuting based on her looks.

Ji Yaoguang’s acting skills were notoriously poor, but her deceptively beautiful face caused a stir wherever she went. Even among eye candies, there were hierarchies, and Ji Yaoguang was top-tier. To many fans of beauty, she didn’t need acting skills; she just needed to be beautiful. After all, being good-looking allowed one to do as they pleased. As soon as she entered the film set, Ji Yaoguang felt numerous gazes converging on her. Having lived under the spotlight since childhood, she was accustomed to such attention. She removed her sunglasses and smiled gently at the men and women, young and old present. Most returned polite smiles, some even approaching to chat. Only Chang Yu, after a moment of surprise, maintained a cold face, pretending not to notice. Ji Yaoguang scanned the area; Su Ci was already approaching the scowling Li Ou, Director, likely offering apologies and thanks, given that Ji Yaoguang had been forced into the production.

There weren’t many female roles in this drama. Seeing Ji Yaoguang’s presence, some wondered if a role was being replaced. Thinking of online rumors, a few young, unfamiliar actors huddled together, whispering while glancing at the rising starlet Li Yaoyao sitting nearby. In “The Treacherous Courtier,” while the female lead Yun Yanhui was naturally the most prominent role, the second female lead, the princess, was equally impressive. She embodied royal elegance and the cold-blooded cruelty honed in the palace. This Li Yaoyao had always played sweet, girlish roles—could she really handle the role of Princess Pingyang? Moreover, the second female lead had been predetermined for her from the start, with many underlying complexities. Her brother, Li Bin, was the screenwriter for “The Treacherous Courtier” and a close friend of Li Ou, Director. But such connections alone were hardly enough to secure a role alongside someone of Chang Yu’s caliber.

The proud Li Yaoyao naturally felt the pointing and whispering. She was well aware of how she had entered the production. Every glance felt like a knife, every casual word transformed into an insult, stabbing her heart. Those with guilty consciences feared such scrutiny the most. She noticed Ji Yaoguang nearby, not understanding what there was to be proud of besides being beautiful. Online discussions about her upcoming role often compared her to Ji Yaoguang. Like many others, she viewed Ji Yaoguang as a pretty vase, but it irked her that even she, with her professional training, was considered inferior to Ji Yaoguang. Her gaze towards Ji Yaoguang carried hints of resentment and jealousy. Seeing Ji Yaoguang, she momentarily panicked—was she here to snatch her role?

Li Yaoyao’s smile was like a pale flower blooming in wind and rain.

Ji Yaoguang immediately noticed the seemingly pure and fragile woman approaching her. Her brow furrowed imperceptibly; she disliked such affected fragility. After a moment of puzzled observation of Li Yaoyao, Ji Yaoguang’s gaze swept past various faces, landing on Chang Yu, sitting with her manager. Many wanted to approach and chat, tiptoeing to peek in that direction, but were deterred by the unapproachable aura. Moreover, Ji Yaoguang’s presence was unexpected.

“Sister Ji.” The little white flower’s voice matched her delicate appearance, though the affectation remained palpable.

Having returned to three years ago, Ji Yaoguang was twenty-five, an age in the entertainment industry where being called “sister” was common. Usually indifferent to such address, Ji Yaoguang felt a twinge at Li Yaoyao’s words. She wanted to retort but suppressed the urge. She remained silent, slightly raising her chin, a flash of disdain in her eyes.

Li Yaoyao was, after all, a recent rising starlet. Many would warmly engage with her, but Ji Yaoguang’s cold attitude displeased her. Her eyes changed, though she maintained her fragile smile—her trademark and weapon, making her appear pitifully vulnerable. “Sister Ji, are you here to visit? Filming hasn’t started yet. Why don’t you go see Sister Chang? I knew those online rumors were false.” She spoke again, not waiting for Ji Yaoguang’s response, expressing her thoughts.

Where did this familiarity come from? Ji Yaoguang didn’t hide her expression, frowning in front of Li Yaoyao, responding with slight impatience, “I’m here to act.”

Li Yaoyao’s heart skipped a beat. She smiled, feigning casualness, “I wonder what mysterious character Sister Ji is playing?”

“A maid.” Noticing Chang Yu standing up, Ji Yaoguang dropped these words and strode forward.