Chapter 58: You Won’t Fit in It
Wen Dongni thought to herself: Well then, let’s see what’s so amazing about this stuntwon’s portrayal of Hong Yao. There must be a reason why the director insisted on giving her the part. Still, it doesn’t matter how good she is, because everyone will soon realize that I’m the one perfect for Hong Yao.
She walked over to the clothes rack to pick out sothing suitable for herself. She had a keen eye for fashion, and imdiately picked out the blue cheongsam ant for Yan Huan. Wen Dongni’s lips curved into an arrogant smile as she walked into the dressing room with the dress. Yan Huan, who had been watching her antics, ran a hand around her slender waist.
“Silly girl, you won’t fit in it...”
Sure enough, Wen Dongni imdiately marched out of the dressing room and tossed the blue cheongsam aside. “What an ugly dress!” She picked out another dress and was about to go back into the dressing room when the costu designer and makeup artist ran into the room.
The designer flipped her hair over her shoulder, in too much of a hurry to tie it up properly. She seized the blue cheongsam and pressed it into Yan Huan’s hands. “Change into your costu quickly. Director Jin will be here any minute now. He has a short fuse, he’ll yell at you if you’re late.”
Wen Dongni’s eyes bulged out at this. She looked like a ferocious tiger, waiting to pounce on Yan Huan and rip the cheongsam out of her hands. She had not been able to squeeze into the cheongsam; she therefore refused to realize Yan Huan might be able to. Her massive ego prevented her from even considering the possibility that she had not been able to put it on because she had a flabby waist, or that there were won out there who had bodies smaller than hers.
It did not occur to her that the clothes she couldn’t even squeeze into could very well look amazing on soone else.
Yan Huan erged from the dressing room in the blue cheongsam; it fit her like a glove, hugging the perfect curve of her waist. On her, the cheongsam seed to co alive, like a dull pearl that had been polished. Woman and dress complented each other: the cheongsam made her complexion glow, and her fair skin brought out the vibrant color.
The makeup artist busied himself with the makeup for Yan Huan and Wen Dongni. This was when Yan Huan finally learned that Wen Dongni was actually a part of the production: she was playing the part of one of the prostitutes in the Rouge Pavilion, Hong Yao’s rival. This rival actually had more screen ti than Hong Yao, but her character wasn’t half as important or morable.
Yan Huan realized she should have seen this coming. Anyone would be furious and resentful if the role they thought they had in the bag suddenly went to soone else. This was doubly true for Wen Dongni, who was already a diva even though she wasn’t anywhere close to being a star. She wasn’t a complete nobody in the industry, but she wasn’t that famous.
Yan Huan knew what would eventually beco of Wen Dongni.
Her acting career would co to an abrupt end six months later, right when she was at the peak of her popularity. From what Yan Huan could rember of her previous life, Wen Dongni had apparently angered soone she shouldn’t have, and whoever it was had destroyed her by telling everyone that she had a sugar daddy and that she gambled and did drugs. It didn’t matter how talented she was, or how many hit TV shows she had been a part of; the news of her drug abuse had been enough to ruin her reputation forever. Every door in the entertainnt industry was closed to her after that.
Yan Huan decided not to waste her ti squabbling with soone who was going to self-destruct anyway. She was reminded of a saying: “he who laughs last, laughs longest.” Yan Huan was determined to have the last laugh this ti around.
The stage was set for Hong Yao’s first scene: night ti, along the banks of the Qinjiang River. There were many “flower shops” along the riverbanks, but they were not in the business of selling actual flowers. They were in the business of selling bodies and ti. In other words, they sold the lives of won.
Many a young woman had sacrificed the best years of her life on this particular stretch of the Qingjiang river. Amongst all the brothels in the area, Rouge Pavilion was the most famous. Every night, prostitutes erged from its doors to attract custors. The way they stood, the way they sat, the way they smiled, the way they looked at a potential custor—it did not take much to snare the n who were looking for so excitent.
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