Quick Transmigration: Yandere Male Leads? Hand 'Em Over! - Chapter 216

C City Film & TV Base, Soundstage No. 8.

The Reference This Answer production crew had been filming for several days now, with Sang Miaozhu and Shen Ruixuan already deep into their scenes.

After their sweet hotel date the other night, Shen Ruixuan brought Miaozhu some exciting news—he had secured Director Wang’s support and gotten them both roles in the show.

In this high-profile IP drama, Shen Ruixuan played the third male lead, while Sang Miaozhu, as usual, was cast as a background character.

But she was content. The fact that her boyfriend stuck by her made her feel both moved and guilty.

Once Shen Ruixuan won the Triple Crown for Best Actor, she’d be Mrs. Film King. Whether she kept acting or not didn’t really matter.

Originally, she only had a couple of lines and could’ve wrapped up her scenes in two days and grabbed her boxed lunch on the way out.

But things got complicated—because the screenwriter was a perfectionist.

The drama’s writer, Xing Xue, was also the author of the original novel Reference This Answer. When it came to her “baby,” she didn’t allow a single flaw.

Every TV adaptation she’d touched had become a hit—flawlessly cast, well-paced, and visually impeccable.

That’s exactly why Xing Xue, unlike most screenwriters in the hit-or-miss Chinese entertainment industry, had built a loyal fanbase who welcomed her projects being adapted for the screen.

After Sang Miaozhu’s fifth NG today, Director Cai forced a polite smile and said stiffly,
“Take a break. Male lead and female lead, you’re up next—scene fifty-three.”

At that moment, Shen Ruixuan was rehearsing an emotional scene with the third female lead.

Sang Miaozhu, now off set, watched her boyfriend being all lovey-dovey with another woman and couldn’t help feeling sour. She pulled him aside and started venting:

“What kind of crap writer is this? Nothing’s ever good enough! She acts like she runs the whole set. Just a lousy novelist—who does she think she is, some kind of directing expert?”

“She even blamed me for not reading the script and not respecting the original. If the lead actress hadn’t been throwing diva fits and skipping rehearsals, would I have had no time to prep?”

“And don’t talk to that third female lead so much. She’s huge and fake-sweet when she talks. What if she likes you? Gross!”

Third Female Lead: “…Excuse me?”

What the hell?
He was the one who approached her to rehearse, okay?

And she wasn’t naturally overweight. She’d purposely gained weight to fit the character. Everyone on set knew that. And now this glorified extra was mocking her?

She wasn’t the type to take that lying down. She was a rising B-list star, second only to the male lead in billing. She immediately waved her assistant over and quietly whispered a few words.

Later, both leads delivered solid performances. Director Cai and Xing Xue finally relaxed a little and called for a twenty-minute break.

Everyone grabbed water and cooled off.

The hottest topic in the crew? The mysterious casting of the female lead.

With Xing Xue’s reputation and fanbase, even A-listers and veteran actors were eager to work with her. But she preferred fresh faces.

Xing Xue believed acting could be taught—but the look had to match the role. That’s why even some actors with multiple NGs hadn’t been kicked off the project.

“Seriously, who is she?”
“Who skips the opening ceremony and delays the costume shoot?”
“Heard she’s some no-name rookie…”
“A rookie? Acting opposite Yan Mo? He’s the king of book-to-screen acting!”
“I’m dying to know what she looks like—how cold and ethereal does she have to be to pull off the goddess priestess role?”

While everyone gossiped, a few staff members entered carrying iced drinks, fruit, and snacks.

Yoyo, smiling brightly, greeted the room.

“Sorry we’re late—our Ci-jie wasn’t feeling well earlier. We’ve prepared some afternoon tea for everyone. Please forgive the delay and enjoy.”

Being late wasn’t a big deal as long as it didn’t delay the shoot. Scenes could be filmed out of order. No need to overreact.

Even those who were a bit annoyed kept quiet. No one wanted to make a scene—especially not after accepting free snacks.

Yoyo personally handed out drinks to the main actresses.

“You’ve all worked so hard. These are low-cal, sugar-free options just for you—guilt-free indulgence.”

Tian Zi, the third female lead, was in the middle of her weight gain arc and didn’t care:
“Thanks! Got any with sugar? I’m craving something sweet.”

Before she even finished, a slender, delicate hand reached out, offering a milk tea and straw. The skin was soft and luminous like polished jade.

“You can have mine. Seventy percent sugar.”

The girl’s voice was like cold spring water—clear, melodious, and cool to the ear.

Tian Zi was stunned. She looked up slowly, dazed.

Their eyes met—gentle, serene, like sunlight through frost. Her brain short-circuited. The milk tea slipped from her grasp and rolled across the floor.

“Ahhh! It’s the real-life white moonlight!”

If even Tian Zi was that shook, you could imagine what it did to Xing Xue—who wrote this character and knew her inside and out.

The elegant screenwriter, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, started slapping the fat on Director Cai’s shoulder in excitement.

“Old Cai, are you trying to kill me?! You’ve been hiding my perfect Wen Yu from me for two weeks! Why didn’t you just show me her photo?!”

Director Cai smiled with a smug little squint.
“Not my fault! You were the one who kept rejecting everyone I suggested. You even wanted to recast! Look at you now—flip-flopping in record time.”

He crossed his arms, full of pride. Cai’s casting instincts were top-tier—decades of directing experience and an eye for talent that never missed.

Now that the mysterious female lead had finally made her debut, curiosity in the crew didn’t die down—it exploded.

The actresses lined up to befriend Su Ci—not for clout, but to ask about her skincare and beauty secrets.

The actors were red-faced, hearts racing—those who had scenes with her were thrilled, and those who didn’t were desperately trying to find excuses to talk to her.

Even the director and writer were enthusiastically hovering around her. Xing Xue personally walked her through the script. The two hit it off instantly, chatting like old friends.

Only Sang Miaozhu and Shen Ruixuan sulked in a corner like they’d been doused with cold water, completely left out of this “Welcome Party for the Lead.”

A crew member placed tea and water in front of them. Sang Miaozhu, lips pressed tight, shoved it all to the ground.

“Her again? She’s like a ghost—won’t go away. Who even wants to drink this crap? She’s probably trying to make everyone else gain weight so she can shine alone!”

Shen Ruixuan had been memorizing his lines for two hours. He was parched. The drinks were a godsend—but before he could take a sip, Miaozhu knocked them over.

He couldn’t help snapping at her.

“This is a set—could you maybe not act like a child? Did you forget what Manager Wu said? We’re not supposed to be seen together. Can you just leave me alone?”

Then he walked off without another word, deliberately putting space between them and burying his face in his phone.

Speaking of Manager Wu, she’d just arrived—bringing Shen Ruixuan a mini fan, throat lozenges, and a bottle of goji-infused tea. She fussed over him, all warmth and care.

Sang Miaozhu waited… and waited. No one brought her anything. Swallowing her discomfort, she forced herself to ask.

Wu gave her a disapproving frown.

“You’re just an extra with a few lines. What do you need goji water and lozenges for?”

Miaozhu slumped back into her folding chair.

Her gaze drifted to the milk teas she’d knocked over—thirty yuan each, from her favorite brand in her past life.

Tea, snacks, drinks—for over a hundred people, this one round of afternoon tea must’ve cost more than ten thousand yuan.

And she’d thought Jiang Yu was some noble, self-disciplined CEO. But clearly, he’d throw money at any woman.

Su Ci loved spending his money like she was some nouveau riche heiress.
Miaozhu would never stoop to that. She’d pay the Jiang family back—every cent.