Jiang Lan had originally planned to attend the premiere in the evening, stay overnight at a hotel, and just watch the movie the next day—simple and straightforward.
But Yu Wanqiu had something entirely different in mind.
That afternoon, Xia Jing arrived at the villa with a makeup team in tow. Chen and Little Xu each carried five or six garment bags filled with dresses.
They found a clothing rack, removed the protective covers, and lined up the gowns in a dazzling row.
It was like stepping into a treasure-filled boudoir. Jiang Lan was utterly mesmerized.
Yu Wanqiu pointed at Jiang Lan and said, “Start with a skincare treatment for her first. We’ll change up her look afterward.”
Xia Jing added, “The styling should complement the dress. I brought IE’s new collection with fringe detailing, and Echo’s ‘Starry Sky’ series—there’s a gray one that would suit Jiang Lan perfectly. Tinglan’s spring-summer limited edition reached out to us directly; their dresses always have this ethereal fairy-tale quality.”
Yu Wanqiu was past the age of wearing colorful princess gowns herself, so these were all for Jiang Lan.
Xia Jing continued, “Little Xu mentioned Jiang Lan wore heels while playing the cello last time, so I brought two pairs of strappy stilettos—one white, one silver.”
With a wave of her hand, Yu Wanqiu said, “Start with the skincare first. She’s young, so a basic hydration routine will do.”
Before Jiang Lan could react, she was ushered into another room by the beautician, who cooed, “Miss Jiang, your complexion is already so fair and lovely, but who doesn’t want to look even more radiant?”
Two hours of pampering later, Jiang Lan emerged with a dewy, glowing face. Yu Wanqiu smiled approvingly. “Now, pick a dress. These brands reached out to Xia Jing themselves—wearing their designs is like free advertising for them.”
These weren’t ultra-luxury haute couture pieces, but they were certainly beyond Jiang Lan’s usual budget.
Hesitating, Jiang Lan murmured, “Yu Laoshi…”
Yu Wanqiu chuckled. “Try them all. I’ll decide which one suits you best.”
Xia Jing had brought nine dresses in total. IE’s fringed gown was made of a lightweight, silvery fabric that shimmered with every movement, the tassels swaying like flowing water.
The two Starry Sky dresses reached the ankles, crafted from layers of delicate tulle in a princess silhouette, with scattered crystals forming constellations along the hem. Tinglan’s spring-summer collection, dubbed “Floral Fantasy,” was a riot of pastel hues—pink, blue, green—as if spring itself had been sewn into the fabric.
By the eighth dress, Yu Wanqiu called it. “This green one. And let’s change her hair color too, alright?”
The green dress featured an asymmetrical hem, grazing the knees in front and floating just below the calves in the back, accentuating Jiang Lan’s slender, jade-like legs.
Embroidered with gauzy green blossoms and tiny crystals, the dress nipped in at the waist, with delicate dark green silk straps.
Jiang Lan’s shoulder-length hair wasn’t ideal for elaborate styling, so extensions were added, dyed a temporary slate-gray. To match the dress’s playful vibe, the stylist gave her bouncy tousled waves, finishing the look with a petite pearl-embellished hairpin.
Her makeup would wait until tomorrow, but the transformation was already striking.
Staring at her reflection, Jiang Lan barely recognized herself.
Yu Wanqiu was pleased. As a veteran in the entertainment industry, she had an eye for fashion. Jiang Lan’s usual college-student outfits—t-shirts and jeans—relied on her natural beauty, but now, in a dress, she was breathtaking.
She snapped a few photos of Jiang Lan. “Not bad at all.”
Jiang Lan touched her face, still dazed. “It doesn’t feel like me.”
Yu Wanqiu said simply, “It’s you, no matter what.”
Dressing Jiang Lan was like playing with a life-sized doll—something Yu Wanqiu secretly enjoyed. She’d always wanted a daughter but had only her son, Lu Yicheng.
Not long after his birth, she’d returned to filming, leaving him mostly in the care of nannies. She’d never considered having another child.
Jiang Lan, though, clearly grew up doted on by her parents.
With a quiet sigh, Yu Wanqiu said, “Alright, pack your things. We leave for the high-speed rail at eight.”
It was already 5:30 PM, and the drive to the station would take over an hour.
Jiang Lan perked up. “Yu Laoshi, let me treat you to dinner!”
Yu Wanqiu arched a brow. “And risk stretching that dress? Don’t even think about it.”
Jiang Lan pouted.
“Another time,” Yu Wanqiu relented.
Instantly brightening, Jiang Lan grinned. “Then I’ll research some local specialties! By the way, Yu Laoshi, you look amazing in that dress.”
Yu Wanqiu had chosen a bold wine-red gown, mirroring her character in the film—sharp, sophisticated, and effortlessly commanding.
Her signature waves cascaded over her shoulders, exuding timeless elegance.
Downstairs, Shen Xingyao gasped at Jiang Lan’s new look. “Wow! I almost forgot—tomorrow’s your premiere, Yu Laoshi! Wishing you record-breaking box office numbers! But when will you be back? My birthday’s on Wednesday, and I’d love to have everyone over for dinner.”
It was Zhang Tian’s idea—the four sets of housemates hadn’t shared a meal since moving in. Now that Chen Shuyun had quit her job and Zhang Lin’s family was free, it all depended on Yu Wanqiu and Shen Xingyao’s schedules.
“We’ll return as soon as possible,” Yu Wanqiu promised.
By the time they arrived in Shanghai, it was past 11 PM. To ensure they looked their best tomorrow, they turned in early. Before heading to her room, Jiang Lan hesitated. “Um, Yu Laoshi… why’d you take those photos earlier?”
Yu Wanqiu had already sent them to Lu Yicheng. She feigned nonchalance. “For a wallpaper. Why?”
Jiang Lan fidgeted. “Using my photo as your wallpaper seems… odd?”
Yu Wanqiu smirked. “Did I say it was *my* wallpaper?”
With the camera crew gone, Jiang Lan mustered some courage. “Yu Laoshi, if Lu Yicheng and I got together, it might strain your relationship with him. And besides—”
Yu Wanqiu cut her off with a dismissive wave. “What nonsense. Go wash up and sleep.”
Jiang Lan: “……”
She set her alarm for 7 AM.
After breakfast, the stylists returned for hair, makeup, and final touches, a process that dragged on until noon.
At 2 PM, Jiang Lan followed Yu Wanqiu into Shanghai’s Jinchang Grand Theater. Little Xu guided her to their seats. “Yu Laoshi has interviews. She’ll join us later.”
Little Xu slipped out briefly, returning with popcorn and a soda. “Butter flavor. The Coke’s icy—don’t drink too much.”
Jiang Lan blinked. “Yu Laoshi asked for this?”
Little Xu nodded. The theater didn’t serve snacks—she’d sprinted to a nearby cinema in the mall.
The venue was sparsely filled, mostly with the film’s cast, crew, and journalists adjusting their cameras. Occasional flashes lit up the dim space.
The show’s cameramen lingered in the back. Yu Wanqiu was likely backstage, prepping for her interviews.
Little Xu had been Yu Wanqiu’s assistant for three years. The job was demanding, but the pay—and the holiday bonuses—made it worthwhile.
Yu Wanqiu was strict and disciplined, but otherwise fair. These days, Little Xu shadowed Jiang Lan more often.
“I don’t watch many movies,” Little Xu admitted. “Want anything else? I can grab it for you.”
Jiang Lan shook her head. “No need.”
Little Xu stared at Jiang Lan in silent admiration for a few seconds before quieting down. Soon, the lights in the theater dimmed, and the host stepped onto the stage under the shimmering spotlight.
Jiang Lan caught sight of Yu Wanqiu and immediately took out her phone to snap a few pictures.
Yu Wanqiu looked absolutely stunning today—nothing like a forty-six-year-old. She could easily pass for someone in her twenties, more like an older sister. Her deep V-neck gown, made of lustrous satin, revealed a swath of snow-white skin on her back, so radiant it was almost dazzling. After the interview segment, Yu Wanqiu returned to her seat, and Jiang Lan eagerly showed her the photos. “Yu Wanqiu, do they look good?”
Yu Wanqiu glanced down, unsure what filter Jiang Lan had used, but the photos had a nostalgic, old-school Hong Kong film quality to them. In that brief moment of her lowering her head, both the film crew’s and the program’s cameras captured the scene.
One in wine red, the other in soft green—Yu Wanqiu, who frequented the gym and often tanned under the sun while filming, appeared slightly darker than Jiang Lan. The two of them, heads bowed, looked like a pair of elegant white swans.
“They’re beautiful,” Yu Wanqiu said.
Jiang Lan whispered, “Little Xu mentioned there’s a celebration dinner tonight. How about we go out for a meal tomorrow?”
Returning to City B tonight would be too rushed, especially since the celebration might run late. Jiang Lan adored this dress and wanted to wear it again.
Yu Wanqiu teased, “So eager to treat me to dinner?”
Jiang Lan nodded. “I want to wear my new dress and invite a beautiful woman out for a meal.”
Yu Wanqiu was momentarily speechless. She had always been confident in her looks, but hearing Jiang Lan say it so bluntly…
It had been years since Lu Shuangchen last complimented her beauty.
“Let’s watch the movie first,” Yu Wanqiu said.
After the host’s introduction, the lights in the theater faded completely. Yu Wanqiu pressed her lips together and added, “Tomorrow evening. We’ll have dinner before heading back to City B.”
Today was Monday. If they left after dinner tomorrow, they could still make it to Shen Xingyao’s birthday party.
Jiang Lan smiled and settled in with her bucket of popcorn. The movie ran for a full two hours, and before she knew it, it was over.
Perhaps because she had acted in it herself, Yu Wanqiu didn’t find it particularly moving. But Jiang Lan cried from the halfway point all the way to the end.
Jiang Lan had put on makeup today—her eyelids shimmered with fine glitter, and tiny sequins adorned her under-eye area. Now, her eyes were red and puffy from crying.
“Yu Wanqiu, I thought you were one of the good guys.”
In the film, Yu Wanqiu played Chen Jinglan, the star pupil of male lead Shen Yunbo and the only female officer in City G’s narcotics task force.
After receiving a tip, the police sprang into action, but the operation ended in failure, with two officers losing their lives.
When another tip came in, Shen Yunbo didn’t hesitate to mobilize the team again—only to return empty-handed once more. He began to wonder where things had gone wrong.
Either the informant had turned traitor, or there was a mole within the police force.
For the final operation, the team decided to have Chen Jinglan pose as a dance hall girl, infiltrating City G’s most notorious underworld den to relay intel.
But who could have guessed that Chen Jinglan herself was the mole, embedded for over a decade?
The mission failed, and Chen Jinglan’s police badge was permanently retired.
Shen Yunbo narrowly escaped death and, starting with the female drug lord Chen Jinglan, dismantled numerous dark networks.
Those lurking in the shadows were finally brought to justice—while Chen Jinglan met her end in a hail of bullets.
Yu Wanqiu handed her a tissue. “Dry your tears properly.”
Then, after a pause, she added, “An actor isn’t bound to only play heroes. Drug dealers are despicable—without them, our country wouldn’t lose so many officers. If the roles I portray leave a lasting impact and raise public awareness, then it doesn’t matter whether the character is good or evil.”
Yu Wanqiu rarely spoke at such length, but seeing Jiang Lan so heartbroken moved her.
Jiang Lan stared at Yu Wanqiu, suddenly struck by the depth of her presence.
“Yu Wanqiu, after the premiere ends, I want to go straight back to the hotel.” Jiang Lan wanted to search for nearby flower shops.
She had brought her violin with her, too.
