Public [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 06
**Chapter 6: Wild Helicopter**
Qin Mang finished filming close to midnight.
Shencheng’s nights were always bustling and noisy. Even late at night, neon lights stretched endlessly across the city. Through the stained-glass windows of the rooftop restaurant, the atmosphere felt strangely dreamlike, as if she were in a surreal, patchwork world.
Compared to the lavish late-night snacks in front of Meng Ting and A-Tong, Qin Mang only had a glass of chilled watermelon juice. After filming all day, she had no appetite.
The atmosphere had been quiet—until—
A-Tong suddenly gasped, « Wow, the forum post got taken down. »
« What? »
The girl, who had been resting with her eyes half-closed, lifted her lashes and looked over.
A-Tong quickly typed in some keywords, then sucked in a sharp breath. « All the keywords about that big shot from the He family are gone. »
Meng Ting’s expression shifted, as if he realized something. He immediately searched other platforms.
Sure enough, everything was gone.
Instinctively, he glanced at the stunning face across from him—a face so radiant that even a dazzling red dress couldn’t overshadow it. He froze for a few seconds, a bold guess forming in his mind.
« You think CEO He took it down to protect you? »
« ? »
Qin Mang’s delicate brows slowly furrowed. Meng Ting’s words successfully wiped away her drowsiness.
What the hell?
Who was protecting whom?
He Lianji?
Her?
The image of He Lianji’s cold, unfeeling face—even in bed—flashed in her mind. Her pretty face scrunched up in displeasure.
Meng Ting analyzed it logically. « Look, all the major forums are still speculating about who stayed on the yacht that night. Even though Shen Wanyin vaguely posted a yacht photo on Instagram, there’s no solid proof. The rumors are still spreading. »
« I bet CEO He was worried they’d actually dig you up, so he shut them all down! »
Qin Mang recalled the conversation she’d had with He Lianji the night before.
They *had* mentioned the forums.
And He Lianji *had* dealt with it.
On the surface, it seemed reasonable—
But it was *completely* unreasonable!
This tyrannical act of silencing everyone—who was he trying to fool?!
Meanwhile, Meng Ting had reached the end of his analysis. Staring at Qin Mang’s breathtakingly beautiful face—the kind that could unite the world’s aesthetic standards—he declared with confidence, « CEO He must admire you! »
« You should seize this chance to get on his radar. »
« We can’t let Shen Wanyin take all the benefits. Back then, she was only shortlisted because the production team misinterpreted a single glance from CEO He as approval. »
Qin Mang pressed her lips together, frustration bubbling inside her.
Her slender, delicate fingers slowly lifted the glass of ice-cold watermelon juice, taking a sip to cool down.
But hearing Meng Ting’s words only reignited her anger. « What do you mean? »
« Shen Wanyin was pre-selected because of He Lianji? »
« Yeah— »
Meng Ting hadn’t expected Qin Mang to react so strongly. He was about to explain when the young miss stopped listening. She pulled out her personal phone—untouched all day—from her bag.
She had intended to confront the culprit.
But the first thing she saw was a barrage of messages from Wu Yuxi about the same issue. Scrolling down, she finally found He Lianji’s reply to her morning text.
**[He Lianji: Miss Qin, you flatter me.]**
*Snap.*
Qin Mang expressionlessly flipped her phone face-down on the table.
Fuel to the fire.
« He Lianji, that bastard! »
« But you still have a chance— »
Meng Ting was still analyzing when Qin Mang’s outburst startled him. He rushed to cover her mouth. « Y-You—don’t you know walls have ears?! »
Qin Mang lifted her lashes, her usually soft voice now icy. « What, afraid of getting beheaded? »
She stood up.
« Where are you going? »
« Cleaning house. »
With those four words, she left the restaurant without looking back.
Only the half-finished glass of watermelon juice remained on the table, its bright red hue looking eerily secretive under the light.
—
**Lakeside Manor**
Before Qin Mang could « clean house, » the butler informed her that He Lianji had gone abroad.
She had planned to wait for him, but three days passed without a single word from him. Even the butler couldn’t reach him.
Then, the time came for her to join the set of the movie she’d been cast in—a supporting role as a stunningly beautiful fairy in a fantasy film. Her character died immediately after appearing.
Despite it being another humiliating « eight-second role, » Qin Mang took it seriously. She studied the entire script, analyzed her character’s psychology, and didn’t cut corners.
Under the scorching sun, the heat-sensitive young woman wore layer upon layer of ethereal but suffocating ancient-style costumes. Her hair was adorned with gorgeous but heavy hairpins. Yet, she tirelessly flew back and forth on wires over a sea of fire, determined to meet the assistant director’s demand for a « breathtaking death scene. »
Once the camera rolled, she wasn’t a pampered young miss but a dedicated actress striving for perfection.
By the time filming ended, Qin Mang’s forehead was dotted with sweat. Her fair skin was flushed an unnatural red, alarming A-Tong, who quickly helped her out of her costume and brought ice to cool her down.
Qin Mang gently wiped her damp lashes.
« It’s fine. »
The small fan whirred noisily.
Her hair fluttered in the breeze, and the rosy hue on her cheeks didn’t look unflattering. Instead, it resembled flames imprinted on her skin, making her face even more mysteriously enchanting.
Art-house director Lin Chenxuan, who happened to be visiting the set, paused when he saw her.
Absorbed in his own scripts over the years, he hadn’t paid attention to new actors. He had no idea who Qin Mang was.
He turned to the fantasy film’s director, Zhao.
« Is she a newcomer? »
Director Zhao hadn’t personally seen Qin Mang’s work but knew a little about her. Noticing Lin Chenxuan’s interest, he smiled knowingly. « Not exactly. Why, do you have a role for her in your new film? »
He didn’t mind making an introduction.
In the entertainment industry, fortunes rose and fell unpredictably.
Unlike Zhao’s commercial focus, Lin Chenxuan was devoted to niche, body-centric art films—often featuring explicit scenes that couldn’t be released domestically.
Yet, many actors still clamored for his roles.
Because his films had a high chance of winning international awards.
Lin Chenxuan’s gaze lingered on Qin Mang’s radiant, flame-like beauty. He nodded. « There’s an important role in my new film that hasn’t been cast yet. » He hadn’t found the right fit—until now.
It was well-known in the industry that Lin Chenxuan chose actors purely based on instinct.
Director Zhao clicked his tongue in amazement. Qin Mang was lucky.
She might have lost *Memories of Peking*, but she’d caught *this* director’s eye.
The entertainment industry had no secrets, especially when it came to *Memories of Peking*—a major S+ production that drew attention from actors, fans, and even directors.
—
When Qin Mang wrapped up her eight-second role that day, she received an ominous red envelope from Director Zhao (who hadn’t shown up until then), along with a new script and contact information.
And a meaningful comment: « If you do well in Director Lin’s film, your chances of winning an award are very high. »
—
Exhausted, Qin Mang returned home.
After a long bath, she had a masseuse work on her sore muscles and applied a cooling face mask before sinking into her bed.
Her delicate skin was still slightly red from the heat.
As she absentmindedly flipped through the script, her fingers tracing the bolded, highlighted scenes, her lips curled slowly.
If her ancestors found out she was considering a film with such explicit content, they’d probably line up at night to lecture her Zen-seeking father—no amount of Buddha could stop them.
Just as she was amusing herself with that mental image—
Her phone buzzed.
It was Meng Ting.
He’d heard about the offer from A-Tong. « Aside from the explicit scenes, Director Lin’s film *is* an incredible opportunity. »
« If you win an international award, you won’t have to worry about lack of leading roles. »
When Qin Mang stayed silent, he teased,
« If we can’t get *Memories of Peking*, we might really have to resort to art films to turn things around. »
Qin Mang snapped, « Don’t jinx it. »
« Have you even accumulated enough good karma? »
Then she promptly hung up.
Meng Ting: « … »
Damn it, he was doing this for *her*!
—
The fatigue from filming the past few days made Qin Mang’s thoughts drift. Before sleep fully claimed her, Director Zhao’s words echoed in her mind—
*Win an award.*
Could she?
Her slender frame gradually sank deeper into the soft blankets.
She didn’t even notice when the maid came to remove her face mask.
—
She slept until ten the next morning, when a knock startled her awake.
The butler’s voice came through the door: « Madam, Mr. He has arranged for someone to pick you up in an hour to return to the old mansion. »
« You’ll need to start getting ready. »
Qin Mang’s voice was soft with sleep. « Hmm? »
« He’s back? »
Bare feet touching the cold floor, the chill sharpened her drowsiness slightly.
Every month, on the 26th, they had a fixed dinner at the He family home.
Even if she was still angry with He Lianji, as the « loving couple » in their families’ eyes, this performance of marital bliss was non-negotiable.
The butler replied, « Mr. He is still at the airport. He might be late, so you should go ahead first. »
« The stylists are ready. »
Qin Mang nodded indifferently.
A team of stylists filed in, guiding her to the dressing room connected to her walk-in closet before she could fully wake up.
They began doing her hair and makeup.
Her closet in the city center had been replicated here, taking up nearly half of the second floor. To get there from the master bedroom, she had to pass through He Lianji’s closet.
Black glass cabinets displayed tailored suits, luxury watches, ties, and even cufflinks—each meticulously organized by color, all in cool, muted tones. Rarely was there a bright hue. The entire space was rigid, understated, and obsessively orderly.
Clearly, the master of the house had severe OCD.
Beyond the monochrome men’s closet was a dazzling explosion of color—Qin Mang’s walk-in closet, which seemed to contain every shade imaginable.
Luxury and opulence dripped from every corner.
An entire cabinet was dedicated to fine jewelry, not to mention the uncut gemstones Qin Mang had collected over the years, stored in a separate room.
Various shapes, various colors—it was like stepping into a forest of raw gems.
Even the well-traveled butler had been stunned when moving them in.
Now he understood why Qin Mang had insisted on an exact replica of her closet.
But he quickly adjusted to her hobby.
After all, the He family had He Lianji, who collected planes, yachts, and sports cars. In comparison, Qin Mang’s gemstone hobby was almost… *modest*.
Little did he know Qin Mang would soon teach him otherwise.
—
Before leaving, Qin Mang’s gaze lingered on the script on her nightstand.
She paused for a second, then rubbed her temples, recalling Meng Ting’s words from last night—
*How to secure* Memories of Peking.
Easier said than done.
—
The He family’s old mansion was nestled in Shencheng’s historic district, hidden beyond a lively ancient street, deep within a wisteria grove.
Qin Mang rested her chin on her hand, watching the scenery outside. The window reflected her current appearance—
A silk cheongsam, thin as cicada wings, clung to her figure. The embroidered flowers at her waist were almost too vivid, as if painted by a master artist.
The makeup artist hadn’t toned down her striking beauty but instead amplified it—red lips, dark brows, poised and graceful. The cheongsam’s elegance was on full display.
It wasn’t vanity.
She *knew* she looked better in a cheongsam than Shen Wanyin ever could.
Qin Mang’s lips curled lazily.
If He Lianji chose Shen Wanyin as the lead, he was *blind*.
—
This wasn’t her first time at the old mansion. Visiting monthly, she knew the place well.
But today, she was early.
The vast living room only had He Lianji’s younger cousin, He Xucheng, lounging on the sofa with a tablet.
Hearing the door, He Xucheng looked up—
And was instantly struck by the vision of a breathtaking beauty in a cheongsam.
The girl blinked, dazed by the radiance, before finally finding her voice. « Sis, you look *amazing* in that cheongsam. »
Qin Mang smiled.
The sheer brilliance of her beauty was mesmerizing. He Xucheng swallowed hard. « The embroidery is so detailed too. »
Qin Mang reached out and pinched the girl’s plump cheek. She’d been about to compliment her taste but remembered her « disposable persona » and switched to a sweet smile.
« Oh, this embroidery was actually done by your brother— »
Wait.
What about the embroidery?
He Xucheng’s eyes lit up. « My brother *embroidered* it? »
Qin Mang: « … »
« Yes. »
She deadpanned, fully committing to the lie. « Your brother is *very* skilled. He can cook, clean, make money, *and* embroider… »
Running out of nonsense, she quickly changed the subject. « What are you looking at so intently? »
He Xucheng assumed her sister-in-law was just shy.
She tilted the tablet toward her. « I’m looking at photos! »
Qin Mang glanced at the screen—
And saw a tall, imposing figure standing beside a massive black helicopter.
The man’s black shirt and camouflage pants emphasized his long legs and narrow waist—a perfect silhouette that would make anyone whistle.
The photo was slightly blurred, obscuring his face but amplifying the atmosphere.
Her gaze lingered on his waist, accentuated by the belt.
*Damn.*
Qin Mang: « Nice waist. »
Seeing her interest, He Xucheng grinned. « There are more of him flying the helicopter. Brother is *so* cool! »
Knowing the high schooler was obsessed with celebrities and cycled through 2D boyfriends like clothes, Qin Mang assumed this was some idol’s photoshoot.
She didn’t think much of the « brother » title—idols were all « gege » anyway.
Qin Mang swiped through more photos—silhouettes, back views, helmeted shots of him piloting the helicopter.
So he *could* actually fly one. Not just a prop.
*So wild.*
She liked it.
« Which idol is this? Has he debuted yet? Does he need… votes? »
As she spoke, she casually swiped to the next photo—and froze.
This time, the man’s face was visible.
He had just descended from the helicopter when the shot was taken. His dark hair was windswept, revealing his striking, ice-cold features. As he removed his gloves, he seemed to sense the camera. His lashes lifted, revealing piercing blue-gray eyes—sharp enough to steal one’s breath away.
The usual restraint was gone, replaced by a feral, almost *sinful* magnetism.
*It was He Lianji!*
Qin Mang’s beautiful face was a picture of shock.
Who would’ve thought the usually rigid, ascetic man had such a *wild* hobby?!
More importantly—
After all their *encounters*—
How had she never noticed *how* enticing his waist was?
He Xucheng’s voice was sly. « Sis, you didn’t recognize my brother? »
« Then whose waist were you praising just now? »
« An idol’s? »
Qin Mang: « … »
