Chapter 45 A Sarcastic Tone

Song Wan’s assistant didn’t recognize Qiao Jiu and Guan Wei and pushed her toward the exit. Qiao Jiu hadn’t planned to greet her anyway; last time, the little green tea had been reduced to tears by her, and while it wasn’t a full-blown feud, their relationship was certainly strained.

Unexpectedly, the little green tea stopped her assistant and signaled to be wheeled over toward Qiao Jiu.

Guan Wei lowered her voice, “Why is she coming over? I barely know her. Last time, we hardly exchanged a few words. Honestly, she’s such a nuisance—I can’t be bothered to deal with her.”

Qiao Jiu chuckled, “You might be overthinking it. She’s probably here for me.”

Guan Wei paused, lowering her voice even further, “You two have met before?”

Qiao Jiu didn’t reply, because Song Wan had already approached.

She was quite considerate, revealing her face from behind her upright collar and removing her sunglasses. “Miss Qiao.”

The assistant jumped, looking around nervously before stepping protectively in front of her. “Wanwan, put your sunglasses back on quickly—if someone recognizes you, it’ll be trouble.”

Song Wan didn’t seem concerned. “Go wait outside. There shouldn’t be any issues in here.”

The assistant anxiously glanced around; indeed, the lobby was nearly empty.

In truth, the hospital was different from other places—most people here were patients, focused on treatment and recovery. Even if they recognized Song Wan, the famous actress, very few would spare time to bother her.

Chasing celebrities couldn’t possibly outweigh one’s own life.

The assistant hesitated. “Then be careful.”

Song Wan ignored her, focusing solely on Qiao Jiu.

Qiao Jiu lounged lazily against her chair, her expression indifferent.

Guan Wei straightened up, waiting for the assistant to leave before speaking. “Miss Song, are you unwell? Why are you at the hospital?”

Song Wan gestured to her leg. “I met Miss Qiao the other day. When I got home, I hurried to pack up and return to the set. I was in too much of a rush and tripped over myself, fell.”

She explained further, “I couldn’t continue filming because of this. The crew was notified, and they replaced me. Perhaps it’s fate—such a popular IP, but it’s not meant for me.”

Qiao Jiu laughed lightly, “Is that so? What a pity.”

Guan Wei looked at her leg. “You were only in there a few minutes; the injury doesn’t seem serious. You’re really giving up such a hit show just for that?”

Song Wan sighed dramatically. “I wanted to push through—some shots could be faked. After all, so much money had been invested, it hurt to let it go. But Ah Zhou insisted. He said there would be more opportunities in the future, not to rush, health comes first. Money isn’t his concern.”

Guan Wei’s face tensed for a few seconds before she recovered. “Lu Fengzhou treats you well. But since he’s so considerate, couldn’t he ask the crew to wait for you? They replaced you, and people outside are saying awful things. My phone’s been flooded with notifications about you these past two days. Looking at those comments—oh, it’s unbearable.”

Song Wan tried to keep her expression steady. “It’s too much trouble. I’ve been filming nonstop, never had a proper rest. Ah Zhou wanted me to take this opportunity to recuperate.”

Qiao Jiu said nothing, her expression unchanged, not even showing a hint of curiosity.

Guan Wei clicked her tongue. “How thoughtful. But if he’s so considerate, why hasn’t he helped you manage public opinion? Have you seen the backlash outside? Your reputation is going down the drain. And today, I saw the actress who replaced you—”

She turned to Qiao Jiu. “Hey, what’s that actress’s name? She posted something yesterday, and the comments exploded.”

Qiao Jiu shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t use Weibo. Why? Are people saying nasty things?”

“Of course,” Guan Wei replied sharply, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “I browsed for a bit, but couldn’t stand it anymore.”

She turned back to Song Wan. “Did they hire trolls to slander you? All the comments said the same thing—must be paid posters.”

Guan Wei looked so earnest that Qiao Jiu almost laughed. In the past, she and Guan Wei had their differences and even argued. Back then, Guan Wei was terrible at comebacks, never lasted a round before she was stumped and frustrated.

Half a year later, she’d improved—she could almost hold her own now.

Song Wan’s face alternated between red and pale; whether she was genuinely meek or simply pretending, she put on the same aggrieved, bullied look.

Qiao Jiu truly disliked this demeanor. Maybe others saw it as gentle and composed, but to her it was just spineless—nothing at all.

She immediately lost interest in sparring, stood up, and said to Guan Wei, “It’s getting late, you should head up. If you’re late, they’ll find fault again.”

Guan Wei agreed, “You’ve been out a while, time to rest. Let’s go, let’s go.”

The two chatted as they walked away, completely ignoring Song Wan.

Her assistant must have been watching at the door; as soon as they started moving, she rushed over, looking panicked.

Qiao Jiu glanced at her coolly, wondering what she was so anxious about.

She and Guan Wei left the outpatient lobby, crossed to the open space ahead. Guan Wei finally couldn’t hold back, “Ugh, what a mess.”

Qiao Jiu laughed, “She matches Lu Fengzhou well.”

Guan Wei disagreed, “No way. Lu Fengzhou is a bastard, but she’s not even good enough for him. Look at her—so affected and timid, such small-mindedness.”

She muttered, “The other day in the private room, the dim lights made it hard to see. But just now, looking closely, her face must have gone under the knife countless times. Did you notice? Even her nose is crooked.”

Qiao Jiu didn’t want to discuss it, “Enough, enough. She’s not someone who brings us joy, let’s not talk about her. You go home, I’ll head back as well—I need a nap before working for you tonight.”

“Yeah, right,” Guan Wei waved her off. “As if I don’t know your ways. Everyone says you’re the second-in-command at the bar. If I stay away too long, you’ll seize the throne.”

Qiao Jiu smiled but said nothing, and the two parted ways.

She took a cab home, kicked off her shoes at the door, and collapsed onto the sofa.

Catching her breath, she recalled Song Wan’s words.

It wasn’t fair to say she was lying entirely; maybe she really did leave the crew because of her injury.

Lost in these idle thoughts, her phone suddenly buzzed twice—an incoming message.

Qiao Jiu paused, pulled out her phone, and scanned the screen. How interesting—the message was from Song Wan.

She opened it and found a long, rambling essay, nearly eight hundred words.