"Do you think… the Empress is pitiful?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, voice low and probing, "In a way… does she resemble you?"
Ruyi's lips curved into a polite smile, practiced and elegant, yet her eyes reflected the clarity of thought burning beneath. She folded the script neatly and closed it with a soft click.
"No, she doesn't resemble me," she replied with careful poise, her voice calm, refined, and deliberate. "The Empress is a free spirit. She willingly accepted shackles, restraining herself for someone she knew she could never win. She sacrificed her freedom entirely for love, and though it was beautiful in its own way, it was a surrender to something she could not command."
The director raised an eyebrow, intrigued, waiting for her to continue.
"Whereas I…" Ruyi paused, letting the weight of her words sink, "…even if I was ready to throw everything away for him, even as a devoted admirer of Jiang Yuanzhi… I am not her. I have my own life, my own ambitions, and my own dreams. I will not discard them for someone who does not reflect my heart or reciprocate my devotion."
Her smile widened subtly, measured and confident, yet warm. It was a smile that carried quiet defiance and calm intelligence, and her eyes were bright, clear, and alive that reflected the determination to carve her own path.
The director blinked, taken aback. He had worked with countless actresses, some talented, some gifted, but few with such an air of restrained potential. He could sense it, the danger, the brilliance, the fire that coiled beneath her polished surface.
"I see," he said finally, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You have a… certain sharpness to yourself. The kind that will soar once given the right opportunity. I look forward to seeing how far you can go."
Ruyi inclined her head gracefully, a soft "Thank you" leaving her lips. Inside, she felt a subtle thrill.
Not from vanity, but from her own acknowledgment. She had studied the Empress, dissected her suffering, and understood the mechanics of despair, but she had also grasped something far more potent.
And that was Freedom of will.
She folded the script, standing and moving with a fluid, practiced grace toward the dressing room. The hum of the set surrounded her, the faint clatter of costume racks, the muffled orders of crew members, and the rhythmic steps of extras preparing to breathe life into the palace scenes.
However, a cheers distracted her from her work.
A swell of cheers, low at first, then it was spreading like waves across the entrance. Her ears caught the familiar cadence of fan voices, cries of excitement, and the unmistakable roar that followed a star of the magnitude of Jiang Yuanzhi.
Her chest tightened imperceptibly.
Jiang Yuanzhi strode through the entrance, tall and flawless, every movement with precise commanding that drew people's attention without effort. Cameras flashed on him along with his assistants, who trailed after him, and fans screamed his name with unrestrained fervor. His gaze, when it lifted, swept across the set; it was not for her, but for the entirety of the scene, the stage, and the production.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, time seemed to slow.
Shen Ruyi froze in place with the script in her hand, watching him glide past as the cheers reverberated through her chest. Her pulse quickened in an intense, focused awareness.
This was the man she had admired from afar, the idol whose music had once been her lifeline. He was also the man who despised the original Shen Ruyi, her body's prior owner. And yet, for that instant, standing in her own consciousness, she realized that admiration and fear no longer bound her.
Her heart did a strange flip.
This encounter could have been monumental, dramatic, and destined to spark conflict, but she restrained herself.
Be it as a fan or as his fiancée, she knew that their worlds weren't meant to cross.
The presence of Jiang Yuanzhi, dazzling and untouchable, did not destabilize her. She was no longer the girl who had screamed his name at concerts or obsessively tracked his life from behind the safety of her screen. She was Shen Ruyi now—capable, aware, and resolute.
Her fingers tightened subtly on the script, grounding herself in reality. She could admire him, respect his talent, or even acknowledge the emotions that stirred in her chest, but she would not allow them to dictate her actions. She had her own life, her own agenda, and she would not be swept into his orbit blindly.
The director, noticing her composure, gave a small approving nod from across the set. He, too, like Shen Ruyi, sensed the unspoken tension, the invisible line drawn between the star and the actress, the fan and the fiancée.
As Jiang Yuanzhi passed within meters of her, Shen Ruyi inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, a subtle, polite gesture that maintained decorum without revealing the storm beneath. Her eyes, bright and unwavering, met his for a fleeting moment.
He looked at her, perhaps out of habit, but quickly shifted his gaze away, focused elsewhere.
And in that brief exchange, Shen Ruyi realized something crucial: That her world and his were different. Her heart and her path were separate.
Without hesitation, she turned, tucking the script under her arm, and continued toward the dressing room. The cheers behind her faded into the background, leaving only the sound of her own measured footsteps and the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Inside the dressing room, mirrors reflected her composed figure, a woman prepared for the role she had been given, both on-screen and in real life. She set the script down and began reviewing the costume sketches, noting how each layer of fabric and ornament symbolized power, restraint, and the subtle elegance of the Empress.
The irony of the situation was not lost on her. Here, she was a woman who had been cast as the villainess, inhabiting a body despised by the man she admired, yet standing on her own ground with quiet dignity.