“Oh my god, isn’t that our two-faced little princess Jiang Li? Sick but still out there working?”
“She said she was leaving the industry because she’s unwell, yet she’s still out to make money — what a hypocrite. So professional. *thumbs up*”
“Embarrassing herself all the way abroad. Bet half the reason this film can’t release at home is because of her.”
“I haven’t even seen it, but it’s definitely trash.”
“……”
Meanwhile, Jiang Li was sitting beside Xiao Yanzhi on the flight home to China. She idly skimmed the entertainment news from back home, scrolled through The Embroideress’ official Weibo, grew bored, turned her phone off, then leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Not happy?” he asked.
“Mm.” She couldn’t say she was fine. “Someone took pictures of me at an event in Lyon. Now they’re tearing me apart — saying I’m playing the sick card while still making money.”
“It hurts. They used to say they’d always love and support me. How did they turn on me so fast just because I got sick? People get sick.”
This was new: she was trying to put her hurt into words. It was a small, good sign.
Xiao pulled her into his arms, his smile folding into something softer. “I’ll ask Jiang Entertainment’s PR to take care of it.”
What else could they do? Pay to get posts deleted, control the comments, bury the story. A full-service cleanup.
“No.” Jiang Li shook her head, faintly. “That’s a band‑aid. It might backfire — let it blow over naturally.”
She even found a way to justify it to herself. “If they’re going to yell anyway, at least it’s creating buzz for the film. All in all, it’s not the worst thing.”
She was upset, but not irrational — still thinking clearly rather than letting anger run the show. Xiao found that combination endearing.
The car sped along toward the airport. He held her close. “How can I cheer you up?”
Her eyes brightened. “Can I make a wish?”
He laughed softly. “Of course.”
“I want you to teach me to paint.” She blinked. “Is that okay?”
“Of course.” He pinched her nose. “But why painting, all of a sudden?”
She tilted her chin up and said it earnestly: “When I can’t act anymore, when fans no longer care and no one hires me, I’ll stand on the street and paint portraits for passersby — twenty kuai a piece.”
Xiao couldn’t help smiling. “My students’ work is worth way more than that.”
Her posture stiffened for a second, suspicious. “Have you had other students before?”
She sounded like she was about to get jealous.
He grinned and flicked her forehead. “I don’t have the patience for teaching. You’ll be the first — and the last.”
She repeated it back to him with a smile. “First and last.”
She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
——
By the time they landed it was nine at night. They returned to Ruiyuan. Xiao had more or less managed to cheer her up; she showered and finally turned her phone back on when she climbed into bed, intending to check how the storm online had settled.
Ten hours had passed since the photos leaked. Negative chatter should have reached its peak hours ago; nighttime was when fans tore into each other fiercest. She braced herself and opened the feed.
The top trending item stopped her in her tracks.
[Good news! Jiang Li’s film The Embroideress has been officially selected for a screening at the Toronto International Film Festival!]
Underneath, the comments were suddenly a lot kinder.
“Wow, congrats Li-baby! Moving from home to overseas already. I’m so proud of you!”
“Why won’t it be shown here? I demand an explanation. If I can’t see this film, I will—”
“I’m in Lyon and saw the premiere. It’s definitely award-worthy.”
“Poster, photos, proof, please! I want to see Li Li!”
“……”
Jiang Li blinked, read the headline three times, then held the phone out in a daze to the man beside her. “Xiao Yanzhi, am I seeing this right?”
He glanced at the screen, calm as ever. “You are. Congratulations — it’s yours.”
It felt like an unexpected gift.
She sat quietly for a long moment, then blurted, “You bought the trending, didn’t you?”
He froze for half a beat.
She gave him a look as if he’d failed at romance. His silence puzzled her — how could he be so dense?
Her face flushed, then melted into a dozen expressions at once: surprise, disbelief, joy. Tears stitched at her lashes.
“When did you find out? Why didn’t you tell me?” She sniffed. “I never thought we’d actually get selected.”
To her, just getting the film safely released had seemed like the best possible outcome. Now that it had been accepted for a festival screening, the possibilities multiplied. Of course she was moved.
She half rose from the bed with excitement and then held back, hesitant. “You didn’t pay to get it in, did you?”
“Jiang,” he said lightly, “if I could do that, I’d just go ahead and put you on the Oscars stage.”
He thought she was unbearably adorable. He answered with a lazy tease because the truth was simpler: he hadn’t bought anything. She didn’t need it. Her talent, her craft, her hard work — that was what had earned the film its place. Any implication otherwise would have felt like an insult.
Her messages lit up. Friends and colleagues were all sending congratulations. She felt oddly unmoored by the sudden rush of good news and called Chen Jie to ask about next steps.
“You didn’t know?” Chen Jie sounded surprised on the other end. “Xiao didn’t tell you? He’s so tight-lipped.”
Jiang Li kept the call on speaker and glanced at Xiao with mock reproach.
Chen Jie’s voice grew animated. “I think he wanted to surprise you. That news came out the day after the Lyon premiere.”
“Already?” Jiang Li was stunned. “No approvals? It just… happened?”
“Actually, the moment the film was scheduled to premiere in Lyon, the people in charge over there noticed it. Lyon is where the film has its roots; that respect for the film’s origin really worked in our favor.”