Chapter 6: Mr. Ji, Do You Like Children?…

Chapter 6: Director Ji, Do You Like Children?...

As the year drew to a close, award ceremonies and galas were in full swing.

The cast and crew of *The Great Dream* were invited to this year's Film and Television Gala. After over a month of relentless work, they were finally granted a three-day break.

During this period, Song Tan had her scenes scheduled consecutively, ensuring she had at least one day off weekly. On these days, she would return to the capital to visit Song Chuqing. If her schedule was too packed, Zhao Geyun would bring the child to the studio instead.

Initially, Song Chuqing struggled to adjust, needing nightly video calls to fall asleep. She gradually adapted after about a week.

Song Tan comforted the little girl—and herself—by reminding them both that once kindergarten let out, she could bring her over. *The Great Dream* was expected to wrap up filming by early March. Soon, soon.

Song Tan hadn’t told Song Chuqing about the sudden break in advance. When Song Tan arrived home a little past ten in the morning, Aqi, unfamiliar with her, barked repeatedly.

After feeding the dog, taking a quick shower, and napping, she woke around three in the afternoon. She went grocery shopping first, then headed to pick up her daughter from school.

Song Chuqing froze for three seconds upon seeing her, then sprinted over, nearly knocking Song Tan down.

Song Tan let go and saw the little girl’s tear-streaked face. Her heart ached as she wiped away the "little pearls" from her eyes. "Don’t cry, baby. Mommy’s back."

Song Chuqing sniffled, staring at her intently without a word.

Other children walked by, and one little boy stopped. "Huh? Song Chuqing, are you crying?"

Flustered, Song Chuqing buried her face in Song Tan’s arms.

Song Tan had attended her daughter’s birthday party before and recognized this as her good friend, Yao Peiqiu—a boy who loved Transformers. She replied gently, "Xiao Chu’s fine. Bye, Pei Qiu. See you tomorrow."

"Mm, bye, Auntie. See you tomorrow."

Yao Peiqiu kept looking back. Just before reaching his family’s car, he suddenly ran back, fished out a chocolate bar from his pocket, and stuffed it into Song Chuqing’s hand. "Here!" Then he bolted.

Song Tan chuckled and scooped the little girl into her arms. "Mommy also got Xiao Chu’s favorite cake. Let’s go home."

Song Chuqing gripped the chocolate tightly, burying her head against Song Tan’s shoulder with a quiet, husky "Mm."

After dinner, Song Tan bathed her, read her a bedtime story, and tried to coax her to sleep. But the little girl refused, clinging to her hand, extra clingy.

Song Tan patiently reassured her, "Mommy won’t leave. I’ll sleep with you tonight."

"Really?"

"Really. Pinky promise."

After their pinky promise, Song Chuqing finally closed her eyes.

Once she was asleep, Song Tan tidied up, washed up, and climbed into bed beside her.

Perhaps because she’d napped earlier, Song Tan wasn’t sleepy. She watched her daughter’s peaceful face, her heart filled with guilt.

Song Chuqing only had her.

After her parents split and remarried, she had lived with her grandparents for a while. But as her grandparents passed away one after another, Song Tan was left completely alone.

Fortunately, she still had some money. Back then, Song Zongbo’s business was thriving, and perhaps out of guilt, he made up for it with money.

Before college, Song Tan lived comfortably—alone in a big house, with no worries about necessities.

Then Song Zongbo went bankrupt and reclaimed the house. He gave her 100,000 yuan, implying she was on her own.

That was her freshman year—just an adult.

During summer break, a crew filmed at her university. Zhao Geyun, who was with an artist, happened to meet her and asked if she wanted to enter the entertainment industry.

Song Tan thought it over for one night and agreed.

There was no reason not to.

After becoming famous, everything changed. Qi Yingchang brought Xue Wanwan, and Song Zongbo brought his younger daughter, both pushing them to call her "sister."

Song Tan never acknowledged that title. She no longer needed those familial bonds—only she and money mattered.

The only one she felt guilty toward was Song Chuqing. She had selfishly brought her into this broken world, unable to give her a complete family or even the most basic companionship, as even her mother was often gone.

She wanted to keep her close, but Song Chuqing had finally adjusted to kindergarten life. The studio had no kindergarten, and even if it did, constant moves weren’t ideal. If she were confined to hotels and sets, what was the point of returning home?

She couldn’t decide yet.

For now, she could only endure this period and try to avoid work outside the capital in the future.

Song Tan kissed her daughter’s cheek and pulled her into her arms, soaking in the little girl’s warmth.

She, too, had no one—only Song Chuqing.

...

At the Film and Television Gala, Song Tan attended with the crew.

*The Great Dream* was still in production, so it wasn’t eligible for awards, but this was an excellent promotional opportunity.

It was her first public appearance since returning to the country, and both the crew and investors wanted to capitalize on it. Song Tan had no objections—they stood to gain, and she needed more exposure and fame. A win-win.

Zhao Geyun called her a "natural-born traffic magnet," saying that even without acting skills, her face alone could guarantee her success in the industry.

After the red carpet, "Song Tan" predictably topped the trending lists. The crew seized the moment to release behind-the-scenes footage, and suddenly, *The Great Dream* was hotter than the award-winning films of the night. Some fans boldly predicted it would sweep next year’s awards.

After the gala, the main cast and crew dined together, joined by many investors.

Song Tan was the most talked-about person at the table, with nearly every conversation revolving around her—particularly Xiao Chu and her "husband."

The producers and investors present were industry heavyweights, so Song Tan played along, answering vaguely where necessary. When questions got too tricky, Zhao Geyun stepped in to deflect, and Song Tan would toast to end the topic.

Half an hour in, she’d already had several drinks and was starting to feel lightheaded.

She poured herself a glass of water but hadn’t taken a sip when Xue Wanwan suddenly exclaimed, "Sister Tan, your daughter is so cute!"

Song Tan’s heart clenched. "What?"

Xue Wanwan held up her phone, a hint of schadenfreude in her expression. "Look, trending number one."

Song Tan immediately grabbed her phone and opened Weibo. Sure enough, "Song Tan’s Daughter" topped the list. Clicking in, she saw photos of her and her daughter walking in their neighborhood—uncensored.

The photographer must have been some distance away, and given the evening lighting, Song Chuqing’s face wasn’t perfectly clear when zoomed in.

Song Tan’s hands shook as she held her phone.

She didn’t want Song Chuqing to wear a mask forever—she deserved a normal childhood. Until now, only Song Tan had worn one when they went out.

Even with a full disguise, some neighbors still recognized Song Tan. She greeted them normally and asked them to keep it confidential. The neighbors all expressed understanding and didn't request photos.

She never expected it would still be photographed and exposed like this.

Only after entering the entertainment industry did she witness so many dirty things in this world. The moneyed elite always reign supreme. The exposure didn’t come early or late—it had to be now. Maybe tonight's hot search happened to step on someone’s toes, forcing them to use a child as clickbait.

Song Tan tried her best to stay calm as she looked at the group. "Sorry, Director Fang, Producer Chen, I need to handle this. Next time, I’ll treat everyone to a meal."

As the star of *The Great Dream*, tonight was originally meant to promote the film. But with this sudden exposure, the timing was suspicious. Director Fang’s expression turned serious: "I’ll inform the publicity team to see how to handle it."

"Okay, thank you, Director Fang." Song Tan snatched up her purse and left. As soon as she stepped out of the VIP room, she said to Zhao Geyun, "Ge Yun, contact them and have the photos deleted, get it removed from the hot search. Cost is no object."

"On it."

Zhao Geyun, experienced, immediately walked aside to make calls.

The photos not only exposed them but also the residential area. And since they were taken in the neighborhood, their precise unit might be compromised. Worried about the situation at home, Song Tan called Zhong Chen.

The line rang and rang with no answer. Song Tan’s heart leapt to her throat as she continued dialing while walking out.

On the third try, it finally connected. Song Tan urgently asked, "How’s Xiao Chu?"

"Sister Tan, today Xiao Chu..." Zhong Chen hesitated, but there were more urgent issues. "Sister Tan, someone knocked on the door earlier. I peered through the viewer—it was a man wearing a mask and hat, skulking around. I didn’t open the door. He left after about ten minutes."

Song Tan clenched her fists. "They've found our address. Don't answer no matter who comes."

Zhong Chen, who hadn’t seen the news yet, was shocked. "Understood, Sister Tan."

After hanging up, Zhao Geyun was still contacting people.

Song Tan stood there, her hands still trembling.

In the past, there had been slander and exposure—accusations of being kept by a sugar daddy, diva behavior, or stalkers harassing her. She brushed it off, kept earning her keep, prepared to rebuild from scratch if needed.

She thought she feared nothing in this life—until someone shared the same heartbeat as her, becoming her Achilles' heel.

If Song Chuqing suffered any harm because of her, she would never forgive herself.

Her nausea returned. Song Tan retreated to a corner, one hand bracing against the wall for support, the other covering her mouth.

"Are you okay?"

Amid the noise of the club, Song Tan could barely make out. She turned and saw Ji Fuxi in a tailored suit.

His figure, a full head taller than her, blocked all the light, his face—with a passing resemblance to Song Chuqing—half-lit in the shadows.

There was no time to wonder why he was here. All that surged in Song Tan’s heart was bottomless resentment.

As if all her fears and worries had found an outlet—he was the origin of everything.

Her eyes welled up as she looked at him. She wanted to accuse him, the father who knew nothing, to say something—but the last shred of reason held her back. What right did she have to blame him? She was the one who made the mistake.

She averted her gaze, unable to suppress another wave of nausea.

Ji Fuxi felt inexplicable again. That look in her eyes just now—she hadn’t hidden any of it, nor the tears. Why was she crying?

As far as he knew, *The Great Dream* had already started filming. Hadn’t she gotten what she wanted?

He felt completely out of place standing here, repeatedly subjected to her resentment.

The man took a step back with his right foot, then withdrew it. Impatiently, he pulled a handkerchief from his inner pocket and handed it to her. "I don’t know what’s happening to you, but there are too many people here. You can rest in the lounge next door."

Song Tan, barely holding on, had no energy left for pretense or dealing with him. Her voice was cold. "Not your concern."

The moment she finished speaking, her body gave out, like a marooned fish.

Just as she was about to fall, an arm banded around her waist. Before she could react, he pulled her into the empty lounge next door.

Ji Fuxi was struck by her fragility. After helping her onto the sofa by the door, he quickly withdrew, maintaining a polite distance. "Sorry."

Seeing her pale and weak, he went to pour her a glass of water and handed it over. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

Song Tan had no strength to speak or take the glass.

She lowered her head. After a long pause, she asked softly, "Mr. Ji, do you like children?"

The man answered swiftly and directly, "No."

Song Tan froze for a moment, then forced a smile. Suddenly, she didn’t want to say anything else.

The air grew still, the sounds of footsteps outside chaotic.

In the stillness, she spoke again. "Mr. Ji, do you remember me?"

An apparently non sequitur question, but Ji Fuxi understood. He looked at the frail woman, pondered for a moment, then replied quietly, "I’m sorry about what happened back then."

Song Tan was stunned. She looked up at him. "You knew it was me?"

"Yes."

Zhao Geyun knocked and entered, ending the conversation. Their locked gazes disengaged.

Zhao Geyun didn’t understand the situation—why was Ji Fuxi here? But that wasn’t the priority now. She reported the results Song Tan cared about: "I've reached all the contacts. They’re handling it."

Song Tan leveraged herself up from the couch. "Good. Let’s go home first."

Zhao Geyun, knowing her condition, steadied her.

Leaning against her, Song Tan paused, then took out her phone and opened her WeChat QR code, holding it out to the man beside her. "Scan me."

Ji Fuxi’s eyebrows knitted slightly as he looked at her, puzzled.

Song Tan smiled. "Didn’t you say before that I could ask for help if needed? Surely Mr. Ji honors his promises?"

The man schooled his expression, took out his phone, scanned the code, and sent the contact request. She approved it on the spot.

"Goodbye, Mr. Ji." At the door, Song Tan turned back. "Oh, by the way, the profile pic is my daughter. Her name is Song Chuqing. Cute, isn't she?"

Ji Fuxi looked down. The screen had changed to their chat. The profile picture on the left was a three- or four-year-old girl, her plump cheeks angled slightly toward the camera, beaming a sweet smile.