Chapter 1699: Where Did You Go

She lay there without moving a muscle, letting out a few shameless, disgruntled snorts. “You’re really something, huh. I don’t want my car wobbling all over the street. Just because you don’t want your face, doesn’t mean I don’t want mine. Isn’t the driver’s life a life too?”

Driver: “…”

He hadn’t even said a word yet, how did he suddenly become part of their play?

Mo Tingshen couldn’t win against her. If he kept arguing, he really wouldn’t know where to put his old face.

“You really aren’t drunk?”

Chu Yao’s gaze was as firm as someone joining the Party. “Nope!”

Like hell he’d believe that.

“It’s fine if I don’t get in the car. If you feel unwell at any point, call me. I’ll just follow behind.”

Chu Yao gave him a shove and slammed the door shut.

“So noisy!”

Nan Jiaojiao was almost squashed flat. No matter how she pushed, she couldn’t budge Chu Yao at all. Chu Yao was like she was made of concrete—no matter which way Nan Jiaojiao pushed, Chu Yao could always press back from another angle. If she hadn’t finally sat up on her own, Nan Jiaojiao would’ve had trouble even breathing.

Nan Jiaojiao cursed a couple of times. Chu Yao hummed twice in response, then leaned back against the seat and fell silent.

And she says she’s not drunk.

Even with Mo Tingshen watching, they still hadn’t managed to shield her from the drinks. Whoever toasted her, she drank with them.

Drunkards are terrifying!

“Miss Nan, shall we set off?” the driver asked.

Nan Jiaojiao glanced to the side. “Drive slow, please. Sorry to trouble you.”

“You’re too polite. Sit tight.”

He started the car and slowly pulled out of the garage.

Mo Tingshen’s car followed right behind.

The elevator doors opened and Yi Qinghuan and Song Yuan walked out. Through the car window, they happened to catch sight of Nan Jiaojiao.

“Isn’t that Chu Yao’s car?”

Song Yuan took a closer look. “Why is Jiaojiao in there? Are they that close?”

Yi Qinghuan of course knew. The styling for “The Empress’s Killing” had all been done by Nan Jiaojiao alone. E.Y had assigned her two assistants, but they were basically useless. Even Qinghuan hadn’t yet found the bottom of Nan Jiaojiao’s capabilities. With that kind of talent and skill, she still refused to take the credit. As soon as the first couple of trailers dropped, aside from the leads and the plot, the most talked-about thing was the styling. Everyone wanted to know who the stylist was, but the name listed in the production credits was someone else.

Handing over a chance to make a name for herself to another person—if she wasn’t being bullied by the company, then she was just stupid.

Yi Qinghuan had even gone out of her way to ask around, but hadn’t managed to dig up anything. E.Y was sealed up like an iron bucket. Even with their closest clients, they only talked business.

“Who knows.”

Yi Qinghuan’s thoughts ran deep; she brushed it off with a perfunctory answer.

As if she really wouldn’t know.

Song Yuan glanced at her. “Ever since you came back to Rongcheng City, you’ve barely kept in touch with any of your friends here. Did something happen?”

Yi Qinghuan instinctively furrowed her brows. She twisted her car keys in her hand, and as she approached the car, the lights came on automatically.

She pulled open the driver’s door. “You driving or me?”

Song Yuan showed her high heels. “I can’t. Cousin, you drive.”

Yi Qinghuan nodded and got in.

Today she’d come as an invited guest for the roadshow.

Back then, because of the script, she’d had quite an unpleasant conflict with the crew and Director Chen, but she knew how to play the game and had made amends. At least on the surface, things looked fine now.

She was the head writer, yet she’d been willing to take a step back and be listed only as one of the screenwriters of “The Empress’s Killing”. The production side couldn’t really afford not to give her that bit of respect.

When Producer Zhou invited Yi Qinghuan, Song Yuan had been right there beside her. She happened to have no rehearsals scheduled at that time, so she tagged along.

“Oh right, I suddenly remembered something,” Song Yuan said. “On Brother Mo’s wedding day, before everything went into chaos, you were gone for a long time and never came back. Where did you go?”

“Screech—”

Yi Qinghuan slammed on the gas and brought the car to an abrupt halt.