Guide to Rising to Power as a Wife in Beijing's Elite Circle

Late at night, in Jingjing's apartment.

Chen Nuo sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, a half-finished script spread out in front of her. The light from the computer screen illuminated her face, revealing the deep wrinkles between her brows.

"Is it stuck?" Fang Jingxiu came over with a cup of hot milk and sat down next to her.

"Hmm." Chen Nuo took the milk and sipped it. "I always feel... something's missing. The characters are real, the events are real, but when it's written, it just feels... fake."

Seeing her troubled expression, Fang Jingxiu reached out and ruffled her hair: "What's lacking is authenticity."

"I know it lacks authenticity," Chen Nuo turned to look at him, "but how do we fix it?"

"Writing a story from a high vantage point is different from writing a story from a low vantage point," Fang Jingxiu said slowly. "Some directors film poor people, showing them waking up in their hundreds-of-square-meter apartments in the city center, driving their own cars to work, and constantly lamenting that they have no ideals or ambitions, saying that this is what hardship is. But the real lives of the poor are not like that."

He paused, his gaze becoming somewhat distant: "During my university internship, my family arranged for me to spend a year working at the grassroots level. In a county under the jurisdiction of Tuzhou, I saw truly poor people."

Chen Nuo listened quietly.

"Those people, just living is exhausting enough." Fang Jingxiu's voice was soft. "Old people in their sixties, get up at five every morning, squeeze onto a bus for two hours to go to the construction site, do manual labor for more than ten hours, and then squeeze onto a bus for another two hours to get home in the evening. They only eat two meals a day, steamed buns with pickled vegetables. When they get sick, they dare not go to the hospital and just tough it out. They can't afford to pay for their children's schooling, so they have to drop out of school."

"The victims' families in your script are also like that," he said, looking at Chen Nuo. "But when you wrote about them, you were writing from the outside. You didn't truly step into their lives, you didn't experience their despair."

Chen Nuo was stunned.

She looked at Fang Jingxiu, at the depth in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"Brother Xiu..." she whispered.

"I'll send someone with you to Yongzhou," Fang Jingxiu decided. "Go and experience it for yourself. Don't have any preconceived notions; just observe, listen, and feel."

"When?"

"The plane tickets are booked first thing tomorrow morning," Fang Jingxiu said.

Chen Nuo's heart skipped a beat. She looked at Fang Jingxiu and suddenly understood that this man was teaching her what reality was in the most direct way.

At six o'clock the next morning, Chen Nuo was already on a flight to Yongzhou.

Yongzhou, a village in the city south of the city.

Chen Nuo stood in front of a half-collapsed brick house, the cold March wind whipping up dust and hitting his face.

The two plainclothes bodyguards behind her stood ten meters away, maintaining a distance that allowed them to see her without disturbing her.

This was arranged by Fang Jingxiu. I've sent someone to follow you, but they won't interfere. If you want to see the truth, I'll let you see the truth.

The house in front of us was half collapsed, and the exposed steel bars looked like broken bones pointing towards the gray sky.

The half that hadn't collapsed still had faded Spring Festival couplets hanging on it, the red paper rustling in the wind like a final struggle.

In the courtyard, an elderly woman in her sixties sat on a small stool, mechanically picking a bunch of withered green vegetables in her hand.

Her hair was gray, and her back was so hunched that it looked like it might break at any moment.

Chen Nuo took a deep breath and stepped forward: "Hello, Auntie, I am..."

Before she could finish speaking, the old lady suddenly raised her head.

That look made Chen Nuo's heart clench; it wasn't anger, it wasn't sadness, it was fear.

A deep, ingrained fear.

"Get out!" the old woman roared hoarsely, throwing the vegetables she was holding at me. "Get out! We don't want the money! Don't come back!"

The greens fell at Chen Nuo's feet, and dirt splattered onto her white sneakers.

"Auntie, I'm not with the developer," Chen Nuo quickly explained. "I'm in filmmaking, and I'd like to learn more..."

"A movie?" The old woman's eyes widened in terror. She stood up tremblingly, backing away until her back pressed against the crumbling wall. "What movie? What are you trying to do? My son is dead! My husband is dead too! Isn't that enough?"

Her voice was shrill and choked with sobs.

A few people from the neighboring houses peeked out, glanced at the scene, and then quickly retreated back inside, closing their doors.

Chen Nuo stood still, not daring to go forward.

Looking at the old woman trembling, she felt a strong sense of unease. If the developer had killed her family, she should be filled with anger, hatred, and a desire to tear the other party apart.

Instead of fear.

This fear... is more like knowing what else the other person can do to her, knowing their power, knowing that resistance is futile.

"Auntie," Chen Nuo said softly, "I'm really not with the developer. You see, I'm all alone, and I didn't bring anything with me..."

Before she could finish speaking, footsteps came from the alley entrance.

Three men walked over, wearing cheap jackets and with dark complexions; they looked like they did manual labor.

When they saw Chen Nuo, they stopped in their tracks, their eyes wary.

"What are you doing?" asked the middle-aged man in the lead, his voice hoarse.

Just as Chen Nuo was about to explain, the old lady suddenly rushed over and blocked her way. Her voice was still trembling, but she tried her best to straighten her back: "They are...they are filming a movie! Not those people!"

The middle-aged man stared at Chen Nuo for a few seconds, then glanced at the two plainclothes bodyguards in the distance, his expression complex: "Filming a movie? Filming what?"

"Take a picture..." Chen Nuo hesitated for a moment, but still told the truth, "Take a picture of the forced demolition."

The air froze instantly.

The three men's expressions changed.

The middle-aged man took a deep breath and lowered his voice: "Young lady, you should leave quickly. This... shouldn't be filmed."

"Why?" Chen Nuo asked.

"Why?" The middle-aged man smiled bitterly. "Why? Because it's useless to take pictures! Because you can't send them out even if you take pictures! Because..." He paused, his voice lowering, "...because people will die."

Chen Nuo's heart skipped a beat.

Before she could ask anything else, the middle-aged man turned to the old woman and said, "Auntie, come inside, it's cold outside."

The old woman glanced at Chen Nuo, her eyes filled with pleading, warning, and profound helplessness. Then she turned and staggered into the half-collapsed house, closing the door behind her.

With a "snap," the door slammed shut.

This also shut down the possibility of Chen Nuo continuing to ask questions.

The three men ignored her and went home. Chen Nuo was left alone in the alley, along with the two silent bodyguards in the distance.

She stood there, staring at the closed door, at the dried, dark red stains on the door panel—was it spilled paint, or…blood?

Chen Nuo dared not think about it further.