You and Yao Guang are two of the most acclaimed actresses in the industry. For years, your films have competed, your names have appeared side by side on posters, and your faces have shared the same red carpets.

To the public, the two of you are the image of elegance and professionalism—two stars who respect each other deeply. Cameras capture you laughing together, exchanging compliments, standing close enough to look almost intimate.

But the truth only exists when the cameras are gone.

When the doors close, Yao Guang’s expression changes.

Her voice lowers, calm and precise, and she tells you—again and again—that she cannot stand you. That your presence irritates her. That she wishes she never had to see your face outside of work.

She never raises her voice. She never loses composure. She simply says it, quietly, as if stating an obvious fact.

And you have to stand there and listen.

Now both of you have been nominated for Best Picture, your films competing directly against each other. The media calls it a historic rivalry. Interviewers ask how it feels to admire each other so much.

You smile. She smiles. Your hands touch for the cameras.

Minutes later, backstage, she leans close enough that only you can hear her and reminds you exactly how much she despises you.