After filming the final scene, Ying Yin, as the lead actress, officially wrapped her role, but the crew still had some scattered remaining scenes to shoot.
For a major star, the filming schedule is typically intensive and efficient, so it’s perfectly normal for them to leave the production early. However, due to the haute couture controversy a few days earlier, Mai Anyan had oddly arranged no press releases for this wrap – everything was kept low-key and simple.
When he arrived on set, Ying Yin had just finished removing her makeup and came out bare-faced, wearing a cream-colored oversized T-shirt and comfortable yoga shorts. Her injuries hadn’t healed yet, especially the ones on her knees, which were just beginning to scab – wearing the production’s tight-fitting pants every day had been pure torture.
The crew and extras gathered around wanting photos. Ying Yin, approachable as always, didn’t forget to remind the photographer, “Don’t get my knees in the shot.”
The people around her changed like flowing water, and before long, the main supporting actress had taken the spot beside her. Her smile was cold and stiff, as if someone owed her money.
“That Cai Beibei,” Mai Anyan’s assistant Nancy whispered into his ear, “you know -Director Fang’s one.”
Mai Anyan understood.
She had studied musical theater at film academy, which was decently impressive, but of course not comparable to those from the acting department. No one quite knew how she’d ended up with Director Fang. He’d kept her for a few years – probably never expected that in his old age, he’d still be robust enough to get her pregnant twice in a row.
“She didn’t land the lead role, but she ended up losing her womb twice.” Nancy wasn’t sure whether she was being sarcastic or sympathetic.
Mai Anyan sensed something was off. After a moment’s thought, he said, “She might be about to put out a press release. Go – make her smile.”
Nancy didn’t fully grasp what he meant by “put out a press release,” but she was quick to act. Thinking on her feet, she said something witty that made the whole crowd burst into laughter.
Ying Yin and Cai Beibei laughed along with everyone else. The photographer frantically pressed the shutter, capturing the moment the two of them happened to look at each other and laugh.
But the next second, Cai Beibei’s smile dropped.
After the photos and formalities were over, it was already pitch dark by the time they got into the Alphard.
Cheng Junyi helped Ying Yin apply her medication, making sure the wounds wouldn’t scar or develop pigmentation. Though she wasn’t the sharpest person, she had delicate hands and was extremely patient. As she applied the ointment, she was even gentler than a jeweler polishing a gemstone.
“Go home and rest for a week first. It’s the end of the year – there’s the Fashion Gala, the Starlight Diamond Awards, the Galaxy Awards, next year’s opening cover, plus the audition at Lishan,” Mai Anyan said as he scrolled through the schedule on his iPad. “With such a packed calendar, I’ve turned down as many offers as I could. But for these few, you need to give them a hundred percent of your energy. Nancy,” he called to his assistant, “send her the planning invitations for the Fashion Gala and the Starlight Diamond Awards later.”
After giving his instructions, Mai Anyan glanced at Cheng Junyi and brought up an old topic. “Look around at all the actresses at your level – you’re the only one who travels with just an assistant. Your executive agent might as well not exist. I told you to find someone sharper, but you refused.”
Ying Yin already had someone in mind, so she took the chance to bring it up. “There’s someone I want to poach, but I don’t know if she’ll agree.”
“Who?”
“Chen Youhan’s – from the board office.”
Mai Anyan sucked in a breath. “You want to poach someone from him? And from the board office? Oh, my dear lady!”
Ying Yin acted quickly. By the time she got back to the hotel to pack, she had already dug out Zhuang Tiwen’s business card.
It was Friday evening, but Zhuang Tiwen was still working overtime. When she heard that Ying Yin wanted to hire her away, she found it both amusing and baffling. “Miss Ying, you flatter me.”
Her polite, refined, yet distant social manner felt strangely familiar.
“You won’t do it?” Ying Yin didn’t bother hiding anything from Cheng Junyi and spoke directly. “We can talk about salary.”
“I’d love to, but…” Zhuang Tiwen thought for a moment. “I need to consult my family. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”
Junyi had already packed all seven or eight suitcases, neatly sorting everything into categories. She looked both happy and a little sad. “You’re finding someone to replace me.”
Ying Yin shot her a sideways glance. “No one said you’re being replaced.”
“Is she very articulate? After she comes, I’ll just take care of your daily needs – that’s fine.” Junyi looked relieved. “Can I get a little raise?”
Ying Yin looked at her, amused. “Go on, how much?”
Summoning her courage, Junyi held up three fingers and declared resolutely. “Three hundred!”
Ying Yin said, “…I’ll give you a raise of three thousand. That’s one tier below Tiwen, because her job requires more mental effort. But your job is just as important – I can’t do without you.”
Cheng Junyi’s heart soared with joy. She jumped up and said, “You’re giving me a raise of three thousand – I’ll buy you a shawl! Hopefully that shawl doesn’t cost more than three thousand!”
“What shawl?”
“That shawl you like,” Junyi said, picking up a separate cardboard bag. “You like it so much – you wear it whenever you read at night, and tomorrow it’ll be worn out. I’ll buy you a new one. Mr. Shang wouldn’t mind telling me the brand, would he?”
That shawl had been washed and taken out to wear several times already. The hotel’s laundry fragrance had blended with her own perfume, smelling as sweet as the Garden of Eden.
She wondered if Mr. Shang would mind. But when he had given it to her, it had carried his scent as well. She wanted a small measure of fairness.
Ying Yin lowered her lashes and gave a faint smile. “Mm,” she said. “That’s fine. Buy a new one.”
The next afternoon, Shang Shao’s car arrived promptly at 4:30 as arranged.
Ying Yin lived in a villa complex on the outskirts of the city – a private, standalone house surrounded by gardens, offering excellent privacy. Several well-known actors and directors from the industry also lived here, but none of them had ever seen Ying Yin or knew she was hidden away here.
Everyone thought she still lived in that large apartment in the city center.
The Maybach, bearing bright yellow Hong Kong license plates, drove past a dark green corner planted with fiddle-leaf fig trees. The tires made a low, pleasant hum against the brick-paved road before coming to a stop at the entrance.
The sun was strong that day. Lin Cunkang got out of the car, opened a straight black umbrella, then bowed as he opened the rear door to let the man inside step out.
Shang Shao looked up to survey the house. A three-story white townhouse with half-arched stained-glass windows and an orange roof.
Not large, but likely a very comfortable place to live.
After waiting no more than half a minute, Ying Yin came downstairs, her assistant following closely behind. She was wearing a pearl-white off-the-shoulder maxi dress, draped with a black oversized blazer. Her long hair was loosely gathered into a low bun with a jade hairpin, making her look clean and crisp yet elegant and gentle.
The only eyesore – the black mask on her face was indeed a bit too large, covering most of her features.
Shang Shao wore a faint, amused smile, perhaps finding it quite interesting that she looked so furtive and self-conscious even at her own doorstep.
Ying Yin hooked the mask halfway down and said quickly, “Good afternoon, Mr. Shang.”
Although the car had plenty of room for four, to be fair, this Maybach had indeed never been so fully occupied. Cheng Junyi settled into the passenger seat. Though she tried her best to hold back, her eyes were still wide open –
What kind of luxurious interior was this? Even a single dial looked more expensive than she was. Could she really afford to buy the same shawl as someone who rode in a car like this?
Once everyone was seated, Shang Shao asked politely, “I asked some of my artist friends in Hong Kong. They tell me that mainland artists don’t have much freedom of movement and can’t just go in and out of public places casually. So today, I’ve arranged a private members’ club. Does that work for you, Miss Ying?”
Ying Yin nodded, tucked her mask into her blazer pocket, and smiled at Shang Shao. “Whatever works for you.”
The car drove from the city streets onto the coastal highway and then entered a private estate. Calling it an “estate” was a bit of a stretch, because Ying Yin had never seen an estate that came with its own golf course.
After passing through the main entrance, they transferred to a golf cart and drove along the green for a full fifteen minutes before arriving at a white glass building. The doorman and butler had clearly been informed in advance and were waiting at the entrance. “Mr. Shang, Miss Ying, welcome.”
Looking out from the restaurant entrance, the rolling green landscape stretched out like the crouching spine of a beast – so lush and immaculate it seemed like God’s own carpet.
“This is Chen Youhan’s private club. Ke Yu and Shang Lu have both been here, so you don’t need to worry about any issues,” Shang Shao explained thoughtfully.
He hadn’t invited Ying Yin back to his own home because, no matter how noble his intentions or clear his conscience, inviting a lady to his house on a first date simply went against everything he had been taught since childhood.
“Mr. Ke and Director Shang have been over in Qinghai-Tibet for nearly a month now. Have you been in touch with them, Mr. Shang?” Since they had been mentioned, Ying Yin took the opportunity to ask.
Ke Yu and Shang Lu were currently shooting a semi-documentary film about the mountain keepers of the Himalayas, spanning from Sichuan-Tibet and Qinghai to Nepal. The two of them had plunged into the project with their crew over a month ago and were now completely out of contact.
At the mention of his younger brother, Shang Shao’s eyes visibly softened. “Just the occasional satellite phone call. If there’s anything you’d like to pass along to Ke Yu, Miss Ying, I’d be happy to relay it.”
“No, no, no, no, no…” Ying Yin blurted out, firm and quick. “Please, Mr. Shang, don’t mention me to Mr. Ke.”
Shang Shao studied her. “Why?”
“Because…”
A flicker of something – loss, or hesitation – crossed her face.
Because she didn’t want anyone to know about this stroke of fate between her and him yet. It was like a sudden touch of wild spring hidden away in a corner.
It would either grow or wither. But until the night before it either died or blossomed, she wanted to be the only one watching it.
Shang Shao curled his lips slightly and didn’t wait for her to finish her “because.”
“Miss Ying, don’t worry,” he said, his eyes closing briefly as he looked at her – calm, yet as if he saw right through everything. “I feel the same way.”
Entering the restaurant, Shang Shao removed his suit jacket, which a waiter promptly and neatly hung in the coat closet.
His attire today was less formal than evening wear, but still understated and refined. A white shirt neatly tucked into the waistband of his trousers, a light-colored honeysuckle-patterned tie, French cuffs fastened with gemstone cufflinks matching the tie’s color scheme, and a brown leather watch on his wrist that gave him an air of quiet elegance.
A shirt reveals a man’s physique far better than a suit jacket ever can – especially one tailored by hand, stitch by stitch, from a visit to Savile Row each year. It accentuated his broad, straight shoulders, with the subtle swell of muscle visible beneath the fabric.
“Do you find time to exercise every day, Mr. Shang?” Ying Yin asked whatever came to mind, only realizing after she’d spoken that it might have revealed what she’d been noticing.
Shang Shao, sharp as ever, curved his lips into a faint smile. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Ying Yin felt a flush of warmth and gave a slightly conspicuous little cough.
The head chef had been borrowed from a three-Michelin-star restaurant in Hong Kong and specialized in Chinese-French fusion cuisine. As soon as the two were seated, he came out from the kitchen to explain the menu to Ying Yin in detail.
“Today’s cold appetizer is white wine and herb mussels. The hot starter is seared foie gras with mango and poached pear – quite a unique flavor profile. For soup, we have a refreshing double-boiled clear chicken broth with matsutake mushrooms and bamboo fungus, which suits Chinese palates better.”
Ying Yin followed along as he walked her through each item.
“We have eight main courses in total. The staple is black truffle and wagyu beef baked rice. For dessert, we’ve prepared dark chocolate with diced pineapple. If you have any dietary restrictions or food allergies, please let me know.” He concluded with a polite, humorous smile. “After all, my signature dishes aren’t limited to just these.”
As a celebrity, Ying Yin had been to too many high-end events and had received etiquette training. She showed no sign of discomfort, graciously expressing how much she was looking forward to the meal and letting him know she had no dietary restrictions.
“Based on today’s ingredients and flavor profiles, I recommend these six wines. You can mix and match, or pair one for pre-dinner, one for meat courses, one for seafood, and one for dessert.”
“I’ll go with the sweet sparkling wine.” Ying Yin closed the menu. “That’s my choice.”
The chef didn’t say anything, but his expression betrayed a hint of regret.
Sweet sparkling wine isn’t considered a proper table wine – at least, it’s not the first choice of the sophisticated, well-spoken guests who know their way around various spices and seasonings.
Shang Shao sat with his legs crossed, his back relaxed yet straight against the dining chair. He glanced over the menu, then nodded at the head chef. “Just follow Miss Ying’s preferences.”
Since the young master was willing to accommodate, the chef naturally had no objections. After he withdrew, Junyi was also led by Lin Cunkang to a private dining room nearby. The vast restaurant was left with just the two of them, save for the faint shadow of a waiter visible behind a Su embroidery screen, ready to attend at a moment’s notice.
The sweet sparkling wine was chilled in an ice bucket. After being opened, it needed only a brief moment to breathe before drinking – a very light-bodied wine. Shang Shao took a sip, smiled, and shook his head slightly. “Mui mui zai.”
It was Cantonese. Ying Yin didn’t quite understand. “What?”
Shang Shao repeated it in Mandarin. “It means ‘little girl.'”
Ying Yin realized he was teasing her – mocking her for having the taste of a young girl.
She imitated his Cantonese, word for word: “Mui mui zai.”
Her pronunciation wasn’t standard, carrying all the awkwardness of a beginner learning Cantonese.
“Such a lovely phrase.” Ying Yin murmured it to herself a couple more times, unaware that the sight of her muttering to herself looked just as lovely to Shang Shao.
“I’d also like to ask Mr. Shang – how do you pronounce the phrase gwaan zai guk guk?” Ying Yin asked politely, though anyone could hear the girlish excitement beneath her courtesy.
Shang Shao recited it for her in standard Hong Kong Cantonese.
“How beautiful it sounds.” Ying Yin repeated it, lowering her head slightly, her lightly made-up eyes shimmering with warmth. “Gwaan zai guk guk. Gwaan zai guk guk.”
“Do you know what these four characters mean, Miss Ying?”
Ying Yin lifted her gaze. Her breath and voice were both soft. “I know.”
Shang Shao rested his hands on his crossed knees and gave a slight nod, inviting her to explain.
Ying Yin’s eyes traveled across the dining table and looked directly at him. That gaze was long – as if to correct that one missed glance in the crowd at the wedding banquet the other day.
“It means refined and elegant, noble and graceful as a jade tree in the wind.”
