At the end of August, in Venice.
Northern Italy had already entered autumn, and the temperature felt entirely different from Ning City, which was in the height of summer. The sapphire blue of the sky was reflected in the waves of the harbor, and the hotel’s luxury speedboat, labeled a “water taxi,” dragged long white wakes across the canals.
This was Bai Lan’s first time attending an overseas film festival, and also her first visit to this city of water. When she was on Venice’s main island, she had already been fascinated by the gondolas weaving through the narrow waterways. Now, aboard the hotel’s luxury speedboat heading to Lido Island, she couldn’t help but raise her phone and snap photos repeatedly.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Ms. Bai smile so much,” Ying Yin said.
Bai Lan felt a little embarrassed, a little shy. This shyness surfaced on her face, which had long been accustomed to sternness and a hint of sharpness, creating a sense of incongruity. But the crew already knew that Bai Lan was someone who appeared tough but was actually soft-hearted; deep down, she was truly shy, and could even be described as awkward when it came to socializing.
“I haven’t seen much of the world,” Bai Lan humbly deflected, then followed up with, “Is this your second time here?”
It was indeed Ying Yin’s second time in Venice. The first had been for Cigarette Woman, a film that won the Jury Grand Prix, though she, as the lead actress, had narrowly missed out on the Volpi Cup. At the time, there weren’t many sighs of regret, because that year’s festival had been packed with outstanding actresses, and she was considered relatively inexperienced among them – her loss was not unjust.
“It’s a pity Jiang Te isn’t here; otherwise, he’d probably be even more excited than me,” Bai Lan said.
“That guy probably finds it hard to get excited about anything,” Ying Yin turned back, “don’t you think so, Mr, Li?”
The small speedboat couldn’t fit the entire crew, so they were split across several boats. The lead boat carried only Li Shan, Ying Yin, and Bai Lan. Zhuang Tiwen was on the next one with Shen Ling, Old Fu, and Tennessee, while the larger yacht behind them was a chartered water bus carrying the accompanying assistants, makeup artists, and the sprawling PR team.
Li Shan was as relaxed on Lido Island as if he were coming home. Leaning on the railing with both hands, he squinted into the distance and said, “When I called Jiang Te, he said he was busy. I asked him what he was busy with, and he said, ‘Don’t you know? This is the is peak tourist season in Altay – I’m busy guiding tourists and herding horses.'”
Li Shan always took a special interest in Jiang Te, carrying a sense of responsibility about him. He felt that since he had been the one to bring Jiang Te down from the Tianshan Mountains into the human world, it was his duty to guide him through every step of his journey. That was why, for every film-related event – whether internal screenings, festival selection announcements, or festival invitations – he personally called Jiang Te to let him know.
Jiang Te didn’t really treat him like a big-shot director. When he answered Li Shan’s call, he was leading two horses along the road to pick up guests at the inn. The clip-clop of hooves sounded through the early morning mist. Listening, distracted, he tried to wrap up the conversation in just a few words.
Li Shan asked, “Xiao Yin has a real chance at winning Best Actress this time – don’t you want to be there to witness that moment?”
At that question, Jiang Te’s hand gripping the phone visibly tightened and hesitated.
“You’re not being fair, using her to tempt me a second time,” Jiang Te called him out, in his trademark stiff Chinese.
Li Shan laughed heartily – a dismissive, hedging sort of laugh.
By the time Jiang Te reached the inn entrance, he had looped the horses’ reins around the wooden post, round and round, his face expressionless as he said, “I’ll spend that moment with her through the TV screen.”
“You might win an award too. With the film selected, you’re also a strong contender for the Volpi Cup,” Li Shan tempted him with fame and fortune.
Jiang Te didn’t even know which four characters made up “Volpi Cup,” and his voice remained utterly flat as he said, “If I can win an award too, then it means your film art isn’t all that impressive – not even as high as the snowline on the Tianshan Mountains.”
Li Shan was exasperated by him. “You really are impervious to reason.”
But now, at this moment on the speedboat in Venice, he found himself regretting Jiang Te’s absence once again. This should have been the perfect occasion for him to step into the public eye.
The topic drifted past Jiang Te, and Bai Lan asked, “Mr. Shang is coming in a couple of days?”
Although Shang Shao was busy with official matters, he wasn’t far away – currently visiting a biomedical research lab in France.
Ying Yin nodded. “He’ll arrive on the day of the premiere.”
When Snow Melts It Turns Green was set to hold its global premiere on September 3rd at 7:30 PM. As a film selected for the main competition, the premiere would naturally take place at the Palazzo del Cinema, with a red carpet event beforehand.
“Will Mr. Shang walk the red carpet with you?” Bai Lan followed up.
Ying Yin smiled wryly. “He turned me down – very emphatically.”
Although both the Shang family and Shang Shao had become hot search topics on the internet after his relationship with Ying Yin was exposed, with people eagerly following their every move and devouring gossip about them, Shang Shao himself was not accustomed to living under the public eye. He declined interview invitations from top-tier publications, significantly reduced his normal business activities – delegating them to other board members or executive officers instead – and temporarily became difficult to invite to private salon gatherings. The PR department of the parent group put considerable effort into cooling down the public interest. Though various media outlets were itching to capitalize on the traffic, all related coverage was suppressed in its infancy – first with diplomatic persuasion, then with firmer measures.
If anyone were to plot a line graph of the search volume after the grand wedding, they would find a trajectory resembling the world’s most precipitous peaks and canyons – clearly a result of the power of money.
Accompanying his wife to a film festival was only natural, but walking a red carpet together was something Shang Shao neither felt was necessary nor had any interest in.
…
A little over ten minutes later, the red-carpet waterfront pier of Lido Island came into clear view.
Connected to the underground level of the Westin Hotel, this pier is on the way for celebrities arriving at or departing from Lido Island – a piece of common knowledge that has long spread among star-chasers worldwide, earning it the nickname “Star Gazing Terrace” among fans and media alike. Now, the “Star Gazing Terrace” was packed with people. The matrix of cameras and telephoto lenses, which had been silent, suddenly erupted into a cacophony of rustling and clicking like rainfall as the speedboat approached.
The atmosphere of the Venice Film Festival is relatively relaxed, not nearly as frenzied, so the filmmakers and celebrities who traveled from afar were correspondingly more at ease. Before the boat even docked, Ying Yin and Li Shan were already smiling and waving in greeting, playing along with the cameras.
She was dressed with a vacation vibe today – a pale pink long-sleeved lantern dress, her black wavy long hair gently cascading down, and diamond studs on her earlobes that sparkled with animation.
Ying Yin doesn’t have an English name, so overseas media and fans had no choice but to call her “Yin.” But the third-tone pronunciation proved too difficult for them, so for convenience, what came out of their mouths was simply “In.”
The videos and photos of their arrival on the island were quickly transmitted back to Chinese-language internet, along with coverage of the press conference held in the official press hall after they landed.
This press conference was exclusive to films selected for the main competition, and the hall was packed to capacity. On the long, elevated podium, Li Shan sat in the center, with the lead actors and key creatives spread out on both sides.
Amidst the interweaving flashes of cameras, he elaborated, “From concept to formation to refinement, When Snow Melts It Turns Green actually took nearly six years. In the beginning, it was hazy in my mind, without a clear projection, so I never felt rushed to make it. It wasn’t until I noticed Ying Yin that a voice inside me said – she’s the one. There’s something captivating about her qualities, and I felt a sense of urgency, thinking I had to make this film before those qualities of hers faded. But as the shoot went deeper, I increasingly realized how narrow-minded that thought of mine was. She’s an actress who holds nothing back. Her artistic achievements don’t benefit from that particular quality – they come from her dedication.”
The gaze of the room simultaneously turned toward Ying Yin.
Ying Yin lowered the microphone, smiled, and then said, “Filming When Snow Melts It Turns Green will probably be one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. Whether it was the story itself, what happened on set, or the personal life stage I was going through at the time, everything formed a kind of resonance and reflection. The energy was overwhelming – like a tidal wave – but in terms of performance, I was required to handle it with restraint and composure. Sounds cruel, doesn’t it?”
She pressed her lips together. “But I think Director Li and I reached a consensus on that cruelty. For a theme that’s profound yet dangerously prone to sentimentality, restrained presentation is a form of wisdom and virtue. I’m really looking forward to When Snow Melts It Turns Green meeting all of you.”
That said, the attention this press conference received was still far less than that of the opening ceremony red carpet.
A total of three Chinese film crews attended the festival this time – two from the mainland and one from Taiwan – but only When Snow Melts It Turns Green was selected for the main competition; the other two were merely holding their premieres there.
The red carpet was dazzling with stars. The When Snow Melts It Turns Green team made their appearance only after dusk had fully settled, enjoying the prestigious closing slot. Chu Anni had designed a bold look for her this time, with the gown provided by Wen Youyi – a 1980 vintage haute couture piece.
From the front, it appeared to be a simple black V-neck dress with wide straps and a high slit – rather understated except for that detail. But the back told a different story: the bare-back design went all the way down to her lower back, where a golden chain – held in place by nearly invisible threads – snaked along her spine. The chain’s intricate weave was so complex that only pure gold could meet the craftsmanship requirements. Under the flashing lights, the gold tone exuded an indescribable vintage, old-world charm.
Prior to this, Ying Yin had not attended any major events for nearly five months. Her fans had been holding back, eagerly waiting for her to slay the red carpet. When the raw and retouched photos came out, they were not disappointed – the reposts and likes skyrocketed, and netizens commented: [Absolutely killing it.]
In Lyon, France, a dinner party was underway.
This was a family-style gathering hosted by a director from France’s largest medical research and development group. The atmosphere was relaxed, with the sprawling villa estate brightly lit. Inside the hall, long tables were set, flowers perfumed the air, and on the television screen mounted above the fireplace, live coverage of the Venice Film Festival opening ceremony red carpet was being broadcast by a French international channel.
Ying Yin was undeniably eye-catching – so much so that the guests, who had been chatting in small groups, all paused in unison for two or three seconds.
Shang Shao had long since given up alcohol and cigarettes. Now holding a glass of water, he was forced – along with global film fans and the guests present – to take in the splendid sight of his own wife’s stunning glamour.
His business partner, with whom he had just finished discussing the framework of their cooperation, had no idea he knew her so well. Smiling, he remarked, “That’s Mr. Shang’s compatriot. I’ve heard that Ms. Ying is immensely famous in China – one of its most renowned film stars.”
The accompanying executives, along with several directors and general managers from the state-owned enterprise, all let out soft coughs. Shang Shao couldn’t dodge it; he gave a faint, almost imperceptible smile. On his right hand, gripping the rim of the glass, a silver ring was particularly conspicuous.
It was already an exceptionally beautiful and charismatic hand – and what else could enhance such a hand more than a wedding band?
“She’s not only my compatriot,” he announced, “but also my newlywed wife.” He added with an apologetic tone, “I should have brought her to such a precious gathering, but as you can see, she’s busier than I am.”
The guests were briefly taken aback, then all broke into knowing smiles and offered their belated congratulations on his marriage. The host, holding a bottle of whiskey, teased, “No wonder you’ve been so tight-lipped these past few days – you were rushing to wrap things up with me so you could get to Venice.”
Shang Shao smiled but neither confirmed nor denied it.
…
Inside the Palazzo del Cinema, which could hold over a thousand people, the air conditioning was thoroughly chilling. Ying Yin greeted the other two Chinese film crews, then chatted for a while with a few distributors under Tiwen’s introduction, before finally finding a moment to herself.
Feeling a bit guilty, she sent Shang Shao a WeChat message: [How’s the dinner going? Is everything going smoothly with your discussions?]
Standing by the poolside, Shang Shao had the bright moonlight reflected in his eyes and around him via the shimmering water. He read her message, then glanced at the retouched photos that Wen Youyi had thoughtfully sent over, and called Ying Yin.
“Red carpet over?” He cut straight to the point.
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. “Caught me again…”
“What do you mean ‘caught you’?” Shang Shao’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Were you hoping for something that made you think I wouldn’t see it?”
“Buddha,” Ying Yin answered smoothly.
“Well, it seems Buddha favored me a little more this time, knowing I was worried about missing your red carpet, so he brought the livestream right in front of me.”
Ying Yin: “…”
“Besides,” Shang Shao paused, the smile in his voice growing more meaningful, “Xiao Wen also sent me your retouched photos – fifteen of them. She took credit, saying she strongly recommended that dress to you, and asked me if I was satisfied and whether I liked it.”
Ying Yin pressed a hand to her forehead, hearing Shang Shao ask casually, “So tell me, how should I answer her? Hm? Satisfied, or not satisfied?”
Before Ying Yin could figure out how to answer, a shawl was draped over her shoulders. She pressed her phone against her hand and looked back – it was Tiwen.
Tiwen hadn’t noticed that her call was still connected. She let out a sigh and said in a drawn-out tone, “Someone was worried that you’d sacrifice warmth for beauty and end up with a sore back and neck after two hours of air conditioning. So he made sure I got this shawl on you before any gentleman could offer you his suit jacket.”
Ying Yin gathered the shawl with one hand and pressed her lips flat, deliberately spoiling the mood. “He’s lying. He’s clearly jealous and unhappy, and wants me to cover up.”
“How could that be,” Tiwen said, surprised and earnest. “He said the dress suits you perfectly, but he didn’t want to disturb you, so he asked me to pass on the message.”
With that, she leaned down, blinked, and added with emphasis. “Don’t worry – Brother Shao is completely head over heels for you.”
Shang Shao heard every word clearly on the other end of the line. Unable to speak up and risk startling her, he thought to himself with resignation that he really shouldn’t ask his cousin to run errands for him anymore – she had clearly switched sides.
Once Tiwen had walked away, Ying Yin straightened the shawl and cleared her throat. “You are overthinking things. Besides you, who would dare offer me their suit jacket?”
Shang Shao chuckled softly. “Fair point. I should have had you take one along for the red carpet.”
At his words, Ying Yin felt an inexplicable surge of longing for him. Acting on impulse, she drew the shawl close and breathed in its scent. There was no perfume on it – only the fresh smell of new fabric.
…
After the opening ceremony came the opening film, which ran for nearly two hours -but the reception was lukewarm. By the middle of it, much of the audience was nodding off. And these were some of the world’s top filmmakers, which just goes to show how audience-unfriendly the film was.
After it ended, there was a banquet hosted by the organizers. Ying Yin hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since her wedding, so at the dinner, she simply held a glass of plain water and made a brief circuit for necessary socializing before taking her leave and returning to the hotel.
The festival had an official designated hotel, the Excelsior Venice – the oldest five-star hotel on Lido Island, conveniently located right next to the film plaza. Daily event attendance required only a short walk. Tiwen had initially considered putting the film’s core creative team up at the Aman along the Grand Canal, but given the crowds of tourists on Venice’s main island and the need for water taxis to commute back and forth each day – unnecessarily complicating things – she ultimately dropped the idea.
Ying Yin said goodbye to the crew and had Junyi accompany her back to the Excelsior. On the way, she ran into a few Chinese media professionals, who all eagerly greeted her. “Miss Ying, heading back to the hotel?”
Ying Yin nodded.
“You’re staying at the Excelsior, right?” said a film journalist from Beijing, a veteran who covered Venice every year. He sighed enviously, “Unlike us – we have to come all the way from Mestre every day, and just the commute takes two hours. If we want to catch an 8AM screening, we have to get up before the roosters crow.”
Ying Yin smiled politely. “That sounds tough.”
“Today’s opening film wasn’t great,” the journalist continued, quite talkative. “Everyone’s really looking forward to When Snow Melts It Turns Green. I just ran into Zhang Wei earlier.” As they chatted, another journalist slowly sauntered up from behind, cigarette in hand. Spotting her, he let out a “Oh!” and laughed. “What a coincidence, Miss Ying – I just saw someone waiting for you over there, and here you are.”
“Who’s waiting for me?” Ying Yin asked.
She assumed it was Zhang Wei. Zhang Wei had said earlier that he would come, but he wasn’t interested in walking the red carpet and had skipped it, which was why she hadn’t seen him at the opening ceremony.
There was nothing particularly remarkable about seeing Zhang Wei. Ying Yin walked the remaining stretch without much anticipation, her mind wandering far away as she listened to the nearby sound of the waves.
Venice couldn’t hold her; her heart was in France, thinking of the night in Lyon, the lights in Lyon.
She wondered if Shang Shao had finished his work yet.
He had arrived in Europe a few days ahead of her. In the half-month prior, the festival preparations had been so busy that they’d seen little of each other – barely a few times a day. Knowing he would be coming the day after tomorrow only made the waiting feel twice as hard.
Ying Yin suddenly asked, “I don’t have anything scheduled tomorrow. If I buy a night flight to Lyon and come back before the red carpet the day after, do you think that’s feasible?”
Junyi: “…”
Ying Yin let out a sigh. “I’m just saying.”
She suddenly felt listless and went to stand on the beach for a long while.
The two black-suited bodyguards kept their distance, watching silently, thinking to themselves: The young master is waiting for her at the hotel, but she’s killing time on the beach. Got it – they’re having a fight.
At the hotel entrance, barriers had been set up with metal rails to cordon off the passage, and the doormen and security guards were well-trained in how to fend off overzealous fans. Ying Yin pulled the shawl up to cover her face. As she made it up the steps smoothly, she dialed his number and, for the first time, asked with a hint of petulance. “Can you come to Venice tomorrow instead?”
She sounded quite coquettish – after all, she was asking a favor.
Shang Shao was standing just off to the side in the lobby, already having spotted her figure, yet he kept his voice deliberately neutral. “Why?”
“I can’t see you, so I’m in a bad mood. I have to force a smile, and the media will say I’m too competitive, throwing a tantrum, can’t take a loss, making faces.” Ying Yin began to ramble nonsense. “They’ll say I’m throwing my weight around after marrying into a wealthy family, that there’s a marital crisis, that we’re drifting apart, that I’m unhappy, that the rich family is devouring me.”
At that, Shang Shao finally couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “That serious, huh?”
Behind the shadow of the shawl, Ying Yin’s face was burning. She sounded both aggrieved and utterly earnest. “Yes, exactly that serious.”
“Then if you hadn’t spent twenty minutes playing around on the beach, you might have been able to nip those rumors in the bud twenty minutes earlier.”
Ying Yin froze for a moment, then lifted her eyes – and saw Shang Shao waiting by the revolving glass door.
He had indeed been waiting long enough; a few more minutes and he could have taken over the doorman’s shift. He had come in a rush, on a whim, without any flowers in hand – empty-handed, hardly the gentleman, but all the more convenient for holding her.
Ying Yin threw herself into his arms, and he caught her securely with both hands. When she spoke, it didn’t sound like longing – it sounded like an accusation. “You said you were coming the day after tomorrow. Why so sudden?”
Shang Shao thought for a moment, finding no other excuse to offer. After sifting through his options, he reluctantly borrowed Tiwen’s words to confess. “Didn’t Tiwen say it? I’m completely bewitched by you.”
“It’s ‘head over heels,'” Ying Yin corrected him.
Shang Shao looked down at her, as if studying her for a moment. “Not quite that far.”
Ying Yin’s fine, clean brows knitted together, puzzled and defiant. “Hm?”
Shang Shao readily acquiesced – whether to appease her or to admit it, it was hard to tell, but in any case, he was decisive –
“Fine. Exactly that far.”
