When Snow Melts It Turns Green had a low-key premiere in the small North American town of Telluride – a stark contrast to the wave of acclaim it received after opening in Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, and Southeast Asia.
Telluride is not large. When its founders first selected it as the site for a film festival, it was nothing more than a run-down mining town – industries withered, population dwindling, with fewer than seven hundred permanent residents. Its only saving grace was perhaps its scenic beauty; in winter, the skiing there was quite good.
In fewer than fifty editions, Telluride has miraculously become a premiere destination on par with the Toronto International Film Festival, the Cannes Film Festival, and the Venice Film Festival. What’s more, the number of Best Picture Oscar winners that premiered here actually surpasses those three prestigious festivals.
The path from Venice to Toronto/Telluride is the key that unlocks the Oscars for arthouse films.
“I was genuinely shocked when I got the call,” Tiwen said on the plane to North America, wide awake. “I immediately said, but Toronto is held before you this year, and we’ve already accepted Toronto’s invitation.”
“And then?” Ying Yin, wearing an eye mask, chatted back half-heartedly.
As it turned out, that didn’t matter. Toronto’s screening was interpreted as the “Canadian premiere,” so when When Snow Melts It Turns Green appeared at Telluride, it remained, literally, the “North American premiere.”
“You haven’t fully recovered,” Tiwen said, noticing her calm reaction, softening her tone. “You’re still upset about Venice. Or are you still angry that I kept it from you for all these months?”
Ying Yin pulled off her eye mask: “I appreciate your concern, but I just really want to go home!”
“It’s okay. If you’re sad, you can tell me. I’m here,” Tiwen said, sappy as an AI.
“I’m not sad!” Ying Yin frowned, her beautiful face animated with irritation. “I’m used to it. You can’t be sad about the same thing four times!”
“H, pirl…” Tiwen looked as if she might cry. “That breaks my heart.”
Ying Yin: “…”
She narrowed her eyes. “Did you swap personalities with Cheng Junyi today or what?”
In the same first-class cabin, Junyi let out a loud sneeze.
Tiwen dropped the teasing, took Ying Yin’s hand, and said seriously, “It’s okay. Let’s go make our mark in North America.”
Ying Yin shot her a sideways glance and sighed. “Honestly, winning the Golden Lion is already the highest recognition, and we won’t lose money. If you insist on going to North America, isn’t that thirty million dollars just bound to go down the drain? Add it all up, and a film that should have turned a profit ends up bleeding money.”
“Ah, so you’re saving money for Shang Qingye?” Tiwen looked perplexed. “He’s loaded.”
“North America isn’t a good market for Chinese-language films.”
“I know.”
“But you’re acting as happy as if we already have the Golden Globe in hand and are eyeing the Oscars.”
“Let’s try. We have to try – what if it works out?” Tiwen’s attitude was quite relaxed. “When we first started working together, you joked with me that the Oscars weren’t out of the question – just needed fifty million. I thought to myself, that’s too much, out of my league. But since Uncle gave that money to you as a wedding gift, then why not? Is there a tiger in the North American mountains?”
Ying Yin was taken aback by her words. She paused to think, then laughed – whether in resignation or in indulgence of Tiwen’s childlike spirit, it was hard to tell.
“North America isn’t that far,” Tiwen said, gazing at her steadily. “In three more hours, we’ll be there.”
Junyi hadn’t joined their conversation, but inwardly she was deeply upset.
She and Tiwen had been sleeping in the same room these past days. On the night they lost the Volpi Cup, after Tiwen finished her social engagements and returned to the hotel – how she got drunk, how she wailed and sobbed – only she knew, only she had witnessed.
Tiwen now spoke with such breezy lightness, as if it were all a game, but only Junyi had seen her pressing her hands hard against her eye sockets, repeating over and over: I’ve let her down. I’ve let her down.
But as a producer and financier, she still had too much to do and too many people to deal with. The time left for her to wallow in guilt and pain was so painfully scarce.
…
Immersed in autumn hues, Telluride was dry and pleasant. The festival had opened that day, but the star-studded atmosphere on the streets was not particularly intense.
This place was even more laid-back than the Lido. All you could see were jeans, trench coats, and knitwear – no red carpets, no haute couture, no fans or cameras.
“Isn’t that…”
As the business van brushed past a woman with no makeup, wearing jeans and sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead, Ying Yin couldn’t help but turn her head and stare wide-eyed.
“…Rosie Taylor?!”
She was holding a cup of coffee, chatting casually with a friend. It was hard to imagine that this was currently Hollywood’s highest-paid actress, just strolling so nonchalantly down this street.
“She produced an indie arthouse film last year,” Tiwen said. “I only found out she was coming yesterday when I checked the lineup.”
Telluride’s lineup is strictly confidential, only released on the eve of the opening night. This year, a total of 53 films were screening here, including two new films by acclaimed Asian directors that had previously appeared at Cannes.
In today’s Oscar climate, where political correctness is increasingly paramount, Asian films have become regulars in North America’s awards season.
This is because, for an Academy that demands racial and ethnic diversity, Hollywood just can’t keep up.
Nurturing talent within the film industry takes over a decade, and Hollywood crews tend to be predominantly white and male – especially in behind-the-scenes technical fields. The turnover of crews happens gradually, generation by generation; you can’t force it overnight. Since that’s the case, tilting toward overseas films and female-led productions has become the quickest shortcut for the Oscars to achieve political correctness.
“Obviously, in North America’s awards season over the past few years, Asian films have had more and more opportunities to break through. Last cycle, Asian films received five nominations and two wins; the one before that, ten nominations and seven wins; and before that, four nominations and three wins.” Tiwen had done her homework thoroughly, rattling off examples and data with ease. “Look at this year – Nakajima is here, and so is Ozawa.”
These two acclaimed Japanese directors, along with Li Shan, are all ambassadors of Asian cinema. Their new films premiered at Cannes, which was dubbed another “Year of Japan” at the festival – though they went home empty-handed in awards (not uncommon and rather amusingly so), the reception was excellent. Telluride’s annual lineup has always consisted of independent films, arthouse works with strong awards-season potential, and new films by Asian directors, so the number of Eastern faces here is actually quite high.
Ying Yin stuffed her neck pillow over her ears, looking utterly defeated. “Stop, stop, please stop, Master – my head is going to explode!”
Junyi nearly died laughing. Li Shan and the others were in another car, but if they’d been there, they’d have found Ying Yin absolutely adorable too.
Tiwen forcibly peeled one side of the neck pillow away, leaned close to her ear, and continued her chanting at full volume, “Universal and Sony have both reached out to discuss distribution. I’m meeting with Universal at the hotel as soon as we arrive. You wait – after Telluridge ends, we’re heading straight to the New York Film Festival…”
“What?!” Ying Yin grabbed her hair with both hands, on the verge of a breakdown. “Didn’t you say I didn’t have to go to New York? No! I want to go home!”
But it wasn’t really up to her.
Tiwen gripped Ying Yin’s wrist firmly and looked her in the eye. “Ying Yin, the wind rises from the tips of duckweed, and the waves swell from ripples on the water. While the self-defeating still drone on with their self-pity, the wise have already caught the pulse of the times. Just as Shang Lu said – since the tide has already risen, a true hero stands at the crest and rides the current.”
…
When Snow Melts It Turns Green screened on the afternoon of the second day of the Telluride Film Festival.
Tickets here were expensive – starting at three to five hundred dollars – and the organizers did not issue press credentials. The invited audience consisted more of critics, poets, playwrights, and professors. Those unkempt, unassuming folks milling about might very well be members of the Academy – and such members were everywhere in Telluride.
The Palm Theatre was quite modest. Upon entering the lobby, gray-and-white portraits of renowned filmmakers hung from the ceiling like banners. Ying Yin stood still for a moment, then walked into the screening room with the crew.
All six hundred-plus seats were filled.
News of their loss in Venice had already spread. She stepped onto the stage, and before she could even bow, the audience burst into applause. This was not out of sympathy, but out of respect.
On the afternoon of the third day, on an open-air stage nestled in the emerald snow-capped valley, the crew held a panel discussion. Only a few rows of folding chairs had been set up for the audience; more people who came to listen stood clustered around, or sat cross-legged on the grass. There were no rules here, only courtesy – listen if you wish, and if you lose interest, slip away quietly.
The moderator was renowned film critic Raim Wenders. He spoke with Ying Yin and Li Shan about their creative process, about cinematic aesthetics, and finally, about performance.
“There is absolutely no way that anyone, after watching this film, can casually dismiss your performance with glib talk about method acting, Stanislavski, blah blah blah – all that grandiloquent jargon. I mean, of course those things are serious and academically valuable at any given moment, but before the character of Xueqing, they become frivolous.”
He held the microphone, his gaze piercing straight to the heart. “I believe there’s also no way you can sit through an interview and rattle on about how you designed this scene, how you immersed yourself in that one. I want to hear about your difficult moments.”
It was a sharp, open-ended question that directly concerned the first impression Ying Yin would make on these shrewd, old-fashioned Academy members.
In fact, a dozen safe, polished answers instantly sprang to mind – five, six, seven of them at once. That was the basic conditioning of years of training as a star.
The wind wandered through the valley, rustling with a soft whisper. A bright yellow ladybug crawled onto Ying Yin’s skirt.
Ying Yin picked up the microphone. As the audience waited, she said, “It was when we shot the first kissing scene.” Then she laughed at herself. “Sorry – that answer probably sounds neither dedicated nor professional, but it truly was my most difficult moment.”
Raim Wenders furrowed his brow slightly and leaned forward. “Why? From what I understand, you shot several intimate physical scenes before the kissing scene. No offense, but was a kissing scene really harder than those?”
Ying Yin gave a slight nod, glanced at Li Shan, and said, “Because in those kisses, there couldn’t be any trace of Ying Yin – only Yin Xueqing. I suppose that was the moment I walked through the blade’s edge.”
“You seem to have succeeded. In stripping away yourself.” Raim Wenders relaxed his brow.
“I couldn’t do it at first – or rather, I wasn’t willing to. But there was a way back. Beyond the set lights, my husband was always standing there. So I made it through.”
…
When Telluride came to a close, the press releases issued by the media were remarkably brief:
[Li Shan and Ying Yin Appear at Telluride with New Film When Snow Melts It Turns Green]
Not that the media had nothing to write about – it’s just that Telluride has no competition and no awards.
Only the industry insiders paid quiet attention.
Since it was a Hong Kong-produced film, it was ultimately the Hong Kong filmmakers who dared to speak a bit more candidly:
“Being selected for the Telluride lineup can completely wash away the shadow of losing the Volpi Cup in Venice – though, putting aside the Best Actress crown, When Snow Melts It Turns Green actually performed with overwhelming momentum in Venice and was very successful. The Telluride screening is extremely crucial; it helps the film build buzz in North America and leaves an impression on Academy members.”
“However, historically speaking, Chinese-language films have made it to Telluride before.”
“Very few. But if we look across Asia, you’ll see that the works that have made it to Telluride are now unquestionably immortalized in cinematic history.”
“So does this mean When Snow Melts It Turns Green can go even further in North America?”
“I know what you’re getting at. (Laughs) This is a long campaign. For awards season, it’s only September – it’s just the beginning. How far it can go depends critically on both quality and PR. Quality is the vessel; PR is the current. The vessel rides the current, cuts through the waves, and becomes the wind. But a current without a vessel is just an empty gust of wind.”
…
The New York Film Festival is the final stop of the autumn festival circuit, and among them all, it bills itself as the most avant-garde, stylish, and edgy. Its lineup had already been announced back in August. It doesn’t attract much attention from domestic media, so it only got a brief mention in press releases.
Ying Yin had originally not planned to attend, but since she was already in Telluride, it was only natural for Tiwen to drag her along to New York.
On the flight from Telluride to New York, the entire crew slept soundly. They had arrived with such high spirits, and now they were leaving like the walking dead. The flight attendants serving first class got an eyeful of every imaginable sleeping posture, sprawled every which way.
…
From the icy wilderness of Aqiap, Xinjiang, to the metropolis – the red carpet had returned.
At a festival panel discussion, Zhang Wei appeared as a guest.
A reporter asked, “In your heart, what kind of film is When Snow Melts It Turns Green?”
Zhang Wei, who had years of experience dealing with Western media and the publicity machine, wore a sharp, oversized suit. Her hair was completely silver-white, every wrinkle on her face clearly etched, but her bold red lips radiated commanding presence.
After a moment’s thought, she said, “This is a story about love among marginalized social minorities, while also exploring marriage and freedom. One of the two protagonists is a terminally ill sex worker from a small town; the other is a divorced ethnic minority who has been trapped deep in the mountains, never having seen the wider world. In a pristine, secluded natural setting, they meet and fall in love – yet beneath the romance, a mournful elegy of despair is constantly suppressed.”
When the interview made its way back to domestic audiences, the comments read:
[Brilliant]
[Grandma Zhang expertly wields the enemy’s weapons and scores a point]
[A bit darkly humorous]
[That string of buzzwords made me laugh out loud]
[Learn the barbarians’ skills to defeat the barbarians…]
In truth, after saying all that, what Zhang Wei said with complete seriousness was, “Of course, in terms of the visuals and narrative, what I resonate with more deeply is the other things it expresses.”
What those things were, she didn’t say – because others had already said them many times over.
She ended her commentary in the most straightforward language. “As a narrative film, there’s no doubt it’s brilliant – and that’s the most important thing.”
An unexpected delight came when Li Shan’s daughter, who lives in Los Angeles, also made it to the festival. She openly shared that the film’s conceptual seed came from a late-night father-daughter conversation. Li Shan said, “This was the first time I truly stepped into Lily’s inner world – understanding what she’s been going through, what she’s thinking, what she’s observing.”
After the interview, Li Shan’s daughter – Lili, or Lily – found Ying Yin and said to her quite playfully, “I didn’t come for my dad. I came for you. He couldn’t have dragged me here. These intimate relationship narratives – Americans love that stuff. I only spoke up because of you.”
…
While the New York Film Festival screening was underway, When Snow Melts It Turns Green officially opened in theaters.
Because it had narrowly missed the Best Actress award in Venice, domestic reception of the film and of Ying Yin was deeply divided. On one hand, professional film media kept publishing praise for both the film and Ying Yin; on the other hand, fandoms – who excel at tearing each other down and dragging everyone into the mud – were not buying it, claiming that the domestic acclaim was nothing but frogs at the bottom of a well patting themselves on the back, and that it was just capital using Ying Yin as a front and a fig leaf.
At midnight on September 20, amid such deeply divided and fiercely confrontational voices, the film opened.
Professional tracking accounts tallied the film’s presale box office across various regions – totaling over 30 million. For an arthouse film that had yet to secure a mainland China distribution license, this was already an incredible achievement. On opening day itself, even midnight screenings achieved impressive attendance.
At 1:40 a.m. on September 20, the first wave of audience short reviews surfaced:
[Actually a fan of Jeong Yoon-min, so I went in with a critical eye. Performance quality is subjective, but I was genuinely touched.]
[This is a film that plays with your psychological expectations. Very unexpected – all my preconceptions and predictions before watching were completely overturned during the viewing. I can understand why it was so successful in Venice.]
[Thought there would be a lot of nude scenes, so I didn’t dare invite any friends (too awkward) – went to see it alone. But there actually weren’t any. False alarm – ready to go for a second watch with friends now.]
[Good film.]
By 5 a.m., various long-form audience reviews had appeared.
At 10 a.m., Saturday – Ying Yin’s official fan club posted photos of fans queuing up to cross the border, with the caption:
[We know full well what this film and this role mean to you. So we’re coming to see you at the very first opportunity.]
At noon, When Snow Melts It Turns Green once again hit the trending charts, with the hashtag: [The Elephant in the Frame].
At 2 p.m., someone posted a question on a forum:
[Am I the only one who felt really uncomfortable and even offended while watching it?]
There were a few who agreed, but one reply eventually rose to the top. She responded:
[In artistic works, we need to distinguish between the phenomenon itself and the act of critically presenting that phenomenon. Critical presentation can also sting – but that is not the fault of the presentation; rather, our gaze should be directed at the phenomenon. If the criticism is aimed at the act and the subject of ‘critical presentation’ itself, we will likely end up with more and more whitewashed, sanitized creations.]
People clicked into this account and discovered it was Zhang Wei. She later wrote a lengthy article, titled:
“Borrowing Arrows with Thatched Boats: A Long Conversation Between Me and Ms. Ying Yin in New York.”
At 5 p.m. on opening day, the official Weibo account of When Snow Melts It Turns Green released a poster, thanking fans for the 40 million box office support.
In the poster, Ying Yin knelt in the thick ice and snow of the night. Moonlight fell upon her, her nightgown slipping off to reveal a small portion of her back. Powdery snow like frost cascaded from her shoulders, and her face was turned to the side, her chin and eyelashes quietly lowered.
At 8 p.m. on opening day –
The weekend prime-time slot at theaters had begun. Despite unfavorable screening schedules, When Snow Melts It Turns Green held steady on occupancy rates, gradually narrowing the box office gap with commercial films released around the same time.
At 9 p.m. on opening day –
Shang Shao booked out a theater, and everyone at Shang’s company watched the film together in a VIP screening room in Hong Kong.
…
New York is exactly twelve hours behind the East China Time Zone – so at this moment, it was 9 a.m. there.
To track the opening-day reviews and box office performance, Ying Yin, Tiwen, and Junyi had stayed up all night and had only just gotten into bed. But even in bed, they weren’t really ready to sleep – the three girls were all piled onto one large bed, sharing and scrolling through new content with each other.
When a video call from Shang Shao came in, Tiwen and Junyi started teasing her. Ying Yin smoothed her hair, got out of bed, and sat down on the chaise lounge by the floor-to-ceiling window.
When the call connected, it was Mingbao holding the phone. Mingbao waved. “Sister-in-law! Sister-in-law! I’m booking a private screening tomorrow and inviting all my friends!”
Ying Yin couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t waste your money.”
Everyone took turns saying a few words to her before the phone finally reached Shang Shao.
There were still ten-plus minutes before the screening started. Shang Shao stepped away briefly and found a quiet spot. He looked at her on the screen for a moment before saying, “You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”
His question made her nose sting with emotion. Not wanting him to see through her, she quickly said, “No, I slept a little.”
“Don’t read the negative comments.”
“Mm.” Ying Yin nodded, her gaze carefully tracing his face. “Oh – the tie I gave you.”
It was a dark red tie with a honeysuckle pattern – somewhat luxurious on its own, but with his presence tempering it, it didn’t look overly ornate or fussy at all. It suited him perfectly. When they were both at home, she would tie his tie for him every morning. She’d blown it on the very first day – her technique was far from polished, and Shang Shao had teased her. “Miss Ying, this is what you call knowing twelve different ways to tie a tie?”
“Will Mom and Dad feel awkward watching it?” After a moment, Ying Yin tilted her head, resting her chin on her arm, as if talking to herself.
“Go to sleep. When you wake up, I’ll tell you the answer.”
“They probably have some idea already,” Ying Yin said, trying to reassure herself.
“Do you regret it? Feel embarrassed, unable to face yourself?” Shang Shao asked casually.
Ying Yin paused for a moment, pressed her lips together, and shook her head. “No.”
“Then that’s enough. Since it was a choice made after self-reflection, there’s no need to fret over others’ reactions.” Shang Shao curved his lips slightly. “Besides, it really isn’t a big deal.”
“Maybe Dad will fly into a rage after watching it and order Tiwen to return that thirty million to him right away.”
Shang Shao let out a laugh. “Just thirty million. The only reason Tiwen accepted it was because I told her to give him face. Otherwise, how would he have gotten the chance to put up the money?”
They chatted until the movie was about to start, and then Ying Yin hung up.
Perhaps because Shang Shao knew she wasn’t that shameless, a little while later he sent her a separate WeChat message: [Little girl, remember this – I’m proud of you.]
Ying Yin read those words word by word, held the phone against her chest for a moment, and tilted her face up. It took her a long while before she dared to blink.
She missed him terribly. But he was so busy – and if she said it out loud, he would fly to New York despite the toll it would take. She didn’t dare say it.
Lost in thoughts of how the Shang family might be receiving the film, she slowly drifted off to sleep. When she woke up, there was a new WeChat message by her pillow.
He said: [I miss you very much. Tell me – in the time that belongs to the film, did you think of me, even for a moment?]
…
Even though he had braced himself mentally and more or less knew the film would be somewhat bold, after watching it, Shang Qingye still ended up smoking alone for a long time.
When Shang Shao came over, Shang Qingye stubbed out his cigarette, waved his hand to clear the smoke, and asked, “Did the filming go smoothly?”
Shang Shao couldn’t be bothered to breathe in the secondhand smoke lingering around him. He stood well back – quite irreverently – leaning against the wall, and casually responded to a few points. Then he asked, “What do you think of the film?”
Shang Qingye was not one to casually comment on things outside his professional domain. He said cautiously, “I can appreciate some of it.”
“Then tell her that yourself.”
Shang Qingye paused for a moment, narrowed his eyes, and then let out a wry laugh. “So now you’re telling me what to do?”
He maintained his dignity in front of his son, but he still sent the message. As the chairman and an elder, Shang Qingye’s message was refreshingly straightforward: [If you’re short on money, come to me anytime.]
…
On the second day of public release, Ke Yu made a rare appearance on Weibo. He posted the screening schedules of two Hong Kong cinemas showing When Snow Melts It Turns Green, telling his fans that over the next week, they could walk into those specific screening rooms at any time, sit down, and quietly enjoy the film.
Zhang Chengwan posted her ticket stub, which then made it onto the trending charts. Though it wasn’t bought, there was certainly some behind-the-scenes push helping it along.
With a top-tier female star leading the way, more and more actresses began posting their movie-watching souvenirs on Weibo. In today’s era, it’s hard to speak one’s true feelings on one’s own account, so their reviews came across as moderate and conservative – but that didn’t stop them from trending.
Some fans of these actresses were deeply distressed: [Have you considered that this kind of move is elevating her status? You were originally on equal billing with her!]
…
The wind rises from the tips of duckweed, and the waves swell from ripples on the water.
…
Those noisy voices were still there, of course.
Some people continued to mock Ying Yin’s “four entries and four exits”.
But the vast moviegoing audience offered a different voice – one unlike the fandom squabbles:
[Doesn’t this just mean she has four major works that made it into the main competition of the European Big Three? At her age, no other actress can match that kind of filmography depth.]
[One Venice loss means nothing – looking forward to her sweeping the upcoming awards season.]
[The Nebula and Galaxy Awards are already reserved. A second Best Actress win – just thinking about it is exciting. She’d be the first mainland Chinese actress to achieve that.]
[She was already dating Shang Shao when she took this role. Let’s be blunt – no normal wealthy family would allow or accept that; her engagement could very well have fallen through. On that level alone, I admire her. So women – never give up your career for the sake of your partner’s misgivings! Even if your partner is as wealthy and powerful as Shang Shao!]
Others said she went all in with nudity just to chase awards.
But even those threads were hard to control now – objective, rational voices had begun to replace the sarcastic and snide remarks:
[Honestly, why don’t you just go watch the movie? A pirated copy would even do.]
[First of all, secondly, and finally.]
[This isn’t a ‘prostitute film.’ If you’ve watched it and still feel nothing, it means you live in a happy utopia – not beneath the surface of the water.]
[Your perspective is irrational and full of malice.]
[Is it really that hard to acknowledge her ambition?]
…
On the fifth day of release, the all-night debates over Best Actress and acting prowess finally settled.
“Missing out on Yin Xueqing is the Volpi Cup’s loss, not the other way around.
Ying Yin has no need for a tragic title like ‘uncrowned queen.’ She will be crowned – one day, and that day will not be long in coming.”
This was the closing statement of Zhang Wei’s article “Borrowing Arrows with Thatched Boats,” and it was widely quoted.
The New York Times published a report on the ongoing New York Film Festival –
“When Snow Melts It Turns Green shines like a touch of cyan among the Asian film lineup.”
…
The press and publicity interviews came in such rapid succession. After finishing the New York leg, they flew to London for pre-release warm-up and PR across Europe.
It wasn’t until early November that the tour finally wound down.
The plane touched down in the south of France, and by the time the car pulled up at La Base, Ying Yin was fast asleep.
The door clicked open. Her face was tilted against the neck pillow, her thick black hair hiding her pale, exhausted features.
Shang Shao found it both heartbreaking and amusing. The driver quietly asked if he should wake her, but he shook his head and gestured for him and the concierge to take care of the luggage first.
When they opened the trunk to retrieve the bags, even though they moved as gently as possible, there was still considerable noise – but it still didn’t wake Ying Yin. She vaguely sensed that someone was beside her. Unguarded, she fell for the familiar scent and instinctively leaned into him.
She ground her teeth in her sleep.
Shang Shao let her rest on him and gently adjusted her silk eye mask.
As the driver followed the concierge into the hotel lobby, he glanced back and saw Shang Shao sitting there with nothing to do, simply watching his wife.
By the time Ying Yin woke up, it was already dark. She startled awake with a violent jolt, bolting upright and saying, “We missed the stop!”
Shang Shao: “…”
Seeing the night sky, and seeing him, she froze. Her expression crumpled, and she burrowed into his arms, wailing in protest. “Tiwen is inhuman – I can’t take it anymore! She’s only giving me one week off before sending me back to North America. Los Angeles, Detroit, Philadelphia, Chicago, Boston…”
“Stop chanting,” Shang Shao said helplessly.
Ying Yin nuzzled deeper into his arms. “I only just started…”
Shang Shao stroked her hair. “Why do you have to go to so many places?”
“To coordinate with the North American release. Starting from New York and L.A., gradually expanding venues, timed to align with the awards season schedule. We have to build momentum, do interviews, go on TV.” Ying Yin swallowed, then held up three fingers. “We’ve already booked this many interviews.”
“Three…ty?”
“Three hundred.”
“…”
Shang Shao’s fingertip traced down from her throat. “No wonder your voice is hoarse too, hmm?”
Ying Yin nodded and hooked her finger around his. “How long have you been waiting in the car?”
“Less than an hour,” Shang Shao said, understating it.
Ying Yin raised her wrist to check her watch, calculated the landing time, and called him out. “Liar.”
Shang Shao had no choice but to admit helplessly. “You were sleeping so soundly – I couldn’t bear to wake you.”
In truth, how could he not know how hard Ying Yin had been working? Even with his own busy schedule, he kept close tabs on her itinerary. He had also directly asked Tiwen about it – calmly, but pointedly – questioning whether such a grueling schedule was truly necessary.
Tiwen, leading both domestic and international PR teams, felt like she was standing on a speeding golden chariot – money poured in and vanished in an instant. Once the arrow was loosed, there was no turning back. She said earnestly, “Ying Yin is the lead actress – she’s the best face for our PR. If she doesn’t show up to events, it would be the film’s biggest loss. We can’t let those people think you don’t care about the award, or that it’s just optional to her. You have to show enthusiasm – only then will they be enthusiastic too.”
The blue sea and sky of La Base would become the only breath of respite in Ying Yin’s memory for the next six months. Everything else was gold, black, red – too dazzling, too decadent, utterly tiresome.
When the silver tarp over the Free Will was lifted, Ying Yin squinted against the harsh sunlight.
She thought to herself: So it was covered up after all. If she had actually died back then, Junyi – that idiot – would definitely have been unable to find it, and would have wandered around clutching her urn. She’d never have been able to rest in peace.
What foolish thoughts.
“Now I understand why your grandfather didn’t approve of your dream. Such a small boat, heading out into such a vast sea – it’s like dropping Rich into the African savannah.” Ying Yin thought for a moment. “Grandfather would definitely lie awake worrying about you at night.”
As he adjusted the sails, Shang Shao glanced over at her. “What about you?”
“Me…” Ying Yin sat at the helm in the stern. “I’ll be your assistant – if you don’t mind me fumbling around and getting in the way.”
Shang Shao pressed his lips together, as though her answer was exactly what he had expected. He turned back around and quietly, attentively began coiling the ropes.
It wasn’t until that night, in the midst of their passion, that she learned just how deeply he had been shaken.
“Have you ever thought that there’s a one-in-a-thousand chance we might die at sea together?” His face was slick with sweat, his voice hoarse. With sweat-dampened fingertips, he brushed the hair away from Ying Yin’s forehead.
“So we’ll probably have to wait until the children are grown up, and until you retire from the company…” The force of his movements broke her voice into fragments, leaving her unable to form a complete sentence.
Shang Shao smiled. His lowered eyes were so dark they seemed utterly devoid of light. There was something dangerous, almost irrational, about the intensity of his fascination. A flutter of panic rose in Ying Yin’s chest, and she edged away, trying to escape.
But after only two steps, her ankle fell into his scorching-hot grasp. He stroked it, then suddenly tightened his hold and yanked her back into his arms, pinning her firmly against him.
Looking back, their first child was probably conceived during that week at La Base.
In truth, neither of them paid much attention to it. Nothing had come of the few times they’d tried on Lido Island, and besides, how could something like this happen exactly when you wanted it to? They had taken a whatever happens, happens approach and hadn’t been focusing on it at all.
Then one day in Philadelphia, Ying Yin suddenly remembered and asked Junyi, “Wait… haven’t I been late for quite a while?”
Her cycle was normally very regular, and Junyi had been keeping track of the dates too. “You still haven’t gotten it? It’s already been a week.”
“No.” Ying Yin placed a hand over her lower abdomen.
“Could it be because you’re too tired? You haven’t been sleeping well, and you’ve been doing interviews every day.” Junyi asked casually, then suddenly went, “Oh!” Lowering her voice, she said, “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant?”
“That’s impossible.” Ying Yin instinctively denied it. “How could it happen so quickly?”
Cheng Junyi was still such a young girl – what did she know about these things? Hearing Ying Yin say that, she simply nodded. “All right. Then you’re probably just too tired. Mm, that would be normal.”
What she said seemed to give Ying Yin further confirmation, so Ying Yin agreed as well.
“Right. I’m just too tired.”
…
Complementing her intensive PR campaign over the past month was the steady announcement of the various precursor awards.
…
November 25: Gotham Independent Film Awards – Best Actress: Ying Yin.
November 26: New York Film Critics Circle Awards – Best Picture and Best Cinematography: When Snow Melts It Turns Green; Best Actress: Ying Yin.
November 28: National Board of Review Awards – When Snow Melts It Turns Green selected as one of the Top Five International Films; Best Actress: Ying Yin.
November 30: Atlanta, Hollywood, Detroit, and Washington film critics associations – Best Cinematography: When Snow Melts It Turns Green; Best Actress: Ying Yin.
December 2: Los Angeles, Boston, and Philadelphia film critics associations – Best Actress: Ying Yin.
…
Zhuang Tiwen had lost five pounds.
She had to report her progress to the people financing the campaign. Every call she made to Shang Qingye brought good news. Holding a cigar between his fingers, Shang Qingye finally asked the question that had been haunting him, “Are there really that many awards to win?”
Tiwen gave an awkward laugh. “Yes. There are awards every day. Sometimes there are five or six ceremonies in a single day… Actually, we’ve already missed out on eight of them – but that’s all right! We’ve opened in more than 1,200 theatres so far. We’re doing very well on the arthouse circuit, and the numbers in mainstream cinemas are pretty respectable too.”
“Do you need additional investment?” Shang Qingye asked pragmatically.
“No. Venice and Telluride – we’ve had such a good run all the way through that we’ve already built a solid foundation and established the film’s reputation.” Tiwen sounded rather pleased with herself. “So far, we’ve only spent two million US dollars.”
That was a very small sum. Even an outstanding film required a campaign to make an Oscar run. A Best Picture contender might spend anywhere from ten to thirty million dollars on awards campaigning.
And that “campaigning” did not mean bribing Academy members or showering them with gifts and perks. It meant spending money on media exposure and lobbying. You could never be sure that every voter had watched your film, so the only option was to work through them one by one, making sure they had seen it – and understood it.
An Oscar campaign was like the most intricate and complex surgical operation imaginable.
Shang Qingye thought back for a moment. “Didn’t I give you thirty million? Don’t hold back.”
“We’ll still need to spend money over the next two months, mainly on screenings and lobbying aimed at the Academy’s nearly ten thousand members. But judging from the response we’ve received from the critics’ awards so far, we’ve got plenty of room to work with.” Tiwen suddenly remembered something else. “Besides, Americans seem to like Yinyin quite a lot.”
“Why? Is she well-known in the US too?”
“No…” Tiwen seemed a little embarrassed to say it, and her voice grew weaker. “It started because a TikTok blogger posted a reaction video to one of her variety show appearances…”
Shang Qingye frowned, immediately sensing that something was off. “What variety show?”
“Uh…” Tiwen pressed a hand to her forehead. “A reality show about raising pigs.”
Shang Qingye: “…”
If he’d known, he should have bought the master tape and destroyed it in one go.
“Uncle, don’t be mad,” Tiwen hurriedly said. “Compared with audiences back home, people here are more receptive to this kind of uninhibited, genuine image, rather than someone who seems lofty, sweet, and impeccably poised. Besides, Yinyin has been on a few TV shows and walked a few red carpets, and, well… they think the contrast is really cute.”
Shang Qingye remained expressionless. “Mm. It certainly is quite a contrast.”
Uncle Sheng smoothly handed him his blood pressure medication.
Shang Qingye shot him a sidelong glance, and Uncle Sheng, knowing when to bend and when to retreat, promptly withdrew.
Tiwen braced herself and continued, “Star power and general-public recognition are both very important, so we just gave it a tiny, tiny push.”
The consequence of that tiny little push was that the pig-raising variety show, after going viral on TikTok, was exported back to China and became popular all over again.
The clip had already gone viral once before, but even on its second round, netizens were still enjoying it immensely:
[A classic never dies.]
[My girl is way too cute.]
[I’m telling you Americans, don’t be so blind! Standing in front of you is the most dazzlingly beautiful star in the Chinese entertainment industry – not some professional pig catcher!]
[Judging by how skilled she is at catching pigs, I’m afraid the comment above is not very convincing.]
[The real question is: has the heir apparent seen it?]
[The heir apparent watched it and thought, “As expected, my wife really is one of a kind.”]
[There’s this weird feeling of having forgotten that she’s campaigning for an Oscar.]
[↑ Don’t be so naive. The Oscar campaign is just for fun – there’s no way she’ll actually get anywhere.]
[Don’t you think it’s exciting, though?]
[Putting aside the fact that she’d be the first Chinese actress to win Best Actress – among Chinese actors, the furthest anyone has gone is a Golden Globe Best Actress nomination. Ying Yin has probably gone about as far as she can at this point.]
[But what if?]
[There is no “what if.”]
…
December 5 — another birthday, another year.
When Snow Melts It Turns Green passed mainland China’s censorship review and was scheduled for release on December 31.
The Golden Globe nominations were announced.
Ying Yin: Best Actress – Drama.
…
“Mom, I made it this far. This is the best result a Chinese person has ever achieved in history. I’m doing very well in the US. …Mm, I am a little tired, but it’s nothing to worry about. Don’t come! Your back isn’t in good shape, and flying is really hard on you. Junyi is taking very good care of me. The awards ceremony? It’s still a while away – it’s on January 6. …Mm, okay. I’ll get someone to set up a livestream for you. Goodbye. Good night. I’ll come back to see you in a few days.”
…
There was absolutely no moment that could compare to this moment in the Chinese entertainment industry.
#YingYinNominatedForGoldenGlobeBestActressInADrama# – TRENDING
[If Ying Yin actually wins the Golden Globe for Best Actress, I can’t even imagine what her place in history would be.]
[No way. Am I really about to witness history? I’m not mentally prepared for this /kneeling/]
[What’s there to be afraid of imagining? She’s already in the top three in history right now.]
[She’s not even in the “European Big Three” yet. It’s just a Golden Globe nomination. If you’re going to hype her up, at least keep it in check.]
[The “European Big Three” is only a matter of time. But a historic achievement in North America is something you can’t force. The script, acting, the era, luck, PR, competitors, the political and philosophical currents of the time… Wake up. You’re already standing at a historical landmark. Whether she stops here or keeps charging forward all the way – January will tell.]
[LMAO. I’ve only ever heard people say that winning the “European Big Three” doesn’t guarantee an Oscar. I’ve never heard of the Oscars being unable to accommodate someone who’s won the “European Big Three.” Just wait.]
[Sis Yin, how come your fans are already taking out loans on your behalf again?]
[AAAAAA REPORT REPORT REPORT! Advance ticket sales have passed 100 million!]
[Business as usual. Stay calm. She could always carry a box office, and on top of that she’s got all this momentum behind her.]
[A literary/art-house film making over 100 million isn’t unusual. What matters is what happens afterward. It could still suffer a massive drop in the second week.]
[She’s absolutely cleaning up. Southeast Asia + Hong Kong, Macao, and Taiwan closed at 60 million; North America and Europe combined have broken US$20 million; and mainland China is already at 100 million.]
[Huh? How is that “cleaning up”? What about the PR costs? All those billboards across North America, TV appearances, red carpets, interviews, plus the receptions and screenings specifically targeting Academy members?]
[Don’t be so short-sighted. As long as she succeeds in her Oscar campaign, there’ll be at least 200 global film-rights deals. Guess how much revenue she’ll get from those? And guess how much the mainland box office will ultimately close at?]
[“As long as”… So you’re saying you’re hyping her up with money you’ve borrowed from the future?]
…
As the international flight descended into Hong Kong, the cabin filled with the jingling bells of Jingle Bells. Outside the window, the vast city glittered with lights.
With the Christmas holidays approaching, Hong Kong International Airport was bustling with people – some returning home, some seeing loved ones off, some embracing, some kissing. The electronic departure boards refreshed every few seconds, each update connected to countless reunions and partings.
Ying Yin took the VIP passage.
In the spotless glass windows were reflected the tight embraces of people reunited after a long separation.
The moment she threw her arms around Shang Shao, she began to cry. “I’m so tired. So, so tired.”
She sounded utterly aggrieved, like a little girl who had just finished running a marathon.
Shang Shao kept kissing the top of her head. “You’ve already won. You’ve done amazingly. You’re the best, understand? Even Shangyu’s stock went up ten points because of you.”
“You’re lying to me again.” Ying Yin sniffed, the tip of her nose faintly red against her skin.
Shang Shao lifted a hand and wiped away the tiny, glistening tear clinging to her lashes. Smiling, he said, “Why are you getting harder and harder to fool?”
When they returned to Deep Water Bay, she was welcomed almost like a triumphant hero returning home. They chatted enthusiastically until ten, but she simply couldn’t hold out any longer and eventually fell asleep on the sofa.
Shang Shao carried her back to the bedroom in his arms. It was nearly a ten-minute walk – credit to him for managing to carry her the whole way.
The moment she touched the bed, she stirred awake in a sleepy haze. Her first instinct was to check beneath herself. The sheets were too white; even in her dreams, they made her feel uneasy, and she was afraid her period might suddenly come and stain them.
It was all because the first time she had stayed here overnight, the same thing had happened. Back then, Shang Shao had even driven down the mountain in the middle of the night to buy her tampons.
“What is it?” Shang Shao poured her a glass of warm water.
“My period still hasn’t come this month. I’m worried it’ll suddenly start.” Ying Yin took the glass and drank from it slowly, sip by sip.
After half a glass, she noticed he hadn’t said anything.
She looked up at him, puzzled. “Hm?”
Shang Shao stood there silently, steadying his breathing. It took considerable effort for him to regain his usual composure.
“Have you taken a test?”
“A test for what?”
“For pregnancy.”
“That’s impossible.” Ying Yin tightened her grip around the glass.
“So you haven’t taken one.”
“Then…” Ying Yin asked hesitantly, “Should I take a test?”
“Mm.” Shang Shao nodded. He turned to leave, intending to have one of the household staff fetch a pregnancy test, but Ying Yin stopped him –
“Don’t let Mom know.”
“I don’t have one here,” Shang Shao said helplessly.
“Mom might not have one either,” Ying Yin pointed out matter-of-factly.
Wow, she thought. The two of us really are idiots.
“I’ll drive out and buy one.” Shang Shao took a deep breath and undid two buttons of his shirt. “Wait for me.”
He could have sent one of the household staff, but instead, he drove down the mountain himself. Sitting in the Taycan, surrounded by the stillness of the night, shifting light flowed across the haze-blue hood and windshield. Through the shadows of flowers and trees, beneath the moonlight, the curve of a smile could be seen at the corner of his lips.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened unconsciously. He took another quiet breath and told himself:
Shang Shao, stay calm.
It was still far too early to get excited.
But he managed to flatten his lips for only a moment before they began to curve upward again of their own accord.
Lowering his head slightly, he let out a smiling sigh. “Look at you.”
Would the store clerk remember this man?
He had once come specifically to buy a box of tampons. Though she had been full of curiosity, she had patiently helped him. It had been much the same then: a dress shirt, black trousers, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his tall, slender figure strikingly refined.
The clerk remembered him.
She remembered how grave and imposing he had seemed that night.
Tonight, however, there was a gentleness about him.
“Have you and your girlfriend tied the knot?” she asked, working up the courage.
Shang Shao paused for a moment, then nodded.
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you.”
“This brand is more accurate. Ah, you could also buy a few different kinds.”
That made sense.
So Shang Shao bought a whole pile of them.
When he returned to Deep Water Bay, Ying Yin was kneeling on the bed in her nightdress, her hands held tightly together in front of her.
“What’s wrong?” Shang Shao hurried over.
“I don’t dare move.” Ying Yin kept pressing her lips together, her cheeks flushed red. “I’m afraid if I move, it’ll fall out.”
Shang Shao: “…”
“Pah, pah, pah! Don’t say something so unlucky.” She quickly spat three times to ward off the bad luck.
After opening the test kit, she headed toward the bathroom, looking back over her shoulder every few steps.
“Do you want me to help?”
“Of course not!” Ying Yin hurried away.
She swallowed, swallowed again, then took two deep breaths.
Why were these few minutes taking so unbearably long?
Shang Shao could barely stand it. He paced back and forth around the room in circles. He had already undone several buttons of his shirt, yet still felt unbearably hot, so he took it off and changed into a comfortable T-shirt.
At last, he approached the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Are you done?”
With a click, the door opened.
Ying Yin stood before him, one hand gripping the doorknob and the other holding the pregnancy test. Her face was flushed crimson, her eyes wide.
Shang Shao raised a hand and rubbed his face. His beautiful voice had already gone low and hoarse. “Is there… is there a line, or not?”
Ying Yin had originally wanted to tease him a little, but she had completely lost control of her expression. Every muscle, every nerve, every feature on her face was brimming with happiness, practically flying upward.
She said –
The moment she opened her mouth, her voice trembled. “I’m pregnant. I really am pregnant!”
She couldn’t stop herself from letting out a scream.
Shang Shao froze for a moment, as though he still hadn’t fully processed those few simple words. But his arms had already moved, strong and instinctive, catching her and lifting her into his embrace.
“You’re pregnant.” One hand pressed against the back of her neck as he laughed in disbelief. “You’re going to be a mother, Ying Yin?”
Then it finally sank in.
His chest tightened with such overwhelming happiness that it almost hurt, leaving him unable to breathe. Holding Ying Yin tightly, he couldn’t stop kissing her – her neck, her jaw, her lips.
“You’re going to be a father!” Ying Yin wrapped both arms tightly around him. “You’re going to be a father, Shang Shao.”
She hardly dared say anything more. Her whole body had begun to tremble.
As tears welled in her eyes, she thought, Wow. The two of us really do look like a pair of idiots congratulating each other.
…
Although the Oscar campaign team suggested that she could use her identity as a mother-to-be to cultivate a warmer, more sentimental public image, Ying Yin refused.
Their suggestion was, in fact, professional and sound. Just as when Shang Shao had wanted to give her a private jet to make it easier for her to travel during awards season, they had advised that it would not be an appropriate move. In the North American public eye, Ying Yin’s identity as a member of a wealthy family had been kept relatively understated.
“I don’t want to use the baby as a tool or a means to an end,” Ying Yin said seriously. “Let’s not make it public. We can keep it secret until after the Oscars.”
For quite some time, she didn’t dare wear high heels, and even walked with extra care. The first three months of pregnancy were a particularly critical and delicate period, and she wasn’t sleeping well. Shang Shao took some time off to stay with her in North America while she rested and focused on the pregnancy.
They slept in bed with extreme caution, even turning over in carefully coordinated stages. They really were like a pair of idiots.
The frequency with which Ying Yin attended campaign events visibly decreased. She appeared only when absolutely necessary; for everything else, Li Shan, Bai Lan, and Tiwen took her place.
But it didn’t matter.
January 6. The Golden Globe Awards.
Ying Yin surpassed everyone who had come before her and made history.
#YingYinWinsGoldenGlobeBestActressInADrama# – TRENDING
[A historic group photo.]
[A historic group photo.]
[HOLY SHIT?????]
[A historic group photo. (I’m so jealous.)]
[A historic group photo.]
[@ @ @ @ @ @ Every actress in Chinese entertainment who has any ambition to be taken seriously for her acting]
[She’s not going to keep pushing forward, is she?!]
[Holy shit, I’m scared now.]
[I’m sorry, I admit I was a little too loud when I doubted you before /kneeling/]
[You really did it.]
…
The New York Times: Actress from China Makes History.
The Times: Ying Yin, China’s First Major North American Best Actress.
Vanity Fair: The Oscar Nomination Countdown: Can the Actress from China Make History?
…
Her first child was such a wonderful surprise.
“Doctor, am I really pregnant?” she kept asking.
The doctor smiled, helplessly but gently. “According to the medical imaging, yes. There’s absolutely no doubt.”
“But the baby doesn’t kick me either.”
“It’s still very small.”
“But I don’t throw up either.” Ying Yin found another piece of evidence. “You told me about all those early-pregnancy symptoms, but I don’t have any of them. Is it because I’ve been working too hard, and the baby…”
“No.” The Chinese doctor, who had built her career in America, spoke gently. “It just means your baby is very well-behaved. It knows Mommy is busy doing something important, perhaps even making history, so it doesn’t want to come out and cause any trouble. Right?”
…
“The wind begins beneath the duckweed; the waves are born from the slightest ripples.”
The wind had gathered force. The waves were already surging.
…
January 11: Palm Springs International Film Festival Awards – Best Actress: Ying Yin.
January 15: BAFTA longlist announced – Best Actress: Ying Yin.
January 20: A seemingly endless stream of critics’ awards, guild awards, and countless other accolades.
January 27: Oscar nomination voting begins.
February 1: Oscar nomination voting ends.
…
The film and entertainment sections of the two major Chinese portal sites, Phoenix and NetEase, had both been replaced with prominent special features dedicated to Ying Yin.
February 7 – the eve of the Oscar nominations announcement.
Every major media outlet published an article:
[On the Eve of History | A Look Back at Chinese Filmmakers’ Oscar Campaigns – Can Ying Yin Make History?]
No one in the Chinese entertainment industry slept that night.
In a televised interview from Hong Kong, renowned filmmaker Yan Lilan said:
“Although the Oscars’ influence and credibility have declined year by year amid the tides of the times and politics, we have to admit that until another award with comparable global influence emerges, the Oscars remain the crown that filmmakers around the world collectively yearn for. Perhaps they represent nothing. Perhaps they represent a great deal.
“In the mere hundred years of Chinese-language cinema, we have attempted to climb toward and charge the Oscars many times. We went from seeking cultural recognition by pandering to their tastes and tailoring our submissions accordingly, to making our selections with genuine cultural confidence. Looking back, Chinese cinema has already come a very long way.
“Does it matter whether Ying Yin can make history? It matters, and it doesn’t. The Oscars are the great mountain in every filmmaker’s heart, and the burden they carry on their shoulders. The mountain is there for us to approach, reach, and surpass; the burden weighs us down as we struggle and search, but it is also something we can eventually cast aside.
“On the eve of history, perhaps what matters is not whether we made history, but that we arrived, accomplished what we set out to do, and then set off once again.”
North America.
A weight made of golden nanmu wood lay across a sheet of snow-white xuan paper, where the freshly written ink had yet to dry.
Shang Shao left the study and turned off the lights.
In the brief flicker of illumination, the words on the paper could be seen:
“The clear stream rushes swiftly,
heedless of the green mountains in its path.”
…
February 8: The Oscar nominations were announced.
Best Actress nominees: Ying Yin.
History continued to be made that night.
…
It was over.
All the debates, the mockery, the discussions about her place in history, the snide remarks, the thinly veiled sarcasm – all the noise had finally fallen silent.
She was the first of her kind in the hundred-year history of Chinese cinema.
…
Ying Yin was extremely sleepy and often felt dazed and foggy. She had already started worrying in advance: when the time came and she was at the awards ceremony, what if she was so groggy that, if she didn’t win, she couldn’t even keep her expression under control? Wouldn’t she make Chinese people look bad?
Formal gowns for the Oscars Nominees Luncheon and the awards ceremony itself were being sent to the hotel where she was staying in a seemingly endless stream. All they had to do was wait for her to take her pick, and she didn’t have to worry about playing favorites and offending anyone.
“Your waist has gotten a little thicker, but you’re not showing at all,” Chu Anni said, measuring her with a tape. “Wow, could the baby actually be this well-behaved? Maybe it’s waiting until after the awards ceremony to grow properly.”
“The doctor said I’m on the thin side, so I was always going to show later. Besides…” Ying Yin calculated. “I’m exactly four months along. That’s not late.”
“I really want to know the name,” Chu Anni said curiously.
Ying Yin smiled and nodded, stretching her arms out flat. “When he broke up with me, he told me he’d already thought about names for our children.”
Chu Anni stepped forward to measure her arm span and bust again, then looked up at her with a smile. “Mr. Shang really knows how to romance someone. He broke your heart.”
Ying Yin lowered her eyes. “Mm.”
Shang Shao flew back to North America from Argentina. The temperature difference was enormous, and as soon as he got off the plane, he hurriedly pulled on his coat. Without slowing his stride, he asked Lin Cunkang, “Is she doing all right?”
“Fine. All her indicators are perfectly normal.”
He was practically desperate to get home.
Because of the Oscars, the two of them had already been staying in North America for months. Wen Youyi was extremely worried about her and had sent over an entire, highly experienced team to look after her.
When Shang Shao arrived at the hotel, he expertly made his way past the gowns scattered across the floor and found Ying Yin eating apple pie.
“What’s the baby’s name?” Ying Yin asked directly.
“You finally remembered to ask?” Shang Shao said with an amused, knowing smile.
“I thought you were keeping it a secret.”
“What’s there to keep secret?”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was still considering the options.”
“Have you decided?”
Shang Shao nodded, took her hand, and led her toward the study.
He picked up the brush and dipped it in ink. Before putting brush to paper, he looked back at her.
“Is there any character you’d like to use?”
Ying Yin shook her head. “I want to see the characters you came up with first.”
“Okay.”
The ink-soaked brush moved across the xuan paper like a dragon gliding through the clouds. Ying Yin looked at the characters, then at him, back and forth.
The calligraphy reflects the man. The calligraphy reflects the man.
The fresh ink gleamed, and the fragrance of ink slowly filled the air.
「钧馜」
Shang Junni.
Ying Yin murmured the name, then looked at Shang Shao in delighted surprise.
“Do you like it? What do you think?”
“I think the characters are upright and balanced. When you look at them and say them aloud, they have both strength and fragrance.”
“Both strength and fragrance.” Shang Shao smiled, lowering his eyes at her tenderly, and repeated her words.
She always understood him.
钧 – strength.
馜 – fragrance, richness, abundance.
“That’s a girl’s name. What about a boy?”
Shang Shao coughed. “I haven’t thought of one.”
“Huh?” Ying Yin stared at him, completely bewildered.
“It’s definitely going to be a girl,” the man said with utter seriousness and conviction.
“…”
Many years later, Shang Junni would watch a high-definition recording of that Oscar ceremony and rediscover the brilliance of her mother.
She would see the grand, dignified Oscar ceremony, and the uproar that erupted in the auditorium when Best Actress was announced to be the woman with that slightly unusual Chinese name – strange to hear, strange to read, strange to pronounce.
She would see her mother rise from her seat and embrace her father tightly.
In Junni’s mind, her father had always been elegant and reserved. Yet apparently, he could also wrap his arms around her and kiss her in front of everyone.
She watched the television without blinking, the remote clutched in her hand, and listened as her mother delivered her acceptance speech in Chinese.
She said that this honor belonged to all Chinese filmmakers, and to the countless girls who had created miracles. She gripped the little golden statuette tightly, her eyes fixed the entire time on the man below the stage. When she spoke again, her voice was already choked with emotion. “I also want to thank my husband, Shang Shao. Thank you for being the road I can take when I turn back, and the string that holds my kite.”
It was a metaphor. Junni was still too young to understand it.
“Thank you, Junni.”
Ah, that was the baby’s name!
Junni’s eyes lit up as she watched her mother gently touch her belly.
“She’s been such a good girl these past four months. I hope she grows up healthy and happy, and becomes one of the miracle-making girls of this world.”
So the baby was still inside Mommy’s tummy, Junni thought.
The applause from the audience was so loud.
Why was it so loud? Junni still didn’t understand.
She would have to grow much older, and learn what the word “history” meant, before she could understand the weight of that moment.
But once history had passed, when people looked back and gazed toward that narrow opening of light along the road, would they still remember the people who had been there at the beginning? The heroes who had been there at the beginning?
That afternoon, a girl who had grown into a graceful young woman pushed open the door to her father’s study. Among the neatly arranged rows of collector’s editions and special editions, she expertly pulled out a book and sat down on the floor to read.
It was a memoir, written by a man named Kuriyama. He had passed away, but his name was carved into the monument of Chinese cinema.
Junni loved his writing and read through it page by page. In the middle of the book was an entry titled: I Followed Her as She Made History
The uncoated paper felt wonderfully smooth beneath her fingertips.
“The first time I saw Ying Yin acting was in front of a reed marsh in northwestern China. The daylight was scorching and brilliant, only to turn overcast and dreary in an instant. She was coughing badly, but she refused to go to the hospital because she wanted to stay with the crew and wait for that precious light.
“She was so beautiful, radiant, and pure. There was a stubbornness in her eyes. Before you had ever crossed swords with that stubbornness, you might mistake it for glass – something fragile. But in truth, it was diamond.
“She was the first, and so far the only, Chinese actress to achieve the Grand Slam of major acting awards. But whenever I recall her and tell her story, I have to tell it together with that of her husband, Shang Shao.
“If you’ll allow me, let us turn the clock back to New Year’s Eve of that year. In Aqiap, Xinjiang, the snow and ice lay thick and solid. A helicopter descended onto the snowy mountain ridge.
“That was the beginning of their story – as I witnessed it from the sidelines.”
–The End–
