Old Du really has some skills. In the afternoon, he sent someone to drive all the way to the provincial capital and brought back a whole truckload of ingredients – river freshfish, lamb, imported chilled meat, you name it.
He borrowed the kitchen and dining room from one of the village’s prominent figures, and together with another prop master, he rolled up his sleeves to cook personally. They bustled about fervently for two hours, and just as they were about to start the feast, the last sliver of sunlight sank below the horizon.
All the night scenes had been filmed a few days earlier. Ying Yin had wrapped up work and spotted Shang Shao standing under the director’s tent from afar. The track lines on set were all over the place, with power strips and cables everywhere, while crew members hurried about collecting lamp covers, cameras, and hauling apple boxes. Ying Yin jogged over while pulling off her scarf.
She wasn’t used to wearing those cloth-soled shoes, and just a few steps away, she suddenly stumbled.
Before she could let out a cry, and before anyone else could react, a figure darted forward in a flash. When everyone focused again, a pair of handsome male hands were steadying Ying Yin.
She had nearly fallen to her knees. Shang Shou used both hands to help her up, carefully checking her knees. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Ooh, ooh, come on – why is Miss Ying blushing?” The B-unit director teased, and what’s worse, he did it through the megaphone, so the words “Why is Miss Ying blushing?” echoed across every corner of the set.
Ying Yin pressed her cool hands to her cheeks, pretended to be calm, and took the thermos that Junyi handed her. She took small sips while asking, “When did you get here?”
“During the ‘one more for safety’ take.”
Ying Yin knew Shang Shao was completely clueless about filmmaking, so she asked deliberately, “What does ‘one more for safety’ mean?”
Shang Shao let out a laugh. “You think I’m an idiot?”
The two walked through the set, shoulder to shoulder, toward the hotel in the scenic area. The hotel was across the river, so they had to take the ferry. The ferry was a necessary mode of transport here – not only did it carry people, but cars, small trucks, and even the chickens, ducks, geese, and cattle that the locals brought to market all crossed the river on it. Once aboard, they saw the clear, blue-green Yellow River water surging swiftly, with reeds sending drifting seeds along both banks. The sky and earth seemed to blend into a sheet of warm-toned tracing paper.
The ferry let out a roar, carrying passengers and vehicles across in just three or four minutes. As they docked, a bare, gray hotel of wood-and-stone construction stood before them on the slope – five stories tall, with pear trees planted at the entrance. But at this time of year, the trees were bleak and barren; only a few clumps of wild grass, carried by birds from the riverbank, had taken root there, green with a stubborn, dust-covered vigor.
Shang Shao had come on Ke Yu’s instructions to pick up Ying Yin and bring her over for the meal. Everyone on set knew he was working today as Ke Yu’s aide, so when they saw him coming and going with Ying Yin, no one gave them more than a passing glance.
Ying Yin’s room was on the fifth floor, and she shared it with Junyi. Since the two girls’ quarters weren’t suitable for him to enter, Shang Shao waited quietly in the hallway. From inside came the sounds of rustling and clattering. After a while, apparently done tidying up, the door cracked open a little. Ying Yin, holding the doorframe, looked him in the eye and said with proper politeness, “Mr. Lin, you’re welcome to wait inside.”
Shang Shao pinched the cigarette he’d been fiddling with for ages without lighting, and followed her in.
As he gently pushed the door shut with the tip of his shoe, he scooped Ying Yin up in his arms.
She had already taken off that troublesome costume. The room’s heating was dry and warm, and she was only wearing a Japanese-style yukata with an overlapping front, tied at the side with a bow.
Poor Junyi – after enduring the most flustered and mortifying ten-odd seconds of her life – heard Shang Shao instruct: “Find somewhere to stay.”
The room was tiny, not even a suite – where was she supposed to go! Face bright red and seething with indignation, Jun Yi darted into the bathroom, propped her chin in her hands, and plopped down onto the lowered toilet lid.
Ying Yin’s face was burning red. “She’s still just a young girl…”
There was no more talk. She kissed Shang Shao and tumbled onto the bed with him.
The navy-blue ribbon tie was deftly pulled loose with one hand, and the silk robe slid away, revealing pure white lace beneath.
“So Yu Shasha’s here – why didn’t you tell me in advance?”
He hadn’t even unfastened the clasp, just pushed the underwire and foam padding up together. With one hand, he toyed with her at a leisurely pace, while lowering his gaze and asking casually.
“I forgot – I meant to tell you…” Ying Yin struggled to steady her quickening breath. “Don’t…”
Shang Shao chuckled and withdrew his hand. “Get changed. Let’s go eat.”
As Ying Yin picked out some casual clothes from the wardrobe, she asked, “Did you two meet this afternoon?”
Shang Shao sat down on the armchair by the window, lightly tapping the cigarette against the glass coffee table, and gave an “mm” of acknowledgment.
Ying Yin glanced back at him. A man of his privileged upbringing, sitting in this old, dated room with a faint musty smell – and yet he looked completely at ease. She couldn’t help but steal a few more looks as she pulled on a fine cashmere top. “She came by yesterday. She apologized to me, said she didn’t mean to say those things last time.”
“What things?” Shang Shao asked sharply.
Ying Yin paused. “I never told you?”
“Only one thing I guessed myself – that you have a nice figure.”
Ying Yin thought for a moment, fiddling with her cuff. “I didn’t dare complain to you. Maybe she’s not as awful in your eyes as she is in mine.”
“Try me.”
Ying Yin was silent. Shang Shao propped his cheek on one hand and hooked his finger around hers with the other. “Come sit here.”
So Ying Yin sat down in his lap. “It’s nothing, really. Just that you two had an unbreakable bond, were torn apart by family, still have lingering feelings, and still carry a torch for each other.”
Shang Shao silently lifted one corner of his mouth, his gaze unhurriedly fixed on her. “Who I carry a torch for – don’t you know?”
His sweet talk always came when she least expected it.
“She also made snide remarks about my figure.”
“Just take it as a compliment.”
Ying Yin pouted slightly. “She even asked me for my secret to bigger breasts.”
Shang Shao was genuinely taken aback – he hadn’t seen that coming. “Her exact words?”
“Mm. She said, ‘One day we should have tea together – I must ask you for your breast-enhancement secrets.'”
Shang Shao furrowed his brow. The hand propping up his forehead cast a shadow that veiled his eyes in darkness. For a moment, Ying Yin had no idea what he was thinking – until he said, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re apologizing on her behalf?”
“I’m apologizing to you for myself. I’m sorry for having dated such an ex-girlfriend,” Shang Shao said, squeezing her fingers. “My taste isn’t always that bad. You’ll have to allow me to make corrections.”
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. “Seems like you’ve gained a new layer of understanding about her.”
“Mm. She used to be… more refined in her badness, and her goals were more sophisticated too. Though she ended up losing completely and had ill intentions, I have to admit that certain traits of hers – like being good at pretending, managing upward, saying one thing while meaning another, having clear objectives, and being shameless – are indeed essential strengths for the kind of successful people she aspires to be.”
Shang Shao had to admit that the last shred of appreciation he still held for Yu Shasha -as a kind of grudging respect for her ambition – dissipated entirely with that utterly absurd remark about “breast-enhancement secrets.”
Ying Yin looked quietly at Shang Shao and slowly came to understand one thing: for a man like him, a woman’s “cheapness” was far more fatal than her “badness.”
Five minutes later, she had finished changing, and Junyi was finally able to emerge from the bathroom. Since she couldn’t accompany Ying Yin to the meal, she handed her cough medicine to Shang Shao. “Take it half an hour after the meal, two pills at a time, with water. She’s been coughing badly – she can’t eat anything that triggers inflammation, nothing spicy, too salty, or otherwise irritating.” Junyi counted off the items on her fingers one by one. “Oh, and no alcohol either.”
“It’s just one meal…” Ying Yin tried to stop her from going on, but at that very moment she was seized by a violent coughing fit.
Her cough had a timing of its own, knowing when to behave – during the day, when she had to film, it stayed quiet and well-mannered; but once evening came and work was over, it would start acting up.
Ying Yin coughed so hard she nearly coughed up a lung, bent over double. Shang Shao rubbed her back while handing her water. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Even if I told you, what difference would it make? I’d just be making you worry for nothing.” Ying Yin gulped down the water eagerly. The cool mineral water soothed her scratchy, irritated throat.
Shang Shao’s expression darkened. He called out to Junyi, “From now on, if anything comes up, go directly to Uncle Kang. Don’t listen to her giving you orders.”
Then he turned to Ying Yin and said, word by word, “Ying Yin, remember this – as long as you’re not on outer space, anywhere on Earth, your problems are not problems. If one day you have to go film on outer space, we’ll talk about it then.”
“…”
He said all this with an innate, unwavering certainty – the kind of man who had always been this way. It wasn’t until the next day, when the most senior respiratory specialist in the entire Northwest showed up on set to examine her, and a dedicated person was assigned to prepare her medicinal meals around the clock, that she and Junyi truly understood the weight of his words.
By the time they came out of the hotel, it was already completely dark. Only the dock and the ferry boat had their lights on.
They crossed the river, walked past the pear orchard, and looked up to see a sky full of stars. The chirping of insects rose and fell, mingling with the waves of rowdy drinking games coming from the village – that was the crew having their dinner. In the northwest, the night turned cold, and a couple of shots of fiery liquor warmed the blood through their veins.
When they arrived at the dining place, the meal had already begun. Everyone there was male, except for the two women – Ying Yin and Yu Shasha. Ke Yu had already made arrangements, instructing that Ying Yin should sit next to his “Assistant Lin” for convenience.
Ying Yin took her seat, apologized briefly for being late, and offered tea in place of wine as penance. After that, she ate quietly, only offering a polite smile or a nod of encouragement when the men at the table launched into their loud conversations.
Old Du had prepared a lavish spread, but the flavors were heavy – meant to accompany the drinking. Ying Yin couldn’t eat much of it, or she’d be too bloated to face the camera tomorrow. So Shang Shao peeled shrimp for her. The prawns weren’t exactly fresh, but they were better than nothing. He washed his hands, peeled a few for her, and asked, “Want some mackerel too?”
The mackerel had been prepared specially for Li Shan – pan-fried and served with fresh lemon wedges, making it one of the cleaner, lighter dishes on the table.
Everyone watched as Shang Shao used a pair of clean chopsticks to press down on the fish’s back, then gracefully and pleasingly extracted the entire bone in one piece. He squeezed the bright yellow lemon over the fish, drizzling the juice evenly onto the flesh – the sharp, refreshingly tart aroma suddenly filled the air.
Yu Shasha watched expressionlessly, her chopsticks gripped tightly in her hand.
In front of everyone, Ying Yin thanked him politely. Shang Shao tore open a wet wipe and meticulously cleaned each of his ten fingers – jade-like and striking in their clarity – one by one. “It was nothing. My pleasure.”
Liu Zong let out a laugh. “Ke Yu, your assistant sure knows how to take care of women.”
Liu Zong was a figure who had come up through the golden age of Hong Kong cinema, and he could chat and laugh with several of the major powers behind Hong Kong’s film industry. In recent years, Hong Kong crews had become very popular working up north, and with that, the influence of Hong Kong capital in boosting talent had also risen. Because of all this, Liu Zong was treated like a revered Buddha wherever he went – and he was more than happy to wear the gilded glory of Hong Kong cinema on his own face.
Li Shan commanded too much respect for Liu Zong to challenge, but Ke Yu was different – after all, he was of the younger generation. So while others addressed Ke Yu respectfully as “Mr. Ke” or affectionately as “Xiao Dao,” Liu Zong called him by his full name – “Ke Yu.”
Ke Yu, however, was gracious and unbothered. He replied with an easy smile, “He is a gentleman.”
Shang Shao had no interest in staying to hear people make conversation out of him. He stood up, gave a slight nod, muttered “Excuse me,” and pushed his chair back to step outside.
The dining room connected to a backyard, where split firewood was stacked high. In the freezing cold, a layer of frost had formed on the logs. He lit a cigarette between his lips, but had barely taken two puffs when he heard a voice: “Ah-Shao.”
Yu Shasha had come out without her coat, her breath forming thick white clouds as she spoke, her brows knitted with visible tension.
Shang Shao took the cigarette from his lips, lowered his gaze, and lazily looked her up and down. “Miss Yu. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You call me Miss Yu now – you won’t even say ‘Shasha’ anymore.” Yu Shasha sniffled. “Then what do you call her?”
Shang Shao gave a cool, faint smile. “Miss Yu, when you left back then, you carried yourself with more grace than this.”
“I regret it,” Yu Shasha said urgently.
Shang Shao raised an eyebrow out of politeness. “I believe you’re already engaged.”
“No, we called it off.” Yu Shasha blurted out: “The engagement party never happened. I broke it off – because I can’t forget you.”
Shang Shao paused for a moment, unmoved, but one thing became clear to him. “So that’s why you’ve been clinging to her all this time.”
“Why bring her up? I saw you peeling shrimp for her, pouring water for her – I’ve had enough. That’s why I’m standing here, telling you all this. Ah-Shao, think about what we used to have… You… can you really forget?”
Yu Shasha tentatively took a step closer to him. “My father has already retired. I’m no longer involved in political activities either. All the reasons your father opposed us – none of them count anymore. Are you still blaming me for hurting Shang Lu? But he and Ke Yu are doing well now – can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
As she spoke, tears fell. She sniffled hard, looking both humiliated and stubborn.
She didn’t believe for a second that Shang Shao had truly moved on. Even if the way he looked at that woman seemed real – no matter how real, it was still just the illusion of affection one might show a plaything.
Back when she first met and fell for Shang Shao, she had schemed with all her might. She wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t sexy enough, and even her education wasn’t particularly outstanding by his standards – yet she had still succeeded.
Now, trying again, she didn’t think the starting point was any harder than before. If she could succeed once, she could succeed twice. As long as the man before her hadn’t changed at his core.
Shang Shao listened quietly as she finished. Then he said, “Shasha, have you ever considered…”
He curled his lips, flicked his lighter, and lowered his gaze, idly toying with the flame as it danced over his fingers. “…that maybe I never loved you that much to begin with?”
In the subzero cold, Yu Shasha felt as though she had plunged into an icy abyss, frozen stiff on the spot.
“Everything between us was always very… courteous. If you hadn’t done what you did, maybe we really would have gotten married. But the second year in, I would have met her – and spent the rest of my life with my heart wandering and my mind cheating on you.”
Perhaps from the biting cold, Yu Shasha’s body began trembling like a leaf in the wind. “You’re lying. You’re lying…” Her voice shook violently too. “You’re not that kind of person. I know you… you’re not that kind of person.”
“For her, I can be any kind of person.”
Yu Shasha suddenly felt she didn’t truly know the man before her. It was as if she had never known him at all – never known his preferences, never known how far he would go for a woman, never known his cruelty, nor his unyielding determination.
Even back when he had fought with Shang Qingye over their engagement, though the air had been thick with tension, Yu Shasha had never once felt this kind of unwavering resolve – this “her or no one” certainty. A resolve so firm it even broke through the boundaries of morality.
Yet he was a man who valued morality – who brought ethics into his business, whose required reading for his executives included Ethical Management in Corporations.
“Then…” Yu Shasha parted her lips, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Your love for me was never real,” she finally managed.
Shang Shao flicked off his cigarette ash, put away his lighter, and said casually, “Depends on who you’re comparing it to.”
Yu Shasha let out a sound that was half laughter, half tears. “But in this lifetime, you’ve only ever loved two people.”
Shang Shao gave a slight nod, bringing the cigarette to his lips. In the swirling smoke of the cold night, with his eyes half-lidded and his expression languid, he said, “So – compared to her, yours was the fake one.”
