On the fifth day of catching up with the progress, Ying Yin finally wrapped all of her scenes. The film’s official Weibo released her wrap photo. She was still dressed in that blue padded jacket and quilted cotton trousers, a bright red scarf wrapped around her neck. Her short, straight hair was neatly tucked behind her ears. Holding a bouquet of flowers, she smiled amid a towering sea of reeds.
Cream-colored reed plumes drifted through the air, scattering everywhere, destined to settle on some stretch of the Yellow River’s floodplain.
From both the promotional stills and the wrap photo, it was clear that Ying Yin had filmed the movie wearing almost no makeup. The overall styling was deliberately plain – even designed to make her look less attractive. For an actress with her level of commercial appeal and fan following, it was no small sacrifice. But that sacrifice was clearly rewarded. Her wrap photo shot up the trending searches, and behind-the-scenes snapshots secretly taken by crew members also resurfaced online. Across social media, fans were sincerely moved, while casual viewers responded with overwhelming goodwill.
“It’s hard to imagine this role was originally supposed to be Ruan Ye’s… (engaging in some admittedly unethical posthumous dragging).”
“The change after leaving Chenye Entertainment is obvious to everyone. This is the kind of thing a two-time Best Actress winner deserves to trend for.”
“Can’t wait for Ying Yuhua!”
Taking advantage of the momentum, the official Weibo account for When Snow Melts It Turns Green – which had been registered long ago but had never posted anything – finally made its first update.
#WhenSnowMeltsItTurnsGreen#
Directed by @Li Shan, produced by @Ningji Film, starring @Ying Yin, with Jiang Te and Bai Lan.
#AtLife’sEndAllOrnamentsAreWashedAway#
“Miss Yin, let’s go and see that patch of green snow together.”
Ever since achieving fame, Li Shan had maintained an impressive pace of releasing one film every two years. Yet before When Snow Melts It Turns Green, he had gone a long time without launching a new project. The only news involving him had been serving as producer on a patriotic feature.
Some people said Li Shan had already told all the stories he wanted to tell. Others claimed his health had declined and that he could no longer keep up with the demanding pace of a film set.
During those two years of silence, no fewer than eight or ten rumored projects had been attached to Li Shan’s name. Most were financing ploys by investors hoping to elevate their own actors’ status. Others were overhyped “concept IPs” that resurfaced every year just long enough to generate buzz before disappearing again. Industry insiders understood exactly what they were – but chose not to say it aloud.
They were nothing more than money-laundering vehicles.
It wasn’t until When Snow Melts It Turns Green was officially announced that audiences finally understood what Li Shan had been quietly planning throughout those two years in hiding.
Beneath entertainment news accounts reposting the announcement, the comment section was unusually free of organized fan-club moderation.
It was filled with genuine comments from ordinary viewers:
“Ying Yin’s turnaround between projects is seriously impressive.”
“She really loves working. Career fans can relax now.”
“I think this is Ying Yin’s first official collaboration with Li Shan. I’m already looking forward to it.”
“Last time The Heartbreaker’s Public Enemy was nominated for the Main Competition, and Ke Yu won Best Actor at Cannes (never mind that it was a shared award or the controversy surrounding the ceremony). Can we dare to dream that this time a Chinese actress will finally win the Cannes Best Actress award again after all these years?”
Meanwhile, on the entertainment forums, netizens immediately opened a new gossip thread:
“I looked up Ningji Film. It’s registered in Hong Kong, and both the legal representative and the partners are complete unknowns. The company’s ownership structure and investment relationships are unusually clean. It almost looks like it was established specifically for this film?”
Thanks to Zhuang Tiwen’s careful arrangements, there wasn’t the slightest trace linking Ningji Film back to either herself or Ying Yin. That level of separation was necessary – especially if they wanted to preserve the image of Ying Yin as an artist whose work remained untainted by capital or self-investment.
The comments soon turned into a serious discussion.
“Every one of Li Shan’s previous films was at least partially produced by his own company. This time, though, his company isn’t involved in the investment at all. Did they have some kind of falling-out, or is this some sort of risk-management strategy?”
“Exactly. Without that investment, Li Shan has gone from being both investor and creative lead to basically just the director for hire. That’s pretty intriguing. Would a director like him really be willing to give up creative control?”
Someone dug up an old filing for When Snow Melts It Turns Green. No one knew exactly which year’s filing it was, but the archived registration described the story as follows:
“After leaving prostitution behind, Yin Xueqing retreats to a remote mountain pastoral region to escape the world and find peace. There, she meets Ha Ying, a divorced herdsman. During the migration to the winter pasture, the two gradually fall in love.”
The response from the National Film Administration read:
“Approval deferred. Please revise and re-evaluate the content before resubmitting for review.”
A film enthusiast summarized the situation:
“This filing is from three years ago, which means the project has been shelved for at least that long. There’s no telling how many revisions it’s gone through since then. Stories about prostitutes turning over a new leaf aren’t exactly uncommon, and ‘redeeming a courtesan’ is a pretty conventional plot. I’m curious to see what Li Shan and Shen Ling have done differently this time. My only concern is this: now that it’s being produced through a Hong Kong company, does that mean Li Shan has simply given up on getting a mainland theatrical release? If so… that’s practically asking for trouble with the censors.”
Amid all the excitement, some people turned their attention to the film’s other two leads.
“Who is Jiang Te? And who’s Bai Lan? How do they get to act opposite Ying Yin in their debut?”
“Now that I think about it, the names of all three leads in this movie get stranger and stranger… Is choosing a normal name forbidden in the entertainment industry or something? Does it make you flop?”
“I know Bai Lan! He’s an old stage actor. Even in the theater world, though, he hasn’t really starred in any commercially successful productions.”
“So who exactly is Jiang Te? It’s been an hour and nobody has a definitive answer!”
It took a full day before the entertainment forums and gossip accounts, working together, finally managed to dig up some information on Jiang Te.
“He’s Kazakh, twenty-one years old. No one knows whether he had formal acting training or not. No idea where Director Li found him – we were all kept in the dark. We’re not even sure whether this photo is actually him. He’s incredibly mysterious.”
Cheng Junyi read the post aloud.
Ying Yin took the phone from her. “Let me see.”
In the farthest corner of the VIP departure lounge, a large money tree partially concealed a set of leather sofas. Sitting there were two girls, completely bundled up in disguise – bucket hats, black face masks, oversized coats. Their heads leaned together as they stared at an ID photo on the screen.
“Do you think he’ll become famous?” Junyi asked. “He looks… powerful. Not the kind of look that’s trendy right now.”
The face in the ID photo was strikingly heroic. His features were deeply sculpted, with thick eyebrows shading long, double-lidded eyes. The lines of his bone structure were bold and clean, as vigorous and forceful as the heavy strokes of Chinese calligraphy.
“He’ll probably look very good on camera,” Ying Yin said objectively. “Whether he’ll become famous depends on his acting.”
For any director casting actors, the first priority is always how well an actor fits the role. Acting ability comes second. That’s why it’s common to see a rising actress or actor give an inspired, career-defining performance under a renowned director, only to seem completely out of place and get mercilessly mocked in their very next film.
Ke Yu had once been the same. He possessed an atmosphere that was uniquely his own, which was why he spent so many years playing supporting roles in Li Shan’s films. But while the guidance of a master director like Li Shan was undeniably invaluable, whether an actor could achieve a true breakthrough ultimately depended on their own talent and fortune.
Li Shan had kept this male lead under wraps for a long time, never revealing anything in advance. But according to the gossip account that started the thread, he had already been secretly training the young actor for quite some time.
“Training him how?”
“Throwing him into the mountains to herd sheep and lasso horses.”
“Li Shan… never change.”
The replies below were filled with laughter.
Junyi, however, couldn’t laugh. “…Director Li isn’t going to pull the same stunt again, is he?”
“What stunt?”
“Locking the male and female leads together for twenty-four hours.”
“…”
Ying Yin tugged her mask down slightly before adjusting it again. “He has his own methods. If he thinks that’s what’s necessary, then it must be necessary.”
“And Mr. Shang wouldn’t get jealous?” Junyi asked, already worrying on her behalf.
Ying Yin gave two guilty little coughs. “…Details like that don’t really need to be mentioned to him.”
“Oh.” Junyi nodded solemnly. “And then one day he’ll find out from an entertainment gossip account. Confession earns leniency, resistance brings harsher punishment. Failing to report what you knew is an additional offense…”
“Ah!” She yelped, eyes watering as she clutched her head. “Why’d you hit me?”
Ying Yin finally lost her patience. “Stop jinxing me!”
A boarding announcement sounded for the Airbus A330 bound for Ning City. Junyi extended the handle of her suitcase and, under the guidance of the flight attendant, accompanied Ying Yin onto the plane.
Half an hour later, the white aircraft climbed into the clear sky, leaving a long contrail across the blue.
Whenever Ying Yin was filming, she immersed herself in the role from morning until night, as though she were sinking into a swamp. She herself never had much desire to struggle free, and because of that, the mental toll on her was even greater than on most actors. Every time filming wrapped and she left a production, she was overwhelmed by exhaustion and always felt she hadn’t slept nearly enough.
She slept almost the entire flight in first class. Even after landing, she still had her neck pillow on as she stood groggily beside the baggage carousel, waiting for what felt like forever. Only then did she realize that, at some point, she’d lost her hat.
Without it, she was recognized by passengers from economy class as they gradually came through.
Just a few hours earlier, she had been one of the hottest topics on the trending charts. Now, completely caught off guard and without a single bodyguard by her side, the two or three people who initially approached for autographs quickly multiplied into twenty or thirty.
Before long, the entire arrivals hall descended into congestion and chaos.
Everywhere, people were holding up their phones to film her.
Some bewildered bystanders, having no idea what was going on, asked, “Who is that?”
“Ying Yin! And she’s not even wearing makeup!”
She had been famous for twelve years, with a level of public recognition that never declined and fans everywhere. In the end, it still took the airport security team stepping in before Ying Yin finally got a chance to breathe.
She and Junyi grabbed their luggage and sprinted away, practically throwing themselves onto an airport shuttle cart. Behind them, the massive crowd surged like a zombie horde surrounding a city, terrifying the driver so much that he took corners around the airport like he was racing through a drainage canal.
There was absolutely no way she could get into Shang Shao’s car under circumstances like this.
The escalator leading down to the underground parking garage began emitting sharp overload alarms because it was too crowded. There was never a shortage of people who came just to watch the spectacle. Passersby who had heard the news had already blocked the main passages.
Amid the constant flashes of camera lights, the airport security team’s riot shields, loudspeaker warnings, and the human barrier they formed by linking arms, Ying Yin finally managed to get into a taxi.
Once inside, she was still shaken. It took her a long while to calm down before she called Zhuang Tiwen. “Send a banner of thanks to the airport for me, and arrange some New Year’s gifts as well.”
Zhuang Tiwen had already seen the short videos through the fan support group.
“My fault. I should have arranged bodyguards and an airport pickup in advance. But… Shang Shao didn’t come to pick you up?”
Only then did Ying Yin let out a confused and startled. “Ah?”
She was about to hang up when Zhuang Tiwen suddenly stopped her. “Wait – your bipolar…”
“What about it?”
Tiwen parted her lips, then said, “Nothing.”
There was nothing she could say.
She couldn’t tell Ying Yin that Shang Shao had come to ask her about the situation. She couldn’t tell her how Shang Shao had carefully probed around the subject, using every possible approach and pressing relentlessly until he uncovered the truth.
And after learning everything, the oppressive aura that had surrounded him suddenly disappeared. Exhausted beyond words, he merely lifted a finger and dismissed all the servants, then sat alone on the balcony smoking for a very long time.
Half an hour later, after confirming that there were no vehicles following them, the taxi took a smaller road off the highway and stopped beside a rarely traveled county-level national road.
How could the driver not know that the person in his back seat was a celebrity? It was just that he was the kind of person who never went to the cinema, so he had no idea exactly who she was – and he had no particular curiosity about finding out.
By the time Maybach arrived, the cigarette at the corner of his mouth had fallen away. Through the windshield, his gaze slowly shifted sideways as he watched with solemn attention as Ying Yin stepped into that legendary Maybach.
On both sides, the banana groves were lush green and quiet. Ying Yin climbed into the back seat on her knees, then, like a small animal returning to its nest, automatically curled herself into a comfortable position in Shang Shao’s arms.
The soundproof partition slowly rose.
Shang Shao watched her with amusement and lightly brushed his fingertips across her lips. “Why are you so dejected?”
“Sorry. I made you wait for so long for nothing.” Ying Yin kept her eyes closed, her voice muffled with a nasal tone. “Did I delay a lot of your work?”
Shang Shao handled countless matters every day. Ying Yin had never met anyone busier than him, yet no matter how much he had to do, there was always a graceful, unhurried composure about him. He never gave people the impression that he was struggling to keep everything under control.
Making him wait at the airport for nearly an extra hour – she had no idea how much money of his time she had wasted.
Shang Shao’s answer came without the slightest hesitation. “No. It’s the end of the year. I’m not busy.”
The day after Shang Qinye had acted decisively and said “put things on hold,” he truly suspended all of Shang Shao’s positions. However, he did not issue any official personnel announcement. Instead, he merely announced during an internal senior management meeting that Shang Shao was unwell and needed to rest for a period of time.
As for how long this “period of time” would be, no one dared to ask.
The group’s executives had already sensed what was happening. But this was a father-son conflict, not a struggle between factions for power. It was not their place to choose sides.
During the handover process, everyone kept their heads down and simply said politely, “Chairman Shao, please take care of your health.”
Ying Yin opened her eyes and sat kneeling on his lap. While looking at him, she lowered her head and kissed him.
As the kiss continued, she became restless. Her delicate fingers untied Shang Shao’s tie, then moved on to undo the buttons of his collar.
Shang Shao used only one hand to firmly catch both of hers.
His eyes were half-lidded. His breath was hot and deep, and his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he spoke. “You’re becoming more and more fearless, aren’t you?”
Ying Yin ignored him. She kissed his neck, then his Adam’s apple.
Shang Shao slightly tilted his head back as she kissed him, giving her access to the line of his jaw. Even when she teased him like this, he remained completely composed. There was no trace of desire or impatience on his face. His eyes were closed, his brows slightly drawn together, and his breathing remained a steady, long rhythm.
It was almost like a test of self-control.
Except that two minutes later, the test came to an end.
He pulled her firmly into his arms, pressing her down against him, his large hand wrapping around her waist.
“Mm…”
Ying Yin was left completely weak and limp by his aggressive display. She obediently helped him fasten his buttons one by one, then properly retied his tie. “You still have to go back to the company and meet your subordinates.”
She was the one who had provoked him and then run away, completely ignoring the fact that he was left painfully aroused.
“I’m not going.”
“Hm?”
She looked up at him.
But today was a workday.
“It’s rare for me to have a day off. Today, come home with me first and spend some time with Rich. Tomorrow, I’ll take you back to Hong Kong.”
“Going to Hong Kong again?”
The corner of Shang Shao’s lips lifted slightly. “It’s time for you to meet my family.”
“Last time you said…” Ying Yin blinked.
“Last time I said it too soon. It’s already been three weeks now.” His voice was calm and steady, carrying an unquestionable certainty, as though it was only natural.
“What I mean is, at the very least…” Ying Yin swallowed. She looked up at him with bright eyes, a trace of nervousness seeping through. “…wait one or two years before meeting them.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
Shang Shao answered plainly and decisively.
He was someone who was skilled at delaying gratification. He believed in planning carefully, in winning first before entering battle, in making moves only after everything was calculated.
But this time, for the first time in his life, he felt an urgency to secure something in his hands – to make sure it was truly his.
He was afraid.
He had never imagined that one day he would fear that his love might become something lost to uncertainty and delay.
Ying Yin remained silent for a long time before slowly straightening up from his embrace.
It was as though she had deliberately pulled herself away from him.
Shang Shao had only been warm for a brief moment. The instant she left, he suddenly felt cold.
Before he had time to think, his palm slid around her waist, and without giving her a chance to refuse, he pulled her firmly back into his arms.
“Say it while you’re like this. Don’t move too far away.” He said it quietly.
Ying Yin buried her face against his chest. “I can’t meet them.”
“Why?”
Shang Shao’s body stiffened.
Then he forced himself to relax and asked in a calm, composed voice, “Are you nervous?”
Almost as if reassuring himself, he continued, “You don’t need to be nervous. They’re all very good people.”
“I… I still have a magazine cover shoot. The schedule was arranged a long time ago.”
“I’ll wait for you.” He answered without the slightest hesitation.
“After the magazine shoot, I’ll have to join the production.”
Shang Shao remained unmoved. “I only need half a day. Two hours.”
His indifference was almost cold and rigid. If Ying Yin had looked up at that moment, she would have noticed that the sharp line of his jaw was equally tense and hardened, his teeth clenched tightly.
Ying Yin kept her eyes tightly shut.
She wasn’t stupid. In fact, she was quite perceptive. Suddenly, she understood why Tiwen had asked her about her bipolar disorder for no apparent reason –
Because Shang Shao already knew.
He knew everything, yet he still wanted to take her home to meet his family.
Ying Yin weakly gripped his tie in her palm. After a while, she steadied herself and looked up at Shang Shao with a smile. “Have I ever told you that my real name actually isn’t that strange? It’s not Ying Yin. It’s Ying Ying.”
Shang Shao’s entire body was tense. Her sudden change of topic caught him off guard, and he froze for a moment.
“Which Ying?”
He didn’t understand why she had suddenly brought this up.
“The Ying from ying kui – profit and loss.”
“Why did you change it?”
The entertainment industry valued being “red” and famous. No one wished for the character 隐 (“hidden,” “concealed”). For celebrities, it was considered an unlucky word.
“I was originally called Ying Ying. Together, the two characters meant a kind of natural, complete fulfillment – as if everything was destined to be perfect. But the fortune teller said that there is no such thing as a naturally guaranteed perfection in this world. I was too sharp and conspicuous; when the moon becomes full, it begins to wane, and when the bamboo basket goes to fetch water, it comes back empty. Only by knowing when to stop while things are good can one have a way forward. So I changed my name to Ying Yin.”
Ying Yin pressed her lips together. Her eyes were bright and shining, and she didn’t dare blink. The smile on her face was like a full moon.
“Shang Shao, I’m not as good as you think I am, and I’m not someone who greedily wants more and more.”
“Being your girlfriend, being your lover, being someone you have truly loved seriously… that’s enough for me.”
“Don’t make me meet your parents, okay?”
