The helicopter had already landed, the snow around it swept away by the downdraft, exposing the hard soil beneath. The ground was littered with gray-brown grass roots, torn up by horses and sheep, and would not sprout anew until next spring.
The boarding stairs lowered, and the pilot jumped out of the cabin, shaking open an emergency blanket to cover the two of them.
“She’s fine, just a bit hypothermic.” The pilot, trained in first aid, observed Ying Yin’s temperature and vital signs before concluding, “Let her rest a while, hold her close.”
His attention was entirely on Ying Yin, and he didn’t notice at all that Shang Shao’s left hand was too painful to curl.
“Get her some hot water.” Shang Shao withdrew his hand from Ying Yin’s forehead and gave the order calmly.
The stainless-steel thermos had a full liter of capacity. The pilot used the cup lid as a container, filled it with hot water, and handed it to Shang Shao. He took a sip to test the temperature.
Ying Yin, wrapped in the blanket, leaned against him and heard him say, “Open your mouth.”
Her brows, already tightly knitted, furrowed even deeper. Even as the cup was pressed to her lips, she turned her face away. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” Shang Shao asked, his lips close to her ear.
“It’s not my cup.” She pouted, burying her face into his chest, utterly aggrieved.
She was too dazed from the cold, her mind wandering, and with him by her side, all her defenses had crumbled, leaving only willfulness.
Shang Shao paused for a moment, then pressed his lips to the rim of the cup, took a sip himself, and lowered his head to seal his lips over hers. There was no need to pry her teeth apart with his tongue – Ying Yin had already parted her lips on her own.
The hot water, faintly sweet, flowed through their joined lips and down her throat, warming her to the very core.
The pilot jumped back out of the cabin and looked around at the scenery.
They finished the water mouthful by mouthful in this manner. At the very last sip, Ying Yin choked and coughed, the spasm bringing her wandering soul back to her body. Her lashes fluttered, her gaze shifted, and she looked up at Shang Shao in silence for a long moment.
He was much more tired – and much more handsome – than the version of him she had seen in her dreams.
Ying Yin raised her hand, as if wanting to touch his face. The next second, her wrist -along with her bonelessly soft palm – was caught. Shang Shao pressed her palm against his cheek, lowered his head, and kissed it.
Something savage stirred within him, an impulse to claim and possess through sheer force, yet his kiss was so light, so gentle – afraid of breaking her. He lingered only on her lips and the tip of her tongue. Unwilling to let her hold her breath, his kisses drifted to the corner of her mouth, pecking softly, pausing there for a long moment. His eyes closed, his breath searing hot against her skin.
His treasure, recovered from loss.
But Ying Yin was still out of breath. Her face, pale as snow just moments ago, flushed red, her cheeks tinged with pink.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Shang Shao was mindful of her breathing.
Ying Yin shook her head, glancing away hastily, and said something unrelated. “You’re real.”
Shang Shao was certain. “When was I ever fake?”
Ying Yin pulled the not-so-clean emergency blanket tighter around herself, trying to move slightly away from his embrace. “You appeared so strangely.”
Her small attempt failed completely. Shang Shao pulled her back into his arms. “Even if you were in Antarctica right now, I would still have appeared before you.”
Ying Yin lowered her head. “I was there…” She found it hard to speak.
“Getting some air.” Shang Shao answered for her.
With him supplying an excuse, Ying Yin’s lips parted slightly, momentarily at a loss for words. Shang Shao slipped the freshly charged phone into her hand. “Turn it on.”
Ying Yin always listened to him. She turned it on, and messages and missed calls poured in like snowflakes, the phone buzzing non-stop for nearly a minute before it finally settled. They were all calls from Junyi and Tiwen.
“They’ve been looking for you.”
Ying Yin didn’t dare meet his heavy, mist-shrouded gaze and gave a clumsy excuse. “Because we’re rushing to meet the schedule…”
The phone buzzed again – Junyi once more.
She steadied herself and swiped to answer.
“Junyi.”
On the other end of the line, Junyi’s footsteps came to an abrupt halt. She was breathless, her lungs burning, her vacant gaze momentarily lost. Hearing the voice, she froze, her mind struggling to process. After two seconds, she burst into a wailing sob.
“Ying Yin… Ying Yin… you didn’t leave… thank God, you didn’t leave…”
“I just… went out for some air.” Ying Yin’s voice was soft, her eyes burning with tears that wouldn’t fall. “Don’t cry. What are you crying for?”
“I was scared…” Junyi knelt down in the snow, her words broken by uncontrollable sobs. “I thought… thought you…”
She even started hiccuping between cries, like a little child.
“It’s my fault.” Ying Yin lowered her face, tears falling in droplets, a smile on her lips. “Go tell Tiwen, and everyone in the crew. I’m sorry for worrying you all.”
The phone slipped from Junyi’s palm into the snow. She knelt there, both hands planted in the snow, mouth open in a silent wail as she pounded the ground with her fists. She couldn’t utter a word – her heart, made of flesh and blood, felt like a stone crushing her. Then, suddenly, she pulled herself together, scooped up snow to roughly wipe away her tears, picked up the phone, and stumbled to her feet, running as she dialed Zhuang Tiwen.
“Tiwen, Tiwen…”
Zhuang Tiwen’s legs went weak, and she was steadied by Li Shan. When she looked up, her eyes were already moist. “She’s okay.” She repeated, clear and certain, “She’s okay.”
The chaotic world would take a while yet to return to order.
After hanging up, Shang Shao asked, “Should I have the helicopter take us down?”
“No!” Ying Yin started, refusing instinctively.
Such a small village – landing by helicopter would be far too conspicuous.
Shang Shao’s lips curved slightly. It was the first expression resembling a smile he had worn in two days.
This woman had the nerve to leave by her own hand, and now she knew to keep a low profile. These small, living emotions – they reassured him far more than “wanting hot water.”
“Then I’ll carry you down.” He set her down beside the chair and stood up. “Wrap the blanket tight.”
Ying Yin caught the scent of blood.
She remembered, and when her gaze found his hand, her breath stopped.
When she took his hand, Shang Shao paused, letting her unfurl his palm. Those hands, accustomed to nothing but the finest care, were now torn and raw, blood dried and caked across his palm and between his fingers.
It was all blood – Ying Yin couldn’t even find where the wounds were.
Tears splattered onto it.
“Your hand…” Her shoulders began to tremble.
“It’s nothing.” Shang Shao didn’t want her to keep looking. He pulled his hand back, grabbed two tissues, and pressed them against his palm, calm and resolute. “Really, it’s nothing.”
Ying Yin looked up, her tear-blurred eyes unable to make out his stiffness and tension.
“Ying Yin.” Shang Shao called her name, looking at her seriously, and said again, “Really, it’s nothing. Look at me – I’m fine.”
You didn’t cause me trouble. You didn’t hurt me. I have no inconvenience because of you, no burden because of you.
Believe me.
Heading down from the mountainside back to the village, the slope was gentle and the path much better.
Shang Shao followed the very footsteps she had left on her way up, step by step, covering her small, unsteady trail with his own firm, broad footprints.
Before they even reached the village, the sound of a babbling stream could be heard. In winter, the snowy mountains were frozen – where this water came from was a mystery, a thin, cheerful trickle.
“Follow the stream all the way up.” Ying Yin directed him.
But it was unnecessary. Downstream, behind the village, many people were already standing. There were no curious onlookers – some had anxious expressions, some looked bewildered, some quickly turned their attention to the man carrying the actress on his back, and some wore the relief of survival.
Li Shan stood at the forefront. Shen Ling had returned to Ning City, so it was the assistant director supporting the elderly man. He was well into his years, the skin on his neck loose, his Adam’s apple protruding like jagged mountain stone – yet now it was bobbing. Such hesitant speechlessness had never belonged to him; it was a first in decades.
Shang Shao gazed back at him in silence, his face utterly expressionless. After a few seconds, he said nothing. His gaze passed briefly over the striking Jiang Te, paused for an instant, then shifted to Zhuang Tiwen.
“Lead the way.”
Li Shan’s lens language intertwined strangely with reality. People instinctively stepped aside, making more room for the man before them.
“Put me down.” Ying Yin whispered in his ear, her heart full of embarrassment.
There was no hiding it now.
This kind of entrance was hardly any better than arriving by helicopter!
“Can you manage?” Shang Shao turned his face slightly, asking in a voice only she could hear.
His expression remained faint, but everyone present inexplicably felt that he had softened somewhat – that dangerous, oppressive aura had miraculously reined itself in when it came into contact with Ying Yin. Reined in, not vanished.
Ying Yin’s cheeks flushed crimson. She dropped her gaze and nodded. “Mm.”
He was practically indulgent with her, and actually set her down.
Ying Yin’s body was still weak, but she stood straight and proper, tucking her hands back into her coat sleeves. Composed and graceful, she smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Director Li. Because he suddenly came, I wanted to go meet him, but I didn’t expect to get lost…”
She paused, her expression calm, and asked, “Should we shoot the next scene now?”
In an instant, Li Shan’s grip tightened on the assistant director’s wrist. He gave Ying Yin a long, penetrating look – sharp eyes flickering with confusion and scrutiny – but then nodded a moment later, his face stern and cold. “Don’t let it happen again. Go test the lighting. Let’s get this scene done and wrap for the New Year.”
The crew members exchanged glances, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads. No way – after all this, they were still going to shoot? And besides…
Everyone stole sidelong glances at Shang Shao.
They didn’t dare look at him openly; even letting their gaze linger for a moment felt like an offense.
He was dressed far too lightly – his shoes and socks were soaked through, his thin leather shoes and suit trousers both darkened with moisture. Yet he remained so composed, showing no trace of chill or desolation. The dim daylight could not diminish his bearing; he was a born figure of authority, and his mere silent, cold presence already made the atmosphere unbearable.
He must be the Best Actress’s boyfriend… He could only be the Best Actress’s boyfriend.
Shooting a kissing scene right in front of her boyfriend – during New Year’s, no less –wasn’t that a bit inhumane?
But Li Shan had already turned and was walking toward the set. “Half an hour. I’ll wait for you to test the lighting.”
