They had to reshoot that scene – it wasn’t just about the lighting test; the makeup and styling also had to be brought back to Yin Xueqing’s look.
The moment Li Shan returned to the set, everyone else took their positions. They had been looking forward to wrapping up around four and going for drinks, but this sudden turn of events left them feeling a bit deflated. Ying Yin had already prepared New Year’s gifts for the entire crew, and now she called out to Junyi, “Go deliver those few boxes of gifts.”
She had a stellar reputation on set – never late, never acting like a diva, always dedicated to her work. She frequently treated the crew to afternoon tea, and during holidays, her gifts were never skimpy, nor did she play favorites. Since joining the production around the New Year, she had placed orders for fragrance gift sets and pastry souvenirs well in advance. When they arrived a few days earlier, the crew had even set aside a small wooden cabin just to store them.
The thought that these New Year’s gifts had almost become farewell gifts made Junyi’s eyes turn red and swollen. She shook her head stubbornly. “I don’t want to. Don’t send me away.”
Helpless, Ying Yin turned to Tiwen and assigned her to find someone to handle the deliveries. Then she instructed Junyi, “Then take Mr. Shang to our cabin to take a shower. Go borrow some clothes and shoes from Luo Siliang – he’s soaked through.”
Junyi shook her head again, gripping Ying Yin’s hand tightly. “I won’t.”
She turned to look at Shang Shao. “Mr. Shang, go by yourself. I’ll give you the key. Walk straight down this path, turn left, and it’s the third one in – ow!” Her head was suddenly tapped, and she looked at Ying Yin with teary eyes.
Ying Yin let out a soft sigh, looked into her eyes, and spoke gently, “Mr. Shang is a guest. Help me take good care of him, alright?”
Junyi nodded, then shook her head. “We’ll walk you to the makeup trailer, and then I’ll take him over.”
She didn’t dare let Ying Yin out of her sight for even a moment. As they walked her over, she kept a close watch the entire way, as if afraid Ying Yin might pull out some vanishing spell and disappear into thin air.
The village roads had long been churned into mud. Amidst the biting snow and ice, the smell of horse, cow, and sheep dung hung in the air – the sky was vast enough to disperse it, but it still wasn’t pleasant. Ying Yin had been putting up with it for days, but now her nerves were taut. She clasped her hands in front of her. “The conditions here are really rough…”
“It’s fine.”
When they reached the wooden cabin, the makeup and styling team was already waiting. The three of them stopped, and Ying Yin looked up at him. “The helicopter… are you still leaving?”
“Yes.”
Ying Yin paused for just a brief moment. She thought to herself – maybe that’s for the best. Otherwise, how would she get through the rest of the shoot?
“Go buy eight-treasure rice pudding and fireworks.”
“E-eight-treasure rice pudding…” Ying Yin’s eyes flickered with confusion.
“You said it yourself when you were coming down the mountain – you wanted eight-treasure rice pudding,” Shang Shao paused, “and you also said you wanted to play with sparklers.”
“What?” Ying Yin was stunned, blinking.
That was from her dream, half-asleep, wasn’t it? How could she have said something like that out loud – things that only children would like?
Her cheeks flushed with cherry pink. Shang Shao watched her, then raised his hand and gently brushed her warm, tear-filled eyes. “What else do you want?”
Ying Yin quickly shook her head. Shang Shao asked, “How about New Year’s flowers? Kumquat plants?”
Placing New Year’s flowers and golden finger citrons on the table, and kumquat plants by the door – that was the typical New Year’s scene in Hong Kong. Every year at the flower markets, growers set up stalls side by side, lining the streets with thousands of pots for citizens to browse and choose from. But customs varied from place to place – who knew if such things could even be found in Xinjiang?
“No, no, no…” Ying Yin refused earnestly. “I was just rambling. I was so cold that…” She tapped her temple with her slender finger, “my brain wasn’t working right…”
Shang Shao let out a silent chuckle and indulged her. “Alright.”
For some reason, hearing these ordinary exchanges, Junyi felt her unsettled heart finally return to harbor, like a ship docking.
She led Shang Shao onward, toward the cabin where the three of them slept. As they walked, she heard Shang Shao ask, “How long is this film going to shoot for?”
“According to the schedule, we wrap in April. After that, we’ll go back to Ning City for some pickup shots of earlier scenes, probably a day or two,” Junyi replied. “But with Li Shan in charge, nothing’s certain – he’s a real dawdler.”
“Compared to last time, which conditions were tougher – here or there?” Shang Shao asked again.
“Here. Because last time we stayed in a hotel – at least there were proper beds and heating. Here there’s nothing. The flush toilets were just installed, the solar water heater often doesn’t produce enough hot water, and every day we eat noodles, naan, and big-plate chicken – all carbs. Yingying can’t eat that, so I pan-fry chicken breast and boil corn separately for her. She wants green vegetables, but she doesn’t tell the crew.”
“Why not?”
“Bringing supplies up the mountain is a hassle. The production manager has connections, and Luo Siliang can’t really control him – Luo Siliang is the head producer. If we always cook special meals, procurement and coordination become a real headache. The production manager uses that as an excuse. He just smiles and apologizes to Yinyin, and you can’t really hit a smiling face.” Junyi spoke concisely yet verbosely, her words jumping around like a New Wave film with excessive jump cuts. She had a change of heart and stopped to ask, “Mr. Shang, do you understand all that?”
Shang Shao nodded. “Go on.”
“The rest is about the film itself.”
“Like what?”
Junyi shook her head, knowing her limits. “I can’t say. You’ll have to ask her. If she’s willing to tell you, she’ll tell you herself.”
“She’s sick, isn’t she?”
His gaze pinned her in place. Junyi stood frozen, as if filled with lead, unable to move -and unable to lie.
Her eyes had already given everything away.
“She’s been on medication…” Junyi’s voice grew faint. “It’s severe depression.”
“Not bipolar?”
Junyi kept her head down and shook it. “No, she’s never had a manic episode. When she saw a doctor, I don’t know… Maybe she’s just self-medicating. Or maybe not. Mr. Shang, why did you leave her?” She looked up at him, eyes rimmed red. “You were so cruel to her. Did you fall for someone else? Or were you going to get married?”
There was a little hammer.
A little hammer that, with every word Junyi spoke, pounded against his chest, leaving it bruised and bloody, softness and pain intertwining into a crimson haze.
“I was wrong about something,” Shang Shao answered her in the plainest of words.
Junyi’s tears rolled down her cheeks. She didn’t wipe them away, but instead pulled out the key, inserted it into the lock, and opened the wooden cabin door.
Inside floated the fragrance of powder and perfume – the scent of young women’s living quarters.
Junyi still had to carry Yin Xueqing’s costume over to Ying Yin. She pushed open the bathroom door. “There’s sun today, and hot water. Go ahead and use it – use it all up, it doesn’t matter. Use Yinyin’s bath towel; it’s folded in the cabinet, clean.”
Shang Shao nodded, following her instructions.
“Are you wearing long johns?”
Shang Shao displayed just the right amount of curiosity and puzzlement. “What are long johns?”
Junyi’s gaze dropped to his legs.
A pair of black wool cashmere trousers – exquisite in texture and sheen, with razor-sharp creases. How long must the servants spend pressing those? She’d heard from Lin Cunkang that he had two servants whose sole job was ironing his clothes. Junyi marveled that after such a grueling journey, his attire still carried the dignity and refinement befitting him – yet she couldn’t help asking, “Hong Kong is one thing, but you studied in the UK – you didn’t wear long johns in winter either? They’re thermal underwear.”
Shang Shao understood now. “It’s never been that cold.”
“But now…” Junyi’s gaze traveled back up from his legs. He wore a black cashmere overcoat, beneath which was a suit jacket and a vest – also of fine cashmere fabric – and underneath that, a dress shirt with a neatly tied tie.
She didn’t need to ask – because Mr. Shang truly didn’t look cold at all.
Junyi broke into a smile instead. “You look like you’re about to step up to a podium and give a speech.”
Shang Shao gave a mild, distant smile. “I left in a hurry this morning.”
The private jet had gone to Singapore with Shang Qingye and wouldn’t be back until noon. Shang Shao had hurried to Ning City first, then taken a commercial flight from there. Everything was done in haste and kept minimal – he’d brought only his ID and phone. When he tried to buy a power bank at the airport, he fumbled through his coat’s leather wallet and pulled out nothing but a wad of Hong Kong dollars. His mind was in disarray, and he stared blankly at the sales associate for a long moment before she finally prompted him. “You can use Alipay.”
“I don’t have it.”
“WeChat Pay.”
Shang Shao frowned and said honestly, “I don’t have that either.”
To be fair, wherever he went, either the host organization handled everything, or Lin Cunkang and the board office made all the arrangements. He hardly ever had occasion to spend money himself. Meals were signed to accounts, tailoring bills were settled annually, luxury boutiques kept his reserved racks and sent lookbooks to him personally, and Lin Cunkang dispatched someone once a month to pick up suitable pieces. Any transfers or payments were also handled by Lin Cunkang. His life ran in perfect order, with money itself largely invisible.
The sales associate could only smile. “Then, sir, you can also use a credit card.”
And so that card – the one used to process transactions in the hundreds of millions -completed its very first personal, everyday purchase: a charge of 99.
After delivering the costume to Ying Yin, Junyi planned to borrow clothes and shoes for him, plus bring a boot dryer to dry out his handmade Baroque leather shoes.
“I’ll be going now,” she said, pulling the door shut behind her, not noticing that Shang Shao’s left hand had remained in his coat pocket the entire time.
The hot water came relatively quickly. The cheap pipes made for unstable water temperature and pressure. Shang Shao studied the faucet for quite a while, his brow deeply furrowed.
Too hot.
How to make it cooler?
The moment his fingers touched the stream, he jerked his hand back from the heat.
Might as well use cold water.
But the cold water was biting.
When Wen Youyi called, he had just figured out this peculiar contraption and adjusted the water to a warm, slightly hot temperature. He rinsed his injured hand, watching the blood dilute from dark to light, swirling down the white ceramic basin and into the drain.
“Ah-Shao, Happy New Year,” Wen Youyi greeted him, followed by a chorus of more enthusiastic voices behind her – unmistakably Shang Mingbao and the others.
“Happy New Year.” Shang Shao’s expression softened.
“Did you pick up your friend?”
Wen Youyi asked, completely oblivious to the meaningful glances exchanged among her four children behind her.
“What friend? Important enough for big brother to skip New Year’s?” Mingbao raised an eyebrow.
“Must be a very good friend then,” Mingxian chimed in.
Wen Youyi swatted each of her two daughters, and even Mingzhuo, who hadn’t said a word, received a token smack for good measure.
“If Leo’s friend has something urgent, he wouldn’t have rushed off on New Year’s Eve for no reason,” Wen Youyi said, tapping Mingbao’s nose. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
She turned to Shang Lu. “And you too.”
Shang Lu had been lounging lazily to the side, arms crossed, right ankle resting on his left knee, enjoying the show. Now, with nowhere to appeal, he set his leg down and sat up straight. “What the he…”
Cursing was forbidden during the New Year, so he swallowed the word, looking irritable yet obediently settling back down.
Amidst the sound of running water, Shang Shao’s soft chuckle was barely audible. “I did pick her up, but she’s busy right now. I’m on my own for the moment.”
“Then have you had your New Year’s Eve dinner yet?” Wen Youyi asked, concerned he might go hungry.
“It’s still early. I’ll eat later.”
“You rushed off so quickly, and Uncle Kang didn’t go with you. Is everything alright?”
Shang Shao paused for a moment before letting out a low “Mm,” his voice dropping. “Everything’s fine.”
But after hanging up, he braced both hands on the edge of the sink and stood there in silence for a long time.
Taking a shower was also a hassle – the owners had installed the hot and cold water connections backward, so he’d waited forever with nothing but ice-cold water before finally trying the opposite approach and getting hot water.
Good thing he had a sturdy constitution.
Amidst the sound of the shower, Junyi knocked on the door outside, her voice full of apology. “Mr. Shang… I couldn’t borrow any clothes.”
She’d asked around, but strangely enough, none of the crew members or villagers would lend her anything. They all smiled apologetically and made excuses, saying they didn’t have any. As they repeatedly said things like “too dirty,” “not properly washed,” and “too shabby,” Junyi gradually understood. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t lend them – it was that they were too embarrassed to. Because he looked so noble and refined, while their clothes were so simple and worn.
“Luo Siliang, you must have something.” Junyi grabbed the production manager and wouldn’t let go.
“Don’t joke around. How could I possibly let him wear my things?” Luo Siliang laughed, almost begging for mercy.
When someone is too far above reach, even those who want to help must first question whether they’re worthy enough.
Shang Shao turned off the water and gave his usual brief response. “It doesn’t matter.”
So Junyi crouched down, stuffed the boot dryer into his cold leather shoes, and turned it on. Then, with a flash of half-baked cleverness, she draped his suit trousers over the oil radiator. Her cleverness was only half there – otherwise she’d have thought of this earlier and they’d probably be dry by now.
After she left, Shang Shao finally stepped out of the bathroom. Fresh out of the shower, the wound on his palm – just beginning to clot – started bleeding again. He put on his original clothes piece by piece, then wrapped his tie around his palm several times, his expression blank as he waited for the red stain to stop seeping through.
On the traditional Kazakh communal bed platform, three quilts were neatly folded, each topped with a blanket. The patterns were all different. The one in the middle was made of high-count long-staple cotton – pure white, scattered with small, hand-embroidered black bows arranged loosely, and trimmed with a ruffle hemmed in fine black thread.
Her style. The kind she would like.
A faint smile crossed Shang Shao’s face. He stood quietly by the bed for a while, then, overcome by the suffocating tightness in his chest, slowly bent down and pressed his face against her pillow.
Her scent.
He breathed it in deeply – breathing in his mountain fruit, breathing in his lush, dripping rain. This man, whom outsiders would consider demeaned by the mere touch of synthetic fabric, could no longer stand steady at this moment. Slowly, slowly, Shang Shao lowered himself to his knees by the bedside, clutching her pillow to his chest with uncontrollable longing, then burying his face deep into it.
The crushing pain in his heart came in waves, each one tighter than the last, ebbing and flowing like the tide, stealing away his breath.
He’d made it in time, hadn’t he? He asked himself over and over.
He was just a man who had nearly lost the one he loved forever.
A stack of papers silently slipped to the floor.
Shang Shao hadn’t noticed at first. Only after the pain in his chest had subsided did he bend down and pick them up.
The headline layout of the morning paper was familiar to him – and the date, December 23rd, was etched into his memory. It was that day’s newspaper from Hong Kong.
He unfolded it without any guard, and so when he caught sight of the handwriting scrawled on the back of a script page and began reading it inadvertently, the anguish in his eyes struck just as unexpectedly.
“Pick a clear day and take me to see the boats there.”
“Scatter me there.”
“Whatever he asks you, just say that she was happy during that time.”
He forced himself to read it – line by line, word by word – almost masochistically.
By the time he reached the end, only one thought echoed over and over in his mind: So she really had decided to die.
The voice in his head was eerily calm, like a verdict pronounced after long deliberation. This was her suicide note. This was her resolve.
Strange, though – the last thing his gaze settled on was this line:
“Please ask him to live well, to marry and have children.”
His gaze shifted from shock and pain to calm, from calm to anger, and from anger it finally settled into a darkness devoid of any light – heavy as ink.
How dare she? How could she?
He put on the still-damp shoes, but he did it with such unhurried deliberation that he didn’t seem to mind the discomfort. Fully dressed, he smoothed out the crumpled newspaper, tucked it neatly under Ying Yin’s pillow, then folded the suicide note crisply and placed it with gentlemanly care into the inner pocket of his coat, close to his chest.
With all of that done, he stepped outside and walked silently through the dusk of New Year’s Eve toward the makeup trailer.
Ying Yin had just finished changing into her costume and getting her makeup done, and was about to head to the set. When she stepped out and saw him, she was startled and flustered. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“The helicopter is leaving. I’m not.”
Ying Yin’s palms immediately grew clammy. “Then get some sleep while I’m filming? You look exhausted… I’ll be quick.”
“What scene are you shooting?” Shang Shao advanced toward her calmly, almost imperceptibly.
Ying Yin was inexplicably driven back into the room by his presence. That wasn’t enough – she kept retreating step by step until, with a clatter, her lower back hit the dressing table, knocking over bottles and jars scattered across it.
Nowhere left to go.
“Shang Shao?” Ying Yin looked up at him, swallowing hard.
The makeup of Yin Xueqing looked jarringly out of place on her face at this moment.
“Tell me, what scene are you shooting?” Shang Shao asked patiently again.
His eyes were completely wrong.
Ying Yin could see no light in them, no emotion either. They weren’t exactly empty -because what lay within had such tangible weight that it crushed her breath – and yet, she couldn’t read a thing.
She thought of the dense clouds before the blizzard a few days ago – so black, so deep, so low.
“I’m shooting…” Ying Yin swallowed. “A ki…”
Before she could finish the word, Shang Shao’s lips sealed hers without hesitation.
Ying Yin froze on the spot. But how pitifully weak she was – her first reaction was that she’d missed this, and she nearly burst into tears.
Shang Shao was almost devouring her with his lips and tongue.
Ying Yin let out a muffled “Mm,” unable to withstand it, and fell back against the dressing table, pushing helplessly at his chest.
“Shang Shao! Shang Shao… my makeup…! Makeup…”
“What?” Shang Shao was breathless, his gaze dazed and lingering on her face.
But that daze and longing were also strange. He seemed utterly lucid.
“I need to get to the set… Mm…” Her breath, along with the moisture from her tongue, was drawn away, and her mind lost its focus too. She stammered, “The door… someone… someone’s out there!”
The door was ajar, and no one was outside, but Shang Shao paused, narrowed his eyes, and without a change in expression, hoisted her up and turned around – BAM. The wooden door slammed shut under the weight of Ying Yin’s body.
“It’s closed.” He held his breath, calm and matter-of-fact.
Ying Yin said, “…I have to go…”
“Go where?”
“To the se…”
“La base, isn’t that right.”
Ying Yin’s body went rigid, a rush of heat flooding through her from somewhere unknown, pouring over her like volcanic lava.
Her face went pale, then flushed crimson.
“What do you mean, ‘ask him to marry and have children, to live well’?”
“I…”
“Ying Yin, do you even know what ‘marry and have children’ means?” Shang Shao used the hand wrapped in his tie to grip her jaw, his thumb roughly and relentlessly rubbing against her lips.
“Marrying and having children means spending your life with the one you love. How dare you? Tell me – you just up and leave, and expect me to spend the rest of my life with another woman?” He spoke low and cold against her ear, each word ice-cold.
Ying Yin closed her eyes, despair and shame tormenting her at once.
She never should have let him into the room to shower.
“You want to stay at la base and keep me company, is that it? Watch over me from above?” Shang Shao’s breaths came quicker and shorter. In the dimly lit room, his eyes, his face, finally sank entirely into shadow. He nodded, staring at Ying Yin’s full lips and flushed cheeks. “Tell me – if I dote on another woman, treat another woman well, and you’re up there watching – aren’t you afraid your jealousy and bitterness will keep you from finding peace in the afterlife?”
His question was too cruel. Ying Yin’s tightly shut eyes spilled tears, her nose clogging up.
“Open your eyes and look at me.”
Ying Yin shook her head, but opened her eyes anyway, utterly wronged.
“You don’t understand what ‘marry and have children’ means – I’ll teach you.”
