Filming was, by nature, terribly boring.
If the production was in a city, it wasn’t so bad – once the cameras stopped rolling, everyone could head out for late-night barbecue, drinks, or a bit of nightlife. But out here, in this desolate backcountry tucked among barren mountains, darkness swallowed everything the moment the sun went down. If they didn’t find ways to amuse themselves, there was no surviving two or three months in a place like this.
One of the crew’s favorite jokes was to treat the scattered log cabins as if they belonged to an upscale villa complex. It made giving directions much easier. Instead of saying “that cabin over there,” they divided the camp into districts and numbered each building.
Block A, Building 13 meant exactly what it sounded like – the thirteenth log cabin in the first row. It happened to be one of the production’s five dining halls.
The cooks were local Uyghur women hired from Aqiap. They prepared authentic Xinjiang cuisine every day. Breakfast was freshly baked nang bread with milk tea. Lunch might be stewed hand-pulled noodle pieces with smoked horse meat. Dinner was even heartier – big-plate chicken, hand-pulled lamb, all laid out as if every meal were a feast, followed by a few rounds of liquor.
Everything was unbelievably delicious.
And everyone got unbelievably fat.
After only a month, every member of the crew had gained a few generous rings around the waist.
Old Fu, the director of photography, sighed dramatically. “I don’t even want meat for New Year’s anymore. I’d kill for something green. Creamed baby bok choy. Blanched choy sum. Chinese kale stir-fried with ginger. Water spinach with minced ginger… Ahhh!”
The camera and lighting crews walking behind him laughed knowingly.
Luo Siliang let out a theatrical snort. “Just wait till you see tonight’s New Year’s Eve dinner. Genuine Lingnan cuisine! We’ll make you feel right at home!”
Coming from a born-and-bred Beijinger, his declaration of “genuine Lingnan cuisine” sent the whole crew into laughter. “Oh, really? Since when are you from Lingnan?”
“Then tell us – which direction does the front gate of the Chen Clan Ancestral Hall face?”
In truth, even after filming wrapped each day, every department still had hours of work ahead of them – checking equipment, organizing footage, maintaining gear. Normally no one could simply clock out.
But tonight was New Year’s Eve.
Li Shan had made a special exception, allowing everyone to eat, drink, and celebrate first before returning to finish the night’s work.
“People keep saying New Year’s doesn’t feel the way it used to,” Luo Siliang said. His voice softened before he let out a long breath, then smiled with open-hearted ease.
“…Still, it’s a day that matters.”
“I miss my two kids.”
“Every festive season makes you miss your family all the more, doesn’t it?”
As though everyone had shared the same thought at once, the cheerful chatter along the winding procession of over a hundred people gradually faded away.
In its place rose a patchwork of voices – some loud, some quiet – as phones came out one after another and people called home.
Ying Yin and Shang Shao trailed behind the rest of the group.
She needed to return to her cabin first to remove her makeup and change before joining the New Year’s Eve dinner. Since they were headed the same way, they walked together, listening to the laughter and chatter ahead of them all the way.
By some unspoken understanding, everyone on the production kept a respectful distance. Not just Li Shan – even Zhuang Tiwen and Junyi walked side by side, absorbed in their own conversation, leaving the two of them alone at the back.
“Your family’s probably finished their reunion dinner by now?” Ying Yin asked. Her words drifted into the freezing air as little white clouds of breath.
“They have.”
“I remember Xiao Dao telling me your family takes Lunar New Year very seriously. Everyone has to be together on New Year’s Eve.”
“That’s the family tradition.”
“And yet… you left in such a hurry.”
Shang Shao understood what she meant. “It’s fine. When something urgent comes up, exceptions are made.”
“I always end up causing you trouble.”
He glanced at her and asked evenly, though there was an unmistakable edge of authority in his voice, “Are you still not out of character?”
Ying Yin: “…”
He’d kissed her lips swollen. How could she possibly still be in character?
Shang Shao let the matter drop. Right there in full view of everyone, he reached over and took her hand.
His broad palm was the exact opposite of the winter air – warm enough to envelop her hand completely. His thumb slowly stroked the pale tips of her slender fingers.
“Do I need to remind you,” he asked, “that everyone on this production already knows about us?”
“I’ll tell them not to photograph you,” Ying Yin replied, worrying about something entirely unrelated. “And not to spread anything around.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
His fingers tightened gently around hers.
“What I mean is…” He gave her hand a soft squeeze. “If you’re still unwilling to acknowledge who I am to you at this point… don’t you think that’s a little unreasonable?”
Her gaze darted everywhere except toward him. “What… what do you mean, who you are…”
She mumbled the words, deliberately evasive.
Shang Shao didn’t press her.
Their cabin had already come into view. Up ahead, the rest of the crew had turned the corner toward the dining hall. Only Tiwen remained behind, waiting for them.
When she spotted the pair, she waved. “Go take your makeup off and get changed first. We’ll head over.”
“The director and the main creative team are in Building Sixteen.”
“No rush,” she added with a smile. “Li Shan said dinner won’t start until you get there.”
Pushing open the cabin door, the room somehow felt even colder than the world outside.
The first thing Ying Yin did was switch on the oil-filled radiator. She crouched in front of it, warming her hands until feeling slowly returned to her fingers before finally standing to take off her coat.
For the Kazakh families here, a bed was both a bed and a sofa. Roll up the bedding, reveal the brightly patterned felt rug beneath, and it became seating for guests. As a result, the tiny bedroom had nowhere else to sit.
Shang Shao could only lean against the window.
It was the coldest spot in the room. The panes, decorated with paper-cut window ornaments, were clouded over with condensation.
Ying Yin hurriedly folded away her quilt and invited him to sit.
“The conditions here are… pretty rough,” she explained, a little embarrassed.
Shang Shao removed his overcoat and sat where she’d indicated, his long legs stretched comfortably before him.
As Ying Yin turned to leave, he caught her hand.
Looking into her eyes, he gently drew her closer.
“They’re all waiting…” she said. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting much longer.”
She swallowed unconsciously. She thought she’d hidden the gesture, but the unease written across her face was impossible to miss – the blush spreading over her cheeks, the way her eyes refused to meet his. Every bit of it was endearing.
Hearing her, Shang Shao let out a quiet laugh.
“What are you imagining?” he murmured.
His thumb slowly stroked her cool fingertips. Sensing her instinct to retreat, he only tightened his hold.
Under the steady gaze of those eyes – deep and quiet as mountain mist – Ying Yin’s heartbeat dissolved into chaos. She had no defenses left.
He looked at her and said simply, “Sit.”
With the air of someone surrendering to the inevitable, Ying Yin lowered herself onto his lap.
The solid, familiar weight of her settled against him, and every bone in Shang Shao’s body felt the long-absent comfort of it.
Strange.
They had only been apart for a month.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. A sigh of contentment nearly escaped him as he wrapped both arms securely around her and closed his eyes.
Resting the tip of his nose against the curve beneath her lifted chin, he breathed her in.
“Were you this fragrant while you were filming?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“If you don’t like it…”
“I do.”
A pause.
“So wear a different perfume next time.”
Ying Yin answered with a soft “Mm.”
She let him breathe in her scent, like a flower that bloomed for no one else.
Gradually, warmth spread through the room, until the condensation on the window thickened even further.
Shang Shao began undoing her coat, peeling away the layers of clothing that belonged to Yin Xueqing, one piece at a time. Afraid she might get cold, he left her in a black thermal top. His left hand remained beneath that final layer of fabric as, with practiced familiarity, his fingers deftly undid the clasp beneath it.
Ying Yin began to tremble.
He hadn’t really done anything yet, and still, warmth unfurled through her body.
After a while, her plaid skirt remained perfectly in place, but her top had been pushed up.
She trembled continuously, in fine, uncontrollable shivers.
Shang Shao didn’t ask whether she was cold. Instead, he unfolded the black overcoat beside him and draped it around her shoulders. It still held the lingering warmth of his body.
Once she’d wrapped herself in it, he encircled her through the heavy fabric with one arm. With the other – the hand still wrapped in his necktie – he cradled her close and bent his head to kiss her.
Ying Yin shuddered more violently, her face tilted upward, her eyes squeezed shut beneath the stark white glow of the overhead light.
She didn’t know what to do except clutch the lapels of the overcoat tightly with both hands, afraid it might slip from her shoulders.
His lips stilled. The warm suction of his mouth and the brush of his tongue came to a stop.
Then he asked, “Tell me now… when we’re doing something like this, what are we to each other?”
He had become remarkably good at reasoning with her – patient, composed, never pressing directly, always circling patiently until she walked into the answer herself.
Ying Yin opened her eyes and gazed at him for a long moment. Then, lowering her head, she kissed the tattoo on his chest.
She pressed her lips against the line of ancient Greek. “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
“Ying Yin…”
Shang Shao spoke her name, his throat working as he swallowed. His gaze had darkened, his eyes half-lidded. He didn’t stop her. He simply looked down, watching every movement she made, while every muscle in his body tightened beyond his control.
The room was utterly quiet.
The jubilant noise of the film crew celebrating in the distance reached them only as a faint murmur.
Unaware of how close he was to losing his composure, Ying Yin heard him say in a hoarse voice, “Stop.”
He drew her suddenly into his arms. Her waist bent as she sank against him on her knees, and he caught her chin before claiming her in a deep kiss.
By the time he finally let her go, she was breathing hard. Her eyes, the tip of her nose, her lips – everywhere was flushed crimson.
“You… didn’t like it?” she asked.
“I liked it.”
His answer was short but unequivocal.
“But not this soon.”
Ying Yin: “…”
“Unless you don’t plan on going to the New Year’s Eve dinner.”
“No!” she blurted. “…They’ll get the wrong idea.”
As Shang Shao helped straighten her clothes, his dark eyes rested on her for several seconds before the corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “It wouldn’t exactly be the wrong idea.”
“You’re impossible,” Ying Yin mumbled in complaint.
“I am.” He admitted it without the slightest hesitation.
“If you wanted to ask, you could’ve just asked. Did you really have to ask like that?”
“And you?” he replied. “If you wanted to answer, was answering me this way really fair to yourself?”
His fingertips lightly brushed the corner of her lips. That spot was noticeably redder than the rest, as though he’d left the tiniest mark there.
And this was only the beginning.
He hadn’t even truly touched her yet.
Ying Yin caught her lower lip lightly between her teeth.
Shang Shao gently rubbed the lips that still glistened with moisture, his eyes growing darker once more. “Did it taste good?”
The question startled her. A flush spread instantly across her face, leaving her looking adorably flustered and at a loss for words.
He soothed her with another kiss, gently sucking at her earlobe for a long moment before finally drawing her into a slow, reassuring embrace.
“The doctor will be here tomorrow,” he murmured. “Promise me you’ll take your medicine properly… and let him treat you.”
“This?” Ying Yin touched the corner of her lips with a fingertip. “It’s really not that serious.”
Shang Shao: “…”
He looked at her with such profound helplessness that, after a moment, she finally realized what he’d meant.
Her heart instinctively tightened.
So… he knew.
Then, almost as quickly, the tension eased.
He was always someone who prepared for every possibility. If there was something he wanted to know, sooner or later, he always found out.
For people living with depression or bipolar disorder, whether a psychiatrist was skilled was only part of the equation. The more important thing was trust.
Building that trust was painful, and difficult.
After all, they weren’t people who could simply bare their hearts to strangers. Some doctors carried themselves with an air of superiority or impatience, judging every symptom and every desperate word that escaped a patient. Instead of helping, they inflicted a second wound.
Ying Yin, however, nodded obediently. “I’ll trust him.”
If he trusted the doctor…
…then she would trust him too.
“Is it Shen Yu?” she asked. “The psychiatrist you saw?”
She froze.
Her lips pressed together while her eyes widened in innocent surprise.
Shang Shao answered, “His flight lands tomorrow at four in the afternoon.”
“You asked him to come here? Wait… how did you know it was him?”
A quiet calm settled over Shang Shao. “My father told me.”
The color drained from Ying Yin’s face.
His father?
That intimidating man… the one so imposing that she hadn’t even dared lift her head in his presence?
“He knew about your illness a long time ago,” Shang Shao said softly. “He’s the one who told me.”
“So… you came today…” Ying Yin blinked, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. “You came even though he opposed it.”
No father would willingly accept a future daughter-in-law with an illness like hers. Let alone the patriarch of a family like the Shangs.
In an instant, she’d imagined every possible truth.
She had wanted so badly not to make things harder between father and son. Instead, she’d only made everything worse.
“He doesn’t oppose us.”
Shang Shao brushed the side of his curled finger gently across her cheek.
“He blesses us.”
Removing her makeup didn’t take much time. Ying Yin quickly washed her face, applied some moisturizer, and finally changed into her own green coat.
When she arrived at the dinner venue, she wasn’t very late. The director’s team and the main cast and crew were already there, drinking tea and chatting.
Luo Siliang hadn’t been exaggerating at all. For this New Year’s Eve dinner, he and the production team had truly gone all out. The table was filled with elaborate Cantonese dishes – even delicacies like dried abalone stewed with goose feet, the kind of painstaking gongfu cuisine that required hours of preparation.
The barbecue platter was equally impressive.
Old Fu’s requested dishes were all there too: water spinach with ginger, blanched choy sum, and even that salad dressed with ice plant. Everything was fresh and crisp, bursting with flavor.
Ying Yin clasped her hands beneath her chin, delighted. “Tomatoes tossed with sugar!”
Luo Siliang nearly choked laughing, a cigarette between his fingers. “I knew it. Miss Ying is the easiest person to take care of. A single plate of sugar-coated tomatoes makes her happy.”
Old Fu waved everyone over. “Come on, come on, everyone take your seats. The people next door have already had a couple of drinks!”
Junyi, ever the efficient one, opened several bottles of aged Moutai. She also brought out some red wine and whisky. The foreign, red, and white liquors were all lined up together, creating a very clear atmosphere:
Tonight, nobody was leaving sober.
Li Shan normally wasn’t much of a drinker, but he was in good spirits tonight. He waved a warning finger at them. “Don’t even think about making me your target.”
“No, no, we wouldn’t dare.”
The assistant director guided him into his seat. “If we get Miss Ying drunk, won’t filming be canceled tomorrow anyway?”
The whole room erupted in cheers and applause, everyone turning toward Ying Yin with teasing smiles.
“I think that’s going to be difficult. Miss Ying has someone protecting her tonight.”
Everyone knew exactly who they were hinting at.
Shang Shao understood too.
The atmosphere quieted for a moment as everyone waited to see how he would respond.
Unhurriedly, he removed his black coat. With an air of effortless elegance, he gave a slight nod and said, “She doesn’t handle alcohol well. If anyone wants to pick a fight, come to me.”
With that one sentence from him, everyone else immediately cheered.
“Good!”
The assistant director waved a hand. “Then we’ll drink together!”
On the surface, no one had arranged the seating deliberately. In reality, everyone already knew where they belonged.
Li Shan naturally sat at the main table. Zhuang Tiwen, the chief producer, sat on his left. On his right was Ying Yin. The seat beside her should have belonged to Jiang Te, but since Shang Shao was there, everyone naturally pushed him into that spot.
The entire production crew were seasoned drinkers. Not a single person here disliked alcohol. With special permission to celebrate tonight, everyone drank with full enthusiasm.
To be fair, Shang Shao had never experienced drinking on this scale.
Before he had even eaten enough to line his stomach, three glasses had already gone down.
The first was initiated by Li Shan – to toast the New Year.
The second was initiated by Tiwen – to toast the project.
The third was initiated by the assistant director – to toast the film’s huge success.
Ying Yin liked drinking, but she knew her own limits very well. Every time she raised her glass, she only took half a sip.
Unfortunately, Luo Siliang had sharp eyes and caught her. “Miss Ying, that’s not how you drink with friends!”
Junyi, full of loyalty and righteous spirit, immediately sprang to her feet. “I’ll drink it for her!”
Old Fu clicked his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sit down!”
Junyi immediately plopped back into her chair with a thud.
Ying Yin hurriedly lifted her glass. “I’ll drink my own, I’ll drink my own…”
Then someone suddenly shouted from the crowd, loud and clear: “Brother-in-law, drink!”
Everyone at the table except Junyi and Tiwen was older than Ying Yin, so the sudden address made her choke on her wine.
Her face instantly turned bright red. “Don’t call him that!”
Li Shan raised his glass. “Last time in Ningxia, didn’t he introduce you as his fiancée? Then I don’t think we called him wrong.”
He rarely joined in on this kind of teasing. His usual image was one of cool elegance and restraint.
No one expected that when he finally spoke up, he would drop such a bombshell.
The entire table fell silent.
Then, after only a second, the room exploded.
“Fiancée!”
“Even Director Li said it!”
Luo Siliang turned toward Shang Shao.
With alcohol giving him courage, he abandoned all hesitation about status or formality and asked directly, “Whether we say it or not doesn’t count. We need your answer.”
“Tell us – did we get it wrong or not?”
Tiwen stared blankly, completely confused.
When did this become part of the script?
Ying Yin was practically wrinkling the napkin in her hands. Her palms were damp with nervousness.
That was just something he said for the occasion.
They had only just gotten back together. There were still so many things they needed to resolve.
There was her illness.
There was his family.
There was…
A cool hand covered the back of hers.
The storm of thoughts inside her suddenly went still.
Shang Shao held the stem of his wine glass between two fingers and gently pushed it forward, silently asking someone to fill it.
Then he lowered his head slightly and said, “No, you didn’t get it wrong.”
“Ying Yin is my fiancée.”
