Letter from Hong Kong Chapter 9

After showering and changing clothes, it was about time to head to the set. Ying Yin wasn’t wearing makeup; she had on a light casual outfit, her hair loose over her shoulders, and a black mask covering her face.

The two stepped out of the suite just as the elevator at the end of the corridor opened. A stranger in a black suit walked out while taking a phone call.

“What?” He glanced up at the disguised actress and lowered his voice. “I’ve already seen her. I can hand it to her right now.”

Shang Shao crooked a finger, taking the phone from Lin Cunkang.

The bodyguard who had come by once already that morning finally got to hear his young master’s instruction firsthand.

Two concise words:

“Come back.”

Ying Yin brushed past him politely.

She had no idea that inside the black velvet jewelry pouch he carried was an expensive emerald ring – the one Shang Shao had handed him at the golf course. He’d ordered the man to drive it over, saying he wanted to return it to her before she checked out tomorrow.

The bodyguard had no idea why the young master had suddenly changed his mind about giving it back.

By the time they arrived at the filming location, the crew had just wrapped the daytime shoot and were preparing for dinner.

Film shoots usually meant roughing it in the open, especially when it came to meals. There was little room for refinement. Aside from the leads and supporting actors getting special meals, everyone else on the cast and crew received standard boxed dinners.

Ying Yin stepped out of the Alpha and greeted Mr. Fu, the cinematography director. He was balancing a lunchbox in one hand with chopsticks tucked between his fingers, while hurriedly puffing on a cigarette with the other. Seeing Ying Yin approach, he quickly waved away the smoke.

“Oh, Miss Ying’s here.”

That was just how the entertainment industry worked – no real hierarchy, just call everyone politely and you couldn’t go wrong.

Ying Yin leaned closer. “Let me see what we’re having tonight.”

“Don’t,” Mr. Fu said, turning sideways protectively around his boxed meal. He gestured with the cigarette. “Nothing worth seeing. It’ll ruin your appetite. This” – he took another drag – “is the real comfort.”

Every production had a fixed budget. Director Fang’s film pursued perfection to the extreme and had long since run over schedule. Costs everywhere were soaring, so the only place left to tighten spending was logistics. The meal standards had become noticeably worse than before, and the production manager in charge of daily living expenses hadn’t dared speak loudly these past two days for fear of getting beaten up.

The cinematography and lighting crews squatted around laughing, voices rising one after another. “Work’s done – time to go drink congee! Mr. Fu’s treating!”

Right when things were getting lively, a large vehicle drove in through the security gate. It was a white box truck, spotless and well-maintained, clearly not for hauling junk. Everyone craned their necks to look.

A man wearing a staff badge climbed out of the passenger seat and clapped his hands.

“Alright everyone, put down those boxed meals! Mr. Song’s here visiting the set – he’s treating everyone to something good!”

The entire crew erupted into cheers. Plastic containers thudded one after another into the big blue trash bins.

Ying Yin and Cheng Junyi remained where they were.

“Don’t tell me Song Shizhang came too,” Junyi whispered – voicing exactly what Ying Yin was thinking, and sounding none too pleased about it.

Song Shizhang’s car was parked at the entrance of the alley behind them. When he stepped around the white truck, several assistant directors and Director Fang greeted him, and even the male lead went over to say hello.

He wore casual dress trousers with an oversized shirt on top – stylish, youthful-looking clothes.

Compared to the others in the industry, he really was considered young, though he was already forty-one or forty-two.

What was rare was that he didn’t fool around much. Since divorcing his wife, there hadn’t been any swarms of women hanging around him.

Of course, everyone had their own explanation for that –

After all, wasn’t he pursuing Ying Yin? How could he afford to split his attention?

This film had Song Shizhang as one of its main investors.

Although Director Fang was a prominent figure among the Fifth Generation directors, his commercial track record wasn’t particularly stable. His films often drifted off course – bloated and sluggish – so securing investment had taken quite a bit of effort.

It was Song Shizhang who organized the financing, put up money, and pulled the whole project together. Without him, the director’s final film would never have gotten off the ground. So when Song Shizhang said, “Ying Yin is good,” how could the director not understand the implication?

To be fair, it wasn’t a losing deal at all.

Ying Yin had no weak points: acting skills, awards, box office draw, popularity – and on top of that, she was famously dedicated to her work. The real issue was that she had been parachuted into the production by the investors, replacing the student actress the director had originally wanted to promote. How could he not resent that? That student had secretly borne him a child, and he had long promised to compensate her with the starring female lead role.

Song Shizhang had been the one to launch the project, yet he never flaunted that fact in front of Ying Yin, nor did he visit the set often. Most investors liked to stop by and keep an eye on production, but Song Shizhang acted like a completely hands-off boss, giving the creative team full freedom.

Now that filming was nearing completion, his visit at this point felt perfectly natural.

The goodies he brought for the set visit were lavish: Japanese meal sets and cakes from a five-star hotel, milk tea, coffee, tea, and even a pack of cigarettes for every person.

The sounds of flattery and praise filled the air nonstop.

Song Shizhang glanced toward Ying Yin, who stood not far away, and raised his voice slightly:

“Let’s call this a treat from Miss Ying.”

The chorus of teasing whistles and cheering that followed sounded enthusiastic – and loaded with implication.

Ying Yin took a deep breath.

Every time she saw Song Shizhang, she had to take a deep breath first.

Only after steadying herself did she walk toward the center of the crowd surrounding him, her sweet fake smile flawless.

“You finally came to visit the set – how could I possibly steal your thunder? I was even planning to treat everyone to afternoon tea tomorrow, but now you’ve completely outdone me.”

Song Shizhang could see right through her stiffness, but pretended not to. In front of the production’s core staff, he lowered his voice and spoke with an intimacy far beyond ordinary relations.

“I know you quit sugar, so I had a separate portion saved for you. Special recipe.”

Director Fang was already over seventy; there was no way he could shamelessly play along with this scene. The burden fell entirely on the producer instead. He hurriedly ushered everyone off to eat, gradually clearing the crowd away from the two of them.

Song Shizhang deliberately made no effort to avoid attention. He simply stood there by the car, openly accepting all the obvious and subtle scrutiny from the set, and asked Ying Yin, “Not eating?”

“I already ate before coming,” Ying Yin dismissed him.

“You’re shooting through the night. Want me to keep you company?”

A tightness seized in Ying Yin’s chest, her expression nearly slipping out of control.

“Mr. Song, if you act like this, people will misunderstand.”

Song Shizhang knowingly played dumb. “Misunderstand what?”

Ying Yin looked into his faintly lined eyes.

“You know exactly what.”

A knowing smile appeared on Song Shizhang’s face.

“Having rumors with me isn’t so bad. It helps block other people off for you.” He gave Ying Yin a meaningful glance. “Wouldn’t you say so?”

So the little scheme she’d thought she was cleverly using him for – he had seen through it long ago.

Her smile had already fallen apart beyond repair, so she stopped pretending altogether. Ying Yin flattened her lips into a straight line and said seriously, “I don’t want them gossiping about me anymore.”

Song Shizhang lowered his eyes to look at her for a moment. He didn’t get angry. Instead, he said lightly:

“I thought you were someone who understood what was good for you.”

“I…”

Song Shizhang lifted a finger and pressed it against her lips.

“I’m in a very good mood today. You should know how to behave.”

After filming past one in the morning, the entire crew was exhausted. The director finally took pity on them and approved a tea break of a little over half an hour.

Everyone hurried to squeeze in a nap wherever they could. Outside the set, people sprawled every which way – curled up around bags, lying across equipment cases. Some smoked, some drank coffee, some splashed water on their faces. Everyone had their own methods for staying alive.

Ying Yin was sleepy too. Fortunately, she’d managed to catch up on sleep during the day, so her eyelids weren’t drooping shut yet. The next scene had a lot of dialogue, and she didn’t dare rest. Instead, she reviewed lines she already knew by heart.

Cheng Junyi stayed up with her, but Ying Yin’s chant-like recitation of the script nearly lulled her to sleep, so she could only pull out her phone to play with it.

In the dead of night, activity across social media platforms had quieted down. Most trending topics were bought cheaply just to pad engagement metrics.

The only one that really stood out was:

【Song Shizhang Visits Ying Yin on Set】

The topic host was a familiar marketing account, using its usual exaggerated tone:

[Not only did Song Shizhang visit the set, he even treated the whole crew to food and drinks in Ying Yin’s name. Look at that Shangri-La logo – hundreds of portions, what a lavish move. The two of them weren’t even avoiding the crew while chatting. And judging by how calm and natural Ying Yin looked, could this be some kind of public hint? tbh, the way the big boss lowered his head to talk to her was actually pretty gentle~]

“Bought by Song Shizhang,” Cheng Junyi declared decisively. “His name comes first, so obviously he paid for it.”

Ying Yin’s chant-like voice abruptly stopped.

After several silent breaths, she slumped backward as though all strength had drained out of her. The cheap springs beneath her rustled faintly from the movement.

A hand smooth as jade pinched the spine of the script and flipped it over onto her face.

The lights in the lounge were bright. Shining through the thin pages, they made her eyelids feel burning hot.

Director Fang’s production had always kept an iron grip on paparazzi leaks and unauthorized set photos. After all this time, aside from the materials deliberately approved for release, not a single extra image had made it out.

Even if Ying Yin wanted to guard against it, she couldn’t stop other people from eagerly arranging things for her and offering them up on a silver platter.

“Call Mai Anyan.”

Cheng Junyi dialed the number. It connected after only one ring – clearly he wasn’t asleep.

Ying Yin took the phone and pressed it to her ear, still with her eyes closed.

“You’re not taking down this trending topic? How much did Song Shizhang pay you?”

Mai Anyan had already been simmering with frustration, and hearing the accusation in her tone, he let out a cold laugh.

“If you were really capable, how did you let them get photos like that in the first place?”

“What photos? Photos of him calling me over to say a few words?” Ying Yin laughed coldly. “Why don’t you arrange for a photographer tomorrow? Take a hundred pictures, put them all on trending searches, and write that I, Ying Yin, am some common whore – that every man on this set has slept with me!”

Mai Anyan immediately fell silent.

After a long pause, he let out a slow breath.

“Don’t get angry. I’ll take it down. It’ll just take some time with those accounts. You know how it is.”

She knew.

Of course she knew.

Song Shizhang’s media empire. A massive marketing machine, with enforcers everywhere.

If Song Shizhang wanted to tell the entire world that Ying Yin was a prostitute, then by the next day, the whole world would believe she was a woman any man could have.

If Song Shizhang wanted to tell the world that Ying Yin was pure and untouchable, then by the third day, she would transform from “a woman any man could have” back into “pure and spotless.”

To overturn clouds and rain – to define the course of a person’s entire life – was not difficult for Song Shizhang at all.

The script stayed covering her face the whole time, and she kept her head tilted back, so much so that Cheng Junyi couldn’t see her expression at all.

Only after a long, silent while did Junyi notice a tear, almost transparent beneath the harsh lights, sliding quickly down her cheek.

“Mai Anyan, back then you were the one who said he was safe. You said he was Mr. Tang’s friend. You said he controlled half the entertainment industry’s resources. You said it would just be accompanying him to a few events.”

Ying Yin’s tone remained calm throughout, but her shoulders trembled violently.

“You’re a gold-medal agent. But I’m not your most valuable asset, am I?”

Hearing her voice, Mai Anyan’s heart clenched. Panic crept into his tone.

“Xiao Yin, Xiao Yin! Don’t say that. You’ll always be my Best Actress – the best actress in China.” He spoke decisively. “I’ll call Mr. Tang.”

Tang Ye, the big boss of Chenye Entertainment, had long since become a hands-off owner. Receiving such a phone call in the middle of the night, he stayed silent for a long time before finally agreeing to talk to Song Shizhang.

But between two close friends, what was there to “officially discuss,” really?

Tang Ye merely said, “This isn’t how you love someone.”

Song Shizhang replied with only a few words, “She isn’t obedient enough.”

Half an hour later, the trending topic was still removed.

Because it had gone up in the middle of the night, not many people had seen it, but there were still scattered comments saying that first came the haute couture gifts, then the set visit – clearly the two were close to becoming official.

“He chose to post it in the middle of the night. That’s already him showing mercy,” Mai Anyan said, utterly exhausted himself now, dragging hard on a cigarette. “Stop provoking him.”

“What, should I strip naked and climb into his bed?” Ying Yin mocked lightly.

Mai Anyan knew she was speaking out of anger, yet he still tried to persuade her seriously.

“Haven’t you always wanted to marry into a wealthy family? Isn’t Song Shizhang rich enough? How rich does someone have to be before they catch your eye?”

Ying Yin laughed so hard tears came out – bright, glistening tears.

She pulled the script off her face at last, allowing Cheng Junyi to finally see her expression clearly:

A smiling face, shining eyes, and cheeks covered in tears.

Into the phone, she said word by word, “Then just think of me as someone whose ambitions are higher than the heavens, but whose fate is thinner than paper. Ungrateful. Asking for my own suffering.”

Beyond the deep-sea viewing window, the ocean stretched vast and dark. Quiet beams of light pierced through the water. The whale shark transported by sea from Hong Kong had finally adapted to its environment and was now swimming freely.

The gentle sway of the water disturbed nothing outside it. This private whale shark aquarium possessed absolute silence.

Shang Shao had long grown accustomed to spending an hour here alone after finishing work each day.

But tonight, he was clearly preoccupied.

Reflected in the viewing glass was the lit screen of his phone.

On it were only a few brief lines, saying that a certain actress’s happy occasion was approaching.