Unexpectedly, the first sentence Kuang Zhilin spoke was: “Miss Wen, today I’ve come to handle the transfer procedures for the box office dividend of Sands of Time with you.”

Wen Tingli didn’t react at first, but once she’d heard him out, she accepted it calmly — the money had already been returned to Lu Shicheng, which meant she was the one who’d paid for the studio renovation, so naturally the dividend should belong to her.

She signed her name on the document with satisfaction, but deep down she still felt a faint disappointment, because Kuang Zhilin never once mentioned the “Xili Pear Juice” advertisement collaboration.

That evening she went to the Paramount to participate in a charity relief performance, and unfortunately ran into Yu Peiling and Chen Maoqing backstage.

Yu Peiling wore a glittering silver crown on her head, dressed in a gown covered entirely in white feathers — from a distance she looked like a moving silver orb. Seeing Wen Tingli, Yu Peiling kept to her usual manner: arrogance shot through with a trace of naivety, warmth mixed with a touch of condescension.

Like a queen receiving a distinguished guest, she held Wen Tingli’s hand lightly by the fingertips and said a few soft words. Then, maintaining her ever-charming smile, she went up to the stage surrounded by an entourage.

Chen Maoqing stayed backstage to arrange Yu Peiling’s costumer and makeup artist. Seeing Wen Tingli, he greeted her with a beaming smile: “Well, isn’t this Miss Wen Tingli!”

Wen Tingli gave a lazy, scoffing laugh.

Chen Maoqing crossed his legs and sat down on the sofa to the side, asking with exaggerated attentiveness: “What number are you performing, Miss Wen? Seventh? Why so late in the lineup?”

He put on a show of looking around at the people nearby. “Surely there’s been some mistake — given Miss Wen’s momentum lately, shouldn’t you be first?”

But Wen Tingli was impervious to provocation; no matter how he tried to stir things up, her mood didn’t waver in the slightest. Just then someone came over and said: “Congratulations, Manager Chen. I heard Miss Yu signed an incredible major ad deal?”

Chen Maoqing waved a hand: “Peiling originally wanted to rest properly over the New Year, but couldn’t withstand the company coming back again and again to negotiate — they said they’d set their sights on Miss Yu’s influence specifically, and wouldn’t consider anyone else. Nothing to be done — who can compare Miss Yu’s audience numbers and reputation to some newly-popular newcomer?”

Wen Tingli set down her makeup brush with a sharp smack.

Everyone was startled, but a flash of triumph flickered through Chen Maoqing’s eyes.

A smile reappeared on Wen Tingli’s face: “My apologies, I’m a bit thirsty.”

Someone hurried to pour Wen Tingli tea. The performance ended past nine, and as usual, the company sent a car to take Wen Tingli home.

Passing by the Lijing Grand Hotel, Wen Tingli gazed through the window at the shimmering, splendid building, and suddenly said to the driver: “Old Huang, pull over by the roadside.”

So saying, she took out from her bag the wig she’d used for Qiao Baoxin last time, and bent down to restyle herself.

Ever since Belle of the South had been released, she’d found going out extremely inconvenient, and had since taken to carrying disguise tools with her often.

By the time she got out of the car, she’d become someone else entirely — hair mussed up, square-framed tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose, her coat swapped for a plain gray one.

She stood by the car and said to Old Huang: “Drive the car straight back home as usual. I’ll call a rickshaw back myself later.”

Then she walked straight across the road toward the hotel. The doorman stopped her as expected: “Madam, who are you here to see?”

“I’m here to see the guest in 905.” Wen Tingli casually handed over Huang Yuanshan’s business card.

Once inside, she said loudly to the elevator boy: “Ninth floor, please, thank you.”

Reaching the ninth floor, she deliberately walked toward the depths of the corridor under the elevator boy’s gaze, but didn’t stop before any particular room. Instead, she pushed open the emergency exit and quietly made her way down the stairwell to the eighth floor.

The eighth floor was quieter than the others, with more distance between doors. She checked the room numbers one by one, finally stopping in front of 805.

After confirming once more that no one was behind her, Wen Tingli pulled off the wig and glasses from her head and knocked softly on the door.

A moment later, faint footsteps sounded from within, and someone asked: “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” she said from outside.

The room suddenly fell silent. This time the wait was longer, and just as Wen Tingli thought the other person wouldn’t open the door, it opened — it was Lu Shicheng.

He looked at her. His usually composed face clearly showed a trace of surprise.

Wen Tingli glanced around and said to him a little nervously: “Quick, let me in.”

Lu Shicheng gave her a strange look, then glanced warily at the quiet corridor behind her.

Wen Tingli stamped her foot anxiously: “Hurry.”

Lu Shicheng hesitated slightly, but still stepped back and let her in.

Wen Tingli slipped past him into the room.

It was a rather spacious suite, with a sitting room at the front.

Desk, coffee table, sofa — all fully furnished. On the desk was a green-shaded lamp, and beneath it lay some spread-out documents; it appeared Lu Shicheng had been working at the desk all along.

Wen Tingli stood in the middle of the room, curiously looking left and right.

Lu Shicheng watched her for a moment from behind, then walked to the desk and closed a document.

“What’s this about, exactly?” He turned back, looking at her seriously.

But Wen Tingli raised a finger to her lips: “Shh—”

Lu Shicheng raised his brows, looking upward, and indeed strange noises were coming from above.

This hotel was famous for its quiet and comfort — noise of this level already counted as a tremendous racket.

Lu Shicheng frowned and picked up the phone on the desk: “Go ask what’s happened on the ninth floor.”

Before long, someone called back with a report: “A bunch of reporters showed up, saying something had been lost, and blocked the door of 905 with their cameras, making a huge commotion for a good while — they finally forced the guests out of the room, but it turned out to be two foreigners. The reporters insisted the female guest was ‘in disguise’ and grabbed and pulled at her hair, only to yank off a handful of real golden hair. The two foreigners were shaking with fury and have already contacted a judge from the concession to file a serious complaint against these reporters.”

While Lu Shicheng was on the phone, Wen Tingli stood on tiptoe beside him eavesdropping the whole time. Hearing this, she clutched her stomach and laughed silently.

Lu Shicheng put down the phone, thought for a moment, and looked at her with understanding: “You lured those reporters here?”

To be precise, it was Chen Maoqing who’d lured them.

“That surnamed Chen bribed my driver to tail me.” She shrugged. “The moment my driver saw me go into the hotel, he tipped off Chen Maoqing, who immediately notified reporters to come take photos. But he doesn’t know I already suspected my driver was compromised — I set him up on purpose.”

Suddenly she heard cursing drifting up faintly from the road below. She walked over and opened the window wider, hiding behind the curtain to look down.

She heard someone below cursing: “Damn it, Chen Maoqing! Just you wait, you’re going to regret this!”

At this Wen Tingli laughed until her stomach hurt, turning to wink at Lu Shicheng, still hiding behind the curtain, watching with great interest as the pack of reporters fled in disarray, saying: “Belle of the South‘s box office has been surprisingly good — that surnamed Chen has been scheming against me nonstop lately. If I don’t teach him a proper lesson, he’ll think I’m easy to bully!”

Lu Shicheng hadn’t said a word the whole time. Once Wen Tingli returned to the desk, he finally asked her: “How did you know I was here?”

Wen Tingli said lightly: “Yesterday morning I went to visit Principal Zou. When she called you, I happened to be right beside her.”

“And so?” Lu Shicheng’s gaze looked unfathomably deep in the lamplight. “I can’t think of a reason for Miss Wen to come find me here.”

“Of course there’s a reason. I can’t stay long, so let me be brief.” Wen Tingli casually set her bag on his desk and took out a contract. “Last year when your company first designed Xili Pear Juice, it was agreed that I would be the one advertising for your company. The contract’s signed and everything — how can Mr. Lu go back on his word?!”

Lu Shicheng’s eyes flickered slightly as he took the contract from her.

“I hear Mr. Lu has recently made a point of finding another actress to shoot your commercial? Unilaterally breaking the contract — surely you owe an explanation. Tonight, I’ve come to demand that explanation from you.”

Lu Shicheng gazed at the signature line at the bottom, while Wen Tingli pointed things out on the paper: “Look for yourself — isn’t this your company’s official seal? Wasn’t the contract signed for a full three years?! This advertisement was mine to begin with — suddenly switching to someone else is your company being in the wrong.”

Suddenly Lu Shicheng said: “This contract was signed with you by Fang Da, who was in charge of Fenghua’s subsidiary business at the time.”

Wen Tingli froze.

“When I was ambushed last year, I already investigated and confirmed Fang Da was one of the moles. After I dealt with him, every document that passed through his hands became void. So I’m sorry, but this contract can’t be honored.”

For a moment, the room fell strangely silent.

Wen Tingli raised her eyebrows: “Very well. Tonight, let’s just say I was never here. I’m leaving.”

She turned to go, then suddenly remembered her bag was still on his desk and went back for it. Lu Shicheng, however, walked straight toward her. Wen Tingli turned her face to glance at him, but Lu Shicheng walked behind her and said: “Sorry.”

Wen Tingli turned back — it turned out his fountain pen had been pressed beneath her bag. She picked up her bag,

and Lu Shicheng uncapped his pen and, right in front of her, wrote two characters on the contract cleanly and decisively.

【Void.】

“There was really no need for Mr. Lu to go to such trouble.” Wen Tingli snatched the contract from him and tore it in half right in front of him.

“Isn’t this safer, though?”

Just then, the phone on the desk rang. Lu Shicheng’s eyes stayed on her as he casually picked up the receiver: “It’s me, what is it?”

Wen Tingli walked toward the door without looking back, but Lu Shicheng, still on the phone, blocked her path.

Wen Tingli, still fuming, went around him and continued out, only to suddenly find her arm grabbed. Wen Tingli startled and turned to look — he was staring at her fixedly, with no intention of letting go at all. He gestured for her to look at the window.

Sensing something was wrong, Wen Tingli hurried to the window to look down, and saw a group of people had gathered on the road opposite at some point — several hiding in the shadows of trees, others standing by cars, silently as if waiting for someone.

Lu Shicheng had finished his call by now and stood behind her, looking thoughtfully at the scene. Wen Tingli said with certainty: “Another batch of reporters.”

Lu Shicheng nodded, paused, then said: “Besides downstairs, there are reporters in the elevator too.”

Wen Tingli’s heart pounded — this meant no matter which floor she took the elevator from, she’d run into reporters.

Should she hide in the room and not go out? Surely they wouldn’t dare break the door down in public. No — tomorrow morning she still had to attend the reception jointly hosted by the company and the film association. Not going out would mean breaking her appointment, offending the industry, and disappointing her fans at the venue.

If Lu Shicheng simply had these reporters driven off, it would be tantamount to confessing without being asked.

No wonder Yu Peiling could rise to fame so quickly under Chen Maoqing’s management — his dirty tricks were simply impossible to guard against! Wen Tingli started walking: “Before they track me down, I need to get out quickly.”

Lu Shicheng blocked her again: “The stairwell probably isn’t safe either now. This way.”

He picked up the coat on the chair and, shielding Wen Tingli, took her out the door.

There wasn’t a soul in the corridor. Lu Shicheng accompanied Wen Tingli to an inconspicuous passage, took a key from his trouser pocket, and quickly unlocked the door.

It turned out to be a separate passage reserved for VIP guests. Wen Tingli followed him downstairs without a sound, hearing nothing but their own footsteps. Watching Lu Shicheng’s back from behind, she suddenly recalled that night when they’d gone down the spiral staircase at the Lu mansion together — how little time had passed, yet it already felt like another lifetime.

They made their way quietly down the stairwell all the way to the bottom, pushed open a door, and came directly to the hotel’s side entrance. Before them stood a tall iron gate with a chain hanging on it. Lu Shicheng picked up the huge lock and examined it — to get out, they’d have to climb the gate.

Just then, someone who looked like an attendant ran over from the side door: “Young Master Cheng, no reporters over here.”

Wen Tingli recognized him as Zhou Wei. Lu Shicheng nodded, pointing at the iron gate before them for Wen Tingli’s benefit: “They haven’t discovered this exit yet. Climb out here.”

“Climb?”

Lu Shicheng was the first to grip the iron gate and climb, his movements agile — before long he’d flipped over to the other side.

Wen Tingli stared dumbfounded at this scene. Lu Shicheng brushed the dust off his hands and urged her: “Hurry.”

Two gray streaks were smudged across his cheek, but he seemed unaware of it. Wen Tingli no longer hesitated, and climbed the iron gate cleanly and decisively — after studying combat and self-defense with Li Chengying and Liu Xiangzhi for so long, a mere iron gate was nothing to her.

Lu Shicheng watched Wen Tingli’s every move, his expression growing somewhat complicated.

Wen Tingli was wearing high heels, the most cumbersome things for this — a few times, her toes almost caught in the gaps of the gate. She simply took them off to hold in her hand, only for both shoes to slip from her grip at once.

“Careful!” She was a little worried the heel might hit Lu Shicheng in the face.

Lu Shicheng was quick-eyed and quick-handed, reaching out to catch one, but only managed to grab one shoe — the other landed and happened to wedge into a crack in the cement. He walked over, crouched down, and pried at it for a good while before finally pulling it free.

Wen Tingli fumbled about up top — the gate opening was covered in wires, and without shoes, any careless touch felt like it would hurt her feet. She heard Lu Shicheng say from below: “Just jump down. I’ll catch you.”

She let go without hesitation and threw herself into his arms.

Lu Shicheng’s footing wavered slightly, but fortunately his hold on her was firm enough.

Wen Tingli held tightly onto his shoulders, staring into his dark, deep eyes: “Didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Lu Shicheng was still for a moment, then gently set her aside and stepped back: “Once you’re through this gate, they won’t be able to touch you. There are rickshaws at the mouth of the lane.”

Wen Tingli looked at him steadily: “Thank you.”

Knowing she couldn’t delay any longer, she bent down, picked up the high heels by his feet and put them on, then resolutely ran off in the other direction.

The night wind blew against her face, lifting her long curled hair high.

Lu Shicheng stood rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure without blinking. She ran so fast, like a spirit of the night, rushing toward some unknowable direction.

What was her path, her belief, really? His throat moved as he watched her, thinking. It seemed as though some unseen beast lurked in the darkness, ready at any moment to swallow her whole.

His heart suddenly filled with dread. Without thinking, he took a step forward and blurted out: “Wen Tingli!”

Wen Tingli’s heartstrings jolted.

From the time the two of them had come to know and love each other, to their separation, Lu Shicheng had rarely called her by her full name. The last time was during the studio fire; this time too carried a strange, unusual feeling.

In an instant, a complicated, sorrowful emotion surged into her heart. She turned back and looked at him in shock. Lu Shicheng too seemed to realize his own loss of composure, lowered his head to collect himself, and quickly said: “I’ll drive you out, it’ll be faster. Wait here, I’ll bring the car around.”

Before long, he’d brought the car in front of her, got out, and opened the door on her side.

Wen Tingli got in without a word. By this point, she’d already sensed something — that suppressed yet sincere emotion left her heart filled with a boundless melancholy.

As the car passed by the hotel’s back entrance, Lu Shicheng gave a light cough while looking ahead, and Wen Tingli, experienced in this, leaned down out of sight in advance, only sitting back up once the car had driven quite far.

While fixing her hair, she shrugged at Lu Shicheng: “Nothing to be done — this is just what it’s like being a star.”

Noticing the black smudges still on his face, she couldn’t help but chuckle, taking out her handkerchief: “Your face is dirty, wipe it off.”

Lu Shicheng took her handkerchief and wiped his face twice, then handed it back to her.

Wen Tingli looked out the window: “Let me ask you — is the actress you found for Xili Pear Juice Miss Yu Peiling?”

Before Lu Shicheng could answer, she raised her voice: “Why her?! Because of her title as Empress of Film? Does Mr. Lu really only know of one Yu Peiling? Look at that pack of reporters just now — haven’t you realized how popular I’ve become lately?”

She reached back to the back seat with practiced ease, and as expected, a stack of newspapers lay there as usual. She grabbed them and flipped through them right in front of him: “Look, here, here — they’re all discussing me, Wen Tingli.”

She leaned her face close to his, pointing at her own nose: “Do you know how popular I’ve been lately? The day before yesterday I was invited to cut the ribbon at the National Goods Company in the southern district, and tonight I went to the Paramount for the all-star charity performance. These days, I couldn’t count on two hands the companies wanting me for advertisements!”

She rattled on endlessly while Lu Shicheng only listened silently. She didn’t know how long she’d been talking — her mouth had gone dry — when the car suddenly stopped at the roadside. Looking outside, they’d already arrived beneath her building.

Lu Shicheng got out and opened her door, and Wen Tingli stepped out like a queen.

Just as she was about to say a few more words, she noticed the newspaper was still clutched in her hand. She tossed it back in a huff, but the motion was too forceful, and the newspapers scattered across the floor. She hadn’t meant to pick them up, but noticed the bottommost item wasn’t a newspaper at all — it was a contract, precisely the advertisement contract for “Xili Pear Juice.”

Wen Tingli looked closely and saw that it listed only Lu Shicheng as Party A and some XX advertising company as Party B — nowhere from start to finish was there the name “Yu Peiling.” It was drafted for filming some still-life advertisements, nothing more.

Lu Shicheng waited until she’d finished reading, then spoke: “Finished reading?”

The smile in Wen Tingli’s heart immediately climbed onto her face — she could only blame Chen Maoqing for being such a good actor, having even fooled her into believing a piece of fake news.

She still leaned against the car door, glancing sidelong at him: “Actually, there’s one more thing I came to find you about tonight. Yesterday I went to Principal Zou’s house — her A’Xi said she loved my film very much, and told me her movie ticket had been delivered by Steward Xu.”

Lu Shicheng didn’t respond.

“That’s when I learned Steward Xu also enjoys watching art films.” She watched every subtle change on his face without blinking. “But I remember very clearly — once when I went to Wushi Middle School to visit Principal Zou, I ran into Steward Xu, and he didn’t even know my film had already wrapped filming.

“Which shows Steward Xu isn’t at all aware of my affairs, nor does he care about film industry news. Someone else bought that ticket.”

Lu Shicheng couldn’t help but open his mouth, but Wen Tingli extended her index finger and pressed it against his lips.

“Shh.”

She looked at him with bright, sparkling eyes: “I never said it was Mr. Lu. If Mr. Lu happens to know this low-key fan of mine, would you please pass along a message for me: thank him for his attention and support.”

She winked playfully, and while he watched her, gently closed the door.