Xi Tang walked out of the Song Manor Horse Farm and saw Zhao Ping Jin wearing a black down jacket and blue jeans, standing outside the fence waving at her.
When Xi Tang had received his call, she’d checked the time. Zhao Ping Jin truly arrived after eleven o’clock. When Xi Tang had spoken with him earlier, she had deliberately pushed the time back a bit. By then, the morning horseback riding scene had already been filmed, and the crew was preparing to shoot the second scene—her vocal practice scene with the second male lead, Dong Ge, beside the old Dongzhimen moat.
In the script, the old Dongzhimen outer moat was described as misty with colorful clouds, desolate and uninhabited. Where in today’s Beijing could one find such a treasure? The director had brought everyone to the Chaobai River. Here, the wild landscape stretched endlessly, the water was still, and a row of misty trees lined the shore, maintaining somewhat of the ancient capital’s old charm.
Zhao Ping Jin saw her and asked, “Finished filming?”
Xi Tang nodded.
Seeing that she was perfectly fine, Zhao Ping Jin didn’t concern himself with what scene she was shooting and directly handed her his car keys: “Go to my car and get the things I brought for your colleagues.”
Xi Tang walked past the row of crew vehicles. Along the way, villagers who had gathered to watch stared at her. Xi Tang knew her appearance was strange—she was wrapped in a long white down jacket with her hair styled in two soft wing buns. An older woman wearing a light blue cotton jacket stopped her and asked, “Miss, who’s the celebrity?”
Xi Tang pointed to the cordoned-off set: “The celebrities are in there!”
The woman looked her up and down: “Young lady, you’re so pretty. You must be a celebrity too, right?”
Xi Tang asked with a grin: “Auntie, do I look like one?”
The group of older women replied in unison: “Yes!”
Xi Tang chuckled foolishly. She pressed Zhao Ping Jin’s key fob several times before finally finding his car. In the backseat were several large bags of coffee, still hot.
She hadn’t expected him to allow beverages with such a strong scent in his car. Xi Tang remembered how many years ago, she had eaten ice cream in his car, and the cream had dripped from her fingers onto the seat. He had gritted his teeth and turned away, unable to bear the sight but not daring to protest. He had severe cleanliness issues with both his car and home, unable to tolerate even a speck of dust. Just because he indulged her eating in the car, Zhao Ping Jin had changed cars particularly frequently during those two years. Word eventually reached the old man’s ears. Reportedly, despite being in Beijing for so many years, the elders still maintained the revolutionary tradition of frugality and couldn’t stand to see the younger generation being so extravagant. Zhao Ping Jin had been summoned and given a thorough lecture.
By now, it seemed many things no longer mattered to either of them.
She carried two bags back with her left hand.
Xi Tang took a few steps back, then paused, reconsidered, and returned to Zhao Ping Jin’s car. She stood beside it and kicked the tire with her foot.
This wasn’t the solution.
Xi Tang gave up and carried the coffee back toward the film crew.
From a distance, she saw Zhao Ping Jin standing by the river talking with a man.
Seeing her trudging through the dirty snow, one foot deep and one foot shallow, toward the set, Zhao Ping Jin frowned and called out from afar: “Why are you carrying it yourself?”
The snow was difficult to walk through, and Xi Tang was already out of breath: “Who told you to order me around?”
Zhao Ping Jin wore a hopeless expression: “If I order you around, can’t you order your assistant?”
Xi Tang glared at him and pouted: “I’m not as shameless as you.”
The two were flirting through their banter, making the man beside them laugh heartily: “This young lady looks so familiar. Zhouzi, won’t you introduce us?”
Zhao Ping Jin took the coffee from her and introduced them: “This is Huang Xi Tang. This is Li Zhe, a renowned painter and curator.”
Xi Tang politely greeted him: “Mr. Li.”
The romantic escapades of Beijing’s young gentlemen spread as swiftly as the wind, and Li Zhe had heard something of Zhao Ping Jin’s affairs. He teased: “Haha, I’ve heard so much about you. Truly beautiful! No wonder even the normally aloof Comrade Zhao Zhou Zhou has come to accompany you at work.”
Zhao Ping Jin tacitly agreed without speaking, with a slight smile in his eyes.
Xi Tang felt rather embarrassed: “Please don’t tease me.”
Xi Tang handed the bags of coffee to a crew member passing by.
When she turned back, she heard Li Zhe saying to Zhao Ping Jin: “Zhouzi, when Lang Qian visited last time, I asked about you. It’s truly rare to see your noble self. Do you have time later? Come over and write some calligraphy for my courtyard.”
Zhao Ping Jin casually stepped on some young sprouts buried in the snow: “How can I still write? I haven’t practiced for many years.”
Li Zhe wouldn’t let him off easily: “Your calligraphy is priceless, yet you look down on our profession and won’t even write a few characters. I’ll treat you to good tea. Will you come sit at my place when you’re free?”
Li Zhe bowed to Xi Tang: “Dear sister, could you spare him for a while?”
Zhao Ping Jin looked at Huang Xi Tang.
Gathering friends for entertainment had always been Zhao Ping Jin’s nature; this element was never missing wherever he went. Xi Tang knew she couldn’t control him, so she nodded.
Zhao Ping Jin told her: “I’ll be at Li Zhe’s studio. If anything comes up, send someone to call me.”
Xi Tang sat in a folding chair as the assistant director explained the scene to the second male lead, Li Mo Wen. Xi Tang checked the time: twelve forty.
During the brief rest period that had just ended, she had looked far across the set and seen Zhao Ping Jin’s black car still parked in place. Xi Tang couldn’t help but secretly sigh in relief.
At least it proved Zhao Ping Jin was still here. She had quietly observed his expression today; Zhao Ping Jin appeared relaxed and still had the mood to drink tea with friends. He didn’t seem to have any important matters to attend to. Xi Tang secretly hoped he would linger with his friend a while longer.
Zhao Ping Jin had drunk half a pot of tea in Li Zhe’s studio, chatted for a while, and been forced to write calligraphy. After wasting several sheets of fine paper, he finally produced one that looked decent. Looking back, he saw Li Zhe standing with his arms folded, smiling, while his young assistants had already carefully collected every sheet of paper. Since childhood, he had been sent by his grandfather to learn calligraphy from Master Tian Ji Qing. Master Tian was Li Zhe’s cousin, and later Li Zhe became Fang Lang Qian’s curator. They all had childhood connections.
Zhao Ping Jin bid farewell to Li Zhe and walked out.
Xi Tang came down from the riverbank. The Chaobai River flats were covered with a thin layer of ice, and the river flowed slowly in the center. To capture a more open river scene and use a fresh, otherworldly setting to highlight the romantic sentiments developing between the young princess and the musician Dong Ge during the performance, the crew built a wooden bridge extending into the river from the embankment. Director Feng wanted to capture the artistic effect of clothes fluttering in the wind, so the princess’s costume could only be made of silk. As soon as Xi Tang came down, she was shivering from the cold. Li Mo Wen helped her cross the wooden bridge to the shore, where Little Ning was waiting. She immediately wrapped Xi Tang in a down jacket and crouched down to change her snow boots. Xi Tang removed her embroidered shoes; one foot, stiff from the cold, struggled to fit into the boot. Unsteady on one leg, she involuntarily hopped forward a few steps. Fearing she might fall, Little Ning reached out but missed, and quickly called out: “Hey, hey, sis, be careful!”
Suddenly, someone grabbed Xi Tang from behind.
Zhao Ping Jin stood behind her, firmly holding her arm.
Little Ning looked up in surprise: “…Mr. Zhao?”
Having worked with Wu Zhen Zhen for over a year, she naturally recognized Zhao Ping Jin. Zhao Ping Jin initially didn’t want to acknowledge her, but since she was Huang Xi Tang’s assistant, he reluctantly nodded.
Zhao Ping Jin held Xi Tang by the waist, letting her lean against him. He bent down and directly removed her other shoe, then slipped the snow boot on.
Little Ning stood nearby, stunned, the surprised expression lingering on her face.
Xi Tang gently said to her: “I’ll rest for a while. Call me if anything comes up.”
Little Ning tactfully left.
The two sat down, and Xi Tang poured hot tea from her bag and handed it to him.
Zhao Ping Jin took it and saw Huang Xi Tang screwing the cap back on: “Why aren’t you drinking?”
Xi Tang smiled and said: “If I drink, I’ll need to use the bathroom, and the costume is too troublesome to take on and off.”
Zhao Ping Jin looked at her. Her face was painted red and white, and her delicate features were exquisite and quite beautiful, but the tip of her nose had turned white from the cold. Zhao Ping Jin frowned slightly: “Frozen like this, suffering so much. I told you early on to continue your studies while filming. When you’re young, it doesn’t matter how much you push yourself, but when you get older, you shouldn’t work this hard. Yet you insist on doing this line of work…”
In the next moment, he suddenly turned his head away and stopped speaking.
Xi Tang’s heart trembled slightly. The two of them used to argue about this often. When they argued, Xi Tang would become furious, accusing his family of looking down on people. She knew that in Zhao Ping Jin’s heart, he ultimately wanted the best for her. It was just that at the time, their hatred was so intense that they mutually destroyed all gentleness.
Seeing Huang Xi Tang fall silent, Zhao Ping Jin quickly adjusted his demeanor and asked casually: “Have you had lunch?”
Xi Tang shook her head: “Not for a while yet.”
Zhao Ping Jin looked at his watch; it was already past one. He had official business in the afternoon and told Xi Tang: “I need to go. I have something to do this afternoon.”
From here into the city, the drive would take at most a little over an hour. Xi Tang secretly grew anxious but couldn’t show the slightest trace of it on her face. She could only ask casually: “Will you eat before leaving?”
Zhao Ping Jin handed her the hot tea to warm her hands, stood up, and said: “I’ll eat in the city. I’ll sit for a while and leave when you start filming.”
Xi Tang looked up with a grin and teased: “Indeed, the boxed meals from the set—I wouldn’t dare serve them to Young Master Zhao.”
Unusually, Zhao Ping Jin didn’t get angry but said gently: “I do have something to do.”
At that moment, the assistant director sent the script supervisor to hurry her: “Master Xi, please get ready.”
Zhao Ping Jin helped her stand up: “I’m leaving.”
Xi Tang nodded and followed the script supervisor toward the camera.
As she walked, she discreetly raised her hand and pressed the pocket of her clothes. Today she was wearing the princess’s white embroidered regular front-buttoning outfit. Through the down jacket, she felt again—in the pocket at the bottom of her upper garment, she had hidden a small thin porcelain piece.
Zhao Ping Jin watched her walk into the set, then walked along the riverbank back to the road by the village. Along the way, he heard the photography assistant’s shouts to clear the scene; Huang Xi Tang must have started working. He backed his car out of the temporary parking lane. While turning, he habitually glanced at the rearview mirror.
Suddenly, a scream came from the riverbank beyond the grove of trees.
Zhao Ping Jin was reversing his car when inexplicably, his eyelid suddenly twitched violently, and a chill ran down his back.
He immediately looked back and saw figures by the shore suddenly beginning to move about in panic. Some people ran inside, while others shouted desperately: “Save her first!”
Zhao Ping Jin slammed on the brakes, pulled out his keys, and ran to the embankment. From a distance, he saw the crew’s boom operator extending a long pole into the river, and someone in the water holding up a person in white clothes. Several men lying on the riverbank pulled the two people up.
The small figure in white clothes was dragged up, soaking wet. On the ground, white clotted blood mixed with black mud, leaving a thin, eye-piercing red blood trail.
Zhao Ping Jin ran wildly, his mind buzzing. He rushed over like a madman, feeling a fishy taste rise in his throat.