Upon returning to the company from Beijing, Xi Tang heard colleagues in the office saying, “The drama has finished airing, but popularity hasn’t increased.”
Xi Tang smiled and sat to the side. “The Last Hesuo Princess” was broadcast on CCTV-4’s drama channel, not considered a mainstream channel among young people in China. The audience was mostly women over forty.
The female lead wasn’t well-known, and the male lead wasn’t considered a young idol, so fewer young people watched it, resulting in less online discussion.
A publicity colleague sitting at the computer smiled at her: “Xi Tang, middle-aged and elderly aunties like you.”
Xi Tang replied cheerfully: “That’s quite good too.”
Ni Kailun’s assistant poked her head out and called Xi Tang into the office.
Xi Tang entered Ni Kailun’s office to find Su Yan there, asking Ni Kailun: “Should we stir up some romance rumors?”
Ni Kailun shook her head: “Yang Yilin has a bad reputation. Don’t invite trouble. Let’s wait and see at the end of the year.”
Su Yan agreed, picked up her coffee, and left with jingling bracelets.
Xi Tang sat on the sofa signing several work contracts the company had arranged for her. She was resting recently, with no new drama shooting yet.
Ni Kailun asked: “How’s the script memorization coming along?”
This was her strong point. Xi Tang answered confidently: “Almost done.”
Ni Kailun reminded her: “Remember to attend your vocal class this afternoon.”
Xi Tang responded with a “Yes” while focusing on writing.
Ni Kailun browsed files on her computer by the desk: “There are many event invitations at the end of the year. Choose dresses early. Fashion Week has already ended, and next year’s spring trends are out. Look at clothes from various brands first. I’ll contact them to see if we can get more brand sponsorships.”
Xi Tang prevented her from being blindly optimistic: “Mommy, it’s my first time as a female lead. Whether I can win an award is hard to say.”
Ni Kailun said fiercely: “This drama is good. Half the year has already passed, and none of the dramas released are decent. In the second half, Zhang Zhiyin has one that follows the idol drama route—whether it can surpass yours remains to be seen. Besides, if I don’t have this level of ability, all my years of accumulation in this circle would be wasted.”
Xi Tang knew that in career matters, Ni Kailun had always been more ambitious and had better planning than her. This year’s three major TV awards, with the earliest evaluation in October continuing until the end of the year—”The Last Hesuo Princess” was a major drama. If Xi Tang could win any of the Best Actress awards, the caliber of her future roles and her remuneration would all rise to a higher level.
Ni Kailun beckoned her from the desk.
Xi Tang stood up and walked over.
Ni Kailun pointed to the desktop: “Several new scripts have arrived, two of which are films. Take a look first.”
Xi Tang picked up the stack of scripts and asked: “Are the film scripts good?”
“I haven’t read them,” Ni Kailun said, signing several documents while bent over. “The investment is average, and the male leads haven’t been decided yet.”
Xi Tang responded with a dull “Oh.”
Seeing that the matters had been arranged, Ni Kailun signaled Xi Tang to pour her coffee. She came over and sat on the sofa: “Don’t worry. Hundreds of films are released each year. Choose slowly, and there will be good ones. I’ve seen many stars, but good actors need tempering. People age, but works are eternal. Xi Tang, I will push you to become someone whose name will remain in this industry—” Ni Kailun paused, switching to Cantonese, “remembered for generations.”
Ni Kailun was extremely strict in managing her subordinates, with rigorous training for artists’ physique, demeanor, and professional ethics. Every artist under her complained about living a life worse than death. Even Huang Xi Tang, who had struggled from the bottom for several years, sometimes felt she was being driven crazy. The words Kailun spoke to her most often were about work, investment, sponsors, and eating less.
In her impression, she had never discussed acting with her.
At that moment, Xi Tang suddenly felt tears almost welling up in her eyes.
“Wow,” Xi Tang exclaimed exaggeratedly before crying out loud, “that’s powerful.”
Ni Kailun hugged her, laughing.
Xi Tang lay on her shoulder, laughing until tears rolled down.
Such is life.
Crying and laughing, emotions useless.
The last time she returned from Beijing, she had a major emotional breakdown, crying until her legs went weak and her eyes swelled like peaches. The desolation in her heart surged wave after wave. When she got off the plane and into the company car, Ni Kailun gave her two hard slaps on the back, hitting Xi Tang until her spine went numb and her ears buzzed. She still heard her angrily scolding: “When you’re paid one hundred thousand per episode, you cry your heart out in front of the camera. Without a camera, what the hell are you crying for!”
After the summer solstice, Hengdian experienced several rainfalls.
The canopy of the set was soaked, so they decided to shoot rain scenes instead. Xi Tang, suspended by wires, repeatedly practiced action sequences with the main villain in mid-air. Finally, the director called cut and replaced her with a stunt double. Xi Tang was helped down by her assistant, removing her heavy costume and wringing out the wet water.
After filming, her body was sticky all over, with underwear soaked by rain and sweat. It wasn’t convenient to shower on set, so she changed clothes, and the car took the actors back to town.
The evening rain had stopped. Xi Tang got off at the intersection. A Kuan carried her large backpack used for filming. Xi Tang walked with her head down through the bustling street, turned a corner at the street end, and climbed the half slope where she lived.
She still lived in that Hengdian house.
Xi Tang had also rented the adjoining room on that floor. Usually, her assistant stayed with her, and sometimes her mother came to visit.
A Kuan, holding her arm, suddenly said excitedly: “Sister, look, the moon is so beautiful.”
Xi Tang looked up at the sky. The night in Hengdian presented a dim deep blue. Thick clouds rolled, with a full moon in between.
Early autumn had arrived, but the night air was still stuffy. The two stood on the slope, looking up at the moon.
Looking into the distance, Xi Tang could still see a dim yellow street lamp beside the residential building. Insects danced in the light and a row of cars parked messily along the road.
At that moment, the deepest blood vessel in her heart suddenly pulsed gently.
At the sloped intersection under the light, there was once a person standing there waiting for her.
In her memory, he was sometimes exceptionally vivid. She could still clearly remember how he looked that day—tall and thin, wearing white pants and a black polo shirt, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette, slightly frowning with impatience. When he saw her walking from the corner, a slightly mocking smile appeared on his lips.
Sometimes the memory faded, and she couldn’t recall his features clearly, as if separated by a layer of mist.
For a brief moment of recollection, there was a thin, sharp pain.
Xi Tang didn’t reject this feeling. He would no longer exist in her life. This slight pain was the only memory he had left her.
When she returned to Hengdian in June, one night Xi Tang was sleeping hazily and began to dream. In the dream, she received a phone call.
Zhao Pingjin said to her on the phone, “Xi Tang, I’m sorry.”
She thought it was a dream. In her haziness, she was about to fall back asleep when she suddenly woke up and realized it was real.
The air conditioner had stopped at some point, and she had sweated all over. Tear marks remained at the corners of her eyes.
Looking at the alarm clock by the bed, it was ten past four in the morning.
What else was said on the phone, she couldn’t remember at all. She only remembered Zhao Pingjin’s “I’m sorry.” Xi Tang suspected that even this sentence was her dream. How could such a proud person say sorry to her for no reason?
The next day, Xi Tang got up and rummaged through her house, finding her script supervisor’s notebook from last year’s work.
Previously, in the company’s film crew, she had been the script supervisor. She had kept a copy of all her work notebooks.
Looking at the date, she discovered that last night was exactly the anniversary of the day he came to Hengdian to see her.
A full year had passed.
Xi Tang crouched in her rental house, staring at her phone for a very long time. Finally, she raised her hand and deleted that call record.
For the Mid-Autumn Festival, the crew was given half a day off.
Xi Tang returned to Shanghai. Her mother invited Dr. Xie, who had no family to reunite in a foreign land, to their home for dinner.
Xie Zhenbang brought gifts.
A large bouquet for Xi Tang, a box of chocolates, and a luxury brand box for the elderly.
Xi Tang’s mother opened it to find a beautiful silk scarf.
Ni Kailun also came, leaned over to look, and said with a smile: “Oh, Dr. Xie is so courteous.”
Xie Zhenbang smiled and replied: “Thank you, Miss Ni.”
With Ni Kailun at the dinner table, there was no shortage of liveliness. Xi Tang rarely ate until she was eighty percent full. Xie Zhenbang voluntarily accompanied her mother to wash the dishes but was sent back to the living room.
Xi Tang politely entertained the guest: “Have you been busy lately?”
Having not seen him for a while, Xie Zhenbang seemed a bit shy facing her: “Not bad. I was asking Miss Ni if I could visit the set.”
Xi Tang said: “Sure, I can take you around Hengdian.”
Xie Zhenbang happily asked: “Won’t it interfere with your work?”
Xi Tang smiled: “You should ask Miss Ni about that.”
Ni Kailun didn’t hesitate, taking out her phone to make a note: “I’ll have her assistant check tomorrow which day she has fewer scenes.”
Xi Tang tilted her head to look at Ni Kailun: “Why did you eat so many sweet and sour ribs today? Don’t you usually dislike sweet things?”
Ni Kailun replied while checking her phone: “I don’t eat them to maintain my figure. Today I don’t have time to watch you. You ate even more than me, how dare you question me?”
Xi Tang quickly shut up.
She had been at the film set for a while and hadn’t seen her much. Xi Tang tilted her head, looking left and right, feeling something was a bit off about her.