Right after she posted, Zhao Boyu’s relentless phone calls came flooding in.

“Auntie, what are you trying to pull now?”

“Just teaching a certain child who doesn’t know their place a lesson.”

“This is a kid who just debuted and already crushed veteran actors, constantly trending and overshadowing traffic stars! We don’t need to make an enemy of him!”

Wu Man casually scrolled through the blurry photo taken by a marketing account—the quality was poor, but you could still clearly see He Huiyu looking drunk, being half-carried out of a car by Zhui Ye.

“It’s not really making enemies. I’m just reminding someone that they shouldn’t have a love-addled brain, especially in the entertainment industry. Sticking up for a rumored girlfriend by badmouthing the competition behind their back is the lowest behavior.”

“You’re right about that, but we did win this award somewhat questionably, and publicly challenging him like this isn’t the most appropriate approach…”

“Manager Zhao.”

Zhao Boyu fell silent. He knew when Wu Man addressed him this way, she was angry.

“What a shame you couldn’t experience managing a genius—must be exhausting worrying about everything, right? Here’s some news for you: I heard Zhui Ye doesn’t have an agent yet.”

She hung up immediately after.

Wu Man’s brief satisfaction from fighting back was completely dispelled by this call. She opened Weibo—the top trending topic had already changed to #WuManFingerSlipped. Fans and haters were battling in the comments below.

@BigMouthHippoStopBeingDespicable: Beauty got it so bad, whether it’s the red carpet or the awards, which one didn’t she dominate over Hippo? Besides robbing the cradle, what else can Hippo do? The boy toy she found is really classless—his mom opened the door for classlessness—classless to the max. What, when Beauty wins an award it’s watered-down, but it would only be legitimate if his girlfriend won?

@DidWuBuyBuyAnAwardToday: Tonight’s first laugh—He Huiyu only knows how to rob the cradle? Everyone with eyes can see who only knows how to rely on men! She can even buy her way to the Golden Image Awards—Wu Buy is truly impressive.

@ChasingWildfire: Black Chicken Mackerel, can you two families stop dragging Zhui Ye into your fights?! Without bringing up your daddy, there’s no traffic, right? How many times has it been clarified that Zhui Ye was just politely escorting a senior home as a junior? One picture starts it, rumors fly from one mouth, refutations run your legs off. Please pay more attention to the Cannes Best Actor’s work, thank you!

@NetizenXiaoZhang: No way, no way, can the Best Actor’s fans really whitewash by seizing every opportunity? He’s only been in the industry for so long and has already been linked to practically every rising star and top actress. He’s clearly a playboy butterfly but trying to maintain a restrained good boy image—the public aren’t blind. “Politely escorting seniors home”—then why did he speak so arrogantly about Senior Wu Man? Talk about “selective politeness.”

The more Wu Man read, the worse her expression became. What should have been a beautiful last stand tonight had been stirred into murky waters by this unexpected troublemaker.

She hated this newly crowned Best Actor she’d never even met from the bottom of her heart.

Back at the hotel, Wu Man forced herself through exhaustion to take a bath, drowsily falling asleep in the bathtub, only to be startled awake by a phone call.

The caller ID showed Yu Jiaze.

Her drowsiness immediately dissipated by half. She pressed speakerphone, and the man’s voice came through unhurriedly.

“I’ve been calling for ten minutes.”

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”

“I’ve been waiting for more than just these ten minutes.”

He was referring to her not replying to that “ten-year anniversary gift” WeChat message.

“You kept me hanging for a month. A few hours of not replying is pretty light reciprocation, don’t you think?”

“Little liar, you clearly used me and then tossed me aside.” Yu Jiaze seemed to be loosening his tie—rustling sounds came through the receiver along with his lazy voice. “The title of Golden Image Awards Best Actress—do you like this gift?”

Wu Man hummed: “If you hadn’t made me guess in terror, I would have liked it more.”

“Isn’t it interesting when you suddenly find hope just when you thought there was none?” His tone was gentle and soft. “The award itself doesn’t matter—I just wanted to see your surprise.”

The water had gone cold. Wu Man shivered.

“Actually, if you had asked me, I would have told you.” He sighed softly. “Too bad you just wouldn’t come find me. If I kept not looking for you either, would you just assume I was dead and have my epitaph written already?”

She scoffed: “Don’t talk nonsense about dying.”

He laughed: “Are you worried about me?”

“It’s just inauspicious.”

Yu Jiaze’s tone became cheerful: “Don’t worry. Whether I die tomorrow or at a hundred years old, the last place I go will definitely be by your side.”

Wu Man found it amusing.

Every year there were rumors that Yu Jiaze had broken up with her, especially after she turned thirty—the pessimistic voices grew louder. As if women over thirty had to be forced to step down, replaced by younger, more beautiful ones.

But in reality, Yu Jiaze’s controlling tendencies grew worse year by year. That sweet phrase on the phone sounded nice at first, but translated bluntly, it was chilling.

“The last place I go will definitely be by your side”… Wasn’t that just saying, even as a ghost I won’t let you go?

The next day’s flight was in the evening, but Wu Man still woke up very early.

Her sleep had been fragmentary and poor all these years—she always slept at different times, in different beds, but fortunately didn’t have to sleep with different people.

She’d been with Yu Jiaze since a year after her debut. Back then she was twenty-one, possessing nothing but her looks. Yu Jiaze was twenty-six, possessing not just looks but everything.

Countless people wanted to climb into his bed, regardless of status or gender, scheming to meet him, calling out seductively, “Young Master Yu.”

But when she first met Yu Jiaze, she stiffly said “Hello” instead.

Yu Jiaze glanced over casually, examining her with disinterest, and asked: “Are you made of wood?”

Wu Man stammered: “If you take apart the character for ‘you’ (您), you (你) are elevated above the heart. That’s what you are.”

“Little girl, you’re quite corny.” Yu Jiaze laughed. “But it’s kind of cute.”

When everyone thought she had no chance, he asked: “What’s your name?”

“Wu Man—a crow flying out from the vines.”

He looked thoughtful: “Crows are so inauspicious. I’ll call you Little Bird instead.”

Back then everyone thought they were just a fleeting romance. After all, before Wu Man, the longest anyone had lasted with Yu Jiaze was no more than ten days.

Who could have imagined ten days would stretch into ten years? She was bound to Yu Jiaze’s side, witnessing him go from being called “Young Master Yu” to “Mr. Yu.”

And she still always addressed him as “you” (formal).

Wu Man went downstairs to the hotel gym for her routine hour of exercise. When she returned to her room, she saw Zhao Boyu, who should have been thousands of miles away, waiting at her door.

He had a mournful expression: “Auntie, I’ve traveled all this way to apologize—please don’t be angry anymore.”

Wu Man didn’t respond, just opened the door and went inside, but the open door still revealed a bit of her attitude. Zhao Boyu let out a long breath and quickly entered, pushing a stack of paper script outlines in front of Wu Man.

“As soon as news of your win came out, so many people contacted me about collaborations. I spent all night picking out some decent outlines and rushed to personally deliver them to you. See if any interest you.”

Wu Man finally deigned to speak: “Alright, let me look.”

Zhao Boyu sat patiently waiting, observing as she flipped through them one by one, her expression growing increasingly disinterested.

“Reject them all.”

“Auntie, these are the top-tier opportunities right now—major productions, huge traffic. You look down on all of these? What do you want?”

What did she want?

Wu Man froze for a moment, then suddenly fiddled with her phone and tossed it over without a word. Zhao Boyu caught it clumsily. On the screen was her Douban filmography page.

“Look at these works—which one isn’t a major production with huge traffic? But which one scored over 8 points?” Wu Man’s smile was sarcastic. “So what if I won the Golden Image Award? What comes my way is still the same as before—is that interesting?”

“The emptiness in these, you and I, the production companies, even many fans all know. You’re deluding yourself thinking one Golden Image Award will take you to the next level? Even if you get angry, I have to tell you: dream on.” Zhao Boyu said seriously. “Unless you can win a higher-caliber award that leaves everyone speechless.”

“The Golden Image Awards are already top-tier domestically.”

“Who says we have to limit ourselves domestically?” Zhao Boyu hesitated for a moment, then gritted his teeth and pulled out another separate script from his bag, placing it on Wu Man’s desk. “Take a look at this one.”

Wu Man had little interest in his mysterious presentation, lazily leaning back in her chair to flip through it—page after page—but her body gradually straightened.

She looked up: “What’s the situation with this script?”

Zhao Boyu’s heart tightened. He knew it.

“This script isn’t from someone seeking us out—I specifically sought it out, and it requires an audition. Because it’s the new work from the director of ‘Sinful Son,’ still aiming for the Palme d’Or. This is a truly rare opportunity, but for you it’s too difficult a choice.”

“Why?”

“There are many kissing scenes, and also bed scenes.”

“…”

“How could a truly good script avoid this aspect of human desire? But you couldn’t accept that before. What you could accept was limited—restricted scripts, no good directors to guide you, no good actors to perform opposite—the fact that you’ve grown to your current level is already the limit.”

He couldn’t see Wu Man’s expression because she’d turned her chair around, facing the thick curtains, showing only a dark red back of her head.

“Xiao Man, I never thought you weren’t a naturally talented actress. Quite the opposite—you’re very spiritually gifted, otherwise how could I have spotted you at first glance? We’ve been together all these years. I know you’re unwilling to settle, and I know you’ve always wanted to break through, so I thought about it all night and still brought this script over. The final choice is yours.”

“…You brought this behind Yu Jiaze’s back.” Wu Man reminded him. “If I take it, you’ll also be implicated.”

“Of course I know that.” He paused. “But if I could personally cultivate a Cannes Best Actress, my career would be complete.”

Wu Man turned around. A corner of the outline had already been crushed in her grip.

“Brother Zhao, thank you.”

Zhao Boyu was momentarily dazed—when was the last time Wu Man called him Brother Zhao? Five years ago? Eight years ago?

She said softly: “Help me make contact. I want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Let’s try—who knows, maybe they won’t even like me.” Wu Man dug at her palm. “But before the audition, Yu Jiaze absolutely cannot find out.”

Zhao Boyu made the arrangements secretly and notified Wu Man of the audition time and location. He said the competition would be fierce. Only when Wu Man arrived at the scene did she realize he’d still understated it—too many A-list actresses were waiting, practically a flashback to the awards ceremony backstage.

She spotted He Huiyu among them, and He Huiyu saw her too, looking surprised.

“Why are you here?”

“Why couldn’t I be here?”

“Didn’t you read the outline? Mr. Yu allows you to take on something with this level of content?” She raised an eyebrow. “Oh right, he probably doesn’t need to worry about it since you won’t get this role anyway.”

“A stray dog shouldn’t bark at my door—it’s quite noisy.”

Wu Man walked past her and sat in the farthest corner, carefully studying the audition scene the staff had distributed.

The story was called “Spring Night,” happening on a spring evening along with a rainstorm.

The female lead was a thirty-three-year-old housewife who had maintained a sexless marriage with her husband for eight years. They had no children. Though she could feel her husband still loved her, their life was like a stranded boat spinning in place. Until that night, when her husband brought an eighteen-year-old boy home, saying he needed to stay with them temporarily to prepare for college entrance exams, and hoping his wife would take good care of him.

The tidal wave arrived. The boat capsized.

The audition requirement was this initial meeting scene.

The waiting room door opened. Director Wang Cheng entered—nearly fifty but full of vigor. Despite already having considerable prestige, he still bowed to everyone.

“Thank you all for being willing to spare time to audition. Since I’ve already decided on the male lead for this production, I simply brought him along today. You’ll perform opposite him.”

Wu Man looked up toward the doorway, her heart sinking.

“Zhui Ye.” The director called out.

He walked in. The moment he removed his mask, Wu Man thought of many things—

Splashing waterfalls, exploding fireworks, starting lines at gunfire, wildfire burning across plains, summer lightning strikes… He shared the same quality with them—vigorous, colliding, wildly uncontrollable.

And these were precisely the things she hated most right now.