8:30 PM, private room 2021.

Tonight was a celebration banquet for a film’s box office success. The producer had invited the main creative team and investors, among whom the largest investor was Yu Jiaze. He’d originally declined the invitation but then notified them last minute he’d attend, which drove the producer into a panic. The entire table of dishes already ordered was scrapped, and the hotel was told to remake everything—every dish spicy, the spicier the better.

The table full of bright red chili oil made everyone’s faces turn ashen. One clueless newcomer still didn’t know what was happening and complained quietly to his companion: “Is the producer crazy? Not considering everyone’s preferences at all! Everything’s spicy, and all abnormally spicy. Who can eat this?”

“The big shot who’s about to arrive can eat it.”

“What decrepit old man? Eating this spicy—watch him drop dead!”

He wanted to continue complaining when his companion twisted his arm to signal him to shut up. He followed his companion’s gaze—the private room door opened, and a man in a brown wool coat walked in with his arm around a woman’s slim waist.

He was instinctively drawn to the woman—wasn’t this Wu Man, who’d recently won the Golden Image Award for Best Actress and was currently riding high?

She wore a low-cut champagne dress, but strangely the hem had been cut open.

He felt thirsty and unconsciously took a drink of water, his gaze still lingering on the paradise beneath her skirt—because of the high slit, you could see half-concealed black lace stockings, the elastic bands digging into her full thighs, creating a ring of red marks that deepened with her movement.

Yet everything else about her was cool and proper, which made that bit of black, white, and red especially eye-catching. Like a black mass whispered in a church, like cigarettes offered at a Buddhist shrine alongside incense, like a forbidden temptation that drew people like moths to flame.

How seductive. He cursed inwardly, suddenly feeling an extremely oppressive gaze press down from above.

He looked up—it was that man from before, looking at him with a half-smile. He immediately sat up straight, not knowing why, as if his body’s instinct was warning him.

His companion glanced at his rigid expression and said quietly: “That’s the decrepit old man you mentioned—Yu Jiaze.”

The water caught in his throat. He choked violently twice. Yu Jiaze’s gaze made him afraid to meet his eyes. Even with just peripheral vision, he could sense what kind of man this was—one who made others feel ashamed of themselves.

He prided himself on living by his looks, but compared to Yu Jiaze, his face suddenly became nothing worth showing. Yet for Yu Jiaze, his face was the least noteworthy thing about him.

Only someone like this could probably possess Wu Man.

The world’s most precious artwork rightfully belonged in the hands of the most distinguished collector. He didn’t even dare feel jealous.

When Wu Man was ushered into the private room by Yu Jiaze wearing that revealing dress, her stomach began to ache nervously. Seeing that table full of spicy dishes, the smile on her face became very difficult to maintain. The way everyone’s gazes slid over her legs made her feel an uncontrollable humiliation.

She feigned composure, dismissing all the stares.

Yu Jiaze considerately caressed her waist, then in the next second pressed down forcefully to make her sit, smiling: “Help me taste-test the food.”

He rotated the lazy Susan, turning the spiciest dish in front of Wu Man.

Wu Man locked eyes with him for a few seconds, then without furrowing her brow ate large mouthfuls. The chili peppers burned all the way down her esophagus into her stomach. She suppressed the cough rising up, her chest heaving continuously.

“Looks quite delicious.” Yu Jiaze said lightly. “If it’s good, finish the whole plate.”

He stopped looking at Wu Man and sat down to chat and laugh with the people beside him.

On his left was a pot-bellied executive surnamed Xu. He’d also invested in this film, though only a small share. Yu Jiaze and he were old acquaintances who often ran into each other at these wine-filled banquets.

He poured wine for Yu Jiaze, fawning: “This is vintage wine I brought—I don’t know if it suits your taste.”

Yu Jiaze took a light sip: “Quite good.”

“If you like it, you can take a bottle when you leave.” Executive Xu glanced at Wu Man, still eating with her head down—her lips bright red, even redder than the food.

He unconsciously licked his lips: “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you bring Miss Wu to events in a long time. I thought you’d grown tired of her.”

“Then you really don’t understand me. My things—I won’t let others touch even a finger.” Yu Jiaze said regretfully. “Only when I’m almost tired of them do I bring them to these occasions to share resources.”

“This…”

Executive Xu’s gaze drifted to Wu Man.

Yu Jiaze raised his wine glass, making an inviting gesture.

Executive Xu smiled knowingly: “Women—when they get older they really aren’t fun anymore. I’ve newly signed several models. If you’re interested, you can take them along with the wine.”

Yu Jiaze didn’t respond, just drank his wine sip by sip.

Sitting beside them, Wu Man heard their entire conversation. Whether because of the words or the chili peppers, an urge to vomit surged up her throat.

She hastily stood up: “I’m going to the restroom.”

Rushing into the bathroom, Wu Man clutched the toilet and vomited violently. She’d prepared for the audition early that morning, too stressed to eat. Before eating the spicy food, she’d eaten nothing—her stomach couldn’t handle it.

By the end, she felt like she’d vomited out even her bile before climbing up from the floor, completely drained.

She stared directly at her pale reflection in the mirror—clothes disheveled, stained with vomit, lips slightly swollen.

How pathetic.

Wu Man showed her reflection a mocking smile, then carefully cleaned herself up bit by bit, plastering on an invincible facade before returning to the suffocating private room.

Until the celebration banquet ended, Yu Jiaze didn’t speak another word to Wu Man.

Executive Xu had observed all evening and finally relaxed. When Wu Man stood up to get her bag, he sidled up behind her and tucked his business card into her low-cut dress.

His greasy tone mixed with alcohol sprayed directly at Wu Man’s ear: “Although you’re getting old and secondhand goods, I’m very generous—I don’t mind at all if you come find me later… I wonder what it feels like to sleep with a Best Actress?”

In Wu Man’s line of sight, she only saw Yu Jiaze leaning against the doorway, watching casually and coldly from the sidelines.

“Then I’ll thank Executive Xu in advance.”

She tucked the business card into her bag, walked to Yu Jiaze’s side, and stared at him: “Are you satisfied?”

The atmosphere froze. The people around saw the situation going south and fled one after another, thoughtfully closing the door behind them.

Yu Jiaze slid his hand into her hair, rubbing slowly with his thumb: “See? Without my protection, that’s your fate. Getting groped by disgusting old men, and still having to smile graciously.”

Wu Man remained silent.

“Do you know you were wrong?”

Wu Man clenched her palms: “How is an actor trying to compete for a good role wrong?”

Yu Jiaze’s hand suddenly tightened, grabbing her hair and pulling her close, nose to nose.

“Looks like I’ve really spoiled you too much. An actor? You’re first and foremost something I keep. Don’t forget your priorities.”

Wu Man’s scalp ached. She turned her face away and bit her swollen lower lip.

“If you’d discussed this role properly with me, would I have stopped you?” Yu Jiaze slowly released his grip, his cold knuckles sliding down her cheek to her lips to caress them. “But the prerequisite is that kissing scenes must use angles. Bed scenes must use body doubles.”

These words were tantamount to killing the opportunity. How could Wang Cheng possibly allow his actors to fake it, especially with such an emotionally intense script—kissing and bed scenes all had to be filmed delicately. Cutting corners wasn’t an option.

She felt somewhat desperate inside, but on second thought, she probably wouldn’t get this role anyway. There was no need to throw eggs at a rock and add fuel to the fire by confronting Yu Jiaze now. Better to agree first. Otherwise who knew how he’d go crazy.

She forced an ugly smile: “Fine.”

Yu Jiaze pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, used it to wrap around her handbag’s handle, and tossed it far into the trash can.

“That bag is dirty. I’ll buy you a new one.”

The velvet handbag’s clasp came loose mid-flight. That business card flew out with it, fluttering lightly to the ground.

Before leaving, Yu Jiaze removed his coat for her: “Cover up quickly—you haven’t exposed enough?”

…You’re the one who forced me to wear it, psycho.

Wu Man didn’t dare say another word, silently putting it on.

Yu Jiaze examined her twice, frowned, then suddenly scooped her up horizontally, yanked off the coat that nearly dragged on the ground, and covered her legs with it from above, carrying her out of the private room like this.

At the time, Wu Man was anxious to settle the matter and didn’t anticipate that just a few days later, Wang Cheng would personally arrange to meet her.

He smiled as he spread the complete script for “Spring Night” before her.

“Wu Man, you are the Deng Lizhi we envisioned.”

She was completely stunned.

“…We?”

“Me, the screenwriter, the producer.” Wang Cheng paused. “And Zhui Ye.”

Wu Man almost thought she’d heard wrong. That Zhui Ye who was so prejudiced he’d practically pointed at her nose and said “I look down on you”—among so many excellent actresses, he’d actually chosen her specifically?

Wang Cheng extended his hand to her: “‘Sinful Son’ was a bit of a shame—we didn’t take home the Palme d’Or. But I’m completely confident about ‘Spring Night.’ It will be my masterpiece, and yours too.”

Wu Man stared blankly at those hands, like Buddha’s divine palm—whether calamity or destiny, she didn’t know.

She didn’t immediately agree. Thinking of Yu Jiaze’s crazy behavior a few days ago still made her uneasy. She said she needed to think it over carefully.

After returning, she reviewed all of Wang Cheng’s works and interviews again. He’d graduated with a master’s in directing from the Film Academy. His first directed film made it to theaters and won him Best New Director at the Golden Horse Awards that year. With this halo, when his future in commercial films looked bright, he suddenly collaborated with an independent film producer, taking a bold unconventional path to shoot the niche films he truly wanted to make.

Facts proved he’d bet correctly. Now no domestic director could surpass him in artistic achievement.

Should she also take an unconventional gamble? Opportunities didn’t always favor people. Wu Man was very clear that getting this role with her current level was truly hitting the jackpot.

Her mind was in chaos. On her computer screen, a video of Wang Cheng leading the “Sinful Son” cast to the Cannes Film Festival played on loop.

This short red carpet was a place every filmmaker had to spend a long time to reach.

Standing beside Wang Cheng was Zhui Ye, nearly two heads taller, his permed curls swept back, wearing a sharp black suit but not properly tying his bow tie—the white shirt underneath had two buttons undone. Spirited and radiant, with a bit of excitement and a bit of immaturity, like a little prince.

Reporters swarmed around, interviewing Zhui Ye: “After winning Best Actor, what’s your biggest feeling?”

He thought for a moment and said: “The trip was worthwhile.”

Thank heavens he didn’t say “watered-down award”—otherwise Wu Man would really jealously add him to an assassination list.

“Did you gain a lot? Can you elaborate?”

He gave a thumbs up: “The oysters at that French restaurant diagonally across from the Palais des Festivals were really delicious.” He blinked lightly at the camera. “Will this interview be translated into French? Let the owner see it and give me a discount next time. I just gave them free advertising.”

“…?” The reporter wiped away cold sweat. “You’ve already planned your next visit.”

“Of course. Cannes won’t invite me just once.”

So certain, revealing an audacity that made people gasp. Yet you couldn’t help but believe him—he truly had that kind of capital.

Another reporter popped up, firing questions: “You displayed such acting skill in your debut work—did you receive any training?”

“Never studied it.” He said casually. “But Director Wang says I’m method acting, because I make everything real.”

Wu Man’s eyelid twitched in front of the screen.

She looked down at the “Spring Night” script Wang Cheng had given her, which involved numerous kissing scenes and also bed scenes…

If she took it, could she avoid these scenes?

Wu Man’s already indecisive heart became even more chaotic.