By the time Wu Man finished reading the entire “Spring Night” script, she realized she’d pulled an all-nighter. The sun hadn’t yet risen, just faintly showing a glimmer of light.

She felt no drowsiness at all. Walking to the balcony, she pulled out a cigarette and bit down on it.

She hadn’t actually smoked in years. The addiction was long gone—it was just a habitual motion. But at this moment, that craving suddenly surged up. She searched the entire room but couldn’t luck into finding a lighter—she didn’t know when Yu Jiaze had thrown them all away. Because he didn’t like the smell of smoke.

Wu Man looked at the script in her palm, unable to suppress the restlessness in her heart.

In all her years as an actress, this was the first time she’d liked a story this much. The humidity between the lines reminded her of the south, the rain that would never stop, flesh about to expire, decay mingled with tenderness.

That stale yet fresh impulse instantly swept through some part deep inside her heart. She hadn’t even known she’d favor this kind of story.

Dawn sang its farewell song, the restless drumbeat pounding on Wu Man’s nerves, her temples throbbing. On this impulse, she sent a message to the director.

She found her own proposal ridiculous. The moment she sent it, she regretted it and wanted to retract it.

But the phone quickly vibrated once. The director had replied.

He said he could agree.

After Zhao Boyu learned she’d actually secured the role of Deng Lizhi, he slapped himself and said: “Am I dreaming?”

“So you fundamentally didn’t believe I could get it?” Wu Man replied perfunctorily. She was busy fiddling with photo editing software, adding mosaics to the photo she’d just taken of the “Spring Night” script.

But she craftily left the character “Spring” visible. After finishing the edit, she posted it on Weibo.

@Wu Man v: All things awakening [breeze emoji]

Zhao Boyu was still shocked: “I don’t believe Yu Jiaze agreed to let you take it. With such a high level of content…”

“He agreed. The prerequisite is that kissing scenes and bed scenes all can’t use my actual body.” Wu Man put down her phone. “Then I persuaded the director.”

“Holy shit, are you sure you’re not making this up?” Zhao Boyu was incredulous. “Wang Cheng has such high standards for films—how could he agree to your absurd demand?”

“Of course it’s because I brought up Yu Jiaze. I told him, since you’ve already chosen me, you must accept my conservative principles regarding intimate scenes, and Yu Jiaze will also invest. Otherwise I’ll whisper in his ear and have Yu Jiaze’s connections hold up his distribution certificate—then he won’t even qualify to participate in film festivals.”

“Really?… Director Wang didn’t have a heart attack from anger?”

Wu Man made it up: “Almost.”

The secret plan she’d calculated with Wang Cheng couldn’t be known by anyone right now.

Xiao Boyu let out a long sigh: “It’s over, you’ve definitely offended Director Wang now. Be careful when you’re filming. Oh right, the male lead for this film is Zhui Ye, right? When you join the crew, don’t clash with him. He is young and spirited after all—don’t stoop to his level.”

Wu Man’s mind suddenly flashed to his incredibly serious gaze, penetrating through the camera lens to look at her, saying, “I make everything real.”

She said absentmindedly: “You should worry about yourself first. Yu Jiaze will come deal with you in a couple days.”

The phone on the table vibrated nonstop after she posted on Weibo. Online discussions were already boiling over.

A certain marketing account broke the news: “The script Wu Man just posted on Weibo is Wang Cheng’s new work, the male lead has been confirmed as Zhui Ye.”

Comments flooded in below.

“No appointment without official announcement. Our Zhui Ye hasn’t made any moves. He’s not bound to Director Wang after just one film, okay? Stop dragging the handsome guy into this.”

“Hilarious—Wu Buy with that acting, Wang Cheng would like her? If it’s really his script, it can only mean Wang Cheng was also bought off. The domestic entertainment industry has no hope left.”

“The gossip blogger is making dirty money with false rumors again. If this is true, I’ll do a handstand and eat shit!”

Opinions varied. Overall, people still didn’t believe Wu Man could actually secure the female lead in a Wang Cheng film.

But He Huiyu knew very clearly. After receiving notice that she hadn’t been selected, she’d been guessing who Wang Cheng had chosen, secretly inquiring around among people she thought were possibilities—everyone said they hadn’t gotten it.

Until she saw Wu Man’s Weibo. That script was clearly “Spring Night.”

She absolutely couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t help thinking sadly—had Wang Cheng also been bought off? Had the industry decayed to this extent?

Within minutes, netizens discovered a new Weibo post from He Huiyu, clearly taking a shot at Wu Man.

@He Huiyu v: All things dead.

Marketing accounts like rats in the gutter immediately mobilized at the scent: “Why is He Huiyu shading Wu Man? Reportedly the new role had been reserved for He Huiyu, but Wu Man forced her way in.”

Another wave of heat stirred below.

“Wu Buy is so shameless, watered-down crow get out of the entertainment industry!”

“Wang Cheng and his new film still want to compete for the Palme d’Or? More like competing for the Golden Broom Award.”

Meanwhile, the shameless watered-down crow they were talking about had already returned to her villa apartment. The cookbook she’d ordered online had arrived. She tied on an apron and began learning to cook.

The female lead of “Spring Night” was a full-time housewife with no job—the only thing she was good at was housework. Wu Man was polar opposite to her on this point. All these years her life had been managed by others, not requiring her personal involvement, and she fundamentally disliked doing these things. In terms of housework, she was a complete novice.

Although the script only had very scattered scene descriptions—perhaps only a few seconds in the final cut—Wu Man felt it necessary to learn seriously.

So in the time before joining the crew, she gave her housekeeper paid leave and took over the villa’s cleaning and three daily meals herself. In her spare time she pondered the script. Yu Jiaze came once during this period and was shocked by her cooking appearance.

He tasted her food and politely spat it out, saying: “Little Bird, did you make bird feed?”

In between, Wu Man also handled several pre-scheduled advertisements and magazine shoots. After the costume fittings were complete, a month later she officially joined the crew.

The props team’s set was still being built. When the schedule came out, the first period would be all location shoots. Since the script took place in spring, they needed to finish all necessary outdoor scenes before spring disappeared.

The location was Guangzhou. Wu Man flew in a day early to attend the crew’s opening ceremony.

Wang Cheng had a particularly superstitious habit. Other crews’ opening ceremonies would just place some offerings and have everyone casually bow to get it over with, but not him. He would always choose a local temple to kneel and pray for blessings. He said every piece of land had spiritual essence—as outsiders intruding, they needed to bow and pray for protection. Then the film’s fortune would be very prosperous.

At the temple, Wang Cheng required the two leads to kneel side by side before the Buddha statue, kowtowing together and praying for smooth filming.

This was Wu Man’s first time seeing Zhui Ye after the audition.

During this period, their costume fitting photos were taken separately. In the photos, his hairstyle had been shaved into a crew cut to fit the character, with a cross-shaped scar shaved above his ear.

Seeing him in person, Wu Man discovered the real thing looked far more wild and untamed than the photos.

He wore a long coat with an eagle and Mount Fuji embroidered on the back. Standing at the Buddha hall entrance, he looked less like he’d come to offer incense and more like he’d come to collect protection money from the incense offerings.

Wu Man knelt on the prayer cushion. Zhui Ye knelt beside her. The Buddha hall was spacious and open, the Buddha statue towering, looking down with compassionate eyes at the two kneeling before it.

Wu Man felt awkward inside. She wasn’t a person of faith, but the overwhelming solemnity still enveloped her.

After finishing the kowtows and standing up, Zhui Ye spoke his first words to her today—”I heard this temple is very effective for seeking marriage luck. Many couples come to kowtow like we just did. What if the Buddha wasn’t fully awake today and mistook us for a couple?”

That tone—as if being mistaken would require him to spill blood in the ancestral hall to prove his innocence.

“We have ‘strangers’ written all over our faces. The Buddha isn’t that blind.” Wu Man was speechless. “Besides… do you really believe deities exist in this world?”

“You don’t?”

“That’s all to fool children.” Wu Man brushed incense ash off herself. “Better to believe in yourself than believe in deities.”

Zhui Ye was silent for a moment, then sneered: “How boring you are as an adult.”

Wu Man remained noncommittal. They walked out of the Buddha hall to the corridor where a young monk was approaching passersby.

“Benefactor, would you like to pray for marriage luck? The marriage tree in our back courtyard is especially effective. For singles it guarantees blossoming peach blossoms, for secret admirers it guarantees eventual union, for couples it guarantees lasting love.”

The young woman said excitedly: “Sure!”

The young monk held up five fingers: “Fifty yuan per bell.”

Wu Man said pointedly: “Is this the deity you mentioned? With a price tag, no less.”

Zhui Ye was unfazed: “People get paid for work—when deities work, should they work for free? Best Actress Wu, don’t be so stingy.” He pulled out his Alipay and held it toward the young monk. “I’ll take one too, to support the matchmaker’s work.”

Wu Man was speechless. Though fifty was a small amount, she would never waste it on this kind of IQ tax like he did.

After Zhui Ye scanned the code, the young monk pulled out a bell with oxidized copper from the plastic box at the entrance and handed it to him: “Write your name and another person’s name on the note below, then hang it on the tree in back.”

Wu Man found it truly ridiculous, crossing her arms to watch him: “This must take you half the day just to pick a name.”

Zhui Ye didn’t respond, just bent his head and finished writing with two quick strokes. Wu Man tilted her eyes to peek—when faced with gossip, one could never suppress curiosity. She wondered which of his rumored loves this young Best Actor with endless scandals truly cared about.

On the note were two flamboyant names: Zhui Ye, Xiao Huang.

She ran through her memory but really couldn’t think of any actress in the industry whose nickname or alias was this.

How tacky… The Best Actor’s taste was unexpectedly poor.

Zhui Ye looked up, catching Wu Man’s peeking gaze.

He twirled his pen, lips curving up: “If you want to know my gossip, you don’t need to be so sneaky about it. Instead of liking marketing accounts, why not ask me directly—the gossip subject himself. Guaranteed authentic.”

Wu Man really wanted to knock sense into his narcissistic skull and tell him deafeningly that she’d liked that marketing account purely to counter his idiotic remarks—she had zero interest in his love life!

But having just been caught peeking, she really had no confidence.

She laughed drily and climbed up the pole he offered: “Your girlfriend’s name is quite special. Never heard of anyone like that in the industry.”

“Mm, it’s a dog.”

“…?” Wu Man thought of something not very pleasant.

He glanced at her sideways: “I found Xiao Huang last year while filming. The vet said it was sick and wouldn’t live long, so it had been abandoned.”

He cherished the note folded in his palm, his tone surprisingly gentle to Wu Man: “But I hope it can stay by my side for a long, long time. Maybe there’ll be a miracle.”

Wu Man coughed awkwardly: “Oh…”

In that moment, she suddenly realized this peerless Best Actor was really just a twenty-year-old boy, possessing the abundant tenderness that only existed at that age, and the wishful innocence. No wonder he could so brazenly say those pointed words about her, yet ultimately approve of her in the casting.

With a certain sense of superiority from gaining back ground, she raised an eyebrow: “Still just a kid after all.”

“A kid?”

Zhui Ye’s movement stilled. He put down the bell he was about to hang and turned to walk in front of her, his sneakers’ toes meeting her high heels.

Wu Man instinctively stepped back.

“You seem to understand kids very well.” He bent down, staring into her eyes, asking with a smile, “Kids like deities, like puppies—what else do they like? Do you know?”