Wu Man was stunned for a moment. What kind of strange question was this?

Zhui Ye naturally didn’t expect her to answer. He paused and said, “Also likes… playing tricks on people.”

He straightened up, hands in his pockets, stepping back two paces. With one hand, he made a gun gesture, aiming at Wu Man’s heart. With a deft flick of his wrist, he said, “So, don’t casually provoke children.”

After the ceremony came the crew’s customary dinner gathering—typically just the main creators. Once everyone had a few drinks and relaxed, they wouldn’t be so unfamiliar with each other anymore.

Before this, she had only known the male lead was Zhui Ye. It wasn’t until she arrived on set that she met all the actors. Playing her husband was Zhong Yueqing, a Hong Konger who had been the leading man of Hong Kong films in his younger days. As he got a bit older, he set his sights on the mainland market and moved north to develop his career. Now he was doing quite well for himself.

The second female lead, Ding Jiaqi, was exactly eighteen years old, perfectly fitting the role. She had an extremely pure face, and every gesture carried that raw, unpolished quality of someone untouched by worldly hardships. Supposedly, Director Wang had specifically sought her out by visiting schools one by one. Because she also had romantic scenes with Zhui Ye—though not many, they were significant.

At the dinner table, Wu Man immediately noticed Ding Jiaqi. Perhaps it was that innate sensitivity women possess—her gaze imperceptibly glided over the girl’s apple cheeks, which were plump without needing any injections, and a very faint sigh crossed her heart.

The entertainment industry was like this—there were always fresh, beautiful people emerging like tornadoes. She, an old-timer who had climbed to the mountain peak, never knew when she might totter and be swept down.

This was probably one of the reasons she couldn’t leave Yu Jiaze. Having a mountain to lean against meant she wouldn’t fall and be smashed to pieces.

And it truly could help avoid too many troubles. For instance, right now, she saw Zhong Yueqing heading straight for Ding Jiaqi with a drink. He wouldn’t dare try to pressure her into drinking, only going after naive young girls like this.

Ding Jiaqi was obviously encountering this kind of situation for the first time. Flattered, under Zhong Yueqing’s guidance, she downed several drinks in succession.

She wasn’t good at drinking. The moment the alcohol went down, she coughed, her snow-white throat instantly flushing red. Zhong Yueqing’s eyes went straight at the sight, yet his mouth showed no mercy as he said, “If you can’t drink, you need to practice more. How can you work in this industry if you can’t drink?”

Wu Man sneered inwardly, but someone actually laughed out loud.

The person who laughed out loud was none other than Zhui Ye. He had somehow materialized between Zhong Yueqing and Ding Jiaqi, raising his hand to intercept that drink.

“How come I didn’t know being an actor depends on drinking? Is this a Hong Kong film industry rule?”

Zhong Yueqing’s expression didn’t look good. “There are plenty of rules you don’t know about. Learn them slowly.”

“You’re right, which is why I would never presume to teach others this and that, only to output complete garbage.”

Zhong Yueqing’s face darkened further. The director stepped in at the right moment to smooth things over. “Yueqing, you don’t know that this is just how Zhui Ye is. He nearly offended everyone on my last production too. He’s actually very endearing. Zhui Ye, you too—Yueqing is a senior, you need to be more respectful, understand?”

Zhui Ye was noncommittal. He clinked glasses with Zhong Yueqing and drained the intercepted drink. “I’ll drink it all. You do as you please.”

This was his idea of an apology, regardless of whether the other person accepted it or not. Willful and unbridled indeed.

Wu Man coldly observed this “hero rescuing the damsel” farce, thinking that Zhui Ye’s straightforward personality would really cause him serious losses. At the same time, she once again confirmed that this person wasn’t genuinely targeting her specifically—he targeted everyone and everything he found disagreeable. She really didn’t know where all that hot-bloodedness came from.

The rescued damsel, Ding Jiaqi, gazed at Zhui Ye with ardent yet bashful attention. When Zhui Ye noticed and glanced at her, she looked elsewhere, deliberately brushing her hair behind her ear with her hand.

Wu Man had no interest in observing this kind of innocent flirtation. She stood up and greeted the director. “Director Wang, if there’s nothing else, I’ll head back first.”

Director Wang stopped her. “Shouldn’t our two leads chat a bit?”

“The kid is busy picking up girls. I won’t spoil the mood. Besides, we already chatted a bit this morning.”

“Are you going to keep calling him that?” Zhui Ye’s voice suddenly sounded behind Wu Man. “Then should I also change from ‘Best Actress Wu’ to calling you ‘Big Sister’?”

She turned to look at him. Zhui Ye’s face bore the flush of alcohol, with a vague undertone of displeasure in his tone.

“…If you want to call me that, I don’t object.”

“Repeating syllables sounds a bit childish. Let’s drop one syllable then—Big Sis.”

Wu Man felt her fists clenching.

He continued on his own, “Forget it, how about I just call you Sister instead.”

Sister—that was the young Chen Nan’s way of addressing Deng Lizhi in the script.

Wang Cheng interjected, “Getting into character so quickly—looks like I don’t need to worry too much about shooting the kissing scene tomorrow.”

Zhui Ye shrugged. “You never needed to worry. It’ll all be camera tricks anyway.”

He brushed past her shoulder, tilting his head as if casually whispering, “After all, Sister has very ‘strict family rules.'”

“Spring Night” officially began its shooting schedule.

While the crew set up lighting and equipment, Wu Man held her script, reading while getting her styling done, constantly filtering through the plot’s ins and outs in her mind.

The reason Chen Nan, played by Zhui Ye, would intrude into Deng Lizhi’s life had to do with his family.

He came from a cross-border family. His mother and Deng Lizhi’s husband were from the same hometown. In her youth, she had come to Guangzhou to work and married a Hong Kong man. She thought he was wealthy, only to discover he was just putting on airs. In Hong Kong, he only had a dwelling the size of a bathroom, constantly idle and irresponsible, caring nothing for his wife and child. She finally couldn’t endure such a life, took up with a mainland businessman, and ran off, abandoning Chen Nan.

Before the divorce, she contacted her fellow townsman, asking if Chen Nan could stay at his place for a while before the college entrance exams. He attended school in Guangzhou and commuted through the border checkpoint daily, which was truly time-consuming. This was the last thing she could manage to do for her son.

As for why Chen Nan agreed to move into Deng Lizhi’s home, it wasn’t because he found commuting through the checkpoint so arduous—he’d long grown accustomed to it over the years.

He simply wanted to escape.

He detested that cramped four-walled cage where he couldn’t stretch his body, detested that dimly lit corridor, detested the alcohol-reeking man, detested that woman with her nagging mouth and occasional flashes of resentment in her eyes.

This scene depicted Chen Nan after evening self-study ended, not wanting to return to Hong Kong, nor wanting to go back to Deng Lizhi’s home. Alone, he wandered the Guangzhou streets in pouring rain like a walking corpse, then ran into Deng Lizhi, who had come looking for him.

With styling complete, Wu Man looked at her plainly dressed reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath: From this moment on, you are her. You are Deng Lizhi, whose life is like stagnant water.

When she arrived on set, Zhui Ye had already finished his styling and was walking toward her with his script.

This was a rain scene. He had changed into the standard student white shirt, wrinkled, with shoes deliberately styled to be caked with mud. His whole appearance seemed gray and gloomy. But those eyes were bright—a brightness that wouldn’t be extinguished no matter how much murky rainwater covered them.

He swept a glance up and down her equally somber styling and shook his head subtly.

What had displeased him now? Wu Man inwardly rolled her eyes, pretending not to notice.

But Zhui Ye, utterly oblivious to social cues, spoke up voluntarily. “Actually, when the costume test photos came out, I already wanted to say this—your styling isn’t quite right.”

“And what brilliant insight do you have?”

He blocked her path like a troublemaking boy from school days who corners a girl in the hallway on a whim. His expression, however, was the opposite—deadly serious, as if he were about to pick apart a whole list of flaws—

“You’re still too beautiful,” he said.