Ni Kailun said, “Come sign the papers this afternoon.”

Ni Kailun had secretly completed all preliminary procedures, just waiting for her final signature. After Xi Tang found out, she remained silent for a long time. Ni Kailun knew she wouldn’t agree.

The next day, Xi Tang met Guo Tianjun at the company.

He brought only one secretary, who left after placing the documents.

Guo Tianjun wore half-rimmed glasses, still maintaining his cultured, mature appearance from years ago. Smiling, he said, “Tangtang, it’s been a long time.”

Seeing him, Xi Tang couldn’t maintain her stern expression.

He was the first CFO of Jingchuang Technology. Later, he left Jingchuang to start his own business and now was a partner at a well-known accounting firm in Beijing. What Xi Tang hadn’t expected was that he still served as Zhao Pingjin’s financial advisor.

When Jingchuang was established in Zhongguancun, they had only one apartment. The apartment was purchased by Zhao Pingjin before he went abroad to study. They used the living room as an office, and the bedroom had one large shared bed where they took turns sleeping. It was as messy as a pigsty. Back then, Huang Xi Tang and Guo Tianjun’s girlfriend often worked as secretaries for the men, in addition to cooking and cleaning the apartment.

Later, Xi Tang left Beijing and never saw them again.

Guo Tianjun took the initiative to mention, “Did Zhouzhou tell you? I married Cheng Rong, and our child is over four years old now.”

Xi Tang was happy for them and asked with a smile, “Boy or girl?”

Guo Tianjun replied, “A daughter.”

He took out his phone to show her photos.

Old fox Guo Tianjun didn’t discuss business, only reminiscing.

The two talked about what had happened since they last met. Guo Tianjun said Cheng Rong was also watching her TV series and had just finished watching her role as the Grand Princess. When he mentioned he was coming to see her, Cheng Rong wanted to come along, but their daughter was too clingy. He asked if she’d been busy lately. Seeing Xi Tang gradually lowering her guard, Guo Tianjun said, “Xi Tang, don’t be hard on yourself. This is what you deserve.”

The location was excellent, the layout optimal, and it even came with a garden balcony. The owner had bought the apartment as an investment, leaving it vacant for over a year, waiting for the right price. It hadn’t been sold yet. How high the price was, one could imagine.

Seeing her remain silent, Guo Tianjun pushed aside the contract materials, leaned slightly toward Xi Tang, and spoke in a measured tone: “After the company completed its Series A funding, he reserved five percent of stock options for you in the option pool. He even signed the transfer agreement. Then you suddenly broke up, and he never mentioned it again afterward. I thought he had forgotten about it long ago. When he suddenly asked me to come over this time, I finally understood—he never let go in his heart.”

Maintaining his professional stance, Guo Tianjun persuaded her: “The exercise price for the first batch of employees, in today’s Jingchuang, would be worth far more than just this apartment.”

Xi Tang never thought about wanting shares in his company, and she had left the company long ago. After so many years, discussing it now felt even more distant. She simply said, “I don’t want anything from him. That’s not what I was after.”

Guo Tianjun looked at her. Though she had grown colder and more mature, for an instant, a stubborn expression flashed across her face—the same as before. Even someone accustomed to the ways of the world couldn’t help feeling a sense of regret at that moment, though whether for her or Zhao Pingjin was unclear. Finally, he could only say softly, “He knows. He just wants you to live better.”

In the end, Xi Tang signed the papers.

Ni Kailun came in to see him out, saying with a smile, “Mr. Zhao is truly generous.”

It seemed half praise, half criticism, concealing a deadly intent.

Guo Tianjun had already heard about this formidable agent before coming. He just smiled imperceptibly, “Goodbye, Miss Ni.”

Xi Tang’s feelings were complicated.

The apartment was comfortable. She furnished it and brought her mother from Xianju to live with her.

This was the first time since she left home for university in Beijing—and after that period of being isolated from the world in a hospital—roughly eight years later, that mother and daughter could live together again.

Xi Tang renovated the best kitchen for her mother, fully equipped with both Chinese and Western kitchenware. She also took a day to accompany her mother to Jiuguang to buy complete sets of porcelain.

Xi Tang knew she liked these things.

Through years of hard life, her mother would still, after closing her small shop at night, prepare a plate of dried tofu and slowly warm a pot of Shaoxing wine, using a blue and white rough bowl that she’d scrubbed spotlessly clean.

Ni Kailun, who lived downstairs, came over for dinner. The first time she tasted her mother’s cooking, she finished two bowls of rice and then followed her mother around all evening with flattering words.

She became her mother’s new favorite with a set of exaggerated compliments. Every time Xi Tang came home, her mother would ask, “Shall we invite Miss Ni for dinner?”

Huang Xi Tang’s contract was still with the company, which had signed her up for many roles, driving her to film and collect commissions. As a result, all her time was squeezed by the company.

Sometimes when Xi Tang was busy, Ni Kailun would drive her mother along the way. Ni Kailun was very polite to her mother, fearing she might be lonely at home alone, and enrolled her in a senior university. Her mother went to classes every day, dancing and practicing calligraphy with a group of elderly men and women.

The night she returned to Shanghai from Beijing was New Year’s Eve. After the New Year’s fireworks over the Huangpu River, they entered January of the new year. With no new drama to film, Xi Tang was at Ni Kailun’s house reading scripts.

Living under someone else’s roof, she knew how to behave. She never let her emotions show. Her assistant at that time was still Xiao Ning. Xi Tang often gave her time off. When tired of reading scripts—at a time when “The Last Hesuo Princess” had not yet been promoted and Huang Xi Tang was still an unknown actress—Ni Kailun didn’t have time to manage her schedule every day. So she would take the subway alone to Waibaidu Bridge, mingling among noisy tourists from various places, looking at the murky Suzhou River, hunched over and smoking silently.

Ni Kailun feared she might jump into the river.

After a few days, she hired another assistant, A Kuan. A Kuan was conscientious and followed her closely wherever she went. Time passed quickly, though it felt long to those immersed in their circumstances. Xi Tang remembered that on the eighth, Ni Kailun arranged for her to go to Hangzhou—morning promotion, noon photo shoot, afternoon recording, and evening business entertainment. From morning until night, she worked continuously, and after finishing work, exhausted, she drank quite a bit of alcohol and fell asleep immediately upon returning to the hotel.

The next morning, she sat dazed on the hotel bed, with a splitting headache, disheveled hair, and dark circles under her eyes, realizing that the first weekend of the new year had already swiftly passed.

Xi Tang felt chilled all over, trembling, sitting motionless among the hotel’s messy bedding, yet understanding in her heart that she was finally safe.

A week later, she joined a film crew. The crew isolated her from the outside world, forming its lively little universe. Pushed forward by Ni Kailun’s tightly packed schedule, without realizing it, suddenly it was summer.

In her memory, that snowy winter in Beijing passed swiftly, becoming like a blurred shadow flashing by on a subway platform.

Ni Kailun took her to Luming Bookstore.

Xi Tang wore a brown narrow-brimmed woven hat and put on a black mask when getting out of the car.

Her long hair covered half her face.

There weren’t many people in the bookstore, just some gray-haired professors. The environment was quiet, and Xi Tang felt at ease.

Ni Kailun led her to the contemporary literature shelves, picking carefully, and took a large pile.

She turned and handed them to Xi Tang.

Xi Tang cushioned them with her left hand, unable to apply strength with her right hand, and almost dropped all the books.

Steadying herself by propping her elbow against her body, Xi Tang lowered her head to look at the pile of books, pulling one out and putting it back on the shelf.

“I already have this one.”

“Hmm, I have this one too, just not this edition.”

“Let’s keep this traditional Chinese edition, I’ll take a look.” Ni Kailun then led her to the history bookshelves.

Xi Tang followed behind her and whispered, “Why do you want to look at this?”

Ni Kailun said, “Tang Yasong’s new film—the script review passed last week and they’ve obtained the filming permit.”

Hearing this, Xi Tang’s eyes lit up slightly.

This film director, who had achieved great success with his skill in telling Chinese stories since the development of the film industry after the founding of New China, had always been a milestone for filmmakers.

Tang Yasong graduated from the Literature Department of Xi Tang’s alma mater. Xi Tang had repeatedly studied all his films, and in the Film Academy classrooms, his films were also classic teaching materials for acting courses.

Since his last film “Letters No One Received,” Tang Yasong hadn’t made a film for nearly four years. The industry had been saying the script was being written, but it had always been kept confidential.

Ni Kailun’s eyes flashed with ambition: “Prepare yourself first. Director Tang is selective about his actors. It’s said that this time there’s no suitable newcomer for the female lead, so there might be auditions among suitable mainland Chinese actresses.”

Xi Tang felt a bit excited inside, but she was more pessimistic than Ni Kailun. She knew how difficult it would be.

Ni Kailun had always been ambitious: “It’s always good to try.”

Xi Tang nodded and said, “Why don’t you go have a cup of coffee and wait for me a while?”

Ni Kailun said, “Go ahead.”

She knew that having brought her to the bookstore, Xi Tang wouldn’t be willing to leave so soon.

Ni Kailun had a cup of coffee and handled several work emails. After more than half an hour, Xi Tang walked back, closely surrounded by several young people with flushed faces. Xi Tang smiled and said, “Please ask my colleague to help take photos.”

She glanced at Ni Kailun, asking her opinion with her eyes.

Ni Kailun immediately moved the bag of books beside her discreetly, while lowering her voice and saying very kindly, “Let’s not disturb others, we’re leaving now.”

Those few young college students excitedly held hands, their eyes sparkling with excitement.

Ni Kailun helped them take photos, personally checked them, and then thanked them in a gentle voice before leaving the bookstore with Xi Tang.

As Ni Kailun drove out of the university, she was quite satisfied with today’s itinerary: “Tonight, let’s have PR monitor Weibo. If they post it, we can ask familiar media to help promote it.”

The person beside her didn’t respond, staying quiet.

Ni Kailun glanced sideways and saw that Huang Xi Tang’s soul had long departed; she hadn’t heard a word, her eyes staring straight out the window. Their car was passing through the university student activity area. Lights were just coming on, and it was lively. Young girls on the roadside held hands with tall, handsome boys, the air filled with the laughter of youth.

Xi Tang stared motionlessly, her eyes full of bewildered loss.

In mid-July, Huang Xi Tang flew to Beijing.

She attended the opening ceremony of the 27th Beijing Television Arts Festival.

“The Last Hesuo Princess,” as the most significant TV drama since its broadcast in spring, was nominated for six major awards: Best TV Series, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Actor, Best Actress, and Best Visual Art, becoming the highest-rated and most well-received drama of that year.

However, the male lead, Yin Nan, would take a break after filming, not participating in the publicity period or award promotions. Since winning several Best Actor trophies, this had become standard in his contracts, and production companies couldn’t demand more. As the female lead, Xi Tang had to work hard to represent and promote.

The second male lead, Li Mowen, also came. Since the crew disbanded, this was Xi Tang’s first time seeing him. He had long resided in Beijing. This time, playing the role of Cheng Yumian, he had more scenes in the early part. His handsome and unrestrained appearance as a progressive youth who studied abroad, and his deeply emotional scenes with the Grand Princess, moved many female fans to tears.

Xi Tang embraced him.

Xi Tang and Li Mowen went to record a program on Beijing TV. Ni Kailun was busy greeting the media crowding around to interview Xi Tang.

Li Mowen’s agent joked nearby, “Hey, Kailun, leave some space for our artist!”

Ni Kailun put an arm around her: “Who are we to each other? Later our two fan groups will sit together.”

After finishing work and returning to the hotel—from the airport to the hotel, from the hotel to the recording studio, and from the recording studio back to the hotel—at night, Xi Tang stood by the hotel window and glanced outside. Under the black curtain of night, even the neon lights seemed to carry a layer of gray in the huge and hollow northern city beneath the skyscrapers.

The next morning, Ni Kailun went out to discuss business. Xi Tang lay in the air-conditioned hotel room applying a face mask. She didn’t plan to go out.

She remembered July in Beijing when filming “Orange Youth.” Their crew was filming in the Municipal Party School compound. The tall locust trees had lush green branches and leaves, cicadas calling one after another. The sunlight was dazzlingly bright. Standing in the shade squinting and looking up, skin against the glaring sunlight didn’t produce sweat, just dryness. At dusk, old men and women pushed baby strollers, slowly walking along the street.

The glorious scene of the imperial capital in Changping could not accommodate the heartbroken and disappointed.

The next afternoon, they waited for their flight in the lounge at Capital Airport.

Ni Kailun, having had too many social engagements, wore a tired face and kept drinking coffee.

Xi Tang wore sunglasses and remained silent.

She had applied only a thin layer of foundation, with no eye makeup, gazing out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, lost in thought.

A year ago, she had come to Beijing to film “The Last Hesuo Princess.”

It seemed like something from a previous life.

The assistant wandered around the lounge, drinking coffee and eating snacks. Xi Tang and Ni Kailun sat in their seats, spaced out.

For some unknown reason, the flight was delayed again. There were a few hushed complaints in the VIP lounge, with airport staff quietly appeasing them.

At this moment, a phone rang behind them, sounding twice before being answered. From not far behind their seats came a man’s voice, deep and mellow, with perfect Mandarin pronunciation and a slight Beijing accent: “Teacher Zhou, oh my, you have free time today? What made you think of your son?”