Like a row of dominoes set in motion by a single gentle push — a long winding line of small wooden tiles toppling one after another in succession, all the way to the last.

That “what do you think?” had produced exactly that effect.

And Ruan Yu’s heart was that final domino.

Sometimes it isn’t the most fervent and direct words of love that move a person most deeply.

The scenery hidden at the end of a winding mountain road can be more breathtaking and brilliant than anything along a straight path.

The two of them stood still for a long time.

Long enough that, very possibly, if neither of them spoke, they would have stayed in that position until one of them ran completely out of steam.

Then Xu Huaisong smiled.

Ruan Yu asked, stumbling over the words: “Wh — what is it?”

“Do you know your heartbeat is so fast it feels like you’re giving someone a back massage?”

“……”

Why did he have to go and point that out? Ruan Yu yanked herself free and fumbled her keys into the lock, darted inside like a startled mouse, and slammed the door shut behind her, slumping against it with the urge to cry and not a single tear to show for it.

Completely useless, utterly useless — she’d spent the whole day thinking she’d give this old fox a proper drawn-out runaround, and then he’d barely even tried to flirt with her before she completely folded.

This wouldn’t do.

Ruan Yu took a breath, turned around, and opened the door again. Sure enough, Xu Huaisong was still standing outside, hadn’t left.

She clung to the door frame and poked her head out: “Then do you know — among the ten fastest land animals on earth, the wild hare actually made the list?”

Xu Huaisong furrowed his brow, looking thoroughly perplexed at this random, out-of-nowhere question that writers seemed to conjure out of thin air, but still answered earnestly: “I didn’t know that. Haven’t looked into it.”

Ruan Yu then said with meaningful emphasis: “A rabbit that looks so timid and easy to push around can run at fifty miles per hour when it gets going — nearly as fast as a lion. And among those ten animals, the fox doesn’t make the list at all.”

Xu Huaisong furrowed his brow again: “So?”

“So — goodnight!”

She curved her eyes into a smile, shut the door a second time, and left Xu Huaisong alone to puzzle through that little “riddle” of hers.

Back home after a shower, Ruan Yu stretched out contentedly on her bed, when she suddenly heard her phone buzz.

Assuming it was Xu Huaisong letting her know he’d made it to the hotel safely, she unlocked the screen — and found instead an email from Huanshi.

More precisely, it was an invitation asking her to attend a script development meeting for I Really Want to Whisper in Your Ear next Tuesday.

Next Tuesday was the day after tomorrow.

Ruan Yu rested her chin in her hand and turned it over in her mind.

The film adaptation rights for I Really Want to Whisper had been signed over to Huanshi back in early June. Her original motivation in selling the IP was mainly to carve out a new career path — to move from the web fiction world onto a broader platform. But because the inspiration for the male lead was right there beside her in real life, she felt it would be difficult to invest in the subsequent creative work without feeling self-conscious, so she’d told Huanshi she might not be participating in the scriptwriting.

This invitation from Huanshi was most likely just a symbolic check-in, asking whether she’d changed her mind.

Ordinarily, of course, she wouldn’t have.

But as luck would have it, today she’d happened to verify something — which brought to mind the moment she’d asked Xu Huaisong, when she was deciding whether to sell the IP to Huanshi, and he’d answered: “What reason would there be not to?”

Even back then, he knew she’d been writing about him. And yet he’d still been willing to let the story be told — in this way — to more people.

So why was she still hesitating and holding back?

Ruan Yu got out of bed, opened her email on her phone, typed a reply to Huanshi expressing her thanks and confirming she’d attend the meeting next Tuesday. Climbing back into bed, she found a WeChat message from Xu Huaisong waiting for her.

He’d written: Then the fox will just have to keep chasing the hare.

She stared at the screen and smiled, slowly and surely.

Tuesday. Ruan Yu arrived at Huanshi Pictures right on time.

Since the meeting was scheduled for early in the morning, she hadn’t asked Xu Huaisong to wake up early just to drive her — she took the bus, which had a direct route to the nearby stop.

Huanshi’s standalone office building stood out conspicuously on this stretch of real estate where every inch of land cost a fortune.

Ruan Yu gave her name at the front desk on the first floor, and a person who looked to be a secretary came to receive her immediately, gave her a brief rundown of the building’s layout, and finally escorted her to the conference room on the seventh floor.

More than half the attendees were already seated. Reading the red-and-black name placards on the table, the head seat belonged to the film’s executive producer, the next to the line producer, followed by a row of scriptwriters and script supervisors.

Ruan Yu’s placard was positioned toward the back, with the title “Script Consultant.”

After she’d replied to the email that evening, the line producer Zheng Shan had been delighted and arranged this position for her.

The conference room was quite hushed, with only the occasional rustle of whispered conversation. Ruan Yu’s arrival caused barely a ripple.

Shortly after, the remaining attendees trickled in one by one, and the line producer entered last, prompting most of the room to rise.

Zheng Shan, however, seemed refreshingly easygoing — she waved her hand and said: “Please sit, everyone. I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Director Wei has been held up by something, so we’ll go ahead and start without him.”

“Director Wei” referred to the executive producer in the head seat — also one of Huanshi’s board directors.

The row of attendees indicated their understanding. The more socially adept among them had the polished corporate pleasantries ready on their lips, the professional atmosphere palpable.

As the last one added to the scriptwriting team, Ruan Yu inevitably sat somewhat quietly. Appearing to sense her reticence, Zheng Shan introduced her to the room first: “This is the original author, Wen Xiang. Starting today, she’ll be joining our script development team as script consultant.”

Ruan Yu stood and nodded her greeting to everyone. A few murmurs of “so young” came from nearby, and then the room settled back into quiet.

Zheng Shan said with a laugh: “You’re all being far too stiff! Our script team is young — average age under thirty. Is this really how young people act?” She gestured to the secretary beside her to start the presentation slides, and added: “Since everyone’s being so quiet, let me give you all something to wake up with first.”

The projector threw a high-definition stage photograph onto the screen.

Ruan Yu looked up — and went completely still.

The person in the photograph sat at a grand piano, dressed in a white dress shirt, wearing slim-framed glasses, head bowed as he played.

Before she could even process what she was seeing, Zheng Shan spoke first: “You might not recognize him — he looks quite different from now. This is Li Shican before his debut, performing at the Campus Top Ten Singers Competition during his first year of university. Can anyone tell who he looks like?”

“Oh my—” someone finally broke the silence, “isn’t that our male lead’s inspiration?”

Ruan Yu was startled.

Zheng Shan laughed: “See? A pretty face never fails to get a reaction.”

Someone else asked: “Producer Zheng, so our male lead has been confirmed as Li Shican?”

“Shh,” Zheng Shan made a small gesture, “basically locked in. Keep it within the team for now. Alright — let’s begin.”

Her words had barely landed when Ruan Yu’s phone buzzed in her pocket — a message from Xu Huaisong.

Unable to respond at the moment, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and picked up the meeting handbook, sinking into thought.

Good heavens. Li Shican for the male lead.

By the time the meeting wrapped up it was already noon. Zheng Shan appeared to be very busy — she rushed off to handle other matters, not having had time to see the attendees out properly, and sent her secretary to arrange lunch and a rest area for everyone.

But Ruan Yu suspected she wouldn’t be needing the arrangements here. Because on her phone, Xu Huaisong had sent a message an hour earlier: I’m near Huanshi. Let me know when the meeting ends.

She thanked the secretary, sent Xu Huaisong a message, and took the elevator downstairs. As she stepped out of the elevator, she heard two of the scriptwriters from the meeting ahead of her talking in hushed tones.

One of them was saying: “A trending celebrity is all well and good, but didn’t Li Shican just get caught up in some scandal involving a suicide incident recently? I heard from someone in the industry it caused quite a stir — his company was furious that he went and disclosed it on his own initiative, and they’ve apparently been quietly scaling back his appearances and endorsements behind the scenes…”

“You don’t understand how it works — that’s called…”

Whatever came after that, Ruan Yu didn’t catch.

She knitted her brow, took out her phone, and scrolled back and forth through Li Shican’s Weibo. Aside from a notably long stretch without any posts, she couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. And their WeChat conversation was still sitting on his last message: It’s all sorted out, no negative fallout.

Xu Huaisong’s reply came through at that exact moment: Come to the entrance.

The area in front of Huanshi’s building wasn’t easy to park at, so she had no choice but to temporarily set aside the matter of Li Shican and hurry out.

By the time she buckled her seatbelt, Xu Huaisong hit the accelerator and pulled away, saying as he drove: “That meeting ran longer than most of mine do.”

Ruan Yu was still turning the casting decision over in her mind, tossing out vague acknowledgments: “Mm,” “yeah.” “I’ve heard script development meetings can sometimes run ten hours as a baseline — today was actually on the easy side for a first session.”

Xu Huaisong noticed with sharp precision that she seemed somewhat distracted, and glanced at her sideways.

Ruan Yu was quietly calculating: the casting result was internal information — it felt wrong to just blurt it out. But if she said nothing, and Xu Huaisong found out later, would he be mad enough to actually go launch a career in entertainment?

She cleared her throat and took a roundabout approach: “Do you have any thoughts on casting for actors?”

Xu Huaisong kept his eyes on the road as he steered toward a nearby restaurant: “Why would I have any thoughts on that?”

Ruan Yu gave a light laugh: “Well, you’ve read my novel — your opinion counts. In your view, is there anyone in the entertainment industry right now who’d be a good fit for the male or female lead?”

Xu Huaisong was quiet for a moment: “I don’t follow the industry. Probably no one, I’d say.”

Oh? So he’s genuinely thinking of auditioning himself?

Ruan Yu’s mouth twitched: “You’d still have to pick someone from the entertainment world — it’s not like they can actually go drag some accountant or doctor or lawyer off the street to act in it.”

The tone of that last line, in Xu Huaisong’s ears, carried a distinctly pointed edge to it. He eased his foot halfway onto the brake, slowing the car, and looked at her.

Ruan Yu straightened her back: “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Xu Huaisong gripped the steering wheel and furrowed his brow, as if mulling something over.

Ruan Yu studied him from the corner of her eye, and pressed on: “So — if the production team picked some male celebrity you didn’t like to play the male lead, would you, as the person who… allowed this novel to escape its plagiarism dispute, have any regrets about letting me sell the IP?”

Xu Huaisong pulled the car over to the side of the road and brought it to a full stop, turning to fix his gaze on her: “Are you telling me right now that Li Shican is going to be playing your male lead?”

Author’s Note: Huaisong: What the actual —