Watching her get in the car, Lu Shicheng walked around from the front to the other side, opened the door, and got in himself.

Wen Tingli put on an air of cool indifference, but inside she was anything but calm.

Months apart, and he seemed to have grown taller still, his features and contours a shade more defined. Before, his air had hovered somewhere between a boy’s and a grown man’s; now it was tilting steadily toward maturity, every gesture giving off an indescribable charm, an air of refined elegance about him from head to toe that made it hard not to look at him more than once.

Her usually sharp way with words failed her entirely in this moment—she couldn’t even decide which opening line to use to cut him deepest.

I thought Mr. Lu was already dead.

When did you get back?

What did you even come back for?!

Amid these imagined lines of dialogue, Wen Tingli gradually lost track of what exactly had caused the rift between them in the first place, while the feeling of grievance in her heart only grew thicker.

All at once, her tears, like a pot just brought to boil, spilled from her eyes without warning.

She lifted her chin, forcing herself to appear strong, and wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, heart aching bitterly.

If Lu Shicheng were to stop the car now and wipe her tears for her, she wouldn’t be unwilling to forgive him.

If he had no handkerchief, he could use the back of his hand and his sleeve like last time, she wouldn’t mind.

Yet the person beside her showed no reaction at all—if anything, the car sped up.

We’d better have it out properly! she thought resentfully.

Having been out in the cold so long, the car’s interior felt unusually warm, and with this sudden shift from cold to hot, her nose started itching—before she knew it she sneezed, and just as she was wondering how to provoke him, inspiration struck, and she sneezed several more times in a row, riding that lingering itch.

There was a coat on Lu Shicheng’s car seat—she’d seen it.

She was giving him the chance to make the first move toward her.

He couldn’t possibly remain indifferent to how she felt—she knew better than anyone how gentlemanly and considerate he was around her. If he forgot himself for even a moment and draped his coat over her shoulders, she’d seize the chance to collapse against his shoulder and sob her heart out, cursing him up and down!

Sure enough, at her sneeze, he instinctively hit the brakes. After a moment’s stillness, he reached back, took his coat from the back seat, but only laid it over her knees before immediately putting distance between them, giving her no chance at all to lean in.

To avoid touching her, he stretched his arm out as far as possible and leaned his whole body as far away from her as he could—as if performing some kind of magic trick!

Why didn’t he just chop that arm off then and there!

Wen Tingli, thoroughly annoyed, tossed his coat back onto his knees.

“I don’t want it, take it back!”

He gazed straight ahead through the windshield and started the car again.

For the rest of the ride, Wen Tingli, in a huff, made no more sound, and he too seemed to shut out everything around him, driving very fast.

She didn’t know how long had passed when the car suddenly braked. Wen Tingli refused to turn around—why had he stopped so suddenly, was he going to apologize? No matter what tactic he tried, she wasn’t going to forgive him so easily.

A few seconds passed, and the feeling of being watched from behind grew stronger and stronger; unable to resist her curiosity, she turned her head to look, and sure enough he was gazing at her intently. But he immediately gestured for her to look out the car window instead.

[You can get out now.]

Wen Tingli looked properly and realized they’d already arrived at her front door—Lu Shicheng had even thoughtfully parked the car right at the steps of the front courtyard.

This way she wouldn’t have to walk through the snow to get inside.

But beyond thoughtfulness, there was nothing else.

Tonight he was simply impenetrable.

Fine, then. She pulled open the car door with an expressionless face and said stiffly, “Thank you!”

Lu Shicheng, one hand on the steering wheel, kept his eyes fixed ahead.

Wen Tingli walked forward a couple of steps without looking back, then suddenly turned around and spoke through the window. “Let me make this clear: tonight I just happened to be visiting a friend’s place nearby, and earlier I really had been followed by someone—this isn’t the first time either, that’s the only reason I panicked and ran into you like that. Regardless, thank you for tonight! I hope we never meet again!”

With those words, she walked into the building without a backward glance, went into her room, and without even turning on the light, threw herself onto the bed. He still resented her, but didn’t she resent him just as much! From now on she never wanted to see him again—that way they’d both be free of each other.

She lay there in a daze for a while, then abruptly sat up—she had work tomorrow, no time to be angry over someone who didn’t even matter to her anymore.

She opened her closet, took out a robe, meaning to shower and go straight to bed. But suddenly something felt off—she’d been upstairs for a good while now, yet she hadn’t heard the car start. She hurried to the window and looked out, only to find, to her surprise, that Lu Shicheng’s car was still parked at the steps.

He wasn’t in the car—he was outside it, in the snow, that tall figure quite conspicuous.

Wen Tingli couldn’t help but hold her breath.

Lu Shicheng walked around, looking about him, clearly on guard—checking carefully under the trees, by the streetlamp, in front of her steps, then, after a moment’s thought, looked up toward the dark windows of the Wen house.

Wen Tingli quickly ducked behind the curtain.

When she looked out again, Lu Shicheng had already driven off.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit stunned.

What had he been checking downstairs for? Was there something he was worried about?

Could it be—

A smile spread suddenly across her face.

He was worried about her personal safety.

Was it because of what she’d said?

Just because she’d mentioned being followed, he couldn’t stay calm.

And here he’d acted so composed the whole time before.

Better hope he never lets his guard down in front of her ever again.

The gloom in her heart cleared away entirely, and she went to wash up humming a tune, and once in bed, savored the events of the night with relish, her heart alternating between sour and sweet, between joy and delight, taking a good while to fall asleep.

These few New Year’s days, Hujiang University was on break, and the film crew had stopped work for three days too.

Wen Tingli, if anything, was busier than before the holiday—there were celebrations at school, and various social invitations kept coming in too.

Among these, there was the Film Association’s annual gathering, a traditional Chinese family banquet hosted by well-known senior actresses like Duan Miaoqing and Wen Guanhua, and Western-style parties hosted by business elites like the Gao and Dong families.

This had never happened before. Every single invitation sent to her addressed her, without exception, as “Esteemed Miss Wen Tingli.”

This meant her name now held a place in social circles.

This was the beginning of a person having real influence in society.

Wen Tingli felt proud of herself, staying busy day after day.

That day, Gao Xiaowen called Wen Tingli, reminding her to come to the evening banquet early.

Just then she heard commotion coming from the set, and Wen Tingli hurried to hang up and go look—it turned out two of the carbon arc lamps had suddenly broken, and Huang Yuanshan was in there throwing a fit.

“These have been flickering for days now, I told you people to send them to be fixed ages ago, and you all just kept passing the buck to each other—now look what’s happened. Fine for other scenes, but this last scene needs perfect lighting—how am I supposed to shoot it like this?”

Everyone rushed to calm Huang Yuanshan down; after some discussion, Assistant Director Tan went to find someone to fix the lights, but replacing the parts alone would take several hours at least, so it looked like the daytime scene would have to be pushed to after ten at night, so as not to waste film stock.

“Old Zhou, Sister Wen, Wen Tingli, is this arrangement all right with everyone?” Huang Yuanshan asked worriedly, seeking everyone’s input.

Wen Guanhua was the first to speak up. “No problem for me.”

“We don’t have any objections either—we’ve been meticulous with everything up to now, no reason to be careless with the final key scene.”

When it came to filming, Wen Tingli had always been hardworking and uncomplaining, so naturally she had no objection either, only calculating in her head that she could still make it to the Gao family’s evening banquet, and worst case, head to the set by around nine.

It was just that tonight’s shoot would likely run until dawn. Thinking this over, Wen Tingli hurried to the office to call Zhou Sao.

When she got there, someone was already inside.

It was Luo Shuhong, her face turned toward the door as she spoke on the phone, keeping a close eye on the goings-on outside while keeping her voice notably low. Seeing Wen Tingli approach, she calmly set down the receiver.

Wen Tingli gazed at her, but Luo Shuhong greeted her quite naturally.

“Wrapped up?”

Wen Tingli glanced covertly behind her—there was nothing there but a telephone—and nodded calmly. “Yes, just wrapped.”

Over the phone, Zhou Sao, hearing Wen Tingli would be back late, didn’t say much, only mentioned, “Mr. and Mrs. Liu still aren’t home today. I heard Mrs. Liu has quite a few relatives in Hong Kong—probably took a cruise there for the New Year holiday.”

Wen Tingli pondered a moment. “I’ll ask around myself later. Is Xiao Taozi being good? Tell her big sister’s film wraps tonight, and tomorrow I’ll take her to Zhaofeng Park. Mm-hm, have her go to bed early tonight.”

By the time Wen Tingli finished removing her makeup and arrived at the Gao residence, it was already half past six.

The Gao family, being new money, always went all out with lavish displays, and tonight’s affair was grand beyond words—the hall was practically overflowing with guests, an endless stream of them. The moment Wen Tingli appeared at the door, many guests turned to look at her curiously, and Gao Xiaowen rushed out to greet her, someone else waving and calling out cheerfully from across the room, “Wen Tingli!”

The parlor was a riot of color, full of people. On the high-backed sofa to the left sat the popular actress Yu Peiling, wearing a smoky-blue low-waisted long dress, draped in a glossy white fur collar, a rhinestone headband on her hair, an air of first-rate elegance about her, wafting a scent of Guerlain perfume custom-made in Paris—the very picture of glamour. Around her gathered a group of young men and women, all similarly done up in finery, the manager named Chen Maoqing among them.

On the right sat a group of old classmates from Wuben Middle School—compared to the glittering jewels on the left, this side seemed refreshingly plain, with a wholesome, student atmosphere.

Wen Tingli went over first to greet Yu Peiling—partly because they’d crossed paths before, and partly because Yu Peiling was a senior figure in the industry.

“Long time no see.” Yu Peiling was fairly polite to Wen Tingli, though, used to being fawned over, her manner carried a certain casualness.

“That’s true,” Wen Tingli replied with a smile, then suddenly felt a sharp gaze cast her way from the side—turning, she found Yu Peiling’s manager eyeing her with open hostility, though he immediately looked away and turned to chat with someone else, laughing, as if that moment had merely been Wen Tingli’s own imagination.

Wen Tingli had some idea why this Manager Chen behaved this way. Huang Yuanshan had explained it to her once—she and Yu Peiling were roughly the same “type” in the industry, what they called “overlapping types,” a cardinal taboo.

Chen Maoqing had worked hard to get Yu Peiling to where she was today, and she was nowhere near done being popular yet, so naturally he had no wish to see a younger competitor emerge to vie with Yu Peiling for roles.

“It’s only human nature, really,” Huang Yuanshan had sighed to her that day. “You debuted with our Golden Film Studios, so Chen Maoqing has no way to poach you over to his side—he’s bound to guard against you on Yu Peiling’s behalf. If Southern Beauty doesn’t do well, fine, but the moment it becomes a hit, you’ll get a taste of his methods. He’s notorious for this kind of thing, keep that in mind and stay careful.”

Wen Tingli replayed these words in her mind, though her expression betrayed nothing at all, and she greeted him with just as much enthusiasm as before, walking over to squeeze in and sit among her friends.

Zhao Qingluo snatched a book from Yan Zhenzhen’s hands and shoved it at Wen Tingli. “Look at this, Yan Zhenzhen’s really made something of herself—we hadn’t seen each other in a few days and she’s gone and quietly written a whole script at school. I told her, you might end up playing this one day.”

Yan Zhenzhen reached to take it back, but Wen Tingli had already jumped up and dodged to the other side. Yan Zhenzhen could only cover her face with her hands.

“Wen Tingli, if you laugh at me I’ll cut you off as a friend!”

Wen Tingli, without waiting for permission, flipped open the title page. “You always loved writing this kind of thing back at Wuben. Ooh, Fortune Not Misfortune—is that the script’s title?”

Reading a few more lines, Wen Tingli said delightedly, “Hey, this is really good! Wait, don’t snatch it, let me finish reading it first, all right? Actually, let me bring it to Sister Huang tomorrow morning to take a look.”

Someone called out to Wen Tingli from over there—it was Mrs. Pan, and Wen Tingli hurried over. “Mrs. Pan.”

Mrs. Pan hadn’t come alone tonight—several finely dressed young people accompanied her, looking like nephews and nieces.

“This is the Miss Wen I told you all about—she’s still at university,” Mrs. Pan said, laughing, holding Wen Tingli’s hand. “These three are the most promising of our Pan family’s younger generation, all studious, and decent people too. Since the Gao family’s affair is so lively tonight, I brought them out to mingle a bit.”

The moment the young gentlemen saw Wen Tingli, their eyes lit up.

“Miss Wen, which university are you at? What’s your major?”

“Oh, wasn’t Miss Wen featured in that Zhensheng Evening News profile? I think I’ve seen your photo.”

The quickest of them promptly grabbed a fruit plate for Wen Tingli. “No point just standing around talking, Miss Wen, let’s go eat over there and chat—do you play tennis? No? I’ll teach you!”

Just then Mrs. Gao came over to welcome Mrs. Pan, and seeing this, the two ladies smiled and shook their heads, walking off together.

Wen Tingli handled herself with ease and charm, and no sooner had she been escorted to the sofa by these young men than another group of young gentlemen gathered round, the men swarming her like bees to a flower.

Someone fetched her a drink, someone else brought her snacks, another offered up a bouquet with great deference, yet another suggested escorting her out to the garden for some air, and still another produced his newly bought German miniature camera to show her.

Wen Tingli propped her arm lazily on the right armrest of the sofa, listening idly to them talk, when she suddenly felt a gaze cast her way—she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at her or at someone beside her. Looking up, she saw Lu Shicheng walking off in that direction as if he hadn’t noticed anyone.

As if that gaze just now had only been her own imagination.

Wen Tingli bit her lip, watching his retreating figure.

“Who’s that fellow?” the eldest Pan son asked. “Everyone’s fawning over him like he’s the star attraction—even Young Master Gao is being so deferential toward him.”

“You don’t know Lu Shicheng?”

“Young Master Pan just came to Shanghai from Tianjin, no wonder he doesn’t recognize him—but isn’t Lu Shicheng supposed to be down in Nanyang?” “When did he get back?”

“Been back a few days now, I think—year-end’s a busy time, he came back to preside over the Shanghai chamber’s annual meeting and such. Oh, and have you all heard—half a year ago Lu Shicheng invested in a film called Sands of Time, specially hired the Emperor of Film Zhu Xiaozhou to star in it, I hear it’s about to wrap too. If this film does well, the Lu family might keep investing in the film industry.”

At this, the young gentlemen didn’t react much, but the people from artistic circles nearby perked right up. “Then the film industry’s really going to liven up—three or four generations of accumulated family wealth, even the Bailong Gang’s green with envy over it. Once that happens, if the Lu family decides to back someone, it’s as good as done.”

This remark caught the interest of one particular person present, who fixed an intent gaze on Lu Shicheng’s retreating figure—it was none other than Chen Maoqing.

While tracking Lu Shicheng with his eyes, he didn’t forget to nudge Yu Peiling beside him with his elbow. Yu Peiling, jostled, nearly spilled the drink in her hand, but wasn’t upset about it, only shot Chen Maoqing a half-amused, half-annoyed glare in return.

Half an hour later, as the parlor grew more and more crowded, quite a few people drifted off to the garden of their own accord.

Wen Tingli finally managed to extract herself from that crowd of admirers and went upstairs alone to Gao Xiaowen’s bedroom for some peace and quiet.

Shortly after, Gao Xiaowen came too, and the moment she entered, urged Wen Tingli, “I’ve got everything arranged for you, go on.”

Wen Tingli didn’t move. Gao Xiaowen eyed her sideways, teasing. “Weren’t you going to ask him a few things face to face? What, losing your nerve now? If you don’t go, I won’t reserve that room for you two.”

Only then did Wen Tingli unhurriedly rise. She went downstairs to the dessert area and casually picked up a glass of champagne without drinking it, only staring off into space. Guests kept passing behind her without her noticing, and once she’d finally sorted out her thoughts, she poured herself a second glass, and holding both glasses of champagne, slipped quietly out.

She soon reached the back building, and heading inside, ran straight into Gao Tingxin and Meng Qiguang coming out.

Wen Tingli glanced left and right, and seeing no way to avoid them, ducked behind a nearby bush, her movements so hurried she nearly spilled both glasses.

Fortunately, the two men seemed each preoccupied with their own thoughts and didn’t notice where Wen Tingli was hiding. Gao Tingxin stood on the steps lighting a cigarette, saying with a laugh, “Why’s Lu Shicheng been so distracted all night? Couldn’t even hold his cards steady, dropped them under the table a few times.”

Meng Qiguang didn’t respond—the group of young men at the table had been badgering Gao Tingxin about Miss Wen the whole time, and hearing about it was getting on his nerves.

Gao Tingxin, always a bit oblivious, thought nothing of it and remarked offhand, “Say what you will, Lu Shicheng’s the silent type, but his card game is sharp—no matter how many of you gang up on him, he just fends you off without batting an eye.”

Meng Qiguang said dryly, “If this man weren’t deep and calculating, could he have pulled his own two uncles down from power? His grandfather Lu Hongjun was quite the formidable figure in his day too, and even he couldn’t outmaneuver this eldest grandson of the Lu family now. In my view, this man isn’t just clever—he’s ruthless too.”

Gao Tingxin said, not without some regret, “Pity that for all his ability, he’s still mute. The other day when he hosted the Shanghai Nanyang Chamber of Commerce’s annual meeting, his personal capabilities were impressive enough to win people over, but there were plenty of inconveniences in presiding over the meeting—I thought at the time, surely he can’t have someone else speak for him every single time.”

“Hasn’t Lu Shicheng found himself a few top medical professors specializing in treating muteness? No solution at all?”

Gao Tingxin shook his head. “I have an uncle studying medicine in America, and according to him, this condition of Lu Shicheng’s needs a powerful stimulus—something like what we Chinese call a ‘catalyst.’ Without that catalyst, no amount of treatment will do any good. But never mind that—hey, you’re better at reading people than I am, what do you think, will Lu Shicheng actually consider that amusement park investment tonight?”

He was thinking back to the bridge room earlier—the moment he’d brought up the joint investment idea, Lu Shicheng had flatly shaken his head.

Gao Tingxin laughed. “At least hear me out before turning me down—this really is a good project, not everyone has the means to invest in something like this. Right now the only proper amusement parks in Shanghai are the Great World and the New World, and the New World’s facilities are already rather outdated…”

Though he said this, in his heart he didn’t hold out much hope—after all, he’d brought up building an amusement park with Lu Shicheng last year too, and Lu Shicheng had flatly turned him down then as well.

Who’d have thought that today, at these words, Lu Shicheng actually seemed a little interested in listening.

He hurried on, “Don’t worry, I know you don’t want anything to do with the Bailong Gang—this isn’t that plot of land in Hongkou, but near the ball field. The original owner, surnamed Wang, built a flour mill on it years ago, and it’s been sitting empty since the factory went bankrupt. I’m planning to buy it, and you and I can invest in it together—I’m sure we could build an amusement park even grander than the Great World.”

Something in this must have struck a chord with Lu Shicheng, who actually took the proposal and flipped through it thoughtfully.

At this, Gao Tingxin suddenly snapped back to himself. “Look at me—Xiaowen said there was some urgent matter she needed to discuss with the two of us, let’s go see what it’s about first.”

Meng Qiguang stepped down from the steps, then, as if catching sight of something, paused and looked over that way for a moment before withdrawing his gaze, saying casually, “I left something inside, you go on ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Gao Tingxin, suspecting nothing, went off alone.

Wen Tingli, having crouched in the bushes beside them all this while, had gone numb in the legs, and could only hope Meng Qiguang would leave soon. But he leisurely put a cigarette to his lips, as if he had no intention of leaving at all.

Wen Tingli inwardly groaned.

Looking down, she noticed the edge of her skirt had slipped out into view. Just as she carefully tried to tuck it back, Meng Qiguang suddenly, as if by chance, turned his head to glance that way.

Wen Tingli was so startled she forgot to breathe.

Fortunately, though Meng Qiguang’s face had turned in her direction, he merely glanced casually up toward the second floor, then withdrew his gaze right after.

Wen Tingli felt she was about to lose her composure entirely.

She began to suspect Meng Qiguang was doing this on purpose—otherwise why would he stand there with a cigarette between his teeth, smirking like that.

He’d probably spotted her from the start.

Wen Tingli steeled her resolve and was about to boldly step out of the bushes when footsteps sounded ahead—peering through the branches, she saw Yu Peiling and Chen Maoqing approaching.

Chen Maoqing was pulling Yu Peiling along, whispering to her, and seeing Meng Qiguang on the steps, the two of them stopped in their tracks. Yu Peiling asked with a smile, “What’s Mr. Meng doing out here all alone?”

“It was stuffy inside, came out for some air.”

Chen Maoqing said, “Mr. Meng’s been playing cards in the back building this whole time, hasn’t he—may I ask if the game’s broken up yet?”

“Broken up a while ago.”

The two of them then politely brushed past Meng Qiguang and went inside.

Meng Qiguang gazed deeply at the bushes for a moment, then, his expression cool, snuffed out his cigarette and went down the steps.

Strangely enough, no sooner had Meng Qiguang left than Chen Maoqing came back out from the house, glancing back inside meaningfully as he walked, clearly pleased with himself about something.

Once Chen Maoqing had walked off, Wen Tingli immediately crawled out from behind the bushes, only to discover, once she stood up, that not just her legs but her hands had gone numb too—she’d been holding those two glasses of champagne out of habit the whole time she’d been hiding, and fortunately hadn’t spilled much of the liquid.

After tidying herself up hastily in the shadow of the trees, she headed alone into the building. Gao Xiaowen had told her that on the east side of the ground floor was a row of game rooms, the innermost one being where her older brother always played cards with his friends.

The moment she entered, she caught a faint, lingering scent of perfume—someone had just walked down this corridor, and that trace fragrance still hung in the air.

The scent was so distinctive she recognized it at once as the perfume Yu Peiling wore.

Wen Tingli quietly followed the scent’s trail forward. The corridor was laid with thick carpet, muffling her footsteps completely, and at the end of the hall, she found the door to that room closed, with the faint sound of a woman’s voice from within.

Just as Wen Tingli was straining to listen, the door suddenly swung open, and Yu Peiling came storming out in a state of disarray, muttering resentfully as she walked, “Talk about walking right into it. That Chen Maoqing, giving me such terrible ideas!”

Then she snorted. “As if it’s such a big deal—there’s no shortage of men in Shanghai who’d love to court me, Yu Peiling, I don’t need him of all people!”

Grumbling under her breath, she held her head high like a proud white swan and swayed off in her high heels. Too caught up in her own indignant mood, she never even noticed Wen Tingli in the corner.

Wen Tingli looked into the room and saw Lu Shicheng sitting alone at a far card table.

The fireplace in the room was burning too hot, and he’d taken off his coat, wearing only a white shirt and dark waistcoat, a jade tie clip fastened to his tie. Perhaps feeling warm, he’d rolled up each shirt sleeve partway, and an empty wine glass sat beside him.

His expression was gloomy and cold, seemingly lost in thought about something.

Hearing the commotion at the door, a flash of impatience crossed Lu Shicheng’s face.

Since she’d known him, this was the first time Wen Tingli had ever seen such an expression on his face, but the moment he looked up and saw it was Wen Tingli at the door, that impatience vanished instantly, and he visibly froze for a moment.

But right after, a deliberately cold expression settled over his face.

Well, well—months apart and his acting had nearly caught up to hers.

Acting was fine—she’d never lost at that game. Holding her glass, she walked into the room and looked around in mock surprise. “Huh, didn’t they say Xiaowen would be here? Where is she, just you here?”

Lu Shicheng looked at her knowingly, and Wen Tingli plopped herself down in the seat across from him. “Since we happened to run into each other here, I actually have something I want to ask you: what were you inspecting so furtively under my house the other night?”

A suspicious flush crossed Lu Shicheng’s face, and he lowered his eyes to the empty wine glass in his hand.

Wen Tingli studied his face, and that tangled mix of love and resentment welled up in her again. She said coolly, “What relationship do you and I even have now, Mr. Lu? I don’t believe my affairs are any of your business anymore.”

Lu Shicheng was silent for a moment, then picked up his coat from beside the chair and rose to his feet.

Wen Tingli’s heart ached, but she held back for a few seconds, then turned and spoke to his back. “I’m not finished talking yet.”

Lu Shicheng stopped in his tracks but wouldn’t turn to look at her, instead staring at the door ahead.

Wen Tingli got up and walked over to stand in front of him, took a deep breath, and looked not at him but at the floor between them—such a short distance, yet so very far.

Her voice was low. “Have you decided I’m a liar when it comes to feelings?”

Lu Shicheng’s face showed no reaction, but she could hear his breathing turn ragged. She looked to one side. “I’ve never lied to anyone about you—you’ve simply misunderstood my feelings for you entirely.”

Lu Shicheng’s throat moved, and he turned to study her for a long moment, then pulled a hand from his trouser pocket and made a sign-language gesture at her.

Wen Tingli was startled—lately, because of filming, she’d picked up some basic sign language on set, so she could understand it, but back when she and Lu Shicheng had been together, he’d rarely used sign language to communicate with her. She more or less knew why—he didn’t want to admit, in front of her, that his muteness was a disability.

Now, he’d rather acknowledge his own affliction than have as much contact with her as before—after all, once the two of them started communicating with pen and paper, everything took on an air of intimacy.

He was asking her.

[Misunderstood—]

[Then please, Miss Wen, tell me what the truth actually is.]

“I—”

Lu Shicheng looked at her, disappointed.

Rather than confront her outright, he preferred to wait for her to speak the truth herself, but clearly, whoever this person was, they held an immeasurably important place in her heart—important enough that she’d rather give up a relationship than tell the truth.

His expression turned cold again.

[Miss Wen, please step aside.]

“I won’t step aside! I know, you hate more than anything being schemed against, you blame me for approaching you with an ulterior motive at first, you feel I sullied your feelings for me—but have you ever considered, if I didn’t truly love you, I could’ve simply left you the moment the mission was done, why would I have stayed with you every day after that? Have you forgotten, we were once so close, you and I—”

Her voice grew quieter and quieter, but these words didn’t move Lu Shicheng at all—if anything, they seemed to strike right at his sore spot. His face reddened, but his gaze grew only more mocking, and he laughed:

[Am I supposed to be moved? So the lies had a bit of genuine feeling mixed in—but from the very start, wasn’t this entire relationship built on lies?]

“I had no choice! But I can swear to heaven, before I decided to be with you, that mission had already ended. Everything I said to you, everything I did, was of my own free will. Some secrets I couldn’t tell you at the time only because I was protecting my friend.”

[So who exactly is this friend?!]

Her voice caught. Lu Shicheng stood his ground, his gaze deep and complicated as he looked at her.

Wen Tingli gritted her teeth and lowered her head—she couldn’t reveal Director Deng’s situation just to win Lu Shicheng back. She stood at a moral crossroads, torn both ways, and finally shook her head resolutely. “I can’t say… I only know, I never deceived your feelings. You… please, search your own heart—can you truly not tell whether my feelings for you were real or fake?!”

As she spoke, tears spilled down freely.

Lu Shicheng seemed somewhat moved, gazing at her silently for a moment before reaching up to gently wipe her tears away.

Wen Tingli’s tears only came faster—he had softened after all, he couldn’t bear it after all—but he only wiped her tears once before decisively withdrawing his hand again.

[Miss Wen, ever since I first saw you compete in that drama competition at the Golden Theater, I knew you were an outstanding actress. Your tears come whenever you call for them, your emotions switch on command. I cannot tell which time you’re crying for real and which time you’re faking it, nor can I tell how much truth is in your words—and in fact, that contract proved one thing: you’ve been deceiving me all along. So please, don’t use this trick on me again.]

He said all this with an almost coldly detached, objective air, and walked past her toward the door.

She stamped her foot resentfully at his back—his gesture just now had nearly convinced her he’d let go of it all, and he’d made her feel, in this way, what it was like to be toyed with in turn.

She too turned her face coldly aside. “Fine, from now on I’ll never come looking for you, and you’d better never concern yourself with my affairs again either!”

Lu Shicheng’s footsteps faltered, and just then someone arrived outside.

“Shicheng, have you looked over that document? What do you think?” It was Gao Tingxin’s voice.

Wen Tingli quickly looked around—she should have timed this better; Gao Xiaowen had told her earlier she could only buy her and Lu Shicheng ten minutes alone at most, and now, if Gao Tingxin and the others saw her alone in a room with Lu Shicheng, there’d surely be no shortage of gossip.

To her surprise, Lu Shicheng closed the door behind him as he left.

“Shall we discuss the details up front?” Gao Tingxin said, delighted. “Good, I’ll have someone bring tea to the study.”

Wen Tingli listened intently, and before long the sounds outside settled back into quiet. She slipped out of the room at the right moment, her heart a tangle of emotions—Lu Shicheng’s thoughtfulness and consideration never failed to surprise her; if this man had one flaw, it was probably that he was far too stubborn in his thinking!

On matters of principle, he was practically made of iron!

Gao Xiaowen and the others were searching everywhere for Wen Tingli.

Wen Tingli returned to the front hall and spent a while chatting with friends, then, seeing it was getting late, said regretfully to Zhao Qingluo and the others, “I need to get back to the set for the night shoot.”

The group saw her off, and just then Gao Tingxin and Lu Shicheng’s group came out of the study. Wen Tingli kept chatting with her friends on the surface, but couldn’t help letting her eyes drift toward Lu Shicheng.

Lu Shicheng never once looked her way.

Wen Tingli gave a soft snort and resolutely looked away. “Don’t bother seeing me off, I’ll call you all tomorrow.”

“Hurry along then, don’t hold up your wrap,” Gao Xiaowen and the others said with a laugh.

A group of young ladies gathered together naturally drew attention, and Gao Xiaowen’s laughter drew even more eyes their way.

Gao Tingxin asked in surprise, “Miss Wen’s leaving already?”

Just then a flustered steward hurried over looking for Gao Tingxin, and seeing Lu Shicheng and Meng Qiguang beside him, swallowed his words back.

“No outsiders here, just say what you need to say,” Gao Tingxin said with a laugh.

The steward gulped nervously and lowered his voice. “Earlier, someone left two glasses of champagne in the bridge room out back, and it happened that Madam’s cat was wandering around outside tonight—Ah Xiang didn’t watch it closely enough, and the creature snuck in, jumped on the table, and lapped up some of the wine. It dropped dead on the spot. Ah Xiang and the others were scared out of their wits—we suspect… we suspect that wine had rat poison in it.”

Lu Shicheng’s expression changed.

“Isn’t champagne meant for the guests to drink?” Gao Tingxin, too, was taken aback. “How could there be rat poison in it?”

“We don’t know. There were two glasses of champagne on the table—one was poisoned, the other wasn’t. The poisoned one had a trace of lipstick on it, so it should belong to one of the lady guests. If someone really did poison it, they were most likely targeting this lady guest—we don’t know if she’s still here at the party. Should we report it to the police station, young master?”

“Wait, wait.” Gao Tingxin was getting confused. “Are you saying someone tonight tried to poison another guest?”

Lu Shicheng’s face turned ashen. After a moment’s thought, he suddenly looked up in the direction Wen Tingli’s car had driven off.

Golden Film Studios’ set.

Wen Tingli, playing the middle-aged Nan Qi, a bamboo basket on her arm, walked alone toward a temporarily built “hillside.” Her back was hunched, her expression numb, her knees stiff—though only thirty-one, she looked aged as an old woman.

Halfway up the slope, her legs seemed to give out entirely, and with a stumble she tumbled down the steep incline. “Nan Qi” struggled a couple of times before giving up, looking utterly exhausted, a bitter smile rising on her face as she quietly awaited death’s arrival. The smile trembled faintly before the camera like a reflection on water. At the same time, the lights on set dimmed lower and lower, and as the last light went out, Nan Qi’s face, like a withered flower, faded completely into darkness.

“Good!” Huang Yuanshan’s voice of approval rang out from behind the camera, and the set lights snapped back on.

The assistant director and cinematographer said excitedly, “We were worried this take would need several tries, but Miss Wen really came through—well done.”

Wen Tingli was overjoyed, scrambling right up off the ground—it was already half past one in the morning, and most of the studio staff had already left; otherwise, given how smoothly this final scene had gone, everyone would surely have been celebrating together by now.

Even so, the dozen or so colleagues still present couldn’t hide their beaming smiles, busily packing up while discussing where to go for a late-night snack to celebrate.

Wen Tingli said with a smile, “I won’t join in the fun tonight—it’s too late, my family will worry.”

“We’ll have the wrap party together another time then. Isn’t your school about to break for the holidays? Now that the film’s wrapped, you won’t have to work so hard anymore.”

Huang Yuanshan came over, beaming, clapping her hands. “Everyone’s worked hard these past months. Tonight I’ll treat everyone to a late-night snack first—Little Tan, take the film reels to the company, the rest of this can wait till tomorrow. Tingli, the company driver’s already off duty, I’ll drive you home myself later.”

Wen Tingli said quickly, “Sounds good, let me go take off my makeup and I’ll be right out. Sister Huang, wait for me.”

“No rush, I’ll get everyone settled with their snacks first. Old Lu, you all finish up and come join soon.”

Before long everyone had cleared out, leaving only two set assistants outside taking down the lights. The older one was the very Old Lu that Huang Yuanshan had just mentioned.

Old Lu was known on the crew as a genuinely good man—every time the set wrapped, he was always the last to leave. He had a daughter about Wen Tingli’s age, and supported the whole family single-handedly.

Wen Tingli had a good impression of Old Lu, and said to him, “Master Lu, I’ll be out in about twenty minutes.”

She went to the dressing room in back to remove her makeup—her scenes were always scheduled last, so the other actresses had already gone home long ago.

Once done, Wen Tingli opened her closet to get her handbag, when she suddenly heard footsteps outside the door. Assuming it was Old Lu coming to hurry her along, she quickly closed the cabinet and went to the door.

She pulled at the door, but it wouldn’t open—as if someone had locked it from outside. Wen Tingli tensed and began pounding on the door hard.

“Master Lu, it’s me, Little Wen, I’m still in here!”

But the footsteps outside suddenly ran off into the distance, the pace carrying a note of panic.

Wen Tingli’s expression turned severe. Something was wrong!

“Who’s out there? Don’t play this kind of joke on me!”

Without a second thought, she pulled out her pistol and fired straight at the lock, threw the door open, and was immediately choked by thick black smoke billowing toward her.

A chill shot straight through Wen Tingli’s body, down to her very feet.

A fire! Had someone set it deliberately? This person clearly meant to kill her!

She gritted her teeth, covered her nose and mouth, and ran desperately outward.

These past days she’d been on guard everywhere—at home, at school, at parties, on her way to work, never letting her guard down for a moment. To protect Zhou Sao and Taozi, she’d even asked Li Chengying to station some men near her house.

But she’d never imagined the culprit would set fire to the film set itself just to try to kill her! What audacity!

The corridor was ablaze everywhere, enormous tongues of flame racing along the walls and floor toward her at an alarming speed.

“Help!” The flames quickly blocked her path, and she hastily turned to find another way out—fortunately, having spent so much time on this set, she remembered there was a bathroom at the end of the corridor, with a window she could climb out of leading to a passage straight to the back alley; there was also a terrace behind the tea room, though that was a bit farther.

Wen Tingli decided at once to run toward the bathroom, when she suddenly heard someone shout from behind, “Fire! Miss Wen, Miss Wen, are you out? Run!”

“I’m out!”

Before the words had even finished, a loud thud sounded from the stairwell, and turning back through the thick smoke, she saw someone collapse on the steps.

“Master Lu!”

Master Lu had apparently just escaped from the prop room on the second floor, still clutching a water bucket, its water spilled all over the ground.

Wen Tingli rushed back to help Master Lu up, and the two ran together toward the end of the corridor.

“I thought it was just a small fire, but with how it’s spreading, someone clearly doused the place in gasoline. It’s only going to get worse.”

In an instant, the raging fire had spread along the wainscoting up to the ceiling. Just as they were about to rush into the bathroom, a beam fell from overhead, striking right between them, the flames leaping up so high they nearly singed Wen Tingli’s eyebrows.

Master Lu was struck on the arm and let out a muffled groan inside.

Wen Tingli, startled, retreated back into the corridor, and in the blink of an eye the bathroom doorway was already a sea of flame, Master Lu shouting desperately from inside, “Miss Wen! Miss Wen!”

“Try to jump out the window and find help! There’s a terrace by the tea room, I’ll try that way!”

“All right, I saw a car parked under the streetlamp earlier—might be Sister Huang come back to pick you up. I’ll go find someone to help fight the fire first, and call the Concession fire department.”

As she spoke, more smoke billowed toward Wen Tingli, and she made a beeline for the tea room. The fire hadn’t spread inside yet; she cut through the tea room and was about to push through onto the terrace when the flames suddenly caught the door frame, scorching tongues of fire rushing straight at her.

With no way forward or back now, Wen Tingli shouted toward the terrace, “Someone, help! Save me!”

The room grew hotter and hotter, the smoke thicker and thicker. Spotting a towel by the tea cabinet, she quickly poured water from the tea bucket over it, pressed the wet towel to her mouth, and forced her way out with all her strength.

The fire in the corridor was mostly spreading along the ceiling; the path ahead wasn’t blocked yet, and she stood a good chance of getting out safely.

But just as she made it out, she stumbled and fell hard to the ground, unable to get up for a long moment, and as she struggled, she heard footsteps approaching from ahead.

Whoever it was seemed to be searching for someone, stopping at every door to kick it open violently.

As this person forced their way through, the doors along the corridor were kicked open one after another.

Strangely, though this person was clearly frantic, they were eerily silent.

Only searching, only searching with desperate urgency, never making a sound.

As hope after hope failed, this person’s movements gradually took on a tone of panic and despair.

With a rumbling crash, another beam fell from the ceiling, shaking the floorboards, the towering flames and billowing black smoke seeming ready to swallow up everything in the world.

That person suddenly choked on the smoke, their footsteps freezing in place, and this time, alongside the silence and panic, came the sound of ragged, violent gasping.

Wen Tingli’s mind was wrapped in a fog, still dazed on the ground, when she suddenly heard someone ahead cry out with great difficulty: “Wen—Ting—li.”

It was a young man’s voice.

Wen Tingli’s heart jolted.

Those three short syllables sounded as if squeezed out from between clenched teeth, as if there were no other way, as if he’d had to summon every last bit of strength just to force them out.

Wen Tingli’s body began to tremble faintly—she’d only ever heard this voice once before, and she’d never forgotten it.

Having forced out that first cry with such difficulty, the person immediately called out again, low: “Wen Tingli.”

This time it came more smoothly, though this person seemed unused to shouting like this—after each cry, he’d pause.

From the tone of his voice alone, one could tell how anxious he was right now.

“Wen Tingli.” He gasped, straining with great effort, calling out again and again, “Wen Tingli.”

As if getting no response, he suddenly ran further upstairs. Wen Tingli’s whole body jolted, and she shouted with all her remaining strength, “I’m here!”

The person immediately caught the direction of her voice, spun around at once, and hurried toward her.

A figure appeared before her eyes, framed in the shifting light.

Wen Tingli’s throat tightened with a sudden ache, tears welling up, and she stared wide-eyed at the face above her—but before she could make out his expression clearly, this person swept her tightly into his arms and carried her out.