Two days later, Wen Tingli met Qiao Baoxin in Room 803 of the Dahua Hotel.

Qiao Baoxin had grown darker and thinner, but her complexion was excellent, her whole bearing full of energy.

Facing Wen Tingli, she was silent for a long moment, holding her and looking her over again and again, before saying dejectedly, “Thank goodness you’re alright. My brother’s already told me everything about that night. Our Qiao family really has no face left to show anyone—let me apologize on my father’s behalf.”

Wen Tingli patted Baoxin’s hand with great understanding. In front of her exceptionally overbearing parents, Baoxin could do nothing but bear the pain in silence.

She pulled Qiao Baoxin down to sit on the edge of the bed. “First tell me, did something unusual happen recently? I remember you saying you wouldn’t come back to Shanghai before winter break—why the sudden change?”

Seeing the wariness on Wen Tingli’s face, Qiao Baoxin grew serious in turn, thought for a moment, and said, “It’s actually a rather random thing. One of the seniors in our student council is from Qingpu, near Shanghai. Last week, right after our fellowship meeting ended, she suddenly pulled out a train ticket in front of everyone, saying she was going home to visit her sick father, but had accidentally bought an extra ticket—only discovered it that morning while getting dressed—and now it was too late to return it, so she asked if anyone wanted the ticket.”

She’d already been debating whether to go home for her mother’s birthday, and with someone to accompany her back to Shanghai, she’d taken the ticket right away—the senior had only charged her half price.

It sounded innocent enough. Wen Tingli mulled it over. “That day, we’d clearly agreed to meet at the Dream of Opera Café near the Gao residence—why did you suddenly change our meeting place to the hotel instead?”

“Because that afternoon, I went out to buy some things and had the vague sense someone was following me. I thought at first my father’s people had found out where I was, and got so scared I called my cousin-uncle. But he was quite certain my father had no idea. He said he’d look into who it might be, and later, when he heard I was going to meet a friend, urged me to meet at the hotel instead, since that way he could arrange for someone to protect me downstairs.”

So this had been Meng Qiguang’s idea all along—no wonder he’d played dumb in front of her that night.

“So did your cousin-uncle ever find out who was following you?”

Qiao Baoxin shook her head. “He said it was just a few hoodlums, already chased off. Told me not to worry about it.”

Wen Tingli was still turning this over in her mind when Qiao Baoxin pulled her over to her suitcase.

“I brought you some things. This is a delicious northern pastry, called yokan; and this is fuling cake, the filling’s wonderful—if you get hungry on set, use them to tide yourself over. This row of little clay figures, I watched an old man mold them one by one at a stall. Look at those eyes—don’t they look almost real? Xiao Taozi will love these.”

For such a small suitcase, half of it was gifts for Wen Tingli.

Qiao Baoxin then pulled out a stack of old ticket stubs to show Wen Tingli.

“Your Sleuth in Silk Part Two showed in Beiping too—my classmates and I went four times in a row. Tingli, you’re getting better and better, so many of my classmates are fans of yours.” Qiao Baoxin’s eyes shone.

Faced with the half-suitcase of gifts and Qiao Baoxin’s sincere gaze, Wen Tingli didn’t know what to say, and pulled Baoxin into a tight hug. “Being out there on your own, take good care of yourself. Don’t make us worry.”

Baoxin nodded, eyes reddening.

“You still haven’t told me—what exactly happened with you and Tong Zhaohui? Did you really split up?”

Qiao Baoxin sighed.

When she’d first arrived in Beiping, she and Tong Zhaohui had been wonderfully in love. In her eyes, Tong Zhaohui was covered in gleaming medals—a top graduate of Yenching University, the youngest lawyer around, upright in conduct, warm to everyone… She’d approached him with something close to infatuation and worship, deeply believing they would be together for life.

But later, Tong Zhaohui began disappearing without warning, sometimes for a week or two at a time, and coming back with no explanation whatsoever.

Qiao Baoxin knew he had duties to attend to, and always made allowances for him without complaint. But then one time, the two of them had planned to see a film at the Meihua Theater, and Tong Zhaohui stood her up again without any word. It was early spring in Beiping, bitterly cold, and Baoxin stood waiting outside the theater for over an hour, her legs nearly frozen solid.

She fell ill after that. During this time, Tong Zhaohui never once appeared. Baoxin lay in her dormitory, feverish and disoriented, and gradually, something in her heart went cold. She had no family in Beiping, and in the moment she needed him most, he was never by her side. In the end it was her dorm-mates who took her to the hospital.

By the time Tong Zhaohui heard the news and rushed to visit her, several days had already passed, and Baoxin was going through discharge procedures on her own.

She calmly told him she wanted to end things.

Tong Zhaohui was silent for a long while, then said, guiltily, “Baoxin, I’m sorry. I haven’t taken good care of you these past months. But please believe me, my feelings for you were real. It’s just—right now I have too many important things I need to do. If you’re willing to wait a few years—”

“I’m not willing.” Baoxin shook her head firmly.

At the age when she’d most longed for love, she’d met a man who’d captivated her heart, and it had given her the illusion, for a time, that this relationship was right, that they’d go on together forever.

But this experience had made one thing clear to her: if a love always left her disappointed, always forced her into compromise, always kept her waiting and sacrificing, then it wasn’t the right love for her—better to end it while she still could.

At the end of her story, Qiao Baoxin let out a soft sigh. “Honestly, there’s a part of me that still feels a twinge of regret. He was about as close to an ideal man as you could find, and yet, looking back, I don’t regret it in the least. Tingli, you don’t think that makes me fickle, do you?”

Something about this stirred Wen Tingli deeply, and she gripped Baoxin’s hand tightly. “I feel for the two of you, but this was your own decision. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

As a friend, she felt guilty that she hadn’t been there to accompany Baoxin at the time, but she was also glad Baoxin hadn’t lost herself in that relationship. Perhaps that illness had helped Baoxin sever the last thread of emotional dependency—and it was in that very moment that Baoxin had truly come into her own maturity.

This was a necessary stage of growing up, one Wen Tingli herself had gone through, which was exactly why she felt so gladdened on Baoxin’s behalf.

“Promise me, next time you run into trouble, don’t forget to come to me for help. Keep working hard—I’m still waiting to see your acceptance letter from Mary’s Women’s College in America.”

“Don’t worry, sooner or later I’ll show you all what I can accomplish.”

The two of them exchanged a smile.

As Wen Tingli left the room, she mulled over what Meng Qiguang had said to Baoxin. Had he really found nothing, or had he found something and simply chosen not to tell her? Someone as controlling as him wouldn’t think twice about withholding the truth from Baoxin.

Lost in thought, an idea had already begun to take shape in her mind. Downstairs, she saw no sign of Zhou Wei or Old Li, but she did spot Lu Shicheng waiting for her in his car. Delighted and surprised, she pulled her hat brim down and hurried over. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you in a meeting at Lixin Bank all afternoon?”

Lu Shicheng got out and opened the car door for her. “I have to meet with some important clients tonight, so I won’t be able to have dinner with you. Thought I’d come by and spend some time with you first.”

Wen Tingli pouted with feigned disappointment—this would be the first evening since they’d made up that they wouldn’t be having dinner together.

As she climbed into the car, she grumbled at him. “How could you! Xiao Taozi’s birthday is coming up soon, and I’d already planned for us to go pick out a present at the department store together tomorrow evening—why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Then she couldn’t hold back her own laughter, taking off her hat and setting it aside, leaning her head against his shoulder of her own accord. “Just teasing you. Actually I’m going to see Yao Jie about something tonight anyway.”

“Then I’ll have Zhou Wei take you.” He seemed to have something on his mind, absentmindedly kissing the top of her head as he spoke to her—his voice so soft, yet she could still hear it. “This came up suddenly. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night, alright?”

“Mm.” She leaned against his shoulder, contentedly listening to his deep, resonant voice. “Oh, there’s something I need to tell you—”

She told him about someone following Qiao Baoxin that day. Lu Shicheng thought it over. “Sounds like I’ll need to send Uncle Kuang to Beiping.”

“Do you suspect the White Dragon Gang is behind this too?”

He gave a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. “This wouldn’t be the first time Lu Kejian has secretly colluded with the White Dragon Gang. Things in Beiping are getting worse and worse—it’s no surprise if Lu Kejian, worried he’ll never make it back to Shanghai at this rate, starts stirring up something new.”

Wen Tingli nodded thoughtfully. The two of them talked quietly for a while, and gradually the furrow in Lu Shicheng’s brow relaxed. As the car pulled away, Wen Tingli happened to glance up and saw, at the intersection ahead, a man and a woman emerging from an imposing building.

The man had a familiar dark, thin, triangular face—it was Chen Maoqing, owner of Huamei Film Company.

The woman had an unusual air about her, though sunglasses obscured most of her features. Beneath the lenses, her lips were pressed tightly together in obvious displeasure, and she darted straight into a nearby car the moment she stepped outside.

Chen Maoqing, however, was in no hurry to get in his own car, lingering at the entrance of the foreign firm to talk with a man who looked like a wealthy businessman.

Wen Tingli remembered seeing this businessman just a few days earlier at the Gao family’s birthday banquet—everyone had called him Boss Xin, said to be one of Tianjin’s top compradors, skilled at investment, with fingers in businesses of every kind.

Chen Maoqing chatted with Boss Xin with great enthusiasm, while Boss Xin’s eyes stayed shamelessly fixed on the woman in the car.

That night, besides Zhou Wei and Old Li, two more “escorts” joined Wen Tingli. The group knew their limits well—never getting too close, never interrupting her work, only watching from a distance, which left Wen Tingli feeling entirely unconstrained.

But the following month passed without incident. The anxious weight on Wen Tingli’s heart settled somewhat, and she finished shooting the remainder of Spring Wind Blows Again smoothly, then began rushing to finish Twin Pearls, which had been paused earlier due to her dieting. Huang Yuanshan, hoping to get the new film edited as soon as possible, worked overtime at the company day and night, while also actively contacting major theaters to prepare for the release of Spring Wind Blows Again.

This was Xiufeng’s very first film since the company’s founding, and outside opinion was divided. Some were waiting to see it flop, reasoning that “Xiufeng is nothing but a ragtag operation put together by two women, weak in real strength—word is they don’t have much money on the books at all, relying entirely on scrounging investment from all sides. What kind of decent film could a shell company like that possibly turn out?”

Another camp took a more analytical view, but still landed on the same pessimistic conclusion: labor films had never been particularly popular, and they predicted that “Wen and Huang won’t be able to pull off anything new.”

Faced with this chorus of doubt, Xiufeng offered no response whatsoever. This mysterious silence, oddly enough, stirred curiosity in some who hadn’t originally cared much about the film. Wen Tingli struck while the iron was hot, teaming up with Dong Qinfang of Xinxin Department Store to run a serial advertisement in the papers.

On the first day, the paper printed only a single photograph of a woman, with the headline: “Guess who she is?”

Caption: “This paper’s reporter came across a set of photographs, four in total, suspected to be candid shots of a certain actress taken on set. This is the first of the four—readers are invited to help identify the woman. Whoever guesses correctly will receive a ten-dollar gift voucher from Xinxin Department Store.”

That day, the newspaper’s phones nearly rang off the hook.

Everyone considered themselves seasoned moviegoers, confident in their ability to recognize a star, and with prize money on the line, people were only too happy to join in.

Given that the woman in the photo appeared noticeably thinner than usual, many guessed it was Zhou Manru, others guessed Duan Miaoqing—hardly anyone guessed Wen Tingli.

The next day, the paper ran a second photograph of the same woman, still turned to the side, though her face was angled a little more toward the camera.

That day, even more people called in to join the guessing game.

On the third day, Zhou Manru publicly denied in the papers that the woman in the photo was herself, and that set the whole thing ablaze—not only were fans now thoroughly curious about this mystery star, but even some tabloid reporters began writing pieces to join in the guessing.

Day four, day five—the discussion grew louder and louder. At one point, some patrons at a teahouse got into such a heated argument over who the woman was that it nearly came to blows, each insisting they were right.

By the sixth day, when the paper announced the answer, countless people’s jaws dropped. Some flatly refused to believe it was Wen Tingli, and to expose the “newspaper’s lie,” went so far as to camp outside Xiufeng Studios all day. In their minds, the Wen Tingli they knew from the screen was lively and radiant, with a healthy, athletic figure—nothing like the reed-thin woman in those photos.

At this point, Huang Yuanshan came out with a beaming smile to claim the photographs. “That’s correct—these are indeed on-set photographs of our own Miss Wen Tingli, taken during the filming of our new movie, Spring Wind Blows Again.”

By the time this serial advertisement campaign concluded, the film was already generating buzz before its release, and everyone at Xiufeng couldn’t stop grinning.

Liu Menglin, owner of Gold Company, had a face black as the bottom of a pot. “This has Wen Tingli’s fingerprints all over it! Spending just a little money to turn the film into a sensation like this—how come none of the people I pay never think of clever tricks like that?!”

His managers were too frightened to say a word.

Liu Menglin grew angrier the more he thought about it. “This is only Xiufeng’s first film. Once they really spread their wings, won’t Gold Company end up gasping for breath under their shadow? Shen Yingying and Duan Miaoqing’s new films haven’t even released yet, and already Xiufeng’s stolen all the spotlight. The rest of you, hurry up and come up with something, or are you just waiting for the company to take a loss?”

“We’ve already reached out to all the major newspapers. Once Xiufeng’s film releases, it’ll face a wave of overwhelming criticism, and then—”

“Nonsense! Do you think Wen Tingli is a pushover, that some petty trick like that could actually scratch her? She’s not the green newcomer she used to be! Can any of you actually put your minds to work?”

Just then someone came in to report: “Chen Maoqing of Huamei Film has arrived.”

Him? The most treacherous and detestable of them all. Liu Menglin waved a hand quickly. “Tell him I’m not in. Get rid of him.”

But out on the staircase, Chen Maoqing’s half-laughing voice had already risen. “Boss Liu, if you turn me away today, you’ll come to regret it sorely—I’m here to offer you a strategy.”

The next day, Wen Tingli got up before dawn, humming happily to herself as she picked out clothes in front of her wardrobe.

Today was the day her company was set to sign the first-run screening contract with Huguang Grand Theater—if all went well, Spring Wind Blows Again would officially premiere the following week.

To secure this deal, she’d been busy from morning to night lately, sometimes filming in the studio until one or two in the morning. She’d assumed Lu Shicheng would come find her the next day instead, but every night when she wrapped, she’d find his car parked under the plane trees across the street.

The streets at midnight were often utterly empty, and at those times, she’d become like a happy little bird, laughing as she darted across the road toward him. He’d open his arms to receive her from across the street, and the moment she flew into his embrace, he’d wrap her tight, lowering his head to kiss the top of her hair, her eyelids, her ears—never able to get enough.

One time, Lu Shicheng had gone to Hong Kong for the Southern Chamber of Commerce conference, a packed schedule that also required receiving various dignitaries afterward, leaving him without sleep for two full days and nights. When he returned to Shanghai, Wen Tingli firmly insisted he not come pick her up that night, yet the moment she stepped out, there was his car after all—only this time, he’d fallen asleep inside.

Wen Tingli didn’t run as she usually did, but crept over quietly instead. The moment she leaned down by the window, Lu Shicheng snapped his eyes open warily, and the instant he saw it was her, his gaze softened at once into tenderness. Silvery moonlight fell across the ridge of his brow, lending his whole face an unusual gentleness. He didn’t get out of the car right away, but instead reached a hand out through the window, cupping the back of her head, pulling her close, and kissing her.

Recalling these sweet memories, Wen Tingli couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from curling up, and, in high spirits, sat down to pick out jewelry when Xiao Taozi’s voice suddenly rang out beside her: “Sister, I want to eat this.”

Wen Tingli took the canned food from Xiao Taozi’s hands and twisted it open for her. “Where does Xiao Taozi want to go for the celebration dinner tonight?”

Xiao Taozi looked utterly blank.

Wen Tingli patiently explained to her little sister, “A celebration dinner is when a person or a group achieves something they’re happy with—”

Just then, the phone rang.

“Quick! Come to the office! Something big’s happened.” It was Huang Yuanshan.

Wen Tingli rushed to the office, and the moment she walked in the door, she could sense something was wrong. Seeing her come in, everyone seemed to feel steadied, and quickly gathered around her.

Wen Tingli gave everyone a reassuring look. “Don’t panic, the sky’s not falling. Tell me slowly.”

“Huguang Theater suddenly backed out. Boss Huang’s on the phone with them arguing right now.”

Wen Tingli tensed and rushed upstairs. She was still in the corridor when she heard Huang Yuanshan shouting loudly inside: “Old Zhang, this is you going back on your word! You’d better give me a reasonable explanation, or I’m not letting this go—what? That’s absolute nonsense! Hello? Hello!”

Turning to see Wen Tingli, Huang Yuanshan slammed the receiver down, saying with intense agitation, “Out of nowhere, Huguang suddenly won’t do the premiere with us anymore. Says they want to hand over the prime slot to Gold’s new film A Strange Afternoon Tea Party and Huamei’s Li Yutang instead. And they say if we insist on screening at their theater, it’s not impossible, but only in the middle of the night, or else we wait until those other films have finished their run.”

“Outrageous! Since when does a premiere play in the middle of the night?!”

“That’s exactly why I say something fishy’s going on here!” Huang Yuanshan’s face had turned dark as a storm cloud. “Our new film’s riding high right now, and out of nowhere this happens—it’s clearly aimed at Xiufeng. No, I have to go find Old Zhang and get an explanation face to face! If it’s about the profit split he’s unhappy with, at worst we can give some ground.”

Wen Tingli stopped Huang Yuanshan. “No. If we give in this time, every theater from now on can pull the same trick to squeeze us. Shanghai has more than one theater—let’s go, try Meiqi instead.”

Boss Liu of Meiqi was quite gracious to them, inviting them to sit, personally pouring tea. But the moment the conversation turned to a first-run partnership, he shook his head, looking genuinely troubled. “There’s really no open slot this month. As you know, both Huamei and Gold have their new films scheduled for first-run screenings at our theater, and, well, these established companies always have works with proven track records—not to mention we’ve partnered with them many times before as good friends. We can only give them priority.”

The two women left Meiqi with grim faces and went on to Grand Shanghai, Nanjing, Dahua, Grand, Cathay, and other theaters.

But these theaters either shut the door on them outright, or had their staff stammer some excuse: “Our boss just left for out of town… not sure when he’ll be back.”

By this point, Wen Tingli and Huang Yuanshan could almost conclude for certain that this had something to do with Gold and Huamei.

They refused to simply sit and wait for their fate. Instead, they split up—Wen Tingli went to negotiate with Vice Chairman Weng of the Film Association, while Huang Yuanshan called on every connection she’d built up over the years to gather information. By evening, Huang Yuanshan’s network finally paid off, and Boss Gu of Lidu Cinema haltingly let slip the inside story.

It turned out that the day before, Gold and Huamei’s two bosses—normally at odds—had, for the first time ever, joined forces to call all the major theater owners and invite them to a dinner at Jindong Restaurant.

At the table, alongside the Gold and Huamei bosses, sat the heads of Shen’s Film, Chunguang, Yuansheng, Qunyi, and other film companies—every one of them a heavyweight in the industry.

Once everyone was seated, Liu Menglin spoke first, righteously listing off a string of accusations of “unfair competition” against Xiufeng, then getting straight to the point: to keep this “black sheep” from growing any stronger, why not “strangle it in the cradle” right now.

Prior to this, several film company bosses had already reached a consensus: as producers, they would demand that theaters refuse to screen Xiufeng’s so-called “inferior” films, or else they would refuse to supply their own films to that theater going forward.

Compared to Xiufeng, still wet behind the ears, theaters naturally preferred to partner with established companies like Huamei and Gold. Huamei had its Film Queen, Yu Peiling, and its own stars Yao Lingzhu and Ye Xiaohong, recently pushed hard by Chen Maoqing in new films of their own. Shen’s Film had veteran stars Xiao Diejun and Le Zhiwen; and as for Gold Company, its rising talents Duan Miaoqing and Shen Yingying were both doing well.

As for Xiufeng, their only leading lady was Wen Tingli, and her new film, Spring Wind Blows Again, was a labor film about the tragic lives of women workers—hardly a premise to draw crowds by its title alone.

Boss Liu of Meiqi was the first to fold, for no other reason than being a devoted fan of Film Queen Yu Peiling—he feared that if his theater didn’t cooperate, Huamei would refuse to let them screen Yu Peiling’s future films first-run.

As for Huguang Theater, which had already agreed to partner with Xiufeng earlier, Liu Menglin used both carrot and stick, promising that if Huguang gave up their first-run agreement with Xiufeng this time, his company would give them a ten-percent discount on their own future film releases.

And so, entirely without their knowledge, Xiufeng had been thoroughly locked out of every theater in the city by several major film companies acting in concert.

Learning the full story, everyone was too furious to speak for a long moment.

Li Zhen, usually so resourceful, could only pace anxiously in circles this time. “It’s not just one company, not even two—several of the hottest film companies have banded together to crush Xiufeng. What theater could withstand that kind of pressure? I spent this whole afternoon calling on a hundred contacts, one after another, and couldn’t even get a single theater owner to see me face to face. If theaters won’t show our film, we can hardly project it on a wall in the middle of the street, can we?”

This remark seemed to spark something in Huang Yuanshan, and she rose to her feet, resolute. “I’m going straight to contact Jinmen and Guanghua. Good wine needs no bush—as long as there’s a theater willing to show it, I don’t believe our film can’t fight its way out.”

But those theaters either had outdated equipment or were in out-of-the-way locations, historically only handling second-run, third-run, or even later screenings. To send their film there for a premiere would, even if it managed to build a bit of word of mouth, still be a box office disaster.

“Yao Jie!” Cao Renxiu stepped forward and grabbed Huang Yuanshan’s arm. “You’ve poured your whole heart into this film—are you really willing to just let it end here in defeat?”

“Not willing.” Huang Yuanshan’s teeth ground together. “I’m the least willing of anyone. But is there any other option right now? Chen Maoqing and Liu Menglin have staked their own reputations on strangling Xiufeng this time. Either we admit defeat and walk away, or we wait for our chance to turn the tables.”

She looked around at everyone, her face full of anger slowly giving way to a bitter smile. “As the boss, I can’t betray your trust in me. I have to find a way to keep Xiufeng alive. While Jinmen and Guanghua still have open slots, we can at least negotiate calmly with them—once the other big films come out, we won’t even have room to negotiate anymore.”

She patted Cao Renxiu on the shoulder, forcing a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the negotiations with them properly. You all… wait for my good news.”

As she headed for the door, Huang Yuanshan’s back seemed to stoop just a little. Everyone exchanged despondent glances—such a proud, forthright person, and yet even she had to bow her head before this conspiracy.

“Yao Jie!”

Wen Tingli hadn’t said a word this whole time. While everyone else scrambled to discuss countermeasures, she’d simply sat there, face grave as still water, deep in thought—and now, she’d made up her mind.

“I’ve thought of a way to break the deadlock.” She squared her shoulders and walked toward Huang Yuanshan. “The person who can break this deadlock already promised to help me, months ago. If we can just find this person right away, we can turn this around immediately. Yao Jie, are you willing to take the risk and try?”

“Let’s go.” Huang Yuanshan didn’t hesitate for a second.

Wen Tingli felt a swell of emotion. Yao Jie was someone who valued loyalty, who took responsibility, and who never acted unilaterally—ever since the company’s founding, she’d supported every one of Wen Tingli’s decisions unconditionally. Working alongside someone like this, even the hardest tasks somehow felt less impossible.

“Alright, from here on, no matter what you see or hear, don’t say a word until I give you a signal with my eyes.”

Huang Yuanshan clasped hands with Wen Tingli in wordless understanding.

The two of them hurried downstairs and, quite unexpectedly, ran into an old acquaintance right at the company’s front door: Liu Menglin.

He’d apparently just happened to be passing by, his car parked at the roadside, and was eyeing Xiufeng’s signboard with the look of someone enjoying a show.

Spotting them, rather than telling his driver to move on, he seemed rather pleased to greet them.

“Where are you two off to in such a hurry?”

Huang Yuanshan and Wen Tingli had no time to spare for him, and pulled open the car doors from either side to get in.

Liu Menglin sauntered over toward them. “If you’d known it would come to this, why start down this road at all? We’re old colleagues, after all—I can’t bring myself to be too ruthless. Tell you what: run an apology notice in the papers, three days running, announcing that Xiufeng is formally folding into Gold and being renamed ‘Gold Film Studio No. 2.’ Do that and I might consider letting you off. From then on, one of you can keep being a big star, the other a famous director—wouldn’t that be far easier than slaving away running your own company?”

As he spoke, Wen Tingli had already started the car, and Liu Menglin happened to be standing right in front of the hood.

She smiled at him. “Boss Liu, you’re in my way.”

Liu Menglin had assumed that things had reached the point where these two would finally lose some of their swagger, but to his surprise they were just as brazen as ever. He couldn’t help sneering. “Looks like Miss Wen’s off to call in reinforcements. Going to find Lu Shicheng? Tsk tsk, this is the extent of what you women are capable of, is it? Yes, the Lu family has wealth and power, but can Lu Shicheng really force every film company in the city to shut down? Not likely! Even if he tried, he’d become public enemy number one for the whole Shanghai film industry—why drag innocent people into your mess?”

Huang Yuanshan rolled down the window, ready to curse him out, but Wen Tingli pressed a hand on her shoulder to steady her, and smiled faintly at Liu Menglin. “Boss Liu’s greatest flaw is looking down on women to the bone. You and I have crossed paths plenty of times—when have you ever seen me call in reinforcements to solve a little problem? I’m not you.”

Liu Menglin choked on his words. What stuck in his throat wasn’t Wen Tingli’s dismissive attitude—it was that she’d just referred to this massive, coordinated campaign to destroy her as a “little problem.”

“A little problem? Ha?” He spat toward the car as it sped away. “Talk all the tough talk you want—let’s just see how much of a ‘little problem’ this turns out to be for you.”

Wen Tingli drove the car straight to a standalone small building on Avenue Foch. Before getting out, she carefully scanned her surroundings, and only once she was certain there was no familiar vehicle nearby did she step out and ring the bell.

“I’m an old acquaintance of Miss Yu Peiling’s. I’d like to see her right away.” She handed her name card to the old housekeeper who answered the door.

“Our Miss Yu is in a very poor mood right now. She gave orders this morning not to see anyone.”

“I’m not here for anything else today—I’m here about the agreement we made half a year ago. Please pass that along to your Miss Yu—she’ll agree to see me.”

Huang Yuanshan, who’d been holding it in the whole car ride, couldn’t keep quiet any longer and pulled Wen Tingli aside. “So this whole time you were bringing me to see Yu Peiling? You seriously think she can help us out of this mess? She’s Chen Maoqing’s prized star—if she doesn’t kick us while we’re down, that’s already more than we could hope for.”

To their surprise, the old housekeeper came back out quickly, saying politely, “Miss Yu asks you both to come in.”

The next day, at the Huamei Company office, Chen Maoqing had both feet propped up on his desk, idly flipping through a stack of photographs.

These had all been mailed in by young hopefuls outside who dreamed of becoming film stars, all hoping simply for a chance at a screen test in front of him.

Before long, he picked out the most striking-looking young man and woman from the pile and phoned the personnel manager’s office. “Tell Wang Yuqi and Liu Yulin to come in for a screen test tomorrow.”

Call finished, he gave a smug whistle toward Yu Peiling’s poster on the wall.

“Think your wings have grown strong, do you? Won’t listen to me? Plenty of people out there will.”

He hummed a little tune to himself, then put his feet down and pulled open the safe on his right, revealing an assortment of contracts, official seals, and stacks of gold bars. The moment the door opened, the golden glow caught his eye, and he let out a satisfied breath, not noticing at all that the position of the official seal had shifted, as he picked up two gold bars to admire in his hands.

Some people made films for fame, others for so-called “awakening the masses”—in his view, all of them were fools. Chen Maoqing had gone into this business with exactly one goal: to make money.

Whoever got in the way of his money-making, he’d go after. Take Xiufeng, for instance—lately he’d been busy dealing with them. Who told them to come muscling in on a share of the pie? Shanghai’s film market was only so big; if you take a bite, and she takes a bite, what’s left for him to live on?

The most brilliant part of this whole scheme was that no one would ever suspect he and his old rival Liu Menglin had teamed up together. In just a few days, they’d driven Wen Tingli and Huang Yuanshan to the point of desperation. He couldn’t wait to see them scrambling in a panic, and called his secretary with a smile. “Why hasn’t today’s paper arrived yet?”

To his surprise, it was his own man who came bursting in first, in a panic.

“Boss Chen, is this statement real or fake? Why does it have the company seal on it?”

Chen Maoqing snatched the newspaper.

[Huamei Film Company owner Chen Maoqing personally exposes shocking industry secret.]

The article described in detail the “boycott Xiufeng” campaign jointly launched by Gold, Huamei, Shen’s Film, and other companies.

“Boss Chen has always been known for his integrity, and is deeply displeased with this authoritarian scheme led by Liu Menglin. Willing to risk retaliation from Gold Company, he has chosen to withdraw from this alliance. Furthermore, to express his strong protest against this ‘industry monopoly,’ Boss Chen has personally handed over his own new film’s prime slot at Meiqi Theater to Xiufeng…”

Below it ran a photograph of Huamei’s first-run contract with Meiqi—the contract already torn in two.

Beside it, a caption read: to demonstrate his protest against this unhealthy trend, Boss Chen personally tore up the contract with his own hands.

Chen Maoqing stared fixedly at the paper, his eyes practically shooting sparks. The contract was real, the seal was real, the signature was real—only this torn-up version couldn’t possibly be real.

The phone suddenly rang.

“You son of a—!” Liu Menglin bellowed from the other end. “How dare you cross me! You absolute bastard! It was your idea, you led the alliance, and now you’ve pushed me out front to be the villain while you jump out and claim all the credit for yourself! You just wait, I’ll tear your Huamei apart, or my name isn’t Liu!”

After that, the bosses of Shen’s Film, Qunyi, and Yuansheng all called in to demand an explanation one after another. No one would listen to Chen Maoqing’s excuses, because everyone had been present that day when Chen Maoqing signed the contract with Boss Liu of Meiqi—and besides, everyone knew Chen Maoqing guarded his contracts more closely than his own eyeballs.

Chen Maoqing held the receiver, unable to explain himself to save his life, nearly driven to madness. Finally, he simply slammed down the phone and rushed to fling open his safe—and sure enough, one contract was missing! The very one with Meiqi.

Someone had opened his safe! A layer of cold sweat instantly broke out across Chen Maoqing’s forehead. There was no question—it had to be Xiufeng’s doing. No, wait—the safe was in his own office; besides himself, no one else could possibly open it!

Could it be, then, that there was a traitor right beside him? Come to think of it, he had at least five or six close aides who often accompanied him in his office to discuss matters—perhaps once, while taking out a contract, he’d forgotten to have some trusted subordinate step out, and been seen entering the combination.

He reached for the phone to call the police, but froze. If the other party had managed to open his safe, they’d surely already seen everything inside. If he called the police now, they’d expose all his unsavory secrets to the world.

That, to him, would be true and total ruin.

A wave of cold dread washed over Chen Maoqing, and he slumped weakly into his chair.

Lost in his thoughts, his gaze suddenly crossed with Yu Peiling’s eyes on the poster across the room, and an unthinkable idea surfaced in his mind.

Could it be her? Out of everyone in the company, only she was favored enough, only she could walk into his office without waiting for permission.

No, impossible. Yu Peiling had always been a beautiful airhead—since when had she become so scheming? Besides, not long ago, he’d used strong-arm tactics to force her into renewing her contract with the company. Whether she stayed a star for years to come, or got shelved into obscurity, was entirely up to him now. She wouldn’t dare openly cross him.

Though he quickly dismissed the suspicion in his mind, unease still gnawed at him, and he half-knelt on the floor, checking through the contracts in the cabinet one by one until he found Yu Peiling’s. He let out a long breath of relief, wiping the cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve—the contract was still there, good. She couldn’t wriggle out of his grasp!

Then his pupils suddenly shrank—how was it that the contract… was missing its two most crucial pages? And just then, someone else came rushing into the office in a panic.

“Bad news, Boss Chen! Miss Yu has suddenly called a press conference, saying her three-year contract with Huamei has expired, that she won’t be renewing it, and that she’s joining Xiufeng Studios effective immediately.”

“Impossible!” Chen Maoqing leapt up off the floor like a startled frog.

“It’s true! The press conference is at the Carlton Hotel banquet hall on the first floor right now—it’s probably not over yet, go see for yourself!”

By the time Chen Maoqing arrived at the Carlton, the press conference was already winding down. Yu Peiling stood on stage, with Wen Tingli and Huang Yuanshan flanking her on either side.

The three of them stood together, smiling, for a photograph, cameras clicking away nonstop below.

A bright red banner hung high above the stage: [A Grand Welcome to Film Queen Yu Peiling, Now Joining Xiufeng Studios.]

Chen Maoqing pushed through the crowd, trying to charge forward, but Xiufeng had already stationed bodyguards throughout the venue—someone rushed over immediately, clapped a hand over his mouth, and threw him out the door.

The moment he scrambled up off the ground, Chen Maoqing furiously called the Carlton’s manager, threatening that if the hotel didn’t let him back in, he’d have his lawyer sue them for kidnapping his actress. After finally being let in through the back door, he ran straight into Wen Tingli’s group.

Wen Tingli walked out with Yu Peiling’s arm affectionately linked through her own.

“Yu Peiling!” Chen Maoqing charged forward, cursing viciously. “So it really was you! You ungrateful, backstabbing wretch, how did I ever wrong you? You’d team up with outsiders to sabotage me?”

Before he could get close, the bodyguards blocked him again, and Chen Maoqing jumped in place, cursing at the top of his lungs. “You shameless, heartless bitch, you disgraceful piece of trash—if I’d known this is how you’d repay me, I never should have made you a star in the first place!”

Yu Peiling looked at him coldly. Wen Tingli patted her hand. “Don’t sully your ears—get in the car, I’ll deal with him.”

Watching Yu Peiling being ushered away by the crowd, Chen Maoqing jumped a foot in the air with rage. “Think you can just walk away? I’m not finished with you today! Tell me, exactly how long have you and this Wen woman been conspiring together?”

Wen Tingli called out sharply, “Boss Chen, save yourself a little dignity.”

“A traitor and a schemer—the two of you don’t deserve to talk to me about dignity!” Chen Maoqing wished he could fly over and kick Wen Tingli, but he simply couldn’t get near her.

“Traitor?” Wen Tingli said pleasantly. “Let me ask you instead—what reason did Miss Yu have to stay with your company any longer?”

A muscle twitched at Chen Maoqing’s temple.

“You build her up with one hand and set traps to squeeze her with the other.” Wen Tingli walked slowly closer. “Using her to make money on one side, forcing her to pull in investors on the other—you’re like a leech, determined to drain every last drop of blood from her. I hear there was a girl called Zhang Xiaofeng before her, who also made your company plenty of money in her day—where is she now? You never once treated the actresses under you as human beings! If I were them, I’d have turned on you with a knife long ago—how could I possibly have endured being oppressed like this for so long?”

As she spoke, Wen Tingli leaned in close, her face full of killing intent, looking every bit like a fierce guardian spirit.

Chen Maoqing faltered a little, but still bit back defiantly. “Don’t twist the truth! It was my hand that made every one of them—without me, Chen Maoqing, who would even know their names!”

“Whether it’s twisted or not—” Wen Tingli scoffed, “You know perfectly well in your own heart! Push things too far, and sooner or later it comes back around. Everything that’s happened to you today, you brought on yourself!”

Chen Maoqing still held his neck stiff, breathing hard, his mind racing.

He’d guarded against every possible threat, and still hadn’t guarded against Yu Peiling!

Things had come to this—he was utterly, completely defeated.

How could he possibly accept this! All his life, he’d been the one to scheme against others—and today, he was the one who’d been played so thoroughly!

But with his own dirty laundry now fully exposed, once the scandal broke, Yu Peiling would be seen as the victim, Wen Tingli would come out ahead having profited from the chaos, and only he would end up a rat everyone wanted to beat.

No!

He couldn’t let himself sink completely into ruin.

“Fine!” He swallowed his hatred. “You win.”

Watching Wen Tingli walk elegantly away, he couldn’t help spitting after her. “Compared to me, you’re the real villain through and through! Acting all upright and proper, while the tricks you play are the dirtiest of anyone!”

Wen Tingli didn’t break stride, merely smiling faintly. “Dealing with someone like you doesn’t call for ‘upright’—’clever’ will do just fine.”

Chen Maoqing choked on his own breath, eyes rolling back, nearly fainting on the spot.

At eight o’clock on Sunday evening, Xiufeng Studios’ inaugural film, Spring Wind Blows Again, officially premiered at the Grand Meiqi Theater.

News that the film had nearly been shut out of theaters entirely had spread far and wide these past few days.

Now that the storm had passed, people flocked in, curious to see what all the fuss was about.

That night, Meiqi Theater saw an unprecedented turnout.

Wen Tingli and Huang Yuanshan hid backstage, hardly daring to breathe the whole time.

Halfway through the screening, Wen Tingli suddenly slipped out without a word.

“Huh.” Boss Liu was taken aback. “The film’s not even over yet—what’s wrong with Miss Wen?”

Huang Yuanshan closed her eyes. “This is an old habit of hers. Once the film’s done, she’ll turn up again, don’t worry.”

Wen Tingli braced both hands on the washroom sink, taking deep breaths in front of the mirror. She remembered how, when her very first film, Southern Beauty, had premiered, she’d been so nervous she’d hidden in the washroom and refused to come out, sending Tan Guiwang running all over looking for her.

To think, less than two years had passed since then—and yet it already felt like a lifetime ago.

Over this past year and more, so much had happened. She’d tasted every flavor of life along the way—bitter, sweet, sour, spicy. She’d thought she was mature and strong enough by now, and yet here she was, at the moment of her new film’s premiere, still hiding away like a frightened child.

She’d always been strong and optimistic, never one to show her vulnerable side easily, whether in front of the comrades fighting alongside her, or in front of Zhou Sao and Xiao Taozi. But right now, all she wanted was to hear Lu Shicheng’s voice—he was gentle yet strong enough to hold every one of her thousand different moods, and he would surely understand and embrace this moment of weakness.

Tonight was too special an occasion. To avoid stirring up gossip, she’d specifically asked him not to attend. She wanted to wait until everything was over, and share tonight’s failure or success with him alone.

If it was a success, she’d laugh loudly in front of him; if a failure, she could press her face against his chest and cry quietly—no one else present, just the two of them. But right now, she couldn’t wait to share the weight pressing on her heart. Unfortunately, when she’d called, no one had picked up for the longest time.

Wen Tingli returned to the vanity table, deflated, lost in thought. She had no idea how much time had passed when she suddenly heard a clattering sound outside.

Rain? No—applause! She’d heard applause from an audience before, but never had it sounded like this.

A little uneasy, she moved toward the sound, and someone rushed forward, excitedly grabbing her by the shoulders—she couldn’t quite tell if it was Huang Yuanshan or Yue Zhaoyun.

“Boss Wen!”

She liked that title, but her mind still hadn’t quite caught up. “What’s happened?”

Several people fussed and pushed her forward. “Has Boss Wen gone silly? Look, quick!”

Look at what? Wen Tingli felt as if she’d gone blind—her eyes couldn’t focus at all—but then, brilliant light and a wave of applause washed over her all at once, and she finally understood what was happening. Shock, wild joy, tears pouring down, her mouth stretched wide, her expression utterly out of her control. Facing the fans’ enthusiasm, she stood frozen for a long moment, looking exactly like a bewildered child.

A full hour after the premiere ended, Wen Tingli’s emotions had barely settled. Looking in the mirror, her eyes were swollen like peaches, but her heart felt unusually full.

At the celebration banquet that night, she and Huang Yuanshan publicly announced a decision.

“Everyone, the entire staff of Xiufeng has unanimously decided to donate all future box office proceeds from Spring Wind Blows Again to charity.”

The whole room erupted in astonishment.

Facing the crowd’s puzzled looks, Wen Tingli said firmly, “The heroine of Spring Wind Blows Again was modeled on the countless suffering women workers of this city—without them, this film wouldn’t exist. Now that the film has succeeded, Xiufeng cannot take all the credit for ourselves. We want to use what influence we have to genuinely help the real-life ‘Chunhongs’ and ‘Yunxius’ out there, and so we intend to use this box office revenue to establish a charitable foundation to help the working women of this city. From now on, any woman worker who comes to us for help will receive unconditional assistance from this foundation, including support with food and clothing, medical aid, legal assistance, night-school literacy education… This foundation will be called the ‘Spring Wind Blows Again’ Charitable Fund.”

Someone was the first to applaud. “Boss Wen, does this foundation accept outside donations?”

Everyone turned to look—a woman in a Western-style gauze hat, red lipstick, carrying herself like a proud peacock: it was Gao Xiaowen, eldest daughter of the Gao family.

Wen Tingli smiled knowingly. “Of course we welcome donations. All matters concerning the foundation will be overseen by a third-party legal body, with complete transparency in all accounts.”

“Wonderful! I’ll donate a thousand silver dollars,” Gao Xiaowen said generously.

Yue Zhaoyun chimed in easily, “I’m the screenwriter of this film—I’ll give five hundred.”

This turn of events caught everyone off guard—people exchanged startled glances at first, then broke into smiles and joined in the fun, some donating ten dollars, others twenty, mostly small amounts, but it filled the whole venue with warmth and energy.

Two wealthy young men stood off by the door, glancing around, murmuring to each other. “Are you sure your information’s right? Lu Shicheng hasn’t shown up either—I was counting on running into him tonight.”

“There’s no way he wouldn’t come. Could it be he and Wen Tingli have really broken things off? I hear Gold and Huamei teamed up to crush Xiufeng recently, and Lu Shicheng never lifted a finger to help. Tonight’s Xiufeng’s premiere, and still no sign of him.”

The first one thought about this, eyeing Wen Tingli on stage. “Not surprising, really. This Miss Wen may look sweet enough, but she’s anything but simple. Other women are content to just be stars, but ever since she got into this business, she’s never had a quiet day. Even old hands like Liu Menglin and Chen Maoqing couldn’t get the better of her. If I were Lu Shicheng, I’d rather find someone obedient and easygoing than a woman like her—Shanghai’s never short on beauties, after all.”

The venue suddenly buzzed with excitement.

“A hundred thousand silver dollars?” people murmured amongst themselves. “Impossible! Who could afford such a sum?”

“It really is a hundred thousand silver dollars,” Cao Renxiu said, rubbing her eyes as she stared at the check. “The donor line reads: Little Orange.”

The crowd grew even more uproarious.

“A pseudonym, must be a pseudonym—what big shot supports charity like this? Any interest in coming forward to say hello to everyone?”

Wen Tingli quickly pushed through the crowd to Cao Renxiu’s side, and sure enough, at the bottom it read: Little Orange.

She scanned the room doubtfully—there was no sign of him anywhere down here—when suddenly, struck by inspiration, she looked up toward the second-floor audience seating.

The screening had long since ended, and the VIP seats upstairs sat entirely empty—but there, behind the railing, stood a figure. He leaned casually against the railing, both arms resting on it, bent forward slightly, watching her there in the light. Or rather—watching only her.

His gaze was so intent, she had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Seeing how quickly she’d found him, he raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile rising at the corner of his mouth.

In that instant, Wen Tingli seemed to hear the sound of her own heart striking against her chest. She tilted her head up and met Lu Shicheng’s gaze, smiling. So many people surrounded them, and yet the whole world seemed to hold nothing but the two of them…