After lunch, Shen Qianzhan followed Su Zan to Xiao Sheng’s room to discuss the next arrangements.

Xiao Sheng’s room was on the same floor as Shen Qianzhan’s, but at opposite ends—one south, one north.

After the hotel’s air conditioning stopped working, the corridors and hallways became cold as ice cellars, with bone-chilling cold emanating from the walls to the floors.

Su Zan, who had grown up in the north, was extremely unaccustomed to sub-zero environments without heating. He shivered the entire way, and by the time they reached Xiao Sheng’s door, his small face was pale and his lips had turned faintly purple.

Shen Qianzhan unwound her scarf and handed it to him. “Put it on.” She pointed at his lips. “They’re turning purple from the cold.”

Su Zan shook his head.

His two arms were wrapped tightly around himself, and even so, only the overlapping layers of fabric provided brief moments of warmth. He wouldn’t even expose his fingers, lifting his chin to point ahead: “We’re almost there. Once we get inside, I’ll ask Xiao Sheng for a cup of liquor. Sister Zhan, you’re a woman with a delicate constitution—don’t be so kind-hearted.”

He muttered and pulled his arms tighter: “Now that heavy snow has sealed the city, forget about power outages—even going out is difficult. At this crucial moment, if we get sick, we can’t even get to the hospital.”

Shen Qianzhan was too lazy to argue with him. She grabbed Su Zan’s arm with a tug, and without any room for discussion, pulled him close. She wound the camel-colored fluffy scarf around her hands twice, then stood on her tiptoes and roughly wrapped the scarf around him, pulling it tight.

Su Zan’s face turned strangely red. He stared at Shen Qianzhan in a daze for several moments, and just as a touched expression appeared on his face, Shen Qianzhan slapped the back of his head, instantly snapping him awake.

Shen Qianzhan glared at him: “What are you looking at? I’m a woman you’ll never be able to have.”

After being hit, Su Zan’s head still buzzed with pain. He touched the fluffy scarf around his neck and pouted.

Su Zan had good looks, a tall and slender figure, plus an interesting personality and witty speech. In his early years when he accompanied Shen Qianzhan to dinner gatherings, he was often mistaken for a newly signed artist under Shen Qianzhan.

Later, when people learned that Su Zan was just an assistant, quite a few felt it was rather regrettable.

Even Su Zan himself had moments of being overly confident about his looks and getting particularly inflated. He had asked Shen Qianzhan whether, given his excellent hardware and Su Lanyi being the CEO of Qiandeng with money and connections at home, he could switch careers to sell fan dreams.

Shen Qianzhan had replied at the time: “If President Su agrees, naturally you can.”

Su Zan’s conditions for entering the entertainment circle as an artist were perfect timing and geography. Even by today’s standards, his conditions were exceptional—one in ten thousand. Of course, these “conditions” didn’t refer to himself, but to the vast background and connections behind him.

When Shen Qianzhan answered this way, she had already guessed that Su Lanyi would reject Su Zan’s fantasy.

Su Zan wasn’t someone who genuinely loved being in front of the camera. Once the novelty wore off, this rich second-generation heir who only thought about squandering his family fortune would only find it restrictive and boring. Knowing this, anyone willing to invest in his three-minute enthusiasm definitely wouldn’t be the Su Lanyi she knew.

Naturally, Su Zan was deeply devastated and seriously depressed for a period. During this time, perhaps out of rebellious psychology or childish revenge, Su Zan showed astonishing enthusiasm toward Shen Qianzhan, who was cold, noble, and seemed to disdain everyone in the world.

To this day, Shen Qianzhan was unwilling to define this as pursuit.

Su Zan’s enthusiasm only lasted one week from beginning to end before being defeated by Shen Qianzhan’s imperviousness.

At the time, she sat before her mirror applying eyebrow makeup and lipstick, coldly shooting him a glance: “Just you, an economically dependent rich second-generation heir who only knows how to leech off his elders—do you have the qualifications to pursue me?”

She didn’t even look at Su Zan, saying in a low voice: “Want me to show you my WeChat groups? Suitors from A to Z—you can look up their net worth on Baidu Encyclopedia. When you meet the qualifications, then you can join this group.”

Su Zan was so mocked that his eyes turned red with grievance: “What’s wrong with me? I’m good-looking, my family has money, and I’m young and strong.”

Shen Qianzhan let out a cold laugh, looking at him like she was looking at a little brother, her gaze affectionate with pity: “See, the more immature men are, the more they like to focus on external conditions.” She screwed on her lipstick cap and ruffled his hair as she stood up: “Alright, when you’ve had enough fun, come back and be my assistant. I’ll let bygones be bygones. If you keep being confused like this and causing me trouble, get lost early, okay?”

She took off her coat, wearing only a gorgeous evening gown, standing gracefully under the lights, both proud and mocking: “I’m a woman you’ll never be able to have.”

Su Zan always remembered that scene. That night, Shen Qianzhan was like someone who had stepped out of a painting holding an umbrella, every frown and smile radiating unrestrained charm.

After that, the girls he met were either bland and tasteless or overly rich and vulgar. None could be like Shen Qianzhan, able to captivate all living beings with just one glance.

Later on, he remembered Shen Qianzhan’s final words, restrained his heart, and never joked with her again.

It was precisely because of this that Su Zan felt an inexplicable envy toward Ji Qinghe. He had accompanied her through all the prosperity, accompanied her as she rose and fell in the fame and fortune arena that was easy to lose oneself in. Even he had moments of brief indulgence in sensual pleasures, yet Shen Qianzhan always remained clear-headed.

Ji Qinghe must be special to her.

Otherwise, with her methods, if she truly wanted to force back a man’s invasion and possession of her, it would be effortless.

Recalling the past, Su Zan felt somewhat melancholy and dejected.

He buried half his face in the scarf, mumbling unclearly: “Only President Ji dares to rise to the challenge.”

Shen Qianzhan didn’t hear clearly, but figured this little rascal’s dog mouth couldn’t spit out ivory anyway. She didn’t ask again to invite boredom, pulled up her down jacket collar, and unceremoniously kicked Su Zan: “What are you spacing out for? Lead the way.”

Su Zan yelped, and the bit of romantic atmosphere that had just emerged instantly shattered to pieces with this kick.

Damn, does this woman have iron feet? Kicking people really fucking hurts.

The closer they got to Xiao Sheng’s room, the noisier it became.

Shen Qianzhan initially thought it was because there were many people gathered, making it lively. Only when the noise gradually became clearer did she realize there was an argument happening.

She pulled back the iron-headed fool who was charging straight ahead and stopped at a sheltered corner. After listening at the wall for several minutes, she roughly understood the cause and effect.

The one shouting loudly was a minor leader from the production crew, while the executive director and finance personnel were trying to mediate.

Xiao Sheng remained silent throughout—unclear whether he was even present.

Shen Qianzhan listened to the general situation and was just thinking about waiting for this group to finish arguing before going in, when the emergency exit door on her left opened. Song Yan, accompanied by her assistant, happened to run into Shen Qianzhan face-to-face.

The somewhat embarrassed Producer Shen improvised, pulling out a cigarette from her cigarette case.

Song Yan smiled without speaking, winked at her, and very naturally stayed to chat: “I was very happy to hear you came yesterday.” Her gaze swept over Su Zan and she politely nodded: “Xiao Liang said you were too tired and went to rest after the meeting, so I didn’t come to disturb you.”

Shen Qianzhan had a rather good impression of Song Yan. Though the two weren’t particularly close, they often encountered each other at various events, so they weren’t complete strangers either. After all, anyone who could make it into Shen Qianzhan’s WeChat contacts was someone she could exchange a few words with.

After some small talk, the two naturally joined together and went to knock on the door.

Hearing the doorbell, the arguing inside finally stopped.

The finance person came to open the door. When she looked up and saw these three people standing at the entrance, her expression changed, looking somewhat awkward.

Shen Qianzhan stepped sideways into the room.

Producers needed to hold meetings frequently, so they were basically equipped with a small living room. After Shen Qianzhan, Su Zan, Song Yan, and her assistant entered, the space instantly became cramped and crowded, with nowhere to step.

Xiao Sheng, who had been sitting silently on the sofa the entire time, only now looked up, not particularly warmly greeting the several people to sit down and talk.

After the hotel lost power, the electric kettle couldn’t function normally. In front of Xiao Sheng was a small stove heating some liquor, the rich wine aroma adding considerable warmth to the room.

An assistant took disposable paper cups and poured everyone a little liquor to warm their bodies.

The atmosphere in the room was somewhat tense. As he poured the liquor, he tried to ease the mood: “This morning when the hotel lost power, I was worried we’d soon lose water too. Just now when I went to wash teacups, I discovered… sure enough.”

Shen Qianzhan and Su Zan exchanged glances. She had gotten up late, and when she washed up, the hotel still had water. Who would have thought that in just the time it took to leave the room, the water had stopped too.

“The production crew is negotiating with the hotel, demanding they provide daily water. The two sides aren’t talking very pleasantly.” The assistant carefully glanced at Xiao Sheng’s expression, and seeing he didn’t stop him, continued: “From the New Year blizzard until today, the production crew has put in considerable effort to supply the crew with food and water. Everyone’s having a hard time. Then we encounter power and water outages—inevitably emotions run high.”

As the chief producer, Shen Qianzhan coordinated the overall situation and rarely concerned herself with the interconnected operational ecosystem within the crew.

Snow disaster, blizzards blocking roads making transportation inconvenient, and the only remaining residence without water or electricity—whoever was here would be powerless despite good intentions.

She didn’t want to interfere too much in the internal affairs of “Spring River,” directing her gaze toward Xiao Sheng.

The latter was clearly impatient with handling these trivial matters, but with Su Zan and Shen Qianzhan both present, he patiently resolved the issues one by one, sent away the production crew, and closed the door to continue the conversation they hadn’t finished yesterday.

When Shen Qianzhan arrived, transportation in Wuxi was already inconvenient. Many plans from yesterday couldn’t be implemented, and encountering power and water outages with signal interruptions made movement impossible. Let alone Xiao Sheng—even she felt toyed with by fate.

Right now, forget about resolving the crisis—the crew was trapped with no way to turn the situation around. It wouldn’t matter who came.

But before leaving, Shen Qianzhan still gave Xiao Sheng a reassuring pill. First endure through the snow disaster, have finance prepare a report, and afterward seek investment where needed and invite big names where needed. With proper financial calculations, it wasn’t impossible to save the situation.

Moreover, before the TV series aired, no one knew whether the project would profit or lose, so there was no need for such a negative attitude. What needed to be faced most urgently was how to resolve the crisis of food shortage and floating morale with the crew trapped. In the face of great disaster, ensuring the personal safety of all crew members was the most important thing.

Shen Qianzhan’s heart was far from as calm as she appeared. She was anxious that her phone was like a useless brick, serving no purpose except for lighting and telling time. She was also anxious about having no water or electricity, unable to wash her face or bathe, unable to maintain the skincare and grooming a fairy should do daily.

Fortunately, the crew generally had searchlights available. Su Zan borrowed one and called Song Yan and her assistant to join them—the four sat in a circle playing mahjong.

They played until eleven o’clock. Shen Qianzhan was extremely sleepy and disbanded the game first.

When she returned to her room, after simple washing, she wrapped herself in the quilt and lay in bed, listening to the endless wind outside the window and the occasional sound of snow pellets hitting the window, gradually falling asleep.

Initially, her dreams were shallow, like reviewing the day’s events.

From encountering Song Yan to the hotel delivering daily water in the evening, then drawing the curtains and playing mahjong by searchlight—every scene was so clear it seemed tangible, within reach.

Gradually, the dream layers deepened.

The dream jumped to noon, when Su Zan had jokingly said, “Originally nothing was wrong, but after I said that the actors in this crew all look particularly to your taste, there’s probably something wrong now.”

In the dream, Su Zan chattered incessantly: “Look at your usual romantic and unrestrained behavior—what kind of impression have you left on President Ji…”

“You need to be careful. President Ji will probably come personally to the film base to keep watch and stand guard.”

She held chopsticks in her mouth, unconcerned: “If he has the guts, let him come.”

Su Zan clutched his stomach, laughing so hard he rolled on the bed edge: “Whether he has guts or not—don’t you know?”

“I know.” Shen Qianzhan smiled wickedly, her eyes and brows unable to hide her lustful thoughts: “Just don’t know if it’s enough for sowing seeds.” After all, when blizzards block the roads and you can’t leave, it’s the perfect time for fertile soil to receive seeds.

She laughed out loud in her dream, just about to sink into vivid eighteen-plus scenes. Vaguely, voices came from the door—sounding like Su Zan’s, but also like another man’s.

Shen Qianzhan’s consciousness slightly cleared as she listened intently.

Then, the door lock opened. Shen Qianzhan’s heart skipped a beat and she instinctively opened her eyes. In her blurry, stinging vision, a beam of flashlight shone in from outside.

The moment the door closed, Shen Qianzhan was completely awake. All sleepiness vanished as she sat up holding the quilt, coldly demanding: “Who?”

Her heart pounded like drums. At first glance, she identified the figure entering as male with an upright posture. Just as she was about to cry out for help, the other party seemed to sense her intention and spoke first: “It’s me.”

Shen Qianzhan was slightly stunned.

Her blank mind, after brief analysis, still hadn’t resolved the crisis.

She quickly stood up, grabbing the down jacket covering the quilt and draping it over her shoulders. In her panic, she didn’t have time to put on shoes and stood barefoot on the floor, retreating several steps and firmly grasping the ashtray from the table.

Ji Qinghe stood only two steps away from her. Seeing he had frightened her, he didn’t make any sudden moves, shining the flashlight on his own face and mockingly repeating: “It’s me.”

For a moment, Shen Qianzhan thought she was in an exceptionally vivid dream where he was the dream visitor, step by step carrying a lantern through shadows toward her. In this daze, he had already approached, ignoring the chill from traveling through wind and snow, bending down to hold her tight.

“It’s me, Ji Qinghe.”