“If you want to celebrate your birthday, I’ll just speed up time a little.”

This sentence was like an elf’s hand, completely illuminating her world.

On New Year’s Eve last year, Ji Qinghe had said to her, “You can make a wish to me, and it will be valid every year on this day.” At that time, Shen Qianzhan and Ji Qinghe weren’t together yet.

Beneath her facade of forced composure lay a deep ocean, which he easily stirred into towering waves with a single sentence.

And then there was today.

After summer began, Wuxi became hot like a steamer, and she was trapped inside daily like a filled steamed bun radiating heat. This rain came suddenly and silently, yet instantly occupied the entire earth, falling into her heart.

Shen Qianzhan considered herself a seasoned veteran of romance.

Over the years, countless fresh meat, preserved meat, and flower cakes with ulterior motives had tried using her for advancement or currying favor to secure resources. There were those who pursued her openly and others who sent subtle signals. Their seductive techniques ranged from flattery to intentional or unintentional physical contact, but none could truly move her.

All were superficial, vulnerable facades.

She could usually predict the next act after seeing the opening scene. When in good spirits, she’d play along. When not interested, she’d counter every move without leaving any face.

As a result, among peers like Jian Xin and Xiao Sheng in the same generation of producers, she alone had the reputation of being “difficult to please.”

Instead, it was someone like Ji Qinghe—a man whose social status and position seemed separated from the entertainment industry by an unbridgeable divide—who could effortlessly pluck her heartstrings, sending her soaring to the ninth heaven, light and ethereal.

He was completely unrelated to Shen Qianzhan’s frivolous, fast-paced circle. He neither needed to learn how to please and maintain social relationships around him, nor did he need to socialize and network to improve his emotional intelligence and interpersonal skills.

Yet he could maintain his lofty airs while speaking various vulgar street talk, like luxury brand snake-skin travel bags—possessing a worldly earthiness that transcended cutting-edge fashion.

“I used to think if I ever fell in love, I’d definitely be very troublesome.” All her thorns completely retracted, leaving her soft as pudding: “But I never expected I’d be so easy to appease.”

So easy that with just one sentence from him, she could overlook everything.

The rain gradually intensified, creating tapping sounds as it hit the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

The lights on the distant beach swayed chaotically. It seemed this sudden downpour had disrupted the celebration’s rhythm, hastily ending the carnival as people prepared to evacuate.

Ji Qinghe led her back: “This ‘before’—how long ago? Eighteen or three years old?”

They weren’t far from the lakeside open parking lot. Sheltering under the trees, they hadn’t gotten very wet.

From a distance, they could clearly hear the crew coordinator’s hoarse shouts to move the props first. While chaos reigned in the distance, the two stood under the trees as if unrelated to this scene, undisturbed by any commotion.

“Twenty-two, I suppose.” Shen Qianzhan said: “An age when I still had romantic fantasies about love.”

Also a period when she could throw herself into love like a moth to flame, recklessly and completely.

Ji Qinghe held and played with her palm: “What else?”

“Back then I thought he’d definitely look good in a white shirt—clean and fresh, like a seaside youth in summer. But later the crew went to the beach for location shooting and stayed a month. Everyone in the group, men and women, old and young, got so dark they looked like African refugees. After that, I completely lost interest in ‘seaside summer youths.'” At this point, she couldn’t help sighing: “The gap between reality and dreams is too stark—it can’t withstand practice.”

Ji Qinghe laughed at this.

He imagined the expression twenty-something girlish Shen Qianzhan would have shown when seeing her dream “seaside summer youth” and suffering such visual and reality shock. He couldn’t help pressing his fist to his lips to suppress his laughter: “What about now?”

“Never thought about it.” Shen Qianzhan answered honestly: “At most, in the quiet of deep night, I’d regret all those romantic opportunities delivered to my doorstep that I didn’t accept. Getting older, I have just one standard for judging men.” She paused slightly, her smile cunning: “Whether I want to sleep with them or not.”

Shen Qianzhan gave an example: “Like seeing Su Zan—no appetite, no interest whatsoever. But seeing Zhou Yan, I’d want to tear his clothes to create some openings here and there, exposing bits everywhere, to feast my eyes on…”

Before she could finish, her hand was squeezed hard.

Shen Qianzhan winced in pain.

Only then did she realize how dangerous the silent gaze beside her had become, like being thrown into an ice age with temperatures plummeting around her, about to freeze over. She touched the back of her neck and hurriedly shed her outer layer of smugness, clearing her throat to salvage the situation seriously: “I was just joking, talking for fun. Besides yours, I’ve never actually torn anyone else’s…”

Ji Qinghe had long heard of her notorious “promiscuous” reputation and was too lazy to waste more words: “No rush, I’ll let you tear to your heart’s content when we get back tonight.”

Shen Qianzhan: “…” That really wasn’t necessary.

Seeing the rain becoming increasingly steady with thunder rumbling and lightning flashing in the clouds above.

They couldn’t continue sheltering under trees, so they entered the parking lot through the landscaped path beside the boardwalk.

Qiao Xin was looking everywhere for Shen Qianzhan. Afraid to make phone calls with thunder starting overhead, she was preparing to venture out with an umbrella when she turned to see Shen Qianzhan and Ji Qinghe returning one after the other. She hurried forward with the umbrella.

While shielding Shen Qianzhan, she shouted over the noisy rain: “Director Shao and Teacher Fu went back to the hotel first. Su Zan asked me to find you two and take you and Teacher Ji back first. He’s staying to help the crew coordinators load everything into vehicles before returning together.”

Looking at the chaotic parking lot scene, Shen Qianzhan asked: “The monitoring screen equipment didn’t get damaged by rain, did it?”

“No,” Qiao Xin answered: “After wrapping today, all filming equipment was packed away. Only the cinematographer took two handheld cameras for external shooting.”

Seeing everyone was only packing barbecue grills and some crew props, Shen Qianzhan also relaxed: “Then let’s head back first.”

Back at the hotel, Shen Qianzhan took a shower first.

Tonight, thanks to Shao Chouxie’s occasion, the entire crew had the evening off, so she could also relax.

After blow-drying her hair, Shen Qianzhan put on a long outer robe over her pajamas, grabbed her phone and room key, and went to visit Ji Qinghe’s room.

After so many covert visits, there was no longer any question of propriety or impropriety.

During their early relationship phase when they were still adjusting to each other’s work rhythms and daily routines, usually Ji Qinghe took the initiative, confirming via WeChat or phone that her room was empty before his midnight visits.

Later, as Ji Qinghe’s business grew busier and he often worked until midnight, Shen Qianzhan used the excuse of bringing late-night snacks several times and naturally obtained a key card to his room for free access.

Gradually, they developed a habit—whoever finished work first would go to the other’s room.

Usually, as long as Shen Qianzhan avoided the corridor’s “peak activity hours,” passage was smooth. Upon reaching Ji Qinghe’s door, she’d swipe directly to enter, the entire process flowing like water, seamless and practiced as if they’d been having affairs in previous lives—couldn’t be more skilled.

Unexpectedly, today things went awry from the start.

The mishap occurred just as Shen Qianzhan swiped open the door preparing to enter. Fu Yang, who had heard movement and came to open the door, collided face-to-face with Shen Qianzhan.

Besides Fu Yang, several other people were sitting and standing in the room.

The scene was comparable to catching adultery—utterly awkward.

Shen Qianzhan was embarrassed to the point of toe-curling. Facing a roomful of earnest, confused gazes, she stood stiff as wood, only able to stare at Fu Yang.

The latter’s gaze lingered restrainedly on her casually dressed pajamas for a moment before shifting to the room key in her hand.

Undoubtedly, the key card in Shen Qianzhan’s hand belonged to Ji Qinghe’s room. He hadn’t been seeing things—Shen Qianzhan had indeed swiped to open the door before he opened it.

After a brief few seconds of silence, Fu Yang was first to react, casually giving her an out: “Producer Shen came looking for Teacher Ji?”

Shen Qianzhan wanted to die. She laughed dryly twice and greeted: “You’re all here?”

Fu Yang smiled: “I heard the black wood enamel antique clock is being sent back tomorrow, so I came with the assistant director to take another look.” To spare Shen Qianzhan excessive embarrassment, he blocked the curious gazes from behind completely, saying quietly: “Teacher Ji went downstairs to get tools.”

The Penglai Eight Immortals Treasure-bringing black wood enamel carved antique clock had been disassembled once during filming. Later, for storage, Ji Qinghe moved the clock to his room for reassembly.

For Fu Yang and others to view the antique clock, they indeed had to come to Ji Qinghe’s room.

After this brief exchange, Shen Qianzhan had also calmed down.

Just as she was calculating which excuse to use, a familiar voice spoke low and deep behind her: “You’re here?”

Shen Qianzhan turned around.

Ji Qinghe stood behind her holding a leather tool bag.

His deep eyes seemed amused yet not, clearly having seen through her predicament at a glance and finding it entertaining.

Shen Qianzhan ran her fingers through her hair, signaling him.

Ji Qinghe understood.

His gaze passed over Fu Yang to look into the room. Rather than having her leave, he tilted his head, indicating she should also come in to talk.

Reluctantly and unwillingly, Shen Qianzhan was guided by his arm around her waist into the room.

Once inside, Ji Qinghe tossed the tool bag to Fu Yang, indicating he should remove the protective cover himself: “Producer Shen and I have some matters to discuss. You all look first.”

He didn’t deliberately explain, merely offered her the room’s only empty chair while he lifted the bedding and sat on the bed edge, seriously discussing clock transportation with her.

His hair was damp, as if he’d just showered and hadn’t had time to dry it before being forced to receive these unexpected guests.

Watching him, Shen Qianzhan felt like laughing.

She could sense that everyone in the room was paying no attention to the timepieces. While agreeing verbally, they were actually all listening intently to their conversation.

The clock transportation process wasn’t complicated.

Contact drivers and vehicles, arrange several delivery personnel to accompany. Within two days, the clocks could be safely transported back to Xi’an.

But with so many people listening, to make the antique clock transportation appear truly troublesome—troublesome enough to require consultation with the producer—Ji Qinghe presented three different transportation plans for her to decide.

After discussing the clock transportation issue, Ji Qinghe rose to escort her out.

At the door, confirming the gazes behind couldn’t see them, he gripped Shen Qianzhan’s wrist, pulling her back to kiss her. The first kiss landed on her eyelid, the second on her lips. When he tried for more, she refused.

Shen Qianzhan covered her face with her palm, only revealing her eyes as she looked at him with less than friendly intent.

After several seconds of standoff, fearing “seeing off the guest” was taking too long and would arouse suspicion, Ji Qinghe released his hand first, silently mouthing: “Wait half an hour for me, I’ll come find you.”

Shen Qianzhan wasn’t very pleased.

Her lifelong reputation was completely ruined tonight.

She could already imagine how the rumors would spread: they’d say they personally witnessed lustful Producer Shen using Teacher Ji’s room key to swipe directly into his room. If they hadn’t happened to be in Teacher Ji’s room, who knows what kind of torture and abuse Teacher Ji might have suffered tonight, his innocence at risk.

Even more mortifying, thinking about the charade she’d just performed, which everyone clearly saw through as a fig leaf, made her scalp tingle with embarrassment.

She was too dejected to speak, not even sparing a glance at Ji Qinghe who was about to suffer tonight, turning to return to her room.

Half an hour later—actually, before half an hour was up—he arrived early.

Shen Qianzhan was holding her laptop reviewing the birthday celebration footage Qiao Xin had sent ten minutes ago. Hearing the mechanical sound of the key card at the door, her eyelid twitched and she nearly dropped her computer.

She pressed pause, curling up in her chair to look at him.

The light from outside the door was blocked by his hand as he entered. The moment the door closed, he looked up, accurately capturing her gaze.

Shen Qianzhan remembered she was supposed to be unhappy and snorted, turning back to continue watching the footage.

In the video, Shao Chouxie wore a golden crown, eyes closed making a wish. His first wish was silently made in his heart. His second wish, as he opened his eyes, was declared resoundingly: “I wish for smooth filming of ‘Key of Time,’ everything going well. And I wish all our staff members health, safety, and daily happiness.”

As his words ended, cheers erupted.

Fireworks exploded on the shore, creating a moment of fairy-tale wonder.

The cinematographer’s lens turned clockwise from Shao Chouxie to Fu Yang, Song Yan and other main actors. Even Shen Qianzhan standing in a corner wasn’t spared, with post-production specifically adding subtitles to scenes featuring her—”Producer’s Factory Manager-Style Smile.”

Ji Qinghe glanced at the screen, seeing the subtitles as he lifted her from the chair. After making space to sit down himself, he encircled her in his arms, one hand steadying her laptop, the other turning her chin to kiss her lips: “When did you secretly become a female entrepreneur behind my back?”