When “The Acting School” was at its peak, Wu Man chose to withdraw from recording midway.

Zhao Boyu couldn’t understand at all. She had fought a beautiful comeback battle with her self-written and self-performed “Aftershock,” leaping to become one of the top three popular actors among contestants. If she developed further, her casual viewer base would grow larger and larger.

Wu Man only said lightly that she was preparing to take on a new role.

Zhao Boyu asked doubtfully: “One of those I sent over last time?”

She nodded.

“Didn’t you look down on all of them?”

“Later I calmed down and carefully looked through them all again. One is acceptable.”

Zhao Boyu was dissatisfied: “Since you could take it or leave it, you might as well finish recording the variety show first. The returns are much bigger.”

His reasoning was completely correct, but Wu Man had reasons she had to leave.

She really didn’t know what kind of posture to adopt to continue recording episode after episode of the variety show with Zhui Ye. Her original intention in deleting him was to distance herself from him after finishing filming, to properly separate the role from herself, not wanting to struggle in this inexplicable emotional whirlpool. Especially after learning he wasn’t together with He Huiyu—while she breathed a sigh of relief, she could no longer continue with peace of mind.

So she chose to take on another romantic drama, also a role involving an older woman-younger man romance. Fighting fire with fire—perhaps she’d transfer her feelings to this character and no longer have any feelings for Zhui Ye.

There was another reason: she knew Zhui Ye had already been semi-blacklisted by Yu Jiaze. If she continued appearing on that variety show with him, it wouldn’t be good for him.

*

Her newly accepted role had one advantage—it was filmed in an uninhabited area in the Northwest. Mobile phones only had signal at the hotel; once they entered the filming base, there was almost no signal, equivalent to being cut off from the world. She had plenty of time to spend with herself.

The male lead of this drama, Liang Zi’an, was Taiwanese—the type most popular with young girls these days. His skin was nearly as fair as hers, with peach blossom eyes. His speech also carried that characteristic Taiwanese softness, the least aggressive appearance. It easily made people feel close to him.

But interestingly, his temper was very explosive. Not knowing which Northeast friend he’d spent time with, he constantly spoke with a Northeast accent asking “what are you doing?”

Mixing Northeast dialect with a Taiwanese accent—these two most brainwashing speech patterns together—Wu Man had to admit he was extraordinary.

Perhaps because the crew could only be confined to the uninhabited area with no nightlife and couldn’t even scroll through phones, everyone could only frequently gather to play board games. After getting tired of Werewolf, Monopoly, and Who’s the Spy, Liang Zi’an suggested: “Should we go play in the desert?”

Before this, Wu Man had rarely let herself think of Zhui Ye, but this sentence made it hard not to think of him.

Among people she knew, only that crazy kid Zhui Ye would rashly follow a drunk cart driver into the desert at sixteen, nearly never returning.

Back then at the Houhai bar, Zhui Ye had been drinking with slightly flushed cheeks, lifting his head from the table with bright eyes, saying longingly: “The desert at night is quietly beautiful.”

Liang Zi’an asked around—everyone excitedly wanted to go, but saw Wu Man just sitting to the side in a daze, not knowing whether to approach.

Someone said quietly: She’s so delicate and precious, definitely has no interest in the desert. Better forget it.

Liang Zi’an felt a bit regretful. He had some interest in Wu Man. Trapped in this godforsaken wilderness, facing a great beauty every day performing romantic scenes—it would be strange not to be moved.

However, this had preconditions—the actress he was paired with had to basically fit his aesthetic. Some actresses, even if he kissed them for half a day, he wouldn’t feel anything. When his agent helped him take on romantic dramas, they’d ask if he was into this type. If filming time was long, like a big-budget period drama, and the female lead didn’t appeal to him but was a traffic star recognized by the platform that they had to use, filming would be very painful. He could only settle for second best, praying the producer would pick a second female lead he liked.

Therefore, even though this drama’s filming conditions were very harsh, he filmed with great spirits. For no other reason—Wu Man was exactly his favorite type.

But he’d long heard about the big shot behind Wu Man. He wasn’t foolish enough to try something with her—couldn’t afford to offend. Of course, she probably wouldn’t be interested in him either.

But using the opportunity to spend more time together to feast his eyes should be no problem, right? She normally hardly participated in board games at all. He deliberately found this desert opportunity, hoping she’d come.

He hesitated for a moment, asking without much hope: “Will you go?”

To his surprise, she actually nodded.

Wu Man seemed to be talking to herself: “Sure, I want to see the desert at night.”

*

The Northwest was magical—at nine PM it was still dusk, the sky thick like sweet orange juice with an extra spoonful of powder stirred in, too concentrated to dissolve. The cart driver taking them into the desert smoked while pointing at the sky: “At night, this sky is perfect for stargazing.”

The cart driver indeed hadn’t deceived them. After the last bit of orange juice leaked into the clouds, the sky—this square table—was covered with gauze, deep blue, with stars as sequins on the gauze. The quality looked poor—they might break loose and fall at any time, and then they’d pick up a great bargain.

The pickup truck took them up a small hill where the view was even clearer.

Everyone got out of the vehicle one by one, spreading out the gauze cloth and snacks they’d brought—though all were low-calorie salads and dried fruits. Most importantly, there was alcohol.

Liang Zi’an kept paying attention to Wu Man. He thought she was just saving face but actually wasn’t interested. Yet unexpectedly, she stepped onto the pickup, climbed to the roof, and was seriously appreciating the scenery.

The desert under moonlight, the woman sitting on the pickup roof, the cigarette held between her two slender fingers, her overlapping raised thin ankles—framed in his upward gaze, it was like an oil painting.

He quietly watched her for a while, then raised his head calling to her: “Sister Man, is that dangerous?”

Wu Man heard this, froze, then suddenly couldn’t help laughing.

It seemed a few months ago, she had been Liang Zi’an, looking up at the backlit figure on the roof saying: It’s dangerous for you to sit there.

Yet now she was the one sitting in this position, very fearlessly shaking her head saying: “The view from up high is very different.”

“Better not sit there—come down and drink!”

His words made Wu Man’s interest wane somewhat.

She tilted her head back, exhaled a puff of smoke, and jumped down from the roof: “Let’s go.”

It was also near late autumn now, the weather gradually cooling. The desert night also carried a chill. Liang Zi’an noticed Wu Man was only wearing a thin short-sleeved shirt and hurriedly removed his jacket to offer her. His gesture was measured—he didn’t take the opportunity to touch her skin.

Wu Man didn’t accept it, smiling as she said: “Thank you, but I’m not cold.”

“…Then tell me when you’re cold, don’t be polite!”

He again delivered that Northeast accent, trying to show his generosity. Wu Man couldn’t help smiling. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sense Liang Zi’an’s unusual favor toward her, but his show of goodwill didn’t make her heart race uncomfortably at all.

She carefully analyzed it—probably because this drama wasn’t like “Spring Night,” without such a delicate script, without such a director who could guide emotions, without that kind of…

Wu Man stopped thinking, unconsciously picking at her fingernails.

They walked to the cloth. Someone gestured at the night sky saying: “Is that the Big Dipper up there?”

“Do you only recognize the Big Dipper? That’s clearly Ursa Major!”

“You two shut up, this is clearly Pegasus!”

“…Is there such a constellation?”

Everyone bantered and joked, laughing together merrily.

On the way back, the vehicle passed a base station and finally had some signal. Wu Man sent the photos she’d just taken in the desert to Yu Jiaze. They’d had very little contact these days—this was a report to him.

She also posted that photo on Weibo to comfort fans who’d been craving her updates for days. She also received Yu Jiaze’s reply.

“Haven’t seen each other in so many days, and you send me this?”

“Don’t you think it’s romantic?”

“So when you took that photo, were you thinking of me?”

Wu Man froze.

Yu Jiaze replied again: “If that’s the case, then it’s romantic.”

Wu Man hastily said: “No signal now, not chatting anymore.”

But actually there was still signal.

She just didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t thought of Yu Jiaze at that moment—instead she’d thought of someone else. She didn’t want to flatter him with lies.

Before the phone signal disappeared, she hurriedly scrolled through Weibo for a while, casually swiping. When she opened the hot search, she discovered the Top 1 spot was again dominated by Zhui Ye.

…How is this kid so good at creating buzz?

Wu Man clicked in. The topic was #ZhuiYePostsOnWeibo

Beauty speechless—what kind of person gets hot search number one just for posting on Weibo?

Marketing accounts all had identical press releases: “Zhui Ye finally posted his first Weibo! Suspected confession to He Huiyu. Such a romantic guy—either doesn’t post on Weibo or only posts one about you. Is this his official announcement?”

The ZhuiHui CP fans were thrilled. Although He Huiyu had admitted she was dating, she’d never disclosed who her boyfriend was. Many reporters asked if it was Zhui Ye—she said no, but everyone didn’t believe her, claiming it was to protect the relationship.

These fans automatically did reading comprehension: the reason He Huiyu had to admit the relationship but couldn’t say the name was because older woman-younger man romances with big age gaps always made people insecure.

But this made some CP fans directly unfan and even step back on Zhui Ye, feeling he was irresponsible and still wanted to play the field, which is why he wouldn’t let He Huiyu announce him.

But the Weibo post he made today made many who’d already unfanned immediately revive with full energy.

Zhui Ye hadn’t posted any text, just photographed one page of a poetry collection.

This page happened to be Hai Zi’s “Diary.”

He focused on the last two lines of the poem—

“Tonight I have only the beautiful Gobi, empty

Sister, tonight I don’t care about humanity, I only think of you.”

ZhuiHui CP fans enthusiastically dug for sugar, saying: Did you notice? He posted at exactly He Huiyu’s birthday—this is a confession to her.

But except for Wu Man, no one knew that poetry collection was a gift from her to him.

The corner of the poetry collection showing was carefully wrapped in book cover paper, the kind you’d buy in elementary school—dark blue grid paper.

She’d posted desert pictures on her front foot; he posted the only update in his history on his back foot. If this was coincidence, then her emotional sensitivity was perhaps too dull.

Wu Man’s calm over recent days was defeated by this brief Weibo post. In the parched, cold winter desert, spring rain began falling pitter-patter just like that.