NMBJ2 - 26

The next day, “Spring Delay” had a private screening within Huaying. Huang Xitang accompanied her mother to watch it.

Her mother said she was afraid she wouldn’t get to see it before its release.

Ni Kailun arranged for someone to get the film key and invited Xie Zhenbang to a small screening room within the company. Xitang went with her assistant Kuan, and Ni Kailun brought her own assistant to accompany them.

The youngest viewer in the screening was Ni Kailun’s son, an eleven-month-old baby, sitting in a stroller with his mother as they entered the screening room.

Not long into the movie, the baby fell asleep in Ni Kailun’s arms, and the nanny took him out.

Ni Kailun had seen part of the film during the private screening, but she still cried when watching the official cut. Xitang thought maybe being a mother had made her more sensitive.

Xie Zhenbang was still her close male friend, one of the few male friends Xitang had. Her mother didn’t know this, still thinking the two young people had mutual feelings for each other. Xie Zhenbang had often read about this part of Chinese history in foreign media. Although he didn’t fully agree with the movie’s somewhat overt patriotic tone, he was very considerate and remained silent throughout the screening.

Xitang stayed in the cinema for a while, then left her mother with Kuan and went to the office to review the script.

She had never liked watching herself on screen. She had already felt those emotions when filming, and watching it again gave her a strange sense of detachment.

That was Ding Fangfei’s life, not hers; her work was done.

Having worked in the industry for almost ten years, Xitang didn’t need to watch the film; she already knew, from the moment of shooting, how much she and the other actors had invested emotionally in the project.

After the screening, the driver and nanny took the family back home. Upon returning to the office, Ni Kailun took some time to calm down and then called Xitang into her office. Her voice was calm yet strong: “Darling, the top-tier actress position in the entertainment industry is up for a reshuffle, and it’s time for us to make our move.”

The Thirteenth Master was urging her to renew her contract.

Ni Kailun refused.

She whispered to Xitang, “Let’s talk contract renewal after we win the Best Actress award.”

The film hadn’t even been released yet, but Ni Kailun was truly impressive.

“Spring Delay” wrapped up in October, and from preparation to filming, the entire process took nearly two years, longer than any TV series Xitang had filmed. But she felt deeply satisfied with the result.

After Ni Kailun completed her postpartum recovery, a nanny was hired to care for her baby. Xitang’s mother, who wasn’t in good health, needed to go to the hospital weekly, so they hired an aunt to cook.

During the next two months, Xitang was mostly in a resting state.

Ni Kailun attended meetings with the publicity department in the company but returned to the office unhappy, asking, “When are you going to update your Weibo?”

It had been almost two years since she last logged in.

Xitang sat at her desk, her head lowered in silence.

“It’s just a few photos. Delete them if you don’t want them,” Ni Kailun insisted.

Xitang looked up, her eyes shimmering with tears, and said softly, “No.”

For an actress on the rise, resting for such a long time was very risky. The company had even paid to maintain her exposure.

Fortunately, by December, the post-production of “Spring Delay” was going smoothly, and the release date was approaching, so promotional activities became more frequent. Ni Kailun was relieved and sent Xitang back to work.

If Xitang had stayed home every day, cooking and taking care of the child with her mother, she would have never been able to maintain her status as a leading actress.

“Spring Delay” was released the following spring.

The willow trees sprouted new buds, and the spring waters began to flow. By March, the cherry blossoms in Yuyuantan Park began to bloom.

On Thursday evening, the courtyard held an event to celebrate International Women’s Day. The leaders organized a movie screening for the female staff. Zhao Pingjin had the day off and happened to be at home. His mother asked him to accompany her, and Zhao Pingjin agreed.

In the small auditorium at the office, Zhao Pingjin sat with his mother. All the women in the family compound were there, as well as some elderly women who had returned specifically for the event. Zhao Pingjin took a glance around, noticing the leaders from the Political Propaganda Department sitting in the front.

Zhao Pingjin knew the film was about to be released. A month ago, during a meal, Gao Jiyi had casually mentioned that Xitang’s new film had been submitted for review and no cuts were made, only two lines of dialogue were changed.

Zhao Pingjin paused for a moment, then nodded and thanked him.

On the big screen, the sun in rural Northwest China was bright and dazzling. Ding Fangfei’s five-year-old daughter ran joyfully in the courtyard where corn was drying, followed by a large yellow dog and a small snot-nosed boy. The dog was a family pet, and the boy was the daughter’s cousin. The boy, dark-skinned with yellow mud seeping into his skin, wore a coarse cloth short shirt. He was the grandson of Ding Fangfei’s older brother in the Northwest.

Half a century later, the two siblings who had never met before walked side by side toward the fields.

Ding Fangfei wanted to visit her father’s grave. After her mother passed away, this man from the northwest had to be both father and mother, raising the child alone and never remarrying.

Ding Fangfei thought to herself that her mother really caused a lot of suffering.

The man carried a hoe on his shoulder, leading her along the path between the fields. Fangfei held a bundle of incense in her arms and asked, “Do you still remember her?”

The awkward man paused, remaining silent for a while before shaking his head.

After a while, he said, “I heard from the villagers that she was a college student from the city, very well-educated.”

At the grave, Ding Fangfei took out a photograph. “This is her memorial photo. Do you want to see it?”

She burned the photo.

The smoke rose, and her fifty-year-old older brother, leaning on his hoe, stood in front of their father’s grave. He looked at the green wheat and cried uncontrollably.

The cinema was filled with the sound of sobbing.

Ms. Zhou cried as tears streamed down her face.

In the darkness, Zhao Pingjin handed over a handkerchief and patted his mother’s hand, saying, “Please don’t cry.”

The movie ended, and the event finished around 10 p.m. Zhao Pingjin helped his mother out. Along the way, familiar faces greeted them. “Zhou’er, came to watch with your mom?”

Zhao Pingjin greeted, “Aunt Fan.”

“Wow, Ms. Zhou, your son is really filial.”

Ms. Zhou smiled in comfort.

They walked outside the auditorium, and cars gradually arrived to take people home. Zhao Pingjin’s car was parked a bit further away, and the mother and son slowly walked toward it. Zhao Pingjin smiled and said, “The movie was good, right?”

Ms. Zhou gave an objective evaluation, “The Cultural Ministry’s project this year is really good.”

Zhao Pingjin added, “You were too busy shaking hands with the leaders earlier, you didn’t catch the subtitles, did you?”

Ms. Zhou looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you see the name of the female lead?”

Ms. Zhou was stunned for a moment.

Zhao Pingjin casually said, “The girl who played Ding Fangfei, Huang Xitang, she cried for a long time. Didn’t you notice?”

Ms. Zhou’s impression of Huang Xitang still lingered on the young girl she remembered from her university days. Many years had passed, and her appearance had changed, so she hadn’t recognized her right away. Calmly, Ms. Zhou said, “She has grown into a beautiful young woman.”

Zhao Pingjin smiled at his mother, “It’s all thanks to you breaking them up. Otherwise, she could’ve been your daughter-in-law.”

Ms. Zhou’s smile froze slightly.

Turning around, Zhao Pingjin’s face, clean and fair, remained calm, with no sign of emotion. He waved at her, “Wait for a moment.”

Zhao Pingjin walked to the car in the courtyard, opened the door, locked it, and with trembling hands, took some medicine. His right fist pressed against his stomach, curling his body against the seat.

After resting for a few minutes with his eyes closed, Zhao Pingjin started the car and drove to pick up his mother.

Ms. Zhou stood under the tall locust tree in the courtyard, pondering her son’s attitude. She knew that he and Yu Xiaoying were practically living apart. Zhao Pingjin would only come home once every ten days or half a month, and most of the time, he stayed at the Park Hyatt. His daughter-in-law was a tough character. After the last time when she explained the issue about the child, she had not spoken to Ms. Zhou again. Yet, on weekends, she still accompanied Zhao Pingjin home. On the Yu family’s side, Zhao Pingjin also made sure to keep in touch and take care of things. Their lives were peaceful and harmonious.

But if they were called a loving couple, that would be far from the truth.

Ms. Zhou had seen many couples like this. After twenty or thirty years, they would still have children and grandchildren and live harmoniously together.

But she had no idea how her son intended to live his life.