NMBJ2 - 37

At the age of thirty, Huang Xitang started her own business. 

Together with He Lu Fei and Ni Kailun, the three of them jointly funded the establishment of Lu Kai Media in Shanghai. The company’s initial artists were herself and He Lu Fei. Shortly after its founding, Xitang hurried back to Hengdian to sign several actors she had previously noticed during shoots in Hengdian—talented individuals who had yet to receive opportunities. Among them was Tao Ranran. After leaving Beijing, Xitang had encountered her a few times on set in Hengdian. Once, Tao Ranran was working as an extra in Xitang’s production. Surrounded by directors and assistants, Tao Ranran, who had met Xitang briefly in Beijing, wisely refrained from disturbing her. Instead, Xitang took the initiative to greet her. Observing her work ethic during filming, Xitang found her to be talented and spirited. While Xitang busied herself recruiting promising newcomers, Ni Kailun was equally active. On the day she left the company, she took Ouli Zu and Li Fangting with her. Losing Ouli Zu alone had infuriated Boss Thirteen, but losing Li Fangting—a rising star under Ma Jihong’s management and a magnet for female fans—was utterly unexpected. 

Enraged, Ma Jihong slapped Li Fangting across the face. Li Fangting didn’t dare dodge but slightly shifted his body, preventing the slap from landing directly on his face. Suppressing his anger, Ma Jihong asked, “How have I treated you all these years, Hongjie?”

Ni Kailun had paid a hefty termination fee and completed the procedures without batting an eyelid, not the slightest bit concerned about the money. She grinned cheekily: “Oh, Jihong, this is a new era. The people are in charge, and everything is voluntary.”

Ouli Zu had been waiting in the car for ages before Li Fangting finally emerged with Ni Kailun. As soon as they got into the car, Ouli Zu grabbed her boyfriend’s hand and planted a loud kiss on his lips.

---

For nearly half a year, Huang Xitang hadn’t been offered any acting roles. 

She remained active within the entertainment circle, though, learning how to edit videos and attending vocal lessons twice a week. One day, at the music company, Lin Yuanhong handed her a small recording box: “Here are two new demo tracks. Give them a listen.” 

But no one approached her for TV dramas, let alone films. Investors and producers were still in观望 (observation mode), hesitant to take the risk of casting her. Huang Xitang had cost many in the industry significant losses. Rumor had it that for half a year, whenever her name came up at dinner gatherings in Hengdian, curses filled the air. 

The newly established company was still primarily focused on artist management. Ni Kailun had been swamped with work lately, overseeing He Lu Fei and Ouli Zu as their new projects began filming. She didn’t have much time to focus on Xitang. At the company, Xitang was responsible for participating in film and television projects, spending her days analyzing which productions might yield promising returns. However, with limited funds, the company couldn’t afford to invest in major projects, and she couldn’t accept minor or subpar roles from outside offers either. Consequently, there were no scripts available for her. One day, after a meeting with colleagues, she passed by the second-floor office and saw Ouli Zu rehearsing lines with a dialogue coach inside. A pang of envy unexpectedly welled up in her heart. 

One day, Yang Yilin called her agent: “I’ve got a project that requires shooting on location in the northwest. The actor we originally cast dropped out last minute. Would Huang Xitang be interested?” 

Yang Yilin was someone Xitang had only worked with once before. They played lovers in the drama, but off-screen, they barely interacted, and she didn’t even have his personal number. At that moment, Xitang was genuinely surprised that he would think of her. 

Ni Kailun asked, “Is your director okay with it?” 

Yang Yilin chuckled, “Let me have Director Lin speak with you.” 

Lin Wenming, a renowned Hong Kong action director, took the phone and spoke to Ni Kailun in Cantonese: “Kailun, I’m from Hong Kong. I don’t fully understand what’s going on in mainland entertainment circles.” 

Later, while standing amidst the windswept sands of Su Yu Kou, Xitang said to Yang Yilin: “Brother Lin, thank you.” 

Wearing sunglasses and a mask, Yang Yilin’s slightly swollen eyes betrayed his usual debauched yet handsome appearance. He replied, “Thank your assistant.” 

It turned out Ah Kuan was still in touch with him. 

---

In September, at Zhenbei Fort Western Film Studio. 

The scorching sun blazed over the land, with temperatures inside the studio reaching 40°C. The heat melted parts of the lighting equipment. 

Xitang hadn’t acted in a period drama for quite some time. The last time she worked with Yang Yilin, she played his girlfriend in a modern romance series that wrapped up smoothly after twenty episodes. This time, she was cast as Yang Yilin’s mother—a tragic character who fell in love with a disciple of a righteous sect, was abandoned, disfigured, and ultimately jumped off a cliff with her child. Yang Yilin recommended her for the role, and Director Lin agreed she was perfect for it. 

The shoot required flying all the way to Yinchuan, Ningxia, for just two episodes. The weather was unbearably hot, and her screen time was minimal, with most scenes requiring her face to be veiled. Preparing her hair and special makeup alone took two to three hours daily. To avoid delaying others, she had to wake up extra early. Such a demanding role was unappealing to most actresses. One actress initially cast backed out at the last minute, preferring to pay a breach-of-contract fee rather than endure the conditions. The assistant director even considered hiring extras, but fearing their acting wouldn’t match the emotional intensity required, they hesitated—until Huang Xitang accepted. 

Xitang followed the crew to two locations in Yinchuan, filming for five or six days. Every day involved wire stunts, and she leaped off cliffs three times. One morning, she woke up to find her right shoulder stiff, her fingers tingling faintly, and her grip on the sword unstable. The props master added a rod to the hilt of her sword, and she secured it tightly to her arm with cloth strips, concealing it under her wide sleeves. Despite these challenges, her fight scenes remained convincingly intense. 

Upon returning from Yinchuan, Xitang’s right arm—from the shoulder joint down—was completely immobile. She first returned to Beijing from Ningxia for medical treatment. At the 301 Hospital, appointments were already booked a week in advance. 

Li Shu’an told her, “Forget the appointment. We’ve got someone at home.” 

Madam Qian, a retired senior doctor from Dongzhimen Hospital, now consulted part-time at several hospitals affiliated with Beijing University of Chinese Medicine. Her schedule was booked solid for the next two months. 

Li Shu’an brought Xitang back to Guosheng Hutong. As they entered the courtyard, an elderly couple was busy harvesting jujubes by the lotus pond. Seeing Li Shu’an and Xitang approach, the elderly woman set down her pole, wiped her hands with a handkerchief, and smiled warmly: “Ah, this must be Miss Jing’s granddaughter?” 

Li Shu’an confirmed, “Yes.” 

Xitang bowed respectfully: “Hello.” 

Li Shu’an explained, “This elder and your grandmother were old friends.” 

Madam Qian chuckled, “The Jing family is truly blessed. What a beautiful young lady.” 

It had been a while since Xitang’s last visit to Beijing. The previous time, consumed by legal battles, her mind had been in chaos. She stayed in a hotel, venturing nowhere, meeting lawyers daily, trying to avoid yet compulsively checking online news. She vaguely remembered her father attending the press conference, standing among reporters. At seventy years old, Attorney Xiu trembled with anger during his statement, repeatedly wiping away tears with his handkerchief. 

Xitang didn’t linger long at Guosheng Hutong. The elderly woman examined her arm, wrote down a number, and instructed her to visit the outpatient clinic early the next morning. After bidding farewell, Xitang left for the airport. 

---

That year, Xie Zhenbang concluded his work in China. To see her after she returned from Yinchuan, he made a stopover in Beijing before heading back to Singapore. 

At Terminal 3 of Beijing Capital International Airport, Xie Zhenbang lifted her cap, quickly kissed her forehead, and then covered her head again: “I know you won’t forget me.” 

Huang Xitang would never forget. On her mother’s final night in the hospital, she knelt by her bedside, holding her mother’s hand. Xie Zhenbang stood by her side, watching the monitors until the very end. Tears streamed down Xitang’s face, and Xie Zhenbang immediately embraced her. 

In his arms, she whispered, “Never.” 

He smiled softly: “That’s enough.” 

---

That evening, Zhao Pingjin returned home. 

The setting sun bathed the gray tiles of the quadrangle courtyard. The housekeeper sat on the veranda of the eastern wing, chatting with Auntie Qian while sorting vegetables. 

“What a story! The Jing family suddenly has such a precious granddaughter. They must be overjoyed,” Auntie Qian sighed. 

“She’s said to be a beauty,” Zhao’s longtime housekeeper added with a smile. 

Auntie Qian grew animated: “Absolutely! When she came in, I was stunned. I’ve seen her performances—she’s even more stunning in person. That face, so fair and delicate!” 

“And so well-mannered. She came to see the elder for treatment, standing there quietly, not saying much.” 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“Her arm hurts.” 

Zhao Pingjin entered the courtyard, crossing the yard toward the house. Auntie Qian spotted him immediately: “Oh, Zhouge is back!” 

Zhao Pingjin stepped onto the stone steps and entered the central hall. His driver handed his laptop bag and briefcase to the attendant who greeted him. The housekeeper followed him inside, taking his suit jacket. Zhao Pingjin loosened his tie, his voice hoarse as he said, “I’ll manage myself. Please rest.” 

Hearing his voice, the housekeeper immediately fretted: “Your throat still isn’t better. Have some pear soup tonight.” 

Zhao Pingjin walked into the living room. Lately, his father’s health had been poor, requiring frequent hospital visits. Someone always needed to be at home, so Zhao Pingjin had been returning daily. 

Behind him, Auntie Qian informed: “Doctor Fu has returned to the western villa with the old master.” 

Zhao Pingjin nodded. From the first-floor study, his mother emerged. Seeing him return alone, she showed no surprise. “Have Auntie call you for dinner later. I’ve got something to attend to.” 

Her separation from her husband, Yu Xiaoying, had been ongoing for quite some time. 

Zhao Pingjin acknowledged her and headed upstairs.

That evening, Zhao Pingjin ate alone at home, sitting in his usual spot at the large dining table. The three refined dishes and a soup were all placed before him, but the table felt empty with just him there. After a while, the housekeeper heard him coughing from the kitchen and, feeling uneasy, came out to check. Seeing that he had barely touched his half-finished bowl of rice, she fetched a spoon, ladled some soup, and pushed it toward him. “My dear, please eat something.”

Zhao Pingjin obediently took the spoon, not wanting the housekeeper to nag. He rarely ate dinner at home these days, but today he had returned early. Zhou Laoshi must have instructed the housekeeper to ensure he ate on time. Seeing her standing by the table, clearly intending to watch over him, he smiled faintly. “Why don’t you sit down and have a bite with me?”

The housekeeper, ever mindful of propriety, waved her hands dismissively and turned to leave. “I’ll go prepare your medicine. Have some more soup later tonight.”