Chapter 2

Taking the revised script from Ning, Xitang spoke calmly yet authoritatively: “Let me handle this. You take a break. Go back to assisting her later.”

Ning nodded obediently.

Xitang approached the actress’s dressing room. Out of the hundreds of crew members, only Wu Zhenzhen had a private dressing room. Even Jiang Chao shared a lounge with the second male lead, despite drawing crowds of screaming fans whenever he exited. Clearly, rumors of Wu Zhenzhen attracting investors held truth.

Knocking gently, Xitang said softly: “Zhenzhen, I’ve brought the revised script.”

The starlet insisted everyone call her “Zhenzhen”—from the director to the cleaning staff—to appear approachable.

A coquettish voice replied from within: “Come in.”

Pushing open the door, Xitang saw Wu Zhenzhen seated at her vanity, already dressed in an elaborate red embroidered gown that revealed a stretch of pale skin. She applied makeup while chatting, her voice drawn out lazily: “Last week at Hang Lung Plaza, I saw...”

On the sofa facing away from the door sat a man. Before she finished, he interrupted indifferently: “Buy whatever you like yourself. Don’t bother telling me.”

In that instant, lightning struck Xitang’s mind. Darkness rolled over her vision, paralyzing her momentarily.

His voice was deep, rich, cold, and resonant—like the fullest strings of a cello, yet icy, flowing over hard rocks like frozen streams.

It reminded her of winter evenings when the first snow fell. The sky grew dim, courtyards stretched endlessly, and longing filled the air—for warmth, for wine, for intoxication, for eternity.

Years ago, in a pitch-black karaoke bar, blurred silhouettes flickered around a poker table. She remembered hearing a low, amused male voice: “Wait a moment—I’ll play the four-tile meld.”

That voice sent shivers down her spine, leaving her dizzy and yearning for touch.

Even now, whether awake or dreaming, she heard that unforgettable voice.

As a graduate of a prestigious acting program, Xitang valued good vocal delivery above all else in actors—deep, full, sensual, and emotive voices carried performances far beyond mere looks. So when she met Zhao Pingjin and realized his mesmerizing voice belonged to a face equally breathtaking, she thought fate itself had conspired unfairly.

Yet compared to his face, Xitang cherished his voice even more. On nights when lights were off, lying side by side in bed, his words floated in the darkness like tangible threads weaving dreams. Those memories ranked among her happiest moments.

Now, she felt the script trembling in her hands—not because of the paper, but her own shaking fingers.

Wu Zhenzhen pouted prettily: “You’re misunderstanding. I meant I saw Mr. Gao—he’s dating a new girlfriend who once acted with me... Oh, and I tried on a bag at the store...”

“Xitang? Xitang?” Hearing her name called, Xitang snapped back to reality.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. What was there to panic about? Years had passed; they were no longer part of each other’s lives.

Without glancing at the man on the sofa, she walked directly to Wu Zhenzhen and knelt beside her thigh, handing over the script. Speaking softly, she explained: “There are changes to this scene...”

Wu Zhenzhen glanced at her dismissively. Dressed in a bulky black coat, Xitang looked pale and exhausted, likely having rushed from another shoot. Kneeling respectfully, she maintained unwavering focus, her lips curved in a gentle smile reserved for directors and leads. Still, Wu Zhenzhen had witnessed her stern side, reprimanding crew members until they dared not speak. Everyone knew Xitang as a versatile girl, a Film Academy graduate who’d occasionally served as a stunt double but never rose to fame. Now older, she seemed destined for behind-the-scenes work.

Satisfied, Wu Zhenzhen simpered: “Will Ning cause trouble again?”

Xitang replied: “I’ve already scolded her. She’ll assist you shortly.”

Wu Zhenzhen shrugged indifferently.

Xitang kept her gaze fixed, acutely aware of the man still seated silently on the sofa. Her shoulder and arm tingled with numbness.

She added: “Today, Alin requested leave. We’re short-handed. There’s a wire stunt scene coming up in B-Set...”

Wu Zhenzhen predictably exclaimed, “How could this happen!”

Xitang smiled apologetically: “Everyone says you’re so dedicated. Reporters are visiting today—I’ve arranged for them to interview you.”

Reluctantly, Wu Zhenzhen nodded.

A crew member called out for her to get ready, and Xitang said, “I’ll head out now.”

She stood up and walked toward the door. Wu Zhenzhen followed, standing to pout at the man in the room: “There’s a wire stunt scene later... I’m afraid of heights, you know.”

No response came from within.

By the time Xitang reached the door, Wu Zhenzhen still hadn’t realized that the man seated inside was the one who truly feared heights—and hated being reminded of it.

Once outside, Xitang watched as Wu Zhenzhen greeted the director walking past the corridor, linking arms with him and heading toward the set.

Xitang slumped against a pillar near the eaves, her body drained. It took a few moments before she could feel air filling her lungs again. Finally, she gathered herself and began walking back inside.

Suddenly, a voice called out behind her: “Stop.”

Her heart seemed to freeze in that instant.

Without turning around, she continued walking. The voice lowered but carried an edge of irritation: “Huang Xitang.”

Xitang halted her steps, clenching her trembling hands into fists. Slowly, she turned around, forcing a faint smile onto her face: “What a coincidence.”

Her gaze flickered briefly over his features, avoiding detailed scrutiny, and settled instead on the second amber button of his black coat.

She remembered his face vividly—it hadn’t aged a day in five years. His complexion remained porcelain-smooth, his features sharp yet refined, with a chiseled jawline and furrowed brows framing eyes as dark and fathomless as the ocean.

She knew he was staring fixedly at her, his gaze cutting into her like icy blades.

His tall, lean figure loomed like a shadowy wall, radiating suppressed rage. Though he hadn’t spoken, Xitang sensed every nuance of his anger—she had once known him so well that merely standing beside him allowed her to feel even the slightest shift in his emotions.

Yes, she knew Zhao Pingjin despised her. A proud and arrogant man, he repaid any slight tenfold, tormenting those who dared offend him. Yet here she stood, unscathed.

He blocked her path; there was no escape.

Even in the dead of winter, Xitang’s entire back felt chilled to the bone.

Suddenly, he smiled—a cold, humorless curve that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not doing too badly, huh? You’ve landed a role in a production.”

Xitang inwardly scoffed. Zhao Pingjin hadn’t changed—he still spoke impeccable Mandarin tinged with a Beijing accent, teasing those he deemed unworthy of politeness.

With a touch of sarcasm, she replied: “Thanks to luck, I’m managing alright.”

Zhao Pingjin asked mockingly: “Why aren’t you the lead actress?”

Xitang grinned wryly: “With so many beauties around, how could I possibly compete?”

Just then, someone shouted down the corridor: “Boss Xitang—time to set up props!”

Xitang responded, nodding politely at Zhao Pingjin: “See you.”

He watched as her slender figure fled like lightning.

After all these years, he’d long assumed she was gone from this world. Who would have thought she was still lingering in the industry? And judging by what he saw, she wasn’t acting at all—instead, the once-proud Huang Xitang groveled before a diva like Wu Zhenzhen, catering to her whims.

Her small frame disappeared quickly, swaddled in a loose black coat, revealing thin limbs like bean sprouts. Her delicate face belied the steely resolve hidden beneath.

Standing under the eaves, Zhao Pingjin felt turmoil rising in his chest. His temples throbbed incessantly. Finally gritting his teeth, he turned and dialed a number: “Shen Min.”

Regaining composure, he instructed calmly: “Postpone the afternoon meeting. Have urgent documents brought over. Tonight’s engagement in Shanghai will be relocated to Hengdian.”