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After Xiang Ge arranged a meeting with Zhou Hangyan, she suddenly became busier.
The spring and summer months of April and May, as well as the autumn and winter months of September and October, were peak seasons. Press conferences were piling up everywhere, and the results of Z Company’s first round of interviews had already been announced. Aside from the extremely meticulous and troublesome second and third rounds of interviews, Song Zhi seemed determined not to let her idle. On Thursday evening, right after Xiang Ge finished her endorsement for Z Company, she got into the nanny van where her agent was already waiting for her.
Xiang Ge’s agent was named Li Yuan, someone Song Zhi had poached from the headquarters of Global Entertainment. He was experienced, had an astute eye, and was very seasoned in the industry.
Xiang Ge wasn’t afraid of Song Zhi, but whenever Li Yuan smiled, she felt uneasy, as if one foot was already stepping into a conspiracy, much like at this moment.
Li Yuan handed her a stack of scripts with a smile.
Silently, Xiang Ge took them and flipped through them without saying anything.
It was the script for an upcoming movie, and Li Yuan had selected a supporting female role for her.
Li Yuan had already approached her a few days ago, casually asking if she had any plans to transition.
Xiang Ge’s on-screen presence was undoubtedly impeccable, making it impossible for her to remain solely in print modeling. However, moving toward the runway, 175 cm was essentially the threshold, and her height of 173 cm was just not quite enough.
Not everyone could become Kate Moss.
Moreover, she was already twenty-three years old.
Modeling was a career that relied heavily on youth. Xiang Ge had even seen people entering the industry at fourteen and becoming veterans by twenty. Unless they had exceptional conditions or won major awards, transitioning from full-time to part-time work, changing careers, or heading toward the entertainment industry was almost inevitable.
There was no need to question or doubt Song Zhi and Li Yuan’s judgment when it came to selecting scripts, especially for a film. Making her debut on the big screen right away was an opportunity many would dream of.
For some reason, she suddenly thought of Qiao Xin and Xu Yiqi, who would go to great lengths and even pay a hefty price for a good opportunity.
Xiang Ge had always been someone without much ambition, letting things take their natural course. As for modeling, she didn’t particularly like or dislike it. Due to her excellent physical attributes, she got signed, and although it was exhausting, she earned a decent amount of money, so she just naturally went along with it. Like when she returned from France to attend university in China, she unexpectedly enrolled in a prestigious film school.
Only now did she remember that she was majoring in acting, trained professionally, so going back to make films could be considered returning to her roots.
The audition was scheduled for 9 AM on Monday, and her meeting with Zhou Hangyan was set for 5:30 PM.
She lowered her eyes, rubbing the sharp edge of the creamy white paper. The black Songti characters densely covered each page, depicting others’ lives. She would have the chance to experience those unfamiliar joys and sorrows, to portray their stories, and perhaps even her own future stories.
It didn’t seem so bad.
Xiang Ge received the script a bit late, leaving her only three days to prepare. Fortunately, she wasn’t completely inexperienced. By revisiting her university knowledge, she could get a grasp of the script within those three days without much difficulty.
That night, after taking a shower, she turned on the large floor lamp in front of the living room sofa and sat cross-legged on the carpet to open the script. On the white background, a bold, enlarged character “茧” (cocoon) stood out vividly.
Holding a glass of milk, Xiang Ge opened the script.
As she flipped through the pages, her eyelashes fluttered rapidly. By the time she realized it, more than half of the milk had spilled.
Perhaps because too much sugar had been added to the milk, the milky liquid seemed to have taken on a sticky consistency. It soaked her pajamas, seeping deeply into the cotton fabric, clinging to her thighs, sending an endless chill into her bones, making even her fingertips cold.
A low hum of a train seemed to echo in her ears. Instinctively, Xiang Ge raised her hand, her icy numb fingers tightly covering her left ear.
The movie was titled Cocoon , and its content dealt with domestic violence.
On Monday, Xiang Ge woke up two hours before her alarm rang.
Her damp pajamas clung to her body. The early spring air still carried a chill, and as she pulled back the blanket, the cold made her want to shiver.
Xiang Ge sat on the bed, lost in thought for a while, before slowly raising her hand to touch her forehead—it was burning hot.
She got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
When Gong Mo came to call her, the woman was already sitting on the couch playing Angry Birds. Her hair was still damp, she hadn’t put on makeup, and her beautiful face was bare, though her cheeks were slightly flushed.
Her eyebrows looked lighter than usual, softening her features considerably.
Gong Mo was a bit surprised, placing the breakfast she had brought on the table and raising an eyebrow: “No makeup today?”
Xiang Ge looked up, her lips pale without lipstick, her voice slightly hoarse: “Hmm, I’ll just apply some lipstick later.”
They arrived early, but there were already quite a few people there. Xiang Ge found a corner to sit in, looking lazy with her eyes downcast.
A few hours later, her name was called from inside the room.
Xiang Ge removed her headphones, tossed the script and phone to Gong Mo beside her, and entered the room empty-handed.
Inside was a spacious room with a row of tables in front, behind which sat several people. In the middle was a man who appeared to be in his thirties or forties, wearing black-rimmed glasses, reviewing her resume.
“Film Academy Acting Department? Then why did you become a model?”
Standing tall and relaxed in the center, Xiang Ge replied: “At the time, I thought being a model would be easier than being an actress.”
The man paused, seemingly not expecting such direct honesty: “Then why do you want to act now?”
“Because I realized being a model isn’t easy at all.”
The man chuckled, finally lifting his eyes to seriously look at the girl in front of him.
She was tall, exuding confidence, with delicate and attractive features. Despite having no prior experience according to her resume, she didn’t appear nervous or awkward in the slightest.
The role she was auditioning for was the female lead’s classmate, a picture-perfect girl from a healthy and happy family—outgoing, top of her class, and the school beauty and class president. After becoming the female lead’s desk partner, she continuously tried to change the introverted protagonist.
Xiang Ge was somewhat troubled because she wasn’t particularly skilled at this type of role.
There weren’t that many savior personalities around.
She smirked, lowering her head to gather her emotions. Just as she was thinking about how to produce that effortless, radiant, healing smile, the man in front suddenly opened the script in his hands and handed it to her, saying indifferently: “Perform this part.”
Xiang Ge blinked, walked over, and accepted it.
After quickly scanning it, she froze, her eyes snapping up.
This was a scene for the female lead.
In her mind, the female lead should have been a petite, unremarkable girl—quiet, introverted, and somewhat aloof, occasionally revealing a cold, prickly side.
Xiang Ge pursed her lips, stepped back to her original spot, and slowly lowered her eyelids.
When she raised her head again, a subtle, unspoken emotion quietly surged forth.
By the time Xiang Ge finished her audition and exited the room, she had no idea what time it was.
There was no clock inside, and she lacked the energy to check the time. Only after retrieving her phone from Gong Mo did she finally breathe a sigh of relief.
As her fingertips brushed against Gong Mo’s hand, the young assistant looked up and stood: “Was it hot inside?”
Xiang Ge was startled: “What?”
“Your hands are a bit warm. Are you nervous?”
Xiang Ge tilted her head, laughing nonchalantly: “Little Jasmine, are you so concerned about me because you secretly like me?”
“…”
Gong Mo stared at her expressionlessly for three seconds, then turned and left without another word.
Xiang Ge went straight home. By the time she arrived, it was 1 PM. She collapsed onto the bed, utterly drained, and sighed deeply before struggling to get up again.
She felt alternately cold and hot, as if her fever had worsened, causing dizziness in waves.
In the morning, fearing drowsiness during the audition, she hadn’t dared to take any fever medicine.
Now, she still couldn’t take any, worried that she wouldn’t have the energy for dinner later.
But like this, she felt even more exhausted.
Xiang Ge curled up at the foot of the bed, hesitating for a long while with her phone in hand, before finally getting up to fetch a cold capsule from the medicine box in the living room. After some thought, she swallowed just one pill.
She returned to her bedroom, wrapping herself tightly in the blankets, preparing to sleep for two hours.
She set five alarms on her phone, starting at 3:30 PM and ending at 4:00 PM, spaced five minutes apart, fearing she wouldn’t wake up.
Yet, her sleep was restless.
Dreams flashed by like a revolving lantern, chaotic fragments flickering past—some familiar, memories of events that had occurred; others unfamiliar, perhaps figments of her imagination.
The final image froze on a gloomy summer afternoon, heavy clouds gathering on the horizon. On the rooftop of the school, a girl tugged at the collar of the boy in front of her, tilting her head upward to whisper something in his ear.
He remained still, his throat bobbing slightly, his long lashes lowered as he gazed at her.
Their proximity was intimate; his body temperature was slightly lower, his scent crisp and faint, quietly infiltrating her nostrils.
Her eyelashes, hidden from his view, trembled. Her neck ached from tilting it upward, yet she refused to give up, not moving an inch.
After a long pause, she slowly puffed out her cheeks, releasing him with reddened ears.
She took two steps back, resuming her usual lazy smile: “Senior Zhou, good luck on next week’s mock exam.”
Her sudden shift in attitude caught Zhou Hangyan off guard. Recovering, his voice was cool and distant: “Xiang Ge.”
She responded casually.
“Is this just a joke to you?”
She was momentarily stunned, not understanding: “What?”
He fell silent.
Realization dawned on the girl, and she blinked, tilting her head: “You think I’m messing with you by pursuing you?”
His lips pressed together, but he remained silent.
She never took anything seriously.
Her carefree demeanor, her scattered laughter—it all made him want to hit her.
But then she suddenly smiled, leaning closer, her soft form pressing lightly against him: “After your mock exam is over, I’ll confess to you properly, alright? Seriously.”
“Do you want to hear it?”
“I’ll be waiting right here for you.”
“If you don’t come, I’ll keep waiting.”
Everyone in the orthopedics office felt that Doctor Zhou seemed to be in a good mood these past few days.
Especially today.
The surgery department was always busy, with endless operations and meetings. After finishing a surgery in the afternoon, Zhou Hangyan returned to the office, just as Lin Ran happened to walk in carrying a stack of X-rays. Seeing him, she fumbled, letting out a small cry as the X-rays tilted precariously, nearly falling.
Zhou Hangyan, with his long legs, stepped in first.
Lin Ran felt a bit embarrassed, steadying the wobbling X-rays before following him inside.
She placed the items on the desk and turned to the person sitting behind her: “Doctor Zhou, thank you so much for last time.”
It took Zhou Hangyan a while to recall what she was referring to.
Last time, Lin Ran had family matters and asked him to cover a shift for her, coinciding with someone coming for a “follow-up visit.”
She had secretly eavesdropped at the door, her face expressing “I’m unhappy but I won’t tell you, and you can’t figure it out,” claiming she hadn’t recovered fully and that her condition swelled and hurt at night.
Thinking of her appearance at that time, Zhou Hangyan couldn’t help but curve his lips slightly, looking up: “It’s fine.”
However, Lin Ran had no idea what he was thinking. Delighted, she quickly said: “Let me treat you to dinner after work today. I know a Japanese restaurant with great food.”
Zhou Hangyan glanced at his watch—it was already 5 PM.
He tidied up the items on the desk, not looking up, and said indifferently: “I have something tonight.”
Liang Shengxi happened to enter, hearing his words, clicked his tongue, glanced at Lin Ran’s disheartened expression, shook his head, and silently left.
Zhou Hangyan sat back in his chair, his phone beside him, a book spread open in front of him. His fingers rested on the edge of the book, his gaze unfocused.
One by one, his colleagues left the office, until only he remained.
Zhou Hangyan glanced at his watch.
5:30 PM.
Outside the office, a departing patient’s family member passed by. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a slender, light-colored figure. Looking up, it was a stranger, chatting with someone as they walked out.
He pursed his lips and turned a page of the book in his hand.
Time slowly ticked by, minute by minute.
At 6:30 PM, Zhou Hangyan narrowed his eyes, his expression blank. He wondered what kind of explanation this woman would offer him.
At 8 PM, Liang Shengxi returned from the duty room to fetch something and saw him, surprised: “Ah Yan? Why haven’t you left yet?”
Zhou Hangyan lowered his head, giving a faint “Hmm,” as his fingertips flipped through the pages.
Liang Shengxi wanted to say, “Didn’t you just tell Little Lin that you had something?”
But noticing the man’s expression, he decided to stay silent and quietly left.
At 9:30 PM, he had reached the end of the book.
Zhou Hangyan’s eyes were dark as he stood up and left the office.
The hospital corridor was quiet at night, the ceiling lights glaringly bright, casting a pallid glow.
He slipped on his coat, the sound of his shoes clicking against the marble floor clear and distinct. He walked out, stopping at the elevator doors, raising his hand to press the button.
His finger hovered above it, pausing.
The metallic elevator doors reflected his distorted shadow like a blurry mirror.
He wore a newly purchased coat, looking comical and absurd.
Zhou Hangyan lowered his eyes and suddenly laughed.
It was always like this.
She would provoke him so naturally, then vanish as easily as a breeze.
And there he was, falling for it again and again.
Like a fool.
Xiang Ge drifted in and out of consciousness.
Outside the window, dusk settled, the sky a deep navy blue. A cool breeze blew through a window that had been left open at some point, billowing the light linen curtains.
Her mind was muddled, and at some point, the blanket had been kicked to the foot of the bed. Her back was soaked with sweat, yet she still felt hot.
It was as if a pot of porridge was boiling inside her, bubbling with heat, her throat burning painfully.
With weak arms, Xiang Ge reached for her phone beside the pillow. All the alarms had been turned off—it was already 10 PM.
Her heart sank, and after a moment of silence, she dialed a number.
After ringing for over ten seconds, Zhou Hangyan hung up on the other end.
“…”
Xiang Ge lay on her side, staring at the disconnected call screen, hesitating whether to dial again.
Two minutes later, just as she was about to call him again, her phone rang first.
Almost reflexively, Xiang Ge swiped to answer.
She hesitated, pondering how to begin.
Zhou Hangyan spoke first.
Slowly, his voice low and raspy, devoid of emotion.
“Xiang Ge, are you having fun playing with me?”
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