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Psst! We're moving!
After noting down the IDs of these people, Yan Man also bookmarked their homepages.
For some unknown reason, upon seeing these comments, she didn’t feel much. Instead, she had a vague premonition that one day, these people would turn against her.
Obsessed with everything under the sky, obsessed with life and death.
If there wasn’t even a hint of chemistry between her and Ye Lin, how could the director and screenwriter have chosen her?
With a light flick of her wrist, Yan Man opened her photo album, ready to start a new round of editing.
Zhou Xuan: “You should at least take a breather.”
“Do you know?” Yan Man’s expression was solemn. “Every groundbreaking invention faced controversy when it was first created.”
“What does this prove? That Ye Lin and I are destined to be a perfect couple.”
Zhou Xuan: “...”
I thought you were going to say something profound.
After a pause, Yan Man said: “Actually, I recently discovered that Photoshop is quite fun.”
“...”
Many times, Zhou Xuan felt like she was like a curious baby, trying out anything novel without caring about the outcome, only focusing on whether the process made her happy enough.
She was born not to please anyone but to satisfy herself.
And that wasn’t so bad.
The next morning, Yan Man didn’t have any scenes to shoot.
But she still got up early and went to the practice room to learn Kunqu Opera.
As soon as she opened the door, Song Pei was already waiting inside.
“Good morning, Teacher Song,” she greeted him, “I brought you a cup of soy milk. What are we learning today?”
Song Pei was her Kunqu teacher. Originally, they only had three classes planned, but she felt that the essence wasn’t quite there, so she added another month’s worth of lessons.
“Today, we’re learning something difficult,” Song Pei smiled. “Are you scared?”
“No fear at all.” Yan Man also smiled. “I love a challenge.”
The female lead she played had learned Kunqu since childhood and met the male lead on stage.
The director intended for that scene to be a memory, just a few seconds long, and three lessons were more than enough.
But she stubbornly believed this scene was crucial to character development. If she couldn’t perform it stunningly, the male lead’s affection wouldn’t seem convincing.
As an important highlight for her character, she wanted to do her best.
And so, she practiced diligently all morning. Even Song Pei grew tired midway, but she kept practicing over and over again, arms poised.
In the end, even with the air conditioning set to low, sweat beads formed on her nose and forehead.
When he first met her, Song Pei thought this girl was simply beautiful, clearly pampered, delicate, and fragile, with skin so pale it seemed translucent, unable to withstand any bumps or bruises.
But this very girl, despite the crew already approving the scene, patiently rehearsed the stage where the male and female leads first meet, over and over again.
Kunqu is hard to learn; performers typically need at least six months of training before stepping onto the stage. Song Pei could see that she possessed extraordinary endurance and self-control.
Finally, after completing the last movement, Yan Man turned back: “Teacher, is it okay?”
A thin ray of sunlight filtered in. Her fingers lightly twisted, gleaming momentarily.
“It’s good, very good.”
Song Pei said earnestly, “If I were the male lead, I’d fall in love with you at this moment.”
In the afternoon, the scene of their first meeting was filmed.
The interplay of light and shadow, she removed her makeup, replicating a scene from earlier. Her fingers gathered the water sleeves and slowly lifted them with a glance.
True beauty doesn’t fear the light.
The beam slid off her, making her eyes shimmer even more. Though silent, her eyes seemed to speak volumes. A distant glance conveyed thousands of words.
Relaxed yet precise, her figure fully displayed—vivid like the sole splash of red in a black-and-white film, striking, dazzling, captivating.
This scene passed smoothly. The director sat behind the monitor, clapping repeatedly.
“This part is truly beautiful. It’s clear you’ve put in a lot of effort. Great job, Xiao Man, I didn’t misjudge you.”
She raised her hand to untie her hair and jumped off the high platform.
Her long hair cascaded, fluttering onto her shoulders.
She asked: “Did the male lead fall in love?”
The director replied: “Of course, the male lead should fall in love.”
Her eyes lit up. After changing clothes, she found Ye Lin reading the script in the lounge.
He always seemed to prefer less crowded spots.
But once she arrived, it became lively.
Yan Man sat beside him, not speaking immediately. She opened WeChat and played two rounds of a mini-game. Once he adjusted to her presence, she opened the phone’s scanning frame.
“I tossed and turned last night, unable to sleep. Upon reflection, I realized I hadn’t added Teacher Ye’s WeChat.”
She blinked, silently exuding a flirtatious and enticing charm.
“I have something good to send you. Shall we add each other on WeChat?”
On the screen, the scanning lines moved continuously. The man lowered his eyes, clearly having heard her.
Because he reached out, flipping his phone face down.
Yan Man: “...”
Alright, looks like the male lead fell in love, but he didn’t.
Yan Man nodded, putting away her phone: “You’re cool, I like that.”
“...”
After two seconds, she spoke seriously: “You’ll regret it.”
As if finally annoyed by her persistence, the man lazily flipped his eyelids, emitting a breathy sound, though his eyes held no trace of amusement.
“No.”
She hummed: “Best not to regret it later.”
In the evening, her scenes wrapped up.
From afar, Yan Man heard someone singing. She asked the assistant Xiaoyun: “What’s going on over there?”
“Feng Ting is celebrating his birthday and playing games. Want to check it out?”
Feng Ting was twenty this year, playing the third male lead, the youngest in the crew.
Yan Man got along well with everyone on set, though most relationships were superficial. She wasn’t particularly close to Feng Ting and initially worried he wouldn’t recognize her.
Surprisingly, when Feng Ting saw her, he only paused briefly before breaking into a smile, revealing a small fang: “Sister.”
Yan Man rarely received such an address. Hesitantly, she looked around.
“Me?”
“Of course,” Feng Ting patted the cushion next to him. “Sister, sit.”
“Thank you,” Yan Man politely responded. “Happy birthday. Are you barbecuing?”
“Yes, do you have any preferences? We can grill together.”
The atmosphere on set was harmonious. Sparks danced in the furnace, warmth wafted, and the evening sky was painted orange-red with twilight.
Yan Man took a photo, grabbed a skewer of crunchy cartilage, and placed it on the grill.
Amidst the lively chatter, the topic soon turned to her. Someone mimicked a Kunqu gesture, pushing another into a tree, eliciting laughter.
Amidst the laughter, Yan Man chuckled too, then turned to look.
Too far away, Ye Lin seemed to have a night shoot. From afar, he sat alone, waiting, a light above him casting a long shadow.
Yan Man stood up and jogged to him, waving her fingers: “Teacher Ye, want to join the barbecue?”
“No—”
Before he finished, she interrupted.
Yan Man: “Not interested?”
She crouched before him, hands framing her cheeks, her voice complaining yet teasing: “You think this is boring? No, it’s actually quite fun.”
“Friends, chatting, barbecues, or even wasting time—all have meaning.”
After saying that, she ran off, thinking he’d let her go. But she returned in small steps, holding something out to him.
“Here, I grilled chicken cartilage. Try it?”
“And this—chicken wings, kebabs, squid tentacles…”
She said: “This world is interesting. I want you to see it.”
The sunset spread, the wind lifting her long hair.
Ye Lin paused briefly, glancing at her skewer.
“A skewer of grilled meat has about 200 calories. You’d need to run for half an hour.”
“If you eat what’s in your hand, you might as well not sleep tonight.”
Yan Man: “...”
Yan Man: “……”
After a long silence, she asked: “Are you even human, Ye Lin?”
Her plan to warm up the ice cube was temporarily shelved. Yan Man put all the barbecue back, not daring to eat a single skewer.
Watching Ye Lin begin his scene under the streetlight, she inwardly sighed. How could someone be so unromantic?
At first, hearing industry insiders explain, she found it strange. With his devastatingly handsome face, how could he not have been in a relationship?
Now it made sense. He was truly single by merit.
By the time Ye Lin finished work at eleven, the film city had grown quiet.
He had just finished a snow scene. Artificial snowflakes drifted down, the streetlights casting a hazy glow. He removed his hat, and in his line of sight, a figure approached from afar.
Unsure when she had put on a jacket, like a deliberately slowed movie scene, Yan Man walked towards him.
The last snowflake gently fell, and at this moment, she spoke.
Her palm-sized face was even more translucent under the moonlight. Her voice was distant.
“Ye Lin, no one else can handle you except me, really.”
“...”
Yan Man hadn’t sought him out intentionally.
She just wanted to film a vlog, stayed on set longer, and when she finished, she saw Ye Lin wrapping up as well.
Unable to hold back her words, she rushed to him, blurting out what she had bottled up all night.
After speaking, she felt much relieved.
Back home, she opened Weibo, finding that the algorithm recommended many CP videos.
Just as those comments said, many videos were beautifully edited—one BGM told a story.
Some, merely collages of short clips and pictures, were highly forwarded thanks to well-chosen background music, precise timing, and cute layouts.
“They also generate heat themselves,” Zhou Xuan analyzed. “These two videos you’re watching are of Ji Ning and Ji Shiyuan, the ‘Double J’ couple. They’re already popular, with many CP fans. So, as long as the content is decent, their heat will surpass others.”
Zhou Xuan: “Mainly because Ye Lin is very resistant to this. You know how famous he is; many want to use him for hype. Rumor has it that when he debuted, he was exploited by someone from the same company. Later, whenever any female artist tried to market themselves with him, related hashtags would be cleaned within two months.”
“Don’t believe me? Search now. His tags are clean, no scandals.”
Yan Man searched and indeed found it true. Almost all hot search related to him were about filming.
Narrowing her eyes slightly, she commented: “Not bad, quite virtuous.”
Zhou Xuan: “...”
Why do you sound like you’re evaluating your husband?
After skincare, Yan Man went to bed early.
The next day, the sun was too strong, so she carried an umbrella to the set.
Along the way, Zhou Xuan continued sharing recent gossip.
Yan Man wasn’t particularly interested in these things. Her lack of understanding before entering the industry led her to consider Ye Lin as someone she could pursue.
Zhou Xuan was different. She was naturally nosy. Coming to the set with Yan Man was partly for companionship and partly out of curiosity about real showbiz.
Lately, Yan Man covered her food and lodging. Even Zhou Xuan admitted it felt like a vacation.
Yan Man pulled her thoughts back and sat in the makeup chair.
Ye Lin was seated next to her.
With his good base, he looked great even with minimal grooming. The stylist tousled his hair twice, and he was done.
The man lounged in the soft leather chair, the script on his lap, deeply focused on writing something.
It seemed he had flipped through it countless times; his script was thicker than others’.
Regardless, Yan Man had to admit he was extremely rigorous with his work, beyond what most could achieve.
Even her makeup artist glanced back and whispered: “They say men are most charming when they’re focused. His aura is almost unfair.”
Born to be an actor, even doing nothing, he attracted everyone’s gaze.
Finished with makeup, Yan Man stood to tidy up but accidentally kicked his chair.
Ye Lin briefly emerged from his world, raising his eyes without much emotion.
At that moment, Bi Tan also chimed in: “Teacher Man Man, why didn’t you greet our Teacher Ye this morning?”
She smiled casually: “Good morning.”
It was unclear whom she was addressing.
Anyway, she finished and sat on the nearby sofa, pulling out her phone.
Bi Tan keenly noticed the atmosphere was off.
Previously, this girl clung to Ye Lin, showering him with sweet words and smiles. Why did she sit aside after a brief greeting today?
Bi Tan leaned toward Ye Lin, starting frantic hints: “Don’t you find this a bit unusual? Why don’t you two add each other on WeChat? Maybe she really has something good to share.”
Ye Lin glanced down. She seemed immersed in some document, occasionally furrowing her brow at difficult parts.
The atmosphere in the makeup room was different today. She neither clung to him nor incessantly chattered. She even skipped bringing him things.
It was as if she was sulking.
But that suited him just fine.
The man removed his glasses, habitually pressing his nose bridge, saying nothing.
Fifteen minutes later, the morning scenes began filming.
It was a confrontation scene between the male and female leads.
As usual, after both entered, the director, holding a walkie-talkie, paced around the room.
“Hmm, Ye Lin, sit here. Yes, lean back a bit, spread your legs, and put a pillow behind your waist. I’m worried about injury.”
“Then, Man Man, come here. Isn’t this scene originally you collapsing on him? It’s not specified, so try sitting astride him.”
Yan Man was momentarily stunned, looking up: “Huh?”
“Sitting astride,” the director pointed somewhere. “Sit astride him. Do you understand?”
Yan Man: “...”
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