IJLHTW - 30

The next day, Xu Siyang left. Their work in Guinea was essentially complete.

Afterward, they would head to Mali, where another team awaited them. From Mali onward, the filming of the documentary would begin. They would also visit places like Libya, with their final destination being South Sudan.

They boarded a helicopter to Mali.

Since 2012, conflicts between the Malian government and armed groups in the northern regions had been ongoing. Previously, the United Nations released data showing that Mali had ranked first for three consecutive years in terms of the highest number of UN personnel killed in the line of duty.

Clearly, this place was far from peaceful.

Upon arriving in Mali, Yang Ming and his team were already waiting for them.

This documentary team had previously filmed domestically, but delays occurred due to visa issues for most of the team members. Yang Ming hadn’t accompanied Yi Zecheng earlier because he was dealing with these matters.

Everyone met at the hotel in Bamako, the capital of Mali. This documentary team was a newly emerging group in China called “Time Window,” which had gained significant fame online. Last year, their documentary Through Our Eyes: China received widespread acclaim, garnering over a hundred million views on video platforms.

“Are you Huo Ci?” They met in the hotel restaurant, just as dinner was about to begin.

A young man wearing a polo shirt exclaimed excitedly upon seeing her. His voice was loud and overly enthusiastic, earning him a slap on the back from a nearby man with a small mustache.

Looking somewhat embarrassed, the mustached man said, “Miss Huo, please don’t take offense. This kid is your fan—he’s always admired your work.”

Huo Ci raised an eyebrow slightly, surprised to find she even had fans in the photography world.

Over the years, her work had been heavily criticized for being overly commercialized, lacking the depth and emotional resonance of her early pieces.

She no longer participated in competitions, and even her touring exhibitions were collaborations with luxury brands.

“Hello, I’m Tang Xu. You can call me Xiao Tang,” the young man said, rubbing his hands nervously before extending one cautiously.

Huo Ci’s reputation in the industry was well-known—she was aloof, commanded the highest fees, and had a “shoot-or-not” attitude. Tang Xu and his team, being insiders, were familiar with her legendary status. Now meeting their idol in person, Tang Xu found her beauty mesmerizing—it was effortless, untouched by makeup, and captivating.

“I’m Huo Ci,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.

Tang Xu didn’t expect the goddess to be so approachable. Gripping her delicate, white hand, he gushed, “I’ve been a huge fan of your work since college—I collect all your magazines.”

Yi Zecheng glanced down at Tang Xu holding that tender, pale hand.

“I bought every magazine featuring the ninety covers you shot last year,” Tang Xu continued, his smile radiating the energetic charm of a sunny young man.

Huo Ci chuckled softly—it seemed he truly was a fan.

Yi Zecheng spoke coolly, “Dinner is ready. Let’s go inside.”

With that, he turned and walked ahead, followed closely by Yang Ming. Tang Xu whispered to Huo Ci, “This Mr. Yi looks so serious—I get nervous every time I see him.”

Tang Xu was naturally outgoing and chatty. Seeing how approachable the goddess appeared, he couldn’t stop talking.

Huo Ci simply smiled faintly at him, not saying a word.

“Aren’t you going to let go yet?” The mustached man beside them finally intervened. If he didn’t know Tang Xu’s personality and trusted him not to be taking liberties, he might have suspected the prolonged handshake bordered on inappropriate behavior.

Realizing he was still gripping Huo Ci’s hand, Tang Xu quickly released it, apologizing profusely, “Sorry, sorry, Miss Huo, I didn’t mean to.”

“There’s no need to call me Miss Huo. Just call me Huo Ci,” she said indifferently, clearly not offended.

Tang Xu scratched his head, grinning sheepishly.

Dinner took place in a private room within the restaurant. The documentary team had arrived a day earlier. During introductions, the mustached man introduced himself as Wei Lai, the leader of the team and its current executive producer. Though small in size, the team was fully equipped.

Tang Xu was a photographer, a peer of Huo Ci.

They were all invited by Yi Zecheng to film a public service documentary.

Evidently, this promotional campaign was ambitious. Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) was a politically neutral organization and one of the few non-governmental organizations permitted entry into North Korea. Participating in such a project was both a challenge and an honor for a team like Time Window.

After all, they were all young people with passion running through their veins.

During seating arrangements, Tang Xu squeezed next to Huo Ci. Across the table, Yi Zecheng maintained a calm demeanor, occasionally glancing up to scan the scene. Tang Xu, ever the devoted fan, pulled out his phone, revealing a screensaver image—one of Huo Ci’s early award-winning photographs.

“It struck me deeply when I first saw this photo. I thought someone who could capture such images must possess a pure and profound soul,” Tang Xu said, though he grew somewhat embarrassed as it sounded like flattery.

Wei Lai chuckled and chimed in, “Huo Ci, I can vouch for Tang Xu. He talks about you constantly, even more effusively than this.”

“I can also confirm—Huo Ci is unquestionably his ultimate goddess,” another person added.

“If I could meet Huo Ci once, I’d swear off girlfriends for life. That’s Tang Xu’s famous line,” someone teased mischievously.

Tang Xu panicked, immediately saying, “Guys, give me some face here.”

“No way! It’s rare to meet Huo Ci—we’ve got to let her know what kind of fan you are.”

All were young, and their lively chatter filled the room with energy.

It was Wei Lai who noticed Yi Zecheng’s composed expression. He had only met Yi once before but could tell he was someone of refined bearing who likely disliked such rowdy gatherings. Wei quickly called everyone to settle down, apologizing to Yi, “Sorry, Mr. Yi. These youngsters love to joke around.”

Only then did the group realize their distinguished guest was present.

The team’s ability to film in Africa was thanks to Yi Zecheng’s investment—he was their benefactor. No one dared to speak casually anymore.

“It’s fine,” Yi Zecheng gave a faint smile, his handsome features coming alive, leaving the men at the table envious.

Though they filmed documentaries, they had seen plenty of male celebrities in the entertainment industry. Yet this Mr. Yi didn’t pale in comparison to those relying solely on their looks. In fact, there was an innate dignity about him that commanded respect.

He calmly remarked, “Actually, I’m also a fan of Miss Huo.”

Huo Ci looked at him, thinking, Keep pretending.

Everyone was taken aback until he explained, “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made multiple visits to invite Miss Huo to join this project.”

Blatant lies rolled smoothly off his tongue.

This revelation clarified things for everyone. On reflection, it made sense—Huo Ci’s high profile made her difficult to recruit. Add to that the challenges of working in Africa, and few would willingly come.

Yang Ming, who knew the truth, trembled nervously nearby. He had only been away from Yi for a week!

What had transpired to make Yi fabricate such stories?

Ye Mingshi and Pan Chen attended a meeting with MSF. Due to Mali’s volatile situation and frequent terrorist attacks, prior coordination was required to enter the camp for filming. When they returned, they reunited with the group.

The gathering lasted until nearly eleven before everyone retired to their rooms.

As Yi Zecheng examined his room card, he asked Yang Ming, “Where are the others staying?”

Others? Yang Ming froze, unsure which specific person Yi referred to among the twenty-plus individuals, including the documentary team.

Just then, Huo Ci breezed past. Yi Zecheng called out, “Miss Huo.”

Huo Ci turned, smiling faintly, “Mr. Yi, is there something you need?”

Yang Ming’s face paled. Was Yi asking about Miss Huo?

But—but he had deliberately arranged for Huo Ci to stay on the second floor to minimize disturbances to Yi. This hotel was the best in Bamako, albeit with only a few floors. Yang Ming had done his best to separate them.

Yi Zecheng observed her calm demeanor, her hair tied loosely behind her head, making her appear no older than her early twenties.

She certainly remained composed.

“The accommodations here are modest. Please don’t take offense,” he said, his voice deep, cold, and irresistibly smooth.

“It’s fine. Everything’s good,” Huo Ci replied with a faint smile.

Suddenly, Tang Xu, who had walked ahead, turned back and called out, “Huo Ci, it seems we’re on the same floor. The elevator’s almost here. Shall we go together?”

The devoted fan sparkled with admiration.

Huo Ci responded indifferently, “If Mr. Yi has nothing further, I’ll take my leave.”

Watching the group happily board the elevator, Yi Zecheng pressed his lips together and turned to Yang Ming, asking in a low tone, “Did you arrange the rooms?”

“Mr. Yi, I…” Yang Ming’s face blanched. What had he done?

If he still couldn’t see the clear connection between these two, he might as well resign as Yi’s assistant.

Back in his room, Yi Zecheng showered and checked his phone afterward. To his surprise, she hadn’t sent a single text.

After some thought, he dialed Yang Ming.

Yang Ming, guilty over his earlier mistake, answered nervously, “Mr. Yi, do you have any instructions?”

“Find all of Huo Ci’s works and send them to me,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and leaning back in his chair. Tang Xu’s adoring expression earlier had been irritating.

Yang Ming: “….” Mr. Yi, you’ve really changed.

Not daring to question his boss, he promptly replied, “Yes, I’ll gather them right away.”

After a pause, he cautiously asked, “Is there anything else you need?”

“And the ninety magazine covers she shot last year. Not a single one missing.”

After hanging up, Yang Ming stared at his phone, sensing a hint of gritted teeth in Yi’s tone.

Meanwhile, after finishing the call, Yi Zecheng sent Huo Ci a text: “Stay away from that kid.”

About half an hour later, she finally replied leisurely, “Who? My fan?”

Seeing the word “fan” on the screen, he sneered. Then his phone rang—it was Huo Ci calling. Upon answering, he heard her light laughter, tinged with mild frustration, “But what should I do? He says my work is sincere and heartfelt, not commercial at all.”

Yi Zecheng paused, recalling a scene from several months ago.

He had coldly said: “You’re too commercialized.”

After a long silence, a soft voice came through the phone, “I’m sorry. I was blind.”