HYAT - 39

The tea house had excellent soundproofing. When Ji Qinghe lifted the curtain and entered, it was as if he had opened a corner of the room, letting in the sounds of storytelling and ballad singing from the hall outside.

Ming Jue followed a step behind him, holding a wet umbrella, its surface damp, leaving a small puddle where the handle touched the ground.

As he entered, the curtain behind him closed, shutting off the lively sounds from outside.

Shen Qianzhan’s gaze followed the umbrella to Ji Qinghe’s shoulder; one side was wet with snowflakes, soaked with moisture, exuding a bone-chilling cold.

Yet he seemed oblivious, taking off his wool coat and handing it to Ming Jue, then sat down very naturally in the empty seat beside her.

Shen Qianzhan poured two cups of water, handing one to Ji Qinghe and one to Ming Jue: “Is it snowing outside?”

“Just started a moment ago,” Ji Qinghe took the teacup and cleared his throat: “You picked a good place, didn’t you?”

His voice trailed off slightly, as if he was smiling: “The tea house only has an outdoor parking lot. After parking, it took almost ten minutes to walk here, through covered bridges and winding streams.”

Shen Qianzhan had arrived early, and besides the slightly overcast sky, nothing else had happened. She took Ji Qinghe’s words as a compliment and accepted them fully: “Oh, no, no, Mr. Ji has high standards for environment. I also searched for a long time at home before settling on this tea house. The environment is elegant and quiet, with good soundproofing. If you want lively, there’s storytelling and ballad singing in the outer hall. If you want a rural experience, the tea house has a tea mountain. It’s a shame it’s snowing, otherwise, even if Mr. Ji wanted to experience ‘winding stream parties,’ I could arrange it.”

Ji Qinghe, as always, seized on the key point of her speech: “It met my requirements for soundproofing.”

There was nothing wrong with the words themselves; each one, read separately, was perfectly wholesome and environmentally friendly, devoid of any suggestive undertones. But coupled with his meaningful, playful expression, Shen Qianzhan couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander.

She suddenly began to suspect if there was something wrong with her own mind, always picking out the “yellow” meanings among so many colors.

Shen Qianzhan pretended not to understand, cleared her throat, and asked Ming Jue: “Assistant Ming, are you back to work so early?”

Ming Jue sat to Ji Qinghe’s left and very proactively took over the task of brewing tea: “Yes, I’m quite passionate about work.”

This sentence, whether genuine or feigned, brought a swift end to the conversation.

________________________________________

Soon, Su Zan and Jiang Juanshan also arrived.

They walked in one after another, only realizing each other’s identities when they entered the same tea booth.

With everyone present, Shen Qianzhan presided over the meeting, introducing everyone one by one.

When it came to Lin Qiao, she added two more sentences: “Lin Qiao has a very solid foundation, with rich script experience. I’ve collaborated with many screenwriters, and Lin Qiao is the only one whose detail processing and storyboard style are similar to Teacher Jiang’s, highly pursuing perfection. I personally think her involvement should bring new creative inspiration to Teacher Jiang.”

Jiang Juanshan smiled. He rubbed the handle of his teacup and said softly, “Lin Qiao is my student.”

“Producer Shen, you don’t need to worry that I will be dissatisfied with Lin Qiao’s participation in the script creation.”

Shen Qianzhan looked at the two of them with some surprise: “I never heard either of you mention it before.”

Lin Qiao, who had been quietly well-behaved since she was caught gossiping earlier, explained in a low voice for Jiang Juanshan: “I haven’t really established myself yet, so I’m ashamed to bring it up.”

Shen Qianzhan didn’t have much desire for gossip about the inside story, but she was pleased to see Lin Qiao and Jiang Juanshan had this underlying connection.

A harmonious team always achieves more with less effort.

The script meeting began with finalizing the project name and ended with the script outline.

Su Zan acted as a temporary recorder, both recording audio and creating a document to neatly type out the key points of the meeting, providing an electronic copy to everyone before the meeting concluded.

Shen Qianzhan, seeing that it was getting late, found it inappropriate to keep everyone longer. Seeing that no one had any intention of having dinner together, they all left.

As evening approached, the storytelling and ballad singing outside the hall had long ceased.

Shen Qianzhan stepped out of the room, startled by the dim twilight.

The sky was a somber gray, shrouded in mist, and streetlights were already lit within the tea house. The sky seemed to have stepped into night, with not even a trace of hazy light or shadow to be found.

The snow fell heavier, accumulating in a thick layer.

Under the courtyard eaves, all the green plants were draped in a thick cloak of snow, a scene of pure silver.

Lin Qiao shivered, stamping her feet: “The weather this year is a bit unusual. Is there a snow disaster somewhere?”

Su Zan’s cotton shoes, soaked through with snow when he arrived, were still damp at the toes. He shivered his cold feet while muttering, “Probably pent-up, this snow is like someone pouring it down with a basin. If it gets a few more degrees colder, we might even be able to have an ice sculpture exhibition with Ice City, saving us the travel costs to Harbin.”

Shen Qianzhan waited at the front desk for her invoice, holding a handful of melon seeds, leisurely cracking them.

People left one after another. She waited for the invoice machine to finish printing, collected the invoice, and when she stepped out, Ji Qinghe was standing under the veranda with an umbrella, waiting for her.

She was somewhat surprised: “Everyone’s gone?”

Ji Qinghe grunted: “The snow is getting heavier. Su Zan didn’t bring an umbrella, so I had Ming Jue take him to the parking lot first.”

Shen Qianzhan looked at the falling snow and instinctively walked under his umbrella: “Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Ji.”

Ji Qinghe didn’t reply, tilting the umbrella towards her side.

The wind was strong. Shen Qianzhan’s idea of walking and cracking melon seeds was mercilessly shattered by the weather. She shrank her neck, her gaze falling on Ji Qinghe’s profile under the lights.

His shadow was slender, just an outline, with no clear details.

Only that umbrella, slightly tilted, shielded her from much of the piercing wind that blew through.

Such quietness made her thoughts wander. She looked up, and amidst the rustling wind through the bamboo grove, she made small talk: “Mr. Ji, are you adapting to this kind of script meeting?”

Ji Qinghe looked down at her: “Are you referring to a tea party where we discuss for half a day and come up with nothing substantial as a script meeting?”

His sarcasm was merciless. Shen Qianzhan felt a pang in her knee and explained: “The outline isn’t finalized, and the screenwriters only have a vague idea of what the story should be. Do you expect to get substantial results from just one meeting?”

Ji Qinghe remained noncommittal. He still held some reverence for areas he wasn’t familiar with and didn’t comment casually based on his subjective opinion: “How long will it take to finalize the outline?”

“It depends on the screenwriter,” Shen Qianzhan gave an analogy: “It’s like how Bu Zhong Sui develops new series and products; the initial preparation might take three, five years, or even longer. If the screenwriter understands what we want, progress will be very fast. Sometimes, the screenwriter and I are on the same wavelength, but my approval alone isn’t enough. Investors will get involved and offer suggestions for revisions. That’s also why I had you participate. Going forward, until the outline is complete, Mr. Ji doesn’t have to participate; I’ll communicate with the screenwriters.”

When discussing work, her words naturally increased: “You might feel that each discussion isn’t that meaningful, but script creation is refined through repeated discussions and revisions. Sometimes, a great idea might suddenly emerge, leading to a complete overhaul. If your goal and mine are consistent, the screenwriters will suffer less. If you and I are at two extremes, for example, if I want rich emotional lines to make the characters more fully developed, and you want the focus to be more on the professional aspects, then we’ll have disagreements.”

Ji Qinghe asked, “How are such disagreements usually resolved?”

“It depends on whether I can convince the investors or the platform. In the past, when my voice was insignificant, I often did things against my will. Although a producer single-handedly supports the production crew, they don’t always get to do exactly what they want.” Shen Qianzhan explained, “I rarely seek investment without even an outline; you’re an exception. Usually, I’d work with the screenwriter to complete the outline and the first five or ten episodes of the script before approaching platforms and investors, to minimize friction in the early stages of the project. But this usually happens when there’s an original work or a finished script as a premise. Doing original work is similar to our current situation: starting from scratch, with nothing, and gradually perfecting it.”

“There are many situations where opinions clash with investors. For example, if I want to set off tens of thousands of dollars worth of fireworks along the coastline for a scene, but the investor disagrees, feeling there isn’t that much money to invest in fireworks that just disappear. They might demand the screenwriter change the scene to watching meteors from a rooftop.”

Ji Qinghe smiled: “I wouldn’t do that. If you want to set off fireworks, you can have as many as you want.”

Shen Qianzhan was momentarily speechless.

Were she and Ji Qinghe talking about fireworks?

She was about to sigh and conclude with something like, “If we can’t communicate, let’s just not talk; just give me the money generously,” when he chuckled, his voice low and deep, particularly striking in the icy, snowy weather.

“What I mean is, I’m willing to unconditionally support your creative input on the project.” As the sky grew darker, he lightly embraced her right shoulder and whispered, “Bu Zhong Sui has an internal evaluation system. Before I decided to invest, the evaluation team submitted an objective assessment report; it wasn’t a blind investment.”

Shen Qianzhan was well aware of how capable her performance was. She proudly raised her neck: “I never thought Mr. Ji invested in Qiandeng for personal reasons.”

Ji Qinghe pondered for a few seconds and said, “You can still think that way, though.”

Shen Qianzhan: “???”

Ji Qinghe’s flirting was always subtle, making you feel like he was interested without being overtly explicit.

Shen Qianzhan felt a bit disadvantaged. If she weren’t afraid to flirt with Ji Qinghe, she could give him the “108 Sultry Styles”—as sultry and wild as it gets.

Wildcat, schoolgirl, office lady—all personas available, in abundant supply.

However, to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and greater trouble, Shen Qianzhan could only force a dry laugh and praise “Sugar Daddy” for his humor.

________________________________________

Ji Qinghe escorted her to her car.

The car windows were covered in a layer of snow. He looked down at the wheels, frowning: “Leave the car here; I’ll take you back.”

There were security guards clearing snow in the parking lot, and two clear tire tracks were visible on the main road.

Shen Qianzhan, seeing the snow wasn’t deep, politely declined: “It’s just snow; driving slower won’t be dangerous.” The roads only get slippery when they’re icy, and while Beijing was getting colder, it wasn’t cold enough for ice to form yet.

Ji Qinghe saw her firm stance and no longer insisted.

Watching Shen Qianzhan get in the car and start the engine, he stepped back two paces with his umbrella, waiting for her to leave first.

The BMW’s wheels rolled forward a bit, the car shuddered, and stopped.

Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow slightly, took two steps forward, and knocked on the car window.

Through a blurred window, Shen Qianzhan rolled down the glass and handed him a brand new thermos: “My mom told me to bring this for you.”

It was already dark, and only a few scattered cars were parked in the parking lot.

He stood by the car with his umbrella, his figure as tall and straight as a snow-covered pine, exuding a cool chill.

Shen Qianzhan saw the light in his eyes shift from dim to bright, like a cluster of faint flames, flickering and dancing.

That was the familiar flutter she knew so well, like a forest fire meeting the wind, relentless until exhaustion.

Ji Qinghe reached out and took the thermos, the smile on his lips gentle and clear: “Please convey my thanks. I’ll visit another day.”

Shen Qianzhan’s face instantly turned ashen: “...A visit isn’t necessary at all.”