Chapter 45

Four days had passed since she left Jiang Sisi’s room that day. In those four days, she was so busy she didn’t have a single moment to spare. During the day, she shot scenes, mostly opposite the male supporting actor. If there were night shoots, she continued filming; if not, back in her hotel room, she dove into books and movies.

Song Limo’s Never the Same series was the first she finished. She binge-watched all three films overnight, showing up to the set the next day with panda-like dark circles under her eyes. During the noon break, she collapsed at the filming location and slept like the dead.

It had to be said that Song Limo’s rise to the pinnacle of the entertainment industry as the nation’s goddess was inevitable. Her acting had reached an unparalleled level.

Her understanding of her characters was profound and immersive—she was the role, and the role was her.

Not to mention that face of hers.

Starting from Friday evening, she turned to the books Jiang Sisi had given her: Emotional Trauma and Empathy Principles and Discussion. Emotional Trauma was a true lesbian novel, telling the story of two girls who grew up together and fell in love. They shared a beautiful time, but one always held back due to various reservations, unwilling to walk openly in the sunlight with the other.

Love without blessing seemed beautiful but was actually riddled with cracks. In the end, the brave girl who wanted to face her parents together gave up and left, marrying someone else. The other girl, too afraid to love, attended her wedding and caused a scene.

Crying, she asked, “Can we start over?”

There was even a hint of pity in her eyes as she replied, “Darling, it’s impossible now.”

It was a thorough tragedy, described clearly and vividly, interspersed with plenty of intimate scenes between the girls that left Leng Xiang flushed red.

After finishing, she shoved aside those detailed descriptions that made her want to burn the book and settled down to write character analyses for the two girls in Emotional Trauma.

During breaks on set, she also pondered the script, figuring out how to write Su Qing’s character biography.

Eight thousand words, all handwritten.

She bustled through like this for half a week.

Weibo kept buzzing with rumors of discord between Jiang Sisi and Leng Xiang, but Leng Xiang couldn’t be bothered anymore.

Since Jiang Sisi said it wasn’t her doing, she’d believe it wasn’t.

As for how Jiang Sisi planned to handle it, that was outside her concern. She just needed to act well and complete the homework Jiang Sisi had assigned.

On Sunday afternoon, the crew had the day off. Leng Xiang holed up in her room, writing all afternoon and evening, barely finishing the eight thousand words. Unsatisfied, she revised through the night, practically rewriting it from scratch.

At four-thirty Monday morning, the desk was littered with crumpled papers densely covered in writing. Leng Xiang lay on the bed, having dozed for less than half an hour and just drifted into sleep.

A soft knock suddenly came at the door.

Leng Xiang rolled over, burying herself in the covers.

The knocking soon stopped.

Wang Linlin had keycards for Leng Xiang’s and Pei Shuang’s rooms. With no response, she let herself in, tiptoeing to Leng Xiang’s bed.

Wang Linlin whispered, “Sister Leng Xiang, time to get up.”

Leng Xiang shot up from the bed with a “whoosh,” eyes closed as she stumbled off to the bathroom.

Wang Linlin feared she’d face-plant.

By the time Leng Xiang emerged after brushing her teeth and washing her face, she was awake.

Pei Shuang had no morning scenes; nine o’clock was fine for her—no need to rise this early.

Wang Linlin and Leng Xiang slipped quietly out of the room. As the door clicked shut, Leng Xiang sharply inhaled the cold air of four-thirty in the morning.

Winter at this hour, and dawn hadn’t broken yet.

After half a week of nonstop work and two all-nighters, Leng Xiang splashed her face at the set and suddenly felt facing the cameras was a breeze—at least no headaches from Emotional Trauma or blank paper.

Her scenes with the first male lead were nearly wrapped, and her calf and ankle injuries had mostly healed.

Wang Linlin yawned nonstop as she poured tea and brought breakfast. Having slept only half an hour all night, Leng Xiang ate on set while watching the staff bustle to prepare equipment.

Five camera positions, full coverage. Staring at the array of cameras, Leng Xiang had a bad premonition.

Yesterday, too focused on the biography, she hadn’t caught what Wang Linlin said about today’s shoots before leaving.

She asked a random staffer, who scratched their head: “Seems like the bit where you run toward the sun?”

So, today’s scenes involved her running wildly again.

Leng Xiang fumed and confronted Jiang Sisi: “Why do I have to run again?”

Jiang Sisi didn’t answer directly but countered, “Is your leg better?”

Leng Xiang paused, glancing at her calf. “Mostly healed.”

Jiang Sisi yawned. “Then run. This running scene faces the morning sun. Winter sun is rare enough, and morning light lasts just a bit—that means shoot as much as we can. Your leg’s fine anyway.”

She added, “If you don’t nail it in one take, we’ll reshoot later. Remember what you’re wearing today—don’t mix it up.”

Meaning these four-thirty runs would happen once, twice, thrice, endlessly—not just once.

Leng Xiang: “…”

The faint warmth from Jiang Sisi applying medicine nights ago vanished in a puff. And here she’d been replaying that line—”I’m willing, that’s all”—with even a touch of being touched.

Had she lost her mind to feel touched? After all this time, hadn’t she seen Jiang Sisi’s true colors?

No one had reported her to the labor bureau?

Leng Xiang rolled her eyes and headed to makeup.

In the Luxury Goods script, she ran in two spots. The first, her first day on set: chasing a bus, running two blocks, then the fall that bruised her calf.

The second, later in the script: after Su Qing leaves Jiang Chuan’s wedding, she runs madly.

No purpose, no reason—just a frantic sprint, like cathartic release.

Leng Xiang couldn’t fathom why Jiang Sisi made her run so much. Her calf and ankle just healed, and now circling blocks again. The camera guy huffed behind with his gear, footage shaky.

Jiang Sisi even deployed a drone for aerials.

In the script, Su Qing flees the wedding at two p.m., but it said running along the horizon toward sunrise, backdrop: [Morning, thin mist, sunrise]. Nothing else.

A two p.m. sprint time-traveled to dawn. The script’s oddity baffled her.

But no matter—shoot as scripted.

At five, the sun peeked, faint light breaking through.

Cameras ready, Leng Xiang, scarf and hat on, burst from a church door and ran forward.

Not the road before the church, nor in front—perhaps Su Qing’s dream. She fled the church onto a straight, wide avenue. Horizon afar, sun rising slowly, mist thinning the morning air. She breathed deep, charging toward the horizon.

In the mist and sunrise glow, air twisted like mirage. She saw water droplets; blood-red gold crept from the horizon depths, endless crimson blanketing the distant earth.

The sun seemed frozen. Empty road—what of her? Where was she now?

She remembered nothing. Stamina failed; scarf and hat fell mid-run. Camera pulled back for a wide shot. She pressed on, camera bro panting behind, footage wobbling.

Leng Xiang wondered: What was Su Qing thinking then?

She’d realized she loved someone—eight years unaware, always by her side, yet blind.

At her wedding, she finally knew how deeply.

But Jiang Chuan had left her, rejected her.

This masochistic dash endless, mind blanking, body on instinct.

Perhaps just a dream—this life of twenty-odd years, one grand dream.

Leng Xiang halted at the horizon’s end.

She stumbled, collapsing.

A vise gripped her heart; breathless, she gulped air. Makeup smeared, vision blank, cheeks icy. Pain crept in—she’d been crying, tears silent down her face.

Why couldn’t you wait for me? Or tell me?

Why marry without a word?

She shook, curled on the ground, trembling nonstop.

Su Qing’s emotions? Or just exhaustion from all-nighter and kilometers run—low blood sugar dizziness?

Leng Xiang felt she understood a bit.

Now the five cameras closed in on her face.

Li Guchuan often guest-starred in Jiang Sisi’s crews, knew her actor-torturing ways well. Sitting behind the cameras with her, watching Leng Xiang’s struggle and release.

He couldn’t watch. “Too brutal. Look how pale she is.”

Jiang Sisi saw no issue, sipping tea leisurely. “I think she’s in a good state. Might even pass in one take.”

One take? Impossible under Jiang Sisi.

She signaled pause. “Again.”

So Leng Xiang ran again.

Last take, she’d grasped a sliver, channeling herself into Su Qing—barely qualified.

This time, off—state slipping.

Sun fully up now; winter light not warm. Day climbed; pause this scene, resume good weather tomorrow.

Jiang Sisi sent the crew to rest, reconvene afternoon for another. She hurried to Leng Xiang, slumped exhausted on the grass.

Squatting, Jiang Sisi touched her forehead. “You okay?”

Leng Xiang pushed her hand away. “Fine.”

Hard days aplenty—shot in freezing cold, scorching heat. This intensity wasn’t extreme, just last night’s no-sleep sapped her morning stamina.

Jiang Sisi fed her chocolate, waved Wang Linlin over.

“Take her back to rest. Skip afternoon—recover.”

Leng Xiang looked up, surprised. “…When did you get so kind?”

Jiang Sisi feigned innocence. “I’ve always been good to you.”

Leng Xiang rolled her eyes.

But thinking it over, true enough. Save for treating actors like machines on set and teasing her endlessly, Jiang Sisi treated her decently.

Cleared her scandals, gave her this role, medicated her injury, even offered hands-on acting lessons.

In the industry, which director did that for an actor?

Leng Xiang recalled that line from Jiang Sisi that night again.

Jiang Sisi was still beaming at her as she extended one hand. Leng Xiang turned her face away, but her own hand reached out nonetheless. With the support from Jiang Sisi’s grip, she stood up.

Leng Xiang: “Then I’ll head back first.”

Jiang Sisi: “Okay.”

And that was that.

Jiang Sisi watched as Wang Linlin and Leng Xiang walked off into the distance. Tan Ya stood behind her and said, “The rumors online about you and Miss Leng not getting along are getting more and more outrageous. The PR department wants to know how you’d like to handle it.”

Jiang Sisi turned around and said, “Have they found out who’s behind this?”