Kong Liyuan sighed inwardly, though her face betrayed nothing. She gripped Xia Yue’s hand with deliberate force but pressed on with the scene.
Then the director yelled cut.
The director looked ready to erupt. Kong Liyuan was still immersed in the role, her lashes lowered, a hint of defeat lingering in her eyes.
But in the blink of an eye—closing them and opening again—she was fully herself once more. She wiped the bloody rainwater from her face and signaled to the director in the distance.
“Director, let’s shoot my solo scene first. Don’t we still have the white horse bit? Get that in the can, and give Xia Yue a chance to regroup.”
The director frowned, glancing at Xia Yue’s rabbit-red eyes in the monitor, then at Kong Liyuan, who was smiling as if it were no big deal.
Suppressing her frustration, the director muttered into her walkie-talkie.
“Lights, reset positions. Crew, bring over that white horse. Camera stays put for now. Actors on the parallel road, get in place.”
The scene ground to a halt. In an instant, the set shifted from tense silence to chaotic bustle. Xia Yue stood alone in the downpour, rooted to the spot with no clue where to move next. She just stood there, rain soaking her through.
Rong Wu hurried over with a dry towel for Kong Liyuan. Kong Liyuan wiped the rain from her face and noticed the droplets clinging to Xia Yue’s lashes.
She frowned faintly.
Grabbing Xia Yue’s arm, she yanked her under the rain shelter. Rong Wu handed over another towel.
“Wipe yourself down properly. We’ll pick it up again soon.”
Kong Liyuan spoke lazily, leaning against the wall. Her back had just been scraped raw against the damp surface, stinging where it had rubbed. She paid it no mind and dried her hair instead, quickly soaking the towel through.
She glanced down and spotted the smeared bloodstains—makeup at first, but after several takes, it had run into filthy streaks. Some had even washed into her mouth during lines.
Her mouth still tasted sour and bitter. The thin sole of her shoe tapped the ground as she swept back her sodden long hair.
The strands fell away from her neck, exposing pale skin at last. It felt worlds better.
She shot Xia Yue a casual smile before continuing.
“It’s normal to get cold feet on your first big emotional scene. No shame in that.”
“But if you bottle up every flubbed take and treat it like the end of the world, it’ll only get harder next time something trips you up.”
Xia Yue kept her face downcast, nodding woodenly. “Got it,” she mumbled, though it was clear she hadn’t really absorbed the words.
Kong Liyuan studied her expression and saw right through it—she wasn’t over it yet. Still, no point pushing. Everyone had to muddle through their own hurdles.
Just then, the assistant director called for her. Kong Liyuan flashed a smile. “Coming,” she said, and stepped out into the rain with an umbrella.
With that scene botched, they moved on to the next: out on the wide-open road.
It starred her and the white horse.
The road was broader than before, the view more expansive, but the heavy dampness clung to the air like gloom.
It was on a stretch like this, one rainy night, that the desperate Ayang encountered a white horse standing smack in the middle.
The crew member led the horse over, sighing as she went. “That poor girl Xia Yue’s still out there, huh? I saw her crying in the bathroom earlier.”
She was gossiping with the assistant director.
“Crying over what?” The assistant director sounded half-interested, like she’d heard it all before.
“Not this mess today,” the crew member replied. “Before we even rolled.”
“Oh, the variety show thing, then.” The assistant director barely engaged.
Kong Liyuan paused mid-wipe of her hair. The crew member’s sympathetic voice drifted over faintly.
“Yeah. She came back from that taping all thumbs-up, bragging about nailing it. But when it aired… well, during that punishment game with that one guy, she might’ve gone a tad too hard? I didn’t catch it myself—you know how it is, whoever yells loudest wins the argument. Anyway, his hand looked a bit red after, and her fans lost it. Stirred up a storm on the forums for days.”
“Then things quieted down for a bit. But this morning? Marketing accounts kicked off again. Short clips, comments everywhere—picking apart her ‘ordinary’ looks, how’d she even break into showbiz? Nose too wide, eyes too close, all that nitpicking jazz, plus vague digs you couldn’t quite pin down. Open Douyin, and it’s nonstop. They dragged up her debut, linked it to… cough… and hoisted the big flags, roping in Teacher Kong for comparison, no less.”
“Who’s ‘that guy’ anyway?” someone else chimed in.
“You know, the hot male idol blowing up right now. The one from last month.”
“Ohhh. So that’s why Xia Yue’s chickening out on the slap.”
The realization dawned in their tone. “Afraid to go full force, get caught on cam, and have folks twisting it into her settling a personal score with Teacher Kong?”
“Teacher Kong.”
Rong Wu dashed over through the rain, thermos in hand.
“I brewed ginger tea in the car. Drink it while it’s hot—you’ve been soaked all day. Don’t want you catching a cold!”
Kong Liyuan took the cup and glanced at the still-chatting crew member.
Spotting her look, the crew member awkwardly shifted gears.
“Anyway, enough of that. The industry’s just one big soap opera.”
Kong Liyuan took a sip of the ginger tea, the spicy heat searing down her throat. She set the thermos aside without another gulp and murmured to Rong Wu.
“Is anyone from our agency’s business team still on site?”
Rong Wu adjusted her glasses, assuming Kong Liyuan had overheard the gossip.
“Yeah, the business group’s hanging around.”
“The business group?”
Kong Liyuan tilted her chin toward the open road ahead, her tone even.
“Fine, business group it is. Have them grab some ginger teas—packaged ones, ideally insulated—and hand them out to everyone on the crew.”
Rong Wu nodded, catching the intent: Kong Liyuan wanted to smooth things over.
“Should I call a car?”
“Mm.” Kong Liyuan sipped indifferently, her lashes lowered.
Rong Wu turned to go, thinking that was that. But Kong Liyuan called her back.
She pivoted.
Kong Liyuan stood out on the open road, bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlamp, umbrella overhead. Half her face was shrouded in misty shadow as she looked back.
“Park it by the Alang Tobacco and Liquor Hotel. And give one to every single person on the crew.”
She emphasized it: every single one.
~~~
Fu Tingli got off her night shift and exhaled a plume of white breath. Tonight felt unusually frigid; even that short walk had left her chilled to the bone.
The rain had tapered off, but the film crew still clogged the street right outside her building.
She knew they hadn’t wrapped the big night shoot yet.
She hesitated about cutting through them, but on second thought, she’d rather face Kong Liyuan head-on and offer a polite “Teacher Kong” than detour through the rainy predawn gloom.
These days, she hadn’t spent much time at the set, so she’d picked up a part-time gig at the convenience store down the street during her free hours. The pay wasn’t great, but aside from the occasional night shift, it had no real downsides.
The production area was a chaotic mess of noise. She had her ear muffs and gloves on, her coat wrapped tightly around her as she trudged head down across the slick pavement, hoping to dart past before anyone noticed her.
But she didn’t quite make it. A cart was parked at the mouth of the alley leading to her place. A familiar face called out to her.
“Hey, Teacher Fu! Want some ginger tea?”
“Huh?”
Fu Tingli looked up in a fog, stunned that she’d been spotted even buried in her coat like this. Reluctantly, she lifted her face from the collar.
“What ginger tea?” She breathed out a cloud of white vapor, shivering from the cold.
“Brown sugar ginger tea. I just brewed it—still piping hot. Perfect for winter; it’ll do your body good.”
The one calling to her was Rong Wu.
She was wearing arm guards, standing in the open cart and ladling out ginger tea for the crew members.
Fu Tingli had never seen her looking so down-to-earth. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Teacher Rong, is this your new side hustle?”
“Don’t tease me, Teacher Fu.” Rong Wu gripped the big ladle.
“Today’s the big night shoot—a rain scene. Teacher Kong rallied us to hand out ginger tea to the crew, warm everyone up.”
At the mention of Kong Liyuan’s name, Fu Tingli rubbed her face against her coat collar.
“It’s freezing out here, and they’re doing a rain scene?”
The collar tickled her skin. She stepped through the shimmering reflections on the wet road, intending to head back home.
But her feet wouldn’t budge for some reason. She let out a sigh, figuring she’d never get to sleep if she went back now anyway.
So she just came out and asked, “Teacher Kong isn’t frozen, is she?”
“She got a little drenched.” As Rong Wu spoke, she caught sight of Fu Tingli’s raised gaze.
In the dead of night, those light brown irises looked like a single drop of water had just fallen into them—rippling, unsettled.
Rong Wu chuckled and patted the ladle in her hand. “Teacher Kong’s fine. She’s walking the scene at the street corner right now. Want a bowl of ginger tea before you head back?”
Fu Tingli nodded. In a mild tone, she said, “I’ll pass, I think.”
“No can do.”
Rong Wu had already scooped a cup and was holding out a paper cup wrapped in foil, steam rising from the hot ginger tea inside.
“Teacher Kong specifically told me to make sure everyone on the crew gets one.”
Fu Tingli paused.
She wanted to point out that Teacher Kong probably meant everyone actually there on set—after all, she was just passing by and had never really been part of the crew.
She was truly grateful that Rong Wu had thought of her.
Steam wafted onto her face, melting away most of the biting chill. She didn’t argue or hesitate; she just accepted it through her glove.
“Thanks.”
She took a sip. The spicy liquid chased off much of the cold deep in her body. She exhaled a puff of white breath, feeling far more at ease.
“No trouble at all.” Rong Wu smiled, then leaned toward someone nearby and asked,
“Has Xia Yue shown up yet?”
The cautious edge in her tone caught Fu Tingli’s ear—like something had gone wrong.
“What’s up with Xia Yue?” she asked, puzzled.
~~~
When Fu Tingli spotted Xia Yue sitting dazedly under the rain shelter, she was holding two cups of ginger tea in her hands.
Xia Yue was a familiar face around here; no one on the cleared set stopped her. She slipped over easily, shielding the cups, and took a seat beside her.
Only then did she notice that Xia Yue was already holding a cup. But she sat there quietly, not drinking, her face blank as she stared off into nothing—apparently oblivious that Fu Tingli had sat down next to her.
Fu Tingli blinked, then wordlessly pressed the extra cup into Xia Yue’s stiff left hand.
She waved a hand in front of Xia Yue’s face, her voice soft and gentle.
“Hey, where’d you go? Little Teacher Xia, you’re a whole living person—how’d you vanish like that?”
