2023

After the meeting ended that day, Shen Baozhi caught up with her and asked,

“Why isn’t Chen Yue suitable?”

“Are you dissatisfied with Chen Yue?”

“Or, like the rumors say, do you have some grudge against her?”

Three questions in a row.

By the second one, Chi Xiaoman had already stopped walking and turned back to look at Shen Baozhi.

“I’m not dissatisfied with Chen Yue.”

They had met at a club in Beijing. By then, the two of them had reached the courtyard at the center, where the sun was beating straight down.

Chi Xiaoman stood beside a tree, her face blurred by the stifling heat. The tree was huge, and her shadow looked thin and narrow beneath it.

When Shen Baozhi came closer, she realized Chi Xiaoman was drenched in sweat. Under the pale glare, her features were almost translucent. Shen Baozhi was just about to ask after her when she heard Chi Xiaoman speak again.

“And I don’t have any grudge against her.”

Her voice was still very light, with no aggression in it—only a faint hesitation.

“She’s very good.”

“It’s my problem.”

“She’s a very good actress.”

“Don’t, because of what I said today…”

She said several sentences in a row. But by then, her tone had already turned uncertain, as if even she wasn’t sure she had the right to say any of it.

Still, perhaps out of consideration for how narrow the market already was for actresses, and to avoid any unnecessary misunderstanding, she did her best to finish her thought.

“Don’t think she’s bad.”

The last syllable was swallowed up, like a dragonfly disappearing into the air.

That made Shen Baozhi stop where she was and narrow her eyes as she studied Chi Xiaoman.

A woman; a top mainland traffic star; with not many respectable, controversy-free works to her name. Compared with her actual achievements, she probably had even more controversy around her; allegedly, she generated thousands of trending topics on Weibo in a single year.

—That was everything Shen Baozhi knew about this big celebrity before coming to Beijing.

She liked to laugh, had no aggression, possessed a soft kind of likability, and spoke cautiously; perhaps even too cautiously. She seemed very afraid of causing trouble for others, as if she had once made some terrible mistake by saying the wrong thing.

—That was Shen Baozhi’s impression of her now.

Someone like that didn’t seem like the type to insist on taking a risk under intense public scrutiny, nor like someone who would hear a name and stubbornly stand up to say, “Absolutely not.”

Shen Baozhi didn’t speak for a long time.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t say anything else either. She really hadn’t rested well lately, and after standing in the sun for too long, she felt dizzy. But stalling like this was no solution, and her decision to speak up just now had indeed been impulsive enough. If the other party had a stronger temper, she was probably already offended.

Thinking of that, Chi Xiaoman could only force herself to keep her eyes open and do her best to make herself clear.

“Producer Shen, thank you. I’ll think carefully about everything you told me today. If you’re still interested in this project later, feel free to contact me. I’d be willing to work with you too.”

“But Chen Yue…” When she said that name again, Chi Xiaoman still found it unfamiliar.

“I may not consider it for now.”

“It’s not that there’s anything wrong with her.”

She emphasized it again.

“Just take it as me being too stubborn and unable to work with her.”

Maybe much later, when Chi Xiaoman looked back on it, she would be shocked to realize that every sentence she said today was the wrong choice. But right now, she couldn’t think of a better way.

In the end, Shen Baozhi didn’t make things difficult for her.

“Xiaoman, though I don’t know why you’re so firm about this, I hope you’ll go back and think it over carefully. Because as things stand, if Neon wants to start filming this year or next year, whether from the investor side or from market preference, Chen Yue will be our best choice.”

“I have Teacher Chen Yue’s contact information here.”

“If you need it, I’ll ask her first and send it to you later.”

“She’s a good actress, and as you and I both know, she definitely won’t let any private matter affect her work. You can talk to her; maybe she’ll change your mind.”

Before leaving, Shen Baozhi also specifically reminded Chi Xiaoman,

“Xiaoman, you look really pale. Get some more rest when you go back.”

“Xiaoman.” After turning away, as if remembering something, she called out to stop her again.

“I wonder if you’ve noticed this yourself?”

“What?” Chi Xiaoman was standing under the tree.

Shen Baozhi stopped and smiled at her.

“We haven’t even been talking for half an hour. In the first ten minutes, you said less than five sentences.”

“But in the last twenty minutes, once we mentioned Chen Yue, you nearly tripled or quadrupled what you said.”

She said it as if stating the most ordinary fact in the world.

With that left behind, Shen Baozhi went back into the club.

But Chi Xiaoman pressed her almost colorless lips together and stood by the tree under the blazing sun for a very long time.

When she got home that day, Shen Baozhi had already sent her Chen Yue’s contact information.

A string of numbers.

Eleven digits.

Her first reaction was surprise that Chen Yue had actually agreed.

Then, a moment later, she understood—

With Chen Yue’s dislike of conflict and Shen Baozhi being so eloquent, it would have been strange if she had refused.

Still, just because Chen Yue had agreed to share her contact information out of politeness didn’t mean Chi Xiaoman could go looking for her whenever she wanted.

Chi Xiaoman replied politely, “Thank you.”

Then she deleted both her chat with Shen Baozhi and the conversation history from her phone.

After dinner, she went to the sunroom to bask in the sunlight. The remaining warmth was faint, not enough to scorch, but enough to make the view feel open and wide.

When they lived in the basement, the spaces between buildings were cramped and crowded, with no sunlight to speak of. Later, when she could finally afford to buy a house, her first requirement was that it had to let in plenty of sunlight.

Later still, she began reacting too strongly to direct sun; one exposure and she would break out in red rashes.

For a while after that, wherever she went she carried an umbrella and covered her face. Not long after, people began saying, “If she’s covering her face so no one can see it, why is she even in the entertainment industry?”

Chi Xiaoman took out her phone and saw that her account had posted a new promotional Weibo.

She also saw the comments under the reposted post—

[Her mouth looks so weird, her lip bead is so big, and why does she pout every time she says “I”?]

[Why can’t she open her mouth properly when she talks? I know she’s a traffic star, but isn’t her idol baggage a little too heavy?]

[Can you people please get your story straight? One minute you say she’s pouting, the next you say she can’t open her mouth... Back when she was eating, you also said she shoved a mouthful of rice in with three bites and looked like she was in a hurry to be reincarnated; later you said she chewed fifteen times and was deliberately putting on a show, performance-type personality...]

[Her smile is so forced and overdone. Nobody likes that]

[Her smile looks so fake and so weak, like all she cares about is looking pretty. There isn’t a shred of sincerity]

[Her voice is so shrill, so ugly]

[Was it intentional? Did she always talk like this? Did she not eat, or is she deliberately acting pitiful to milk sympathy from fans? No energy at all...]

[Why is this Chi Xiaoman everywhere......]

[If you don’t want to see her, then don’t come to her Weibo. Then you won’t see her.]

Actually, seeing these comments didn’t make Chi Xiaoman feel much of anything. Maybe in the past she would have stood in front of the mirror over and over, checking whether the curve of her smile was right, whether she was really being too stiff, or whether she simply looked too fake...

Now she accepted that this was normal; most of it just slid past her eyes without leaving a trace.

She closed the app.

Then Chi Xiaoman opened the post where she had been arguing with someone over whether Chen Yue had really gone to Nepal as a volunteer.

Rumors spread most easily when left to ferment, so during this period she would log in from time to time to check. Whenever the other side replied, she would immediately go and list the new evidence she had found.

Gradually, the other party went silent.

But today, there was new content in the thread:

[I heard Chen Yue’s side has already been in contact with Neon. If anyone knows Chen Yue, could you please persuade her not to take Chi Xiaoman’s trash movie? I’m begging you. Who doesn’t know that getting involved with Chi Xiaoman is guaranteed bad news?]

She didn’t know where the false rumor had come from.

Chi Xiaoman stared at the two lines as if she no longer recognized them, then slowly typed back:

[Don’t worry, she won’t.]

After leaving that message, she waited and waited, but there was no reply.

She set her phone on the floor.

Squatting there, she wrapped her arms around her knees, lowered her head, and stared blankly at the tiny patch of screen in the dark.

Night fell; the stars drifted overhead, seeming close enough to touch, and equally forgiving toward anyone looking up from below.

People think too much when they’re alone.

Chi Xiaoman hid herself in the night, and only then did she dare let the faintest trace of grievance, unwillingness, and even embarrassment rise in her heart.

If it had been the old her, she would definitely have marched over with her hands on her hips, cheeks puffed out in anger, pointing at her nose and cursing her—Chi Xiaoman, why don’t you dare let Chen Tong film a movie with you? Chi Xiaoman, you idiot! Why are you listening to all those ugly words? Weren’t you brave enough to come to Beijing alone to do extras work and even claim you’d make the greatest movie in the world? So why are you scared now?

But the Chi Xiaoman of now couldn’t even say a single sentence like that.

She knew it.

Suddenly she lifted her face and, with great effort, kept her eyes open to look at the stars for a while.

Less than ten seconds.

She covered her reddening eyes with her palm, making sure the stars above wouldn’t notice before she regretted blinking at them.

Then she curled up her knees again, and her fingers too.

She picked up the phone from the floor.

Carefully, one by one, she typed out the eleven digits that had been circling in her mind.

Saved them to her contacts.

Even if it was a number she might never call even once.

After that, she buried her face in her knees again.

For a long time, like some soft-bodied creature stripped of its shell, she sat in the dark waiting for dawn, drained of energy and hoping for the arrival of that version of herself who might have no hesitation and no weakness at all.

She didn’t know how much time had passed.

She slowly let out a breath and heard the wind rise, brushing at her ears like someone’s breathing.

She also faintly heard a distorted female voice coming from the phone, which had long since gone black,

“Chi Xiaoman.”

The volume was very soft, the tone hesitant.

“Are you okay?”

[Author’s Note]

Updating Little Neon on time for the thirteenth day [sunglasses]

Not okay [crying][crying][crying]