2023

This time, when Chi Xiaoman returned to Beijing, she was especially busy.

First, there was the matter of her contract expiring. She took her lawyer with her and met with people from the company several times. On one hand, they had to negotiate each side’s obligations after the contract ended; on the other, they had to deal with all the business contracts attached to her name, as well as wrap up and hand over the portion of work that still hadn’t been completed within the contract period.

Second, the preparatory work for Neon officially began. She met with Shen Baozhi frequently, and also met with many investors, several screenwriters whose work was stylistically fairly close to Neon, and an executive chief director she had heard had started at the bottom in Hong Kong and was very reliable.

They also finalized the specific cinematography team, art team, set team, and post-production team, agreeing to meet at the end of the month to sign the contracts formally… By the beginning of July, the film team had basically taken shape.

Considering outside opinion, and not knowing whether, once Song Yingying heard the news, she would also use her usual public-opinion tactics on Chen Yue to try to stop the film from moving forward, Chi Xiaoman asked Shen Baozhi whether she would be willing to keep Chen Yue’s joining the crew secret for the time being.

“It’s possible,” Shen Baozhi had been somewhat hesitant at first, but in the end, for reasons Chi Xiaoman didn’t know, she agreed. “It’s just that, Xiaoman, no matter how long we keep it hidden, this news will eventually leak out.”

“I know,” Chi Xiaoman said over the phone in a low voice.

“Then why keep it secret now?” Shen Baozhi asked, puzzled.

Chi Xiaoman knew that she was always ruled by emotion and not nearly pragmatic enough; in this day and age, that might count as a big flaw.

If she could, she also wished she were calm enough, rational enough. If she were, maybe she wouldn’t keep bringing bad things to Chen Yue. But she was just herself; she would inevitably become a burden to Chen Yue and to everyone around her.

Perhaps the only way she could think of was, in many people’s eyes, still foolish and laughable.

“I just hope…”

But because this was the only shelter she could offer Chen Yue, even knowing she wasn’t strong or capable enough, she still wanted to do her best. “That she can be left a little more in peace during this time.”

Shen Baozhi was silent for a moment. “Xiaoman, I know what you’re thinking, but actually Teacher Chen is a very strong person. She won’t be hurt that easily the way you think…”

“I know,” Chi Xiaoman didn’t deny that. “But being strong doesn’t mean you deserve to be hurt more, does it?”

Shen Baozhi didn’t speak.

Chi Xiaoman smiled.

Then she said very softly, “Besides, no matter how strong a person is, they’re not made of copper walls and iron barriers.”

Realizing that she had gone off track and made the atmosphere heavy, Chi Xiaoman quickly explained again.

“Because Teacher Chen has had a lot of attention on her lately, if news about her joining Neon breaks right after she just won Best Actress, and after this news has already made a stir once before, then a lot of people might say she’s blinded by money and power, or that she’s not thinking straight…”

She couldn’t bring herself to continue saying those ugly words she imagined.

Chi Xiaoman’s voice grew softer.

“Besides, doesn’t she always rest for a long time after filming each movie?”

“How do you know that?” Shen Baozhi sounded surprised. “Though that’s true. Every time Teacher Chen finishes a film, she needs a long rest before she’ll join the next crew.”

Chi Xiaoman paused, then said in a low voice, “Actually, everyone should know that.”

But she had clearly already given a good reason and then unconsciously changed her answer. “I guessed.”

“You guessed?” Shen Baozhi didn’t quite seem to believe her.

“She’s only made five films all these years. Besides films, she basically doesn’t take part in other publicity activities either.”

That was public information.

And now that Chen Yue was joining her crew, Chi Xiaoman needed to understand the other woman’s career. Even if her understanding didn’t actually come from that.

There was no need to hide too much in front of Shen Baozhi.

“Maybe her habit is to let each film sink in for a long time, to release and absorb certain things, and only then can she keep herself in good shape before joining a new crew.”

“Now Neon’s start date is less than four months away, so her rest time between films is already being shortened.”

“I don’t want the news to break too early and disrupt her life, or force her to break her own habits and be unable to rest properly.”

And Chi Xiaoman understood that very well.

A lot of an actor’s career length depended on whether they could stay quiet and grounded at times like this.

Even though Chi Xiaoman herself had not had that kind of chance for a long time, she didn’t want Chen Yue to lose it either.

“My thought is, if we can give her as much time to rest as possible, then we should fight for as much as we can,” she told Shen Baozhi.

“I understand what you mean.”

After hearing her out, Shen Baozhi gave a definite answer.

Then, in a more formal tone, she called out, “Xiaoman.”

“Mm?”

“Actually, I think your way of thinking is different from a lot of people’s.” For some reason, Shen Baozhi smiled. “I mean, at least different from a lot of businesspeople.”

Chi Xiaoman froze for a moment.

Then she laughed. “Are you saying I’m not very smart?”

“No.”

Shen Baozhi denied it, then explained, “I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“On the contrary, it reminds me of someone,” she said.

“Who?” Chi Xiaoman asked curiously.

Shen Baozhi smiled but didn’t answer. After a moment, she brought up something else. “The investors we met this time have basically all confirmed their intent. Plus the part you’re contributing, Xiaoman, I added up the budget and the funding is basically in place. So should we start moving forward with casting?”

“Pretty much.”

To be honest, before all this started, Chi Xiaoman had imagined this moment many times. But when it really came, she still felt as if she were dreaming; none of it seemed very real.

Still, she wanted to try to walk each step firmly.

“Then I’ll contact a few casting directors and have them start preparing the open auditions for the relevant roles.”

Shen Baozhi said, “But for Xiaoyu, do you have someone in mind, or should we hold auditions for that role too?”

The budget was limited, and the tonal quality of an art film was fairly distinctive.

Chi Xiaoman and Shen Baozhi had discussed this many times.

They decided to spend more time on open auditions.

They wanted to find a newcomer with real spark, and use fewer familiar faces.

There weren’t actually many roles in the whole script.

And now that Chen Yue had already been confirmed, the most important part of casting was the actress for Xiaoyu.

That was indeed a difficult role.

First, in Lang Lang’s character notes, Xiaoyu was described as being full of life, with a pair of lively, soaring eyes and an unrefined, natural appearance, like a patch of grass that had grown up alone on an empty wilderness plain. There were far too few actresses in the industry with that sort of aura; even if there were some, they had to be filtered out for all kinds of reasons, like scheduling, acting ability, pay, and more. So they wanted to look among the up-and-coming newcomers who had not yet broken out.

Second, in the story as a whole, Xiaoyu was a naive character with a touch of foolishness. If played well, she could let viewers feel her vitality and wild-grass nature; if played poorly, viewers would just think she was too stupid.

Third, she had to act opposite Chen Yue.

Objectively speaking, Chen Yue was an exceptionally excellent actress. Setting aside the title of dual Best Actress, she really did stand out in art films, and she had the ability to pull audiences into a scene, to set a film’s tone with a single shot.

But that also meant that anyone acting opposite Chen Yue would face tremendous pressure. Although it was predictable that Chen Yue would be a good scene partner, even if she was good, if the other actor couldn’t withstand that pressure, she still wouldn’t be able to carry it.

So, in summary.

The conclusion was that the Xiaoyu they needed had to match that clean, rain-washed, grass-like quality, had to be good at acting, and had to be able to hold the frame with Chen Yue so that audiences would find the pairing beautiful and exciting.

It was a hard task.

Of course, to be fair, the actress for Shu was also hard to find, only because once Chen Yue’s face appeared, people felt it fit so well that it cut their casting difficulty in half.

It was also in July that they officially began the open audition for Xiaoyu.

Casting was crucial to the entire film.

And Chi Xiaoman was willing to be hands-on with the film’s affairs, so she followed along with each audition one by one.

The whole of July.

While she quietly watched the actors audition,

she also continued working with the several newcomer screenwriters she had chosen to further refine the script Lang Lang had left behind.

As the process slowly moved forward,

Chi Xiaoman also realized that, she didn’t know when it happened, but everyone on the team had started calling her Director.

Before she knew it.

She really had become the director.

This was different from the earlier plan of finding another director.

She no longer wasted time on that matter. Since she had already done so much, she might as well carry this burden all the way.

But by the end of the month,

they still hadn’t found the right Xiaoyu.

They hadn’t found a familiar face that fit.

And no newcomer felt quite right either.

Not just the three of them; considering that this also affected Chen Yue’s scenes opposite her, Chi Xiaoman would occasionally forward the slightly better clips to Shen Baozhi and ask whether they needed to consult Chen Yue’s opinion.

Shen Baozhi was never stingy about being her messenger. Every time, she would forward them along and then send back Chen Yue’s reply. Only once did she find it strange and ask her, 【Xiaoman, why don’t I make a group chat?】

Chi Xiaoman felt that she was probably already causing Shen Baozhi too much trouble.

She also wasn’t sure whether creating a group chat at this time would affect Chen Yue’s rest, but she was very clear that Chen Yue had always been the kind of person who took things seriously and never loosened up.

And with so many other things to do, if Chen Yue were brought into this now, it would probably make her keep herself as tightly wound as they were. So she explained:

【Not for now; let’s wait until it’s almost time to start filming.】

【For casting, we can just keep looking for now.】

After that, the number of clips she had Shen Baozhi forward to Chen Yue decreased.

But Chen Yue had always been diligent about work. From the replies forwarded earlier, it was clear that she had probably watched each one carefully. Her responses usually came in the middle of the night, and she would also give her own interpretation of each actor’s audition clip.

Of course.

After all those long, tactful explanations, her final conclusion was still very direct:

【Probably not quite suitable.】

With these references, Chi Xiaoman more or less understood that the Xiaoyu in Chen Yue’s mind and her own standard were probably the same.

There was no need to disturb her again and again, letting someone who already had insomnia think even more before filming began.

And so, Chi Xiaoman and Shen Baozhi tried hundreds of candidates day and night, but still didn’t find a girl who was headstrong and impulsive without looking foolish at first glance.

Chi Xiaoman actually wasn’t surprised.

She had never expected things to progress smoothly too quickly, so she didn’t feel all that discouraged.

Shen Baozhi, though, seemed a little anxious.

It was after one audition at the end of July.

She returned to the temporary place Chi Xiaoman had arranged for her in Beijing, and suddenly called late at night after a long hesitation, asking, “Xiaoman, have you considered playing Xiaoyu yourself?”

Chi Xiaoman was wearing glasses and studying the script at the time. She thought Shen Baozhi must have gotten anxious to the point of confusion, and she laughed.

“Of course not.”

“Why is that of course not?” Shen Baozhi sounded puzzled. “I actually think you’re very suitable.”

“Mm—” Chi Xiaoman didn’t take her words seriously. She naturally knew Shen Baozhi was just being polite.

So when she heard that, she only smiled and gave a more appropriate answer.

“Maybe because I’m the director now?”

“So what if you’re the director?” Shen Baozhi still didn’t seem to understand. “A lot of directors both direct and act.”

Chi Xiaoman felt that she really must have been too anxious, turning to desperate measures and thinking of her as a solution. So she put down the script, pressed her fingers to her temples, and said softly,

“Baozhi, I’m not suitable.”

If every newcomer actress had one or two reasons she wasn’t quite right, then for Chi Xiaoman, it was basically all reasons.

Not just the inevitable voices and judgments that would accompany her. More than that—

she no longer had the ability, nor the means, to play such a role well.

Just directing one film had already left her exhausted.

To act in it too… She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Fine.” Probably seeing how firm she was, Shen Baozhi didn’t bring it up again. Instead, she said something else.

“Actually, last time I saw a photo at Teacher Chen’s place, and the girl in it was also pretty suitable.”

“A girl?” Chi Xiaoman realized she was suddenly gripping her phone very tightly, and she also realized her palm was hurting terribly, as if a needle had been driven straight through it, sharp, bloody, reaching right to her heart. For an instant, she felt as if she had stopped moving for several seconds, or perhaps for several centuries. So she forced herself to relax, and even made herself smile a little before asking, “What girl?”

“It was just a group photo,” Shen Baozhi recalled carefully. “I think there were three people. The one on the right was Teacher Chen herself; I didn’t recognize the one on the left; the girl in the middle had her face painted black so I couldn’t see it clearly, but her aura seemed really fitting for Xiaoyu. When I saw it, I was very surprised, so I picked it up right away and asked Teacher Chen whether she had that girl’s contact information…”

As she said this, she seemed to realize Chi Xiaoman hadn’t spoken for a long time, and asked, “Xiaoman, are you still there?”

“I’m here.” Chi Xiaoman responded lightly.

After a long while, she tightened her fingers and answered with great difficulty, “Then what did Chen… what did Chen Yue say?”

“She didn’t say anything, just smiled a little.”

Shen Baozhi said honestly,

“After that, my mommy came over to call us, so I didn’t keep asking. Maybe that person wasn’t even an actress.”

It was impossible to know what it felt like to hear from a third person that Chen Yue still kept that photo.

And it was also impossible to know whether hearing Shen Baozhi say the girl in the middle fit the role so well, yet not recognize who she was, should feel like joy or sorrow.

Chi Xiaoman was silent for a long time. Then, with a pale face, she smiled and said softly,

“Maybe.”

“Xiaoman, what did you say?” Shen Baozhi probably hadn’t heard clearly, and asked again.

“Nothing.” Chi Xiaoman smiled.

She blocked out all the wavering and lingering restlessness in her voice and comforted Shen Baozhi,

“It’s okay; this isn’t urgent. We can take it slowly.”

In truth, it wasn’t that simple.

If it were just her alone, then yes, she really could take it slowly.

But the problem was that so many people were dragging things along with her now; it was impossible for her to spend too long on casting.

In the past, Chi Xiaoman had worked alone. On a set, she only had to handle her own role well and adjust her condition to fit the crew’s arrangements.

Now she was the director, and not only the director, but someone who insisted on taking part in every part of the preparation and production. That meant there were even more things for her to handle and coordinate.

It was impossible to make no progress at all.

In the last three days of July, there were less than three months left until the scheduled start of filming.

The other roles in the film had already been set; only the second lead position remained empty.

Under pressure, Chi Xiaoman went to Hong Kong with Shen Baozhi to sign contracts with the art, cinematography, set, and post-production teams they had been in contact with earlier.

These teams had all been carefully chosen by her and Shen Baozhi. They had watched film after film, and more than once had been moved and felt that the teams aligned with her vision for the movie, so they had resolved to fight for them, meeting again and again to negotiate a chance to work together.

This time the schedule was tight, and a typhoon was approaching. She had no intention of staying in Hong Kong long, so she didn’t arrange a hotel.

After signing the contracts, on the way back to the airport, the sky was dark and overcast, as if it were a sign of disaster drawing near.

Shen Baozhi stared at the weather for a while and sighed. “Xiaoman, did I do something wrong? Why is it that every time I have you come to Hong Kong, the weather is never any good?”

Chi Xiaoman laughed. “Maybe Hong Kong just doesn’t welcome me.”

“But it’s still okay.” Looking at the low-saturation gray sky outside the car window, she said, “Luckily, the typhoon hasn’t fully arrived yet.”

“So I hope your flight won’t be delayed, or else you might not be able to leave for the next few days,” Shen Baozhi reminded her. “And it’ll also be easy to delay the things after that.”

Chi Xiaoman said, “Mm.”

Then she lowered her head and straightened the wrinkles in her clothes.

After a pause, she asked, “Has Teacher Chen been doing okay lately?”

“Teacher Chen?”

Shen Baozhi seemed not to have expected her to ask about her on her own.

“She should be doing pretty well. My mommy hasn’t arranged much work for her lately either. She’s only gone out to shoot a few ads; the rest of the time she’s been resting well at home.”

“That’s good.” Chi Xiaoman nodded and didn’t ask further. Perhaps Hong Kong, in her memory, had such a close connection to that woman that once she arrived here, she couldn’t avoid thinking of her.

And since the last time she had left Hong Kong, they hadn’t seen each other again. Now that she had come to Hong Kong, even if it was to meet the team, once she got on the plane back here again, in meeting rooms full of one contract after another, at cheerful dining tables, and on the endless road between places…

She couldn’t help wanting to ask Shen Baozhi, who seemed to have plenty of chances to see Chen Yue—

Did Chen Yue have any opinions about these teams? Did Chen Yue have any opinions about casting? Had Chen Yue’s cold gotten better? Was Chen Yue eating all three meals on time? What had Chen Yue been doing these days? Was Chen Yue…

Was she doing okay?

She had many questions she wanted to ask. But when she thought about it carefully, she felt none of them were really necessary.

Because Chen Yue was in Hong Kong; if she had any thoughts about the film, she would probably tell Shen Baozhi directly.

Because nearly two months had passed, there was no way Chen Yue’s cold still hadn’t gotten better; because Chen Yue was a thirty-something adult, she couldn’t possibly not know to eat her three meals a day…

So in the end.

There was only one question left she could ask.

“Xiaoman, are you planning to meet Teacher Chen before filming starts?” Shen Baozhi suddenly asked.

“No need.” Chi Xiaoman didn’t know why Shen Baozhi had misunderstood her. Tense, she pressed her knees tighter.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay, I thought you wanted to meet Teacher Chen to discuss Xiaoyu’s casting.”

Shen Baozhi said that.

But she didn’t continue.

Because her phone rang.

Afterward, she answered it and naturally and plainly said to the person on the other end, “Mommy.”

Chi Xiaoman turned her face slightly and heard someone on the other end call her “baby.”

And Shen Baozhi tightened her hand over the phone.

In Cantonese, she said very softly, “I’m outside; don’t call me baby.”

Chi Xiaoman froze for a few seconds.

When Shen Baozhi looked back at her a little awkwardly,

Chi Xiaoman curved her eyes and smiled.

A few seconds later, she politely looked away.

She stared blankly at the gray sky outside.

Then she heard Shen Baozhi’s very low voice, mixed with Cantonese and Mandarin:

“Really?”

“Why?”

“Fine.”

She sounded reluctant.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t speculate too much about the call, and politely emptied her mind, telling herself not to listen to what the phone conversation was about.

But after Shen Baozhi hung up,

she told her anyway. “Xiaoman, my mommy says there’s something she needs to tell you.”

“To tell me?” Chi Xiaoman was surprised. “What does she need to tell me?”

Shen Baozhi looked at her with a difficult expression.

“It’s okay,” Chi Xiaoman said patiently. “You can just say it.”

“Okay.”

Shen Baozhi was still a little hesitant. “Don’t misunderstand after you hear it.”

“Okay.” Chi Xiaoman agreed.

“It’s like this.”

Shen Baozhi frowned.

Choosing her words, she said, “My mommy said that if you don’t find the actress for Xiaoyu soon, they can’t guarantee filming will start smoothly. Anyway, the contract still hasn’t been signed, so Teacher Chen might quit and go act in a foreign film instead.”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

Shen Baozhi also scratched her chin in annoyance. “I don’t know what she’s making such a fuss about. But her tone sounded very firm; she said it’s impossible for her to keep holding the schedule open.”

That was reasonable enough. There was nothing wrong with the manager’s considerations.

Chi Xiaoman nodded.

Then she asked softly,

“Does Chen Yue herself know about this?”

Shen Baozhi looked at her, equally puzzled. “She said Teacher Chen agreed.”

“Agreed?”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t react at first. “Chen Yue herself agreed?”

“Yes,” Shen Baozhi said, then looked at the expression slowly fading from Chi Xiaoman’s face.

“Xiaoman, don’t be angry. My mommy can be a bit extreme sometimes…”

“I’m not angry.”

Chi Xiaoman said softly, though the crease between her brows still hadn’t relaxed.

“I’m just a little worried.”

“Worried about what?” Shen Baozhi asked.

Chi Xiaoman parted her lips, wanting to speak.

But in the next second, the driver in front interrupted her.

“We’re here.”

“We’re here?” Shen Baozhi looked out. The weather was still terrible. She no longer had time to think about it.

Glancing at the time, she said, “You go board first. If anything happens, we’ll talk about it by phone after you arrive.”

Then, seeing that Chi Xiaoman was a little hesitant, she pushed up her glasses and emphasized, “Xiaoman, this might be the last flight in the next few days that can still leave normally. Get out of the car first.”

Hearing the urgency in Shen Baozhi’s voice,

Chi Xiaoman didn’t delay any longer.

She got out of the car, glanced at the sky, and said to Shen Baozhi, “Then you go back first too. You don’t need to send me onto the plane.”

Shen Baozhi had originally wanted to insist.

But just then she received another call.

With her brow furrowed tight, she could only cover the receiver and say to Chi Xiaoman, “Then be careful by yourself.”

“Okay. You be careful on the way back too.” Chi Xiaoman nodded at her and smiled.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

Maybe she really had something urgent to handle, because Shen Baozhi didn’t say anything else and urged the driver to leave.

On the last day before the typhoon arrived, the weather already looked terrible. Chi Xiaoman stood quietly outside the airport wearing a mask and a baseball cap; on her phone, she received two messages—

One from the airline, telling her that the departure time of her flight had been moved up and reminding her to board quickly.

One from the weather bureau, telling her that the typhoon was approaching at high speed and that by tomorrow before dawn, the local wind would likely affect residents’ normal travel, with conditions lasting as long as forty-eight hours.

That meant that if everything went smoothly, she could still make it onto the plane and return to Beijing, and wouldn’t have to remain in Hong Kong, a place she didn’t like, because of the typhoon.

If things didn’t go smoothly, she would be stuck in this city for more than two days because of the typhoon.

But whether things went smoothly or not.

What she needed to do now was enter the airport and board that one flight that was currently the only one still able to take off normally.

Yet she stood outside the airport for a long time.

In the end, she quietly turned off her phone, walked out along the departure road, hailed a taxi in the increasingly fierce wind, and gave the address she had only gone to once but had memorized.

The taxi slowly pulled away, driving off from the airport without looking back.

Chi Xiaoman watched the scenery outside the window flicker past for a long time. The sky was gray; on the dim car window, she could see that her own face was just as gray. She had no choice but to admit that after hearing “Chen Yue agreed to quit,” she had been worried.

How could she have agreed?

Chen Yue.

How could Chen Yue have agreed?

It wasn’t a question meant to accuse.

It was worry.

Because no matter how long they had been apart, and no matter how little Chi Xiaoman now knew about Chen Yue, she still believed that at least in this matter, she understood Chen Yue well enough to know the other woman would absolutely never treat film like a joke.

She would never use something like this as leverage.

And she certainly wouldn’t have her manager inform her after making a decision.

Unless something bad had happened.

To put it bluntly, although Chen Yue seemed easygoing and was extremely tolerant toward those around her, she was also very principled, always held herself to high standards, and could even lock herself away without eating or drinking if she couldn’t figure something out.

So how could she possibly agree?

What exactly had her manager done to make her agree to use this film as a threat against her?

Chi Xiaoman didn’t know much about Chen Yue’s manager, but she inevitably thought of Song Yingying—every time Song Yingying tried to persuade her to take a script she thought wasn’t quite suitable, she used all kinds of arguments and whatever information she had in hand, unleashing the public-opinion warfare she was good at to drive Chi Xiaoman into silence.

She didn’t want Chen Yue to be treated that way either.

Although it was unrealistic, Chi Xiaoman always hoped Chen Yue would never have to conform to anyone’s wishes, and would always have the highest possible say in everything she did.

She wanted her to be able to make the films she wanted to make forever.

She wanted her free, and at ease.

She longed for her not to have to be like herself, not to lose the right to choose freely every time just because she had once made one wrong choice.

So, filled with worry, Chi Xiaoman set aside the so-called flight that could still take off normally, set aside the typhoon that was about to arrive, and headed to Chen Yue’s residence.

The road from the airport to Chen Yue’s place was long, and Chi Xiaoman had plenty of time to regret it.

But even two hours after the flight had already taken off, when she got out of the taxi, she still didn’t regret it.

By then, the wind was already blowing so hard it was almost impossible to walk. Rain had also started pounding down. Whether it was some kind of reminder of her own self-righteousness or not, the rain stung her face a little when it hit.

Still, she walked all the way to the entrance of that high-end apartment building.

Silently, she sent Chen Yue a message.

Asking whether she could help open the gate at the entrance to the complex.

Actually, she didn’t want to look quite so bad.

But the typhoon left no room for anyone.

So.

When Chen Yue came into view with an umbrella, hurrying over with a coat in hand, Chi Xiaoman carefully smoothed her soaked hair.

She also hugged her shoulders tightly.

She didn’t want the wet fabric to make her look too disheveled.

And at that moment.

The sky was completely overcast, night had fallen, and the heavy sound of rain and wind was blowing wildly into her ears, turning the brightly lit, luxurious apartment building into a deserted black-and-white silent film lashed by wind.

Chen Yue was holding an olive-green umbrella. She had clearly rushed out from home.

Her long black hair was casually pinned up, then blown into disarray by the wind, yet somehow it only made her look even warmer and more restrained. Her skin was very fair; she wore a very ordinary plastic-framed pair of glasses on the bridge of her nose, and perhaps because it was too cold, her lips looked very red.

The fabric on her black knit sweater was soaked on one shoulder, and her cotton slippers were wet through. The path itself probably wasn’t easy to walk on either, which made her steps a little unsteady.

Her feet must be freezing.

Chen Yue always got cold hands and feet first, Chi Xiaoman suddenly thought.

Maybe because the typhoon was coming, time seemed to stretch thin and long. By the time Chen Yue walked over, she looked like she was emerging from the blurred beginning of a slow-motion film becoming clear; if that were really the case, this frame would definitely be one of the most memorable.

Crash—

Very quickly, Chen Yue came closer and stopped, tilting the umbrella toward Chi Xiaoman. Her expression showed a lot of concern and surprise, yet she effortlessly suppressed all of it and asked with a furrowed brow,

“Xiaoman, why are you here?”

In a daze, Chi Xiaoman heard the rain hammering against the umbrella and looked up through the wind to see Chen Yue staring at her from beneath the dim umbrella. She looked healthy and beautiful, as if being threatened had not left any trace of sorrow or dejection on her at all. Chi Xiaoman stared for a while, a little awkwardly, and then smiled very lightly and slowly.

“I… I just came to see you.”

[Author’s Note]

Updated on time for Little Neon’s twenty-fourth day [sunglasses][sunglasses]

(I accidentally got snagged by Jinjiang for two minutes yesterday, so today’s update is two minutes early!)