2023

Filming didn’t officially begin until two months later.

At the end of July, after Chi Xiaoman returned from Hong Kong, the two leads were finally locked in. In a sense, that solved the two biggest problems in the preparation process, and from then on, all the pre-shoot planning moved forward smoothly.

The script breakdown was refined, and the revisions, along with the review and discussion of some sensitive topics, were all wrapped up smoothly in August.

Aside from the leads, all the remaining actors were basically confirmed in August as well. In this part, in order to carry out the original idea they had discussed, they held several casting meetings and eventually went with new actors who had plenty of available time and gave a refreshing performance in auditions.

Locations, schedules, costumes, props, and the filming plan were all fully finalized by the end of September.

On top of that, Chi Xiaoman’s own agency contract had already expired, and all the work tied to the contract period had basically been fulfilled.

October.

Before the official start of filming.

Chi Xiaoman found time to go to the company. She had originally gone to handle some miscellaneous matters, but she didn’t manage to see Song Yingying. That left her with, all at once, a faint sense of unease, along with a vague melancholy.

She couldn’t quite say where the melancholy came from.

As for the unease… perhaps because she still remembered Song Yingying’s old kindness, she felt Song Yingying probably wasn’t so bad as to go out of her way to cause trouble after the contract ended.

After all, Song Yingying was a completely business-minded person. Though her methods weren’t exactly aboveboard, and her stance was not something Chi Xiaoman approved of, she always put profit first. She never wasted time that wasn’t worth it, and she never made friends with people she couldn’t gain anything from. Now that their working relationship was over, even if she came looking for trouble again, she wouldn’t be able to get any benefit from Chi Xiaoman. That shouldn’t be the kind of thing Song Yingying would do.

Besides, before filming started, everything came at her like cans rolling down a conveyor belt, one after another.

And Chi Xiaoman had to personally open each can, inspect it, and check it.

Her energy was limited, so she had to spend all of it on the people and things worth caring about.

As for Chen Yue, they didn’t see each other again.

Even when Chen Yue came to Beijing before filming to shoot the costume test photos, Chi Xiaoman had to rush off to deal with location matters and still missed her.

It was only at night, after everything ended.

Exhausted, she returned to her sunroom, saw the group chat notification that all the actors’ costume tests had finished, and the message that Chen Yue had already flown back to Hong Kong; only then did she receive the costume team’s photos.

That night, Chi Xiaoman didn’t sleep. She put on her glasses, took her laptop, and sat on the sunroom steps to go carefully through all the costume test photos, leaving her comments and suggestions under each look.

——This look makes her hair seem a little messy, and it also covers her eyes a bit. Although Liu Shu is ill, her temperament isn’t that gloomy. She’s very proud; she would absolutely not be the type to make herself look dispirited. Please trouble you to change it again after filming starts.

——That pair of canvas shoes on her feet—does the left one look a little uncomfortable? Did Teacher Chen Yue’s side mention anything about it? She needs to wear one size larger in this kind of shoe.

She’s a nice person and may not actively bring up these details. If you have time, it’d be best to ask her. Thank you ^_^.

——The makeup this time suits her very well; it’s great! Especially the eyebrows; they match Liu Shu’s temperament perfectly. Thank you.

——At this point in time, Liu Shu wasn’t sick yet, so her condition should be a little better. Her lip color can be a bit rosier, and her hair and clothes can be neater as well. Thank you!

——But this one… isn’t the shirt color a bit too matronly, and it seems like it might be one size too big? The cuffs are even hanging down when rolled up—

At that line, Chi Xiaoman’s fingers paused.

Suspended above the keyboard.

One second.

Then dropped.

She kept typing.

——Or maybe…

——Chen Yue has gotten thinner.

Chi Xiaoman looked at the woman in the photo, quiet and smiling faintly at the corners of her eyes, and thought very silently.

But that was obviously off-topic, and it would also make her seem very unprofessional, with unnecessary concern for an actress on the crew.

Her fingers fell.

She hurriedly and matter-of-factly deleted the last sentence.

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together and didn’t make any further comment on Chen Yue’s condition.

She focused entirely on Liu Shu in the photos.

Of course, not just Liu Shu.

There were also the other actors who had taken costume test photos.

Every one of them, every look.

Chi Xiaoman left comments and suggestions for each.

Afterward, she set it up as an email to be sent back automatically to the costume team at ten the next morning.

But because Chen Yue was one of the leads,

when the costume team opened all the attachments and discovered that Chi Xiaoman had spent the most time on Chen Yue’s costume photos, leaving the most words and the most careful notes…

They probably wouldn’t think she was too strange.

-

On October 2, Neon officially began filming.

The day before.

All the crew members had already gathered in Beijing and, according to the plan Chi Xiaoman and Shen Baozhi had made, were all arranged at hotels near the filming location.

Setting the start date for then.

Chi Xiaoman felt a little apologetic. She had originally thought about waiting until after the holiday to start filming.

But Shen Baozhi had checked the almanac and thought October 2 was the most suitable date. Besides, this industry didn’t really care about holidays; everyone took time off after finishing a project. Not to mention that a crew brought together people from all over the country; not just the actors, but the art department, every group with so many people… it was hard to coordinate everyone’s schedules.

In the end, filming was set for October 2.

The night before, the crew rented out the hotel banquet hall for the start-of-shoot dinner.

Chi Xiaoman arrived early. She greeted the actors she had met before, as well as the teams she had personally invited from Hong Kong, all with a smile. She didn’t drink; being careful, she took a cup of plain water, made a round of the room, and finally found a corner seat to sit down.

There was no media invited to the launch ceremony. So the dinner wasn’t especially lively either.

Rather than making a big splash from the very beginning and drawing everyone’s attention to it, Chi Xiaoman hoped the filming process could stay low-key all the way through.

Compared with her as the director, Shen Baozhi, as the producer, naturally had to bear the responsibility of acting as the connecting thread.

She didn’t have much idle time during the whole dinner either. She held a glass of wine, pushed up her glasses, and chatted cheerfully with investors, actors, and work teams from all over the country.

Chi Xiaoman watched her moving around and worried she might drink too much, so she went over and swapped the wine in her hand for water several times. But seeing how happy Shen Baozhi was drinking, she didn’t say much either; she took her own water back to the corner and slowly flipped through the script, checking the scenes scheduled for the next day.

It was only when the dinner was nearly over

that Shen Baozhi finally found Chi Xiaoman with an empty wine glass in hand and sat down beside her, asking with concern, “Xiaoman, why haven’t you said much tonight? Are you feeling unwell?”

“I’m fine.” Chi Xiaoman shook her head. She poured Shen Baozhi a cup of water nearby and, looking at Shen Baozhi’s alcohol-flushed face, reminded her gently, “Baozhi, don’t drink too much.”

“Don’t worry, I know my limit.” Shen Baozhi took a sip of the water she’d poured, then looked around blankly. “Teacher Chen Yue still isn’t here?”

Chi Xiaoman’s hand paused over the water pitcher. After a moment, she smiled at Shen Baozhi. “Maybe her flight was delayed.”

“That should be it.” Shen Baozhi drank a few more gulps, her mouth dry. “Teacher Chen Yue usually isn’t the type to be late for this kind of event. Maybe something held her up.”

Chi Xiaoman gave a soft “mm.” “Actually, being a little late is fine.”

“True.” Shen Baozhi said, “Teacher Chen Yue probably doesn’t like this kind of setting much anyway.”

“Oh, right, Xiaoman.” Shen Baozhi seemed to think of something else.

She took a sip of water, studied Chi Xiaoman for a while, and finally narrowed her eyes in conclusion.

“Lately, you seem a lot more energetic than before. Did something happy happen?”

“No.” Chi Xiaoman shook her head, still smiling gently at her. “I just gained a little weight.”

“Gained weight?”

“Mm.”

The hotel banquet hall was noisy; Chi Xiaoman’s voice was very soft. “After all, Xiaoyu is a very positive person. Even though the nine years in Beijing were hard, she’s very resilient. I don’t think she’d be too thin.”

So in the more than two months before filming, besides handling the movie’s preparations, Chi Xiaoman also worked hard to make her outward appearance closer to Xiaoyu.

Including, but not limited to, asking Fang A-Yun to spend more time on her meals every day, and forcing herself to eat more.

When she had time, she would climb mountains or ride a bicycle. If she didn’t have time for gym classes, she would ask a trainer to come and do Pilates with her… She wanted to look like she wasn’t the kind of gaunt, sickly thin. At the very least, she wanted to be a healthier kind of thin.

And during this recent period, the first thing she did every morning after getting up, and the last thing she did every night before going to bed, was practice her gaze in the mirror—this might have been the biggest difference between her and Xiaoyu.

A movie’s runtime was so short. For an actor to make the audience believe she was that character in such a short amount of time, she had to change her outward appearance so that at first glance, people could immediately feel the difference.

Ten years later, Chi Xiaoman still hadn’t made much progress in acting, and still couldn’t become the kind of actress who could draw people in with just one second. She understood all the more clearly that when her face appeared on the big screen, everyone’s first impression in their mind would be: oh, Chi Xiaoman.

What’s more, over all these years, she still couldn’t be sure whether the impression Chi Xiaoman left on people was more good than bad, or more bad than good. But no matter what, she didn’t want to bring “Chi Xiaoman” onto Xiaoyu. So when she wanted to try breaking through that image once, she had no choice but to use this not-so-smart method.

“Has this method worked a little?” Chi Xiaoman smiled at Shen Baozhi.

“After all, you and I have met so many times these days; you should be able to tell.”

Maybe Shen Baozhi was slow to react because she’d been drinking. It took her a while before she laughed.

“It works very well.”

Then she added, “Xiaoman, actually, you and Teacher Chen Yue are very similar.”

She didn’t remember when it started.

Shen Baozhi had begun calling her Teacher Xiaoman—though Chi Xiaoman had hoped she wouldn’t be so polite, so Shen Baozhi had reluctantly changed it. But sometimes, that “Teacher Xiaoman” would still pop out from time to time.

Hearing it this time,

Chi Xiaoman subconsciously wanted to correct her.

But before she could speak,

a person at the table behind them suddenly stood up and shouted happily, “Teacher Chen, you’re finally here.”

As soon as the words fell, Shen Baozhi turned first, set down her glass, and greeted the other side. “Teacher Chen, over here!”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t turn around. She lowered her head, lifted the cup of plain water in front of her, took a slight sip, then set it back down.

Her fingers brushed the side of the cup.

Chen Yue didn’t come over very quickly. She seemed to be stopped by someone she knew well and was talking to them less than ten meters from their table—

too many people; the voice carried over was hard to hear clearly, but it was still obvious that her tone was gentle, her voice always pleasant to listen to. She casually made a few jokes at the right moment, which got quite a few people laughing along.

“Teacher Chen Yue seems to have been stopped.” Shen Baozhi stood up. “I’ll go help her.”

These past few months, Shen Baozhi should have been in contact with Chen Yue and also met her in Hong Kong a few times. But maybe because Chen Yue was late, and because Shen Baozhi was in a good mood right then, she was also willing to express how happy and welcoming she felt about Chen Yue’s arrival. “Xiaoman, do you want to come with me?”

“No need.” Chi Xiaoman smiled at Shen Baozhi, staring at the whirlpool in her water cup, and said softly, “There are so many people; I won’t join the fun.”

“Alright.” Shen Baozhi didn’t keep persuading her. “Then wait here for a bit.”

After saying that,

she dragged the chair back, left Chi Xiaoman’s side, and called out very happily toward the person behind her, “Teacher Chen.”

Her voice gradually drifted farther away.

Chi Xiaoman quietly took a sip of water, set the cup down, one second, two seconds, three seconds…

As more and more people went up to greet Chen Yue, it almost became impossible for her to tell which voice belonged to Chen Yue.

Only then did she carefully turn back.

And saw Chen Yue.

Chen Yue, whom she hadn’t seen for more than two months.

The weather had turned colder, and even though the banquet hall was lively and crowded, the air conditioning was still on a little.

Chen Yue wasn’t dressed like a late-arriving superstar in any flashy way. She wore only a simple dark green cardigan, her black hair still casually tied up in the same way she usually did without much care, and those thick-framed glasses made of heavy material—it made her look less like a Best Actress and more like a screenwriter than the assistant writer sitting beside her, carrying a trace of weary, sensitive beauty; her temperament was warm and gentle.

Under the bright lights, the woman’s skin looked very fair, much fairer than it had the last time they met two months ago. Her lips were natural, not very red. Maybe because she had rushed over on a flight, her face carried a faint fatigue, a kind of subtle weariness. And she had gotten thinner too, so thin that the skin beneath her cheekbones had slightly hollowed out.

To better fit Liu Shu’s condition of illness, Chen Yue seemed to have controlled her body shape as well. Not only was she much thinner than the last time they met, she also looked even more desolate and tired than she had in the costume test photos not long ago.

It was hard to tell whether it was because she was getting into character or for some other reason, but Chi Xiaoman stared from afar at Chen Yue and suddenly felt a moment of daze—

She wasn’t quite sure whether she was looking at Chen Yue.

Or whether Xiaoyu was looking at Liu Shu.

So much so that just seeing Chen Yue smiling at people made her feel an unaccountable wave of heartache and melancholy.

Until Chen Yue looked over through the crowd toward her.

Chi Xiaoman abruptly pulled herself back, instinctively wanting to look away; but just as she was about to, she suddenly stopped—so many people were watching, and the rumor that she and Chen Yue didn’t get along had been circulating all the way to now. If she looked away the moment their eyes met, who knew what people would think.

At that thought, Chi Xiaoman relaxed the corners of her lips and smiled at Chen Yue through the scattered backs of the people between them.

Chen Yue smiled back.

Lights and shadows crossed over each other; the woman’s smile looked a little blurred, yet also very clear.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t look at her for too long.

She only nodded at her.

Then withdrew her gaze again.

Let out a breath.

And drank the water in her cup in one go.

Then continued looking through the paper script she had been flipping through at any moment during this period.

Tomorrow they would shoot the first scene.

To say she wasn’t nervous would be a lie.

To say she felt no pressure from the camera would be a lie.

To say she felt no psychological burden about acting opposite Chen Yue in front of so many eyes, even in front of many trailing photographers and media, would be an even bigger lie.

To be honest, Chi Xiaoman felt an indescribable unease. She even wanted to run straight back to her room at that moment, just like that night, and go over tomorrow’s scene again and again until she could truly feel at ease.

But the adult world was never that simple. It wasn’t enough for her to simply focus on doing her own work. So many people were watching her, working hard to prepare for her filming start tomorrow; they certainly wouldn’t want to see a director flee at the last minute at such a critical moment.

On top of that, the start-of-shoot dinner itself was the ice-breaking moment where everyone gathered together. Chi Xiaoman felt she’d better not leave early. But she also couldn’t face it as naturally as Shen Baozhi could, so she had no choice but to sit in a corner as a kind of mascot that everyone could see, quietly thinking through tomorrow’s scenes.

The script turned page by page.

Someone sat down at the seat beside her.

Carrying a faint scent.

Not perfume. Not pungent. Not aggressive, in the midst of the noisy alcohol-soaked air.

Like a forgiving tree opening its branches for her.

“Xiaoman, long time no see.”

Her voice was muffled by the surrounding noise, but in the blur it seemed to carry warmth.

Chi Xiaoman’s page-turning hand stopped.

She lifted her head.

Chen Yue was sitting in the seat beside her, looking at her in profile with focused eyes; her face glimmered in the light and shadow.

After saying that, the woman looked at her for a long time before a hazy smile slowly spread to the corners of her eyes. “Have you put on a little weight?”

They hadn’t seen each other for more than two months, and there hadn’t been much contact.

Chi Xiaoman felt Chen Yue’s voice suddenly sounded much more unfamiliar. And after seeing the thickness of Chen Yue’s sweater cardigan, she was suddenly roused by the cool wind into a dense, prickling rash of goosebumps—an odd bodily feeling. In fact, summer had long since passed, yet it was only now, because she saw Chen Yue wearing a sweater, that she suddenly had such a strong physical sense of the season changing, feeling the air turn so cold it made her heart tighten.

But because Chen Yue’s expression was natural,

Chi Xiaoman only lightly brushed the cover of the paper script with her fingers and didn’t let herself seem too stiff. “I gained a few pounds.”

“How many?”

“Seven or eight.”

“Mm, you do look much better than before.” Chen Yue’s voice was low and soft. “Even if it wasn’t for filming, you’d still be just right looking like this in everyday life.”

She seemed to understand very well that Chi Xiaoman had done this for the sake of filming. Just as Chi Xiaoman understood at first glance that Chen Yue had used rather extreme methods to make herself better match Liu Shu, so that her appearance would look so changed two months later.

Even so, Chi Xiaoman still couldn’t help saying, “You’ve gotten much thinner.”

“It’s alright.” Chen Yue smiled. “After all, Liu Shu is a patient. I couldn’t exactly act healthy and energetic.”

“In fact, a lot of details can be handled through makeup now. It doesn’t make much difference…” Chi Xiaoman said instinctively.

But before she could finish, she realized it and fell silent.

How could Chen Yue possibly choose to do that? And telling any actor who had worked hard to get close to a character that makeup could handle it might itself be a kind of disrespect.

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

She didn’t explain further.

Because she didn’t want Chen Yue to think she was trying to cover for herself.

Even though Chen Yue might therefore think she had too many underhanded tricks when it came to acting. But over so many years, there had been too many things that happened to her which needed explaining, yet no matter how she explained them, it was useless. So when it came to misunderstanding, Chi Xiaoman had gotten used to not explaining too much.

“Xiaoman.”

Chen Yue looked at her.

“Mm?” Chi Xiaoman brushed the edge of the script with her fingers and answered.

“Happy birthday.” Chen Yue said.

Chi Xiaoman froze for a moment. After meeting Chen Yue’s softly watching gaze, she smiled. “Did you get the date wrong?”

“Today isn’t my birthday.” she said quietly.

“I know.”

Chen Yue said, “But today is Xiaoyu’s birthday.”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

People were coming and going. Chen Yue smiled at her, lifted the hand resting by the table, and pushed something over to her; then said again, “Happy birthday.”

Chi Xiaoman looked down.

It was a keychain.

On it hung a small brown line-drawn fish.

“I read the character biography you wrote for Xiaoyu.” Chen Yue looked at her and said, “The script for Lang Lang before wasn’t completely polished, and the character biography left behind was also very brief. You added a lot of things to it.”

So that was it.

Chi Xiaoman nodded, only then remembering that when she wrote that thirty-thousand-word character biography, she had taken it upon herself to add a birthday for Xiaoyu, a motto, her views on love, and many details that were only mentioned once in the script… She also remembered that because of what Chen Yue had said before, when she discussed revisions with the other screenwriters, she had casually copied both the changed details and the shot breakdowns to Chen Yue’s email…

But because she had been so busy lately, copying things to Chen Yue had often just been an instinctive action. Thinking carefully, she didn’t even know how many files she had sent… Yet Chen Yue had actually noticed the birthday she added for Xiaoyu—

Libra. The materials said people of this sign liked to stand up for justice, were full of curiosity, and were also quite warm and enthusiastic in how they dealt with others.

Chi Xiaoman fell silent. She looked at the brown fish keychain on the table, curled her fingers slightly, and didn’t immediately reach for it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Chen Yue said.

The banquet hall was noisy, with figures moving to and fro. In the corner, the woman looked at her, her voice low and gentle. “You’ve had a hard time this period. There isn’t much I can do to share the burden for you.”

“It’s not that hard.” Chi Xiaoman instinctively denied it, but after meeting Chen Yue’s gaze, she softened her voice. “Everyone’s having a hard time.”

Chen Yue didn’t deny that.

She paused.

Her gaze stayed on the script open in Chi Xiaoman’s hands, as if she still wanted to say something.

Chi Xiaoman twirled the edge of the page with her fingers, subconsciously blocking part of the densely packed text, then felt there was nothing to hide, so she let go and turned her face toward Chen Yue with a smile. “Cramming at the last minute.”

Chen Yue made no comment on her behavior. She only said “Okay,” looked at her for a while longer, and then said softly, “Then I won’t disturb you.”

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together, wanting to say, “It doesn’t count as disturbing me.”

But before she could get the words out, someone behind them called, “Teacher Chen,” in a loud voice, as if they were about to come over and greet her.

So Chen Yue took the little fish keychain and pushed it toward her again, speaking gently,

“Don’t worry too much.”

After that sentence,

Chen Yue stood up again, left her side, and very considerately led away the actress who had wanted to come up and greet her and express admiration.

Even after not seeing each other for more than two months, she was still thoughtful enough to leave Chi Xiaoman her own space, allowing her not to overcome the shame of being seen trying so hard, and quietly deal with her own fear and wavering.

And she also left her that little fish keychain.

As encouragement.

By the time Chi Xiaoman reacted,

Chen Yue was already surrounded by many new actors expressing their love for her past works. Chi Xiaoman could only stare for a long time at the little fish keychain, whose mouth looked clumsy, and sniffed her inexplicably blocked nose.

She took the keychain.

Secretly tucked it into her palm.

Told herself that right now she was Xiaoyu, and it was okay for her to accept a birthday gift from Liu Shu.

And she brazenly poked the little fish keychain’s clumsy mouth.

Maybe the action was childish; if seen, it would make people think Chi Xiaoman had a lot of dissatisfaction with Chen Yue, since during their collaboration she had always spoken and acted very strangely toward Chen Yue, and she had never shown a friendly face toward any of the little gifts Chen Yue gave her.

But because she was Xiaoyu now,

she could temporarily be allowed to be a little more at ease.

Only after doing that did she realize and feel regret, so she hurriedly hid the little fish keychain in her bag.

Pretended she hadn’t done it.

And to cover it up, she quickly poured herself a cup of water and slowly drank it.

So she also didn’t notice—

behind her, Chen Yue looked at her through the crowd. When she saw Chi Xiaoman bow her head and take little sips of water, she couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud.

And the new actress standing in front of Chen Yue, currently enthusiastically telling her how happy she was about this collaboration, froze as a result. “Teacher Chen Yue, is there something wrong with what I said?”

“Sorry.” Chen Yue shifted her gaze away.

She let it settle again on the person in front of her, her tone gentle. “I just spaced out.”

The other person was stunned for a moment, then also smiled. “Teacher Chen, I’m very happy to work with you.”

“Mm, me too.”

The other person didn’t ask her to explain why she had suddenly spaced out, but after saying that, Chen Yue paused for a moment and still couldn’t resist explaining,

“It’s just that I haven’t been back to Beijing in a long time.”

When she said this, she subconsciously looked over at that back turned partly toward her, still slender, still earnestly flipping through the script, noticing the other person’s vivid expressions sometimes furrowing their brow, sometimes wrinkling their nose…

She felt happy, yet in that happiness she also realized that the closer she got, the less clearly she could see that vitality. So she had no choice but to restrain herself and not step closer again, saying from a distance,

“The weather seems better than I imagined.”

If she could get a little closer, that would be nice.

-

Chi Xiaoman stayed until the start-of-shoot dinner ended that night.

In fact, the dinner itself didn’t last very long. Around ten o’clock, the main group was already returning to the hotel to rest.

By then,

Shen Baozhi had drunk quite a lot and could barely walk straight.

Chi Xiaoman thought about seeing her back first, and also about not delaying the others’ rest, so she could only barely support Shen Baozhi, who was taller than one meter seventy, and planned to send her back to her room.

But even though she had gained seven or eight pounds, she was still thin, and supporting Shen Baozhi alone made her stagger.

She had only taken a few steps

when someone came from the other side and supported Shen Baozhi’s shoulder, helping her stand a little more steadily so she wouldn’t keep leaning entirely against Chi Xiaoman.

“Thank you, thank you.”

Chi Xiaoman was busy helping Shen Baozhi stand upright, and also busy thanking the person who helped.

“You’re welcome.” The woman’s voice came from Shen Baozhi’s other shoulder.

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together and helped Shen Baozhi up a little more. “I thought you had already gone back to your room.”

“No, I went up to put some things away.” Chen Yue said.

“Okay.” Chi Xiaoman nodded.

Maybe it was because they hadn’t seen each other for more than two months again, or because there was too much going on, but she felt that she and Chen Yue had become unfamiliar with each other once more.

And in that state, in just over ten hours, she would need to film their first scene together.

After thinking about it, Chi Xiaoman took the initiative. “You… how have you been these past few months?”

Chen Yue and she helped Shen Baozhi into the elevator together. Hearing that question, Chen Yue smiled. “Pretty good.”

Her voice was gentle,

“I don’t have work, so every day I just read scripts, eat well, and sleep well.”

It sounded like the truth.

But her condition didn’t look like it.

After all, she looked far too thin compared with two months earlier.

But Chi Xiaoman herself was also an actress, and she understood there was no need to be picky about such things. So her original “don’t be too thin” changed into, “Chen Yue, if you have any issues with the crew, you have to say so.”

“What issues?”

The elevator rose.

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together, paused for a moment, and then said,

“It’s just that last time you shot the costume photos, that pair of shoes seemed uncomfortable…”

To be honest, Chen Yue wasn’t actually the kind of person who would swallow unfair treatment and not say anything. If she didn’t speak up, most of the time it was because she truly didn’t care. She didn’t care whether the place she lived in was big or not, whether the food suited her taste, whether it was rich enough, and she didn’t care whether the pair of shoes she wore today fit her feet a little badly… Compared with those things, what she cared about more were things that seemed rather abstract in the eyes of most people.

Like locking herself away because of one question. Like watching a movie over and over dozens of times.

But Chi Xiaoman cared. Even if she wasn’t sure whether this concern still fit her position.

In the elevator, Shen Baozhi was dazed and unsteady. She lifted her eyelids to glance, as if she only saw Chi Xiaoman, and subconsciously leaned toward her.

Chi Xiaoman reached out to support her.

But Chen Yue suddenly took over Shen Baozhi before she could nearly lose her footing. She also tightened her grip on Shen Baozhi’s arm so she wouldn’t lean toward Chi Xiaoman again, and after a moment of silence, said softly, “Okay, I’ll say something.”

Chi Xiaoman hadn’t managed to support Shen Baozhi, so her hands were empty. She gave an “mm” and said,

“That’s all right.”

“If you don’t like talking to the others, you can tell Baozhi, or…”

“Can I tell you?” Chen Yue cut her off.

Chi Xiaoman froze.

Her eyes fell to Chen Yue’s cardigan sweater, and for some reason the goosebumps she had suppressed rose again.

She thought it strange, but couldn’t examine it too deeply at a time like this, so she nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Chen Yue nodded. “I’ll tell you about anything that comes up.”

With that,

the elevator opened.

They didn’t speak again.

The two of them helped carry Shen Baozhi back to her room.

The rooms the crew had arranged for the actors were all on the same floor, without any special treatment. One reason was that Chi Xiaoman herself had suffered this kind of hardship before and didn’t want to become someone who treated others differently. The second was that Chen Yue, like her, wasn’t someone flashy or picky about living conditions.

However, when choosing rooms, Chi Xiaoman still assigned Chen Yue’s room to a corner: the quietest, cleanest, most private room with the best soundproofing, the most suitable water pressure, spacious and bright, with the refrigerator secretly stuffed by her that day with freshly baked cookies, bread, and fruit, clean bottled water from different brands, and even an eye mask and earplugs.

It might have sounded unfair if anyone heard about it.

But Chi Xiaoman felt that compared to letting Chen Yue sleep badly or rest badly, she could still bear this bit of criticism herself.

“My room is just around the corner.” That night, before parting with Chen Yue, Chi Xiaoman specially escorted her to her door.

She also told her, “If anything comes up, you can come find me.”

She had deliberately chosen a room by the corner because she didn’t want anyone disturbing Chen Yue.

At the very least, if anything happened, it would have to pass through her first.

Afraid Chen Yue might misunderstand and think she had intentionally arranged their rooms close together, Chi Xiaoman explained, “Last time I was in Hong Kong, you took care of me so much. Now that we’re in Beijing, I also want to treat you well.”

It was also her answer to that question.

“Okay.” Chen Yue answered by the door.

“Then I won’t disturb you.” Chi Xiaoman said. “Rest well.”

With that,

she turned around.

But from behind her came a faint, “Xiaoman.”

“What is it?” Chi Xiaoman turned back anxiously, thinking Chen Yue had found a problem with the room.

But Chen Yue hadn’t gone in yet.

She was just standing by the door, her face hidden in shadow, and after a long moment she smiled at her.

“Nothing.”

The woman looked at her, her voice soft and light. “Sleep well.”

Chi Xiaoman was stunned for a moment.

To be honest, she had already rehearsed tonight’s meeting in her mind many times—how to make Chen Yue feel she was considerate without crossing boundaries, how to make Chen Yue feel she wasn’t rude and was sufficiently thoughtful, how to make Chen Yue feel she wasn’t that Chi Xiaoman who only cried in front of her, stubborn and disobedient…

But when she truly met Chen Yue again, all the things she had rehearsed in her mind became useless.

Still not enough to match Chen Yue’s ease.

She couldn’t casually take out a gift and say happy birthday; she couldn’t openly say sleep well; even less could she hide her worry and fear about tomorrow in front of Chen Yue…

“Okay.” Chi Xiaoman clutched the little fish keychain in her pocket and smiled at Chen Yue standing by the door. “You too.”

“Sleep well.”

At the very least, this blessing was sincere enough.

After returning to her room, Chi Xiaoman leaned blankly against the door and thought.

She didn’t have the mind to review tonight’s performance too much. She stood there dazed for a while, glanced at the time, and pressed her lips together. Tomorrow was the start of filming; ideally, she should really sleep well, just as Chen Yue had said.

But after removing her makeup and washing her face clean, when she looked in the mirror and saw the slight press of her lips, she suddenly took off her headband, opened the door, and walked out. She went downstairs, feeling the sharp autumn night wind on her face, wearing a mask and a hat, and tried hard to calm herself down.

She had originally only intended to take a walk downstairs.

But by some twist of fate, she arrived at the set for the next day.

Neon’s filming was mainly divided into three parts.

The first stage was in Beijing.

What they needed to shoot was only the scenes of Xiaoyu and Liu Shu living in the rental apartment before.

And as the first scene after the start of filming, and also to help the two scene partners quickly break the ice, after discussing with the screenwriter and the on-site director, the scene Chi Xiaoman chose was also one with intense emotional conflict inside the rental apartment—

a crying scene where they sat back to back, taking place on the night Xiaoyu had just learned about Liu Shu’s illness.

There would also be a back hug on the bed at the end—

which might have been the most intimate scene in the entire film.

Fully initiated by Xiaoyu.

To be honest, Chi Xiaoman had absolutely no confidence in this scene, and no confidence about acting opposite Chen Yue either.

Staying in the room was also making it impossible to fall asleep.

She thought that coming to the set early would at least let her get familiar with the environment before filming started, which couldn’t be a bad thing.

In fact, she also didn’t want to bring too much of her private feelings into Neon, so in the choice of rental apartment location and set design, Chi Xiaoman didn’t interfere much, and didn’t even offer many suggestions.

Maybe because she desperately wanted to distinguish between the story and real life, Chi Xiaoman didn’t want the rental apartment in the film to look too much like the underground room they had shared back then, nor did she want the off-screen Chi Xiaoman to influence too much of the on-screen Li Xiaoyu.

But arriving early on set, the rental apartment set still made her dazed—

In fact, Li Xiaoyu and Liu Shu had never been lovers. That was also what Lang Lang had wanted to express in the script ten years ago—women’s emotions are not only moving when they are love.

So even though it was a small rental apartment, there were still two beds in the set.

Two narrow folding single beds—

That might have been the part most similar to the rental apartment they had back then.

As for the rest.

It looked similar.

It also didn’t.

After all, in everyone’s memory, cheap rental rooms probably share a similar atmosphere and tone—

sticky condiment bottles, plastic wash basins, posters that couldn’t be fully peeled from walls shedding flakes of paint, a hazy window that couldn’t let much air through, a faucet that would keep dripping no matter how it was fixed at night…

Chi Xiaoman walked in.

She sat very quietly by the bed for a long time.

For reasons she couldn’t quite put into words.

She touched the neatly arranged prop pillow, picked it up, patted it once, then set it back on the bed.

She put the script, now flipped slightly out of order, on the bedside table.

Took off her shoes.

And lay down.

On her side.

Curled her back and waist.

Held her knees.

In the dark, she silently breathed in and out.

Because there were so many filming equipment pieces to fit in, the set had been built inside a large garage, so in terms of space, it didn’t really resemble the rental room from nine years ago where just lying in bed made the air feel stifling.

But Chi Xiaoman lying here actually felt calmer and more at ease than lying in a hotel.

Curled up, hiding in the dim light, she felt safer than when she had been on stage at the start-of-shoot dinner, flipping through the script over and over.

Maybe it was also because she couldn’t let go of that scene in her mind, and her emotions had slowly begun to brew.

She slowed her breathing, slowly let her consciousness sink… and actually fell asleep right there on set.

No one knew how long passed.

Chi Xiaoman slept in a daze and couldn’t remember whether she had had a nightmare or a sweet dream. When she woke, she felt the dream was probably not a good one, and she also felt like she couldn’t breathe; even with her eyes closed, her vision was full of colorful ghosts and monsters.

And the night had grown deep.

Someone walked in at that dead of night.

As though by unspoken agreement, on the night before October 2, before Neon started filming, she and she made the same choice.

Yet suddenly discovered her timid figure hidden there, so she stood at the foot of the bed in a daze for a long time.

And Chi Xiaoman had always been keenly sensitive. At the very first second this person approached, like some creature with antennae sensing danger, she immediately held her breath.

Her back was to the woman, her face toward the wall, eyes tightly closed; she clenched her palm, her heart beating very fast. She felt regret because, once again, it was Chen Yue, and once again she was exposing her unease in front of Chen Yue, making Chen Yue think she wasn’t reliable enough. Yet she also forcefully held her breath and prepared herself—

Expecting Chen Yue to ask why she was here so late. Why she wasn’t in her room sleeping well. Why she had so little confidence before filming even started.

But Chen Yue didn’t speak for a very long time. Standing behind her, she didn’t ask her why she had come here, didn’t judge her strange behavior, and didn’t offer her embarrassing comfort when she was despondent.

She didn’t ask—Chi Xiaoman, are you scared?

She didn’t say—Chi Xiaoman, you are not allowed to be afraid. Because you are the person who can least afford to be afraid.

That night, she only looked at her for a long time, and in the end quietly lay down on the other narrow single bed, simply back to back with her, and simply accompanied her in welcoming the next dawn.

Like Liu Shu was willing to accompany Xiaoyu.

And like Chen Yue was willing to accompany Chi Xiaoman.

[Author’s Note]

Updating Little Neon on time for its thirty-third day [sunglasses]

Busy Monday; did everyone come? [glasses]