“2023”

Neon, Scene 93, Shot 5.

Hong Kong, the end of summer. No rain today; the heat was oppressive, and the streets were packed.

Liu Shu sat in a wheelchair, head lowered, her face pale and drawn beneath her mask, her strength ebbing as she forced her eyes open.

Li Xiaoyu stood behind her with her hands on the wheelchair, staring blankly at the sun pouring down between the high-rises.

The sunlight fell in fine threads; the two of them looked like a pair of dust-covered insects, standing before a city they had longed for for years but never truly known.

Li Xiaoyu said softly, “Liu Shu, I think we’re here.”

Liu Shu struggled to lift her eyelids and looked around in confusion before smiling.

“Mm, we’re here.”

The words fell.

Then drifted away.

The noise of the street rushed in all at once. People hurried past with their phones in hand; cars blared as they passed, the horns shrill and harsh.

They stood there, one standing, one sitting, pressed close together. Golden sunlight spilled over their faces, their bodies, their clothes. A new world walked toward these two young people.

Like a brand-new, glittering world; and like an ordinary old world, no different from the past.

“Cut——”

-

A clear command came through the loudspeaker.

The camera and the rig pulled away.

The crowd around them looked no different than before. Most people were still walking by with phones raised, most cars were still honking as they passed.

Chi Xiaoman was dazed for a moment. She turned to Chen Yue, who was sitting beside her in the wheelchair.

As if by telepathy.

Almost at the same time, Chen Yue looked up at her too.

The sun was still bright and gold, spilling across both their faces, crossing in the gaze they held on each other.

Chen Yue suddenly laughed.

The confusion and daze in Chi Xiaoman’s heart vanished at once. She smiled too, relieved. After a long moment, her voice was very soft in the wind.

“We wrapped.”

“Mm.”

Chen Yue looked at her, her eyes gentle in the sunlight.

“We’ve wrapped our movie.”

The words fell.

Like a premonition.

The crowd waiting beyond the camera surged forward at once; loud, excited, overwhelming... like a vast ocean crashing in and scattering the two of them apart.

Aunt Fang had already gone back to Hong Kong, but she came by the set today to visit. Holding her belly and smiling, she walked over and handed Chi Xiaoman a bouquet. “Director Xiaoman, congratulations on wrapping.”

Fang A-Yun had also come to Hong Kong a few days ago. When she heard Chi Xiaoman had caught a small illness, she rushed over immediately and spent the last few days cooking nourishing soup in every way she could, insisting on nursing Xiaoman back to full health. After the last pickup shot was finished, she came over too, hugged Chi Xiaoman through the flowers, then gave her a soft thumbs-up.

Chi Xiaoman held the bouquet and smiled at them with curved eyes. “Thank you.”

“Xiaoman, Xiaoman!”

A few bright voices suddenly called from behind her. Chi Xiaoman turned in a hurry and saw several girls standing across the road, holding a red banner high above their heads. It read:

“Congratulations to Neon on wrapping! Rainbow Society will support you forever!”

Chi Xiaoman smiled, then bowed very seriously to the girls who had come all the way for her. After a full ten seconds, she straightened up and waved hard at them, calling in a raised voice, “It’s dangerous, go back now!”

The girls waved back, then obediently dispersed to safer places.

Chi Xiaoman watched them until each one had reached safety, and only then did she feel a little relieved.

Chen Yue’s manager, Shen Yin, passed by and helped Chen Yue out of the wheelchair, then placed two bouquets into her arms. “One is from me. The other was specially requested by your mother; she told me to bring it to you.”

Chen Yue took them. First she looked over at Chi Xiaoman, who was standing dazed in the wind with her flowers, then lowered her gaze to the two bouquets in her arms. “Mm, got it.”

The set was bustling with noise. Shen Baozhi, along with a few of the most energetic young people on set, pushed out from behind the camera setup. She looked at them, adjusted her glasses, then waved her hand.

Bang.

Confetti fluttered down, dyeing the golden world into a riot of colorful fragments.

Chi Xiaoman instinctively turned back.

The crowd was noisy, confetti drifted through the air, and sunlight shimmered everywhere. Holding her flowers, she strained through the overlapping figures to find Chen Yue’s eyes.

One person.

Two people.

Three people...

At last their eyes met. Like two tiny rivers merging together.

Under the golden sun, Chen Yue smiled at her through the crowd.

Confetti landed on her head, her shoulders, the flowers in her arms. Chi Xiaoman froze for a few seconds, then smiled back at Chen Yue.

Then.

Still awkwardly hugging the two bouquets, she walked toward her.

Chen Yue also held her flowers and slowly walked toward her.

The flowers trembled in the wind.

Then met.

Fragrance burst everywhere.

Chen Yue stopped, looked at Chi Xiaoman for a while beneath the golden sunlight, then reached out to remove a strip of confetti caught at the corner of her eye. In a gentle voice, she said to her,

“Xiaoman, congratulations on wrapping.”

Not Director Xiaoman anymore.

Chi Xiaoman wanted to smile, but for some reason, even though wrapping was such a perfect thing, she suddenly felt like crying.

She realized how bad that was.

She forced back her tears, her eyes red, and nodded at Chen Yue. “Mm, congratulations on wrapping.”

Her voice was very small.

Especially on the noisy street; it was almost nothing.

But Chen Yue seemed to understand anyway.

She smiled at her.

Then lowered her eyes and looked at her for a while, as if she had a lot to say, and as if she wanted to come over and hug her.

But the set had just wrapped, the crowd was dense, the environment was loud, and cameras were everywhere.

So Chen Yue only touched the slowly reddening corners of her eyes, quickly curled her fingers back in, and finally said simply,

“You’ve worked hard all these years.”

Not “all these days.”

“All these years.”

Chi Xiaoman froze for a moment and wanted to answer, but after parting her lips, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes like water dropping into a river.

“Mm...”

She barely managed to steady the flowers in her arms and lifted her head to stare at the warm sun. “Actually, I didn’t want to cry.”

“It’s fine.” Chen Yue said that to her. After a pause, she still reached out, using the back of her hand to wipe away Xiaoman’s tears, then said, “A lot of people cry on set. You’re not the only one.”

“Re...really?” Chi Xiaoman sniffled.

“Mm.” Chen Yue said, as if teasing her, “Otherwise, why don’t you turn around and look at Baozhi?”

Her tone was the same one used to coax a child.

But Chi Xiaoman still turned around instinctively and saw—

About a dozen meters away, Shen Baozhi had taken off her glasses and was wiping the corners of her eyes with great difficulty.

Shen Yin, standing beside her, saw it and went over to pat her head. At first Shen Baozhi looked deeply disgusted, as if she wanted to say, Don’t pat my head in public, but the next second she awkwardly reached out and hugged Shen Yin.

Chi Xiaoman laughed out loud.

The next second.

Someone lightly patted her head.

She froze and turned to look at Chen Yue beside her.

Chen Yue smiled at her. “Chi Xiaoman, I think I can hug you now too.”

Chi Xiaoman went still.

In truth, she wasn’t quite sure what Chen Yue meant.

Several months had already passed, but she still hadn’t understood why Chen Yue had suddenly fallen seriously ill in Guizhou back then, why she had suddenly asked for reshoots, why she had later been in such pain that she had to return to Hong Kong...

She only knew that.

After coming back from Hong Kong.

The rest of the filming had gone smoothly.

Just as they had said before they split up.

After returning, Chen Yue reshot the scenes she had filmed a few days earlier, and her condition afterward adjusted very well. She never again showed that same contradictory, painful state from before.

But she also never again ate with Chi Xiaoman every day, and never suddenly came over to hug her.

She couldn’t exactly be called cold toward Chi Xiaoman, but she was only polite, only courteous. Every day when she saw her, she would smile, and after Chi Xiaoman finished a shot, she would also frown slightly and point out where they had failed to coordinate well.

Occasionally, when the two of them were alone, Chen Yue would still, as always, ask whether she had been eating properly these days, whether she was cold, whether she had slept well, and whether she was still taking her medicine lately.

Only, compared with before, they had far fewer chances to be alone.

Chi Xiaoman wasn’t slow-witted. Especially in recent years, she had become particularly sensitive to how others treated her.

So she understood very clearly—

after returning from Hong Kong, throughout the rest of filming, Chen Yue had been doing her best to avoid being alone with her. It might not have been obvious to others on set, but that was simply how Chen Yue avoided someone.

Maybe it was related to the state she needed to keep for filming.

So Chi Xiaoman didn’t feel too much grievance or sadness about it. There was disappointment, of course, and on low days it inevitably surfaced more often. For example, after Chen Yue looked at her for only a second and then quickly looked away, Chi Xiaoman would also tighten her grip on her knees, press her lips together, and run behind the camera setup to catch some wind.

But no matter what, she never stayed out there too long.

Because she was the director of the whole crew now; she had to be responsible for the movie, and also for her female lead. More than that, she didn’t want Chen Yue to feel unnecessary worry or guilt, and end up back in that same high-pressure illness from before. Because Chen Yue was exactly that kind of person, someone who never wanted her own actions to cause another person pain.

But just as Chi Xiaoman had promised Chen Yue.

If this was the state Chen Yue wanted to keep, the problem she wanted to solve, then Chi Xiaoman would do her best to help her keep it and help her solve it.

If doing only that could make Chen Yue become once again that Chen Yue who was effortless and relaxed in her acting, no longer trapped at every moment in unresolved pain, then Chi Xiaoman would definitely support her.

As long as it was what Chen Yue wanted, she could know nothing at all.

Only now... the Guizhou section had already finished filming last month, the final Hong Kong shots had also been wrapped up smoothly within a few days after the move, and just now, they had reshot the very last ending shot and received so many flowers and blessings from so many people.

April 2024.

Summer was almost here, and Neon had officially wrapped.

Chi Xiaoman still hadn’t really felt it.

Chen Yue suddenly said to her again, “I think I can hug you now.”

Chi Xiaoman still didn’t quite understand what that meant.

But the next second.

Chen Yue had already come over and hugged her.

Maybe it was because the last hug had happened in winter. And now it was almost summer.

And there were still three bouquets of flowers between them, so the embrace felt a little unfamiliar.

When Chen Yue hugged her, the hand resting on her shoulder was a little awkward too. But she still buried her face against Xiaoman’s shoulder and softly said to her,

“Xiaoman, congratulations on wrapping.”

This hug wasn’t exactly secret; it happened in front of everyone. But because they were the movie’s leads, two actresses who had worked together from autumn all the way to summer, even a simple hug after wrapping didn’t seem too intimate.

Chi Xiaoman thought about it, then hugged Chen Yue back as well. She rested her chin on Chen Yue’s shoulder and thought hard for a long time: why Chen Yue said she could hug her now, why she said congratulations on wrapping again. But after thinking for a while, she still couldn’t figure it out. So she simply copied Shen Yin and Shen Baozhi, patting Chen Yue on the head, and softly said to her,

“You’ve worked hard this whole time, Chen Tong jiejie.”

-

The post-wrap hug didn’t last long.

The final scene was done, and later they still had a wrap banquet at the restaurant.

So after the brief hug.

They were quickly surrounded by the others, each holding a bouquet, shoulder to shoulder, for a big group photo.

This time Shen Baozhi wasn’t squeezed between them. She had her arm around Shen Yin, pulling her in to stand beside Chen Yue.

Fang A-Yun wasn’t very used to crowded places.

So Chi Xiaoman focused on looking after her too. She pulled her tightly to her side, clasped her slightly rough palm, and pressed her lips together as she said, “A-Yun Auntie, if anything feels uncomfortable, tell me.”

Fang A-Yun came over to pat her head. She didn’t take out her phone to type anything for Xiaoman to read, but her eyes were also wet when she looked at her.

Chi Xiaoman felt a little tearful under that gaze too, so she rubbed her face against Fang A-Yun’s shoulder without saying anything.

“Come on, we’re about to take it now——”

The photographer in charge of the group photo shouted through a loudspeaker.

The crowd gradually quieted.

Chi Xiaoman sniffled and lifted her face from Fang A-Yun’s shoulder.

She accidentally bumped into Chen Yue’s shoulder.

Instinctively, she said, “Sorry.”

Chen Yue turned her face toward her, looked at her for a moment, and smiled. “It’s fine.”

Chi Xiaoman parted her lips, still wanting to say something.

But the photographer was already hurrying them along.

So she pressed her lips together and said nothing more.

“Come on, anyone who needs to wipe tears, wipe them now. Let’s all smile!” the photographer said.

And so the rows of people all smiled together.

Click.

The photo froze.

There was no three, two, one countdown.

Much later, when Chi Xiaoman opened this photo, she would discover that everyone in it was smiling so happily, so vividly.

Under the blue sky and white clouds.

Aunt Fang held her belly and smiled at the camera, while her other hand affectionately hooked around Fang A-Yun.

Fang A-Yun wasn’t used to Aunt Fang’s easy familiarity, so she stood there a little stiffly, but still didn’t pull her hand away. Her other hand was tightly held by Chi Xiaoman.

So in that frozen instant, she kept her face turned slightly to the side, her gaze seeming to rest on Chi Xiaoman beside her, yet also a little like she was looking at Chen Yue.

Chi Xiaoman held Aunt Fang tightly with one hand and a bouquet in the other. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Chen Yue’s. She was smiling, her eyes curving in the golden light, narrowed by the sun into crescents.

Chen Yue’s shoulder was pressed against Chi Xiaoman’s. She had turned her face slightly, as if she were also watching Xiaoman. But the expression on her face was clearly a smile. She stood very straight, the corners of her mouth lifted high.

Shen Yin stood on Chen Yue’s side. She tilted her head, worried about Shen Baozhi beside her, and in the split second the photo froze, she was hurrying to look at the camera, smiling in a rushed way.

At the instant the photo froze, Shen Baozhi suddenly threw an arm fiercely around Shen Yin’s shoulder. She might have been the one smiling happiest among the people in the front row, or maybe the one whose eyes looked the reddest and most swollen.

Click.

The group photo ended.

The props were cleared away, and the crowd and equipment dispersed one after another.

Aunt Fang, helped by her eldest daughter, got into the car with a hand on her belly. Before getting in, just as before, she slipped two flat candies into Chi Xiaoman’s hand and smiled at her. “You’ve wrapped, so eat more sweets.”

Shen Baozhi dragged Shen Yin into the car. Before closing the door, she said to Chi Xiaoman and Chen Yue, “See you at the wrap banquet tonight——”

Chen Yue watched their car drive away, then turned back with her bouquet in her arms and looked at Chi Xiaoman.

“See you at the wrap banquet tonight?”

“Mm?” Chi Xiaoman rubbed her eyes.

Looking at Fang A-Yun beside her, she said hesitantly, “I’ll see.”

“Okay.” Chen Yue nodded.

She didn’t ask further, and together with Xiao Qi beside her, she got back into the car.

After wrapping, everyone had to step out of this movie and head in different directions.

Chi Xiaoman liked movies very much.

Because movies could gather many living, vivid people together to work for a single shot.

And because movies had a clear sense of ritual at both the beginning and the end, reminding you that someone had arrived, announcing that someone had left. In between there would be a schedule; every shot, every scene, had a very clear countdown.

That was different from life.

Because life was just—

this person came, this person left. There would be no reminder, no ritual.

People came and went. Chi Xiaoman watched Chen Yue slowly get into the car and stood there for a while.

Then she turned around.

She saw Fang A-Yun looking at her with a soft gaze.

Lowering her eyes, she smiled reflexively. “I’m fine.”

Fang A-Yun looked at her patiently for a while, then touched the slowly reddening corners of her eyes.

After that, she took out her phone and typed for Chi Xiaoman to see: “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid.”

“Mm.” Chi Xiaoman smiled. “I know, A-Yun Auntie, you’ll always be by my side.”

Fang A-Yun looked at her for a while, then came over and patted her head.

“Chi Xiaoman!”

A voice came from behind her.

Chi Xiaoman turned around.

A woman was standing behind her, holding a bouquet of flowers, looking at her through a slight blur.

Chi Xiaoman rubbed her eyes. After seeing the woman’s face clearly, she was suddenly startled.

She gripped Fang A-Yun’s hand very tightly, wiped away the cold tears on her face, sent Fang A-Yun onto the car first, then walked toward the woman’s gaze. In a low voice she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“At least I watched you grow up. Can’t I come see you now?” The woman smiled at her and handed over the flowers in her hands. “Here. Congratulations on wrapping.”

There were too many people and too much commotion on set. Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together and still took the flowers.

“I happen to be in Hong Kong these few days. I heard your movie was wrapping, so I came by.” Song Yingying watched her accept the bouquet before speaking after a pause.

“I remember when I first met you.”

“When I picked you up off the side of the road, you asked me whether signing with me meant you could make movies...”

“And now the movie you wanted has finally been made.” She looked at Chi Xiaoman. “Congratulations.”

“But you lied to me.”

Chi Xiaoman stared at her.

Then slowly said, “Back then you lied to me and said that as long as I signed, I’d have a chance.”

“I didn’t lie to you.” So many years had passed. So many things had happened in between, and the relationship between them was no longer as simple as it had once been. Song Yingying stood before Chi Xiaoman, still exactly as she had many years ago when she first appeared in front of her: direct, with little concealment. “If you hadn’t signed with me back then, you wouldn’t still be in Beijing, and you wouldn’t now have the chance to be in Hong Kong, receiving so many people’s flowers and congratulations on wrapping.”

Chi Xiaoman pressed her lips together. “So what? What are you trying to say?”

Song Yingying looked at her for a while, then looked away.

“Of course, if I hadn’t signed you back then, I wouldn’t be who I am now either. Over all these years, you really were much more obedient than the other artists under me; no scandals, no tax evasion... To be honest, I never thought you’d really manage to make this movie.”

Chi Xiaoman frowned.

Song Yingying turned back and laughed. “Relax. I’m not here to thank you. You’d probably just find it disgusting if I did. I really just came by to take a look today.”

“After all, from now on we’re all just collaborators in the same industry. Let’s part on good terms and stop assuming I’m doing something behind your back all the time. And stop being so nervous; I don’t have the time.”

Chi Xiaoman didn’t speak.

Song Yingying didn’t say anything more.

She waved at a car parked by the road and was about to leave, but before getting in, she turned back and squinted at Chi Xiaoman.

“And also, don’t think being free means everything is automatically great. If you want to make movies, you still have a long road ahead of you.”

Her tone was especially casual. “Be more careful from now on.”

-

Chi Xiaoman had never imagined Song Yingying would suddenly appear.

In a sense, from the very first second this woman entered her life, she had given off the air of someone who was not simple.

Only nine years ago, Chi Xiaoman had been innocent, single-minded, and determined only to make Lang Lang’s movie.

When she met Song Yingying, she was in desperate straits, with neither the mind nor the ability to tell whether the lifeline handed to her hid any complications she couldn’t see.

Nine years was not exactly smooth sailing for their collaboration. But it was precisely because of Song Yingying that Chi Xiaoman realized the rules governing the world were not as simple as she had thought. If she wanted to make the movie she wanted to make, she had to pay a price first.

And nine years later, Chi Xiaoman had also learned that every word Song Yingying said had to be treated with constant caution. Song Yingying’s appearance also left her dazed, and she suddenly understood that her life seemed to have officially entered the next stage—

ending her collaboration with Song Yingying, no longer needing to worry about it, and no longer needing much contact with this person.

The movie she had spent ten years desperately wanting to make, Neon, had wrapped in Hong Kong today. If nothing went wrong, the remaining portions could be finished safely.

What should she do next?

Chi Xiaoman suddenly couldn’t think of an answer.

But Song Yingying’s appearance did more than leave her dazed about the future; after she returned to the hotel, she also suddenly remembered the scene from long ago when she first met Song Yingying.

And she remembered again—

that she and Chen Yue had broken up twice.

During filming, she could temporarily set aside her identity as Chi Xiaoman and think of herself as the director, as the actress playing Li Xiaoyu. Everything between her and Chen Yue had to yield to Neon, to the role.

But now the movie was over; Xiaoyu and Shu’s story was over. She had to become Chi Xiaoman again.

What kind of Chi Xiaoman should she be?

What kind of Chi Xiaoman should she be with Chen Yue?

Should she once again deal with it vaguely, treating them as nothing more than a simple working relationship, maintaining that tacit understanding of Xiaoyu and Shu during the later release and promotion... or, once the movie was truly over, should she continue relating to her as she had for the past nine years?

Would they still be like that in the future?

One in Hong Kong, one in Beijing, looking at each other from afar, lucky to see each other once a year.

Or was it that...

in the future, Chi Xiaoman could also mention Chen Yue’s name openly and freely in front of many people?

Would that be a good thing?

Would they, in the future, become ordinary colleagues in this circle? Or would they become partners who felt happy for each other when the other was mentioned?

Chi Xiaoman couldn’t figure it out.

After work ended, she went to check on Fang A-Yun and kept her company talking for a while, only then returning to her hotel room. After that she suddenly felt the room was empty, and her mind was empty too, so she curled up beside the bed and sat there blankly.

It was almost summer.

Hong Kong was very hot; even sitting on the floor felt warm, unlike the floor of that Beijing basement, which had been so cold it had nearly frozen her solid, until later when she tried to stand and simply collapsed to the ground.

Thud, thud, thud.

Someone knocked on the door.

Only twice.

Chi Xiaoman woke as if from a dream and struggled to her feet.

Her hand rested on the doorknob.

She wanted to open the door.

But before she could.

A softened voice came first from outside.

“Xiaoman, are you okay?”

It was Chen Yue.

“I’m fine.” Chi Xiaoman wiped her face. There were no tears; her hands were just a little cold.

“Mm.” Chen Yue stood outside the door.

Her voice, coming through the wood, was a little light. “I just heard from Xiao Qi that your manager came to see you.”

Concern, carefully contained.

Maybe she had called out before Xiaoman opened the door because she was worried that if Chi Xiaoman wasn’t doing well, she would still have to come over and open it for her.

So she used this method to say: she could always choose not to open the door.

Chi Xiaoman lowered her eyes.

Then opened the door—

Chen Yue was standing outside. She had been looking down, and when she saw Chi Xiaoman open the door, she looked slightly surprised. But very quickly, she gathered that surprise away and smiled at her gently. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“She just came to give me a bouquet and say congratulations on wrapping.” Chi Xiaoman explained to her. “Chen Tong jiejie, don’t worry; she didn’t say anything mean to me.”

Mean words. The phrasing felt a little strange.

Chen Yue laughed out loud.

Chi Xiaoman knew she was laughing at her.

She felt a little embarrassed and wrinkled the tip of her nose. “You didn’t go to the wrap banquet either?”

“I did.” Chen Yue said very briefly.

Chi Xiaoman blinked, puzzled.

The next second.

She saw Chen Yue still standing alone under the corridor, and instinctively wanted to step aside and let her in.

Chen Yue didn’t come in. She stood at the doorway, in the light and shadow of the corridor, looking at her.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t know why she wasn’t speaking.

After thinking for a moment, she decided to make a joke. “What kind of thing is it for the lead to suddenly run out at the wrap banquet?”

Chen Yue smiled a little.

Then tilted her head. “What kind of thing is it for the director to not even come to the wrap banquet?”

Chi Xiaoman froze.

Chen Yue laughed out loud.

Chi Xiaoman came back to herself and smiled with her too.

Then she looked at Chen Yue, who was still standing outside the door, and said, “Chen Tong jiejie, aren’t you coming in?”

“No.”

Chen Yue said it plainly.

Chi Xiaoman became even more confused.

Chen Yue looked at her under the light, her gaze soft. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

“All the scenes are wrapped. Don’t you want to go home and take a look tomorrow?” Chi Xiaoman said with pressed lips.

“After all, you haven’t been back in so many days.”

“It’s okay.” Chen Yue said. “I don’t need to rush back.”

Chi Xiaoman nodded and didn’t ask further. She also thought Chen Yue standing outside without coming in was just a greeting, and that after saying that, she would leave.

But Chen Yue stood there for a moment, then suddenly looked into her eyes again and repeated word for word, “Xiaoman, let’s see each other tomorrow.”

Her tone was natural.

As if it were just a very ordinary promise. Or perhaps it had always been a very ordinary promise.

Chi Xiaoman froze for a moment. Her fingers tightened around the doorframe. She parted her lips, and her heart gave a sudden, abrupt jump along with them; for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer.

Chen Yue seemed to sense her hesitation and gently opened her red lips.

“It’s okay——”

“Okay.”

The two voices seemed to come at the same time.

So both of them stopped.

Chi Xiaoman kept her chin tightly set and her fingers clenched.

After a long pause, Chen Yue softened her voice and asked, “Xiaoman, did you just say ‘okay’?”

As if she hadn’t heard clearly and wanted to ask.

Or as if she had heard, but was afraid she’d misheard and wanted to confirm.

“Mm.” Chi Xiaoman felt she couldn’t deny it, and didn’t want to become the kind of person who went back on her word in front of Chen Yue, so she could only say softly, “See you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Chen Yue said that.

Chi Xiaoman didn’t know what else she could say.

She stared at her a little blankly, lips parted, saying nothing else.

Chen Yue looked at her for a while.

It seemed she still had something to say.

But the next second, other actresses from the crew were passing by behind her, noisy and chattering, still discussing the wrap banquet. Chen Yue lowered her eyes, didn’t meet the actresses’ gazes, and also moved her eyes away from Chi Xiaoman’s face. In a light voice she said, “Then I’ll go back to my room first.”

“Okay.” Maybe because her thoughts were still stuck on that “see you tomorrow,” Chi Xiaoman could only barely force out a single word in a daze.

She watched Chen Yue turn around; watched Chen Yue’s shadow pass by her.

Watched Chen Yue stop.

Then heard Chen Yue suddenly call her, “Xiaoman.”

“Mm?” Chi Xiaoman came back to herself.

Chen Yue turned back, studied her expression, and smiled gently at her under the corridor light. “Think about tomorrow tomorrow.”

“Get a good sleep tonight first.” She said that to Chi Xiaoman.

Chi Xiaoman was pulled out of her daze by those words.

Looking at Chen Yue’s clear face in front of her, she suddenly felt she might not need to be so nervous. Because tomorrow might bring many unknown things, while today she only had one hope. So with sincerity and the greatest hope, she earnestly said to Chen Yue,

“Chen Tong jiejie, you should get a good sleep too.”

[Author’s Note]

Updating Little Neon on time on the sixty-first day [glasses][glasses][glasses]

(Today probably no need to wear sunglasses, right?)