Yu Junye stood obediently in the doorway, her eyes and brows curved in a smile.
“Come in.” An Ji stepped aside to clear a path.
Walking in on tiptoe, Yu Junye raised her right hand and presented it to An Ji. “The pastries I bought earlier when we were eating they’re really good. I brought some for you to try.”
“Oh, thank you so much for the trouble.”
“I wasn’t sure what flavors you like, so I just brought the ones I prefer. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, I’m basically not picky. Have a seat. What would you like to drink?” An Ji placed the pastries on the table, glanced over at the water dispenser and refrigerator, and finding virtually no drinks in the fridge, headed straight for the water dispenser.
“Don’t go to any trouble, I don’t need anything right now.”
Without pausing, An Ji continued bustling about by the water dispenser.
Yu Junye took a seat as instructed and let her gaze wander around the room. Although hotel room layouts were essentially identical, she could still sense a distinct difference clean and orderly. Thinking of her own room, Yu Junye felt a bit ashamed, though remembering Ai Lin’s room which was a chaotic mess comparable to a dog kennel made her feel much better.
She recalled Ai Lin boasting that a clean and neat room was the hallmark of an old cadre’s style, while young people needed vigor and a “sense of chaotic beauty” to reflect the breath of life.
Yu Junye curled her lip in disbelief. Don’t believe a word of it; seeing An Ji’s living environment now, with its indescribable warmth and comfort, that was what a true living space felt like.
Her gaze inadvertently swept across the script resting on the coffee table, prompting her to lean in closer. The script was flipped open to roughly the halfway point, its pages densely covered with annotations and color-coded notes.
“What are you looking at?” An Ji brought over a pot of tea and sat down beside Yu Junye.
“Your script, Teacher An. Have you already read this far ahead?” Unconcealed admiration shone in Yu Junye’s eyes.
“Not really! I’ve just read through it; I haven’t completely mastered the essence of the characters in the script yet, and I’m still struggling to grasp certain emotional beats,” An Ji replied honestly.
“Teacher An, you work way too hard. Now I feel embarrassed to practice scenes with you.” Yu Junye scratched her head sheepishly, looking very much like a child who had made a minor mistake.
“It’s different for everyone the early bird catches the worm. Look at today, how our scene was cut several times because of me, holding you back,” An Ji said, her eyes full of sincerity.
“What are you talking about? Teacher An, you’re being too modest. We’re just in the teething stage of our collaboration; we’re still unaccustomed to each other’s acting styles, that’s all. Once we get familiar, it’ll be fine.” Yu Junye looked at An Ji with sparkling eyes.
“Finding the feeling beforehand will make filming much faster later on.” An Ji nodded in agreement.
“When we were filming that confrontation scene today, were you perhaps a bit too nervous?” Yu Junye recalled how, at the start of that scene, An Ji’s lips had been pressed into a tight line and her hands clenched.
“You could tell?” An Ji cast a surprised look at Yu Junye.
“I’ve looked over your past filmography before, and I knew that wasn’t your usual standard.”
An Ji’s heart sank slightly. The preparation work Yu Junye put in was clearly far more thorough than her relaxed exterior let on.
“I was a bit nervous. I’ve always acted out romantic scenes with male actors, so I was afraid of acting out a romance with another woman—worried I wouldn’t do well and would drag you down.”
“Hahaha, do you want the honest truth?” Yu Junye suddenly burst out laughing.
“Hm?” An Ji’s confusion deepened.
“I might have been even more nervous than you, but I just put on a better facade.” Yu Junye picked up the cup of tea An Ji had poured, took a small, gentle sip, and continued, “Portraying a male cross-dresser is vastly different from playing an actual man. No matter how much I imagine or how well I pull it off, I’m still fundamentally a woman. So I was terrified you’d look down on me, which is why I tried my absolute best to put up a front and mobilize every possible resource.”
Hearing this, An Ji felt a tremendous weight lift off her mind. It turned out that communication between people was truly a universal solution; if small anxieties and worries were kept bottled up inside oneself, who knew how much time and energy would be wasted?
“It’s probably because neither of us has fully immersed ourselves in the roles yet,” An Ji said with a curved smile.
“That probably won’t improve until we both cast away all our distracting thoughts. After all, our goal is the same: to make this production as good as it can be.”
“Then you shouldn’t deliberately put on a front just be yourself. After all, with any character, every actor has their own unique understanding and interpretation. By expressing your own style and infusing your own soul into the role, the character bears your personal signature and can still be remarkably successful. It’s just that…” An Ji paused.
Before An Ji could finish, Yu Junye eagerly pressed, “Just what?”
“Just that you have to rein in the tender, feminine side of yourself. No matter how frail the scholar is, he is still a man; his posture, speech, and conduct should naturally carry a touch of masculine vigor.” An Ji carefully weighed her words as she slowly expressed her thoughts. She kept a close eye on Yu Junye’s expression, terrified that the other person might feel she was acting like a fool teaching an expert, especially since the person sitting before her held awards she herself couldn’t reach, and film acting demanded far higher technical skills from an actor than television did.
If winning an award once or twice could be chalked up to luck, winning and being nominated multiple times was undoubtedly backed by genuine strength no one could accumulate that much sheer luck and coincidence.
Therefore, An Ji proceeded with extreme caution.
“Teacher An, what you just said is precisely what I’ve been thinking!” Yu Junye was so excited she almost jumped out of her seat. “Would you call this ‘great minds think alike’?”
Seeing Yu Junye’s reaction, the stone in An Ji’s chest finally settled. The person across from her was someone she could communicate with, someone she could freely exchange acting techniques with, and above all, she would make an exceptional collaborative partner.
“Then from now on, whenever we practice scenes, if there’s anything inappropriate, we must point it out immediately. No concealing our thoughts, and no sparing each other’s feelings,” An Ji seized the opportunity to set down her terms.
“Naturally! Didn’t reports outside say I don’t care about feelings and throw massive diva tantrums on set? I’ll just have to live up to that reputation.” Yu Junye deliberately feigned deep concern. “I should give you a heads-up beforehand, though: if you ever encounter me acting completely ruthless on set or saying harsh things, please don’t hold it against me. That just means my flow and train of thought got interrupted and I’m super annoyed I literally can’t control myself. Hahaha.”
Although Yu Junye delivered it with exaggerated flair, An Ji listened with rapt attention, a warm, affectionate smile gracing her face.
“It feels like we haven’t even started practicing yet?” Yu Junye suddenly remembered the purpose of her visit, snapping out of her amusement.
“Oh, that’s right!” An Ji collected her wits, realizing that time had truly slipped away amid their lighthearted banter.
“Tomorrow we’re shooting the wedding night scene.” Yu Junye furrowed her brows slightly.
“Yes, the major climax scene.” An Ji tilted her head to look at Yu Junye.
“Given our current state of adaptation, filming that scene is probably going to turn out rather messy, right?”
An Ji felt a similar wave of apprehension, and what worried her even more was that intimate-yet-mild kissing sequence—kissing the forehead.
Around ten o’clock, An Ji saw Yu Junye out, washed up, and prepared for bed.
Lying in bed, Yu Junye found herself completely unable to fall asleep after a long while. She reached for her phone back then, cell phones were strictly communication tools used only for sending text messages and making calls.
Out of sheer boredom, she decided to send a text message to Guo Nianhong, only to find a message he had sent her earlier that evening:
Junjun, how did filming go today? Take good care of yourself, drink plenty of warm water, and make sure you keep covered with the blanket tonight.
Yu Junye smiled silently to herself, picturing the man clumsily tapping out text messages. Had it been up to her, he probably would have just called straight away.
Yet Yu Junye had a distinct preference for text-based communication, and her reasoning was sound: she was frequently on set, unable to carry her phone around, making it impossible for people to reach her. With text messages, she could simply read them whenever she had a break it was exceptionally convenient.
She swiftly pressed out a string of characters: Today went great. That person named An Ji is genuinely nice, and our ideas often align completely. I’m so happy.
Thinking of her collaborative partner made her feel immensely at ease, and she wriggled in bed like a caterpillar before finally closing her eyes in comfortable contentment.
She was truly looking forward to tomorrow’s scenes.