Shen Cheng is rainy in early winter.
The drizzle soaks the floor-to-ceiling window, and the distant neon lights on the opposite side of the Huangpu River are crushed, melting into streaks of cold, wet, colorful light spots.
The phone clutched in her palm vibrates.
Wen Wanning swipes it open; it is a message from her young assistant, Jia Jia.
Teacher Wen, it is windy outside. Add an overcoat when you come out in a moment. I am waiting for you at the side door.
Tonight is the preparation banquet for Lin Zhou's new movie.
There have been many dark horses in the film industry over the years, but few have achieved both fame and fortune like Lin Zhou. From the Hong Kong Film Awards to the Palme d'Or, his rise has been as fast as a rocket, and his reputation has long been thunderous.
The first round of casting for his new work, Spring Night, has just ended, and the table is filled with investors and big shots from the media circle.
Inside the private room, incense mist and the smell of alcohol are intertwined. Several traffic-driving young actresses pushed in by investors are acting as obedient companions, glancing toward her from time to time—
Watching the excitement is human nature.
If you go back ten years in the film industry, who hasn't heard the name Wen Wanning?
Discovered by the famous art-house director Mai Liwen at seventeen, she was crowned a three-time Film Empress within just a few years of her debut, with unparalleled popularity.
Who would have thought that today, an A-list actress of such status would have to fight for resources herself, reduced to being mere decoration in a vanity fair.
Lin Zhou sits in the main seat, a bit tipsy, and raises his hand to pour her a full glass again, "Miss Wen, come."
Wen Wanning has sat by his side all night, and she has lost count of how many rounds of drinks she has been forced to take.
Her consciousness is still relatively clear, but her skin is extremely fair, so the alcohol shows clearly on her face. The moisture in her eyebrows and eyes is flushed pink, stunningly beautiful.
As she raises her wine glass, a middle-aged Hong Kong businessman, unable to watch any longer, speaks up to help her out, "I think Miss Wen has already reached her limit. Why must Director Lin continue to make things difficult for her?"
"Why is Mr. Tang being unreasonable?" Director Lin laughs, glancing lightly at the beauty's straight back.
"She was the one who took the initiative to audition, and she was the one who kept chasing after me to ask for an opportunity after I said it wasn't a good fit."
"A dignified Film Empress deigning to appear in our small-budget film—if we are talking about making things difficult, who could be more difficult than me?"
"The world changes every thirty years," Director Lin says, sitting in a relaxed posture with a playful look in his eyes, "Ask her yourself: did I force her today?"
The arc of Wen Wanning's lips freezes.
For just an instant, she takes a breath, suppresses the dizziness rushing to her temples, and drinks the champagne in her hand.
"No."
The banquet does not break up until almost dawn.
The floor tiles outside the hotel's side door have been soaked by the rain all night, making them somewhat slippery.
Wen Wanning pulls her overcoat tight. Her black high heels land softly, and the back-slit silk skirt reveals a glimpse of a pale calf, like a silver fish that has been tense for too long.
Seeing her, her assistant Jia Jia rushes over holding a large down jacket. Before she can say anything, she is met with a warm, fragrant breeze as Wen Wanning falls into her arms.
"Let me lean for a moment."
Jia Jia feels such heartache that she has no words. She can only drape the clothes over her, move with quick steps to a wind-sheltered spot, and use her other free hand to steady Wen Wanning's waist so she can lean comfortably.
Ever since Wen Wanning broke up with her company and set up her own studio, this has not been the first time.
After filming night scenes for several consecutive days, she specifically pushed back her wrap-up dinner yesterday afternoon to catch Lin Zhou's casting, traveling hundreds of miles from Hengdian back to Shen Cheng.
She didn't expect that even though the casting director had made the decision, Lin Zhou changed his mind tonight, suddenly acting ambiguous under the excuse that the "feeling wasn't right."
The more Jia Jia thinks about it, the angrier she gets, "What 'feeling isn't right'? I think there's something wrong with his brain. Isn't he just fishing us out to play with that group of people?"
"And Lin Zhou still markets himself as a pure artist. I think he's no different from the others; they're all dogs of capital."
"Keep your voice down," Wen Wanning reaches out and pats her back, "What if someone hears you?"
Jia Jia turns her head to scout the area and continues in a tiny voice, "Let them hear. It's not like we'll starve if we don't get into his production. What's so great about him?"
"Well, if I have no food, I'll just sell the house."
Jia Jia hugs her tighter, her voice muffled, "No."
Wen Wanning is a local of Shen Cheng. When she was studying at the Shanghai Theatre Academy, her parents gave her a house on Hua Shan Road as a gift.
A few years ago, she sold the house to pay a breach-of-contract fee and moved to the suburbs. There are many elderly people in the residential community, and the surrounding area is full of vegetable markets and parks. There are no peers and no paparazzi; it is quiet.
Occasionally, when her itinerary is full, Jia Jia and her manager, Zhou Fu, will come to stay.
In the past, she could trade a large house for a smaller one, but now?
Having seen her in her glorious prime, Jia Jia feels a stinging heartache whenever she thinks of her current predicament.
Wen Wanning chuckles, rubbing her loose curly hair against the girl's shoulder, her eyelids too tired to stay open, "Our Jia Jia is so good; you can't be following me and going hungry every day."
As for going hungry, it's not quite that bad.
But her current situation is, in any case, nowhere near being popular.
What does it matter if she has three Film Empress awards? In the profession of female artists, anyone with a plump and gorgeous appearance seems to naturally carry a label of "easy to take advantage of" in the face of power.
She is high-minded. Ever since she publicly slapped a media tycoon at a banquet, her career luck has taken a sharp turn for the worse.
In the first few years after terminating her contract, the job opportunities the company sent over were blatant insults. Zhou Fu and she carefully selected a few good scripts from them, wearing the halo of a Three Golden Film Empress to play supporting roles for contemporary actresses and newcomers.
Although she won some awards, it is difficult for a supporting actress to break out of the circle. The popularity she accumulated over the years was few, and her old fans were almost all gone.
A few months ago, a theatrical film was released online. She played the role of a concubine, and although she only had a few minutes of screen time, a clip of her lingering gaze with her stepson went viral across the internet.
She has good acting skills, a good figure, and a rare charm of a beauty from the old days in her eyebrows and eyes.
Passersby who didn't recognize her posted tens of thousands of comments praising her divine beauty, only to be quickly washed away by black materials pushed to the top.
Accustomed to the ups and downs, Wen Wanning occasionally opens Weibo to scan it when resting. When she encounters a strange marketing account she hasn't seen before, she doesn't forget to take a screenshot and shares it in the small group chat with a good attitude.
"Her house collapsed five years ago! Who says the internet has no memory? The big gossip about 'National Little Mom' Wen Wanning, deleting tomorrow."
"Digging into the recently viral 'National Little Mom': The youngest Golden Horse Film Empress acts as a mistress, ruining a good hand of cards."
"Fire, fire, fire! Failed to seduce a married tycoon, flew into a rage and started a fight on the spot. Netizens: How dangerous, almost got fooled by her face."
The young girls in the studio were furious and registered small accounts overnight to tear them apart one by one, but she stopped them.
"The volume is low; no matter how much you say, no one will believe it. I actually think 'National Little Mom' is quite auspicious."
"Always young, always crushing the beauty of the scene. One day, I will outlive the big daddies."
Just past three in the morning, it starts to rain again.
Coming out of the hotel's side door, there is only a 24-hour convenience store still open across the narrow street. The store's lights are cold and bright, reflecting in Wen Wanning's half-closed eyes, giving her a fragile, bright beauty.
Jia Jia answers a phone call, "Sister Zhou Fu has parked the car at the street corner. It's cold outside, let's go back and rest early."
Actually, it's not that there were no parking spaces where they ate.
But the entertainment industry is just that realistic; with Wen Wanning's current status, she couldn't park there.
Wen Wanning's head is so heavy she can barely lift it, and she is almost asleep while standing. She is caught off guard when Jia Jia pats her awake, and she shivers all over.
"I'm going back to the suburbs."
Jia Jia responds, extending her arm for her to lean on, and walks forward with quick steps.
The rain is getting heavier.
Not far away, a black nanny van pulls out of a parking space, its headlights dissolving in the rain and mist, so bright that it's hard to keep one's eyes open.
Wen Wanning is dizzy from the glare and instinctively raises her hand to block her face. Suddenly, a hand grips her shoulder and gives a light pull.
She is caught off guard and, by inertia, leans against the person beside her, her forehead slamming into a solid chest.
It is rock hard.
A black motorcycle jacket, the clean scent of laundry detergent, and body heat make her mind wander inexplicably for a moment.
Almost at the same time, the nanny van doesn't slow down, rushing over the brick road of the old town area, splashing up standing water.
"Watch for cars when you walk." The person beside her lets go.
She is more than half sober from the alcohol. Subconsciously, she looks down at her skirt first; it is unexpectedly clean, without a single drop of mud splashed on it.
Jia Jia is busy replying to a message and is startled by the sound, apologizing repeatedly, "Teacher Wen, are you okay?"
"I'm not..."
Wen Wanning shakes her head slowly. When she lifts her eyes, she realizes that Jia Jia had walked a few steps ahead and is now staring at her in shock from half a meter away.
The sound of rain is loud, like thousands of glass beads hitting the umbrella above her head. Wen Wanning looks up abruptly.
A young man in his twenties, very tall, his jawline against the light is exceptionally clear.
She cannot see his face clearly.
But his good proportions—broad shoulders and a narrow waist—are enough to explain—
A handsome guy of the hormone-bomb variety, the best of the best.
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