Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

At 2 a.m. on February 1, 2000, Xitang Ancient Town was still asleep.

A winter rain last night left damp traces on the bluestone path. Tiny icicles hung from the branches of the old locust tree at the Shen family ancestral home, glistening in the morning light. When Zhang Yu pushed open the door, white vapor condensed into a mist in the cold air.

There were people in the courtyard who were there even earlier than him.

The soldier, dressed in a pure white down jacket, stood beneath a plum tree where the snow had not yet melted. She wore no hat, her long hair fluttering slightly in the morning breeze, and the lines of her profile were exquisitely detailed in the dim morning light, like a meticulously painted portrait. In her hand was a book, Stanislavski's *An Actor Prepares*, its pages already yellowed.

"So early." Zhang Yu walked over, turning up the collar of his dark gray cashmere coat to block the cold wind.

Bai Bing raised his head, his cool eyes looking at him: "Good morning, Director Zhang. I couldn't sleep, so I got up to read for a while."

Her voice was cooler than the morning mist of Xitang, but Zhang Yu detected a subtle hint of weariness. Last night, when he passed by her room, he saw the light on very late.

"Reading Stanislavski?" Zhang Yu glanced at the book in her hand. "This book is a bit too advanced for a newcomer."

“But you said yesterday that the role of the singer requires a ‘deep-seated sense of tragedy’.” Bai Bing closed the book, his fingertips red from the cold. “I want to know how to portray that deep-seated tragedy.”

Zhang Yu looked at her. In the morning light, this twenty-year-old woman possessed a tenacity beyond her years. Her beauty was cool and aloof, like a plum blossom covered in snow on a branch, but at this moment, something fiery burned in her eyes—the purest desire of an actor for a role.

"Come here." He turned and walked towards the study.

Bai Bing paused for a moment, then followed his steps. The study still held the warmth of the charcoal brazier from the previous night. Zhang Yu lit the kerosene lamp, its dim light flowing between the old bookshelves.

"Sit." He sat down behind the mahogany desk and gestured for Bai Bing to sit opposite him.

Bai Bing took off her down jacket, revealing a light gray turtleneck sweater underneath. The sweater was form-fitting, outlining the slender yet graceful curves of the young woman's figure. She sat down opposite Zhang Yu, her back ramrod straight, as if she had undergone rigorous training.

"Why do you want to play that singer?" Zhang Yu asked.

Bai Bing was silent for a moment: "Because... she and I are two different kinds of people. I grew up following the rules, learning opera, taking exams, and doing things step by step. But she... she lives on the edge, passionately, struggling, and broken. I want to know what that kind of life is like."

She spoke earnestly and frankly. Zhang Yu discovered that this seemingly aloof woman actually had a burning passion within her.

“Okay, let’s do a practice exercise.” Zhang Yu stood up and walked in front of her. “Now, you are Lin Wanqing, the top singer at the Paramount Ballroom in Shanghai. I am... a rich young master you’ve secretly loved for years but could never have.”

The soldier looked up at him, his eyes somewhat blank.

“Look at me.” Zhang Yu’s voice deepened. “Imagine you’ve loved me for three years, and rejected countless high-ranking officials and dignitaries for me. But I’m here today to tell you that I’m getting married, and the bride is a well-matched heiress.”

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair, trapping the Stormtrooper between the chair and his body. The position was intimate, so close they could feel each other's breath. The light from the kerosene lamp danced on his face, making the mole under his left eye stand out sharply in the dim light.

The white soldier froze. She could smell the faint scent of soap on him, mixed with the ink of old books, and... an indescribable, intensely aggressive masculine aroma. Her heart began to race.

“Now,” Zhang Yu’s voice was even lower, almost close to her ear, “you have to use one sentence to keep me here. But remember, you are the proud Lin Wanqing. You can’t cry, you can’t beg. You have to use the most charming and desperate way to say one sentence that I will never forget.”

His breath tickled her ear, warm and provocative. Bai Bing's cheeks began to burn, and she could feel her hands trembling slightly. This wasn't a regular acting class exercise; it was too... too real.

"I..." She opened her mouth, but found her voice was a little dry.

“Look me in the eyes.” Zhang Yu lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Their eyes met. Bai Bing saw her face reflected in his deep pupils, and saw a dangerous tenderness in them that she had never seen before. In that instant, she truly became Lin Wanqing—that proud yet broken songstress who loved but could not have.

“Young Master Gu.” Her voice suddenly changed, no longer cold and clear, but with a lazy huskiness, like an old song on a late-night radio, “Now that you’re gone… no one will ever be worthy of the moonlight in Shanghai again.”

She spoke slowly, each word seemingly ground from the depths of her throat. After speaking, she tilted her head slightly, revealing the long, slender lines of her fair neck, and a faint, enigmatic smile curved her lips. That smile held allure, pride, and an unfathomable sorrow.

Zhang Yu was stunned.

He hadn't expected Bai Bing to get into character so quickly, and he certainly hadn't expected her to deliver such a brilliant improvisation. In that instant, she truly became Lin Wanqing—the singer he'd been writing about in his script for a long time, but had never been able to find a suitable actress for.

“Good.” He released his grip, took a step back, and looked at him with admiration. “Very good. You’ve grasped the essence—not to cry or beg, but to say the most desperate words in the most beautiful way.”

Bai Bing snapped out of character and let out a long sigh of relief. She noticed a thin layer of sweat on her back, and her heart was still racing. Just now, she had been completely immersed in the role, even... even forgetting that the person in front of her was Zhang Yu.

"Thank you, Director Zhang." Her voice had regained its cool tone, but her cheeks were still flushed.

Zhang Yu walked back to his desk and sat down, reverting to his calm director persona: "But there's still a problem. Your performance just now was too...refined. Lin Wanqing isn't a lady from a wealthy family; she's a woman of the world. Her charm should be rough, down-to-earth. You need to make her a little 'dirtier'."

"Dirty?" the soldier asked, puzzled.

“It’s not really dirty, it’s…” Zhang Yu thought for a moment, “it’s the kind of texture that life has worn down. Her cheongsam might be a little old, her smile might be a little tired, and her eyes might be seducing you while at the same time calculating whether the tips for tonight will be enough to pay the rent.”

He spoke very frankly. The soldier listened attentively, his eyes focused.

“Try again,” Zhang Yu said. “This time, I’m your first guest. You’re going to seduce me, but you’re thinking about your sick mother who needs money for medicine.”

Bai Bing took a deep breath and got back into focus. She stood up and walked to Zhang Yu, this time her movements noticeably more relaxed. She leaned against the desk, her fingers lightly tracing the edge, her gaze languidly fixed on Zhang Yu.