Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

Li Xiaoming arrived again at breakfast. This time he brought two people with him—Yang Mi and Liu Shishi.

Yang Mi wore a black cashmere dress with a dark purple mink shawl, her long hair slightly curled, and her makeup exquisite and aloof. The moment she entered, the temperature in the entire restaurant seemed to drop several degrees—not because she was dressed lightly, but because her aura of unapproachability was so strong.

"Director Zhang, I'm sorry to bother you again." Yang Mi's voice was clear and pleasant. "Shi Shi wanted to come and watch the filming, so I came with her."

Liu Shishi stood beside her, wearing a light gray coat, her long hair styled in an elegant updo, exuding a gentle and aloof air. She nodded slightly to Zhang Yu: "Director Zhang, I hope I haven't disturbed you."

"No, not at all," Zhang Yu replied politely. "Please sit down, we can have breakfast together."

Aunt Shen prepared a lavish breakfast—steamed buns, pan-fried buns, soy milk, fried dough sticks, and Dingsheng cake, a specialty of Xitang. The group sat around, the atmosphere seemingly harmonious, but actually subtly tense.

Yang Mi sat down naturally across from Zhang Yu. She ate with elegance, taking small bites, but her gaze frequently fell on Zhang Yu, scrutinizing and assessing him. Zhang Yu could sense that this woman was different from Zeng Li—Zeng Li's beauty was outward, passionate, like a flame; Yang Mi's beauty was reserved, aloof, like a knife hidden in its sheath.

"Director Zhang, is 'Old Tales of Jiangnan' almost finished filming?" Yang Mi put down her chopsticks and gently wiped her mouth with a tissue.

"Three more days," Zhang Yu said.

"When will the casting for 'The Scholarly Family' begin?" Yang Mi asked directly. "I really like the role of the female reporter and I'd like to try my luck."

She was referring to a minor but memorable character in the script—a female journalist who had returned from studying abroad, independent, intelligent, and possessing the sharp edge of a modern woman. It was indeed a perfect fit for Yang Mi.

"Once the post-production of this film is completed," Zhang Yu said, "it will probably be around March."

"Okay, I'll be waiting." Yang Mi nodded, her eyes filled with a determined look.

Liu Shishi, on the other hand, was much gentler. She sipped her soy milk and said softly, "Director Zhang, I read the script for 'Old Tales of Jiangnan' and I really liked it. The most difficult thing to grasp in a Republican-era drama is the sense of the era, but you handled it very well."

"Thank you." Zhang Yu looked at her. "Miss Liu, are you also interested in period dramas set in the Republican era?"

“Yes.” Liu Shishi nodded. “I’m currently rehearsing a dance drama set in the Republican era, so I’m particularly interested in that period. It would be even better if I could learn from Director Zhang.”

She spoke humbly, but her eyes revealed a genuine yearning for acting. Zhang Yu discovered that this woman possessed a very special quality—a cool and resilient exterior, a gentle exterior concealing strength. This sense of contradiction was perfect for complex roles.

Breakfast ended in a subtly tense atmosphere. Li Xiaoming said he would take Yang Mi and Liu Shishi to town for a stroll and then come back to watch the filming in the afternoon. Zhang Yu didn't say anything, but simply saw them to the door.

As he turned back to the courtyard, he saw Chen Chen standing under the eaves, her moon-white cloak gleaming softly in the morning light. Her eyes were calm, but Zhang Yu could sense the undercurrent beneath that calm.

“Zhang Yu,” she said softly, “Yang Mi’s gaze towards you… is very special.”

Zhang Yu walked over and stood in front of her: "What's so special about it?"

“Unlike Zeng Li’s directness, and unlike Bai Bing’s subtlety,” Chen Chen thought for a moment, “it’s more like… assessing the value of a commodity.”

The analogy was sharp, but also accurate. Zhang Yu smiled: "You're getting better and better at judging people."

“You’ll naturally learn when you’ve been in this industry long enough,” Chen Chen said softly. “I just hope you won’t be the one who gets valued.”

Zhang Yu looked at her; the morning light danced on her face, and her worry and concern seemed so real. In both past and present lives, this woman always managed to speak the most poignant truths in the gentlest way.

"Don't worry." He held her hand. "I know what I'm doing."

His hand was warm and strong. Chen Chen gripped it back, his fingertips tightening slightly, as if trying to grasp something about to slip away.

The filming took place at 9:00 AM in Shen Qingwan's boudoir.

This is the most important scene in "My Memories of Jiangnan"—Shen Qingwan sits alone in her boudoir, pouring out her heart to her mother's belongings. There are no other actors, no intense conflicts; it is all thanks to Chen Chen's performance that the character's deepest loneliness, perseverance, confusion, and hope are revealed.

The boudoir was exquisitely furnished. There was a carved wooden bed, a dressing table, an embroidery frame, and a diamond-shaped window facing the courtyard. Outside the window was the old plum tree, which was in full bloom at the moment. Pale pink petals were occasionally blown into the room by the wind and landed on the dressing table.

Chen Chen changed into a light pink embroidered plum blossom cheongsam, her long hair styled into a simple bun, adorned with a silver plum blossom hairpin. This outfit made her look a few years younger than her actual age, exuding a girlish gentleness. However, her eyes were calm, revealing a maturity beyond her years.

"Action!"

The camera slowly zooms in. Chen Chen sits in front of her dressing table, holding a jade bracelet in her hand—a keepsake left by her mother in the script. She looks down at the bracelet, her fingertips gently caressing its surface, a movement as tender as if she were stroking a lover's face.

"Mother," she began, her voice soft, as if talking to herself, "today is the twenty-third of the twelfth lunar month, marking three full years since you left..."

She paused, her eyes slightly reddening, but no tears fell. That expression of suppressed grief was more moving than outright weeping.

“My third uncle wrote again, saying he’s found a house in the Shanghai concessions and wants me to move there before the new year.” She looked up at the blooming plum blossoms outside the window. “But I don’t want to leave. This house, these plum trees, and the orchids you planted… they’re all here. What will happen to them if I leave?”

She spoke calmly, but every word seemed to have been carefully crafted from the depths of her heart. The camera captured subtle changes in her expression—a slight tremor at the corners of her mouth, a gentle flutter in her eyelashes, and an unconscious tightening of her fingers. These were details that Zhang Yu had requested during rehearsals, and Chen Chen executed them flawlessly.

Behind the monitor, Zhang Yu watched intently. He could feel that Chen Chen was completely immersed in the role; the emotions were genuine, flowing from the depths of her heart. At this moment, she was not Chen Chen; she was Shen Qingwan—the Jiangnan woman who stood alone and steadfast amidst the chaos of war.

Outside the boudoir, several observers watched quietly. Bai Bing stood on the veranda, her gaze focused. She could see every subtle change in Chen Chen's expression, and feel the tension in his performance. This immersive acting was what she had always been pursuing.

Shu Chang and Liu Yifei also came, the two girls crowding by the window, completely absorbed in the performance. Shu Chang whispered, "Senior Chen Chen acted so well... I almost cried."

Liu Yifei nodded, her eyes sparkling: "I want to act in dramas like this in the future."

Yang Mi and Liu Shishi stood a little distance away. Yang Mi crossed her arms, her eyes as calm as if she were analyzing a work of art: "The emotional layers are very rich, from calm to sadness to determination, the transition is very natural. Chen Chen is indeed talented."