Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

Filming began at nine o'clock in the morning. The first scene was a group scene—Lin Shuwan and several female classmates went to the theater to watch a play and bumped into Gu Jiangnan. This scene required the coordination of dozens of extras, as well as capturing Chen Chen's novelty and shyness when he first entered the theater.

"All departments, prepare—Scene 57, Shot 1, begin!"

As the gongs and drums sounded, the performance of "The Peony Pavilion" began on stage. Below the stage, Chen Chen and several actresses playing female students sat in the front row, their eyes sparkling as they watched the performance, occasionally whispering amongst themselves. Her performance was exquisite—she perfectly captured the young girl's curiosity about opera, her longing for Du Liniang's love story, and the awkwardness of being in such an occasion for the first time.

Watching from behind the monitor, Zhang Yu felt both admiration and pain. The better she acted, the more she could detach herself from her emotions, and the further she was from him.

"Cut! Great! Get ready for the next close-up!"

Filming went smoothly. At 10:30 a.m., during a break, media visitors began arriving. Reporters from over a dozen newspapers and magazines, accompanied by photographers, entered the set under the guidance of staff. Li Xiaoming warmly welcomed them, arranging for them to tour the filming location and interview the actors.

Zhang Yu was surrounded by several reporters, all asking questions about his filmmaking. He answered appropriately, discussing the background of the Republic of China era, the fate of women, and his artistic pursuits. But some reporters were always looking for scandals.

"Director Zhang, did you see yesterday's report in Entertainment Weekly? What's your response?" a bespectacled male reporter asked.

Zhang Yu smiled and said, "I've seen all those reports. As a director, my job is to make good movies; nothing else matters. And I believe that the audience cares more about the work itself than the director's private life."

He spoke in a very official tone, but without ambiguity. When the reporter tried to press further, Li Xiaoming interjected, "Alright, alright, everyone, focus on the movie! Come on, let's go check out the actors' dressing room!"

With the reporters distracted, Zhang Yu breathed a sigh of relief. He turned to return to the monitor, only to see Chen Chen surrounded by several female reporters. The moon-white cheongsam she wore today shimmered softly in the sunlight, making her appear as elegant as a solitary orchid in a secluded valley.

"Ms. Chen Chen, this is your second time working with Director Zhang. Do you feel any difference?" a female reporter asked.

Chen Chen smiled and said, "Director Zhang has always been a very professional director with high standards for his work. This collaboration has given me a deeper appreciation for his seriousness and dedication."

She spoke in a very formal way, as if she were reciting lines. Zhang Yu stood not far away listening, a bitter feeling welling up inside him—she wouldn't even talk about his private life anymore, only about work.

"And what about in private? What kind of person is Director Zhang?" another reporter pressed.

Chen Chen's smile faded slightly: "Privately... Director Zhang is very busy, we don't communicate much. Let's focus more on the work."

She skillfully evaded the question. But Zhang Yu could see her fingers trembling slightly as she held the microphone—she was controlling her emotions.

After the interview, Chen Chen walked briskly towards the rest area. As she passed Zhang Yu, she didn't stop, not even glancing at him. That complete disregard was more painful than any argument.

Zhang Yu stood there, watching her figure disappear through the dressing room door. The star-shaped birthmark under his left eye felt slightly warm; he could feel that Chen Chen's starlight mark had dimmed a little more—her heart was closing itself off to him.

"Director Zhang." A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

Zhang Yu turned around and saw Yang Mi standing behind him. Today, she was wearing a black cheongsam embroidered with gold thread, with a burgundy shawl over it. Her long hair was styled in retro waves, her red lips were full, and her makeup was as cold and glamorous as a socialite from old Shanghai. The cheongsam was a tight-fitting design with a high slit, perfectly outlining her full bust and slender waist. As she walked, her fair and long legs were faintly visible through the slit of the cheongsam.

"Miss Yang looks stunning today," Zhang Yu said.

"Thank you for the compliment." Yang Mi walked to his side and lowered her voice. "Director Zhang, I saw yesterday's news. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No need," Zhang Yu shook his head. "The company has already taken care of it."

“But Chen Chen…” Yang Mi glanced towards the dressing room, “She looks really unwell. Director Zhang, should we continue with our deal?”

Zhang Yu remained silent. According to the original plan, Yang Mi was supposed to continue "pursuing" him, making him appear "unable to control himself." But now, Chen Chen was already in so much pain; did he still want to continue hurting her?

"Let's pause," Zhang Yu finally said. "Let her catch her breath."

Yang Mi raised an eyebrow: "Director Zhang has softened? This isn't like you."

“I just…” Zhang Yu paused, “I just didn’t want to push her too hard.”

“Okay.” Yang Mi shrugged. “But Director Zhang, I have to remind you—in this industry, those who are soft-hearted often lose the most. If you don’t pressure her, others will pressure you. Yesterday’s news was just the beginning; there’s more to come.”

She was being very realistic. Zhang Yu looked at her; this intelligent woman always seemed to see through the essence of things.

“I know,” he said, “but some things can’t be taken too far.”

Yang Mi smiled, a smile with an indescribable meaning: "Director Zhang, you're such a contradictory person. You're playing the cruelest game, yet you still cling to ridiculous principles. It must be exhausting."

She's right. Zhang Yu is indeed exhausted, almost to the point of collapse. But he can't give up, because the game must continue.

At 11:00 AM, the media visit ended, and filming continued. The next scene was a scene with Bai Bing—Lin Wanqing singing "The Peony Pavilion" in the opera house.

The stage was already set up: a red curtain, carved tables and chairs, and the musicians and drummers in place. Bai Bing had changed into a light red cheongsam embroidered with peonies, her long hair styled into an elaborate bun adorned with pearls and jade, her makeup heavy and flamboyant; she was as beautiful as a blooming peony. But her eyes were cold and empty, a stark contrast between the vulgarity of a courtesan and her inner sorrow.

"Action!"

As the drums and gongs sounded, the white-clad soldier gracefully walked onto the stage. She reached the center of the stage, bowed slightly to the audience, and began to sing: "All the vibrant colors of spring have faded, leaving only broken wells and crumbling walls..."

Her voice was clear and slightly hoarse, like a frozen stream in winter, cold yet captivating. Her water-red cheongsam shimmered delicately under the stage lights, swaying gracefully with her movements. Every glance, every gesture, exuded the allure and sorrow of a woman of the night.

Zhang Yu watched quietly from behind the monitor. Bai Bing's performance exceeded his expectations—she not only sang well, but also portrayed the desolation of Lin Wanqing, who "sold smiles but not her heart." She perfectly captured the feeling of forcing a smile in a brothel while her heart was a barren wasteland.

As the music ended, the "audience" below applauded and cheered. Bai Bing bowed to take his leave, but as he turned to leave the stage, he stumbled and almost fell.

"Cut!" Zhang Yu shouted, "Battle Soldier, are you alright?"

Bai Bing steadied himself and shook his head: "It's nothing, my heels were a bit high, I lost my balance."