Rebirth: A big star falls in love with me

Zeng Li and Li Xiaoran exchanged a glance, both seeing the seriousness in each other's eyes.

Filming began an hour later.

In the dimly lit bedroom, only a bedside lamp was on. Shen Qingqiu sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders trembling slightly, tears silently streaming down her face. Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Zhou Manli pushed the door open, pausing when she saw the scene.

“Qingqiu…” Her voice was very soft.

Shen Qingqiu raised her head, her face streaked with tears. She wanted to say something, but no sound came out.

Zhou Manli walked up to her, knelt down, took out a handkerchief, and gently wiped away her tears. Her movements were gentle, but her fingers trembled slightly. Halfway through wiping, her hand stopped, resting on Shen Qingqiu's cheek.

The camera zooms in, focusing on the two women's profiles. In the dim light, their silhouettes are as beautiful as an oil painting.

"Cry if you want to," Zhou Manli said softly. "No one will see you here."

Shen Qingqiu finally couldn't hold back anymore and threw herself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Zhou Manli held her, gently patting her back with one hand and unconsciously stroking her hair with the other.

The embrace lasted a long time. The camera switched back and forth between the two faces—Shen Qingqiu's breakdown, Zhou Manli's complex emotions, and the intimacy that transcended the relationship between sisters-in-law was portrayed vividly.

"Okay! Stop!" Zhang Yu shouted, and applause erupted from the audience.

After Li Xiaoran and Zeng Li parted ways, both were still immersed in their emotions, their eyes red.

"You acted so well." Zhang Yu walked up to them. "Especially the hugging scene, that subtle, ambiguous feeling was spot on. Let's take a ten-minute break and then film a few more close-up shots."

During a break from touching up her makeup, Zeng Li walked up to Zhang Yu and whispered, "Director Zhang, this scene... reminds me of a lot of things."

"What are you thinking about?" Zhang Yu asked.

“Thinking back to when I was young,” Zeng Li said with a bitter smile, “I cried like this too, and I was comforted like this too. It’s just that the people who comforted me back then… are no longer here.”

Zhang Yu looked at her, this thirty-five-year-old woman, whose eyes bore the marks of time, yet also held an undiminished light.

"Eight o'clock tonight, in the office," he said. "I'll be waiting for you."

Zeng Li nodded, her eyes filled with both anticipation and trepidation.

The afternoon shoot continued until 6 p.m. At the end of the day, Zhang Yu announced a meeting at 7 p.m. to review the day's filming.

After the crew members gradually left, Zhang Yu remained alone on set, staring at the empty set. The birthmark under his left eye felt slightly warm—today, Shu Chang's mark was truly complete.

It wasn't the intimacy in the infirmary last night, but the strength and trust she showed today in the face of the family crisis. That trust in whom she completely entrusted herself, that unreserved devotion, was the true sacrifice.

Number of Starshine Marks: 46/108.

7 PM, in the conference room.

The main cast and crew sat in a circle, reviewing the day's footage. Zhang Yu's comments were as sharp as ever, but today they were a bit gentler.

"Overall, it's good, a great start," he said. "Especially the scene between Zeng Li and Li Xiaoran, it was perfect. But there are some problems—Shu Chang, your positioning in the second scene this afternoon was problematic, you blocked Li Xiaoran's light. You need to pay attention to that in the future."

Shu Chang took notes diligently: "I've got it."

"Jing Tian, ​​although you didn't have any scenes today, your attitude in observing and learning was excellent." Zhang Yu looked at Jing Tian. "You have scenes tomorrow, so go back and prepare well."

Jing Tian nodded, her face slightly flushed. She had been thinking about last night all day, and her gaze towards Zhang Yu was somewhat evasive.

After the meeting, Zhang Yu called out to Zeng Li, who was about to leave, "Stay a moment."

After everyone else left, only the two of them remained in the conference room. Zhang Yu closed the door, turned on the projector, and played a clip of Zeng Li's Buddhist temple scene from earlier that day.

“Watch it again,” he said. “I want you to see your performance from the audience’s perspective.”

Zeng Li looked at herself on the screen—the woman kneeling before the Buddha, weeping silently, so vulnerable, so real. She suddenly felt a little afraid to look; it was her most private emotional outpouring.

"Don't dare to look?" Zhang Yu asked.

"A little," Zeng Li honestly admitted. "It felt like I was prying into my own heart."

“An actor must learn to look into their own heart.” Zhang Yu sat down next to her. “Unearth your most private emotions and process them into material for your performance. But after you’ve unearthed them, you must learn to seal them away and learn to step out of character.”

He pressed the pause button, and the image froze on the moment Zeng Li bent over and cried.

“You acted very well in this scene, but what was the price?” He looked at Zeng Li. “You’re not completely out of character yet. Zhou Manli’s repression is still lingering in you.”

Zeng Li smiled bitterly: "Director Zhang, you're right. I feel suffocated right now, like something is pressing down on me."

“Then let it out.” Zhang Yu stood up and walked over to her. “Tonight’s special training is to help you break out of character. But the process might be a little… intense. Are you ready?”

Zeng Li looked up at him, her eyes filled with struggle, which finally turned into determination: "I'm ready."

“Okay.” Zhang Yu extended his hand. “Come with me.”

8 PM, Zhang Yu's office.

When Zeng Li followed Zhang Yu into the office, only a floor lamp was on, making the light dim. The air was filled with the scent of sandalwood—Zhang Yu had specially lit it to create a calming atmosphere.

"Sit down." Zhang Yu gestured to the sofa. "Have some tea first, relax."

He brewed a calming tea with the aroma of lavender and chamomile. Zeng Li sipped it slowly, her body gradually relaxing.

“Now,” Zhang Yu sat down opposite her, “close your eyes and go back to that scene this afternoon. You are Zhou Manli, kneeling in the Buddhist hall, thinking of your deceased husband, thinking of the loneliness and repression of these ten years of widowhood. Tell me, what were you thinking at that time?”

Zeng Li closed her eyes, her voice slightly unsteady: "I'm thinking... what would I be like now if he hadn't died back then? Maybe I'd have children, maybe I'd be very happy. But I'm also thinking... even if he hadn't died, would I really be happy? Our marriage was an arranged one, and we'd only met three times before the wedding..."

Tears streamed down her face: "Director Zhang, when I played Zhou Manli, it felt like I was seeing myself. I'm thirty-five this year, and my love life has always been bumpy. I've loved several people, but it all ended in heartbreak. Sometimes I wonder if I'm destined to be alone for the rest of my life?"

“You are not Zhou Manli.” Zhang Yu’s voice was calm. “Zhou Manli is a fictional character. You are the real Zeng Li. She has her tragedy, and you have your life.”

“But my life is a tragedy too…” Zeng Li cried even harder, “The person I love doesn’t love me, and the person who loves me I don’t love. I finally met someone suitable, but we broke up for various reasons. Now I’m thirty-five, and everyone says I should get married, but I can’t even find someone I want to marry…”

She cried uncontrollably. Zhang Yu didn't comfort her; he just watched her cry quietly. Sometimes, crying itself is a form of healing.

After Zeng Li had finished crying, Zhang Yu handed her a tissue: "Have you cried enough?"