After splashing his face with cold water, Yu Junqing wiped it dry, finally able to open his eyes properly.
He’d definitely drunk a bit too much—his mind felt fuzzy, and his head was pounding. Looking into the mirror, his face was flushed deep red; he had clearly overdone it.
Standing by the sink for a while longer, his head finally cleared enough for him to pick up the disheveled red envelope on the counter and head back to the private room.
“Whoa, what’s this? The great actor drunk already?” A slightly mocking voice rang out just a few steps from the door. Yu Junqing immediately recognized it—it was the actress Lin Zhi.
Yu Junqing paused only briefly, then kept walking without turning his head.
He had no intention of picking a fight on such a good day.
Seeing him try to leave, Lin Zhi snorted and clicked her high heels against the floor as she followed.
“Where’s the rush? I won’t bite. I’m just passing a message along from someone,” she said, stopping in front of him. Her crimson nails pointed forward, almost brushing his face. Yu Junqing’s expression flickered with annoyance, and he leaned away.
“I don’t see why we need to talk,” he said lightly. When Lin Zhi had first joined the crew, he had even helped her a bit. Back then, he had seen sincerity in her eyes, a genuine passion for acting and a quiet hope.
But soon, as rumors started spreading that Lin Zhi was being sponsored, Yu Junqing noticed her gaze change.
Replaced by the familiar ambition for fame he had seen too many times, and a contempt for the craft itself.
Yu Junqing had never understood why so many people would rather believe what others held than trust what they themselves possessed. Or maybe, they simply wanted to soar without climbing step by step.
Lin Zhi’s expression darkened. She hadn’t expected Yu Junqing to snub her so blatantly. She had changed since then; her role in the crew had expanded, and she had landed another supporting female lead in a new drama. Her popularity was rising—so why was Yu Junqing still acting smug?
“Of course, I don’t think my status as an actor makes me superior. I’m still a minor role, just someone who runs errands,” Lin Zhi said with self-mockery, her eyes betraying a hint of contempt.
She didn’t want to waste any more time with Yu Junqing. This was a hotel, after all, with people coming and going. Being seen here might damage her own reputation.
From her small bag, she pulled a tiny envelope and held it out in front of Yu Junqing.
“Take it. I’m just passing this along. Whether you keep it or not, that’s up to you.” She shoved the envelope into the side pocket of his suit and turned to leave, her posture composed, but for a fleeting moment, her face twisted slightly.
Being tasked by her sponsor to deliver this to a man left her both humiliated and furious. Yu Junqing had the ability to have people eye both the bowl and the pot at the same time—this insult, she would remember forever. One day, she vowed, she would make him pay.
Yu Junqing looked at the envelope—it was made of golden foil. He frowned, a bad feeling creeping over him.
As soon as he opened it, his face darkened.
Inside were just two cards: one a business card with a phone number, the other a keycard to a well-known hotel.
With a ripping sound, Yu Junqing tore the business card to pieces and, along with the snapped keycard, flushed them down the toilet.
His good mood from earlier vanished instantly. His head throbbed; he couldn’t understand why, at nearly thirty, so many weirdos wanted to sleep with him.
This was the one thing about the industry he could never comprehend—then, now, always.
Returning from the restroom, Yu Junqing’s enthusiasm had clearly diminished. He no longer had that excited glow from before. Luckily, everyone else was drunk enough not to notice, which made him feel slightly better.
Fearing he’d get more drunk if he kept drinking, he quietly hid in a corner.
“Hey? Where’s Yu Junqing? I want to have a drink with him!”
“Ah? Who? You said you wanted to drink with me?”
“Not you! I mean… uh, who was it again?”
“Then let’s have a drink!”
“Okay, cheers!”
Yu Junqing could only laugh and shake his head as he watched the drunken group still trying to force drinks on him.
“What are you doing hiding here?” A familiar clap on his shoulder nearly made him spit out the drink he had just taken. He turned to see Director Wang.
Wang was laughing too. He had overheard the group calling for Yu Junqing and found it amusing that Yu Junqing was hiding behind a small sofa, unseen. It seemed these people were truly drunk.
Yu Junqing was clever; after just a few drinks he had disappeared, now crouching in his little corner.
“You’ve had a bit too much. Come, get some fresh air,” he admitted honestly. His face was still bright red.
“Take a walk outside with this old man?” Wang gestured to the area outside the private room. Yu Junqing, a bit puzzled, followed.
On the second floor, a scenic balcony awaited. Wang and Yu Junqing walked quietly over, finding a secluded spot to sit.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Wang said after a few attempts to find the right words, finally biting the bullet.
Yu Junqing stayed silent, sensing Wang’s inner struggle. Wang subtly gestured for him to listen.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Wang said, straightening his back. He paused to choose how to begin.
“You know I’m an old man now. Honestly, the script I gave you… barring any accidents, it should be the last film I direct.” Wang spoke with a hint of nostalgia. Time had taken its toll; he had reached the age where resisting it was pointless.
“You’re retiring?” Yu Junqing asked in surprise.
In the industry, Wang wasn’t that old. Some directors never stopped making films. Wang’s words were unexpected.
“Not exactly, but I have a personal request,” Wang continued. He understood Yu Junqing’s surprise. Many in the circle refused to retire, but he had no such ambition. He had made enough films in his life and it was time to return home, spend time with his wife and grandchildren.
“Please tell me,” Yu Junqing nodded.
“My next project… my unworthy son will join the crew to learn. I hope you can help him.” Wang stroked his graying beard and sighed softly.
Yu Junqing froze. Wang’s son? So he wanted to become a director too?
“More or less. But my son is stubborn and has spent much time abroad. I worry he doesn’t understand many things about working here. I want you to look after him.” Wang intended the film as practice for his son, only observing himself, not intervening much. So effectively, the film would be led by his son.
“I’m not sure I can help,” Yu Junqing said honestly after a moment of thought.
His current status was still awkward; his network and influence were limited. Helping might not be so simple.
“I understand. Just focus on the film—you have talent,” Wang said, not insisting. He knew whether his son would listen was another matter.
“I’ll do my best,” Yu Junqing promised. Wang had been a mentor to him; he would help where he could.
Wang nodded, satisfied. He didn’t stay long and soon returned to the private room.
Yu Junqing sat on the balcony, reflecting. For someone as stern as Wang, it was surprising he would personally plead on behalf of his son. Yu Junqing felt a twinge of envy.
“Ding~” His phone suddenly buzzed, a new message appearing on the screen.