Crossover Actors - Chapter 40

Qiu Yanting’s studio, named “Paper Clouds,” is taken from a poem by Ji Yun: “Countless heart and effort worn away, paper clouds fleeting in the eyes.”

 

The studio is located in a villa area. For comfort and convenience, Qiu Yanting uses a vacant private property as his office, saving on rent.

 

After a morning meeting, Qiu Yanting was reviewing a script in his second-floor office, which needed adaptation. He would personally provide feedback after reviewing it.

 

Text can be the most exhausting, and before he knew it, half the day had passed. Qiu Yanting stretched his neck, holding an empty cup, and looked down from the railing of the spiral staircase at the reception area on the first floor.

 

Including Yu Nan, four people were busy—Yao Baiqing, Dong He, and Peng Yueran were all screenwriters. Qiu Yanting rarely handled management himself and didn’t require anyone to “clock in” at the studio, only caring about the results.

 

Recalling Ren Shu’s concerns, Qiu Yanting asked, “Yu Nan, is Qiao Bian here?”

 

The four people looked up simultaneously. Yu Nan had reported yesterday in the car, and Qiao Bian had mentioned it during the morning meeting. Although he knew Qiu Yanting was indifferent to social engagements, he replied, “There’s a film media summit tonight, and Qiao Bian went to get his hair done.”

 

Qiao Bian often attended events on behalf of Qiu Yanting. He nodded and decided to leave Ren Shu waiting for another night.

 

As the sun set, Qiu Yanting wrapped up his work and left before the evening rush hour. He had driven in the morning; the northern autumn and winter wind had covered the car with dust.

 

As the Bentley SUV glided out of the garage, Qiu Yanting enjoyed the feeling of driving, sitting alone in the enclosed cabin, gripping the steering wheel, which was both reassuring and comfortable. Plus, he could use “driving is inconvenient for calls” as an excuse to avoid answering calls.

 

He first went to wash the car, then went home to shower, feed the cat, and cook dinner—a routine that had been the same for years. It was the life he had longed for as a youth: enough food and warmth, with no one to bully him.

 

But now, as he stood waiting for the dishwasher to finish, he felt an inexplicable sense of emptiness, as if after tasting rich delicacies, the return to simple meals was inevitably disappointing.

 

He suppressed this feeling and returned to his study to continue reviewing the script. Surrounded by dense blocks of text, he could temporarily forget everything else.

 

He sat slenderly, cross-legged in a large leather armchair, holding the cat, Huang Siling, and focused on his work for two hours.

 

The phone in silent mode lit up, showing “Teacher Zeng.” Qiu Yanting gave Huang Siling a bit of a squeeze, causing the cat to meow loudly.

 

After a moment of hesitation, Qiu Yanting answered, sliding to accept the call: “Teacher?”

 

Zeng Zhen was attending the film media summit, where Qiao Bian had greeted him and chatted briefly. Lowering his voice, he said, “Xiao Ting, I heard you’re back from Chongqing?”

 

Qiu Yanting replied with a simple “Hmm”: “I came back yesterday.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Zeng Zhen smiled and scolded him, then added regretfully, “You just got back, and I’m about to start shooting.”

 

The movie project, planned at the beginning of the year, was a commercial blockbuster directed by a renowned director, and the cast alone was enough for the audience to talk about for a while. Filming was set to begin next week.

 

Qiu Yanting said, “Teacher, I hope the filming goes smoothly.”

 

“Just saying it doesn’t cut it?” Zeng Zhen brought up an old matter, “You missed your chance in Chongqing. Now that you’re back, chatting over the phone isn’t enough.”

 

Qiu Yanting understood that avoiding something wasn’t possible forever. He looked at his notebook and noted that tomorrow was Saturday, so he said, “I’d like to invite you and Teacher Wang to dinner. Is tomorrow noon okay?”

 

After setting the date, Qiu Yanting chose a restaurant, reserved a table, and sent the address to Zeng Zhen and Wang Mingyu. The call lasted less than five minutes, but he felt it was more exhausting than staring at the script for two hours.

 

He closed the document and opened the browser, logging into the website jointly founded by the “Shan Shu Plan” and the Wen Jia Foundation.

 

He was the initiator and funder behind the “Shan Shu Plan.” After several years of public welfare projects, many patients with psychological disorders had given feedback, feeling misunderstood and isolated without anyone to talk to.

 

Qiu Yanting had the idea of setting up a website, which was implemented last year. The website’s model was still being explored, and he occasionally logged in to experience and identify areas for improvement.

 

He entered his account. His nickname, “Social Anxiety Little Writer,” was randomly generated and couldn’t be changed, which made him feel embarrassed every time he logged in.

 

Upon logging in, he found he had a volunteer.

 

Qiu Yanting thought this feature was more of an “idealistic vision but practically useless.” Volunteers’ enthusiasm alone wasn’t enough, as most people’s enthusiasm waned quickly.

 

He had not opened the messages from volunteers for a long time. The first message was usually: “Hello, I am volunteer [name].”

 

Having interacted with four or five volunteers, each with a polite and cautious attitude, Qiu Yanting remained cautious and polite, making it hard to feel at ease.

 

Finally, half an hour later, Qiu Yanting was about to log off and finally opened the unread messages.

 

The chat window popped up with the nickname “Unlucky Little Singer.”

 

Qiu Yanting, of course, didn’t think the person was really a singer. He looked at the message on the screen, his hand lost its strength while rubbing the cat, causing Huang Siling to meow.

 

Unlucky Little Singer sent: “Are you a guy or a girl?”

 

Qiu Yanting, momentarily stunned, replied: “A guy.”

 

With plenty of time in the evening, Unlucky Little Singer was online and replied immediately: “Are you a writer?”

 

Qiu Yanting: “Yes.”

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “My favorite writer is a guy.”

 

Qiu Yanting: “Oh.”

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “You’re so indifferent.”

 

“…” Qiu Yanting felt something was odd but couldn’t quite place it.

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “No wonder you have social anxiety.”

 

Qiu Yanting couldn’t continue the conversation. Logging off directly felt impolite, so he replied with a vague excuse: “Which male writer? I’ll look up his works.”

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “Nabokov.”

 

Qiu Yanting: “……Okay.”

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “I’ve been searching for him on Baidu these days too.”

 

Qiu Yanting: “…”

 

Unlucky Little Singer: “Typo, I meant ‘read.'”

 

After logging off, Qiu Yanting settled into his chair. He thought of Lu Wen, accompanied by a string of lights and shadows from the mountain city. The upcoming shooting schedule was tight, and Erbai would certainly have a tough time.

 

On Saturday, with the sun high in the sky, Qiu Yanting slept in a bit longer and got up just before noon. Dressed entirely in black, with a somewhat unrefined Panerai watch, he set out early as the host, speeding across half the district to the appointment.

 

The reserved restaurant was a private dining establishment on a tree-lined street in a gray brick villa. Qiu Yanting parked and turned off the engine, stepping out of the car in black sunglasses. The sunlight cast a golden sheen on his fair skin.

 

The room on the second floor, facing the street, had a leisure terrace. Qiu Yanting walked up the reddish-brown floor with a slightly heavy step. The owner, a soft-spoken man from Ningbo, greeted him and asked what wine he would like.

 

The wine was kept in the restaurant. Qiu Yanting jingled his car keys and said, “Please give me the tea menu first.”

 

He glanced absentmindedly at the menu, tracing the embossed pattern with his fingertips. He still hadn’t decided on a drink when he heard the roar of engines outside. He snapped back to reality and went to the terrace to look down.

 

Behind his Bentley, Zeng Zhen and Wang Mingyu were getting out of their car.

 

Qiu Yanting returned to the room, heard the footsteps approaching, took a deep breath, and greeted them with a perfectly timed smile.

 

Zeng Zhen, in his fifties, tall and well-maintained, greeted Qiu Yanting warmly, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a friendly squeeze.

 

“Teacher, did you drive yourself here?” Qiu Yanting asked.

 

Zeng Zhen replied, “Yes, I hope I’m not late?”

 

Qiu Yanting shook his head with a smile and gently moved out from under Zeng Zhen’s hand to assist Wang Mingyu, calling out, “Teacher.”

 

“Yanting, you’re back,” Wang Mingyu said, draped in a wool shawl with her hair loosely tied back. She had an ordinary appearance but deep wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled.

 

The table was long. As they entered the room, Zeng Zhen walked over and said, “Xiao Ting, come and sit.”

 

“Teacher, please take a seat first.” Qiu Yanting helped Wang Mingyu hang her bag. “Since you drove, you can’t drink. Teacher, please choose a tea.”

 

Qiu Yanting, being the gentleman, pulled out Wang Mingyu’s chair and then took a seat beside her. The table was set with elaborate dishes, knives, and forks, with a vase and candleholder in the center.

 

After ordering, without disturbing the waiter, Qiu Yanting poured tea himself and apologized, “I should have organized this meal earlier.”

 

“It has indeed been a while since we last met,” Wang Mingyu remarked. “How was the crew in Chongqing?”

 

Qiu Yanting answered, “Not bad.” He had a nonchalant attitude. “I only went to modify the script. A thirty-something episode web drama isn’t worth too much concern.”

 

Zeng Zhen laughed, “If you really didn’t care, why would you travel so far? You can just cut and edit after filming.”

 

“Look at what the teacher says,” Qiu Yanting joked. “If this gets out, the public will definitely question the professionalism of famous directors.”

 

Wang Mingyu spoke up, “You don’t need to worry about him. Directors don’t understand the difficulties of screenwriting. The audience doesn’t know what was filmed or cut, and they always blame the scriptwriters first if it doesn’t look good.”

 

Zeng Zhen, caught between them, was uncomfortable and quickly changed the subject, “Xiao Ting, my new film is about to start shooting. Aren’t you staying with the crew for a few days?”

 

Qiu Yanting regretfully said, “The studio has accumulated a lot of work lately. I really can’t spare the time.”

 

“Work is never-ending,” Zeng Zhen persuaded. “This film is working with a top American production team. It’s a rare opportunity, and I’d like to introduce you.”

 

Qiu Yanting declined politely, “Collaborating with top teams is not uncommon for your films. There will certainly be other opportunities.”

 

At this moment, a cold appetizer arrived: black fish roe, ordered by Zeng Zhen. Unable to persuade Qiu Yanting, he started eating. Wang Mingyu glanced at the plate but continued drinking tea.

 

Qiu Yanting remembered that Wang Mingyu didn’t eat fish roe or shrimp roe, so he refrained from eating it himself and waited for the next dish. He served Wang Mingyu first when it arrived, and then the meal began in earnest.

 

One dish of prawns was particularly delicious. Zeng Zhen commented, “It tastes better than last night’s summit dinner.”

 

Wang Mingyu asked instinctively, “What summit?”

 

With a forkful of beef, Qiu Yanting answered, “The film media summit.”

 

While Wang Mingyu went to the restroom, the table was left with only Qiu Yanting and Zeng Zhen, seated diagonally from each other. Qiu Yanting sensed Zeng Zhen’s gaze through the flickering flower petals on the table. He wiped his mouth and initiated a conversation, “Teacher, what have you been busy with lately?”

 

“Not sure,” Zeng Zhen replied. “Everyone is busy with their own things. She didn’t even know I was attending events.”

 

The phone rang, and Zeng Zhen answered it without hesitation, sounding respectful, fitting his temperament and status. The caller addressed him as “Teacher Zeng” with a cheerful tone.

 

“Today?” Zeng Zhen said, “I’m having a meal out.”

 

Qiu Yanting could vaguely hear the conversation but paid no attention, focusing instead on cutting his beef.

 

Zeng Zhen spoke with an air of arrogance, and after a few exchanges, arranged, “Wait there. I’ll come over after I finish eating.”

 

After hanging up, Wang Mingyu returned, and Qiu Yanting continued eating the beef, not mentioning the call.

 

As the meal wound down, Zeng Zhen, putting on his coat, casually informed, “I’m not going home. I need to go out for something.”

 

Wang Mingyu showed little reaction and wasn’t concerned about what it was. She asked, “Are you driving?”

 

Zeng Zhen grabbed his car keys. “Xiao Ting, please give Teacher a ride home.”

 

As they left the villa, Qiu Yanting opened the car door for Wang Mingyu. After circling around to the driver’s seat, he started the engine, turned onto the road, and watched in the rearview mirror as Zeng Zhen’s car drove away in the opposite direction.

 

Feeling drowsy after the meal, Wang Mingyu wrapped in her shawl, seemed lazy.

 

Qiu Yanting turned up the temperature and said, “Teacher, you look a bit tired.”

 

With winter arriving, Wang Mingyu was already preparing for the CCTV New Year’s drama for the following year. The scriptwriter team was large, but the chief screenwriter had the most demanding job. She said, “I have a script at home that I didn’t get to. I’ll bring it for you to look at when we get home.”

 

Qiu Yanting agreed but didn’t ask for details. At a traffic light, he opened a bottle of water and handed it to her, “Teacher, take care and rest well.”

 

Wang Mingyu accepted it, suddenly smiling, “You should say that to your teacher.”

 

Qiu Yanting didn’t immediately understand, “Yes, the teacher is also busy.”

 

“Of course, he’s busy,” Wang Mingyu said, as if discussing trivial gossip. “He’s currently involved with a new romance, and after a meal, he rushes off to enjoy himself. He’s not worried about straining his old back at over fifty.”

 

Qiu Yanting felt a bit awkward and didn’t know how to respond.

 

Wang Mingyu continued, “He’s with a young and popular guy, who’s quite a catch. He’s charming and knows how to please people. Isn’t he starring in his new movie?”

 

The traffic light turned green, and Qiu Yanting drove past the intersection. He didn’t follow entertainment news closely and couldn’t recall the exact details about the celebrity, so he responded vaguely, “I think the surname is Jin?”

 

“Yes,” Wang Mingyu hummed.

 

After a moment, she sneered, “What a trend, so many homosexuals.”

 

Qiu Yanting glanced at the window, gripping the steering wheel tightly, and remained silent.