Spring Night of Misty Rain - Chapter 17

Following a string of rejections, Xu Luosu spent the rest of the summer juggling filming with constant travel, desperately trying to sell the TV drama in her hands.

In the blink of an eye, it was the end of July. The crew had almost finished their scenes in Jinwu and were preparing to move to the bustling Film City to pick up the remaining shots.

Before the crew vacated the premises, they restored the decor of Shen Zeyu’s home to its original state. After two months of frantic work, the screenwriter was finally able to catch her breath and planned to stay home for some much-needed rest.

However, her unscrupulous boss, Xu Luosu, was not about to let her off so easily. After the wrap party, she approached Shen Zeyu with a stack of English scripts.

“Given the genre of the work, I’ve handed Ye Lan over to the overseas platform ‘Spiderfish.’ These are the scripts already translated into English, but I want Senior Sister to review and revise them first.”

“If you have time, could you produce a revised version by the end of August? Also, we need two more scripts: one about porcelain and another related to Suzhou embroidery. The primary goal is to promote cultural heritage.”

“The latter two are quite urgent; I might need them by the end of this week. Do you think you can do it?”

She spoke concisely, laying out her goals with complete transparency.

Shen Zeyu pondered for a moment before reaching out to take the stack of papers. She thought for a bit and asked one more question: “Is there any other work besides this?”

Xu Luosu smiled and shook her head. “No more.”

“Mm.”

Accepting these thorny tasks, Shen Zeyu threw herself into creation day and night after the crew departed.

Aside from Mist and Rain on a Spring Night, which was written out of pure emotion, Shen Zeyu hadn’t completed a full script in nearly three years. Perhaps inspired by the revisions she’d been doing lately, her first script was finished quite rapidly.

However, she lacked confidence. After finishing the draft, she read it through several times before finally showing it to Chen Ci.

That day, Chen Ci came over to have dinner with her. The two sat in the dining room eating while flipping through the script.

The pages were fresh out of the printer, still warm and smelling of ink. As Chen Ci read, the speed at which she picked up food slowed down.

The script was titled The Return. It told the story of a minor influencer who goes to a foreign country on a business trip and encounters a stunning piece of Suzhou embroidery. She snaps a photo of it, accidentally bringing the spirit within the embroidery back to China.

The Empress to whom this embroidery belonged was a very famous “white moonlight” figure from a certain dynasty. She was pure of heart and, because the embroiderer’s work reminded her of her own mother, she kept the girl by her side. The two were like sisters, inseparable.

The embroiderer followed the Empress, watching her marry the young Prince, watching the Prince become Emperor, and finally watching her suppress her own nature under imperial power. The love remained, yet they grew suspicious of each other, eventually dying in melancholy.

The central theme expressed resistance against imperial power and the “man-eating” nature of feudal society.

Chen Ci nodded repeatedly. “Not bad, not bad. It’s just a bit… lighter than your previous work.”

Chen Ci had seen all of Shen Zeyu’s work. Her style was usually distinct—bold, grand, with a tight grip on pacing and sharp dramatic tension.

Now, however, because of her illness, a part of her dramatic expression was being suppressed. It wasn’t a major issue; it just needed some tweaking.

After finishing, she said directly to Shen Zeyu, “I’ll take a crack at revising some of the dialogue. You don’t mind, do you?”

Shen Zeyu had been waiting for those words. She already had a pen ready and handed it over. “Please.”

Chen Ci buried her head in the script for over half an hour. Once finished, she handed it back. “Have a look. How is it now?”

Shen Zeyu read the revised sections and nodded. “I know how to fix the rest now.”

The two took turns revising until the final draft was ready. Shen Zeyu sent it to Qin Zhiyue.

Chen Ci took a moment to ask, “I thought the project was finalized at the start. Why did they add more scripts?”

Shen Zeyu replied flatly, “Probably a requirement from the platform.”

“The platform?” Chen Ci asked curiously. “Did your boss say which one? Is it Giant Whale’s own platform?”

Shen Zeyu shook her head. “No, it’s Spiderfish.”

“Huh?” Chen Ci was stunned. “She’s giving up on the domestic market to go overseas…?” At that point, Chen Ci seemed to realize something and shut her mouth.

Shen Zeyu smiled, not particularly caring. “Perhaps because she can’t get into the domestic market, she has no choice but to go abroad.”

Chen Ci sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Even though Spiderfish is just starting out, it’s currently the largest paid video site abroad. With your Little Boss’s luck, she might just be the first to successfully brave these new waters.”

The corners of Shen Zeyu’s lips curled slightly, indifferent. “Maybe. You know me—I never interfere with the client’s business.”

Chen Ci rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore that last bit. Everyone knew Shen Zeyu was “cheap and efficient” in the industry; in a single production, she could drive costs down to the absolute minimum for a client. Over the years, she had saved people an untold fortune.

She only dared to say such a thing now because she was currently ill.

Thinking of this, Chen Ci added a compliment: “The script is well-written; you seem to be recovering nicely. Isn’t it time for your follow-up? You should head to the hospital for a check-up.”

Although Shen Zeyu had been discharged, her condition was merely stable, not fully cured. She had to visit the hospital every two months.

The last check-up was in early June. Calculating the time, it was indeed due.

Shen Zeyu didn’t like hospitals, but under Chen Ci’s insistence, she pouted and reluctantly squeezed out a single word: “Mm.”

That night, after the crew at the Film City finished their work, they gathered at a barbecue restaurant open to tourists. They took out the fresh script Shen Zeyu had just written and began a table read.

The two leads hadn’t even removed their makeup yet, huddling together to flip through the script with great interest.

Over at the other end, Qin Zhiyue had already ordered a large pitcher of beer and was sharing it with the crew members.

In the height of summer, the heat at the Film City was enough to make one dizzy. Even with the air conditioning on in the restaurant, it still felt a bit stuffy. This was where the alcohol came in—one large gulp of draft beer and the heat vanished, replaced by a refreshing chill.

Qin Zhiyue sipped her beer, looking at Xu Luosu with a smile. “So, Little Boss? Should A-Ze revise it further, or is this the final draft?”

After three months of filming, Qin Zhiyue had realized that their Little Boss was very involved. While she deeply respected the creative work of the directing and editing team, she would occasionally offer very sharp, incisive suggestions.

As a result, they would review the scripts themselves before handing them to Xu Luosu, which gave the young woman a great sense of accomplishment.

Xu Luosu hadn’t finished reading yet. Without looking up, she said, “I’m not done yet. Let me read a bit more.”

Qin Zhiyue chuckled. “Sure, go ahead, take your time.”

As they spoke, a group of people bustled in. The waiter hurried over to greet them: “How many?”

Someone answered, “We’ll just sit over there.”

The voice was very familiar. Holding her beer, Qin Zhiyue looked toward the sound and saw a familiar face.

Tall, with short hair and dressed in very capable-looking work clothes—it was Wen Tian, one of the few female directors in the industry.

Qin Zhiyue squinted her eyes.

Clearly, Wen Tian had spotted her as well. She greeted her own group, “I saw an acquaintance. I’m going over to say hello.”

“Sure, Director Wen…”

Wen Tian stood up and walked toward Qin Zhiyue’s table. Simultaneously, a girl in the group wearing a green gauze dress and black-rimmed glasses hurried to follow her.

The two arrived at Qin Zhiyue’s table. Wen Tian gave a nod. “Director Qin, long time no see.”

The moment she spoke, everyone at the table looked up and greeted her. “Hello, Director Wen…”

Even Xu Luosu and Tang Qingyue, who had their heads buried in the script, looked up. “Hello, Director Wen…”

Wen Tian greeted them one by one and sat down next to Qin Zhiyue with the girl who had followed her. Qin Zhiyue poured her a glass. “Drink!”

Without a word, Wen Tian downed it in one go. Only then did she speak. “When did you guys get here? How many days are you shooting for?”

They were former colleagues, after all. Though not close, they could at least act the part. Qin Zhiyue smiled. “Probably another two months…”

Wen Tian let out a “Heh,” sounding miserable. “Then I have it worse than you. I have to shoot for three months…”

“Hahahaha!”

Qin Zhiyue laughed gloatingly.

As they chatted and laughed, the girl with Wen Tian carefully observed the people around the table. Finally, her gaze landed on Meng Fei, who was busy eating barbecue. “Teacher Meng Fei…”

Meng Fei, mid-meal, glanced at her and blinked. “What is it?”

The girl bit her lip and spoke timidly. “A-Ze… no… Teacher Shen didn’t come?”

“Is she… doing well?”

Xu Luosu, who had been focused on the script, suddenly snapped her head up. Her gaze landed on the girl’s face with a sharp, sudden intensity.