Creative Director Wu Tong remained silent. From the moment Zhao Sheng opened his mouth, she knew this opportunity was prepared for Zhao Luyao.
Sure enough, Zhao Sheng called out Zhao Luyao’s name. “You tell us about it.”
Zhao Luyao actually wanted to perform well, but he had no projects of his own and wasn’t familiar enough with the ones the director was responsible for. For a moment, he stammered, his face turning beet red.
“Am I that scary? So scary that even the employees don’t dare speak?” The man was still smiling, gentlemanly relieving him of the pressure.
Zhao Luyao felt both embarrassed and aggrieved. Unable to withstand the pressure, he blurted out, “It’s not my project—it’s Zhu Ran’s!”
“Oh? Zhu Ran?” The man narrowed his eyes, his tone cooling.
Zhu Ran was still listening to his rock music. The theme he planned for Zhang Muyu was “Rebellious · Defiant.” Zhang Muyu was only eighteen, still at a child’s age. In previous interviews, she had always worn fairy-like tulle skirts, and everyone liked to shape her in that direction. But Zhu Ran had watched her film and TV works and captured the rebellious temperament beneath her obedient and quiet exterior.
After the plan was submitted, it was said that Zhang Muyu herself liked the theme design very much, so Wu Tong directly put Zhu Ran in charge.
Zhu Ran relied heavily on emotions for photography. Before shooting, he would brew his own emotions as much as possible, immersing himself in that atmosphere for several days.
He turned the volume to maximum, bobbing his head to the rock music, until someone rudely removed his earphones.
“Zhu Ran,” the annoying noise entered his ears as Zhao Luyao placed his earphones on the desk. “Director Huo is asking you something.”
Zhu Ran looked up somewhat displeased and suddenly met a pair of familiar eyes.
The man he had thought he would never see again had appeared before him without warning. The man’s gaze was sharp and cold, devoid of any previous tenderness or affection.
Zhu Ran froze in place. He seemed afraid to believe it was real until a sting in his palm made him realize he wasn’t dreaming.
His heart pounded fiercely. Zhu Ran awkwardly lowered his eyes, only to see his computer desktop.
He panicked and tried to lock the screen immediately, but the man grabbed his wrist.
The mouse fell to the floor amid the tug. Huo Boyan saw Zhu Ran’s desktop—it was the view from outside his bedroom window.
They had hugged, kissed, made love, entwined passionately there, vowing never to leave each other.
But it had all been fake.
Seeing their actions, everyone around was somewhat shocked.
This new director had worn a gentlemanly and refined expression since entering the company, polite and accommodating to everyone. No one expected him to suddenly accost an intern.
But Huo Boyan acted as if he didn’t see the crowd around them. His left hand firmly gripped Zhu Ran’s wrist, veins bulging on the back of his hand.
His first reaction was that Zhu Ran had lost weight. Without his supervision, he wasn’t eating properly. He also looked much more haggard, not happy at all.
He should have come to find him sooner.
Under Huo Boyan’s gaze, Zhu Ran tensed up all over, his heartbeat accelerating uncontrollably.
He lowered his eyelashes and, after a few seconds, said coldly, “Mr. Huo, how long do you plan to keep holding on?”
As soon as he said this, both of them froze.
A mix of stale bitterness and expired sweetness surged up instantly, nearly burning a hole in their chests.
Huo Boyan stood rooted to the spot by those words, finally realizing his impropriety. He released Zhu Ran’s wrist and said, “Sorry, that was presumptuous of me. I got excited seeing a familiar view. Please don’t mind.”
Zhu Ran immediately withdrew his right hand. Even though Huo Boyan had let go, the lingering sensation hadn’t faded—it was hot and tingling. Zhu Ran wiggled his fingers but ultimately resisted the urge to rub it, stuffing both hands into his pockets.
Zhu Ran still didn’t look up.
He waited for Huo Boyan to leave on his own, but the man seemed utterly oblivious to the word “awkward” and asked proactively, “Have you been to Hong Kong Island? What were your impressions?”
Only then did everyone realize that Zhu Ran’s desktop was a view of Huo Boyan’s hometown—they saw it as a case of shared sentiment over scenery.
Zhu Ran didn’t answer, making the atmosphere somewhat awkward, but no one thought much of it. It was perfectly normal for an intern like Zhu Ran to be nervous when questioned by a director.
Fortunately, Chief Editor Zhou Shuang was sharp and didn’t let the conversation drop. She smoothly shared her own experiences visiting Hong Kong Island, praising its outstanding people and scenery.
Huo Boyan smiled and nodded, but he still didn’t leave. He actually waited for the intern to answer.
Wu Tong nudged Zhu Ran’s shoulder, signaling him to say something casual. Maybe the big boss was just there to connect with the people and show approachability.
Only then did Zhu Ran look up, speaking in the tone of someone addressing an elder. “I went there this summer vacation. The scenery was beautiful, the food was delicious, and the people were very friendly. I had a…”
At this point, Zhu Ran’s voice suddenly dropped. After several seconds, he continued, “I had a great time. Really.”
Throughout, Zhu Ran didn’t look at Huo Boyan, but he could feel the man’s gaze weighing heavily on him. But as soon as he said he’d had a great time, that gaze suddenly shifted away.
“Happy?” Huo Boyan murmured softly. That cautious tone seemed less like a question to Zhu Ran and more like self-muttered words.
The bitterness Zhu Ran had finally suppressed in his heart bubbled up again. He lifted his head to say something, but Huo Boyan had already turned and walked away.
The man’s tall figure was surrounded by people like stars around the moon, having nothing more to do with Zhu Ran.
Zhu Ran withdrew his gaze, his fingertips digging into his palm.
