Zhu Ran usually seemed mild-tempered, never complaining even when sidelined, making him look like an easy target.
But the moment he picked up the camera, his aura turned commanding—decisive, unquestionable, like a domineering emperor. Not even VOG staff dared challenge him, and Zhang Muyu’s assertive manager could only stand aside with arms crossed, eyeing Zhu Ran and Zhang Muyu alternately.
The shoot lasted nearly four hours. Aside from Zhu Ran directing Zhang Muyu’s poses, the lighting assistants adjusting lights, and scene changes, no one else dared make a sound.
First-timers witnessing Zhu Ran’s work style were shocked. Some even snuck photos of him at work to share, saying he was a bit fierce but handsome.
Zhao Luyao rolled his eyes inwardly, calling Zhu Ran a poser.
But all the complaints and chatter vanished once they saw the final shots.
In that studio, no one was more authoritative with a camera than Zhu Ran.
The studio door opened—someone had come in. But Zhu Ran didn’t look up. He was tired, sitting in a chair sipping water to rest.
Zhu Ran’s health wasn’t great, and he tended to hold his breath while shooting, using demanding poses. Every session left him drained.
At that moment, Zhang Muyu’s manager approached. “Interested in collaborating?”
Zhu Ran took her business card with both hands, exchanged his own, and said, “Of course. It’s an honor to work with you. Contact me anytime for projects.”
“No, I mean,” Zhang Lan shook her head with a smile, looking at Zhu Ran’s face, “are you interested in entering the entertainment industry?”
Zhu Ran: “Huh?”
“Your looks are top-tier for showbiz,” Zhang Lan said admiringly. “Whether you want to act, do variety shows, or become an idol star, I can groom you.”
Zhu Ran shook his head with a smile. “Thanks, but I don’t have plans for that right now. I prefer photography over being a performer.”
Zhang Lan: “You can always do photography, but with your looks, you could try entertainment while you’re at your peak.”
“Not really,” Zhu Ran shook his head. “Many ideas, thoughts, moments are fleeting—gone if you miss them. Photography has this thing called the ‘decisive moment.’ Capturing it matters more than making it perfect. Photography will always be there, and I can always shoot, but some people, some scenes are temporary. Miss them, and they’re gone forever.”
Zhang Lan’s gaze deepened with clear admiration. She stopped pushing him to debut and said respectfully, “You have real vision. I hope we can collaborate in photography someday.”
Zhu Ran nodded with a smile. Just then, cheers erupted from the crowd—Huo Boyan had come to visit the set.
Huo Boyan brought a familiar-looking assistant Zhu Ran had seen a few times in Hong Kong Island—Huang Lexuan, if he remembered right.
Huang Lexuan was handing out afternoon tea to everyone: exquisitely packaged treats from a famous five-star hotel. The visit was unexpected; without Huo Boyan’s public coming out about his boyfriend, people might’ve gossiped about him and Zhang Muyu.
Everyone enjoyed the cake. A photography assistant brought Zhu Ran coffee and cake. These assistants had joined with Zhu Ran and once resented him—why did he get shoots while they held lights?
But after seeing this set of photos, they turned into Zhu Ran’s eager helpers. One even jogged over with an extra portion, worried he might go hungry.
Zhu Ran smiled and said thanks, reaching for it—but a large hand snatched the coffee first.
“Thanks, but he won’t have coffee this afternoon,” Huo Boyan said with a smile.
The intern was even more intimidated by this headquarters director than the chief editor, blushing furiously and stammering an apology.
Zhu Ran shot Huo Boyan a glare and told the intern, “Ignore him. Go back to work.”
Awed by the big boss, the intern bolted.
Halfway, he paused—wait, why did Zhu Ran seem so casual with him?
But he quickly brushed it off. Zhu Ran’s skills were top-notch; no wonder he was confident even with the big boss!
The shoot paused temporarily. Brand PR and the manager reviewed selects, leaving photographer Zhu Ran idle. He retreated to a quiet corner of the studio.
He’d skipped lunch and worked intensely all afternoon, now dizzy with hunger. He unwrapped the cake and nibbled slowly.
With no one around, he finally chatted with Huo Boyan.
Huo Boyan pinched his cheek—barely any flesh left. He felt heartbroken. “Zhu Ran, you’ve lost so much weight.”
“Have I?” Zhu Ran pushed away the man’s wandering hand. “Work’s been busy lately.”
Huo Boyan: “You’re already excellent. No need to push so hard—health comes first.”
Zhu Ran stayed quiet. Compared to peers, he might be decent, but next to Huo Boyan, he fell short.
Though Huo Boyan held a VOG director title, news articles said he was in A City to expand into smart robotics. Hong Kong Island excelled in finance and logistics, but robotics talent was mainland-based. Huo Boyan saw the future in it and came to lay groundwork personally.
With the Huo Corporation’s legacy, any non-useless heir could coast on investments for generations without falling from grace.
Yet Huo Boyan didn’t rest on it; he pursued more.
How was Zhu Ran already “excellent enough” not to push himself?
But Zhu Ran didn’t argue. He quietly finished the cake, feeling a bit reenergized, then stood. “I’ll check if we need reshoots. Don’t come with me—leave later.”
