The last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and a damp sea breeze swept inland.
The leading actress gazed at the rolling waves and spoke about the ocean, explaining how it was connected to larger bodies of water and how high tides occurred in the morning and evening.
She knew the person beside her could no longer speak.
Even so, she turned her head and said, “It’s getting cold. We should…”
But on this beach, no one could answer her.
Not far away, the wind stirred the closed eyes of a man sitting on a bench. He looked as if he had simply fallen asleep while reading, just like he had on so many other repetitive days of the past.
“…”
The only sound that remained was the crashing of the waves.
A quiet, indescribable silence spread from the seaside. The crowd of onlookers stood watching, yet no one uttered a word.
Then, finally—
“Cut!”
It was the director’s voice that shattered the silence.
He reviewed the footage from several camera angles and then declared, “That’s a wrap!”
Instantly, the tension in the air dissipated.
The cast and crew, who had been holding their breath, relaxed all at once, and the small film crew was filled with relieved laughter and chatter.
The man who had just died on screen came back to life—and the first thing he did was go check on the leading actress, who had suddenly been overwhelmed by emotions and was crying uncontrollably.
With filming wrapped up, the spectators finally began to talk again.
Amid the rising chatter, Li Qingzhou, who had been quietly standing with a bouquet in hand, spotted the director sneaking over.
After confirming the recipient’s name, Li Qingzhou handed him the flowers.
The director thanked him, took the bouquet, then turned around and called out—
“Ah Huai!”
Li Qingzhou didn’t know who Ah Huai was, but he watched as a man—who had been crouching on the beach and comforting the leading actress—suddenly raised his head and looked over.
“…”
After delivering the flowers, Li Qingzhou paused.
Technically, he had completed his task. He could leave now.
Yet for some reason, he didn’t move.
The director passed the leading actress to an assistant, then handed the bouquet to the man named Ah Huai—Chen Bai.
The filming area was brightly lit, but the edges of the beach were much darker, making the scene blurry from a distance.
It wasn’t until Chen Bai approached that he could clearly see what the director was holding.
A bouquet of sunflowers, glowing brightly in the night.
They were for him.
His eyes widened slightly as he reached out and accepted the bouquet. The vivid yellow petals filled his arms, and the gentle fragrance washed over him.
Even in middle age, this director still loved giving small surprises. However, he wasn’t the type to say overly sentimental things.
He simply patted Chen Bai’s shoulder and said, “Wishing you a bright future.”
Then, after a brief pause, he added, “And lots of money.”
Chen Bai laughed—his smile widening noticeably at the second half of that blessing.
“Thank you, Director,” he said earnestly.
The staff on the beach were calling them over, so Chen Bai followed the director back toward the crew.
Halfway there, he suddenly realized something and turned back.
His eyes met those of a tall young man in a florist’s apron, standing among the crowd.
Chen Bai turned slightly, grinned, and waved—
“Thanks for the flowers! They’re beautiful!”
The sea breeze tousled his hair and billowed his shirt.
Behind him, the crimson clouds were fading into the darkness, and on his face, his smile shone brilliantly.
It was warmer and brighter than the sunflowers in his arms.
Li Qingzhou watched the figure walk away.
As the man grew distant, he prepared to leave as well—but then, the other person turned back.
The clear voice carried over on the sea breeze.
Their eyes met—light gray against dark brown.
Li Qingzhou slowly raised his hand and waved back.
“…You’re welcome.”
His movement felt oddly sluggish, so different from his usual quick, precise typing on a keyboard.
And this time, the man holding the flowers truly left.
With filming done, the crew began packing up, and the crowd of spectators gradually dispersed.
Li Qingzhou returned to the flower shop’s van, stealing one last glance at the film crew before realization finally dawned on him.
The voice he had just heard…
It sounded familiar.
It was a voice he had been hearing every day.
The beach was empty now, but the sea breeze still blew steadily.
Back at the flower shop, Li Qingzhou parked the van, stepped inside, and took off his apron.
Just as he was about to head out, he suddenly paused and asked,
“Sis, do you know Ah Huai?”
Sister Li looked up, confused. “Huh?”
Li Qingzhou hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’m going live now.”
Meanwhile, after finishing filming for good, Chen Bai joined the crew for a celebratory meal.
His work was done, but the others still had filming tomorrow, so they needed to turn in early.
After dinner, they all returned to the hotel.
But Chen Bai didn’t.
Instead, he headed straight to an internet café he had scouted earlier.
Spending money on internet access was painful, but for the grand prize, he had no choice.
The so-called “huge expense” in question?
A few dozen dollars for gaming time.
With a sigh, he opened the game and logged into WeChat.
He sent a message to Qingzhou:
[Everything’s ready.]
A moment later, the reply came swiftly.
The two of them made a WeChat call.
WeChat calls weren’t just for in-game communication—they could stay connected anytime, making it more convenient than team voice chat.
Since it was still early, Qingzhou hadn’t started his stream yet and was still setting up.
Chen Bai wasn’t in a hurry either. As they talked, he casually sent a photo of the sunflowers he had received today to his good neighbor.
Just as he was sending the message, he suddenly heard a voice in his earphones.
Qingzhou asked, “Do you work in City B?”
City B?
Chen Bai paused to think for a moment before replying, “No, I work in City A.”
Though he was in City B at the moment, it was only for a single shoot—he’d be leaving tomorrow. All of his other work was based in City A, so technically, that was his work location.
He asked, “Why?”
The other end of the call went silent for a moment before Qingzhou finally said, “It’s nothing. I just met someone today who sounds a lot like you.”
His tone sounded strangely… off.
Chen Bai didn’t press further. He simply chuckled and said, “Really?”
Then, Qingzhou started his stream, and the topic came to an abrupt end.
Many of Chen Erbai’s longtime viewers had resigned themselves to a stream-less night after seeing his one-day suspension announcement.
Yet, to their surprise—
They heard a familiar voice in Qingzhou’s livestream.
Some people weren’t physically present, yet their presence was everywhere.
At the same time, a group of sharp-eyed netizens also noticed something else—
These two had added each other on WeChat at some point, and their phone call skills were unmatched.
The night ended with a gaming session that lasted until early morning.
By the time Chen Bai left the internet café, it was already deep into the night.
Back at the hotel, he took a quick shower, then glanced at his phone before going to bed.
There were two new messages—
One from his good neighbor.
The other from his agent.
It was late, and his neighbor was probably already asleep, so Chen Bai didn’t disturb him.
Instead, he clicked on the message from his agent.
The agent had been coordinating with the other actors he managed. They would all be finishing their work and returning to City A in the next couple of days.
He wanted to meet up.
The message had been sent just five minutes ago.
Still working at this hour… looks really busy.
After briefly reviewing his schedule for the next two days, Chen Bai replied with an “OK”, put down his phone, and quickly fell asleep.
The next morning, he woke up early again, floated onto the bus like a ghost, and immediately fell back asleep.
By the time the bus ride ended, the other crew members—who had been wide awake earlier—now looked exhausted.
Meanwhile, the previously half-conscious Chen Bai was now full of energy, looking far more alert than anyone else.
His energy levels were sky-high, and his business was booming.
After returning, he took on three consecutive locksmithing orders, then settled back into his small locksmith shop, picking up where he had left off in his book—“The Actor’s Self-Cultivation.”
And judging by the uncontrollable smile on his face, he looked happier than someone holding an AK rifle in-game.
At noon, he went home to cook lunch on time.
Unfortunately, his good neighbor had to work that afternoon and evening, so no one could eat with him.
That night, he went live as usual.
And the next morning, he headed out earlier than usual—this time to meet his agent, someone particularly skilled at handing out gold coins.
The meeting place was set at a café, but when Chen Bai arrived, his agent hadn’t arrived yet.
Left with no choice, he spent a fortune on a cup of coffee and sat down to wait.
(A fortune = a few bucks, but for someone who agonized over internet café fees, every expense hurt.)
While waiting, he received an urgent message from his agent.
[Ran into an emergency. Will be about 20 minutes late.]
Twenty minutes?
Enough time to study a piano score.
Chen Bai was in a good mood. Resting his chin on one hand, he scrolled through sheet music on his phone, passing the time.
By the time he finished his coffee, his agent had finally arrived.
His agent’s name was Gao Qian, an impatient-looking man.
The moment he entered the café, he headed straight for Chen Bai before the waiter could even greet him.
After sitting down, he chugged a glass of water like a man who had been wandering the desert.
Without even looking at the menu, he quickly ordered a black coffee, then got straight to the point—
“How was filming?”
Not a word wasted.
Chen Bai mimicked a supporting actor’s tone and called out, “Sister Qian.”
Then, he answered concisely before summarizing, “Not bad.”
Gao Qian grinned.
“Director Zhang told me he’d like to contact you again if a suitable script comes up.”
Maybe there was some politeness mixed in, but for a big-name director to say something like that, it was definitely more than just courtesy.
Chen Bai smirked and replied, “As long as there’s money, I’m in.”
Gao Qian studied him carefully.
“You’ve changed a lot.”
Not just in appearance, but in tone and demeanor too.
Chen Bai smiled.
People change. A lot of things change with them.
Gao Qian took a sip of his freshly delivered black coffee, then asked, “Why the sudden interest in acting?”
Chen Bai answered without hesitation—
“For the money.”
Gao Qian’s eyes lit up instantly.
A shared ambition was reached in seconds.
When money was the common goal, everything became easier.
Without further delay, Gao Qian pulled a magazine out of his bag and handed it over.
“This,” he said, “is the emergency I mentioned earlier.”
Tapping the pages, he asked, “Interested in doing a photoshoot?”
Chen Bai took the magazine, ruffled his messy hair, and looked down.
