This director only directs blockbusters.

It was almost 11 o'clock when the car stopped at the entrance of the residential area near the Third Ring Road.

The rain had just stopped, and the air smelled of damp earth. Yang Ning told Lao Xu to go back first, and then got out of the car. The streetlights illuminated the puddles, and he stood there, lit a cigarette, slowly finished it, and then walked inside.

He was the only one in the elevator. His reflection was mirrored in the doorway—darker and thinner, his skin still hadn't recovered after three months in the sun in South Africa.

He stared at the shadow for a while, feeling nothing special, just tired, as if his very bones were filled with exhaustion.

When the door opened, Fan Binbin was standing there.

She was wearing a loose white T-shirt, her legs were bare, her hair was loosely tied up, and she wasn't wearing any makeup.

She leaned against the door frame, looking at him, the corners of her mouth slowly curving upwards, her eyes sparkling in the dim entryway light.

"Oh, so the big director actually knows how to go home?"

Yang Ning went inside, and the door closed gently behind him.

He didn't say anything, he just stood there watching her.

She looked at him and blinked.

three seconds.

Then she suddenly pounced on him, skillfully wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and her lips pressed against his.

Yang Ning instinctively supported her, but was kissed so hard that he took half a step back, his back against the wall.

She kissed him fiercely, biting and nibbling, from his lips to his chin to his neck. Her hands were also restless, tugging at his shirt buttons. After a couple of attempts, she couldn't get them open, so she simply grabbed his collar and pulled it down.

"Did you miss me?" she asked breathlessly, her lips close to his ear.

Yang Ning didn't answer, but instead lowered his head and kissed her, letting his actions tell her the answer.

……

I don't know how much time passed.

The curtains weren't fully drawn, and a ray of light from the streetlamp outside shone in, casting a slanted beam onto the wall.

Fan Binbin lay on Yang Ning's chest, his fingers idly tracing circles on Yang Ning's abs. Both of them were covered in sweat, sticky and uncomfortable, but neither of them moved.

"You've lost weight," she said, her voice a little hoarse.

"You too." Yang Ning reached out and touched her waist; it was indeed thinner.

"Being thinner is better, you look better on camera." She moved up slightly, resting her chin on his chest, her eyes looking at him in the dim light. "Is life particularly tough in South Africa? Is the food bad?"

"It's alright, just hot." Yang Ning reached for the cigarette pack on the bedside table, took out a cigarette and lit it. "It's forty degrees every day, even the camera gets oily from the heat."

Fan Binbin took the cigarette from his mouth, tried to take a puff, and ended up coughing from the choking.

"If you don't know how to smoke, don't learn." Yang Ning took the cigarette back.

"I just wanted to see how it feels to you normally." She leaned closer and took a second puff from his hand. This time she didn't cough, but she wrinkled her nose. "It's really hard to smoke. Why do you men love this?"

Yang Ning looked at her. The light from the cigarette butt flickered on her face. In the three months since he last saw her, something about her seemed to have changed—her eyes were more steady, and the restlessness of wanting to prove something had faded, but something else had appeared, which he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"How have you been lately?" he asked.

Fan Binbin paused for a moment, then took the cigarette from his hand, stubbed it out in the ashtray, and rolled over to lie back down next to him.

"Busy," she said, staring at the ceiling. "Incredibly busy."

"What are you busy with?"

"What else can I be busy with? Filming, movies, magazines, interviews... I'm busy from the moment I open my eyes until I close them. Sometimes I rush to three events a day, and I even eat my meals in the car."

Yang Ning didn't say anything, but just turned to look at her.

She suddenly turned to the side, her eyes shining brightly in the darkness.

"Yang Ning, do you know how many people contact me every day?" Fan Bingbing said, her eyebrows slightly raised, her eyes brimming with undisguised arrogance, and her chin unconsciously lifted a few notches.

"Oh? Looks pretty good now. Tell me about it." Yang Lin ruffled Fan Binbin's hair with his other hand, making the already messy hair even more fluffy, which unexpectedly added a touch of charm to her lazy temperament.

"I can't count them all." She laughed, but there was something else in her laughter. "The phone rings from morning till night, my agent is overwhelmed with calls."

Those who came to dinner, those who brought gifts, those who gave scripts—everyone said, "Binbin, we can't do without you on this project."

"and then?"

"Then I looked at the scripts, and nine out of ten were garbage." Her voice turned cold. "They were either domineering CEOs falling in love with me, or sisterly infighting and palace dramas, or tragic love stories set in the Republican era—not a single one was worth watching."

She paused, her tone laced with sarcasm:

"The most outrageous one was that they wanted me to play a princess who knows martial arts and falls in love with a general who knows magic. The script was written like a middle school student's essay. I wanted to tear it up after reading two pages."

Yang Ning couldn't help but laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" She punched him lightly.

"I'm laughing at you for finally growing up and becoming a picky eater."

Fan Binbin was taken aback, then punched him again, this time with a bit more force: "Was I ever that hungry before?"

"You used to eat whatever you were given," Yang Ning said honestly.

She was silent.

After a long while, she said softly, "...Yes, before, we had no choice; we ate whatever was given to us."

"I'd be grateful for even a third female lead role, afraid they wouldn't want me. But in this industry, everyone who wants to survive has to go through this."

She rolled over, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and said in a muffled voice:

"But to be honest, I'm quite lucky; after all the hardship, the good things are finally coming."

Although I have a lot to choose from now, I don't know how to choose.

This one offers ten million, that one offers twenty million, the numbers keep getting bigger and bigger, and the budgets keep getting worse and worse.

Sometimes when I look at those printed papers, I think—if only you had written these in your own notebooks.

Yang Ning's heart stirred, and he reached out to ruffle her hair.

"If you're unsure about something in the future," he said, "let me see it."

Fan Binbin looked up at him in the darkness: "Really?"

"Um."

She stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly laughed. This time, the laugh was genuine; her eyes curved into crescents, and her whole being lit up.

"Then I won't be polite." She leaned back against his chest, drawing circles on his chest with her finger. "Don't think I'm annoying you by calling you eight times a day."

"If it's too much trouble, I won't bring it up."

She punched him again, this time very lightly.

The two lay quietly for a while. The sound of cars passing by outside the window, near and far, was constant. That's how the nights in Beijing are; they're never truly quiet, there's always some noise in the background.

"Yang Ning," she suddenly called his name, her voice very soft.

"Um?"

"What kind of acting role do you think I'll be able to play in the future?"

Yang Ning thought for a moment, then instead of answering, asked, "What kind of performance do you want to give?"

She didn't answer immediately.

A long time passed, so long that Yang Ning thought she had fallen asleep, before she whispered:

"I want to play a role that, many years later, even after I've retired from the entertainment industry, people will still remember."

"It's not about remembering 'what Fan Binbin acted in,' it's about remembering the character itself," she added, her voice earnest.

"Just like... just like Brigitte Lin's Invincible East, Maggie Cheung's Su Lizhen, and Joey Wong's Nie Xiaoqian."

When people talk about them, they think of the role first, and then they think of the actress.

Yang Ning looked down at her. She was nestled against his chest, her eyes fixed on a point in the darkness, her gaze distant and unfocused, yet bright.

His heart suddenly softened.

"Yes, you can," he said.

She turned to look at him: "You decide?"

"I'm the one who directs the film, so I have the final say," Yang Ning said calmly but confidently.

She smiled, leaned in, and gently kissed him on the lips.

"Then I'll wait."

After finishing his cigarette, Yang Ning stubbed it out in the ashtray on the bedside table.

Fan Binbin had closed her eyes, and her breathing gradually became even and long.

Yang Ning turned to the side, using the light streaming in from the window to look at her.

Without makeup, she looked younger than on camera, with long eyelashes casting a small shadow under her eyes, a straight nose, and slightly parted lips, indicating she was fast asleep.

When she's asleep, all that radiance she displays in front of the camera, her wit in social situations, and her shrewdness at the negotiating table disappears.

She just lay there quietly, like an ordinary girl who gets tired and sleepy.

As Yang Ning watched, something stirred within him. He wanted to gently move her aside so he could sleep more easily.

As soon as she moved, she hummed and instinctively hugged his waist tighter, rubbing her face against his chest like a kitten that had found its nest.

Yang Ning didn't move.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling, her words echoing in his mind—

"I want to play a role that people will still remember many years later."

It's not that I remember Fan Binbin as pretty.

It's about remembering that character.

He closed his eyes in the darkness.

Will do.

He said to himself silently.

As long as I'm around, I'll make sure you get to play that kind of role.

When Yang Ning woke up the next morning, the person next to her was empty.

He lay down for a while and heard the sizzling sound of frying food coming from the kitchen, as well as the soft clinking of spatulas.

He put on his pants and walked out shirtless.

Fan Binbin was standing in front of the stove frying eggs with her back to him. She was still wearing that white T-shirt, with bare legs underneath, her hair loosely tied up, and slippers on her feet.

The morning light shone through the window, giving her a fuzzy, golden glow.

Yang Ning leaned against the door frame and looked at her, suddenly feeling very at ease.

This sense of peace and tranquility is something I've never experienced in the three months I spent in South Africa—those days when I woke up every day were filled with shooting plans, budget pressures, and weather issues. Compared to this moment of peace, it feels like two different worlds.

"Awake?" Fan Binbin turned to look at him, her spatula still in her hand. "Almost done, sit and wait."

Yang Ning sat down at the dining table. Milk, toasted bread slices, and a small dish of sliced ​​fruit—apples, oranges, and kiwis—were already laid out on the table, arranged quite nicely.

Fan Binbin brought over two plates, each with two fried eggs, a few slices of bacon and two florets of broccoli on the side—she had even arranged the plates nicely.

"Eat up." She sat down across from me. "I have to go into the studio to film GG at 2 PM, so I have to leave early."

Yang Ning picked up a fork: "What GG?"

"A cosmetic product." She took a sip of milk. "I also have a dinner appointment tonight, which I can't cancel."

"What kind of dinner party?"

She glanced at him, her eyes filled with a complex emotion: "A group of investors, saying they want to discuss a collaboration."

Yang Ning forked the fried egg and took a bite. It was fried perfectly, with slightly charred edges and tender inside.

"If I don't want to go, I'll just cancel," he said casually.

Fan Binbin froze, his fork hovering in mid-air: "...Can you push it?"

"Why not?" Yang Ning looked up at her. "You're Fan Binbin now, not when you first debuted. They're the ones begging you, not the other way around.

She stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly laughed, her eyes crinkling into crescents.

"Yang Ning," she said softly, "sometimes I feel that you're better at talking than all the guys who are pursuing me."

Yang Ning didn't respond to that, and continued eating her breakfast with her head down, but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

After dinner, Fan Binbin went to change clothes and put on makeup. Yang Ning stood by the window, lit a cigarette, and looked at the gradually awakening city of Beijing outside.

Traffic on the Third Ring Road has become dense, and sunlight shines on the glass curtain walls of high-rise buildings, reflecting a dazzling light.

He smoked a cigarette, mentally reviewing his plans for the day:

I went to the studio this afternoon to review the first batch of editing footage, had dinner with Han Shanping tonight to discuss the promotional plan, and will officially begin post-production tomorrow...

He had a lot of things to do, but he didn't really want to move at the moment. He just wanted to stand there, smoke a cigarette, and look out the window.

Fan Binbin came out of the bedroom, having changed into a light-colored dress, put on light makeup, and carefully styled her hair. She walked to his side and looked out the window as well.

"Yang Ning".

"Um?"

"About what we talked about last night—" She paused, turned to look at him, "If I ever have a notebook I'm unsure about, can I really come to you?"

"Really good." Yang Ning stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill.

She nodded, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a faint lip print.

"I'm leaving."

"Um."

She picked up her bag, walked to the door, put her hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at him.

"Yang Ning".

"Um?"

"Are you coming over again tonight..." she said softly.

Yang Ning thought for a moment: "It depends on the situation. We might have to talk with Han Shanping and the others until quite late."

She said "Oh," nodded, opened the door, and left.

Yang Ning stood by the window, watching her walk out of the building and towards the car waiting for her by the roadside. The driver got out and opened the door for her, she got in, and the car slowly drove away.

He stood there for a while before taking a shower, getting dressed, and leaving the house that had suddenly become empty.

My phone vibrated as I was going downstairs.

He took it out and looked at it; it was a text message from Fan Binbin:

"There are dumplings in the fridge, so you can cook them yourself if you're hungry. If you're coming over tonight, let me know in advance and I'll ask the housekeeper to add some dishes."

Yang Ning stared at the text message for several seconds. Then he moved his finger and replied with two words:

"Know."

Stepping out of the building, the sun in Beijing was already high in the sky, its warmth bathing him. He stood at the entrance of the residential complex and lit another cigarette.

His mind was still preoccupied with today's schedule and a pile of work waiting for him, but at that moment he felt inexplicably relaxed—the kind of relaxation that comes from returning home, seeing the people he wanted to see, having a simple breakfast, and listening to some everyday conversations.

He smoked, thinking about last night and this morning. He thought about the earnest look in her eyes when she said, "I want to play a role that people will remember," about her focused profile as she fried eggs, and about the cautious anticipation in her voice when she asked, "Are you coming over again tonight?"

Thinking of that line, "You're better at talking than all the guys who were pursuing me."

He suddenly laughed.

His smile was a mix of helplessness and... how to put it, a feeling of being touched.

He stubbed out his cigarette and hailed a taxi.

"Go to the studio."