Luo Ding stood outside the hospital room, feeling conflicted. He could still vividly recall Duan Xiubo’s eager expression when he handed over the movie contract, hoping for Luo Ding’s excitement. But Luo Ding, while surprised, didn’t feel much joy.
“You’ve wanted this movie so badly, so why not take it?” Inside the box Duan Xiubo brought, along with the filming contract, was a script filled with markings and annotations. “If you’re not satisfied with the role, you can pick whichever you want.”
Although Luo Ding didn’t understand why Duan Xiubo knew how much he was attached to this project, there was no doubt that the carefully crafted gift stirred deep emotions in him—emotions he hadn’t felt in decades.
It was a passion he hadn’t even experienced when he was truly young in his previous life. It felt like the kind of relationship he had only ever understood in theory: lovers who surprise and embrace each other, paying attention to every detail, offering thoughtful gifts at just the right moments.
He had invested so much into this project. Every line had been honed and refined through countless rehearsals, every word etched deep in his heart. This was his obsession.
The contract was generous, tailored to Luo Ding’s current market value. And since Duan Xiubo was the investor, Luo Ding didn’t hold back from accepting it. He was confident he could perform well in this film and make Duan Xiubo even more successful.
After much thought, however, Luo Ding carefully told Duan Xiubo about Su Shengbai also being part of the movie before signing the contract. *The Assassin* might lead his career to a new pinnacle, but if the price for reaching that peak was losing Duan Xiubo’s unconditional trust, then Luo Ding would rather take things slow.
To his surprise, Duan Xiubo didn’t show any signs of anger. Instead, he stared into Luo Ding’s eyes with excitement and then suddenly pounced on him, kissing and hugging him like a giant cat demanding affection. This left Luo Ding bewildered, especially since it became clear that Duan Xiubo wasn’t upset at all.
When asked, Duan Xiubo revealed that Su Shengbai’s name wasn’t even officially on the cast list. But then, what about Xu Zhen?
What had happened to Xu Zhen after the car accident?
*****
Behind them, Yuan Bing was chatting with Pan Yiming about her earrings. Pan Yiming, probably not expecting someone as approachable as Yuan Bing—a top-tier actress—initially felt flattered. But now, the two were exchanging jokes with ease.
The entertainment industry is small. It’s common to see stars collaborate repeatedly on big projects. However, The Assassin didn’t have many female roles, with only about five or six in total. And out of those, two or three were minor characters. So both Pan Yiming and Yuan Bing were practically guaranteed to be the lead actresses.
Thanks to the popularity of Tang Legend, Pan Yiming had already become a household name. After the TV series aired, she took on a comedy film that performed well at the box office, marking her official entry into the film industry. Her participation in *The Assassin* was due to Luo Ding’s invitation. Luo Ding had never forgotten the kindness Pan Yiming showed him when she invited him to star in her music video back when he was still an unknown. That was his first step toward stardom, and it had gone so smoothly, largely thanks to Pan Yiming’s generosity.
Now that he had the means to return the favor, it was time to repay her.
However, Luo Ding wasn’t someone who confused personal gratitude with professionalism. After all, Pan Yiming had cast him in her music video only after a thorough audition. Now, Luo Ding had merely recommended her strongly to Duan Xiubo, but whether she could secure the role still depended on her own abilities.
As Pan Yiming absentmindedly chatted with Yuan Bing, her eyes kept glancing toward Luo Ding. He seemed distracted, sitting silently outside the hospital room since he arrived. Even when Wu Fangyuan tried to engage him in conversation, Luo Ding barely responded. Pan Yiming chose not to disturb him.
Who would have thought?
Pan Yiming alone knew how complicated her feelings were. Luo Ding’s rise to fame had been nothing short of meteoric. She still remembered when she first met him: a young, almost forgotten singer, sitting quietly in a booth at a Grand Banquet, drinking soda, looking incredibly fresh-faced. Pan Yiming noticed him not only because of his striking looks but also because of his calm and collected aura—like nothing in the world could faze him. He was only in his twenties, yet exuded an unshakeable confidence that made Pan Yiming instantly decide that she wanted to be his friend.
In hindsight, it was one of the smartest decisions she had ever made. It had taken Pan Yiming nearly ten years to climb from the lower ranks of television to the top, and now she was starting all over again, working her way into the film industry. In contrast, Luo Ding was an anomaly.
By now, Luo Ding’s market value was probably higher than hers, Pan Yiming thought, recalling how her agent recently joked about seeing Luo Ding’s posters in small towns across Western Europe. Just one endorsement deal like that would take her another ten years to reach.
She had felt jealous at one point—jealousy is human nature.
But that feeling had long since faded, especially after Luo Ding’s role in *Blade Warrior III*. Some people are simply beyond envy, she thought, almost bitterly.
Luo Ding looked up at her, and Pan Yiming furrowed her brow, making a playful, angry face at him.
Luo Ding didn’t understand, but her action managed to distract him from the complicated emotions about meeting Xu Zhen.
He smiled at her, a natural charm radiating from the slight curve of his lips. Pan Yiming was momentarily stunned before she quickly coughed to hide her reaction.
The assistant director emerged from the hospital room. He had been hired by Triumph Media and knew that Luo Ding would soon hold a special status within the crew. So, he spoke to him with extra courtesy: “You can go in now. Director Xu is in a fairly good mood.”
The group exchanged uncertain glances. “Fairly good mood?”
They soon found out what that meant. Xu Zhen was lying on the hospital bed, his entire body wrapped in bandages, wearing a neck brace. He was propped up slightly by the curve of the hospital bed, and despite his lack of expression, his eyes gleamed with excitement. He was practically glowing!
Others went up to greet him, bringing gifts. Luo Ding stood back, silently watching the man on the bed who looked much older than he had just days before. So much had happened in such a short time. Xu Zhen looked more withered than when Luo Ding had last seen him. His cheekbones jutted out, his eyes were nearly triangular from the sagging skin, and beneath the mesh cap on his head, his hair was already streaked with gray.
Xu Zhen had lost his say in casting decisions while stuck in the hospital. His excitement over the film’s green light was soon overshadowed by his worries about the casting. Triumph Media was notorious for prioritizing profit, and the Yu family’s approach only amplified this. The only consolation for Xu Zhen was that the company didn’t mistreat its actors.
A director pursues art, but the producer is a businessman.
After Xu Zhen became famous, he rarely allowed anyone else to interfere with casting decisions. His main investor, Cao Dingkun, had always been a hands-off partner, giving him plenty of creative freedom. Even when Jiang Changfeng tried to sneak his own people into the crew, Xu Zhen wasn’t afraid to challenge him, often rolling up his sleeves for a fight.
But this time… he had no choice but to accept the outcome. Afraid of seeing a bunch of miscast actors, Xu Zhen hadn’t slept well for days.
Seeing Pan Yiming, he felt a slight tremor of unease—wasn’t she a TV actress? Yuan Bing’s presence, on the other hand, was like a calming anchor, finally allowing his turbulent emotions to settle. With that calm came a realization of how tightly wound he had been. The internal pain from his injuries began to throb.
But that wasn’t his main concern!
He looked past Pan Yiming and Yuan Bing at the male actors behind them, all familiar faces with high market values who fit his casting standards. “Who’s Jia Da?”
To his surprise, no one stepped forward.
“Who’s Jia Da?” This was his most pressing question.
The others exchanged glances before silently turning toward the door. Standing there, without having spoken since entering, was Luo Ding.
Xu Zhen’s eyes widened. “It’s you?!”
Luo Ding, completely unflustered by the famous director’s surprise, walked through the crowd and into the room. “Yes, it’s me.”
At this point, Luo Ding’s fame was undeniable. A series of high-quality works had made him a household name, and no one could argue with his success. It would be absurd for Xu Zhen to say he hadn’t seen Luo Ding’s films—*Blade Warrior III* and Crouching Dragon were classics. Even Tang Legend was still being rebroadcast. Everywhere he turned, from random strangers to the medical staff, people were using Luo Ding’s new song as their ringtone. His popularity and influence were off the charts.
But that wasn’t the point!
Xu Zhen’s gaze suddenly sharpened. If he wasn’t mistaken, Luo Ding had never played a lead role before, had he? How old was he? The invitation Xu Zhen had sent to Asiastars Studio was likely for a supporting role, Jia Er. But from what Luo Ding was saying… he had taken the role of Jia Da?!
Xu Zhen was so stunned that he couldn’t speak. He stared into Luo Ding’s eyes, wanting to berate the company for such a reckless decision. But somehow, the confidence he once had wasn’t there anymore. As he calmed down, Xu Zhen noticed something different about the man standing before him.
He had met Luo Ding several times and had spoken with him. In his memory, Luo Ding was polite, always smiling, and got along well with Su Shengbai—someone a bit naive, the type who quietly put in the effort without complaint. But this time, Luo Ding hadn’t smiled at all. In fact, if Xu Zhen hadn’t spoken to him, it seemed Luo Ding had no intention of speaking at all. Even now, standing close to Xu Zhen, he kept his distance, his gaze heavy, filled with an indecipherable mix of emotions.
Xu Zhen was good at reading emotions, so he instinctively met Luo Ding’s gaze. Luo Ding’s eyes were intense, unwavering, showing no sign of backing down. Just from his attitude alone, he didn’t seem like an actor confronting a director.
At first, Xu Zhen felt disrespected, but slowly, for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he started to feel nervous.
Maybe it was because Luo Ding’s demeanor was so self-assured.
Xu Zhen’s right hand trembled slightly as he was the first to break eye contact. Luo Ding stared at him for a moment longer before speaking: “Director Xu, we meet again.”
Xu Zhen replied with a simple “It’s been a while,” as if completing a formal greeting. Luo Ding chose a seat by the window and sat down.
While Xu Zhen continued making small talk with the actors, he found his attention constantly drifting back to Luo Ding. Sitting by the window, Luo Ding had a faint smile on his face as if he were watching them, yet his gaze wasn’t really focused on anyone in particular. Xu Zhen furrowed his brows, guessing that Luo Ding was spacing out, but something about his presence felt eerily familiar.
That ability to command attention without saying a word was rare, even in the entertainment industry.
Thinking of someone else he knew with a similar presence, Xu Zhen felt a pang of nostalgia, a slight smile pulling at his lips.
“Director Xu,” Pan Yiming teased, “what are you thinking about? You’re smiling so happily.”
Xu Zhen was pulled back to reality, startled for a moment. “I was smiling?”
Everyone thought he was joking and laughed along. Pan Yiming, less reserved than Yuan Bing, dared to speak more boldly: “Don’t deny it so seriously! Were you thinking about some secret girlfriend? You looked so sweet!”
Her teasing caught Xu Zhen off guard. He raised a hand to touch his lips, which still held the faint curve of a smile, and felt strangely lost.
Instinctively, he glanced at Luo Ding, whom he had been keeping an eye on. Luo Ding, seemingly brought back to reality by the laughter, had stopped daydreaming. Now, he sat quietly, sipping from a cup of water and staring out the window, his expression calm and unreadable.
“…”
At first, Xu Zhen had only been sneaking glances, but gradually, his gaze became more overt.
This time, being in such close quarters with Luo Ding felt very different from their previous brief interactions. Luo Ding… really wasn’t like anyone else.
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