The lighting was so good that their faces were completely exposed to each other. John Brooks realized it wasn’t that the sunglasses were too big, but that the other person’s face was too small.

He looked at that face, didn’t meet the calm, slender phoenix eyes, nor did he notice the delicate, straight nose. For a moment, all he saw were Ethan Sullivan’s slightly parted lips.

He didn’t know what Ethan Sullivan had eaten, but those lips were moist, bright red, like two rose petals.

Ethan Sullivan snapped back to reality, but didn’t react in any way. He turned around and took out his room card.

At that moment, John Brooks called after him from behind, “Bro, who are you playing?”

Chapter 4

Ethan Sullivan couldn’t remember the last time someone called him “bro.” He paused and turned back again, confirming, “What did you say?”

To show his sincerity—and to regain a bit of the dignity he’d lost at the airport—John Brooks took the initiative and said, “There’s no need for secrecy in a film crew, right? My name is John Brooks, I’m playing the male lead.”

Just as Ethan Sullivan was about to speak, his phone suddenly rang. The caller ID showed “Robert Parker Teacher.” He glanced at it and frowned slightly.

Ethan Sullivan immediately swiped his card and entered the room.

“Hey,” John Brooks said, “you haven’t answered me yet.”

Bang—the door to 6206 closed.

John Brooks’s last syllable was cut off, fading away in the hallway. He stood there, dazed, the atmosphere and feeling eerily similar to when he’d been stuck in the exhaust of a Porsche earlier that day.

“Are you kidding me,” he muttered to himself, trying to save face, “I’ll find out at the script reading tomorrow anyway.”

Inside, Ethan Sullivan didn’t turn on the lights. The glow from his phone screen was piercing in the darkness. He groped his way to the living room and sat on the sofa, letting the phone ring.

He timed it, waiting until just before it would hang up automatically, then finally swiped to answer.

The room was pitch black and silent. Robert Parker’s voice came through the phone especially clear, rich and warm, with a tone of gentle affection: “Xiaoting, it’s Teacher. You took so long to answer—were you already resting?”

Ethan Sullivan’s back pressed against the sofa, left hand holding the phone, right fingertips tracing circles on the armrest. He said, “Sorry, Teacher, my phone was in the bedroom. I didn’t hear it.”

Robert Parker chuckled, “It’s fine. I invited you to dinner at my place at the beginning of the month, but you never came. What have you been busy with lately?”

Ethan Sullivan replied, “I’ve been busy with the web drama.”

Robert Parker sighed, seemingly helpless: “You’re just making things hard for yourself. You could be making movies, but you insist on doing a web drama. Once you make up your mind, you never listen to anyone.”

“Teacher, sorry to trouble you,” Ethan Sullivan said. “Thank you for being willing to mentor me, but I want to try more things.”

Robert Parker asked, “Is it because you think I’m too controlling and you’re annoyed?”

The sound of fabric—Ethan Sullivan’s circling sped up, his fingertips rubbing the material until it was hot. He explained, “Teacher, please don’t take it the wrong way. Writing this script was exhausting, and it’s not ideal. I’m investing in myself, taking responsibility for myself—just treating it as a side project.”

Robert Parker laughed again, “I’m just teasing you. Whether it’s a side project or an experiment, I’m just nagging a bit.”

“Thank you, Teacher,” Ethan Sullivan said.

Robert Parker said, “I played ball with Team Leader Zhang today. He mentioned you’re working on a web drama and said you asked him to review the script.”

Ethan Sullivan said, “Yes, there are some parts that need revision, but it’s not a big problem.”

“I heard all about it,” Robert Parker said. “I figured you’d be joining the crew soon, so I called to ask you to come back before you leave.”

Ethan Sullivan said, “Sorry, Teacher, I’m already in Chongqing.”

“Really?” Robert Parker said. “Why so soon?”

Ethan Sullivan replied, “Handling things early will have less impact on filming. We’re starting in a couple of days, so I decided to come ahead of time.”

There was ten seconds of silence on the phone. Then Robert Parker said, “Take care of yourself, don’t overwork.”

Ethan Sullivan’s fingers finally stilled, his fingertips tingling as he slowly straightened them, letting his palm relax. He replied, “You and Master take care of yourselves too.”

After hanging up, Ethan Sullivan sat in the dark for a long time before getting up. His footsteps were light and agile, like a cold, nocturnal cat.

As he walked, he unbuttoned his shirt, then his belt and zipper. Entering the bathroom, he tossed his hotpot-scented clothes into the laundry basket. Only after showering did he turn on the lights.

Dressed in silk pajamas, Ethan Sullivan curled up smoothly on the bed. He hadn’t had any black coffee, but he wasn’t sleepy. He put his laptop on his knees and typed out the words “Script Revision Outline.”

The sound of typing and the ticking of the clock blended together, neither stopping.

There were five rooms in the suite. The bedroom curtains weren’t drawn, and the entire glass wall looked out over the vast sky and the surging Jialing River.

The night was like an ink painting played in reverse, fading from pure black to pale gray. Dawn was approaching.

Ethan Sullivan’s body, stiff from staying up all night, was sore and numb. He didn’t even have the strength to stretch. He closed his laptop and set it by his pillow, then slipped under the covers to sleep.

He was thin but well-proportioned, occupying exactly half the bed, lying on his side with his chin tucked under the blanket.

In the hallway, Jason Wright was furiously pressing the doorbell, with more vigor than a police anti-vice raid. The door suddenly swung open—John Brooks stood there in a bathrobe, looking both sleepy and fierce. “It’s only five thirty. Are you going to the People’s Park to do tai chi or what?”