John Brooks obediently stood up and walked out, turning his head back at the mini-porch. Under the dazzling crystal chandelier, Ethan Sullivan sat alone at the table wrapped in a black suit, his slender back looking lonely.

He didn’t know why, but suddenly he wanted to confess: “Um, the toast speech was written by my agent.”

Ethan Sullivan’s tone was utterly flat: “Why are you telling me this?”

John Brooks didn’t know either, so he answered honestly, “I don’t know.”

Ethan Sullivan let out a low chuckle, his tone deep: “Suit yourself. But in the future, don’t say things like ‘seeing you is like seeing my father’ so casually.”

John Brooks decided to shut up, not planning to admit that only that one line was his own idea.

Leaving the private room, John Brooks suddenly felt relieved, leaning against the wall and taking a long, deep breath. He had gone in high-spirited, but came out feeling burned out inside; he figured he must have a hormonal imbalance by now.

Jason Wright was waiting anxiously three steps away and rushed over immediately: “What happened? Director Carter and the others all went to the banquet hall, saying you stayed behind to talk to Screenwriter Sullivan. Is that for real?”

John Brooks replied, “It’s real.”

“Damn.” Jason Wright was both shocked and flattered, “Screenwriter Sullivan not only asked to see you by name, but also chatted with you alone?”

John Brooks found it hard to say: “…I didn’t expect it either.”

Jason Wright pressed his digital watch: “I started timing you the moment you went in. I estimated ten minutes at most, but you were in there for thirty minutes. You’re amazing!”

John Brooks really didn’t know how to respond, so he said, “A man shouldn’t be too quick.”

Jason Wright laughed so hard his face wrinkled, reaching out to wipe the sweat from John Brooks’s forehead. “Why are you sweating so much? By the way, you didn’t forget your lines, right? How did Teacher Sullivan react after you finished?”

“He… laughed.” John Brooks looked utterly defeated, “Everyone laughed.”

Jason Wright said, “That means people like you. How do you feel? Do you think Teacher Sullivan will remember you?”

John Brooks estimated conservatively, “If Ethan Sullivan doesn’t get into a car accident and hit his head, causing amnesia, I think he’ll remember me for life.”

“Wow…” Jason Wright was stunned, “Impressive.”

The door opened, and just as Ethan Sullivan set down his chopsticks, he wiped his mouth and recognized the sound of only one person’s footsteps. William Carter came back alone, cheeks flushed, drunkenness rising, and felt dizzy as he plopped down.

Ethan Sullivan poured a cup of tea and pushed it over: “Sober up.”

William Carter took it in his hands: “How much did you drink?”

Ethan Sullivan had drunk half a liter of Wuliangye and several glasses of Krug, yet his face wasn’t red and he wasn’t out of breath. Back in college, whenever the guys had a get-together, he always dragged the dead-drunk William Carter back to the dorm, while he himself was sober enough to do some homework.

William Carter said sluggishly, “Hey, Little John left?”

Ethan Sullivan gave a noncommittal “Mm,” lowered his head to send a message, and told the driver to wait at the hotel entrance. William Carter said regretfully, “Little John was probably too nervous. He’s just a young actor, hasn’t seen much of the world.”

Ethan Sullivan thought, living in a luxury suite, dressed head to toe in high-end custom clothes, wearing the latest and hardest-to-get jewelry, and with an overinflated sense of self. That attitude was definitely not someone inexperienced.

He wasn’t in the mood to worry about a fool, so he poured William Carter a second cup of tea and said, “Go back to your room and rest early, don’t delay tomorrow’s work.”

William Carter joked, “What’s there to be afraid of? You’re on the crew—if I can’t make it, you can fill in for me. Haven’t forgotten what you learned back then, right? You were the top student in our directing department.”

Ethan Sullivan smiled without replying, appearing to look at his phone, but in reality his gaze fell on his fingertips—the hands that once drew storyboards and handled equipment, now spent all these years writing and typing.

Whether he’d forgotten or not, he didn’t dare say, nor did he dare try.

On the way back to the hotel, Ethan Sullivan kept his eyes half-closed, as if tired. The dazzling neon lights streamed into the car; he didn’t like such gaudiness, so he swiftly pulled the curtains shut.

The driver kept silent and quietly sped up.

In the corridor on the 62nd floor of the hotel, John Brooks stood leaning against his room door.

He had come back early under the pretense of reading the script, hadn’t removed his makeup or showered, and only after calming down did he realize he’d forgotten to apologize to Ethan Sullivan in the private room.

He wanted to make amends, and now, as he waited, he wondered if he could still salvage Ethan Sullivan’s impression of him.

Would he ever get another chance to act in Ethan Sullivan’s script?

Would he even get to be in Robert Parker’s movie?

John Brooks’s thoughts were a mess, and before he knew it, a long time had passed. Suddenly, something caught his eye—he turned to look at the end of the corridor, and the person he’d been waiting and thinking about finally appeared.

Ethan Sullivan reeked of alcohol, his black shirt hung loosely on his body, sleeves rolled up, his arms and cheeks bathed in the warm yellow light of the wall lamp, the black jacket in his hand swinging gently with his steps.

He wasn’t drunk, but had shed some of his usual composure.

Ethan Sullivan walked gracefully over and leaned against the door of 6206. Each had their own door, meeting in the dimly lit corridor, the atmosphere reminiscent of Wong Kar-wai’s film “In the Mood for Love.”

John Brooks stepped closer: “Teacher Sullivan, you’re back.”

Ethan Sullivan didn’t respond, eyes drooping as he fumbled for his room card.

John Brooks said, “Teacher Sullivan, I didn’t get the chance in the private room, so now I want to formally apologize to you. I’ve offended you these past two days, I’m sorry.”

Ethan Sullivan took out his room card and turned around.