Chapter Thirty-Nine
The teahouse had excellent soundproofing. When Ji Qinghe lifted the curtain and entered, it was as if he had peeled back a corner of the room, letting in the faint sounds of storytelling and singing from the hall outside.
Ming Jue followed a step behind, closing his umbrella. The umbrella’s surface was damp, and where the handle touched the ground, a small patch of water had spread.
As he entered, the curtain closed behind him, shutting out the liveliness from the hall outside.
Shen Qianzhan followed the umbrella’s path to Ji Qinghe’s shoulder. One side of his shoulder was dampened by snowflakes, soaked with moisture and exuding a bone-chilling cold.
Yet he seemed completely unaware, taking off his wool coat and handing it to Ming Jue before sitting down naturally in the empty seat beside her.
Shen Qianzhan poured two cups of water, handing one to Ji Qinghe and the other to Ming Jue. “Is it snowing outside?”
“It just started a while ago.” Ji Qinghe took the teacup, moistening his throat. “Quite a good choice of place, huh?”
His tone lifted slightly at the end, as if he were smiling. “The teahouse only has an open-air parking lot. After parking, we had to walk across a covered bridge and a winding stream—it took nearly ten minutes.”
Shen Qianzhan had arrived early, and aside from the slightly overcast sky, there had been no issues. She took Ji Qinghe’s words as a compliment and accepted them graciously. “You flatter me. Mr. Ji has high standards for the environment, so I searched for a long time before settling on this teahouse. It’s elegant, quiet, and has excellent soundproofing. If you want liveliness, the hall outside has storytelling and singing. If you want a rustic experience, the teahouse has tea fields. It’s a pity it’s snowing—otherwise, I could’ve even arranged for you to experience the ‘floating wine cup along the winding stream.’”
Ji Qinghe, as usual, zeroed in on the key point of her words. “So you’ve met my requirement for soundproofing.”
There was nothing wrong with the statement—each word, taken separately, was perfectly innocent and wholesome. But paired with his meaningful, teasing expression, Shen Qianzhan couldn’t help but let her thoughts wander.
She suddenly began to question whether her own mind was the problem. Out of all the colors in the world, why did she always think of the dirty ones?
Pretending not to understand, Shen Qianzhan cleared her throat and asked Ming Jue, “Assistant Ming, you’re back at work so early?”
Ming Jue sat to Ji Qinghe’s left, proactively taking over the task of brewing tea. “Yes, I’m quite passionate about my work.”
Whether this statement was insincere or heartfelt, it effectively ended the conversation.
—
Soon, Su Zan and Jiang Juanshan arrived as well.
The two had walked one after the other the entire way, only realizing each other’s identities upon entering the same teahouse.
With everyone present, Shen Qianzhan took charge, introducing each person one by one.
When it came to Lin Qiao, she added a few extra words. “Lin Qiao has a solid foundation and extensive experience in screenwriting. I’ve worked with many screenwriters, and Lin Qiao is the only one whose attention to detail and shot composition style are similar to Mr. Jiang’s, with a high pursuit of perfection. Personally, I believe her involvement will bring fresh creative inspiration to Mr. Jiang.”
Jiang Juanshan smiled faintly, rubbing the teacup’s handle as he said softly, “Lin Qiao is my student.”
“Producer Shen, you don’t need to worry that I’d be dissatisfied with Lin Qiao’s involvement in the scriptwriting.”
Shen Qianzhan glanced at the two of them in surprise. “I’ve never heard either of you mention this before.”
Lin Qiao, who had remained quiet and well-behaved ever since being caught gossiping earlier, spoke up softly to explain on Jiang Juanshan’s behalf. “I haven’t fully mastered the craft yet, so I felt ashamed to bring it up.”
Shen Qianzhan wasn’t particularly curious about the details, but she was pleased to learn that Lin Qiao and Jiang Juanshan had this kind of relationship.
A team that can collaborate harmoniously always achieves twice the results with half the effort.The script meeting would start from finalizing the project name and end with the script outline.
Su Zan served as the temporary recorder, both recording the audio and neatly typing the key points of the meeting into a document. Before adjourning, everyone received an electronic copy.
Seeing that it was getting late, Shen Qianzhan felt it inappropriate to keep everyone any longer. Noticing no one had any intention of gathering for a meal, she left with the rest.
As evening approached, the storytelling and ballad singing outside the hall had long since ended.
The moment Shen Qianzhan stepped outside, she was startled by the dusky, dimming sky.
The horizon was gray and hazy, with streetlights already lit within the tea garden. The sky seemed to have plunged into darkness, not even a hint of faint light visible.
The snow fell heavier and heavier, piling up into a thick layer.
Under the eaves of the courtyard, all the greenery was draped in a thick coat of snow, creating a vast expanse of silver-white.
Lin Qiao stomped her feet from the cold. "The weather this year is a bit abnormal. Is there a snow disaster somewhere?"
Su Zan’s cotton shoes, soaked through by the snow when he arrived, were still damp at the toes. Shaking his chilled feet, he muttered, "It’s probably been holding back for too long. The snow is pouring down like it’s being dumped from a basin. If it gets a few degrees colder, we might even catch up with Ice City and host an ice sculpture exhibition, saving us the travel expenses to Harbin."
Shen Qianzhan waited at the front desk for the invoice. Holding a handful of sunflower seeds, she cracked them unhurriedly.
As people left one after another, she waited for the invoice machine to finish printing, collected the receipt, and stepped outside. There, Ji Qinghe stood under the eaves with an umbrella, waiting for her.
She was somewhat surprised. "Has everyone left?"
Ji Qinghe hummed in agreement. "The snow is getting heavier. Su Zan didn’t bring an umbrella, so I asked Ming Jue to take him to the parking lot first."
Shen Qianzhan glanced at the snow falling thickly and stepped under his umbrella. "Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Ji."
Ji Qinghe didn’t respond, tilting the umbrella slightly toward her side.
The wind was strong, shattering Shen Qianzhan’s idea of cracking sunflower seeds while walking. She shrank her neck, her gaze falling on Ji Qinghe’s silhouette under the light.
The shadow was slender, only an outline, with no discernible details.
Only the umbrella, tilted slightly, shielded her from much of the howling wind sweeping through the corridor.
The quiet made her mind wander. She looked up and, amidst the rustling bamboo grove, made small talk. "Are you adjusting well to this kind of script meeting, Mr. Ji?"
Ji Qinghe lowered his eyes to look at her. "You mean the tea party where we discuss for half a day without reaching any substantial conclusions is called a script meeting?"
His criticism was merciless. Shen Qianzhan felt a pang in her knees and explained, "The outline isn’t finalized yet. The screenwriter only has a vague idea of what the story should be about. Do you expect substantial results from just one meeting?"
Ji Qinghe neither agreed nor disagreed. He still held a degree of reverence for fields he wasn’t familiar with and refrained from making arbitrary judgments based on his own opinions. "How long will it take to finalize the outline?"
"It depends on the screenwriter." Shen Qianzhan gave an analogy. "It’s like Endless Year developing a new series or product—the preliminary preparations could take three years, five years, or even longer. If the screenwriter understands what we want, progress will be quick. Sometimes, the screenwriter and I are on the same wavelength, but my approval alone isn’t enough. Investors will step in and provide revision suggestions. That’s also why I wanted you to participate. From now until the outline is ready, Mr. Ji, you don’t need to be involved. I’ll handle the communication with the screenwriter."When the conversation turned to work, she found herself speaking more freely: "You might think each discussion isn't particularly meaningful, but scriptwriting is refined through repeated revisions. Sometimes a great idea suddenly emerges, and everything gets overturned and restarted. When our goals align, the writer suffers less. But if we stand at opposite extremes—for instance, if I want rich emotional arcs to flesh out characters while you prefer focusing on professional aspects—we'll have disagreements."
Ji Qinghe asked, "How are such disagreements usually resolved?"
"It depends on whether I can persuade the investors or the platform. In the past, when my voice carried little weight, I often had to act against my own wishes. Although a producer shoulders the responsibility for the entire crew, they can't always freely pursue projects they truly want." Shen Qianzhan explained, "I rarely seek investment without even an outline—you're the exception. Usually, I work with the writer to prepare an outline and the first five or ten episodes before approaching platforms or investors, minimizing friction in the early stages. But that's typically when there's source material or a finished script. With original projects, it’s similar to our current situation—starting from scratch, building everything step by step."
"There are many types of disagreements with investors. For example, I might want to set a scene along the coastline with fireworks costing tens of thousands. The investor might disagree, feeling it’s too much to spend on something fleeting, and ask the writer to change it to watching shooting stars on a rooftop."
Ji Qinghe smiled. "I wouldn’t do that. If you want fireworks, you can have as many as you like."
Shen Qianzhan was momentarily speechless.
Were they really just talking about fireworks?
Just as she was about to sigh and conclude with, "If we’re not on the same page, let’s not talk about it—just be generous with the money," he laughed, his voice low and resonant, especially noticeable in the icy surroundings.
"What I mean is, I’m willing to unconditionally support your creative vision for the project." As the sky grew darker, he gently placed a hand near her right shoulder and said softly, "Endless Year has an internal evaluation system. Before I decided to invest, the evaluation team provided an objective report. It wasn’t a blind decision."
Shen Qianzhan was well aware of how impressive her track record was. She lifted her chin proudly. "I never thought Mr. Ji invested in Thousand Lights for personal reasons."
Ji Qinghe paused for a moment before saying, "Well, you can still think that."
Shen Qianzhan: "???"
Ji Qinghe had always been one to hint without being explicit—leaving you with the impression that he meant something, yet never spelling it out.
Shen Qianzhan felt at a slight disadvantage. If she weren’t afraid of provoking Ji Qinghe, she could unleash a repertoire of flirtatious tactics—bold, playful, and unrestrained.
From wild kittens to student personas and professional office workers, she had every archetype at her disposal, ready in abundance.
But to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and greater complications, Shen Qianzhan could only force a dry laugh and praise her generous investor for his humor.
—
Ji Qinghe escorted her to her car.
Snow had already covered the windows in a thin layer. He glanced down at the wheels and frowned. "Leave the car here. I’ll take you back."
Security guards were clearing snow in the parking lot, and two clear tire tracks marked the main road.Seeing the snow wasn't deep, Shen Qianzhan politely declined, "It's just snow. Driving slower won't be dangerous." Roads only become slippery when ice forms. Although Beijing's temperature had dropped, it wasn't cold enough for ice to form yet.
Ji Qinghe, seeing her firm stance, didn't press further.
Watching Shen Qianzhan get into the car and start the engine, he stepped back two paces with his umbrella, waiting for her to leave first.
The BMW's wheels rolled forward slightly, then the car shuddered and came to a stop.
Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow slightly and stepped forward, tapping on the window.
Through the blurred glass, Shen Qianzhan rolled down the window and handed him a brand-new thermal container. "My mom asked me to bring this for you."
Night had fallen, and the parking lot held only a few scattered cars.
He stood before the car holding his umbrella, his figure tall and straight like a snow-capped pine, exuding a chill.
Shen Qianzhan saw the light in his eyes shift from dim to bright, like a flickering, leaping flame.
It was a familiar stirring she knew all too well—like a mountain fire meeting the wind, endless until exhaustion.
Ji Qinghe reached out to take it, a gentle and clear smile touching his lips. "Please convey my thanks. I'll visit another day."
Shen Qianzhan's face instantly turned ashen. "...A visit really isn't necessary."
Author's Note: Mr. Ji: It is, it is. Since your mother treats me sincerely, I should visit sincerely in return.Thank you all for your support, I will continue to work hard!
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