Zhao Xiaorou finished washing her face and sat before the vanity mirror listening to her assistant run through her schedule. Even now, she still hated this part—having work piled up and listed off like a menu was nobody’s idea of fun.
For the new month, aside from makeup gigs, there were luxury brand launches, or vlogs analyzing outfits from movies and American TV shows. She was tired of it all. It was as if, since becoming single again, she had run out of fresh content ideas.
The assistant, who had once nearly been fired by Ma Liang, was still by her side. Sensing her lack of interest, the assistant brought up a new offer.
“There’s a TVC from Ogilvy for a new client—that well-known FMCG brand you complained about before.”
“Why not contact me directly? Why go through Ogilvy?” Zhao Xiaorou wasn’t particularly interested. “What, are they still hung up on my ex-husband Wang Guangming being from Blue Focus?”
As soon as she said it, her hand, which had been unscrewing a cap, paused. She immediately changed direction and began patting toner onto her face. “Take it. Of course, take it.”
Ma Liang was on the Unilever team at Ogilvy.
Shooting TV commercials was one of Zhao Xiaorou’s preferred jobs—professional, skill-based, with scripts that were high-end from concept to visual execution. They aired on large public screens and premium ad spaces, which better reflected her taste.
Arriving at the set with her assistant, makeup artist, and a team of five or six, she found three people from Ogilvy along with the filming crew—about a dozen standing by the tracks.
Zhao Xiaorou thought to herself, No wonder the traditional 4A agencies are struggling—the industry is oversaturated with useless people.
During touch-ups, the script was placed in front of her. She glanced at it: the scenes were all from a model’s perspective, with very few lines. They had chosen her simply because certain angles made her resemble IU.
Behind her, several Ogilvy colleagues sat on the floor working overtime, looking disheveled as they rushed to finish pitches for other brands.
From the sound of it, they had just joined the company, fresh out of intensive training.
A few girls were discussing sanitary pads, not forgetting to praise Ma Liang for keeping a straight face—his points were a bit crude but had good angles.
Zhao Xiaorou rolled her eyes immediately upon hearing that. It’s not like he knows how to talk about anything other than dirty jokes.
A slightly older colleague chimed in, “The night before the pitch, Ma Liang went downstairs to buy us KFC. Early the next morning, while we were catching a half-hour nap, he came back with soy milk. Do you know how I felt at that moment? My stomach told me—propose to him!”
Zhao Xiaorou chuckled behind them. That old trick never gets old.
Ma Liang came back from fetching milk tea and, seeing Zhao Xiaorou, gave an awkward smile. “She’s today’s model?”
“Yeah. See? This is what happens when you lack culture—didn’t even recognize the English name, did you?” The SAE beside him laughed at him.
After distributing the milk tea to his colleagues, Ma Liang handed his to Zhao Xiaorou. “Here, you have it…”
“Thanks…” Zhao Xiaorou poked in the straw and passed it to the makeup artist without even glancing at Ma Liang.
As they prepared to shoot, Zhao Xiaorou sat in the constructed office set. The scene involved an awkward situation: she receives an elegant gift box via flash delivery at the office, and her colleagues envy her, assuming it’s from a boyfriend—when in fact, it’s sanitary pads she had ordered.
What is this…
Not wanting to be too obvious, Zhao Xiaorou stood up and politely asked, “I’m not quite getting the tone of this shooting brief. Could you explain it again?”Zhao Xiaorou extended a finger. "Let this handsome guy explain it, in English."
With Ma Liang's broken English, Zhao Xiaorou was clearly setting him up for embarrassment. Ma Liang looked somewhat awkward, his eyes silently pleading for help from his colleagues nearby.
A team of four had come to supervise the shoot. Zhao Xiaorou glanced at them—all four were executives, with Ma Liang being the only man.
The other three women either thought Zhao Xiaorou was being picky or suspected she had a thing for Ma Liang.
After all, in their eyes, she was just a shallow Internet celebrity. And as luck would have it, the proposal they had pulled an all-nighter to prepare was pure garbage in Zhao Xiaorou's view.
One of the women tried to bail Ma Liang out, but Zhao Xiaorou smiled and said, "No need for now. Let's not waste so many people's time. You can continue working on the PPT."
Ma Liang turned around. "Don't worry, she's my ex-girlfriend. She just wants to catch up."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Zhao Xiaorou felt a wave of disgust—this move was absolutely ruthless.
At that moment, she came across as nitpicky, vindictive, and utterly unprofessional—an Internet celebrity through and through.
Yet her face remained perfectly calm as she leaned back slightly and said slowly, "Work is work. I hope you maintain proper boundaries."
Both of them wore smiles, but inside, Zhao Xiaorou felt as if a thousand arrows had pierced her heart. Damn this scumbag. He belongs on the set of "I Am an Actor."
During a bathroom break after reviewing the script, Zhao Xiaorou overheard the SAE from earlier gossiping: "These Internet celebrities nowadays, their private lives are so promiscuous. I already thought she was problematic when she divorced Wang Guangming. And now, look—she's been with Ma Liang too. Can't she behave more decently after a divorce?"
The words "divorced" were emphasized heavily. Zhao Xiaorou stayed in the bathroom stall, frozen for a few seconds. When she pushed the door open and saw her reflection in the mirror, she thought, Of all the labels I carry now, the ugliest one is "divorced..."
Suddenly, she remembered her senior colleague from her internship days, the woman who had slept on the bunk above her, saying, "Don't get married lightly. Not for any other reason, but to avoid divorce. In the eyes of many ordinary people, divorce is the most shameful thing a person can experience."
She checked her phone. That senior colleague had now been working at Ogilvy for nine years.
Back on set, Zhao Xiaorou glanced at the woman who had been gossiping earlier and picked up the script sternly. "May I ask, was this proposal approved by the client?"
"The client said to shoot a version for them to review first."
"I think it's fine, but—" Zhao Xiaorou emphasized the word "but" heavily. "I don’t shoot many daily chemical products these days. Internet celebrity reviews and KOC promotions heavily influence sales. If they’re hiring me for a promotional video targeting white-collar users, it needs to have a creative spark. Did you ask the client what their sales target is?"
"No..."
"If you don’t ask about sales targets, how can you know what they need to achieve? You’re wasting the client’s budget. Go get a water dispenser and a half-filled bucket."
The four of them looked confused. One of them seemed impatient. "We have another case after this. We’re short on time."
"With this kind of pitch, you’ll definitely lose. Let me add a scene for you—change the setting. Place a box of sanitary pads on the water dispenser. The bucket is only half-full, and fill the empty half with bubbles—isn’t the product called Instant Absorption Blue?"
Everyone was stunned for a moment before rushing to borrow a bucket from the company next door. From shooting to camera angles, Zhao Xiaorou personally supervised everything on the monitor.Not only did she watch the plot, but she deliberately chose angles that didn't resemble IU too much.
"You guys are working on your first official case, right? I suggest you confirm everything with SAM before shooting with us next time. If the client rejects what we film now, we'll have to reshoot here again.
If the concept isn't elevated and lacks memorable points, even as a consumer I'd find it quite ordinary.
I suggest you be more professional. If you don't know how to write proposals, you can ask Natalie for guidance. Your leader is a friend of mine - if I were to film this now, she'd probably think I'm unprofessional too."
Zhao Xiaorou smiled, resuming her standard "tea art" smile: "No need to wonder about my background either. When I interned at OgilvyOne, Natalie and I shared bunk beds."
By 4 PM, Zhao Xiaorou hadn't even drunk a sip of water. When filming ended, she bowed to everyone. Answering Natalie's call, she praised effusively: "Your interns, especially the female ones, are so outstanding! They discussed improvements with me on-site and came up with an excellent script."
With that, she waved goodbye smilingly, maintaining perfect composure—in front of clients and partners, Zhao Xiaorou never lost her temper, always smiling. She'd finally understood this truth in life.
Under any circumstances, turning enemies into friends and removing others' prejudiced perspectives to gain affinity is what ensures longevity. At the very least, these people would become her loyal supporters after today's encounter.
And as expected when she stepped out, Ma Liang came chasing after her. He was no longer the boy wearing Gap hoodies and sleeping on Escape Room couches. WeChat notifications kept popping up on his Apple Watch, with the word "Darling" displayed.
The breeze brushed Zhao Xiaorou's cheeks. Her car hadn't arrived yet, leaving her several minutes to criticize his hypocrisy, but she remained silent.
Ma Liang said, "Xiaorou, you're as excellent as ever. Seeing you today truly demonstrated your professionalism. I hope we meet again someday—I'll never forget you."
Still without having drunk any water, Zhao Xiaorou stepped back, maintaining a fresh-breath distance: "Can you handle DO briefs now? Do you understand the difference between client wants and needs?
Or can you still do nothing, watching others brainstorm in meeting rooms while being utterly useless, only capable of eagerly running downstairs to buy KFC?
Ma Liang, of all industries you could've struggled in, you chose to climb the career ladder through romantic entanglements in advertising. I find it utterly contemptible.
Everyone in this company, regardless of gender, joined with dreams, willing to take pay cuts just to get in. Ogilvy, the temple 4A professionals dream of—do you have even an ounce of respect for this industry in your mind?
Look at these items on your desk—'The Manager's Handbook,' 'David Ogilvy's Quotations'—have you even opened them?
You probably just think the employee badge is impressive enough, and the pencils, notebooks, and chopsticks are so useful you want to take them home for your mother?
When you were working under me, if you'd ever bothered to listen when I explained client demands, budgets, execution plans, or sales targets, you wouldn't be here now unable to even create a proper PPT. All you can do is act coy with female colleagues, exchange meaningful glances, engage in ambiguous relationships, and buy them food—don't you find that pathetic?"
"Rou Rou, don't be like this. This only makes it harder for me to let you go.""I can't seem to let go of someone like you either, because among all the men I've loved, none have lived solely off romantic relationships like you do. Just thinking about you makes me so ashamed I can't sleep.
Of course, Ogilvy is a great place to learn how to package your image. Once you've learned to properly package yourself, who knows—when you end up living in a Western Suburb villa someday, you might at least be able to keep up when wealthy ladies start showing off with couplets."
After turning around, Zhao Xiaorou pulled open the car door, feeling her earlier speech had scored at least ninety points. But Ma Liang called out from behind: "Rourou!"She turned back, and Ma Liang said affectionately: 'You're the woman I've loved most in my life.'"
"Cut the crap..." All those words were wasted. Trying to teach someone like Ma Liang—the Jack Ma of gold-diggers—to respect advertising was like playing the lute to a cow.
Zhao Xiaorou was getting impatient, but cursing would feel disrespectful to the androgynous suit she was wearing: "The busty women you like couldn't even squeeze into this size-0 luxury item. We exist in different realms—save those lines for someone else."
Zhao Xiaorou sent a long string of stories about Ma Liang at Ogilvy, but Hu Xiu hadn't had time to read them yet—
The hospital had been unusually busy with foreign guests recently. Hu Xiu kept seeing one high-nosed, deep-eyed foreigner after another, constantly switching between Chinese and English at the venue, leaving no time to check her phone for personal matters.
Spotting Pei Zhen chatting with a young man in the crowd, she noticed the man had a small face with sharp, clean features—clearly someone with substantial ideas.
As Hu Xiu approached, Pei Zhen thoughtfully noticed her: "Let me introduce you—Shen Zhimin, just back from the States; Hu Xiu, hospital interpreter, our battlefield goddess."
Hu Xiu shook hands with him, noticing Shen Zhimin carried the scent of tobacco. Even handsome men could be chain smokers.
It was rare for Pei Zhen to introduce a friend so seriously: "This guy has a master's in public health from Harvard, working on mental health relief and humanistic care.
There are many families dealing with mental health issues or marginalized due to infectious diseases—Shen Zhimin has been doing specialized reporting on these domestic topics."
"Do you work at the hospital?"
"No, I originally applied here, but unfortunately there weren't any openings for me."
Shen Zhimin smiled: "Being a volunteer is good too, aside from occasionally worrying about funding." After saying this, his eyes shifted to Pei Zhen: "Girlfriend?"
"No, colleague. Good friend."
Shen Zhimin smiled understandingly.
After work, Hu Xiu rushed off with her bag to find Diao Zhiyu. Three days without showing up or calling—clearly he was upset with her.
Guessing he'd either be rehearsing at the Shanghai Theatre Academy's rehearsal hall or watching a play at the theater, she took a taxi to STA.
Sure enough, Diao Zhiyu was standing at the entrance of the Duanjun Theater, where the poster advertised "The Visit"—a classic play. Hu Xiu went over and covered his eyes: "Guess who?"
Diao Zhiyu was helpless against such tricks, and couldn't maintain his pretend anger for long—his cheeks were already curving into a smile under her touch. Hu Xiu continued: "Don't be mad, I came specially to apologize."
"How are you apologizing?"
"Ruby Restaurant outside—chestnut cake or cream squares, your pick."
"Those sell out after five—you're underestimating the aunties in this neighborhood."
"Then what should I do?"
"Pay with your body..."
"Diao Zhiyu, you're only twenty-three! How can you say such indecent things?"
The person under her hands giggled: "You're about to smother me blind.""If you're watching the play, I'll go find a café next door to sit for a while. See you soon?"
Diao Zhiyu pulled Hu Xiu's hand as they entered: "We can just sit in the aisle. The theater troupe always does it this way."
Hu Xiu settled into an aisle seat in the last row. By the time she looked up, the entire row had filled with people, and soon the air grew thin.
She watched the three-hour play in a daze. Many in the audience were on their phones - such relatively dry foreign dramas indeed made it hard to maintain focus.
Diao Zhiyu wasn't watching attentively either, taking out his phone several times with a thoughtful expression, as if making notes.
Hu Xiu felt intertwined unease and pleasure - these moments accompanying him through his low points and anxiety kept her on edge as well.
After all, the things said before had been too harsh.
Accompanying Diao Zhiyu in both acting and watching plays, Hu Xiu hadn't taken any translation jobs for eight weekends straight. For a whole month, she had been quietly observing.
This young man seemed genuinely serious about becoming an actor, striving hard to shed his immaturity, wanting to quickly transform into a skilled performer.
He would perform excerpts from each play in his "Selected Western Plays" collection. Hu Xiu sat opposite him on a stool, watching him perform everything from Shakespeare to Ibsen. Each Role showed some resemblance in spirit, yet still lacked something.
Sitting on the floor with the play collection tossed aside, he said: "Did Romeo and Juliet truly understand love? These lines don't sound like anything a fourteen-year-old and sixteen-year-old would say."
Of course Romeo and Juliet didn't understand love - it was Shakespeare who understood love.
Resting her chin in her hands while watching Diao Zhiyu perform, Hu Xiu felt her attention drifting. Growing drowsy, she almost imagined he was practicing military-style boxing. When Diao Zhiyu finally grew tired, Hu Xiu took out "Rhinoceros in Love" from her bag: "Here, try Ma Lu's lines."
"No script needed, I can recite it." Diao Zhiyu stood up, that mix of madness and passion surging through him like intoxication: "You are my warm gloves, my cold beer, the shirt smelling of sunshine, my day-after-day dream."
"You are pure, innocent, glass-like - nothing can pollute you, nothing can change you. Sunshine passes through you yet alters its own direction."
Hu Xiu thought to herself: This is it.
He probably hadn't realized yet how well-suited he was for love stories, nor was he willing to admit - that he was a romantic at heart.
And she wouldn't be his final destination either.
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