Chapter 80
The night deepened. The city's neon lights filtered through the thick curtains of the hotel suite, casting a faint streak of light across the carpet. A single dim wall lamp lit the room, and the air was thick with the scent of luxury fragrance and a hint of fatigue. Ling Yao had just finished a dinner, his suit jacket casually thrown on the armrest of the sofa, his tie untied. He leaned back, eyes closed, a lingering trace of fatigue between his brows.
Su Rui sat on the carpet beside him, leaning back against the sofa, looking down at the results of his recent work on his tablet. The light from the screen illuminated his focused profile.
"What are you looking at?" Ling Yao's voice was tired. His eyes were not open, but his hands hung naturally, and his fingers were curling Su Rui's hair from time to time.
"Some sample photos, taken a few days ago for the inside pages of New 100 Fashion." Su Rui's voice was very soft, with a sense of relaxation after work.
Ling Yao lazily hummed, and after a few seconds, he asked casually, "Who are you photographing?"
Su Rui paused slightly as she scrolled across the screen, and said in a calm tone, "It's... Shen Qingyuan."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment. Ling Yao's fingers, which had been ruffling his hair, stopped.
He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on Su Rui's screen. On the screen, Shen Qingyuan, clad in the latest fashion of the season, leaned or stood, his gaze penetrating. Su Rui's lens perfectly captured his aura, similar to Ling Yao's, yet more reserved and calm. The composition of light and shadow was meticulously executed, exuding a sophisticated sense of narrative. Commentators and those in the industry privately praised the photos, calling them "another harmonious collaboration" and "a mutually beneficial partnership."
Ling Yao's mouth slowly flattened, and the lazy weariness in his eyes was replaced by a dark and incomprehensible emotion. He stared for a long moment before scoffing. His voice was not loud, but it carried a distinct chill:
"Oh, Shen Qingyuan's expressiveness is only at this level. How did the fashion director of Xinbai let you approve the draft?"
Su Rui's heart skipped a beat, and she looked up at him. "What's wrong? I think... the photos are okay this time." He tried to explain, "Qingyuan is very expressive and can really understand what the photographer wants..."
"Qingyuan?" Ling Yao noticed this all too familiar name and raised his eyebrows. He shifted his gaze from the screen to Su Rui's face, scrutinizing her. "You seem to be collaborating with him more and more frequently."
Su Rui opened her mouth and wanted to say something, but was interrupted by Ling Yao.
Ling Yao reached out, his fingers swiping forcefully across the screen as he zoomed in on a close-up of Shen Qingyuan. The sourness and criticism in his tone were barely concealed. "Is this what you call good? Those empty eyes, those stiff postures—it's all just forced in post-production. Look at the lighting and shadows—it's so rigid, there's no spirit at all."
He withdrew his hand, leaned back into the sofa, and closed his eyes again, as if he didn't want to look anymore. But the words he said were like tiny ice needles: "It's far worse than the photos you took of me privately. It's not even on the same level."
This sounded like a compliment, but it was tinged with jealousy and disparagement. He wasn't just denying Shen Qingyuan, but also the results of Su Rui's work, and the recognition and connections that came with it, which were beyond his control.
Su Rui's fingers tightened slightly around the tablet. A subtle sense of grievance and injustice welled up within him. He had put a lot of effort into this set of photos, and they had received unanimous praise from the industry. They were definitely not as bad as Ling Yao had said. He knew Ling Yao wasn't really questioning his skills, but rather...
"He's just...working." Su Rui lowered her head and explained in a dry voice, "It's just cooperation. You know."
"I know." Ling Yao's voice was emotionless. "I was just saying the photos were average." He paused, then suddenly opened his eyes again, looking gravely at Su Rui. His tone softened, yet carried a different kind of control. "Don't take his next job. It's a waste of time. If you want to shoot for a top magazine, I can connect you with better resources. It's much better than this."
He didn't yell at her or even explicitly forbid her. Instead, he used a critical and for-your-own-good attitude to easily belittle Su Rui's efforts and achievements, and tried to cover up Su Rui's own choices with the "better" resources he provided.
Su Rui looked at Ling Yao's tired yet still handsome profile, at the unquestionable possession in his eyes, and finally swallowed back the words, "I think it's well filmed." He silently turned off the tablet screen, and the room fell into deeper darkness again.
He leaned back on the sofa gently, as if in silent submission.
Ling Yao seemed satisfied. He closed his eyes again and stroked his hair with his fingers again. His movements returned to their previous gentleness, as if the cold, prickly wind had never blown before.
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