It was already the evening of the second day when we returned to Xiatan.
As soon as Shang Yechu landed, she went back to her room to look for Yang Huanyi, but Yang Huanyi wasn't there. Thinking she hadn't returned yet, she went out to ask the others and learned that she had gone to the beach.
It was a windy night at the beach in late December. Shang Yechu was worried that Yang Huanyi was not dressed warmly enough, so she packed two layers of clothing and hurried off to find her.
After getting off the bus, Shang Yechu searched for a long time before finally spotting a figure in the pitch-black night.
Yang Huanyi sat on the reef, hugging her knees, seemingly lost in thought.
Upon closer inspection, Shang Yechu breathed a sigh of relief. Yang Huanyi was bundled up fairly well; she wasn't foolish enough to enjoy the coolness of the beach in winter. She pulled a scarf from her bag and wrapped it around Yang Huanyi's neck.
Yang Huanyi remained motionless, letting Shang Yechu do as she pleased. After wrapping herself in a scarf, she said helplessly, "It's not cold here."
Shang Yechu sat down beside her, frowning as the rocks turned cold. She spread her clothes on the rocks and called to Yang Huanyi, "Don't sit there, be careful not to catch a cold."
Yang Huanyi didn't move, but Shang Yechu slowly tugged at her clothes and pulled her over.
Yang Huanyi had no choice but to sit on the clothes that Shang Yechu had laid out and casually asked, "When did you get back?"
"Just got back." Shang Yechu stretched her legs and yawned. "What about you?"
"I'll be back this afternoon."
How was that movie?
Yang Huanyi paused, then laughed: "It's over."
Shang Yechu felt a sense of relief at first, but then a layer of guilt, like an oily film, suffocated her heart. It was thin, yet it made it hard to breathe.
Yang Huanyi is a very good actor, perhaps not the most dedicated, but...
It's too late to say all this now.
Shang Yechu took her hand. Yang Huanyi's hands were always icy cold, even when they were at their closest. Shang Yechu had developed a habit of warming her hands without realizing it.
Shang Yechu rubbed Yang Huanyi's icy fingertips in her palm, warming them little by little with her body heat. She lowered her head and said, "It will get better."
Yang Huanyi let Shang Yechu rub her hands, neither pulling away nor getting closer.
The moonlight was silvery, and tonight it was only half full, making the sea shimmer. Dark water, with its bluish-white foam, crashed against the rocks wave after wave.
A few glimmers of light dotted the distant sea. The air was salty, damp, and cool, with the wind whistling like white noise in my ears.
The night was dark, and Shang Yechu couldn't see Yang Huanyi's face clearly, but she could sense that the other person seemed to be in a bad mood.
Was it because the new drama fell through?
Shang Yechu mustered up her courage and asked, "Are you feeling unwell anywhere?"
Yang Huanyi's breathing became heavy, and after a long while, she slowly said, "I am already thirty-seven years old."
Shang Yechu paused for a moment. What should she say now? "You'll never grow old in my heart"? Or "Actors shouldn't be bound by age"? Either way, it sounded like she was talking without understanding the situation.
Fortunately, Yang Huanyi didn't ask Shang Yechu for an answer and continued, "As I get older, I'm afraid I can't do action scenes anymore. If I stay in China, the only roles suitable for someone my age are probably the mother of the main character, or some other supporting role... If I go abroad, Chinese people in Hollywood can only play villains or show off 'Chinese Kung Fu'. Taiwan and Hong Kong are xenophobic, and besides, the golden age is over."
Every artist has moments like this. Beneath the surface of their melancholy and sentimentality lies the fear of being abandoned by the audience.
No one could share or dispel this fear; all Shang Yechu could do was hold Yang Huanyi's hand tightly.
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