There were too many mosquitoes at night in the Ancient Village. After getting the actors' schedule, Jane sat in the caravan and glanced at her phone; it was already 9 PM. Was she managing an artist or a rambunctious monkey on her first day with the crew?
When she returned to the set in a huff, filming was underway; a slender young girl in modern attire was seen falling from the sky, landing right in the arms of the Immortal Venerable standing on a wooden bridge.
The Immortal Venerable stood tall and graceful, spinning with the girl in his arms amidst the clouds and mist.
Jane was a realist and never liked such ethereal things. She found them fake at heart, and her many years in the industry had built a strong mental fortress around her.
Even a big IP like this couldn't escape the cliché plots.
Jane stood expressionless behind the monitor, lips tight, eyes dark. She had waited in the car for over an hour, only to be a stunt double, for Melody Sutton no less.
The woman's anger almost exploded, and she pulled out her phone, snapped a photo, and sent it to Mr. Anderson.
As a stunt double, Rosie Scott's face wasn't shown; only the part below her neck was used. The girl wrapped her arms around the male idol's neck, her eyes moist, while up close, Blake Shaw's face was even more captivating.
'Cut.'
The director called a halt over the intercom, "That's it for today, everyone. Crew members, please tidy up the set."
Blake Shaw burst into laughter as she stared at him: "Do you always look at men with such a heated gaze?"
"Uh... Sorry." Rosie Scott said, sheepishly stepping out of his embrace. The crew turned off the lights, and the people in the set dwindled as the director's team left, indicating Blake Shaw also intended to leave.
The girl suddenly called out to him, "Shaw, do you have someone you like right now?"
Rosie Scott regretted it the moment she asked. What a blunder; how could she ask him directly?
The man chuckled lightly at first, then his expression turned unusually serious.
"Don't be misled by good looks. If you want to progress in this circle, don't entertain any misguided thoughts." Blake Shaw's expression was even somewhat stern, like warning her not to have any unrealistic expectations about him.
Rosie Scott knew he might have misunderstood, waving her hands in denial, "No, no, no, I didn't mean that. How dare I get involved with you? I'm just advising you to be cautious around women who deliberately approach you—they must have hidden motives."
Blake Shaw raised an eyebrow, looking at her with amusement, "Are you talking about yourself?"
"Huh? Anyway, no dating." The girl spoke with unexpected sincerity.
"Come with me." Jane's voice suddenly broke in, ensnaring Rosie's soul like an old monster from a thousand mountains. She was still a bit intimidated by this manager, knowing they were quite capable.
Blake Shaw nodded in greeting to Jane and then turned to leave.
The girl, like a kitten grabbed by the scruff, was dragged to the caravan by Jane.
With a 'whoosh,' the door opened, and with a single glance from Jane, Rosie Scott scurried onto the nanny car like a detainee.
"From now on, aside from script discussions, you are not allowed to have excessive interactions with other male actors, especially Blake Shaw."
"I was just having a simple conversation."
"As my artist, you listen to me. I don't want to repeat myself. Here's your schedule for the next few days. I'll pick you up when it's time. During your free time, try to study your lines, and if you have time, read the novel 'Sword Cry to the Nine Heavens.'
Rosie Scott pursed her lips and kept silent, opening the script like a student under parental supervision.
The car drove at a smooth pace as the street lamps outside flickered, frequently casting a glow on the script's words. Rosie Scott pursed her lips, holding the script, reading the lines, before bursting into laughter.
She didn't know what came to mind, but she laughed happily several times.
Jane, resting her eyes, heard laughter from her side, frowned, and looked over. "What are you giggling about?"
Covering her mouth, the girl, excited at being held in Blake Shaw's arms today, even smiled up to her eyes.
Throughout the trip, Jane could hear the girl's frequent laughter from the side. Each time she glanced, she'd go quiet, but soon enough, the laughter would start again.
This condition continued until they arrived at Anderson Castle. Finally, after she was dropped off, Jane found peace.
Rosie Scott held the script, humming a song as she skipped into Anderson Castle, only to see Mr. Gold looking anxious at the door.
"Mr. Gold, why do you look so constipated?"
Mr. Gold immediately gestured for silence, "Miss Scott, please, keep it down; Mr. Anderson is not in a good mood and skipped dinner."
"Charles Anderson can have a bad mood? Tell me what's wrong, so I can cheer up?"
Mr. Gold was astounded, "The doctor advised that Mr. Anderson needs to eat meals on time for his current health."
"Oh come on, he's grown up; skipping dinner won't starve him to death. Let him be; I'm going upstairs to rest." Rosie Scott was about to leave when Mr. Gold stopped her, "Miss Scott, Mr. Anderson treats you well. Could you bring this plate of dumplings to him?"
"Him? Being nice to me?"
Mr. Gold nodded sincerely.
The girl had no words, staring at the dumplings and dipping sauce in Mr. Gold's tray. She happened to be going upstairs, so she might as well take it along.
The corridor had lights every three steps and a red carpet as if woven into a dream. Humming, the girl walked on air, but at the corner, she was startled by a pair of chilling dark eyes.
"Ah!" Rosie Scott took a step back, looking at Charles Anderson's cold face and deep black eyes, truly startled, noting he sat in a wheelchair as if deliberately waiting for her at the corner.
"Couldn't you make some noise? You scared me." The girl scrutinized him, muttering internally: Last time his father showed up, he was just like this, indifferent. Seems he really is angry, quite angry.
Curious what could possibly anger the deep-thinking Mr. Anderson so much.
"You're back a bit late."
"Eleven-thirty is not late. Look, Mr. Gold asked me to give you this." The girl placed the tray stably before the man.
"Only because Mr. Gold asked you?" Charles Anderson looked down, then brushed past her indifferently.
"..."
Rosie Scott, out of kindness, brought dinner, yet ended up being ignored. She twitched at the corner of her mouth, "Hey, turns out you're just as childish, refusing to eat when upset, like a girl."
The girl, holding the tray, kept chattering behind him, while the man in the wheelchair suddenly stopped, turned to look at her.
"Did you have a good day?"
Rosie Scott stepped in front of him, smiling broadly, "If I said no, would you believe me?"
Seeing her eyes slightly lifted, the man's jawline tightened. He maneuvered the wheelchair into the room, "My hand got hurt today; I can't use chopsticks, so I'll trouble Miss Scott to feed me."
The girl looked at his hand; could move the wheelchair but couldn't handle chopsticks?