"Our Bingbing has a face that can be both edgy and sweet. And her height—OMG! She's 169cm even barefoot! She can pull off any look, no problem! This is going to be tough. It's hard for me to find a direction right off the bat."
Inside Daolin Studio, Chen Daolin, a man in his forties, walked circles around Ni Bingyan, his fingers held delicately in the air.
That one simple sentence was enough to make Ni Bingyan's heart bloom with joy, as if she were truly some unparalleled, once-in-a-lifetime beauty.
In reality, she wasn't dressed up at all. She wore a black turtleneck sweater, skinny jeans, and disposable slippers she had changed into after her height measurement. Add to that the bare face Chen Daolin had requested beforehand—even a goddess's looks would be diminished.
'As expected of a stylist who works with A-list actresses,' she thought. 'He's such a sweet-talker.'
"Dorien, stop with the nonsense. Let's get down to business!"
Wei Shuojie reminded him, exasperated.
