Today, Zhu Lan had entered without notice, not realizing that Su Ning had a receptionist, and it happened to be Ji Xue, who was here to sign a renewal contract.

After arriving, Ji Xue first took the contract. Being cautious, she didn’t sign immediately, intending to review some clauses more closely. Su Ning didn’t rush her, and she sat alone in a high-backed chair by the window to read through the contract.

With the chair’s high back and plants for cover, Ji Xue had turned to face the other direction, allowing Su Ning to work undisturbed at his desk.

The CEO’s office was large enough that Zhu Lan couldn’t see her, assuming she was alone with Su Ning.

When Zhu Lan spoke up, she was somewhat emotional, and although it wasn’t a business secret, Ji Xue heard it all but stayed quiet, not interrupting their conversation, and Su Ning didn’t ask her to leave.

Su Ning hadn’t expected Ji Xue to speak up at that moment.

He apologized to Zhu Lan first, explaining that Ji Xue was naive and hadn’t thought it through, then turned to ask her, “Have you thought it through? This is your first opportunity since your debut.”

If it wasn’t for the reshoot issue, taking on the role directly would be a great opportunity for a newcomer like Ji Xue. From Su Ning’s perspective, he would have advocated for her, but the challenge lay in the fact that the role had already been announced, and promotional material involving Shu Miao had been released.

The previous actress was a recently popular rising star. Although Ji Xue would be filling in, such “replacements” could be exploited by marketing accounts for gossip and comparisons, which could leave a newcomer without a fanbase vulnerable to criticism and blame—a common occurrence in the industry.

Furthermore, the role offered no salary and was a cameo in a low-budget romance film, portraying the female lead in her youth, which required a resemblance to the lead actress.

The lead actress was a former Film Empress known for her beauty. “The younger version of the lead” wasn’t even considered a separate character due to her limited screen time. Finding a new actress from among the newcomers for such a demanding and thankless role was a tough call.

It was a role that offered little benefit but demanded high qualifications and carried a high risk of criticism, making it hard to find a replacement on short notice. Casually throwing someone into the role could offend many.

Zhu Lan had tried to find someone with her connections but failed, otherwise, she wouldn’t have come to Su Ning. Except for the initially chosen Shu Miao, this role was an unappealing prospect filled with debuffs for anyone else.

Zhu Lan was initially frowning, but upon hearing Ji Xue’s offer, she turned and looked over, surprised by her interruption. Although Zhu Lan disliked interruptions, Ji Xue’s appearance—carefully dressed with curled hair and a long dress, resembling a pretty little princess when she turned around in the executive chair—caught her off guard.

Anyone would pause at Ji Xue’s appearance.

“I didn’t say it on a whim. Last time, when I overheard you discussing it, Mr. Shen mentioned that the film was good,” Ji Xue referred to an earlier conversation in Rongcheng. “If the schedule on their side really can’t accommodate, then let me go. Mr. Su, you don’t have to be troubled. I remember the lead actress is the senior Xie Fangmin. Coincidentally, I do look a bit like her.”

Indeed, Ji Xue bore a closer resemblance to the famed beauty Xie Fangmin than Shu Miao did.

The current Xie Fangmin, now over forty, was past her prime. Having recently divorced and made a comeback, “Old Love Letters” was her first project back in the scene, with many having almost forgotten her name and her looks no longer what they once were.

But looking at Ji Xue, Zhu Lan could recall the charming and stunning Xie Fangmin from her debut days.

“Are you an actress with Guang Ying Entertainment?” Zhu Lan scrutinized her. “I haven’t heard of you before.”

Ji Xue smiled and replied, “Not exactly, since I haven’t signed the contract yet.”

Zhu Lan, sensing an opportunity, started to ask, “Would you like to…”

But before she could finish, Ji Xue waved her off and continued, “Let’s sign now. I’ve looked over the contract, and there are no issues.”

She boldly signed her name on the contract and handed it to Su Ning, saying, “Mr. Su, I’m looking forward to our cooperation.”

Su Ning took the contract and reminded her, “Ji Xue, don’t make decisions just to help me.”

He was concerned that Ji Xue might not fully understand the situation and make a hasty decision to her detriment.

“I’ve thought it through,” Ji Xue blinked, “I mainly want to meet Teacher Xie Fangmin. She was my idol when I was younger. Mr. Su, don’t worry, I wouldn’t joke about my career.”

She had seen some promotional materials for the movie online and remembered them. It didn’t seem like a hastily made film.

Even with Su Ning’s support, Ji Xue knew that re-entering the industry wouldn’t be easy. The entertainment industry isn’t just about having a pretty face; without a portfolio, it’s hard to secure good resources at the start.

This movie had the advantage of being ready for release soon after the reshoots, with limited screen time but still significant enough to be a credible reference on her resume. It was a positive step, even if the box office turnout was low.

She had her own ideas, and Su Ning, unable to persuade her otherwise, nodded and said, “Alright, I respect your decision.”

The artist’s own desires are indeed crucial. Shu Miao didn’t want to do the reshoot and preferred a big-budget ancient drama. Even if Su Ning had forced her to the reshoot set, she wouldn’t have agreed.

This way, everyone was happy.

Zhu Lan hadn’t expected a solution to appear so quickly.

Just then, Shen Mingzheng called. As soon as Su Ning answered, he heard Shen ask, “Has she been bothering you?”

Su Ning glanced at Zhu Lan and responded, “Not really. Just discussing. You’ve told me before, Sister Lan is straightforward. It’s also lucky she came today. If Ji Xue hadn’t been here, it might not have been resolved so smoothly. It’s all about timing, location, and people.”

Zhu Lan snorted upon hearing it was Shen Mingzheng on the line, but she took a few more glances at Su Ning.

This man knew how to speak well. No wonder the old man had mentioned him a few times at home.

“Is Ji Xue going to do it?” Shen Mingzheng sounded surprised, then sighed, “Let her go, it’s a good thing.”

Zhu Lan wanted to cultivate a new generation of popular artists, and so did Shen Mingzheng.

He knew that “Old Love Letters” wasn’t highly anticipated at the moment and didn’t stand out among the Valentine’s Day young and beautiful crowd. But romance films have their steady audience during this season, and it could be the one to break through.

Following “Sea Rescue” during the Valentine’s period, it had almost hit one billion in box office, making it one of the top romance films of the year. In his past life, Liao Yuansi hadn’t yet encountered trouble, and Shu Miao’s performance in this film was very noticeable. The new director had given her the most beautiful shots.

Limited screen time doesn’t mean no highlights.

Moreover, the impact of becoming popular through web dramas versus movies is different. The quality of “Old Love Letters” boosted Shu Miao from web dramas to film scripts, marking a qualitative leap in her resources and positioning.

Shen Mingzheng had tried to coordinate so that without juggling both sides, she could seamlessly join the set and take on both opportunities.

In his memory, that ancient drama performed moderately, and moreover, Shu Miao was just the second female lead. Brighter and more popular leads consumed any bit of spotlight, leaving her with less to gain from it than from “Old Love Letters.”

But the artists couldn’t wait, no matter what. They couldn’t see the value in a small-budget film with just a few minutes of screen time. With a big-budget ancient drama about to start and Zhu Lan’s strong influence trying to wrest control from Shen Mingzheng at Pinnacle, it became a choice between one or the other.

Shen Mingzheng had no intention of stealing this opportunity for someone else; he believed in destiny. If one person didn’t want it, it seemed fate had Ji Xue take it.

“Baby, pass the phone to Zhu Lan,” Shen Mingzheng told Su Ning, “She got what she wanted, and I still need to talk to the film side. After all, the reshoot was caused by Pinnacle, and since they’re changing cast last minute, it’s only fair she gives some compensation, right? Ji Xue can’t just step in for free.”

Su Ning was speechless.

“Uh, Mingzheng,” he said, “Sister Lan is right here. I have it on speakerphone. She can hear you.”

Shen Mingzheng, who had had several clashes with Zhu Lan recently, continued undeterred, “No problem.”

She heard what she heard.

Zhu Lan snorted, took the phone, spoke a few words, and quickly resolved the key issues with both sides.

The film producers were an established company, and Zhu Lan had no interest in offending them. After handing back the phone to Su Ning, she said, “All set. He really knows how to consider Guang Ying Entertainment’s artists.”

They only wanted some resources related to movie promotion, which Zhu Lan could easily approve.

Su Ning tried to smooth things over, “It’s good that it’s settled. It’s normal to have disagreements in business, everyone wants what’s best for their artists. Don’t take it to heart.”

Su Hongda was still his uncle, who had pointed at Su Ning’s nose and scolded him when he first came, but now he was quite compliant.

“I’ve seen a lot, it’s nothing,” Zhu Lan said, “As long as it doesn’t interfere with my money-making, everything is negotiable. Mr. Su, thanks for today. I’ll leave now, and we can catch up another time.”

Su Ning replied, “Sure. Next time you come to Guang Ying Entertainment, just let the reception know, and I’ll have the secretary come down to meet you.”

It must be said, she was very considerate in all aspects, even offering to walk her out herself. Before Zhu Lan left, she gave Su Ning a thorough once-over and muttered, “I sometimes wonder if the Shen family made a mistake.”

Su Ning asked, “A mistake about what?”

“Rose Sister, Shen Qiangwei, Shen Mingzheng’s mother, has a gentle temperament and speaks kindly. She’s a really nice person. How could she have a son like Shen Mingzheng who stubbornly holds on without letting go? You seem more like her in disposition, indeed likable,” Zhu Lan said, “I feel like you two might have been switched at birth.”

Su Ning chuckled awkwardly, “…I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Alright, I’m off.”

Zhu Lan waved her hand and was about to leave when she turned back, “Oh, and the tea was a bit off. Shen Mingzheng really should find you something better. He has no taste. What do you see in him?”

She never missed a chance to jab at Shen Mingzheng.

Was the tea really that bad?

The tea in the CEO’s office was of a certain standard, and Zhu Lan had been served the best Phoenix Dan Cong No. 1, which was as pricey and hard to buy as gold.

“Never mind, I’ll send you some later,” Zhu Lan said, “I have better stuff at my place.”

Then she left.

Ji Xue watched her leave, sighing twice.

Dealing with someone like Zhu Lan required Su Ning and Shen Mingzheng to work together effectively.

Shen Mingzheng alone, without his forceful approach, would be easily overpowered by her, leading to potential issues. But without Su Ning’s mediation, things could turn ugly.

Handling such personalities required a lot of finesse in the future.

She didn’t voice these thoughts, just asked, “Mr. Su, when do I join the set?”

Su Ning replied, “I’ll ask now.”

The film crew was also anxious. Initially, they were somewhat displeased about the change, but their irritation faded significantly when Ji Xue showed up.

She indeed looked stunning, more so than Shu Miao, resembling Xie Minfang even closer.

Moreover, Su Ning genuinely cared for his artists. Even for a minor reshoot role, he was concerned that Ji Xue might be rusty and perform poorly, so he made a point to bring a performance coach to the set with her.

This coach was from the Haicheng Drama Academy.

While Ji Xue could have asked the coach to come as a favor, Su Ning, from his perspective, honestly paid well to have her come.

“Old Love Letters,” as the title clearly indicated, was a story about rekindled old flames.

A young couple forced to separate by the girl’s stern father, with the boy leaving the small town vowing to make something of himself and return for his beloved. But the world outside wasn’t as simple as he thought.

Years later, in his forties, he returned to his hometown with a limp and his savings, no longer daring to mention his old vows, only to find his old love, now a widow pushing a snack cart to make a living. Neither the young man’s swagger nor the young girl’s beauty remained, but after life had worn them down, they were still drawn to each other and fell in love again.

Overall, the film was both realistic and romantic.

The choice of leads was crucial, as middle-aged love required a spark between the actors. Although ridiculed as has-beens, Xie Fangmin and the male lead had originally risen to fame as a couple, celebrated across the region. Now, past their prime, their reunion added a real sense of the film’s narrative of old lovers reuniting.

The critical focus of the film was on Xie Fangmin.

The female lead’s performance was vital. Even though her younger self lived only in memory, in the film, she served as a symbol.

In her youth, she was restricted by her father, unable to be with the one she loved or leave town to study. As an adult, her father married her off to a seemingly respectable husband who cheated on her. When her husband died unexpectedly, she was relieved, but her son, who disapproved of her finding new love because the male lead was partially disabled, found his middle-aged mother’s romance embarrassing.

The bittersweet blend of love and the harshness of life intertwined. While it was a story of old lovers reuniting, the female lead gradually broke free from the chains imposed by her father and husband.

In the end, the ailing male lead, having loved her deeply and without regrets, realized that true love meant wanting the best for one’s beloved. So, he used his life’s savings to send her away from the small town to start a new life elsewhere. The letters he had never sent and the train ticket that had gone unused were finally delivered after decades.

The first scene of the reshoot was set on a foggy day in the small town.

The male lead, having come to the town’s high school from a rural area, had heard of a famed beauty at the school. Out of curiosity, he waited on her usual path.

It was early, before morning self-study began, and the town was shrouded in fog, with students arriving sporadically, their figures blurred by the mist until they drew closer.

Then, the young girl appeared through the fog.

Her eyes met his, with the lush mountains and forests of the small town in the background and the tinkling bell of her bicycle. The girl, a beauty in the mist, was like a delicate flower dotted with dewdrops.

The memory of that foggy morning enveloped the young man’s heart. But in the next moment of the film, the morning mist turned into steam rising from a food stall, and as it cleared, it revealed the current state of the female lead.

Her hair was half-gray and dry, her clothes outdated, her face marred by undeniable wrinkles, her hands rough with calluses, wearing an apron, too busy making warm vegetable buns to chat.

The stark contrast highlighted the film’s theme even more clearly—the passage of time changes everything, youth is gone, but love remains between those who once loved each other.

On the first day of the reshoot, Su Ning went to watch.

The director was very clear about what he wanted from the shot: it had to be beautiful, innocently enticing, and ideally, it should be immediately clear to the audience what kind of beauty could captivate someone for so many years.

Her face was already perfect, but how it was portrayed on screen was another matter; it couldn’t just be a pretty but expressionless face.

Ji Xue nodded earnestly, “Okay, I understand.”

Enticing, she was good at that.

The director had previously directed Shu Miao, likely with similar expectations. Shu Miao did well, her smile as she walked past the male actor sitting on the wall perfectly on point.

But there’s more than one way to be captivating.

As Ji Xue walked past, the male lead and other students whistled.

Everyone knew she was the prettiest girl in the school—no, in the entire town.

But Ji Xue didn’t look at the male actor.

Their gazes meant nothing to her, so she just walked past.

Yet her expression wasn’t one of an emotionless pretty face. Her head was slightly raised, like a pristine swan untouched by dust, or a pure, untouchable snow lotus, her eyes shifting but only looking forward.

Not out of arrogance, but simply accustomed to such attention.

This version of her, contrasted with the skillful, greeting food stall owner she would become years later, highlighted the differences yet maintained a core similarity.

She had always been this way, indifferent to everyone’s gazes.