“Prime Minister Shen” was considered the biggest TV drama production of the year in terms of investment.

The project brought together an award-winning director—recipient of the prestigious Feitian Award—and one of the industry’s top screenwriters. A powerhouse collaboration.

The drama centers around political intrigue and the struggle for power.

Rumor had it that the male lead would be played by a top-tier film emperor, with the rest of the cast filled by veteran actors known for their strong performances. Even the supporting roles were selected through a rigorous casting process.

Due to the heavy investment behind the show, fans were already closely following its every move—even before the official cast list was announced.

Now, the highly anticipated “Prime Minister Shen” was about to begin filming at the film studios.

On this day, the drama’s official Weibo account released the character stills.

Shen Yuan—a man who held immense power, second only to the emperor.

From hostage prince to prime minister, his was a tale of a dramatic rise to power.

He Han appeared in full court attire, his refined elegance on full display.

Yet his eyes were like the deep night—dark and unreadable. His indifferent expression gave him the air of a venomous snake, cunning and composed.

These contrasting traits—aloofness and calculation—coexisted in him perfectly. He was both cold and scheming.

“Brother He is finally doing a historical drama again! With this team and this storyline, it already feels like another award-winner.”

“Time to begin the agonizing wait for filming to wrap… Luckily, my idol’s a workaholic—his cop drama will premiere next year!”

The official account then released a few more stills of other cast members, and sharp-eyed fans quickly noticed a familiar face among them: the well-known supporting actress Yao Guang.

Yao Guang—the enemy nation’s princess, now reduced to a prisoner, also Shen Yuan’s Lover.

Ye Fan appeared in an exquisitely crafted robe, embroidered with delicate patterns.

Though her face bore the marks of injury, and she had fallen from grace to prisoner, her eyes remained bright—still carrying an air of nobility.

Yao Guang’s character design was striking, but the netizens’ attention was instantly pulled elsewhere. Their eyes locked on one particular line beneath the photo:

“Shen Yuan’s lover.”

“An enemy of the state? This romance is definitely going to be tragic… but with them acting, it’ll be deliciously angsty and satisfying.”

“Shen Yuan’s lover! Ye Fan is gorgeous! I’m officially obsessed with her beauty!”

“So those earlier rumors—were they because of this drama? I knew there was no way Film Emperor He hadn’t seen those tabloid headlines.”

“Nope, I don’t believe it. It’s definitely because of Ye Fan. Think about it—he’s been in the industry for seven years and hasn’t had a single dating rumor with any of his co-stars!”

The casting for “Prime Minister Shen” was receiving universal praise online.

Still, amid all the excitement, there were a few dissenting voices. Some netizens speculated that Ye Fan had only landed the role because of the recent media buzz surrounding her.

Others argued that the role of Princess Yao Guang didn’t have enough screen time. No top-tier, trending actress would take a supporting part—especially not when they’re used to playing female leads. To them, it seemed Ye Fan had simply gotten lucky.

Most of the online discussion could be summed up in one sentence:

Ye Fan hadn’t acted in many dramas, and her skills had yet to win over the broader audience.

Not long after, “Prime Minister Shen” held its official launch ceremony at the film studios.

After joining the production, Ye Fan quickly found herself facing the same challenge—surrounded by seasoned, high-profile actors, while she herself was a newcomer with barely any experience.

Her very first scene was a dramatic one: the fall of the Qi Kingdom and the capture of Princess Yao Guang.

She was acting opposite two people—one was the familiar Film Emperor He Han, and the other was Ji Feng, a veteran actor with fifty years in the industry.

Ji Feng was a legendary presence in the entertainment world, known for his sharp tongue and notoriously high standards. It was said that he held himself to strict expectations—and demanded just as much from anyone sharing the screen with him.

Ji Feng’s status was so significant that even directors gave him special respect on set. He was known to call out others’ weaknesses without hesitation.

Countless actors in the industry had reportedly been brought to tears by his criticism.

As expected, the scene hadn’t even started filming yet, and Ye Fan was already facing scrutiny from Ji Feng.

She stepped onto the set in full costume as the captured princess—her makeup immaculate and her expression calm.

Ye Fan was already stunning in modern clothing, but her appearance in historical costume suited her just as well.

A wardrobe assistant stood behind her, carefully adjusting the long robe she wore. The robe was handmade, and the production team had invested considerable effort to ensure its high quality and texture.

Veteran actor Ji Feng stood nearby, speaking with the director.

Ye Fan approached and greeted him politely. “Hello, Senior Ji.”

Ji Feng glanced at her, his expression faintly dismissive.

He gave a noncommittal grunt and turned away, muttering—perhaps to no one in particular, “For an actor, the most important thing is the acting.”

“In our day…” Ji Feng continued, “we climbed step by step, grounded and steady.”

The implication behind his words was clear.

In today’s age of new media, popularity was king. Every celebrity’s rise seemed to involve no shortage of PR and calculated hype.

To Ji Feng, actresses like Ye Fan were incapable of real acting.

Just another pretty face—no different from the rest of the trending starlets.

Ye Fan said nothing in response.

The assistant director walked over to explain the scene: “In a moment, you’ll be standing here. He’ll enter through the main doors…”

Ye Fan replied with a calm, quiet voice, “Got it.”

Faced with Ji Feng’s skepticism, Ye Fan had no intention of defending herself with words.

Verbal rebuttals were the weakest form of resistance—especially in acting. It had to be proven through performance. She understood better than anyone how crucial scene partners were.

And someone like Ji Feng, who treated every scene with the utmost seriousness, could push her to deliver her best.

If Ji Feng doubted her acting ability, then so be it. They would face off in this scene, and afterward, he could decide for himself whether she was just another publicity-fueled pretty face.

It wasn’t just Ji Feng—no one on set seemed to have much faith in Ye Fan.

A newcomer acting opposite a veteran like Ji Feng? Not getting completely crushed would already be an achievement. To expect her to actually stand out? That was wishful thinking.

No one saw the two as being on the same level.

Everyone watching carried the same thought—and looked at Ye Fan with thinly veiled sympathy.

He Han’s gaze lingered on her, a subtle shift in his eyes.

Even if no one else believed in her, he did. He was certain Ye Fan wouldn’t fail in this scene.

She was diligent, eager to learn, and unafraid to ask questions.

For someone new to the industry, Ye Fan had already surprised him more than once. And now, He Han found himself wondering—just how far could she go?

His eyes remained fixed in her direction, as if he were simply observing the scene about to unfold.

But no one knew: his gaze followed Ye Fan alone.

The lights came on. The camera rolled. The frame locked in on Ji Feng and Ye Fan.

This scene depicted the fall of the Qi Kingdom. A general storms into the palace, intent on executing Princess Yao Guang.

The director called out, “Action.”

The general lifted his chin, eyes cold with disdain. “You are the princess of a defeated nation. Your life has no place in this world.”

“Any last words before you die?”

Ye Fan stared at Ji Feng, pausing for a moment.

Ji Feng’s portrayal of the general was fierce and commanding—seasoned by countless battles, exuding a powerful presence. His mastery of the role was obvious, his performance layered and precise.

Standing across from such overwhelming energy, how could she avoid being completely overshadowed?

Ye Fan asked herself: If I were Yao Guang, what would I do?

Facing the general who had conquered her homeland—did she hate him? Did she crave revenge?

Now, at the brink of death at the hands of her enemy—what would her final emotion be?

Ye Fan let her thoughts settle completely.

She knew that to deliver this scene with conviction, she couldn’t just act as Yao Guang—she had to become her. A fallen princess, full of pain and pride, who remained unbroken even as her world collapsed.

In this moment, she was no longer Ye Fan.

She was Yao Guang.

All of that reflection happened in just a few short seconds. And when Ye Fan raised her eyes again, every trace of that internal struggle had vanished.

Yao Guang lifted her chin slightly, her slender back slowly straightening. She raised her head with poise, and with a graceful flick of her pale fingers, she smoothed the sleeve of her robe.

The movement was exquisitely elegant—calm and unhurried.

In that moment, everyone watching felt the same thing: Yao Guang was not a defeated princess stripped of her homeland. She still carried her pride. Her dignity was untouched—unbreakable.

All eyes were fixed on Ye Fan and Ji Feng, anticipation thick in the air. They couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

Yao Guang looked at the general, her voice cold and laced with quiet scorn. Each word rang clear, reaching everyone on set.

“Qin may have taken my land, but who’s to say Qin won’t be the next to fall?”

He Han watched her and smiled faintly.

He’d known it—when things got tough, Ye Fan didn’t retreat. She fought harder. The greater the pressure, the more she rose to the challenge, refining her performance one step at a time.

And now, she wasn’t just holding her own—she was commanding the scene, making everyone reevaluate their expectations.

A flicker of surprise passed through Ji Feng’s eyes.

He’d assumed Ye Fan was all appearance and media hype—nothing more.

But she didn’t flinch in front of the camera. Her portrayal was strikingly authentic. For a moment, he’d truly believed he was facing a proud princess whose kingdom had fallen.

Then, in character, Ji Feng let out a cold scoff. “Defeated—just another fallen foe.”

He raised his arm. In the next moment, the blade would fall.

But Yao Guang did not flinch. Her head remained high, eyes fixed on the general without wavering.

Her face, pale as snow, was filled with unyielding defiance.

Then—suddenly—Yao Guang smiled.

A faint curve of her lips, laced with cold, biting irony.

The final shot froze on Ye Fan’s face.

“Cut!” the director called out, excitement clear in his voice.

The scene had come out beautifully—better than he’d expected. Ye Fan’s performance had improved dramatically since the last shoot, and the result was a very pleasant surprise.

He didn’t hold back his praise. “Ye Fan, that was excellent. Really well done.”

Ji Feng also walked over, letting out a hearty laugh. “I take back what I said earlier. You’ve clearly been working hard.”

For a newcomer to deliver a performance like that—it was genuinely impressive.

Ye Fan responded modestly, “Thank you, Senior Ji. I’ll keep working hard.”

She glanced casually around the set—only to meet He Han’s dark, unreadable gaze.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of He Han’s lips.

Ye Fan paused for a moment, then gave him a slight nod in return.

The next scene was a three-person sequence featuring He Han, Ji Feng, and Ye Fan.

Initially, the director had worried that Ye Fan’s performance would be overshadowed, but to his surprise, she had held her ground—and the result had been excellent.

Now, anticipation filled the set. Everyone was eager to see whether Ye Fan could remain composed while acting alongside both Ji Feng and an international film star.

In this scene, just as the general was about to kill Yao Guang, Shen Yuan arrived in time to save her.

The cameras began rolling.

The set fell silent—everyone held their breath, eyes glued to the unfolding drama.

The general turned to Shen Yuan, frowning. “Prime Minister Shen? Why are you here?”

Shen Yuan cast him a slow, measured glance. His lips parted calmly: “The Emperor granted me full authority over the princess’s fate.”

His tone was light, but his words left no room for argument.

Ji Feng furrowed his brow. “But she is a princess of the enemy state…”

Shen Yuan’s expression darkened instantly. His gaze turned cold—deep and unreadable, like a moonless night.

“If there is a single falsehood in what I say,” Shen Yuan declared, his voice steady and commanding, “the general is free to accuse me of treason.”

Each word landed with force—clear, sharp, and impossible to challenge.

The general fell silent and took a few steps back.

When Shen Yuan turned to look at Yao Guang, the frost in his eyes melted instantly, replaced by a deep, undeniable softness.

He gazed at her steadily, then reached out his hand and called her name.

“Yao Guang.”

His voice lowered, tinged with hesitation and a quiet, cautious tenderness.

Gone was the cold indifference he showed everyone else.

Yao Guang, however, didn’t look at him. Her expression remained unchanged—calm, unreadable.

It was hard to tell whether she truly didn’t care, or if her emotions were buried too deeply to see.

With slow, composed steps, she walked past Shen Yuan, never once glancing at his face. Her every movement radiated quiet defiance.

The camera stayed close on Ye Fan and He Han, capturing every nuance of the complicated emotions between Yao Guang and Shen Yuan.

As Yao Guang stepped out of the hall, cold steel suddenly flashed in the air.

The general’s soldiers raised their weapons—gleaming blades aimed directly at her, prepared to carry out her execution.

Shen Yuan narrowed his eyes. His voice was icy as he spat out two words:

“Stand down.”

His tone was like a winter wind—frigid and uncompromising.

Yet the soldiers didn’t lower their weapons. Before them stood the enemy princess. By all rights, she was to be executed.

Shen Yuan spoke again, his voice colder than the sharpest blade.

“I said, stand down!”

His tone was icy and commanding, pressing down with overwhelming force.

The soldiers tensed, then lowered their heads and slowly lowered their weapons. They took a few steps back, clearing a path.

Yao Guang’s expression remained unchanged, utterly unmoved. She walked forward step by step, her skirt swaying gently.

Her pace was slow and measured, every movement elegant and regal, radiating undeniable nobility.

The entire set fell into a profound silence.

Ye Fan’s performance held everyone’s attention completely.

Even He Han’s powerful acting couldn’t overshadow her.

Without uttering a word, just through her expressions and gestures, Ye Fan captured everyone’s gaze, making them helplessly surrender to her grace and presence.

Yao Guang stepped onto the prison cart, then finally turned her head to glance at Shen Yuan.

Her gaze was indifferent, her voice soft and calm.

“Shen Xiang, you need not treat me this way.”

“The fall of Qi was inevitable; Yao Guang should have died with it. Your arrival here is nothing more than a needless gesture.”

Shen Yuan clenched his fists, the pain in his palm a sharp reminder of the chasm between their current standings.

“I act only according to my heart.”

With that simple sentence, Shen Yuan said no more.

He, like He Han, was guided by the same principle. Shen Yuan protected Yao Guang because he cared.

And He Han paid attention to Ye Fan, only because she was that person.

To act solely from the heart—unmoved by anyone or anything.

Whether it was just a line from the script or carried a trace of real emotion was hard to tell—uncertain, indescribable.

Yao Guang turned her face away, no longer looking at Shen Yuan. He, too, remained silent.

In the prison cart sat the proud, cold princess. Beside her, the young Prime Minister rode on horseback.

Yet between them stretched a vast, unreachable distance—one that could never be crossed.

Everyone on set was immersed in the world Ye Fan and He Han had created, their emotions rising and falling with the characters, feeling the loneliness and desolation within.

“Cut!” the director called.

“Excellent!” It was a difficult scene, but somehow they nailed it in one take. The director was elated and couldn’t help but marvel at the superb performances of He Han and Ye Fan.

This scene had set a strong tone for the drama—it seemed the rest of the shoot would go smoothly.

…

Leaving the film studio, He Han sat quietly in his car. Suddenly, he thought of Dudu, the child he’d met at Cheng Ping’s house the other day.

His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel.

The next second, the car turned sharply, changing direction.

He Han had originally been heading home, but on a sudden, inexplicable impulse, he changed his mind.

The car began to slowly make its way toward Cheng Ping’s house.

Dudu happened to be there today—Ye Fan had something urgent at work, and Aunt Li had something come up at home.

So Ye Fan had dropped Dudu off at Cheng Ping’s place for the afternoon.

He Han’s car pulled up in front of Cheng Ping’s house.

He stepped out and walked toward the entrance.

Just then, Aunt He came out of one of the rooms, getting ready to go to the supermarket.

She spotted He Han and greeted him with a warm smile and a nod.

“Is Xiaoxiao home?”

He Han paused and looked at her.

Aunt He shook her head. “Xiaoxiao said she wanted to go practice swimming. She already left.”

He Han replied, “Alright, don’t let me keep you.”

Aunt He headed out the door.

Once she was gone, He Han glanced casually toward the garden.

At that moment, the garden was empty—the chubby little boy who had once suspected him of trying to steal a child was nowhere to be seen.

He Han withdrew his gaze and stepped inside the house.

As he pushed the door open, his eyes dropped to the floor.

By the entrance sat a pair of small boy’s shoes—tiny, neatly placed to the side.

A subtle shift crossed He Han’s expression as he turned his head toward the living room.

Just then, his eyes met a sparkling pair of curious ones.

Dudu was leaning over the edge of the sofa, staring at him with wide-eyed wonder.

He blinked a few times, then called out softly:

“Uncle.”

His voice carried into the kitchen, and a moment later, Cheng Ping walked out.

“He Han? What brings you here?” she asked, pleasantly surprised.

“I just wrapped up work.”

Cheng Ping took his arm and led him to the sofa. “Stay for dinner—I made plenty of good food.”

She noticed Dudu watching He Han intently and assumed the two hadn’t met before.

Pointing to He Han, she said to Dudu, “You haven’t met this uncle before, have you?”

Dudu slid off the sofa, his little bottom sticking out as he clambered down.

He bounced over to Cheng Ping’s side and said proudly, “I’ve met Uncle lots of times!”

Cheng Ping paused, thinking Dudu must have remembered wrong.

Dudu added confidently, “Uncle likes to follow me around.”

Cheng Ping didn’t quite understand and turned to look at He Han.

He Han offered a small explanation. “I’ve run into Dudu a few times outside.”

Since the two had already met, Cheng Ping no longer worried about Dudu feeling uneasy around a stranger.

She gave a few quick instructions, then headed back to the kitchen.

But just before stepping inside, she stopped, hesitated, and glanced back over her shoulder.

She frowned slightly, something about the scene didn’t quite sit right with her—especially the way He Han and Dudu looked standing next to each other.

Cheng Ping shook her head, brushing the thought aside, and went into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, He Han leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

Lowering himself to Dudu’s height, he called gently, “Dudu, come here.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Dudu ran over with quick little steps, stopping right in front of him.

He looked up with bright eyes. “Uncle, we meet again!”

He Han gently patted Dudu on the head.

After running into He Han so many times, Dudu had already decided he was one of his people.

He leaned obediently against He Han’s leg.

“Uncle, why don’t you come home more often?”

Dudu had been to Cheng Ping’s house many times, but had only seen He Han a few.

He Han explained, “Uncle’s job keeps him very busy, so I can’t come home often.”

Dudu tilted his head, frowning thoughtfully. “My mom’s the same.”

“She works really hard because of me.”

Then he added, “That’s why every time she comes home, she hugs and kisses me nonstop.”

A faint smile appeared in He Han’s eyes. “Then your mom must love you very much.”

Dudu nodded seriously. “Of course—just like I love her.”

He scratched his head. “Uncle, what’s your name?”

He Han suddenly realized he’d never told Dudu his name.

His smile deepened. “I’m He Han.”

Dudu repeated the name carefully. “So… you’re Uncle He?”

He Han nodded.

Dudu seemed to be wrestling with something in his little mind. He thought about it for a long while before finally blurting it out.

“Uncle, we’re close… right?”

He Han raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling Dudu was about to say something unexpected.

The smile at the corner of his lips didn’t fade. “We’re close. So what?”

Dudu looked up at him, eyes full of hope, and said in a soft, milky voice:

“Uncle, I want you to lift me up high.”

He Han was visibly taken aback. He glanced at the little round dumpling in front of him, whose lips suddenly turned down in a pout.

Dudu gave him an accusing look. “Uncle… you don’t think I’m too heavy, do you?”

He Han let out a quiet laugh, a sparkle of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Of course not,” he said.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than Dudu realized his wish was about to come true.

He bounced in place with excitement. “Yay! Yay! Yay!”

The moment He Han agreed, Dudu instantly got into position—arms up, ready to be picked up.

Dudu stretched out his chubby little arms toward He Han, his eyes practically shouting one thing: Pick me up! Pick me up! Lift me high!

He Han slipped his hands under Dudu’s arms, stood up, and effortlessly hoisted him into the air.

“Ready?” he asked.

Dudu beamed with excitement. “Ready! Uncle, go!”

He Han tossed him gently upward, then caught him securely.

He had expected Dudu to be scared—but instead, the boy clapped his tiny hands with glee.

His round eyes sparkled with joy.

Dudu looked up at He Han with pure admiration, and something in He Han’s heart softened.

Then, in that quiet room, Dudu’s soft little voice echoed clearly:

“Uncle… are you my superhero?”

=^_^=