Is Xie Fangmin, playing the middle-aged female lead, not beautiful now? She certainly is, but her beauty isn’t just skin-deep; it’s rooted in her spirit.

Almost everyone in this small town knows her. Many admired her beauty when she was young, and they know about her husband’s affair and how his money was squandered by another woman. Once a beauty who never had to lift a finger, she now has to fend for herself. Some schadenfreude, others watch with indifference.

But she doesn’t feel disgraced and continues to strive in her daily life.

The whole town, under the director’s lens, exhibits a damp quality—foggy, often rainy, with occasional light snowfalls. The surrounding green mountains and trees encase it tightly.

In many shots, only the female lead’s snack stall emits warmth, the steam rising and her hands producing comforting hot food.

—She embodies warmth and strength beneath her cool exterior.

Thus, it’s only natural in the film that the male lead has loved her deeply for so long, viewing her as his beacon, and his readiness to sacrifice everything for her seems justified.

Having read the script and seen some of the footage, Su Ning could understand why Shen Mingzheng thought this film held promise.

Nowadays, the themes of romance films are manifold, with an array of professions and even fantastical beings in love. But such flashy packaging can obscure the true essence of love—the genuine, good, and beautiful nature of the beloved.

Perhaps the story doesn’t need to be complicated; simply portraying such pure love is enough to move the audience.

Moreover, the new director does have talent; his shots are visually stunning, creating a clean, fairy-tale-like feel.

Su Ning made a point to remember his name, which was quite fitting: Tong Feifan, a name that suggested uniqueness. He appeared young, around thirty.

Though the production company, Gaoshan Entertainment, is well-known, this is indeed a low-budget film by a new director, featuring has-beens as leads, and the whole crew exhibits a shoestring budget, with nearly all scenes shot in this small town.

But a small budget doesn’t mean low quality.

Such a director encountering Ji Xue, who has a cinematic presence, resulted in a remarkable chemistry.

She isn’t rushing through the schedule; she immerses herself fully in the shooting, takes initiative, and even wrote a thousand-word backstory for her minor role, which lives mostly in memories. She thoroughly analyzed her character’s psychological state at the time, adjusting her performance meticulously to meet the director’s vision.

As a newcomer who hasn’t acted in a long time, Su Ning would say that Ji Xue’s acting isn’t particularly outstanding. It’s unfair to compare her with seasoned actors, but she excels in insight and genuinely fits her role. Initially unsure of her marks, the director and her coach guided her through, and she quickly grasped it.

After a few takes, Director Tong nodded and approved the scene, “That’s it.” He’s not very talkative, even rather reticent, always wearing a low baseball cap. After Ji Xue finished her scene, he added a few words, “Very good, even better this way.”

During the shoot, Su Ning didn’t intrude. During a break, he politely asked, “Director Tong, may I add you as a contact?”

Recognized by everyone there, Tong Feifan was momentarily shy but glanced at Su Ning and said, “Yes, okay.”

He fumbled in his pockets for his phone, couldn’t find it, then turned to see it on a small table, appearing quite nervous before finally adding Su Ning’s contact.

Su Ning expressed his hope for future collaborations, praising the director’s bright future.

Tong Feifan, bashful, just waved his hand, perhaps thinking Su Ning was merely being polite. In reality, Su Ning was sincere; his visit had indeed been very fruitful.

As a complete newcomer, Ji Xue’s performance exceeded Su Ning’s expectations, not only in her first scene but also in her interactions with the young male lead.

Capturing youthful affection isn’t easy. The young male lead isn’t a newcomer; he’s acted in several of Gaoshan Entertainment’s projects and is one of the company’s groomed talents. More experienced than Ji Xue, the pair had chemistry even off camera. Before shooting, Ji Xue whispered to him, then gave him a slight smile.

The young actor blushed, struggling to suppress his nerves, even stumbling over his lines during the take, glancing at Ji Xue hesitantly, gathering courage just to look her way.

After that take, he was a bit frustrated, “My bad, sorry, let’s go again.”

Director Tong, watching from the monitor, shook his head, “No, that take was perfect.”

He hadn’t called “cut,” letting them continue, feeling that their natural interaction was even better.

Su Ning saw more.

Just as idols need a special allure, actors need it too. Ji Xue’s standout quality isn’t just her beauty—it’s how well she complements her co-stars, a synergistic effect that’s rare but intrinsic to her. This “CP-feel” is crucial in the entertainment industry, where 95% of young actresses’ roles involve romantic scenes. Beauty is common in the industry, and many claim uniqueness, but few have Ji Xue’s ability to mutually enhance on-screen chemistry with their partners. This attribute inherently brings drama and attention; she can’t help but stand out.

Yet, despite her potential for high-profile romance, Ji Xue seems completely uninterested in dating; her drive is focused elsewhere.

It’s December, and the filming location in the small town is freezing, nearing sub-zero temperatures. Ji Xue’s costume is a thin, standard school uniform, but she seems unaffected by the cold. Only after the director calls “OK” does she hug her arms and hiss from the chill.

Su Ning approaches to drape a coat over her shoulders, and she jokes, “Mr. Su personally attending to me, I’m honored.”

“At a time like this,” Su Ning replies, “I’ll have the assistant bring more heat packs and hand warmers.”

The hardships for the sake of the film are necessary, but freezing is not; they hadn’t brought enough supplies.

Ji Xue reassures him, “I’m fine, that’s just part of filming.”

She wonders why Su Ning insisted on coming today. Given the drama around the film’s reshoots, there’s bound to be some resentment in the crew, and her status as both a newcomer and a replacement could make her an easy target. Su Ning’s presence ensures she’s taken seriously.

Moved by his thoughtfulness, she’s even more determined to perform well.

The director is good, and the entire team is focused and grounded. Soon, the young male actor comes over, somewhat sheepishly, and hands Ji Xue a hand warmer.

Su Ning, watching this, feels he might have underestimated her charm.

The team is friendly, and with assistants and a coach present, Su Ning, after spending a day there, feels reassured enough to head back.

There’s a meeting at the company the next day, and he and Shen Mingzheng have a routine—traveling for work but always trying to return home if possible.

When he arrives home late at night, Shen Mingzheng is waiting on the sofa. Hearing the door, he comes over to help Su Ning with his coat, asking, “How was the shoot?”

“Good,” Su Ning replies, “That place is really damp and cold. Coming back to Haicheng feels warmer.”

The two of them settle in for a low-voiced chat. Su Ning mentions Ji Xue’s performance and praises her, suggesting she might need a bodyguard soon given her appeal, then plans to take a quick shower. But Shen Mingzheng pulls him close, insisting he not go to the guest room.

In Su Ning’s questioning gaze, Shen Mingzheng boldly states, “Unfortunately, the shower in the guest room is broken. Baby, you might as well use mine.”

Su Ning asks, “Who broke it?”

Shen Mingzheng honestly replies, “I did.”

He doesn’t lie.

Since returning from Rongcheng, Su Ning hasn’t spent much time in the guest room, except for a few days ago after Shen Mingzheng was overly forward, prompting him to seek peace there.

Later, after thorough deliberation, Su Ning concluded that indulging too frequently was definitely not advisable and suggested a schedule of twice a week. After extensive discussions and researching practical examples, they tentatively settled on three times.

Shen Mingzheng objected, believing in more frequent practice as initially agreed, but Su Ning dismissed his view.

They couldn’t afford to slack off, even on weekends, with three companies to manage between them.

“I won’t do anything tonight, I promise to behave,” Shen Mingzheng assures, “I just can’t sleep without you.”

Su Ning asks, “How did you sleep before then?”

“I’ve forgotten,” Shen Mingzheng says, “Can’t go back now.”

Now that they’re officially together, sleeping apart seems almost a hardship. Unable to withstand Shen Mingzheng’s complaints, Su Ning stays in the master bedroom, not even bothering with the guest room door today.

Knowing Su Ning is tired from the trip, Shen Mingzheng truly does nothing but hold him, watching him fall asleep.

Su Ning’s eyelashes are long, and Shen Mingzheng watches them for a long time.

With his eyes closed, he looks peaceful, and everything about him, from his new pajamas Shen Mingzheng bought to the softness of his hair, scented with the same shampoo and body wash as Shen Mingzheng’s, is familiar and comforting.

He falls asleep quickly, but Shen Mingzheng, captivated, struggles to let sleep take him.

He truly loves him.

Shen Mingzheng softly kisses his eyes. Su Ning, asleep, doesn’t feel it, merely shifts closer in his sleep.

That’s enough to satisfy him.

Su Ning indeed sleeps well that night, waking up accustomed to Shen Mingzheng’s morning kisses. Taking a step forward in their relationship, he grows increasingly accustomed to Shen Mingzheng in every aspect.

But as everyone knows, Shen Mingzheng’s greatest rival is Su Ning’s work, and now with Ji Xue officially signed, Su Ning has even more to keep an eye on.

After a few days of reshoots, “Old Love Letters” begins to release behind-the-scenes clips. With the premiere approaching, even a low-budget film needs its promotion.

Previously unnoticed, the film peaks in attention due to Shu Miao’s popularity boost and Liao Yuansi’s scandal impacting the film. But as soon as Ji Xue’s footage is released, media engagement significantly rises.

Everyone loves a beautiful woman, especially one of Ji Xue’s caliber.

Tong Feifan’s appealing shots, especially those showing young male and female leads interacting—handsome men and pretty women—are a delight to watch. As attention increases, the audience also discovers more about the film.

“I can’t believe it’s Xie Fangmin, my childhood goddess. Hasn’t she been out of the industry for over a decade? I had no idea she was back in movies.”

“It looks pretty sweet. I might check it out at the cinema.”

“Wait, wasn’t Shu Miao initially announced for this role? I was looking forward to it. They changed the actress?”

Su Ning’s concerns materialize.

Despite notifying all parties involved and the film producers issuing a statement explaining the change due to scheduling conflicts, disputes are inevitable once the public’s attention is piqued.

Whether it’s from marketing accounts or just bystanders, comments like “This one looks more like Xie Fangmin” and “She’s definitely prettier” begin to surface, even though they don’t know Ji Xue’s name. Fans can’t stand it.

Soon enough, accusations of “clout-chasing” and “only good with a beauty filter, not so much in real life” appear.

Su Ning had already warned Ji Xue that no one can fully control public opinion. Shu Miao is at her peak, while Ji Xue lacks a strong fanbase, her current attention mostly from casual viewers who happen by and leave a like. Naturally, these bystanders won’t confront fans on her behalf.

Ji Xue remains unaffected, telling Su Ning, “It’s okay, these arguments blow over. I just want to focus on acting.”

She hasn’t even registered her social media accounts yet, too busy with the shoot, so she barely notices the insults.

But the situation escalates.

As the prospective daughter-in-law of the Lu family, Lu Fei had introduced Ji Xue to many, and her distinctive face was unforgettable. Thus, when the “role change” controversy escalates and hits the lower tiers of trending topics, someone eager for drama recognizes her and adds fuel to the fire.

“It was going well, and now she’s like a phoenix rising from the ashes, but I heard the Lu family is planning to call off the engagement.”

“Rumor has it, she’s been… indiscreet outside.”

“Now she turns to acting, huh? Wonder who she’s climbing on now, trying to deceive people with that face.”

Even if Ji Xue says it doesn’t matter, Su Ning can’t stand idly by.

He won’t let his artists be slandered or let pretty young women be targeted with baseless scandals. The rumors are becoming increasingly outrageous!

But as Su Ning discusses media strategies with Shen Mingzheng and prepares to have the legal team gather evidence for defamation lawsuits, someone else can’t hold back.

Lu Fei, with verified accounts on several social platforms, usually posts only official statements. But now, he’s actively responding, screenshotting the most active accounts causing trouble.

“These ones, expect a lawyer’s letter.”

“And a few of you lurking in the shadows, don’t think I can’t recognize you behind your online anonymity. If you don’t delete your posts and apologize, I’ll call your fathers.”

“A movie role with less than five minutes of screen time, she fought for it herself. Does she deserve this much hostility just for wanting to act? Is it that hard?”

“And who told you about any engagement being called off? I didn’t agree to any breakup.”

Su Ning is still discussing the issue with Shen Mingzheng when, within those few minutes, Lu Fei rapidly produces a barrage of responses, demonstrating formidable combativeness.