Nighttime, a private room in a hotel.
The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and cigars, stuffy and oppressive.
Director Li Mo slumped in the seat of honor, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp eyes now glazed with drunkenness. Beside him sat screenwriter Fang Wenjun, a poised and efficient middle-aged woman.
Li Mo slurred his words, voice thick with emotion: "Tell me, our War Torn, we’ve polished it for three years! Three years! Every single word in the script was scrutinized—why? Just to tell something real!"
"Those three years, the clash of old and new, the tearing of hearts, ideals shattered against reality—what a damn good script."
He grew more agitated as he spoke: "But the market won’t bite. What can I do? I have to churn out fast-food dramas first."
"Looking back now, what the hell have I been making?"
"All just to please investors, to prop up those wooden beauties and pretty-faced idols. Can you even call that acting?"
"Plot logic thrown to the dogs—I cringe seeing my name attached to that trash."
He gulped down a mouthful of tea, as if trying to swallow his frustration.
"If it weren’t for the fat budgets from those moneybags, I wouldn’t even bother!"
Executive producer Li Jinfu, seated on Li Mo’s other side, was a middle-aged man with a gleaming bald forehead. He chuckled, playing the peacemaker: "Director Li, calm down, it’s all in the past now!"
"The market has its demands. We’ve got to eat, don’t we?"
As he spoke, he shot a meaningful glance at assistant director Wang Hai, who was sitting nearby.
Wang Hai, ever the smooth talker, raised his glass in agreement: "Exactly, Producer Li is right. Director Li, you’re a true artist with vision."
"Now we’ve finally got the funding for War Torn—it’ll be a hit for sure."
Fang Wenjun watched this sycophantic exchange coldly, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she took a small sip of juice, saying nothing.
Seeing the tension ease slightly, Li Jinfu leaned forward, lowering his voice as his gaze swept over the men at the table:
"But hey, let’s keep this talk between us, alright?"
"Later, a young actress from Shen Media will join us—just to share a drink with Director Li and discuss the role."
"Girls are shy, you know. Let’s not embarrass her with all this."
He paused deliberately, winking. "Industry rules, we all know the drill. Give her some face."
Fang Wenjun’s grip tightened around her glass. She looked up sharply at Li Jinfu’s greasy face, her eyes brimming with undisguised contempt and disgust.
The same old game!
She knew exactly what "discussing the role over drinks" really meant.
These men might have talent, but the filth in their bones—their arrogance in treating women as playthings—hadn’t changed in decades.
Her stomach churned. The sight of their smirking faces made it impossible to stay another minute.
Just then, the drunken Li Mo, oblivious to Li Jinfu’s implications, started grumbling again about some investor forcing their pick into the cast.
"Director Li."
Fang Wenjun’s voice was quiet but firm, cutting through his rambling.
She stood, briskly grabbing her coat from the back of the chair, her expression unreadable.
"You’ve had too much to drink. We have a location scout tomorrow morning."
"I’ll take you back—it’s on my way."
Li Mo blinked up at her, confused: "Huh? Old Fang, leaving already?"
Li Jinfu’s smile stiffened, a flicker of irritation in his eyes before he forced another chuckle: "Ah, come on, it’s still early! Stay a bit longer!"
"The girl from Shen Media will be here soon—good chance to get acquainted."
"No need." Fang Wenjun cut him off, her tone resolute, carrying the unyielding pride of an intellectual.
"I have script details to refine at home."
"Director Li, let’s go."
Without waiting for protest, she hauled the reluctant, swaying Li Mo to his feet, half-supporting, half-dragging him toward the door.
The door opened and closed, taking with it the room’s only woman—and the inconveniently drunk director.
Li Jinfu watched them leave, sneered, and leisurely lit a cigar before remarking to Wang Hai and the other industry men:
"Tch. Fang Wenjun—always too high-minded for her own good."
"Ah well, one less killjoy in the room."
"Wait for it, Shen Media’s little beauty should be here soon."
He smirked, his oily face alight with anticipation.
