“Mom…” Ye Fu felt a wave of bitterness rise in her chest. “I’m out of money. I already gave you everything I earned from my last film, and I haven’t even finished shooting this one yet—I haven’t been paid…”

“Why don’t you ask the director for an advance?” Xu Shenglan suggested. “Directors aren’t stingy. Just ask.”

“Mom!” Ye Fu’s voice sharpened with frustration. “If I keep doing that, it’ll make things really difficult for me on set. I don’t want to ask for an advance. And besides… Ye Luo isn’t a child anymore. He should earn his own money—buy his own house, get married—he should—”

Before she could finish, Xu Shenglan cut her off, her anger boiling over. “Earn his own money?! If he were capable of that, would I be asking you for money?! Fine, Ye Fu—you’ve grown up, your wings are strong now, and you’re far away. Your mother can’t control you anymore. But don’t forget this: you’re my flesh and blood. You owe me for the rest of your life! I gave birth to you, raised you, and worked so hard to get you where you are today. Is it so wrong for me to ask you for a little money? Why all this talk? You just don’t want to give it to me, do you?!”

“Mom…” Ye Fu broke down, tears spilling uncontrollably. “I’m your daughter, not a bank. Don’t call me every time just to ask for money. I really don’t have any…”

She had been trying to keep her voice down, but now she completely forgot about the Best Actor next door. She simply sobbed into the phone, pleading with the woman on the other end.

“I want to give you money too, but I really don’t have any… Please, try to understand. Don’t do this every time… It makes me feel like I’m nothing but a money-making tool… Mom… sometimes I wish I’d been your son… instead of a daughter like me…”

She hung up and collapsed onto the toilet seat, sobbing.

Outside the bathroom door, Cen Luan had heard everything. He took out his phone and sent a message to his assistant:

[Look into Ye Fu’s family background.]

Five minutes later, Ye Fu finally stepped out.

Seeing the Academy Award-winning actor waiting outside, she lowered her head and murmured, “I’m sorry…”

“Were you crying?” Cen Luan gently lifted her chin, brushing away the tear at the corner of her eye with his fingertip.

Before she could react, he let go and stepped back. Without asking anything further, he said simply, “Let’s go.”

Ye Fu let out a quiet breath of relief.

Dongxing was a private cinema. The first floor was a lounge bar, while the second floor housed screening rooms—private booths designed for small groups.

Cen Luan sat on the sofa and ordered a few glasses of low-alcohol fruit wine for her.

The drink was a pale green, with a bright red cherry perched on the rim. Ye Fu took a sip—it was sweet, slightly tart, and surprisingly good.

As she sipped, she glanced sideways at Cen Luan. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, an effortless air of elegance about him.

Holding a glass of red wine, he spoke quietly to the waiter. The flickering light from the foreign film playing on the screen cast shifting shadows across his face, sharpening his features. Even his pale irises seemed to catch and reflect the light.

At some point, the waiter left.

The room dimmed further. Without realizing it, Ye Fu finished one glass after another—five in total. Feeling slightly bloated, she got up and headed to the restroom.

By the time she came out, the alcohol had finally hit her.

She wasn’t good with alcohol to begin with and shouldn’t have drunk so much. Normally, she wouldn’t have—but today… perhaps it was because the man beside her made her feel unexpectedly at ease, or because that phone call had left her unsettled and restless.

Either way, she was tipsy.

“Drunk?” Cen Luan had been waiting by the door. Seeing her unsteady steps, he stepped forward and steadied her. “You can’t hold your liquor?”

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