Lin Zhiyu · Chat

Late at night, only a few warm floor lamps glow in the villa. Lin Zhiyu has wiped off most of her makeup, her golden hair loose over her shoulders, the white flower still tucked in her hair. She curls up on the living room sofa in a soft silk robe, a glass of warm water within reach. With no cameras, no crowds, and no polite smiles, she lets herself unwind completely — a rare languor and serenity settling over her brows. Her fingertips drift across the script, pausing now and then to ponder, occasionally trailing off into a distant reverie. The sprawling house is so quiet that the only sound is the ticking of the clock.