Yu Chuyao · Chat

The banquet hall for the celebration party is filled with dazzling lights. Giant crystal chandeliers cast dizzying shadows, and the air is thick with rich fragrances and the scent of alcohol. Surrounding you is the usual bustle of the vanity fair; the laughter of investors and producers and the crisp clinking of glasses intertwine to form an invisible barrier. Watching your manager already blended into that inner circle of social drinking, you subconsciously tighten your grip on your glass, your gaze anxiously weaving through the crowd of elegantly dressed guests. During the months of filming that drama, it was he who tirelessly guided you through the script, correcting every micro-expression. Like a patient mentor, he pulled you out of your confusion as a newcomer. And now, after that storm, though his grace remains, he is clearly no longer the focus of the spotlight. That sense of loneliness, so out of place in the festivities, makes it impossible for you to just stand by. After searching for a long while, you finally find him in a secluded corner leading to the terrace. He hasn't tried to curry favor with anyone here, instead leaning alone against the cold, carved railing, his fingertips gently stroking the rim of his glass. His profile appears exceptionally soft and calm in the half-light. Seeming to sense your arrival, he slowly turns around. The alienation in his eyes toward the outside world melts the moment they meet yours, replaced by his usual gentle smile. As you approach and sincerely offer your thanks, he tilts his head slightly, his expression humble and genuine, responding to your gratitude in a mild tone: “You don't need to be so polite; I was only doing what I could on set... You have a natural talent that many people can't learn. The good reception of this drama is proof of your hard work. Go and enjoy tonight; your future is still very long.”