In a rest area inside the film studio, Annie Fletcher leaned her forehead on her hand as she sat in the director's chair, let out a sigh, and wondered what had gotten into her, flying off the handle like that. What was she even dissatisfied with? With her eyes closed, she pondered, but no one from the bustling film crew nearby came to disturb her.
Was she unhappy that her ideas were always altered by Wang Yang? She shook her head, even though the man was 14 years younger than her, his skills were beyond question, and his understanding and grasp of the film were far superior to hers. During the time they had worked together, she often marveled, "No wonder they call him 'Magic Yang'!" She wasn't so much resentful; maybe her ideas were somewhat lacking, but it was just that she wanted it that way...
