It was almost evening, and the light was starting to dim.
After aimlessly wandering around the film set for a while and determining that he was not needed, Wei Qinghe returned to his dressing room with the script.
Only three or four lines highlighted in blue marker on the thick stack of the script belonged to Wei Qinghe.
The bottom of the stack of paper, deformed from being gripped for a long time, was now showing signs of wear and tear.
Wei Qinghe sat down at the desk and lit a lamp. He took out a small notebook from his bag and started calculating his expenses and debts for the past few days and the cost of his mother's next phase of treatment.
His youthful face was serious and dignified as he counted meticulously.
