"Spring Day," begins dramatically with a gunshot piercing the twilight, scattering birds into the sky. In a dimly lit corner of an abandoned street, a slender figure falls to the ground, pale and rigid.
"Cut!" the director sighs in relief, looking up from the monitor, "That's it for the afternoon shoot, everyone. Take an hour break; we'll continue tonight." The crew responds in kind.
The director turns to his assistant, asking about Vivian's stand-in, "She's not bad, huh? Not a last-minute find, I hope?"
"Oh, her? She's been with us for a few years now, never really made a splash. Been standing in for Vivian for quite a while," Vivian Hart herself, intently glued to her phone, replies without looking up.
"Really? With her looks and physique, not to mention that fall just now—she nailed it in one take, unlike you," the director starts to say before Vivian gives him a sharp look.
"So, you're saying she's better than me?" Vivian half-jokes, half-serious.
"Hey, come on. How could she compare to you?" the director chuckles awkwardly, taking a sip of his tea.
Vivian Hart, satisfied, glances back at her phone, then brightens up with an idea, resting her chin on her hand, "Since you think she's pretty good, I've got a suggestion."
"Oh?"
"The agency called me for something urgent, and it just so happens that my scenes tonight are minimal, mostly just bedridden shots. Could she fill in for me?"
"Well..."
Any slight annoyance in the director's expression is quickly suppressed as he laughs it off and nods in agreement, "Thanks, I'll go get changed then."
Vivian's silhouette swiftly moves towards the makeup room, surrounded by assistants carrying various items.
The assistant director whispers, "Never seen her this eager about shooting. Must be some excuse about 'agency business.'"
"An heiress dabbling in the industry, a bit of a temper, what's new?" the director laughs, "But when her family funds half the project, how can I not indulge her?" He sets down his cup, "What's the name of that stand-in Vivian brought in?"
"She's..."
"—Sophie Reed!"
Inside the changing room for female extras, Sophie pulls a sweater over her curves, tangling a few strands of her long hair. She doesn't bother to fix it but instead heads towards the door, her mood detached. Passing a mirror, her slightly disheveled hair frames a naturally beautiful, albeit indifferent, face—a young woman in her early twenties, stunning in her tranquility, with features quietly beautiful. Only her eyes, with a slight upturn at the corners, add a spark of life to her calm demeanor, reminiscent of ancient paintings of birds and flowers after a rain, as if they could leap from the still waters of her gaze. Unfortunately, her usual lack of spirit, as seen in her languid eyes now, hides her charm.
Sophie opens the door to find Assistant Alex nearly peering in, who steps back, startled. She shows little reaction, lightly tapping the doorframe, "Assistant Alex."
"Oh, you're still here. I thought you'd left," Alex coughs, "Here's the thing, Vivian's scenes tonight, we need you to cover for her. Is that okay?"
Sophie, unbothered, slips her arms into the wide sleeves of her sweater, "Wasn't mentioned before."
"It's, uh, a sudden important matter for Vivian."
"Mm," Sophie pauses, then looks up casually, "Make sure it pays."
Meeting her gaze for the first time, Alex is taken aback, "...Right, I'll make sure of it."
Sophie gathers her things, led by Assistant Alex to the star's makeup room. Entering, they find Vivian Hart being touched up by her personal makeup artist.
This space, dedicated to Vivian, requires the stand-in's makeup to match perfectly, the reason Assistant Alex brings Sophie here. However, they're told to wait, emphasizing the importance of accuracy to avoid on-screen discrepancies.
The door was slightly ajar when they entered, immediately drawing attention from inside the room.
Vivian Hart's personal makeup artist, with a furrowed brow, halted them, "I'm working on Vivian right now. Hold on a moment."
Assistant Alex intervened, "The director sent me to bring Sophie Reed for a touch-up."
"Just a stand-in's makeup, anyone could do it," the makeup artist muttered dismissively, gesturing for them to wait.
Alex, biting his tongue, glanced away awkwardly.
Sophie Reed, the subject of the slight, appeared unfazed, casually scrolling through her phone.
Curious about what could be more engaging than the overt insult, Alex peeped over to see Sophie playing Candy Crush Saga, stuck on level 3297.
Alex was stunned.
The makeup artist resumed her attentive conversation, "Mr. Hart really doesn't need to worry about Vivian attending matchmaking events. With the queue of admirers you have, why bother giving them the pleasure?"
"My dad's old-fashioned, doesn't care for industry folks," Vivian explained while adjusting her earrings.
"Not a single one caught his eye?" the makeup artist inquired with a grin, "Even the one who's captured Vivian's heart can't win over her father?"
Vivian blushed at the teasing, "Stop making fun of me."
"But it's true, everyone knows your crush. And considering how many female stars fancy him, it's no secret. Wondering who'll finally win over the 'Heartthrob,'" the makeup artist teased further.
Vivian bit her lip in silence.
Sensing Vivian's displeasure, the makeup artist quickly changed the subject, "But Carter Blake, a phenomenon in the music scene, not good enough for Mr. Hart? He must not want you married at all."
"I wish I could join the Blake family..." Vivian mused.
"The Blake family?" the makeup artist was taken aback.
Vivian hastily covered, "He's accomplished enough on his own. My dad would love him, no doubt. But who knows if he even likes women."
Her mood soured at the thought.
"Yeah, almost seven years in the spotlight and not a single confirmed girlfriend," the makeup artist pondered, "It's like he's not into humans at all – how else could he resist someone like Vivian?"
"You're teasing me again," Vivian feigned annoyance, "I haven't exactly made my feelings known, have I? Who knows what could happen."
"Exactly, which star in the industry could compare to your beauty and popularity? You making a move would be a sure thing."
"We'll see about that," Vivian replied, her confidence faltering.
The makeup artist didn't press further, mentioning, "Heard a rumor today. Someone saw him here, in the studio city."
"Really? Are you sure it was him?" Vivian perked up, almost smudging her makeup in excitement.
"Careful now," the makeup artist cautioned, "If it were true, it'd be big news."
Vivian's excitement waned, "Nah, must be fake. He's busy preparing his seventh-anniversary album and choosing a lead for the MV from top international actresses. How could he be here?"
"Right," the makeup artist agreed.
Vivian scowled at her reflection before abruptly standing, "Forget the touch-up. It's not for him. Just send my things back."
"As you wish," the makeup artist complied.
On her way out, Vivian noticed Sophie standing by the door. She paused, frowned, but ultimately said nothing, casting a disdainful glance at the indifferent girl before leaving.
The makeup artist, who had been all smiles for Vivian, now showed impatience, "Hurry up, I haven't had dinner. Alex, find someone else next time. I don't have the time to cater to everyone."
"Of course, thank you for staying late," Alex responded with a forced smile.
The assistant director flashed an apologetic smile, but Sophie remained silent, closing her game of Candy Crush at level 3299 and stepping into the room quietly. The makeup artist, catching a glimpse of this, muttered under her breath, "No wonder everyone says she's a stoic beauty. Barely speaks. Seems like she's destined to be a stand-in forever."
As the day wrapped up and darkness fell, Sophie Reed had gone the entire evening without a meal. The grueling schedule left her famished, her usually impassive and beautiful face now void of any expression. Julian Grant, a newly emerged but somewhat clueless actor, lingered not too far away, the cause of several botched takes earlier in the night.
"Sophie Reed, skipped dinner, have you?" Julian, trying to play the gentleman, approached with a reheated gourmet meal box in hand. "I had it warmed up for you. You know, gotta take care of yourself. How about I walk you home after?"
Sophie, without uttering a word, simply showcased her own snack—a simple rice ball and a can of soda—before attempting to leave. Julian, taller and seemingly undeterred, quickly caught up, "Oh, you've brought something? Well, no rush, let's head out together."
Despite the broad path, Sophie couldn't exactly tell him to get lost and ended up letting him tag along. Julian's inability to read the room—or in this case, Sophie's clear disinterest—didn't stop him from trying to make conversation, "You're with Vivian Hart's agency, right? You're just as talented, especially with looks like that," he lamented, glancing down her modest attire, "Why the disparity in opportunities?"
Sophie remained silent, which only fueled Julian's persistence. However, his unsolicited physical attempt to pull her closer backfired spectacularly. In a swift motion, Sophie's training—unknown to many—came into play, leaving Julian momentarily stunned and in pain as she effortlessly flipped his grip against him.
"Am I beautiful?" she asked, not out of vanity but as a prelude to a lesson Julian wouldn't soon forget. His stunned affirmation was cut short as Sophie demonstrated just why her resourcefulness and resilience were not to be underestimated, her delicate wrist a mere facade for the strength it wielded.
The altercation ended with Julian nursing his wrist, a stark reminder of Sophie's warning about overstepping boundaries. As she left the scene, her steps were measured and purposeful, a silent but powerful assertion of her autonomy.
Sophie's journey through the dimly lit streets of the city, away from the drama and the lights of the set, was a moment of quiet reflection. Carrying her simple dinner in one hand, she moved towards a quieter part of town,
In the northwestern corner stood a quaint little Western-style building, its second floor boasting an open-air terrace. Sophie Reed, having spent her years in this film city as an extra or a stand-in, frequented this spot. The building, nearly brushing against the towering walls of the film city, offered solitude at night, illuminated only by the scattered stars across the sky. Especially inviting was a stone bench by the railing, where lying down to watch the moon and feel the breeze was particularly enjoyable.
When not leased to a production, the building's ground floor remained locked, inaccessible to most. But Sophie Reed wasn't most people. Her years of stunts and stand-in work had paid off, allowing her to easily navigate to a previously discovered low wall, scale the building with ease, and, with a light flip of her slender legs, land inside the railing—graceful as a cat, undisturbed by the moonlight.
Yet tonight, clouded skies obscured the stars, their sparse lights hanging pitifully in the expanse, prompting Sophie to look away, planning only a brief rest before departure. Just as she closed her eyes, a commotion arose from below the small Western building.
"Is it this way?" "Doesn't seem like it, they ran south, didn't they?" "Are you sure it's him?" "Absolutely! That unmistakable white hair, I'd recognize it from miles away!" "Cut it out, Carter Blake's white hair is legendary, the icon of our generation, alright?"
The argument faded into the distance, leaving Sophie leaning against the railing, her gaze casually drifting downwards, emotionless yet mildly curious. Carter Blake? The very thought of such a notorious figure actually being nearby seemed far-fetched.
Nonchalantly, Sophie finished her rice ball, reaching for the soda can on the railing, about to stand, when a movement caught her peripheral vision— A shadowy figure approached from the alley beside the film city's wall. Under the dim streetlight, a lean silhouette emerged, hands casually tucked into the pockets of an open trench coat. The black hood of the coat, not fully concealing the person's face, hinted at rebellious strands of white hair. Inside, a grey turtleneck outlined a slender waist, its soft collar pulled up to obscure part of the face. From her vantage point on the second floor, Sophie could only see the side profile of the person, hidden eyes and all, save for the contour of a chiseled jaw moving slowly, chewing gum expressionlessly. It was clear the person wasn't in the best of moods.
Sophie, leaning on the second-floor railing, observed without emotion, suppressing the urge to whistle at this unexpected encounter, quietly finishing her rice ball. After all, as her 108-year-old grandfather would attest, minding one's own business ensures a long life.
Then Sophie saw him stop at the mouth of the alley, motionless.
If he wasn't moving, neither was she.
Resting her chin in boredom, soda can in hand, Sophie wished the troublemaker below would just leave.
"The Innocent Girl Who Died of Thirst in the Film City at Midnight" was not a headline meant for the entertainment section.
Fortunately, before Sophie could succumb to actual thirst, Carter's expected company arrived.
"Good heavens, you were hard to find," the agent panted as he hurried over, "How did you end up in this hidden corner?"
"What else could I do... got chased around for a marathon."
The voice that drifted up through the thin sweater and the night was casually indifferent. Carter Blake's voice was famously lethal, a blend of clarity, depth, and sensuality that was just right, sending concert crowds into frenzies with a mere octave drop.
There were fans bold enough to declare they'd die happy just to hear Carter Blake's breathy whisper. Of course, that was not to be heard.
Sophie was momentarily captivated by that voice but quickly regained her composure, glancing down as the two met in the shadow of the small Western-style building. Positioned right under her, it was the perfect vantage point for eavesdropping.
Resting on the railing, Sophie idly played with the tab of her soda can, forced to listen to the agent's relentless chatter, which was barely interesting enough to stifle a yawn.
That was until a phone vibration interrupted, and the agent answered a call.
"The car's outside the film city, ready to cover your exit," the agent sighed in relief.
"Cover?" The man scoffed. "What am I, a fugitive?"
"Oh, come on, don't be like that. If you're caught here and it leads to speculation, especially if they guess the reason," the agent hesitated, "You weren't photographed, were you?"
"Hmm." "Great, then we can smooth this over."
With a nervous exhale, the agent coaxed Carter a few steps forward, "Just so long as you don't let the news of your forced contract termination leak—"
Sophie, startled, looked up. Her fingers trembled on the soda can's tab.
"Bang!"
The can exploded like a firework in the night, its foam joyously showering down, covering the trench coat below in a festive burst.
The night of the film city fell into a deep silence.
The moon hung low, its light mournfully pale.
Sophie, regaining her senses, peered down with mixed emotions.
The figure on the steps froze.
After a moment, his white hair lifted, revealing a pair of dark eyes.
He slowly stepped back, looked up, his pale fingers gently pulling down the collar of his dark gray sweater—under the night sky, the man locked eyes with Sophie on the second floor, narrowing his own slightly.
His lips seemed to curl into a sharp, deadly blade, poised as if to claim her life.