"Not bland at all, it's just right." Unaware of Fang Jiang's teasing, Zhou Zhi, pleasantly surprised, became more talkative. "I also bought broad beans. Local beans are the best, though their season is quite short. They're not in the market yet, and when they are, the availability is brief. Only local beans are truly soft and glutinous, even the shells. Japanese beans can't be cooked to that vibrant green, nor can their shells turn glutinous." She muttered to herself, "I'll make bean rice another day."

Eating from her bowl but thinking of other dishes, her eyes sparkling, Fang Jiang found it both amusing and exasperating. "Are you good at cooking?"

"Not particularly, just simple dishes. The place I rent is close to my parents, but going home for meals is too much trouble, so I usually cook a little myself. Mostly vegetables, with less oil and salt—greasy pans are too hard to wash."

"Then shouldn't I treat you to some meat?"

"No need. These vegetables are in season and just perfect. It'd be even better with some Salted Pork and Bamboo Shoot Soup. Since you prefer lighter flavors, don't use salted pork—use South Wind Dried Pork, which is somewhere between ham and salted pork."

Zhou Zhi's gluttonous enthusiasm stirred Fang Jiang's appetite. She immediately sent a WeChat message to Aunt Sun Chunlian.

Sun Chunlian replied immediately: You'll have it when you come home tonight.

Zhou Zhi, watching this, muttered softly, "Da.mn capitalism."

Fang Jiang's ears were sharp. "You don't know how to make it?"

"You have to cut the meat and add chicken—I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"The texture of raw meat feels too strange, like touching a corpse."

"Have you touched a corpse before?" Fang Jiang shot her a sidelong glance. "Don't your parents cook?"

"My mom does. When she makes it, she summons me."

"Well, that's fine then. My parents..." Fang Jiang didn't continue. "The auntie at home knows how to make it. If you'd like to eat it, you can come back with me."

As if not noticing Fang Jiang's hesitation, Zhou Zhi smiled and said, "Sure." Her tone made it clear she didn't take it seriously.

While eating, they occasionally chatted, neither adhering to the rule of silence during meals, saying whatever came to mind. Fang Jiang didn't broach the main topic, and Zhou Zhi didn't ask, though she pondered it inwardly. She ate happily, and Fang Jiang, influenced by her, couldn't resist eating a lot too. They almost put down their chopsticks at the same time.

"You can really eat, huh."

"Thank you for the hospitality, it was truly delicious." Looking at the pile of broad bean shells in front of them, Zhou Zhi thought to herself: Who's out-eating whom here?

The cleaning auntie from the studio came to clear the bowls, chopsticks, and containers, and Song Yuan brought them tea. Fang Jiang took a sip from her cup. "You always seem to wait for others to speak first. You don't ask questions or say what's on your mind."

Zhou Zhi asked, "What does the big star need me for?"

"Can't I look for you without a reason?"

Zhou Zhi blinked, her expression clear as if to say, See? Now you know why I don't ask.

Fang Jiang laughed for a moment. "There's something I'd like your opinion on. Director Kikujiro is remaking Dolls, keeping the main storyline but rewriting the other two stories. He wants me to play a role. Should I go or not?"

"Huh?" Zhou Zhi's surprise was genuine. "You're asking me?"

"Yes, you. In some ways, you know me quite well."

In what ways? Zhou Zhi was dumbfounded—she had no idea. Just because of that playful PowerPoint, she suddenly knew her well?

"I don't understand... Shouldn't you and Ms. Meng be the ones who know best about this?"

"Yes, that's why I want to hear your thoughts." Fang Jiang set down her teacup, gazing into Zhou Zhi's questioning eyes. "You know the difficulties of being an actress, especially a thirty-four-year-old one who's only active in commercial films. From now on, there will be fewer roles, the themes will become narrower, and more and more characters will be someone else's mother or wife—either a wicked stepmother or a saintly figure. There are far too many actors better than me. To be honest, my achievements today are partly due to my resources, but resources are unpredictable—after all, my family doesn't own mines. I've always wanted to transition, to seek more opportunities, but it's so hard. Sister Shizhen contacted Director Kikujiro a long time ago. I want to play the role originally taken by Miho Kanno. Have you seen Dolls?"

At this point, she remembered that Zhou Zhi might not have seen the film. Compared to Takeshi Kitano's Fireworks, Brother, and Kids Return, Dolls has a lower rating and is quite niche.

Zhou Zhi nodded to indicate she had seen it, then chuckled when Fang Jiang mentioned Miho Kanno's role.

"What are you laughing at? Do you think I couldn't pull it off?" Fang Jiang asked, a hint of defiance in her voice.

"No, it's just the image of you staring blankly, looking completely dazed, like you'd taken a bottle of sleeping pills and never woke up, being led around on a rope—it's just... amusing."

Hearing this, the image appeared vividly in Fang Jiang's mind, and she too found it funny. "The director said I'm not suitable."

Zhou Zhi completely agreed. "It would be a waste for you to play that role."

A waste? Just a few days ago, she had claimed to have no acting skills, and now it was considered a waste. Women truly are fickle creatures.

"Kikujiro and Takeshi Kitano have different styles. Takeshi Kitano always centers on male characters, whereas Kikujiro gives women a lot of space. I've heard he's very good at coaching actors. Will the story change?"

"Yes, the main plot remains, but the subplots..." Fang Jiang hesitated, at a loss for words. "You seem to know a lot about this."

"I don't. I just came across it occasionally online."

Occasionally seen, remembered, and able to articulate it so clearly? "Do you like watching movies?"

"Quite a bit. Movies are like another life, similar to novels—they give you the feeling of living elsewhere... Why are you staring at me?" Zhou Zhi felt flustered under Fang Jiang's intense gaze. Some people's looks can make you lose your soul, and others can make you worry incessantly. Fang Jiang's was hard to describe—it was like a tiny hook, tugging and pulling at your heart, inevitably leaving it bruised and bloody.

Gu Long has a book called The Seven Weapons, and the Separation Hook is one of them. Zhou Zhi couldn't recall the story clearly, but she remembered the epigraph of that tale: "You use the Separation Hook only to be reunited." Suddenly, the words flashed through her mind, as inexplicably as Fang Jiang herself.

"I've noticed that you always manage to surprise people."

"Likewise." The office air conditioner had been running nonstop, and wearing the hat for so long had made her scalp itch unbearably. Resigned, Zhou Zhi took off her hat, revealing her shiny bald head. "Are you referring to the bald head?"

A bald head always seemed to unlock some mysterious door in Fang Jiang. After a brief moment of astonishment, her surprise melted into genuine laughter. She smiled and moved to sit beside Zhou Zhi. "Let me touch it."

Zhou Zhi instinctively leaned back. "Lady Bodhisattva, isn't that a bit inappropriate?"

"Little Nun, it's just a head pat, what's the harm? Come on, come on." Fang Jiang deliberately used the tone of the White Mouse Spirit from Journey to the West.

Dressed as the Queen of Women's Kingdom but speaking like a seductive spirit, Zhou Zhi covered her head and burst out laughing.

"Little Nun, what are you laughing at? You..." Fang Jiang's giggles escalated into uncontrollable laughter. She leaned back on the sofa, half-lying, clutching her stomach. "Why is this so funny? My stomach hurts from laughing! No, you have to let me touch your head."

"Why should I?"

"Because you ruined my image."

Zhou Zhi thought to herself: Ms. Fang, did you ever have an image to begin with?

"Hurry up and let me pat it."

"Better not. It's just a bald head—like touching a thigh, nothing special."

"I don't care, I want to pat it, I want to." The big star's eyes, which usually held the world, now held nothing but a smooth, slightly fuzzy bald head.

Zhou Zhi still felt a bit awkward. "I just sweated, you'll get your hand all wet."

Fang Jiang grabbed two tissues and beckoned her with a finger. "If there's sweat, we can wipe it off."

They sat on the same sofa, barely an arm's length apart. If Fang Jiang wanted to wipe or pat, she could just reach out. But she didn't—she insisted Zhou Zhi bring her head closer.

Zhou Zhi refused. "What, do you want me to take my head off and hand it to you?"

"Ugh, how creepy. Hurry up and let me pat it."

In the end, Zhou Zhi didn't let the big star wipe the sweat from her head. She wiped it dry herself, tested the texture—hmm, not bad—and then said with feigned impatience, "Fine, pat it. Since you're treating me to a meal, consider this your payment—no free lunch after the head pat."

"Cheapskate!" Fang Jiang tapped her forehead—oh, it was soft—then covered Zhou Zhi's head with her entire palm.

Zhou Zhi stiffened all over. The warmth from Fang Jiang's palm seemed to spread from her scalp throughout her body, carrying an electric current that tingled down her spine.

Noticing Zhou Zhi's stiffness, Fang Jiang teased, "Relax, I'm not going to eat you."

Zhou Zhi forced a dry laugh. "Lady Bodhisattva, have you heard of the Nine Yin Skeleton Claw?"

The newly grown hair wasn't prickly. Gently stroking it, a faint itch spread through her palm—a feeling Fang Jiang couldn't quite describe. It felt like touching new sprouts on the earth, soft yet full of vitality.

When Meng Shizhen knocked and entered, she saw Fang Jiang happily stroking a bald head while its owner—face flushed with shame and contorted in protest—strained her neck backward, struggling not to be pulled into Fang Jiang's embrace. Just a moment later, and Fang Jiang would have wrapped her arms entirely around that bald head.

What the hell! Meng Shizhen felt as if spring thunder had exploded behind her, rattling her senses. Afraid someone outside might see, she quickly turned to close the door, shutting even Song Yuan out.

"Oh, Sister Shizhen." Fang Jiang turned to look at her, her hand still resting on Zhou Zhi's head, reluctant to let go.

Meng Shizhen glared at the innocent bald head. "We agreed to meet at 1:30 PM to screen newcomers. It's already 2 o'clock."

"Wow, it's 2 already? Xiao Yuan didn't remind me. Time flies." Fang Jiang reluctantly withdrew her hand.

Feeling the awkwardness of being caught in a compromising position, Zhou Zhi quickly jumped up. "You're busy? I'll head back then."

"Wait, wait—we haven't finished discussing that matter. Stay here and wait for me, it won't take long."

Zhou Zhi pointed at herself. "I should wait here for you?"

"Yes, wait for me a moment." Fang Jiang clasped her hands together pleadingly. "Since you're already here, I'll be quick. You can play with your phone for a while, or if you want to write, you can use my computer."

Zhou Zhi looked at Fang Jiang, then at Meng Shizhen who was clearly not very pleased.

Meng Shizhen put on a standard smile: "Miss Zhou, please have a seat here. It won't take much of your time."

Zhou Zhi had no choice but to agree.

After closing the office door, Fang Jiang walked cheerfully with Meng Shizhen toward the conference room.

"Ahem, you and that bald..." Before Meng Shizhen could finish her question, she saw Fang Jiang skip joyfully in her steps—light, cheerful, like a stream melting the snow, tinkling and bubbling with laughter.

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