Chapter 330: Walking the Path You Came From

In the villa courtyard in Hyde Park, Liu Yifei sat in a rattan chair, silent for a long time.

A frost-colored turtleneck sweater wrapped around her slender neck, and the biting spring breeze brushed against the faint, grayish-blue veins visible beneath her cold, pale skin.

Even though she had long guessed Yang Mi’s stance, catching a glimpse of the truth still caused her brow bone to cast a sharp shadow like that in a Munch painting, as if the thin-gold script of Emperor Huizong of Song had bled onto rice paper.

The two text messages from Yang Mi transformed into a form of traffic called ambition, influencing three actresses in the domestic entertainment industry through cross-border communication.

She had successfully piqued Liu Yifei’s interest, who began to savor the two faces of this new-generation actress.

She had also successfully thwarted Fan Bingbing’s cautious probing that night, causing this long-neglected top actress to once again spend the night alone, forced to treat the soft bedding of the luxury hotel as him, tossing and turning in a sleepless night.

Even she herself had been thrown into disarray by that text message which had shattered her secrets just moments ago.

Was it Liu Yifei who did it?

Boss Lu, this egg with a crack, truly attracted quite a few female ambitious climbers in the entertainment circle.

Even if placed in later generations, Fan Bingbing and Yang Mi were two black-red actresses who could not be avoided.

In the never-ending star-making factory of the entertainment circle, they were like two meticulously carved totems of ambition, using vastly different aesthetic symbols to write a dark fairy tale of the evolution of Chinese actresses under the flashbulbs.

Fan Bingbing was the Medusa of the red carpet.

When the bright yellow dragon robe on the 2010 Cannes red carpet spread out before the lenses, she completed her coronation from Jin Suo to Empress.

Her raven-black hair piled into a crown of power, her snow-white skin and crimson lips outlining a totem of desire.

Yang Mi was the nine-tailed fox in the jungle.

Unlike the scorching flames of Fan Bingbing, Yang Mi’s ambition was hidden beneath a sugar-coated shell of girlishness.

Those long, narrow fox eyes were naturally polysemous; they could hold the clear, tearful light of Guo Xiang from *The Return of the Condor Heroes*, yet also flash with sharp brilliance behind the professional attire of Lin Xiao in *Tiny Times*.

In the survival rules of the traffic forest, they interpreted the multiple variations of ambition in different forms.

Fan Bingbing’s dragon robe was a charging battle flag; Yang Mi’s fox eyes were the code of evolution.

When the Liu Yifei of the previous life was crushed by overwhelming scandals and retreated from the industry, these two ambitious climbers had long since forged beauty, traffic, and capital into a poisoned scepter.

In this Shura field where beauty was power, their survival philosophy was far more captivating than the million-dollar gowns on the red carpet.

But what about this life?

In this life, with the backing of Boss Lu, the Medusa with her horns showing was even more arrogant, only crouching beneath one person.

But the nine-tailed fox of this life had not yet revealed her supernatural power of breaking her tail to be reborn before she was targeted by Liu Yifei, whose vision, knowledge, and temperament far exceeded her own.

Or rather, both of these ambitious climbers had been targeted by this nineteen-year-old Empress.

Oh, right, let’s count that human flower of wealth for now as well.

As the washing machine herself said, the joy of fighting with people is endless; the current Liu Yifei didn’t know what fear was at all.

She had a self-aware pride in being favored, and even more, a calm confidence from a commanding height.

In the afternoon, casting aside the distractions of personal feelings, Liu Yifei did not go to probe or verify anything further; she drove Mia and Liu Xiao along to Champagne City.

Just as she recorded in her diary, the focus of those three words had always been on "me."

"Xixi, slow down, Mom is scared!"

On Interstate 57 heading southwest, her mother curled up in the passenger seat of the Ferrari Enzo, afraid of the wind, while Mia followed closely in a Cherokee.

This high-performance sports car was designed for ultimate performance and lightweight construction; the engineers had allocated more space and layout to the cockpit and the powerful powertrain, leaving no room for rear passengers.

Clearly, this issue made Liu Xiao very dissatisfied.

"A car worth millions, and it can't even seat anyone in the back? Otherwise, Mia could have been with us; how safe that would be."

Liu Yifei wore sunglasses, her fresh and neat waterfall-like hair blowing up, with a few stray locks playfully sticking to her fair cheeks, making her jade-like skin appear even more delicate.

Once she gripped the steering wheel, Liu Yifei transformed into a rebellious girl, ignoring her mother’s complaints, pouting her pink lips slightly and letting out cheerful cheers from time to time.

"Wow! This is just too awesome!"

Her crisp, sweet voice drifted wantonly in the wind, until she received a slap from her mother and reluctantly slowed down—

The Enzo was a hard-top sports car with no roof that could be raised or lowered.

Liu Xiao’s expression had already been blown into disarray by the gale.

Liu Yifei frowned as she looked at the rearview mirror: "Shh, Mom, it seems like a car has been following us!"

Liu Xiao was startled, and before she could catch any danger factor in the rearview mirror, Mia’s call had already come through.

"Crystal, someone is tailing you, a 3.0L Crown is on your rear left."

Liu Xiao anxiously grabbed the phone; her English wasn't particularly fluent, but communication was no problem: "Mia, should we seek help?"

"Not for now, there’s a rest area twenty kilometers ahead; we’ll stop there for a while and see the situation."

After hanging up, Liu Yifei didn't childishly try to compete with the tailing Crown, but steadily and unhurriedly followed the Cherokee into the rest area to meet up.

The tall and sturdy Mia opened the Cherokee’s door, let Liu Xiao and her daughter get in, and watched alone as two young Asian men stepped out of the Crown.

"Is it them?"

The dark window tint caused Liu Yifei’s pupils to lose focus for a moment: "These two yellow-haired guys in Stanford baseball jerseys have appeared at school."

"Did they do anything to you?" Liu Xiao nervously gripped her daughter’s arm.

"No, they didn't do anything; I just often saw them in the classroom and the cafeteria during this time."

The mystery was soon revealed; Liu Yifei looked at Mia, who had leaned over, and rolled down the window: "What’s the situation?"

"They claim to be officers of the Tokyo 'Soul of Heroes Society,' currently employed by an animation media company under Sony Columbia, saying they have something to discuss with Crystal."

Liu Yifei’s expression turned gloomy instantly; this was a notorious right-wing organization.

She instinctively wanted to refuse, but she felt that if she didn't send these scums away, letting them follow all the way to Champagne City for Zhang Chunru to see would be even worse.

In fact, ever since Boss Lu announced the film project in Jinling a few months ago, she and Zhang Chunru had already discovered quite a few traces of harassment.

The young girl put on her sunglasses, told Liu Xiao to sit tight in the car, and went to negotiate herself.

Although her mother was just a woman with no strength to truss a chicken, she wouldn't let her daughter face them alone, so she and Mia stood on either side of Liu Yifei.

"Say what you have to say."

The two Japanese yellow-hairs bowed to the end, their English spoken with a Tokyo accent, which made Liu Yifei frown: "Miss Liu! Excuse us! Please withdraw from the filming of the movie that falsifies history!"

"Please!"

Anger surged in Liu Yifei’s heart, the veins on the back of her fair hands slightly visible; she wished she could go up and kick the two yellow-hairs over.

She thought for a moment, took out her Nokia, and turned on the camera function: "Come on, say some more."

"I have a MyTube account with 5 million followers; I would be very happy to make you two the new Asian stars of North America."

The taller yellow-hair put away his posturing, faced the lens, and spoke with a gloomy face: "This is the prayer of us good, ordinary citizens; please consider it, Miss Liu."

"If Miss Liu is unwilling to give up, we will also do our best to follow you and persuade you until you agree."

Typical organized right-wing thugs who, without breaking the law, used some dirty and despicable means to bring mental pressure to the target.

It was just that Liu Yifei had already seen a lot of this in Zhang Chunru’s notes and her own descriptions, so she had sufficient psychological preparation.

The yellow-hair from the Soul of Heroes Society clearly didn't expect to succeed in one go; he got back in the car with a sinister smile and left, seemingly also heading in the direction of Champagne City.

Liu Yifei didn't take it to heart at all: "Let’s go."

"Ah!"

Liu Xiao turned her head and suddenly screamed in shock!

The hood of the large Cherokee had been spray-painted with graffiti, with a big cross drawn on it; a black teenager hadn't had time to do anything to the Enzo before he was scared off by Mia pulling out a telescopic baton.

"These goddamn beasts!"

Her mother, whose ancestral home was in the Northeast, slapped the hood of the car in anger: "Xixi, tell Xiao Lu to deal with these scums severely!"

Boss Lu’s repeated warnings had finally become reality; no matter how low-key the opening press conference was, it couldn't stop the infiltration of these bookworms.

"They are afraid! It’s good that they are afraid!" Liu Yifei hugged the furious Liu Xiao and comforted her: "It means we are doing the right thing!"

"It’s okay, Mom; it’s only for these few months in the US. Once we return to the country, these monsters will have nowhere to hide."

Liu Xiao patted her daughter’s back: "When the time comes, invite Chunru to return to the country to live for a while; at the very least, around the time this movie is filmed and released, I don't think some people will rest."

"I was thinking the same thing; I’ll tell her when we get there this time."

The next two hours of the journey were uneventful, except for the graffiti on the Cherokee’s hood that needed to be dealt with.

Liu Yifei was somewhat glad that they had discovered it in time at the rest area; if the Ferrari Enzo that the washing machine had given her had been ruined, she would have simply asked Mia to help her buy two Glocks on the black market.

Arriving at Zhang Chunru’s residence, the Chinese-American female writer looked her up and down uneasily in the living room: "Xixi, are you all okay?"

"No problem, don't worry!" Liu Yifei smiled like a flower, then asked in confusion: "Those security personnel outside the door are also..."

Zhang Chunru gave a bitter smile: "It was arranged by Xiao Lu; I’m really not quite used to it."

"I let my parents and Brett take the children to live in the city center; I’m staying here to keep you company and help you practice your spoken language."

Liu Xiao went to the room to tidy up, and Liu Yifei held her hand: "Lu Kuan is quite thoughtful; I’ve also noticed some abnormalities these days."

"Fortunately, they don't dare to go too far, just using some dirty means in the dark; they can't be brought to the table."

Zhang Chunru looked at her with a smile, thinking to herself that he was certainly thoughtful; he had even contacted a psychologist to prepare for her.

I hope you never have to use it.

In the next few months, until the filming started around August, Liu Yifei would experience a life journey that could be considered physically and mentally exhausting.

She had to completely turn herself into Zhang Chunru.

Starting from the Hoover Institution at Stanford University, she would traverse the footprints of her searching for historical materials in major university libraries in the United States, discovering the Rabe Diary in Germany, and visiting survivors in Jinling.

She would maintain this state until the start of filming.

If looking at the materials and Zhang Chunru’s diaries and notes before wasn't too deep a mental burden—after all, she still had the relief and adjustment of the parties involved, and the distraction of her studies at the Booth School of Business—

Then these three-plus months would be a great test for her spirit and psychology.

But as long as she crossed it, this character would stand up as a matter of course.

After all, this was a historical film from the perspective of a biography; restoring the truth and original appearance of people, events, and objects was the primary proposition, and only then came artistic creation and ideological sublimation.

After finishing lunch, Zhang Chunru dug out a camphor wood chest from the attic; inside a kraft paper bag with 1982 Jinling Post Office stamps, five TDK tapes were arranged as before.

Like an epitaph of time.

She put the tapes of her grandfather Zhang Naifan teaching her the Huaiyin dialect (now Huai'an, Su Province) during her childhood into the radio, and the characteristic electrical hum of old 1983 cassette tapes entered her ears.

Two "Zhang Chunru"s, separated by twenty years, sat on small stools in the attic, traveling back twenty years together through the sound of Zhang Naifan’s kind voice.

Dazed and confused, as if from a past life.

"Click."

The tape inserted into the radio began to spin, first with a rustling sound like spring silkworms eating mulberry leaves, followed by the crisp sound of porcelain clinking together.

"Little Ru, hold the teacup steady."

The old man’s laughter seemed capable of shaking dust from the rafters, and the sunlight from twenty years ago suddenly slanted in through the attic’s dormer window, pinning two shadows onto the mottled wall.

Liu Yifei listened quietly, savoring the genuine emotion of this scene that would also serve as the film's opening.

Passing through the gilded years of time, her projection overlapped with the silhouette of the young Zhang Chunru, and two braided pigtails rippled in the halo of 1983.

"Come, repeat after Grandpa—it’s going to rain this afternoon." Zhang Naifan’s Huaiyin dialect carried the cadence of the canal’s waves, and little Liu’s throat moved, but she could not make a sound.

"Sister Chunru..." The little girl tilted her head to ask about the dialect’s pronunciation, but upon glancing at the thin cheeks of this angel of justice, she saw they were already covered in tear tracks.

Zhang Chunru touched the little girl’s face, struggling to squeeze out a smile, and shook her head to signal she was fine.

She then gripped the little girl’s palm tightly, trying to offer some warmth before the girl faced the wind and rain alone and began to retrace the path she herself had once taken to investigate the truth of history.

This ascetic journey of little Liu’s transformation from an ordinary actress to an excellent one was like a spring rain suddenly falling upon the world, officially beginning on this day at the end of April.

Early May, Hoover Institution at Stanford University, USA.

This was the first stop where Zhang Chunru decided to start writing and researching materials in 1994.

In the magnetic-shielded cabinet numbered HT-04 in the Hoover Institution’s special collections room, Zhang Chunru first encountered the original diary of Minnie Vautrin, the person in charge of Ginling College for Women.

Today, twelve years later, little Liu’s fingertips touched the handle of the brass door, the metal surface still retaining the stinging cold of the previous night.

The scent of moth-repellent powder wafting from inside the door reminded her of the camphor wood chest in the attic in Champaign, mixed with the unique fishy sweetness of old sheepskin.

An archivist in khaki overalls was dusting the documents; seeing her enter, he handed her a pair of white gloves: "Put these on, the documents are very fragile, be careful."

"Thank you, Vincent."

"Iris called me; you are the first visitor this morning." Vincent, now in his fifties, looked at her intently for a few seconds: "You really look like her."

The face shape is similar, the expression is similar, the accent is similar.

Only the look in the eyes is still lacking a little.

Vincent handed over a black hardcover register: "Come on, sign here."

Little Liu’s voice was clear and sweet: "Can you tell me which page Iris’s registration is on?"

The archivist curled his lip, but without complaining about the trouble, he immediately turned back to the bookshelf, searched for two minutes, and spread open a register with a nearly detached cover.

Visitor record for March 12, 1995—page 207, the "irischang" signature in blue ink has not faded to this day.

Liu Yifei wore the white gloves and brushed over her name delicately, forcing herself to begin an immersive realization of Zhang Chunru’s mood at that time.

She had to remember this scene, even the lighting, temperature, smell, and tactile sensations in this archives room today.

She knew she did not have extraordinary talent, and could only do as he required: to substitute and experience as much as possible.

The moment the magnetic-shielded cabinet opened, the aged scent with historical significance wrapped in a chill rushed toward her.

Little Liu’s gloved fingertips just touched the thread-bound spine of the *Vautrin Diary*, and it was as if she felt the dampness of the 1937 Ginling plum rain season reviving in the dry California air.

On the yellowed inner page, December 17, 1937, recorded:

"Tonight, more than 30 women climbed over the wall and broke into the campus. Their long hair had been cut unevenly—this was the trace of them cutting their own hair to avoid being raped by the Japanese military."

Although she had seen this sentence countless times in scripts, historical materials, and personal diaries, little Liu’s fingers, while turning the page, still trembled uncontrollably.

Nothing touches the soul more than real history.

She did not look at too much, but kept simulating and savoring Zhang Chunru’s emotions from back then in her mind.

Lu Kuan had systematically explained to her the preparation methods for biographical film roles.

From the outside in, first, naturally, is to deeply understand the character’s life, personality, social background, and historical environment, and to read relevant books, diaries, letters, and interviews to grasp the character’s inner world and external environment.

When retracing the character’s path, observe the surrounding environment, people’s behavior, and language habits, and try to imitate the character’s lifestyle, such as dietary habits and daily routines.

These were the parts she had already completed, the content she had focused on preparing in her spare time over the past six months.

But these were still only the form.

Just as seen from the perspective of the archivist Vincent, little Liu, who deliberately wore Zhang Chunru’s clothes from back then, used makeup to match her face, and even had an English accent that was quite similar, was only missing her eyes.

This required her to experience the emotional fluctuations the character might have gone through firsthand and find the point of emotional resonance with the character.

Liu Yifei began to actively reflect on the character’s behavioral motivations and think about the character’s natural reactions in specific situations.

Morning light slanted in through the Gothic stained-glass windows, and she sat there for two hours.

After a long while, the little girl stood up and walked lightly to the archivist: "Vincent, I need these historical materials as well, please."

"Everything is ready, miss."

Vincent led her toward the filing cabinet, and seeing Liu Yifei’s joyful expression, he couldn't help but say: "You can take a break before looking."

"Studying these is not easy; when Iris first saw those photos back then, she didn't recover for half a day."

Little Liu smiled with effort, the visible mental pressure much greater than when she entered: "Thank you, Vincent, I’m fine."

The archivist looked at her slender back and shook his head helplessly; it was the first time he had seen an actress experience life like this. Because Zhang Chunru had stayed at the Hoover Institution for a long time to look up historical materials over a decade ago, he and this Chinese-American female writer were close friends, which was why he had opened the door of convenience for Liu Yifei’s ascetic journey.

Whether in reality or in Lu Kuan’s script, the Hoover Institution was an extremely important scene.

This was the beginning of Zhang Chunru’s contact with the vast historical materials.

These historical materials not only included the *Vautrin Diary*.

There were also the *Asahi Shimbun* "Hundred-Man Killing Contest" reports, Japanese military logistics records, and the 16mm film master reels of Reverend John Magee, among other extremely important historical evidence.

These were also the main arguments Zhang Chunru later used to debate the Japanese ambassador to the United States on PBS television.

After these pieces of evidence were discovered by Zhang Chunru from the vast sea of old papers, she sent copies back to the country and handed them to many massacre historical research societies and organizations, becoming powerful physical evidence for remembering history.

Photos and other materials were even more fragile, so Vincent brought her to the special collections room, where the light and humidity were conducive to the storage of old items.

Under the ultraviolet light, the silver salt particles of the "Hundred-Man Killing" photos cast tiny light spots on Liu Yifei’s irises; that was a means of anti-corrosion.

If the lines and paragraphs of words about killing and rape in the *Vautrin Diary* made her scalp tingle.

Then these photos of the ferocious scum were undoubtedly a more direct visual and spiritual shock.

"Ugh!"

The little girl had a sudden, unexpected neurogenic gastric spasm.

She suddenly remembered that there were similar descriptions in Zhang Chunru’s diary, and without caring about anything else, she placed herself at the shooting scene in her mind and began to think about the character’s micro-expressions and movement details.

These details could not be learned from written materials or the words of those involved; this was the meaning of experiencing life before filming.

When having a reflex vomit, should I swallow first or blink first?

Liu Yifei thought of what Boss Lu said about the character’s action chain.

Facing the shock of bloody historical materials, Zhang Chunru must have wanted to quickly suppress her physiological reflex to vomit and continue to pursue the truth of history.

Then she should be turning the page with her left hand while pressing her stomach with her right?

What about the micro-expressions on her face?

It should be a swallowing action first to resist the feeling of vomiting, then a painful blink, and then eyes fixed tightly on the historical materials, unwilling to look away, right?

If that young director were by her side to see this scene, he would surely nod with great satisfaction; these were the details that only top-tier actors possessed.

Whether one can do it depends on talent.

But whether one is willing to do it depends on the actor’s own efforts and character.

In the way of acting, Liu Yifei might not have the natural intelligence of Huang Rong, but she was full of the sincerity and diligence of Guo Jing.

Admittedly, a genius actor might not need such ascetic life experience to keenly capture the details and acting techniques that make a character’s image stand out.

But for her to completely place herself in the painful history and realistic environment to conduct deep experience, and to temper and shape her acting skills in an extremely real scene, was clearly a better way to grasp the true meaning of the art of performance.

This step of little Liu’s was an extremely important step in her acting career transformation.

But not to mention whether this step could actually be crossed, just the act of summoning the courage, taking the time, and giving up everything to prepare for a film had already screened out the vast majority of actresses in the domestic entertainment industry.

The little girl frowned tightly, recalling Zhang Chunru’s notes while looking at the historical materials, constantly picking at the character’s details; this was Lu Kuan’s requirement for her.

On the big screen, in 4K high-frame-rate digital cameras, details were the key to determining the success or failure of a character.

When Oscar winner Daniel Day-Lewis discovered an oil gusher in *There Will Be Blood*, he first licked the crude oil from the corner of his mouth (physiological stimulation triggering a vomiting reflex), then his Adam’s apple rolled violently three times to suppress the vomit, and finally he squeezed out a laugh from between his teeth.

This 1.7-second micro-expression chain fully demonstrated the sense of tearing in the oil tycoon, who was both greedy and fearful.

When Meryl Streep said "Take my daughter" in *Sophie’s Choice*, her left hand suddenly pressed against her stomach, and her right fingernails scraped five parallel wrinkles into the tablecloth.

Just this one action almost caused her fingernails to crack.

And there was Heath Ledger in *The Dark Knight*; the Joker’s lip-licking action stemmed from his observation of the side effects of antidepressant medication.

In his performance, before each plan was implemented, his tongue would involuntarily sweep across his upper gums; this pathological action made the criminal motive have more physiological reality.

The so-called devil is in the details; that is exactly it.

Liu Yifei took out her Nokia N95; this was the new model phone she had just changed to.

It wasn't that she was fickle, but for its 5-megapixel camera; she wanted to film some of the details she had rehearsed and study them carefully when she went back at night.

When looking at the photo of the saber, what was the change in her eyes? Was it reasonable to look at the tip of the blade first and then at the victim, or the other way around?

What was Zhang Chunru thinking at the time?

While watching the 16mm Magee film, listening to the gear friction sound from the projector, Liu Yifei thought for a moment and made a defensive movement of straightening her spine.

This should have been her instinctive reaction when she saw the footage of the atrocities back then, right?

And looking at the yellowed Japanese military logistics report, the data of 37 gallons/day of oil and gas usage must have made Zhang Chunru’s pupils dilate and her whole body tremble with anger at the time.

Combined with the previous "Hundred-Man Killing" photos and other historical materials, this was clearly used for burning corpses!

Liu Yifei looked at the series of terrifying numbers with eyes wide enough to split:

December 14th, requested a supplement of 3,000 condoms for the comfort station;

December 19th: Report stated kerosene consumption for cremating corpses reached 37 gallons per day;

December 24th: The hygiene squad complained that processing severed limbs caused a 200% increase in the wear rate of cutting tools; (Note: real data)

Morning light sliced through the gaps in the blinds, cutting Liu Yifei’s profile into fragments of alternating light and shadow.

Her waterfall-like hair was loosely pinned at the back of her head, two or three stray strands stuck to her neck by cold sweat, the tips sweeping fine ripples across the file paper with her rapid breathing.

A drip landed on the photocopy; the young girl’s tears smashed down hard, as if to pierce through this unbearable evidence.

At this moment, she was completely immersed in the role, unable to distinguish whether she was Zhang Chunru from 1994 or Liu Yifei from 2006.

Stanislavski once issued a warning: "Actors must be careful not to become sacrifices to their own roles."

The vertigo of time and space felt by little Liu at the Hoover Institution right now was precisely the cruel baptism of stepping into the temple of great performance—

When she traced the "37 gallons" in the documents with her finger, the lines of her palm were being scorched by painful history into the same ravines as Zhang Chunru’s.

This is perhaps the most bizarre truth for actors who deeply immerse themselves: only by letting the physical body become a vessel for history can the soul achieve immortality on film.

From 7:30 in the morning to 4:00 in the afternoon.

The first day at the Hoover Institution passed just like that.

In the Grand Cherokee, Mia looked at her with some concern: "Crystal, your state isn't right."

"I know, I'm fine." Little Liu didn't even lift her head, looking at the footage on her phone; it was all the performance movements and details she had designed during the day.

The female bodyguard was helpless: "Are we going back to Beverly Hills or staying at a hotel in Stanford?"

"Huh?" The young girl looked up with a serene expression: "Let's just stay nearby; I need to arrive early these next few days."

Little Liu began an immersive pre-filming experience. Many of the universities, libraries, and graduate schools where Zhang Chunru had originally searched for information were in California, and Lu Kuan suggested that she and her mother move into the house he had just bought.

In the words of the Chinese, if a house is left unoccupied for a long time, it lacks human presence, losing harmony and proving unfavorable for Feng Shui.

It was just that Liu Yifei had been awkward and unwilling, making her overjoyed mother quite regretful.

In her heart, she naturally wanted to find ways to bring the two together, but in the proud young girl's heart, this was a case of "without a proper name, words do not carry weight."

Accompanying him to look at it was one thing, but under what name could she move into his house now?

Returning to the hotel room, Liu Xiao looked at her daughter with concern, but before she could offer any warm words, she was smilingly pushed out of the room by her daughter to go back to her own.

"Mom, I still need to look at materials and analyze performance details. I'll just have a few bites when the hotel delivers food later. You go get some rest too!"

How could Liu Xiao give up: "That won't do. There's no way to experience life like this. Look at how long it's been, your chin is already looking sharp!"

"Is it? That's perfect. I need to lose weight anyway; Sister Chunru lost over fifteen pounds in those years."

The mother was speechless, realizing that the more she said, the more she erred.

After nagging for a long time, she was still persuaded to leave by her daughter.

She sat in the room next door, pacing back and forth with worry, concerned about Xixi's mental state, and sighed as she took out her phone to dial.

——

The *Curse of the Golden Flower* crew had already left Hengdian in April and moved to Wulong in Shancheng.

In the conference room, the meeting of the Olympic creative team was just about to begin when it was interrupted by the vibration of the phone Lu Kuan had placed on the table.

The young director gestured to everyone and walked out of the conference room: "Hello, Liu Ayi?"

"Little Lu, did I disturb you? I see it's past nine in China, so I thought you would be up already."

"No, go ahead."

Liu Xiao wore a pained expression as she deliberated: "Sigh, actually, I really didn't want to make this call."

"I know Xixi's efforts now are all to better shape the character, and all these years, whenever she's been filming, I've never been one to shield her from hardship."

"But this time, I am truly worried!"

The mother spoke with earnest, heartfelt advice, and in the end, she couldn't help but sigh: "Little Lu, you're the only one she'll listen to now. Please help me persuade her."

"One must balance work and rest in everything; how can she just dive in so foolishly and not come out? Can her body handle it?"

"Don't worry, Liu Ayi, I'll handle it."

"Eh! Good, good."

The young director sighed; this girl was truly stubborn once she got serious, and no amount of pleading or warning was of any use.

He returned to the conference room first: "Sorry everyone, I've delayed you for fifteen minutes; I had to handle a matter."

Ma Wen laughed: "No delay, I haven't slept enough anyway, I'll nap a bit more."

"Go ahead, go ahead."

"Then we'll go out for a smoke."

Lin Ying was a bit curious: "It's strange today too; in the past, even if it were an emergency, he wouldn't delay the Olympic work discussion."

Everyone nodded, and could only secretly guess what urgent matter he had encountered.

At the end of the hallway, Lu Kuan frowned and rubbed his chin, immediately dialing little Liu's number.

Beep, beep, beep...

Sorry, the number you are calling is currently busy.

Soon a text message came in: I'm busy, wait a while.

It seemed this "busy" signal was a prompt for a hang-up; the man didn't even think and continued to dial.

The sound of the waves remained the same; it was still a text message, popping up with a question mark.

It didn't look right, did it?

Lu Kuan continued his phone bombardment. This time it connected smoothly, but he was met with a sharp rebuke: "I'm thinking about performance details, what are you doing?"

Little Liu in the hotel room was already showing signs of being "obsessed to the point of madness."

She had just been grinding away at the video clips from the day, getting into the groove, only to be interrupted by the phone from the "washing machine" from time to time!

"Stop for a moment. Don't expect to achieve everything in one battle. Have you forgotten you have another important mission?"

Liu Yifei was stunned, and it took a great effort to snap back from her meditative state: "Ah? What?"

"Oh! Netflix! Was the investment deal settled?"

Lu Kuan's strategy was very successful; he understood the irritability of someone interrupted while in the midst of artistic creation, so he chose to create another important topic to divert her attention.

"That's right. Blockbuster's recent integration action has been very successful, and the online user growth rate has surged. Netflix should have already felt the crisis."

"You happen to be in Los Angeles. Prepare to go to Netflix in the next few days to talk to Hastings. If they want our 300 million USD in financing, they have to accept the path of continuing the DVD rental war with Blockbuster."

Liu Yifei had to experience life at the Hoover Institution at Stanford for these few days, and Netflix's headquarters was in Los Gatos, a city in the Silicon Valley cluster, less than 50 kilometers away.

"Alright." Little Liu let out a long sigh, then added with lingering attachment: "I... have some performance clips, can I send them to you to take a look?"

"Sure, hurry up and prepare. Wait for Huang Anna's notification."

The call ended, and Liu Yifei let out a long sigh, having been dragged back to reality from 1937 by Lu Kuan.

It seemed that having discovered the fog-filled path to becoming a top-tier actor, the young girl had almost forgotten the Netflix strategy she had previously agreed upon with Lu Kuan.

Over the past month, both in appearance and internally, she had disguised herself as Zhang Chunru from another time and space, and her first step had been into the Hoover Institution, which was extremely important to her.

It was just that Liu Yifei, having only caught a glimpse of the path, was far from being able to control her immersion and detachment with ease.

She didn't even know that if it weren't for this call just now, if she hadn't been distracted by Lu Kuan, she might very well have become a sacrifice to the role, just as Stanislavski had warned.

This was like a young swordswoman who had just barely entered the world of martial arts, being forcibly empowered by Lu Kuan, an old demon of two lifetimes, who had taught her the supreme mental techniques and secret manuals of the pugilistic world.

The old demon wasn't paying attention for a moment, and this young swordswoman, unaware of the immensity of heaven and earth, was already on the verge of suffering from "deviation of Qi."

Let alone a novice like little Liu, even top-tier actors have had cases of being unable to extricate themselves from roles.

Zhang Guorong filmed *Farewell My Concubine*, and during the filming, he maintained the "orchid finger" gesture of a dan role, which almost caused permanent muscle tension abnormality in his right pinky finger.

Later generations have said that because of this role, he experienced a temporary disorder in his sexual orientation, but that is not for outsiders to know.

Heath Ledger filmed *The Dark Knight*, and a week after the film wrapped, he fell into severe insomnia and often experienced auditory hallucinations, forcing him to undergo half a year of psychological therapy.

Daniel Day-Lewis, after playing *Lincoln*, was even unable to switch back for a time during interviews, answering questions using English slang from the 1860s.

Fortunately, this pugilistic swordswoman's "hysteria" was slightly interrupted by the old demon, and she turned to look at the Netflix materials instead.

In mid-2006, Netflix's market value was only about 1.5 billion USD, with total assets of nearly 400 million, but 120 million of that was in a stock of 55 million DVDs.

In addition, there was nearly 200 million in total debt, coming from copyright fees to production companies.

In 2006, when Hastings led Netflix to fight Blockbuster and compete for online and offline DVD users, the 300 million USD Lu Kuan brought out could be described as "sending charcoal in snowy weather."

Liu Yifei also had a clear understanding of this—

Blockbuster's "Total Access" integration action, which had caused Netflix such a headache over the past few months, had only cost them 150 million USD.

Investing was not the problem; the problem was how little Liu could follow Lu Kuan's script to guide Hastings away from his "correct course"—the layout of the streaming media business.

On May 7th, US West Coast time, Liu Yifei met with Hastings in the Netflix chairman's office.

The blinds cut the California sunshine into fine golden threads, which fell on the hem of little Liu's professional suit.

She clicked her tongue in appreciation of the wall of DVD inventory in Hastings' office.

Unlike little Liu, who had investigated Hastings' ancestors back eighteen generations, Hastings looked at this Asian woman with a strange expression, not knowing how to define her identity.

A star? A big blogger on MyTube? A female entrepreneur?

Or perhaps, a Chinese woman who had once made the wife of the News Corporation president suffer a setback.

"Crystal, I didn't expect you to be the one negotiating with me. I know you, but we aren't very familiar."

Hastings' pair of eagle eyes were particularly sharp: "Many Hollywood stars do business, but I find it unbelievable that someone like you would casually pull out 300 million USD to enter a track where competition is white-hot."

"Crystal, do I have the honor of hearing the truth from you?"

Actress Liu Yifei turned confidently: "It's very simple. I am a Chinese actress, and I hope to establish myself in Hollywood. That's not hard to understand, is it?"

"Uh-huh."

Little Liu smiled: "Chinese people can't get any important roles in Hollywood. If I want to gain the favor of big directors and big producers, I must have enough bargaining chips."

"DVD rental and distribution channels are my bargaining chips, and I do indeed look favorably upon Netflix's development, especially you, Mr. Hastings. Your management ability is so outstanding, it is truly admirable!"

Hastings persisted in getting to the bottom of it: "But for an actor as young as you, this capital..."

Liu Yifei disdainfully raised her hand to interrupt him: "Before I came, your finance department already confirmed the correspondence; there is no room for doubt regarding the strength of the capital."

"As for where my money comes from, you shouldn't count on knowing too much about that."

"Don't you know that in the East, the numbers in the bank accounts of the billionaires on the lists don't even amount to a fraction of what the hidden giants have?"

The young lady proudly lifted her chin, her acting skills exploding, taking on the posture of a manager of overseas assets for some red family in the East.

"This is a bold industrial investment, and it is also paving the way for myself; you only need to consider whether to accept it or not!"

Hastings looked at the mysterious and unfathomable Eastern beauty before him, momentarily dazed.

Her raven-colored long hair was combed into an academic low ponytail, and the matte foundation served well to add to her perceived age.

She wore a midnight-black wool crepe suit, the neckline slightly open in a French boat-neck cut, revealing the collarbone lines with the luster of mother-of-pearl.

Even without any jewelry adornments on her entire body, it still displayed an extraordinary air of nobility.

What a set of unadorned capital rhetoric; Hastings spread his hands, silently complaining about which young lady from an Asian red family was playing around this time.

"Fine, let us talk about Netflix."

Wu Ershan in the text has gone into hiding and gone offline; I will find time to revise the previous plot.

This damn thing.

(End of this chapter)