Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tang Wei’s Age

The film was finally wrapped, and a wrap party was inevitable.
At seven in the evening, at Fortune House.
The entire crew of “Butterfly Effect” gathered together, glasses clinking, bottles flying everywhere, as everyone took turns toasting one another.
Han Sanping graced them with his presence that night, arriving with Liu Qi. During the filming, he rarely visited the set; most of the on-site production work was handled by Liu Qi.
So, seeing this big shot tonight, everyone hurried over to offer him a toast.
Han Sanping, however, didn’t stay long—half an hour later, he was gone. He had other banquets to attend that evening; the fact that he made time to stop by was already a sign of great respect.
The rest of the night belonged to alcohol.
Ning Hao drank the most, accepting any drink that came his way.
It was his first time directing a film, and gratitude filled his heart for the entire crew—from Gu Zhi, to the four leading actors, and all the staff in the various departments. He toasted every single one of them.
Eventually, he drank himself into oblivion, blacking out completely.
Liu Ye was not much better; he was a bold drinker, downing glass after glass without hesitation.
In the end, he and Ning Hao collapsed together at the table, almost snoring.
Besides those two, many others in the crew ended up drunk as well. Fortunately, everyone’s self-restraint was commendable—no one caused a drunken scene.
Zhang Yishan and Yang Zi came too, each accompanied by their parents; by nine o’clock, both families had left early.
By ten, the wrap party was over, and people began drifting home.
Thankfully, Gu Zhi and Tang Wei hadn’t drunk themselves senseless, so they managed to first send Liu Ye back to the Central Academy of Drama dormitory, then together brought Ning Hao to the Beijing Film Academy dormitory.
When they arrived downstairs, they saw Ning Hao’s girlfriend, Xing Aina, quietly waiting not far away—it seemed she had been there for quite some time.
“Hey, Sister Xing, waiting for Hao? Sorry, it’s so late—he drank a bit too much.”
Gu Zhi waved to Xing Aina as he and Tang Wei, supporting Ning Hao between them, walked over.
They had all gotten to know each other well over the two and a half months of filming; Xing Aina often visited Ning Hao on set, so after many meetings and chats, they’d become friendly.
Now she hurried over, taking the drunken Ning Hao from their arms.
“It’s all right, thank you both! Otherwise, this little piglet would be sleeping on the street tonight.”
After a few words, Xing Aina helped Ning Hao back to her rented apartment, reminding Gu Zhi before leaving to make sure Tang Wei got home safely.
Last month, Xing Aina had taken on an editing job and saved some money, so she rented a small studio apartment. Ning Hao would often stay over for the night.
Since joining the crew, Gu Zhi had moved out from Ning Hao’s dorm; planning to settle in the capital, he rented a place near the Third Ring Road.
“Where do you live? I’ll take you home.”

Gu Zhi and Tang Wei strolled through the Beijing Film Academy campus, heading for the gate.
“I rented an apartment near the Central Academy of Drama. It’s late, I’ll just take a cab home—you should get some rest too,” Tang Wei replied with a gentle smile.
A soft, delicate charm radiated from her.
So beautiful...
In the faint glow of the streetlights, Tang Wei’s figure was illuminated.
Tonight, she wore a short-sleeved white blouse, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her makeup subtle and elegant. The drinks had left her cheeks slightly flushed, adding a touch of allure.
Gu Zhi found himself staring, momentarily entranced, his steps unconsciously slowing.
Fortunately, he recovered quickly—before Tang Wei noticed, he changed his expression, putting on a serious face.
“That won’t do. It’s late, and even with a cab, it’s not safe for a young woman to go home alone. I must see you back.”
Tang Wei suddenly covered her mouth and laughed.
“Little Gu, don’t forget, you’re still underage. Maybe I should be the one protecting you!”
“Heh, Big Sister Tang, but I’m taller and stronger than you, so I should be the one protecting you.”
“Big... sister...”
Huh?
Gu Zhi realized he might have said something wrong; Tang Wei’s mood suddenly darkened.
An awkward silence fell.
“Youth is such a wonderful thing,” she murmured after a while, a trace of melancholy in her voice.
“You’re still young too, and so beautiful,” he replied.
“I’m already twenty-one. In the film industry, that’s not considered young. Zhang Ziyi, who’s my age, already won the Hundred Flowers Award for Best Actress and is now filming a movie with Director Li An—her career will only climb higher.”
Don’t worry, if nothing goes wrong, you’ll act in Li An’s films one day too, Gu Zhi thought to himself.
“Yuan Quan, who’s two years older, graduated from Central Drama in ’96 and won the Golden Rooster for Best Supporting Actress last year. Even Liu Ye, just a year older than me, is about to graduate and was nominated for Best Supporting Actor last year.”
“I’m already twenty-one, and not until September will I be a freshman at Central Drama. By the time I graduate, I’ll be twenty-five. If I hadn’t met you all, who knows how long I would’ve waited before landing a movie role.”
“I’ve fallen so far behind.”

Tang Wei couldn’t help but sigh.
Gu Zhi wanted to comfort her, but found no words—because he knew all her worries had come true in the original timeline.
She entered Central Drama in 2000, acted in a stage play in 2001, then had no roles for three years. In 2004, she took small parts in two TV dramas Gu Zhi had never even heard of.
In 2005, she returned to stage acting, remaining unknown in the film world—who had ever heard her name?
Not until 2006 did Li An select her, bringing her to Shanghai for training. After more than a month, she finally signed a contract with him and starred in a film where she bared everything—“Lust, Caution.”
When “Lust, Caution” premiered in 2007, she won the Golden Horse Award for Best New Performer, becoming an overnight sensation.
By then, she was already twenty-eight—finally winning a newcomer’s award. It was both inspiring and bittersweet, even a little absurd.
No one could imagine how she survived those years on the margins of the film industry, or what resolve it took to shed all shame and dignity and bare herself before over a billion people.
Family opposition, friends’ ridicule, classmates’ contempt, public malice—she faced immense pressure and staked everything on a single role.
She must have known the consequences: no matter how accomplished she became, few Chinese men would ever want to marry her; even if someone did, their family would likely object.
Tradition runs deeper than one might think, especially in a nation with five thousand years of history.
Perhaps that was one reason she married a Korean.
In his past life, Gu Zhi sometimes wondered:
If “Lust, Caution” hadn’t succeeded, what would have become of her?
If she had found success sooner, would she have needed to force herself down such a path?
“Thank you—thank you and Director Ning for giving me the lead role.”
“You can’t imagine how happy and excited I was. I was calling my mom like crazy, and I couldn’t sleep for nights.”
“So, truly, thank you, Gu.”
Tang Wei suddenly stopped, gazing deeply into his eyes—her look full of gratitude, emotion, and sincerity.
Their eyes met; Gu Zhi said nothing.
He simply reached out, patted her head gently, and grinned.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”