The iced water flowed into Song Chan’s throat with a cool sensation.
It diluted the sweetness lingering in her mouth while also driving away the stuffiness brought by the vacation-season sun.
As expected of Paris, the City of Romance—even ordinary mineral water seemed to carry a faint sweetness.
At the Estate Campground, most of the cast and crew had already arrived. Once the director and producer showed up, the gathering meal—treated as the starting ceremony—finally kicked off officially.
Director Chen had no lengthy speeches; he was an efficient man. After briefing a few precautions and cheering everyone on, he stepped down and handed things over to Producer Fat Uncle.
Unlike Director Chen, Fat Uncle was incredibly smooth and worldly. He clearly had a habit of playing the leader, rattling off a bunch of empty platitudes without any real substance.
He wrapped up with: “So today, everyone eat well, drink well, and let loose. Of course, don’t slack off—we start filming Fashion Gentleman in Paris tomorrow.”
“Hope this drama smashes ratings records and creates a miracle!”
As he spoke, Fat Uncle raised his champagne glass and downed the contents in one go.
He somehow made champagne feel like baijiu. After his speech wrapped up, Song Chan inexplicably felt like she was at a company annual meeting or a wedding ceremony.
To match the Estate Campground vibe, the meal was outdoors, at a long wooden table under the tents.
Each table seated about twenty people. Seeing the setup, Song Chan’s social anxiety flared up—she just wanted to find a quiet corner to eat.
She wasn’t familiar with most of the nearby cast and crew, so she headed toward the makeup and hair team, where more young women clustered.
Before she could get there, a familiar voice called out to her.
“Little Song.”
Producer Fat Uncle walked over with an enthusiastic greeting.
“The core team is at that table. Why head this way? Come on, let’s all chat and get acquainted—it’ll make collaborating easier later.”
Song Chan was a bit stunned. Wasn’t she just a fashion consultant?
When did they lump her in with the core team? No one had notified her ahead of time.
Seeing her freeze up, Fat Uncle urged her again.
“Little Song, come on over.”
With no other choice, Song Chan followed behind him toward the core team table.
Most of the crew had already sat down by the time they arrived. Fat Uncle pulled up next to Director Chen, leaving just two seats at the long table.
One was in the farthest corner, but at this hour, it would catch the direct sunlight.
The other was sandwiched right between Su Yicen and Zhou Chiyu—the spot originally meant for Li Shuning. But after her embarrassing moment earlier, she couldn’t stick around and had left early on a break, leaving her seat empty.
Faced with these two prime options, Song Chan would rather bake in the sun at the edge than get stuck between those two. Just looking at it felt dangerously precarious.
Song Chan decisively headed to the far end. Before she could sit, Fat Uncle called out again.
“Little Song!” Fat Uncle raised his voice, making as if to stand.
“Why sit way over there?” As he spoke, he pointed at the seat that gave her the chills. “There’s an empty spot right here. Why go so far?”
She glanced up and met Su Yicen’s gaze—watching the drama unfold like he didn’t care if she lived or died. It only fueled her frustration.
Sitting there, she probably wouldn’t even finish her meal without indigestion.
Daring only to vent internally, Song Chan curved her lips into a flawless smile and explained.
“It’s fine. I’m good here—I’ll get some calcium from the sun.”
“You’re a young girl. What calcium are you supplementing?”
Fat Uncle glanced at Su Yicen, recalling the ZE Fashion boss’s instructions. He’d originally thought the rumors of bad blood between them were just tabloid nonsense.
But now, seeing Song Chan deliberately distancing herself, Fat Uncle started taking it seriously.
With that in mind, he slapped the table and stood. “Little Song, come sit here by me.”
“Your boss handed me his prized consultant—that’s trust in me.”
“If you go back all tanned and worn out, you think Old Li will let me off easy?”
Everyone at the table turned to look at Song Chan. For a producer to go this far was unheard of in any crew.
Of course, Song Chan couldn’t actually swap seats with Fat Uncle. With no other options, she reluctantly agreed and headed to the spot between Su Yicen and Zhou Chiyu.
She hadn’t even arrived when Zhou Chiyu pulled out the chair for her first.
“Teacher Song.”
His sunny, refreshing smile lit up his face, impossible not to lift anyone’s mood.
Seeing his gesture, Song Chan quickened her steps and thanked him politely.
“Thanks, thanks. Sorry to trouble you, Teacher Zhou…”
“No trouble.”
“Did Teacher Song rest well last night? Jet lag settling in okay?”
“Pretty good, thanks for asking, Teacher Zhou…”
‘Ahem—’
An unfriendly cough interrupted their polite exchange.
Su Yicen’s icy, handsome, arrogant face—expressionless as ever—turned toward them.
His voice held no warmth: “So Teacher Zhou is quite the talker?”
He was clearly addressing Zhou Chiyu, but his gaze landed on Song Chan beside him.
Pinned by Su Yicen’s pitch-black eyes, she caught the undercurrent of aggressive intensity surging in them. Song Chan didn’t even dare breathe.
She obediently shut her mouth, her fork poking nonstop at the steak just served in front of her.
Song Chan lowered her head, pursed her lips, and worked to calm herself, shifting her focus to the food.
The table was laden with lavish dishes. Even abroad, Fat Uncle was generous—he demanded refinement but kept portions hearty.
In his own words, he never did anything petty.
After a couple bites of steak, Song Chan found the flavor quite good.
Nearby were also confit duck, pan-seared foie gras, and French baked escargot.
Song Chan had zero interest in offal. Foie gras wasn’t on her radar, the parsley in the escargot was her most hated flavor, and she wasn’t big on snails either.
Her eyes drifted to the confit duck nearby—it looked a bit like roast duck.
It was close, but positioned right in front of Su Yicen.
Never mind…
After weighing it, Song Chan decided to be a quiet, invisible diner.
With so many people around, she didn’t want anyone noticing anything off.
As her fork speared toward the steak again, a shadow fell over her. A duck leg from the confit—deboned and neatly plated—appeared right in front of her.
She turned to look. Su Yicen was casually dealing with the bones he’d picked from his own plate.
Song Chan was stunned, forgetting to react for a moment. How did he know she wanted this? Even the water earlier…
His understanding of her seemed to exceed her expectations.
Seeing no one else paying attention, Song Chan couldn’t hold back. She whispered: “How did you…”
The word “know” hadn’t left her mouth when Su Yicen gave her the answer.
He tugged the corner of his mouth: “Whatever Teacher Song wants shows in her eyes. Hard not to notice.”
“Who let my eyes automatically focus on you when they meet you.”