Translator: 549690339
After Bo Yan entered the house, the first thing he laid eyes on was a pair of high heels, haphazardly kicking around and askew.
When he walked in, he was carrying a bag; upon seeing her high heels, he slightly furrowed his brows, set the bag on the entryway cabinet. He bent down intending to neatly arrange the high heels, but as his fingers touched them, he withdrew his hand.
The living room was still dark, illuminated only by the light seeping from the adjacent bedroom.
Before he could speak up, a head peeked out from that bedroom—it was Xia Siyu, who appeared to have just taken a bath, wearing a bathrobe, with a dry hair cap and a face mask on.
Upon seeing him return home, Xia Siyu quickly lost interest and withdrew her head back into the room; soon after, he heard the sound of a hair dryer—it seemed she was drying her hair.
Bo Yan did not concern himself with her; he changed his shoes upon entering the door and returned to his own room to change into pajamas before coming out again.
Out of habit, he brewed himself a cup of coffee. Since he had already had dinner at this point in time, he didn’t bother to prepare anything like a sandwich. However, he was leaving early tomorrow morning and likely wouldn’t have any time to make breakfast, given Siyu’s tendency to get up late. Thus, he had Song Fengzhi buy him some low-calorie snacks that were enough to fend off hunger without causing weight gain.
As expected, while sitting there drinking his coffee and idly rummaging through the plastic bag to grab a few snacks, Xia Siyu finished blow-drying her hair and took care of her skin, then poured herself a cup of coffee as usual. When she turned around and saw him snacking, she naturally sidled up and asked, “What are you eating? Dried tofu? Isn’t that pretty high in calories? 1 envy male actors—they don’t get mocked like us female artists if they gain a little weight.”
Bo Yan looked at her with a face full of disdain, the more he looked, the more he leaned back in a tactical retreat, and then he pushed the bag gently in her direction.
Xia Siyu’s eyes lit up, and she quickly took a few snacks from the bag. Fearing he might refuse to share later, she took several more, piling them up into a small mound.
Neither of them said a word; she sat at this end of the sofa, and I sat at the other, a two-meter distance between us.
The recent downturn in the film and television industry meant that most stars weren’t as busy as before. Top-tier celebrities like Xia Siyu and Bo Yan had a bit more luck, but even they were receiving fewer film offers than in the past.
However, as Xia Siyu was nibbling on the dried tofu, she noticed that Bo Yan had two or three scripts on his side, one of which was from an emerging art-house director who had gained popularity over recent years and was very talented.
On her own side, there were offers as well, but they were the same old fresh and sweet typecasts.
Xia Siyu was now twenty-six, a month shy of twenty-seven. She could rely on her fresh-faced looks for a few more years, but once she hit thirty, she would face the pain of transition.
She did not want to be typecast, nor did she want to be confined to her comfort zone for life; otherwise, she wouldn’t have strived to take on the role of the second female lead in “Storm.’
But wanting to choose a breakthrough was one thing; it also depended on luck. Opportunities like the one with Wang Ju might not come again.
As she was lost in thought, her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she saw it was Qin Baizhou and answered directly: “Hello?”
He had only said her name, but Bo Yan’s eyebrows twitched slightly across the couch. Xia Siyu immediately said, “It’s about the reality show, right?”
Qin Baizhou nodded, “Do you have time right now? I’m downstairs at your building. ”
As his words fell, the doorbell rang.