Snow drifted down in Otaru, blanketing the streets. A pedestrian slipped with a thud, as if a stone dropped into water.
That person was Hashimoto Maki, being scolded for taking leave—her older brother's coming-of-age ceremony, of all things.
"Miss Hashimoto, do you realize that because of your whim, our entire schedule was delayed?" Director Ozu Etsuji barked.
Seventeen-year-old Hashimoto Maki stumbled over her apology. She bowed. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have asked for leave at this critical time."
Director Ozu scowled. "Don't let it happen again."
Outdoor shoots are always challenging—crew members from camera, lighting, props—everyone under pressure. Ozu's temper was already thin.
Then he halted the scene. "Do you know why you were kneeling in the snow just now, Nakamura Yuriko? What was that expression about?"
Nakamura Yuriko played two roles in the film. Many viewers were confused by the dual casting and mistook it for schizophrenia. But truly, the film used doppelgänger metaphor: to process grief after fiancé Nobuki's death in a climbing accident, Hokkaido Yukiko (same family name) stood in for Yuriko. Actors were portraying the emotional void.
"If I may speculate, director…" Nakamura Yuriko began. "This scene shows how, on the third anniversary of Nobuki's death, Yuriko still can't let go. Even his family has moved on. She lies in snow to mimic his suffocation in the avalanche."
Ozu was surprised by her insight. But actors must perform, not explain. "Did your acting convey that?"
She promptly apologized to the entire crew for the delay.
They resumed filming atop Tengu Mountain—the highest vantage for viewing Otaru's nightscape. Soon it might join the top three in Hokkaido, alongside Hakodate and Sapporo, Old Qian predicted.
Old Qian and Wang Yuan were in Japan for Chu Zhi's record-breaking EP. Many Japanese brands courted him. That evening, they held a small meeting at the hotel.
"In Japan, male stars usually endorse men's products," Old Qian noted. "But Sofina asked Chu Zhi to promote lipstick—¥180 million yen per quarter."
"That's over 9 million yuan—not small," Wang Yuan added. "Double the usual rate."
Shiseido had offered Chu Zhi men's skincare previously, but the fee was rejected. Sofina's offer stood out as exceptionally generous, matching his EP's success.
"Male lipstick reps aren't unheard of," Old Qian said. "Maybe they saw his high female fan ratio—nine out of ten EP buyers were women, according to Shukan Bunshun."
"Female fans are fierce," Wang Yuan said. "Many bought three copies just for collectible photo cards."
"Revenue-share model could work too," Chu Zhi suggested.
They agreed to coordinate a profit-sharing deal to boost the value of future endorsements.
As Chu Zhi's fame and cross-border engagements grew, the team needed more staff.
Later that afternoon, a message from charity liaison Li You arrived:
"Chu Zhi, from Sister Zhang: 'Xiao Yu passed away at 4:21 p.m. today. Hearing your song made her very happy. Thank you.' We are very saddened."
Sister Zhang was Ai Yu's mother.
Numbly, Chu Zhi replied: "[When is the funeral?]"
Li You responded: "No funeral—just a simple farewell tomorrow at 9:00 a.m., then cremation."
Chu Zhi informed Director Ozu: "I'll need to leave tomorrow morning for mainland China, but I'll return by afternoon."
Ozu nodded, assigning shooting of the intersection scene first.
Old Qian, Xiao Zhu, and Wang Yuan learned why Chu Zhi took leave—they were silent.
"She was such a good child. Why are there no cures for leukemia?" Wang Yuan wiped tears from her eyes.
Despite sorrow, filming continued as planned.
Morning arrived without dawn. Chu Zhi flew to Shimen at 6 a.m. By 10 a.m. he reached the small funeral parlor. Ai Yu lay peacefully in her coffin, her features preserved by the mortician.
"Death isn't losing life, just stepping outside time. I'll forever remember you, my Little Fruit Ai Yu," he whispered in his mind.
He expressed condolences to Ai Yu's mother. She nodded, grateful.
"Could I see Ai Yu's room?" Chu Zhi asked. The cousin led him to their rented home in Beichu Town.
Ai Yu's bedroom was scattered with stuffed toys, tablets, and laundry. But the wall by her pillow displayed Chu Zhi's poster from the Kangfei Entertainment era.
A desk by the window held stacks of reference books and colorful pens. On the glass pane beneath, four sticky notes read:
"With Brother Jiu, I'll become better"
"I must get the star on the Family App"
"Save up for Mom's massage chair"
"8th-anniversary concert! Must get tickets!"
With permission, Chu Zhi took the last note and placed his pocket notebook behind it. He always carried a pen and notebook for fans.
Then he boarded his flight to Sapporo.
He gazed at the clouds—like waves of white ocean.
"The meaning of being an idol is heavier than I imagined," he whispered. "Fans feel more than devotion…"
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I get teary again when write this. The previous chapter I done translated it at 21, and now 00:23. My heart still faintly ached when I did this this chapter...