At eleven o'clock at night, the moon rises.
Mu Ran lifts open the director's tent, where Yang Yingying, with pink hair, sits on a tiger-skin chair, typing furiously on her laptop, as if handling business or venting some unexpressed anger.
"Still awake?"
The keyboard clacking gets even louder, not just loud but also vexed, as though she might break the laptop keyboard keys.
Mu Ran approaches her, "I'm sorry, I forgot."
"You're forgetful as always, understandable." Yang Yingying blinks continuously, her voice calm, "You don't need to come specially to comfort me. You're busy, I'm busy too."
"I was wrong." Mu Ran bends down, hands on knees, leaning forward to look at her. He gently pulls aside some strands of hair covering her face, seeing her clear black-and-white eyes misting over, his heart softens, "Don't cry. I'll buy you a bag, a newly launched limited edition through my sister-in-law."
"I don't want it!"
"Ten of them."
"I don't want it!!!"
