How come he seems angry?
Regardless of who was actually treating whom—whether President Wen condescended to personally host the production crew, or Producer Ji pre-reserved her gratitude spot at the next awards ceremony—Wen Shaoyu ended up driving into the parking lot near Yong'anli.
The rain hadn't let up. The evening wind, carrying the chill and moisture of Xinhai winter, hit Ji Shuhe as she stepped out of the underground garage, making her shiver involuntarily.
Wen Shaoyu was still in his crisp overcoat, holding the only umbrella in the car—a long black one. He tilted most of the canopy toward Ji Shuhe, leaving half his own shoulder exposed to the rain.
Forced to walk side by side, crowded under the same umbrella, Ji Shuhe lowered her head and stepped onto the wet, shimmering puddles on the ground. She wanted to ask Wen Shaoyu if he was cold.
Preview