140: Chapter 140: My Late-Night Script Discussion with the Actress – What's the Problem?

A black Maybach drove steadily along the streets of Cheongdam-dong. Inside the car, Song Tianhao sat with his eyes closed, resting.

Jang Se-hoon sat in the passenger seat, glancing at his boss in the rearview mirror, hesitating to speak. Eventually, he opened his mouth: "President, about Son Ye-jin-xi... should we arrange for someone to check the environment first? There have always been a lot of paparazzi in Cheongdam-dong."

"No need." Song Tianhao didn't open his eyes, his voice calm. "Son Ye-jin-xi has been in the industry for many years and is a top-tier actress; the security and privacy protection at her apartment won't be lacking. If she couldn't even handle the situation at her own doorstep, she wouldn't have reached this position today."

Jang Se-hoon nodded, but still felt somewhat worried: "But Director Jeong just left. What if he sends someone..."

"He wouldn't dare." Song Tianhao opened his eyes and looked at the fleeting lights outside the window. "What Director Jung Chang-ho fears most right now is what I have in my hands. In the short term, he won't dare to pull any stunts openly. As for secret paparazzi shots..." He paused. "If they get a shot, they get a shot. I'm discussing a script with an actress late at night; what's the problem?"

That might be what he said, but Jang Se-hoon knew that public opinion in the entertainment industry never cared about the facts, only the headlines.

"Baeksang Best Actor Secretly Meets Top Actress Late at Night"—even if the content of such news were perfectly legitimate, it would be enough to stir up hype for days.

However, looking at the President's demeanor, he didn't seem to care at all.

The car stopped in the underground garage of a high-end apartment complex in Cheongdam-dong. Song Tianhao told Jang Se-hoon and the driver to wait in the car while he went up alone. The address Son Ye-jin gave was 1901, on the top floor. The elevator doors opened to a private entrance foyer. He rang the doorbell.

The door opened quickly.

Son Ye-jin stood inside the door, looking completely different from the audition that afternoon. She had changed into a light beige silk loungewear set, the soft fabric clinging to her body's curves, with a matching knit cardigan worn loosely over it.

There was no makeup on her face, and her skin looked clean and translucent under the warm light of the foyer, so clear that one could even see the fine downy hairs. Her long hair was loosely tied back with a simple wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands hanging beside her cheeks, looking lazy and casual.

"President, you're here." Son Ye-jin smiled and stepped aside. "Please, come in."

Her apartment was not quite what Song Tianhao had imagined. It lacked ostentatious luxury, favoring a minimalist modern style with white, beige, and natural wood tones as the main palette.

The space was large and open, with a sweeping view of the brilliant nightscape of Cheongdam-dong through a full-length glass window. There wasn't much furniture, but every piece had a sense of design, looking comfortable yet stylish. The air held a faint scent of aromatherapy, like cedar mixed with a hint of citrus.

In the center of the living room lay a huge light gray rug, scattered with a few soft pillows. The low coffee table was covered in items: scripts, printed storyboard sketches, and several open books.

Song Tianhao glanced over; they were professional books like "Criminal Psychology" and "Clinical Research on Dissociative Identity Disorder," along with various highlighters, sticky notes, and a half-drunk cup of herbal tea.

"It's a bit messy, sorry." Son Ye-jin gestured for Song Tianhao to sit on the sofa and walked over to the island in the open kitchen. "What would you like to drink, President? Tea? Coffee? Or... I have some good red wine here."

"Tea is fine." Song Tianhao took off his suit jacket and draped it over the armrest of the sofa, his gaze falling on the materials. "It seems you've already entered work mode."

"Once I thought about that 'Dual Yoon Soo-ah' setup, I couldn't stop." Son Ye-jin's voice came from the kitchen, accompanied by the bubbling sound of a kettle and a hint of excitement. "It felt like a new door had suddenly opened; so many things came rushing out, I had to write them down immediately."

She walked over carrying a tray with a set of simple white porcelain tea ware and a small plate of handmade cookies. She knelt on the rug and poured tea for Song Tianhao with skilled, elegant movements. Steam swirled, and the fragrance of tea filled the air.

"Thank you." Song Tianhao took the teacup, the warmth transferring through the porcelain to his palm. He didn't make small talk, cutting straight to the point: "You said you had many ideas regarding 'Light' Yoon Soo-ah?"

"Yes!" Son Ye-jin's eyes lit up immediately; it was that unique radiance an artist has when talking about what they love.

She grabbed a script, flipped to a page, and pointed to a section highlighted with a marker: "President, look here. The first time Yoon Soo-ah sees blood on her face in the bathroom mirror, it's actually a hallucination. The original script treats it with her being terrified and breaking down. But now I feel that's not right."

She put down the script, leaned forward slightly, and gestured unconsciously: "The core of 'Light' Yoon Soo-ah isn't fragility, it's 'repression.' She suppresses all the darkness, anger, and fear beneath that gentle, submissive shell."

"So when she sees the hallucination for the first time, it shouldn't be terror, but rather... a kind of confirmation. A sense of resignation like 'Ah, she's finally here.' There could even be a hint of eerie calm."

As she spoke, Son Ye-jin suddenly stood up, stepped back a few paces, and faced the floor-to-ceiling window. Her reflection appeared in the glass, with the city lights behind her.

She turned slightly, mimicking the action of Yoon Soo-ah looking into the mirror in the script, then slowly turned her head, her gaze falling on a non-existent "bloodstain" on the glass.

Song Tianhao watched quietly.

The expression on Son Ye-jin's face changed. It wasn't the intense explosion from the audition that afternoon, but a more introverted, more subtle shift in layers.

Her eyes were confused at first, then focused, her pupils slightly contracting. But very quickly, that contraction turned into a kind of almost hollow composure. The corners of her mouth didn't droop; instead, they lifted ever so slightly—that wasn't a smile, but a knowing resignation.

Then, she raised her hand, her fingertips brushing gently across her cheek. The movement was as soft as if she were caressing a lover's face, but her eyes grew colder and emptier.

The entire performance had no lines, no big movements, and not even many changes in expression. But that madness, frozen beneath a gentle exterior and seeping from her very bones, sent a chill up Song Tianhao's spine.

"Then," Son Ye-jin's voice sounded, still soft but with a dreamlike quality, "she turns on the faucet and starts washing her hands. Not frantically scrubbing, but very slowly, very carefully, washing finger by finger, as if performing some sacred ritual."

"After washing, she looks at her clean hands, and then looks at herself in the mirror, still smiling gently..."

She turned back to face Song Tianhao, her face already restored to calm, even wearing a hint of her usual gentle smile. But deep in those eyes, a trace of icy hollowness remained, not yet dissipated.

"At this moment," Son Ye-jin walked back to the rug and sat down, taking a sip from her teacup, her breathing finally calming slightly, "'Light' Yoon Soo-ah and 'Shadow' Yoon Soo-ah have actually completed a handover."

"Washing her hands is 'Light' wiping away traces, but it's also 'Shadow' announcing her arrival. Here, we could give 'Shadow'—that is, Han Hyo-joo-xi—a shot, just standing in the shadows behind her, watching her wash her hands. The expression would be... pity? Or mockery? Or, expressionless?"

She spoke quickly, her thoughts clear, completely immersed in the character and the situation. Song Tianhao didn't interrupt, just listened, nodding occasionally, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the script.

"And here," Son Ye-jin flipped to another page, her finger pointing to a scene describing Yoon Soo-ah taking care of elderly people in a nursing home. "On the surface, it's Yoon Soo-ah's gentleness and patience."

"But if it's a 'dual personality' setup, then these caring behaviors could be 'Light' seeking atonement, or it could be 'Shadow' selecting prey."

"She feeds a difficult elderly person, her movements gentle, her tone soft, but her eyes might drift to a spot outside the window where 'Shadow' is standing, and 'Shadow' is shaking or nodding her head at her. Using this kind of implication helps pave the way for the truth behind that elderly person's 'accidental' death later."

The more she spoke, the more excited she became, her body unconsciously leaning closer to Song Tianhao, her fingers moving quickly over the script, pointing out node after node that could be dug deeper to establish the connection between 'Light' and 'Shadow.' The fresh fragrance from her hair drifted over with her movements—clean soap mixed with a hint of sandalwood.

Song Tianhao's gaze shifted from the script to her face. Without makeup, Son Ye-jin lacked a bit of the exquisite perfection she had in front of the camera, but gained a vivid sense of reality.

Her skin was very good; even up close, one could barely see any pores, with only a faint line at the corner of her eyes—a gift of time and experience.

At this moment, Son Ye-jin was focused on explaining her understanding, her eyes shining as if filled with starlight; that pure passion for the art of performance made her entire being glow.

"President, what do you think?" She finally paused and looked up at Song Tianhao, awaiting his feedback.

Song Tianhao didn't answer immediately, but picked up a pen and quickly wrote a few words in the blank space of the script: "Repressive sense of ritual," "Gentle violence," "Mirror implication."

Only then did he speak: "Your understanding is very profound, especially the core concepts of 'repression' and 'resignation'—you've grasped them very accurately."

His pen tip tapped another spot on the script. "However... what do you think about the interaction between Yoon Soo-ah and the male lead, the police officer? If 'Light' and 'Shadow' appear alternately, or even jointly influence Yoon Soo-ah's attitude toward the officer, the emotional layers here would be more complex."

Son Ye-jin immediately leaned over to look, her shoulder almost touching Song Tianhao's arm. "Here... the police officer is the only person who shows both kindness and suspicion toward Yoon Soo-ah. To 'Light,' he might be the hope of redemption, a beam of light in the darkness, so she would feel affection for the officer, perhaps even develop a dependency."

She paused, her brows slightly furrowed. "But to 'Shadow'... the officer is the greatest threat, an object that must be eliminated. So Yoon Soo-ah's feelings toward the officer should be torn, drawn near yet resistant, longing yet fearful."

"Exactly." Song Tianhao nodded, drawing a line next to the paragraph with his pen, writing "Light: Attraction/Redemption" on one side and "Shadow: Threat/Elimination" on the other. "We can design some details here, like when the officer approaches, Yoon Soo-ah's fingers curl unconsciously—this is 'Shadow's' vigilance."

"But her eyes will involuntarily follow the officer—this is 'Light's' longing. This contradiction between body language and gaze will make the audience feel that something is wrong, but they won't be able to say exactly what, laying the groundwork for the final twist."

"Ah! This is good!" Son Ye-jin clapped her hands excitedly, then naturally grabbed Song Tianhao's wrist where he held the pen, pulling his hand closer to the script and pointing to another line of text. "What about here? When the police ask her why she is always alone, Yoon Soo-ah answers 'used to it'. If this line is spoken by 'Light', it's a faint loneliness and resignation. But if 'Shadow' uses 'Light's' mouth to say it…"

Her fingertips were slightly cool, with a delicate touch, carrying the faint scent of hand cream—the smell of roses and shea butter. She didn't use force, just rested them lightly, but that contact seemed exceptionally clear in the quiet apartment late at night, amidst the atmosphere of focused artistic discussion.

The skin on Song Tianhao's wrist could feel the temperature and soft touch of her fingertips.

He didn't pull his hand back; he didn't even pause. Maintaining the posture she had pulled him into, he tapped the tip of his pen on the script: "Here, the three words 'used to it' can have different pauses and tones. The first time it's said, it's a calm narration by 'Light'. The second time, after a certain key plot point, when the police ask the same question again, Yoon Soo-ah is silent for a long time before saying 'used to it' again. This time, it can carry a hint of imperceptible mockery—that's 'Shadow' speaking. As for 'Light's' expression, it should be a mix of blankness and a hint of fear, because she senses the existence of another voice within her body."

His voice was steady, his train of thought clear, as if the hand on his wrist didn't exist. But lingering at the tip of his nose, besides the scent of tea and paper ink, was the clean fragrance from her hair, as well as the faint body heat emanating from her.

Son Ye-jin also seemed to realize that this posture was a bit too intimate. But she didn't let go immediately. Instead, she kept the position, her gaze moving back and forth between the script and Song Tianhao's face, pondering his words.

A few seconds later, as if suddenly reacting, she let go, sat up straight, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. A faint blush appeared on her face, but her tone remained steady: "President is right. The difference in tone and micro-expressions is the most effective way to distinguish between 'Light' and 'Shadow'. Moreover, this difference must be very subtle; the audience shouldn't notice it at first. It should be like water dripping through stone, slowly accumulating, until the truth is revealed at the end, and the audience realizes in hindsight that there were foreshadowing clues everywhere."

"Right, we must trust the audience's intelligence, and also trust the acting skills of you and Han Hyo-joo." Song Tianhao withdrew his hand and naturally picked up his teacup for a sip, as if the previous contact had been nothing out of the ordinary.

"Director Lee Chang-dong is best at this kind of delicate psychological portrayal and atmosphere building. With him in control, you just need to safely entrust yourselves to the characters."

The conversation returned to purely professional territory. The two continued to discuss for nearly an hour, from character biographies to the emotional logic of key scenes, and then to the rhythm and nodes of the transition between 'Light' and 'Shadow'.

The script on the low table was covered in dense markings, with sticky notes placed everywhere. The tea was refilled as it went cold, and that plate of small cookies was unknowingly finished.

Outside the window, the city lights gradually thinned as the night deepened.

The discussion came to a temporary pause. Son Ye-jin leaned against the foot of the sofa, hugging a cushion, her face bearing a satisfied weariness, yet her eyes remained bright. "It's been a long time since I've discussed a script this freely."

She sighed, "In the past, when discussing with directors and screenwriters, they were either too authoritative or too accommodating to the actors. Like President, who understands both performance and the market, and can offer such precise suggestions… there are almost none."

"I'm just thinking from the audience's perspective." Song Tianhao put down his pen and rubbed his slightly sore wrist. "Movies are ultimately made for the audience to watch. No matter how profound the artistic expression is, if the audience cannot resonate with it, it's a failure. The character of Yoon Soo-ah needs to make the audience both fear and pity her, hate her and understand her, and finally sigh for her. The 'dual personality' setting is meant to strengthen this sense of contradiction and immersion."

Son Ye-jin looked at him quietly for several seconds, then suddenly said softly: "President, you are… not quite what I imagined."

"Oh?" Song Tianhao raised an eyebrow. "How am I different?"

Son Ye-jin smiled. The smile was very shallow but very real, shedding the professionalism of an actress and carrying a bit of private relaxation: "You understand movies better than I imagined, and you are also… gentler."

She used the word "gentler," rather than "impressive" or "decisive."

Song Tianhao also smiled, leaning against the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed: "You too. More… sharp than in front of the camera." He used the word "sharp," referring to the acuteness and focus of her thoughts.

The two looked at each other and smiled. Something had quietly changed in the late-night tea fragrance, among the scattered scripts, and during that hour of collision of ideas. They were no longer just a President and an actress, an investor and an artist, but rather peers who could understand and appreciate each other to some extent.

"It's getting late." Song Tianhao glanced at his watch; it was almost eleven o'clock. He stood up and picked up his suit jacket.

Son Ye-jin also stood up and saw him to the door.

The light in the entryway was dimmer than in the living room, and the warm yellow light cast a soft outline on her profile. She reached out to open the door for him, her movements natural.

"Thank you for coming tonight, President, and thank you for… giving me this opportunity." She looked up at him with clear eyes. " 'dark light' will be a great work, and I am also looking forward to working with Han Hyo-joo."

"It's your own ability." Song Tianhao stood outside the door and looked back at her. "Prepare well. Director Lee Chang-dong has high standards, but working with him will bring great progress."

"I will." Son Ye-jin nodded, paused, and then said, "Be careful on the road."

"Goodnight, Ye-jin."

"Goodnight, President."

The door closed gently.

Son Ye-jin leaned her back against the cold door panel, not leaving immediately. She looked down at her right hand; her fingertips seemed to still retain the temperature and skin texture she felt when she grabbed his wrist a moment ago.

That temperature seemed to remain there through her fingertips, carrying a slight tingling sensation. She raised her hand and gently brushed the skin on the inside of her wrist, as if it still held the warmth of his wrist.

The faint blush on her face only then slowly became obvious. She raised her hand to touch her cheek, which felt a bit hot.

She walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room and looked down. A few minutes later, she saw the black Maybach drive out of the garage and merge into the traffic of Cheongdam-dong. She didn't turn on the lights, just stood in the darkness, watching the direction where the taillights disappeared, and after a long while, let out a soft breath.

Her gaze swept over the messy scripts and books on the low table, and she walked over to start tidying up. When she picked up a thick book, "Abnormal Psychology," a yellowed, curled-edged piece of paper fell out.

She picked it up. It was a play ticket stub from many years ago. The paper was already brittle, and the writing on it was a bit blurry, but one could still make out the play title, "A Midsummer Night's Dream," and a signature written in childish handwriting: "Son Ye-jin."

That was when she was in high school and starred in a play for the school drama club for the first time. Her palms were full of sweat from nervousness. After the performance, she secretly wrote her name on the ticket stub like a small ritual to commemorate that night of standing under the stage lights with her heart pounding like a drum.

Later, she truly became an actress, standing on bigger stages, facing more cameras and audiences. But that pure feeling of heart-pounding for performance seemed to have drifted further and further away.

Until tonight, when she and that man discussed "Light" and "Shadow," discussing the suppression and madness of Yoon Soo-ah, that long-lost, most primitive passion for the character and the story itself had returned.

She carefully tucked the ticket stub back into the book, a smile appearing on her lips that she herself didn't notice.

Downstairs, inside the Maybach.

Jang Se-hoon turned back from the passenger seat: "President, back to the company or…"

Song Tianhao leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, massaging the space between his eyebrows, then said: "Go to the Four Seasons Hotel in Gangnam District."

Jang Se-hoon was stunned for a moment, then realized that Han Hyo-joo was still waiting at the hotel.

He clicked his tongue secretly in his heart; the President's schedule was… truly tight.

But he didn't ask anything, just said to the driver: "Go to the Four Seasons Hotel."

Outside the car window, the night view of Seoul flowed by.

Song Tianhao opened his eyes and took out his phone. The screen lit up with several unread messages. There was a goodnight from Kim Taeyeon, a message from Park So-yeon asking if he was free to eat together tomorrow, a selfie from the practice room sent by Park Hyomin, and Lee Qri had shared a song she was listening to recently.

He replied briefly to each one, then opened the chat box with Jang Se-hoon and sent a voice message: "Sehun, two things. First, investigate who leaked the news that Son Ye-jin was at home tonight. Second, arrange for someone to replace all the windows in Son Ye-jin's apartment with the highest-grade anti-peeping film in the name of the production team tomorrow. The cost will come from the production budget of 'dark light'."

Jang Se-hoon replied immediately: "Yes, President. I have already asked people to investigate, and I will report to you as soon as there is news. The anti-peeping film will be arranged tomorrow morning."

Song Tianhao put away his phone and closed his eyes again.

In his mind, however, the scene in Son Ye-jin's apartment appeared. Her bright eyes when she was focused on explaining, her cool fingertips when she grabbed his wrist, and finally, at the door, that soft "gentler."

And the yellowed stage play ticket stub that fell out of her notebook. He saw it, but didn't ask. Everyone has their own past and persistence that they are unwilling to show others easily. And that ticket stub was perhaps a starting point for Son Ye-jin's journey to where she is today.

The car stopped at the entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel. Song Tianhao got out and said to Jang Se-hoon: "You guys go back first, no need to wait for me."

"President, do you need me to arrange…" Jang Se-hoon hesitated.

The hotel was crowded and full of eyes; what if he was photographed…

"I will be careful." Song Tianhao waved his hand and walked straight into the hotel lobby.

He took out his phone and sent a message to Han Hyo-joo: "I've arrived, in the elevator. Room number?"

Almost immediately, the reply came: "2808, President. I… left the door open for you."

Song Tianhao walked into the elevator and pressed the 28th floor. The elevator doors closed, and the mirrored walls reflected his calm, expressionless face.

The elevator numbers slowly jumped. With a "ding," the 28th floor arrived.

The elevator doors opened. The corridor covered with thick carpet was quiet, with only soft lighting. He walked to the door of room 2808, and the door was indeed left ajar, leaving a crack.