141: Chapter 141: On the Edge of Despair, a First Glimpse of Light

The door to Suite 2808 at the Four Seasons Hotel was left ajar.

Song Tianhao pushed the door open and entered. Only one floor lamp was on in the living room, its dim, yellowish light barely illuminating half the room.

The curtains were drawn tight. The air held a faint scent of body wash, mixed with a tense, almost stagnant atmosphere.

"Hyo-joo?" he called out, but there was no response.

A coat was tossed on the living room sofa, and a script was spread out on the coffee table, its pages scattered.

Upon closer inspection, the script pages were covered in messy handwriting, some of it pressed so hard it had nearly torn the paper.

A coffee cup had tipped over nearby, and dark liquid had seeped into the white carpet, creating a small stain.

The bathroom door was open, and the lingering sound of water having just stopped echoed faintly.

Song Tianhao walked over and saw Han Hyo-joo at the bathroom door.

She was wearing the hotel's white bathrobe, its belt loosely tied. Her hair was still wet, and water droplets dripped from the tips onto the collar of the robe, blooming into dark marks.

She stood leaning against the cold tiled wall, barefoot on the floor tiles, head bowed, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up.

Song Tianhao saw her red, swollen eyes, the dried tear tracks on her face, and those eyes—usually clear and smiling, but now filled with confusion and fear.

"President, I'm sorry..." Her voice was hoarse, thick with a nasal tone. As soon as she spoke, tears rolled down again. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late..."

She wiped her face frantically with the back of her hand, but it only made her wetter. She spoke incoherently, "I, I tried to write notes for 'Shadow,' I wanted to find that feeling... But as soon as I close my eyes, I think of Director Jeong's words, those looks... in the restaurant, in the elevator, in the hallway..."

"I, I can't immerse myself in the role; I only feel disgusted and afraid... I can't act out the murderous intent of 'Shadow,' I just want to run away..."

She couldn't continue. She crouched down, wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face in them, her shoulders shaking violently. It was a breakdown, a cry devoid of any image; it wasn't an actor's performance in front of a camera, but the raw reaction of someone pushed into a corner, having shed all pretenses.

The sleeve of her bathrobe slid down, revealing her wrist. Song Tianhao saw several distinct red marks on that slender wrist, as if she had been gripped or grabbed with force, standing out starkly against her fair skin.

He didn't immediately step forward to comfort her, nor did he offer empty words like "don't cry." Instead, he turned and walked to the window, pulling back a corner of the heavy curtains.

The night view from the twenty-eighth floor flooded into the room; the city lights looked like a scattered galaxy. He pushed open a window, and the night breeze immediately poured in, carrying the chill of early autumn and dispersing the stifling air in the room.

Then, he walked back to Han Hyo-joo and crouched down as well, keeping his gaze level with hers.

"Han Hyo-joo."

He used her real name instead of the distant "Hyo-joo." His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady and strong, clearly audible in the quiet room.

Han Hyo-joo's sobbing stopped for a moment; her shoulders were still trembling, but she didn't look up.

"Look at me," Song Tianhao said.

Han Hyo-joo slowly raised her head, looking at him through tear-blurred eyes. Her makeup was ruined, her eyes were swollen like peaches, her nose was red, and her wet hair clung to her cheeks. She looked disheveled, lacking any of an actress's glamour. Yet, the helplessness and pain in her eyes were so real that it made one's heart tighten.

Song Tianhao looked at her and said, word for word, "Director Jeong makes you feel disgusted and want to run away, right?"

Han Hyo-joo's lips moved, but no sound came out; she just nodded vigorously, and tears fell again.

"Then turn that 'disgust' and 'desire to escape' into the anger and murderous intent of 'Shadow.'"

Song Tianhao's voice remained steady, neither pitying nor scolding, as if stating a simple fact. "'Shadow' kills, not because she likes slaughter, but because she can no longer endure that 'disgust'—the disgust of being treated as an object, being spied on, being coveted, being treated as something that can be manipulated at will."

"She raises her blade not to vent her anger, but to carve out a path to survival in a desperate situation where she has nowhere to retreat, even if that path leads to a deeper darkness."

Han Hyo-joo's crying stopped. She stared blankly at Song Tianhao, tears hanging on her eyelashes, on the verge of falling.

"You are not playing a cold-blooded serial killer," Song Tianhao continued, his gaze locked steadily on her eyes. "You are playing an ordinary person who has been pushed to the limit, with nowhere left to retreat, and who has no choice but to raise a blade to protect the last shred of her dignity."

"That extreme fear, extreme anger, extreme despair—you have all of that right now, don't you?"

He reached out, picked up a page from the scripts scattered on the floor, and handed it to Han Hyo-joo, his fingertip pointing to a passage highlighted with a fluorescent marker:

"Look here: 'Yoon Soo-ah (Shadow)'s hand holding the knife is trembling, but her eyes are dead.'"

He read the text aloud, then looked at Han Hyo-joo. "The hand is trembling because of fear; it's an ordinary person's instinct. The eyes are dead because the heart has died; it's the determination to burn one's bridges after extreme despair. You have both of these states; you are experiencing them right now."

Han Hyo-joo's gaze followed his finger, landing on the text. Her hands unconsciously clenched the hem of her bathrobe, her knuckles turning white from the force. But her breathing, unknowingly, slowly began to steady.

Song Tianhao didn't speak again. He just crouched there, waiting patiently, giving her time to process.

The night breeze blew in from the window, brushing her wet hair and rustling the script pages scattered on the floor with a faint sound. The room was very quiet, with only the faint sound of traffic from the distant city and the sound of her gradually steadying breathing.

After a long while, Han Hyo-joo sniffled very, very lightly. Her voice was still hoarse, but no longer breaking. "I... I am afraid of that feeling, President. When Director Jeong looks at me, I just want to curl up and disappear."

"I don't dare to resist, I don't even dare to speak loudly... How could someone like me possibly act out the ruthlessness of 'Shadow'?"

"You don't need to act out ruthlessness," Song Tianhao shook his head. "You need to act out the despair of 'having to be ruthless.' When 'Shadow' took action for the first time, she might have been even more afraid than you are. But she had no way out. Han Hyo-joo, you are afraid of Director Jeong right now because you know he is a living person, has power, and can hurt you."

"But what 'Shadow' has to face is something a thousand times more terrifying than Director Jeong—it is day-after-day humiliation, darkness with no end in sight, an abyss where even fear has become numb. Her ruthlessness is the last bit of survival instinct forced out of her."

He stood up, walked to the minibar in the corner of the room, took out a bottle of chilled mineral water, unscrewed the cap, walked back, crouched down again, and handed the water to Han Hyo-joo.

"Drink something cold; calm down."

Han Hyo-joo hesitated, then took the water bottle. The cold sensation from her palm made her chaotic mind clear up a little. She tilted her head back and took a few sips; the cold water slid down her throat, suppressing the choking and burning sensation in her throat.

"Then," Song Tianhao said, watching her drink, "write down that feeling of 'disgust,' 'desire to escape,' and 'fear' from just now, using the simplest words, on paper." He pointed to the sticky notes and pens scattered on the floor. "Stick it on the page of the script where you think 'Shadow' should resonate the most."

"Every time you read the script, every time you prepare to act out that scene, look at those words first and find the feeling you have right now. But don't find your fear; find the source of why 'Shadow' had to pick up the knife."

Han Hyo-joo held the ice water, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the cold bottle. Water droplets condensed on the bottle wall, then slid down her fingers, dripping onto the hotel's thick carpet, silent and soundless. She kept her head down, looking at the water stains, and didn't speak for a long time.

Song Tianhao didn't urge her either. He stood up, walked to the sofa, sat down, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it slowly. Giving her space, and also giving her time.

A few minutes later, Han Hyo-joo finally moved. She braced herself against the floor to stand up; because she had been crouching for so long, her legs were numb, and her body swayed. But she ignored it, walked barefoot to the desk, really picked up a pen, and pulled out a yellow sticky note.

She held the pen, the tip hovering over the paper, and paused for a few seconds.

Then, she wrote down the first word with force: "Disgust."

The handwriting was heavy, almost tearing through the back of the paper.

Then the second: "Want to escape."

The third: "Trembling."

The fourth: "Darkness."

She wrote very slowly; every time she wrote a word, it seemed as if she had to dig something out of her memory, and her face turned a shade paler with each one. But her eyes, from their initial confusion and collapse, gradually became focused, became... concentrated.

After finishing, she picked up the sticky note, walked over to the scattered script, and found the page Song Tianhao had just pointed out to her: the scene where Yoon Soo-ah (Shadow) holds a knife for the first time.

She stared at that description for a few seconds, then forcefully slapped the sticky note onto the blank space of that page.

A soft "slap" sound.

She maintained her hunched posture, staring at the yellow sticky note and the shocking words written on it.

Then, she slowly, very slowly, straightened up and turned toward the huge floor-to-ceiling mirror in the room.

The mirror reflected her current appearance: her bathrobe was loose, her hair was half-dry and messy, her eyes were red and swollen, tear tracks remained on her face, and she looked utterly disheveled.

But her gaze was completely different from a few minutes ago.

There was still lingering fear and pain within it, but more than that, there was a nearly ferocious focus.

She stared at herself in the mirror, her lips pressed into a straight line, her chest heaving.

Then, she suddenly twitched the corners of her mouth, making an expression at the mirror.

The corners of her mouth were curved upward, but there was not a trace of a smile in her eyes; there was only something cold, hollow, and mixed with pain and a certain determination.

That expression was twisted and strange, like crying yet laughing, like the final neurotic reaction of someone on the verge of death.

That was definitely not an expression Han Hyo-joo would have.

That was the expression of "Shadow," the dark personality within Yoon Soo-ah, a twisted response—uncertain whether it was joy or mockery—upon catching a first glimpse of light at the edge of the abyss of despair.

She just stayed like that, facing the mirror, holding that expression for a few seconds.

Then, very softly, in a breathy voice that was barely audible, she said:

"Yes... that's it."

Her voice was hoarse, but exceptionally clear.

After saying this, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the intense emotions in her eyes slowly receded like the tide, leaving behind a profound, weary calmness.

She turned around, walked back to the script, sat cross-legged on the carpet, picked up the page with the yellow sticky note, and began to read it again.

Her fingers unconsciously brushed over the words "disgust" and "want to escape." Her gaze was focused, her brows slightly furrowed, but there were no more signs of a breakdown.

In their place was a researcher-like calmness and a nearly devout dedication.

Song Tianhao sat on the sofa, watching her quietly.

He knew she had crossed that critical threshold.

The most painful yet precious moment for an actor is to tear open their own most unbearable wounds, squeeze out the pus and blood, and then refine those filth and pain into the flesh and bones of the character.

This process is cruel, but once completed, the character comes to life.

He sat for another few minutes, confirming that Han Hyo-joo's emotions had stabilized and she had entered a working state.

Only then did he stand up and pick up the suit jacket draped over the sofa armrest.

Walking to the door, his hand on the doorknob, he paused and looked back.

Han Hyo-joo was still sitting on the carpet, head down, looking at the script. Her profile, in the dim yellow light of the floor lamp, appeared calm and focused.

Damp hair hung by her cheek, and the collar of her bathrobe was slightly loose, revealing her slender collarbone and a small patch of skin.

The red marks on her wrists were still clear under the light.

"That's all for tonight," Song Tianhao said, his voice not loud but sufficient for her to hear, "Get a good sleep. Starting tomorrow, you are the actress Han Hyo-joo, and also 'Shadow' Yoon Soo-ah."

He paused, his tone flat, yet carrying an unquestionable certainty and disdain.

"As for that Director Jeong who disgusts you, he isn't even qualified to be material for your performance."

After saying this, he opened the door and walked out.

The door closed gently behind him, shutting out the light in the room and the actress sitting on the carpet, wrestling with her character.

The corridor was covered with thick carpet, absorbing the sound of his footsteps.

Song Tianhao walked toward the elevator, his expression calm, but there was a trace of fatigue in his eyes.

This day had been non-stop: from the morning meeting, to the afternoon auditions, to the negotiation with Director Jung Chang-ho in the evening, then the script discussion at Son Ye-jin's apartment, and finally the emotional guidance here with Han Hyo-joo.

It was a continuous cycle, and every task was draining.

The elevator came up from the first floor, the numbers changing.

In the gap while waiting, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a figure quickly retreating at the corner of the corridor.

It was a very slight movement, but in the empty and quiet hotel corridor, it still seemed abrupt.

Song Tianhao had no expression on his face, but he took out his phone and sent a short message to Jang Se-hoon, who was waiting in the car downstairs: "Floor 2808, there's a tail in the corridor, handle it cleanly."

Almost at the same time he stepped into the elevator, two men in black suits with lean, tough builds walked silently out of the emergency exit and headed straight for that corner.

The elevator door closed, descending and cutting off whatever might happen above.

Song Tianhao returned to the car, and Jang Se-hoon immediately reported: "President, it's been handled. It was a tabloid reporter; the camera and memory card were retrieved, and the person has been 'invited' away. Do you need me to investigate who is behind this?"

Song Tianhao leaned back in the backseat, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Investigate. But the focus isn't this reporter; it's the source of the information. Who told him Han Hyo-joo XI is staying here, and who told him I would come tonight?"

"Yes, I will investigate immediately," Jang Se-hoon replied. He glanced carefully at the President's weary expression in the rearview mirror and asked in a low voice, "President, back to the apartment or..."

"Back to the apartment," Song Tianhao said, then paused and added, "Postpone tomorrow morning's arrangements by two hours. Also, contact Director Lee Chang-dong's studio to confirm the time for the first script reading session and arrange it as soon as possible."

"And, in the name of the production team, arrange a psychological counseling consultant for Han Hyo-joo XI. Someone reliable, professional, and who will sign a non-disclosure agreement. Expenses come out of the production budget."

"Understood," Jang Se-hoon noted it down.

The car drove steadily into the night. Song Tianhao took out his phone; the screen lit up with several unread messages.

He scanned them roughly and was about to put the phone away when a new message popped up.

Sender: Han Hyo-joo.

The message was short, only two lines.

"President, I think I... found 'Shadow.' Thank you."

A few seconds later, another one came in: "Also, I'm sorry for letting you see me looking so ugly."

Song Tianhao looked at those two lines, his fingers tapping on the screen to reply: "An actor's most difficult moments are the best nourishment for a character. Good night, Actor Han."

Click, send.

He put down the phone and looked out at the Seoul night view rapidly retreating outside the window. The lights of the skyscrapers stretched into flowing ribbons of light on the car window, blurry and mesmerizing.

This day was long and exhausting, but not without gains. The two core actors of "dark light": Son Ye-jin's "Light" was sharp and pure, and Han Hyo-joo's "Shadow" was born from collapse.

With Director Lee Chang-dong's control, plus these two actors whose states were improving, the framework of this movie had already been established.

As for Director Jung Chang-ho, and those eyes spying in the dark...

Song Tianhao's mouth twitched slightly; it was not a smile, but more like a cold, condescending assessment.

The car drove into the underground garage of his high-end apartment in Cheongdam-dong.

However, at the same time, on the seventh floor of a commercial building across from the Four Seasons Hotel, in a room with heavy curtains drawn, a high-magnification telephoto lens was slowly taken off its tripod.

The person operating the camera looked at the clearly enlarged photos on the screen: the back of Song Tianhao as he entered room 2808, and his profile nearly an hour later when he left.

Although the light in the hotel corridor wasn't bright, that face and the expensive handmade suit he wore were clearly captured.

The person taking the photos imported them into a computer and began writing the body of an email. The title read: "Exclusive Scoop: Baeksang Best Actor Song Tianhao in a late-night secret meeting with rookie actress Han Hyo-joo, alone in a hotel suite for nearly an hour; suspected 'casting couch' for the new movie 'dark light'?"

Meanwhile, inside suite 2808, Han Hyo-joo had washed her face and changed into clean pajamas.

She didn't go to sleep immediately; instead, she sat at the desk under the desk lamp and spread out the script again.

The red marks on her wrists were still throbbing with pain, but her gaze was firmly locked on the line: "Yoon Soo-ah (Shadow)'s hand holding the knife is shaking, but her eyes are dead."

Beside it, on the yellow sticky note, the words "disgust," "want to escape," "shaking," and "darkness" were like a brand, and also like a lighthouse.

She picked up a pen and began to write in the blank spaces of the script.

It was not messy venting, but neat, calm analysis regarding "Shadow's" motivations, the transformation of fear, and the glimmer of life amidst despair.

The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound that was exceptionally clear in the quiet night.

She wrote slowly and earnestly, as if performing a solemn ritual.

Outside the window, the city lights were still brilliant; no one knew the story that had taken place in this room.