148: Chapter 148 If the sky falls, the tall ones will hold it up; you all just focus on your work.

The next day, in a private room of a traditional Hanok restaurant in Seoul, a long table was laden with exquisite Korean royal court cuisine.

The lacquerware bowls and dishes gleamed with a warm luster under the soft yellow lights. The aroma of beef tartare, grilled Hanwoo, seafood scallion pancakes, and ginseng chicken soup mingled with a faint scent of rice wine. It should have been a relaxing atmosphere, but the air in the private room was currently somewhat stagnant.

The key personnel of the dark light crew had almost all arrived. Director Lee Chang-dong sat at the head of the table, with the screenwriter and director of photography on his left, and Song Tianhao, Son Ye-jin, and Han Hyo-joo in order on his right. The production manager, art director, sound engineer, and others were seated on both sides.

Everyone's wine glasses were full, but apart from a few polite exchanges, no one took the initiative to toast.

The turmoil at yesterday's press conference, coupled with the news that Sky Entertainment and CJ had publicly fallen out, was known to everyone present. This film had been plagued with setbacks since its inception, and now, with filming about to begin, one of the biggest investors and distributors, CJ, had become an opposing force.

What this meant was understood by all the veterans who had been grinding in this circle for many years: screen time might be blocked, promotion might be obstructed, and they might even encounter various "accidents" during filming.

The pressure hung over everyone's heads like an invisible net.

Son Ye-jin sat on the right hand of Song Tianhao, wearing an off-white knit sweater, her long hair loosely pinned at the back of her head, revealing her slender neck.

She wore her habitual gentle smile, and was leaning to the side, discussing the color scheme of a certain scene with the art director beside her. Her voice was soft, her posture composed, as if she were completely unaware of the subtle atmosphere in the room.

But occasionally, her gaze would sweep over Song Tianhao's profile, a hint of concern hidden deep in her eyes.

Han Hyo-joo sat to the right of Son Ye-jin, wearing a light blue shirt, her hair tied in a simple ponytail. She sat with her back straight, hands on her knees, her fingertips unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.

This was her first time taking on such an important role as the second female lead in a film, and it was a sensitive period of "jumping ship" from CJ to Sky Entertainment; the pressure on her was greater than anyone else present.

She could feel several gazes falling on her from time to time—probing, sympathetic, and even carrying a hint of schadenfreude. She lowered her eyes, staring at the edge of the blue-patterned porcelain bowl in front of her.

Director Lee Chang-dong, sitting at the head of the table, picked up the soju glass in front of him. He did not stand up, but slowly swept his gaze over everyone present with those eyes that were accustomed to scrutinizing shots, though they carried a hint of sharpness at this moment.

He had graying hair and a refined face, and was known in the South Korea film industry for digging into the depths of human nature and his realist style.

His voice was not loud when he spoke, even a bit hoarse, but every word carried weight:

"Everyone."

The room went quiet instantly, and everyone looked at him.

"At a kickoff banquet, according to the rules, one should say some auspicious words." Director Lee Chang-dong paused, his gaze lingering on Song Tianhao's face for a moment before moving away. "However, today, I want to say something practical."

He raised his glass: "Acting is more important than anything. This is the first sentence I learned from my master, and it is the only principle I have believed in my whole life. The script, we polished for half a year. The actors, President Song chose them, and I nodded. The team, it's all of you."

He looked at Song Tianhao and pulled the corners of his mouth—it wasn't quite a smile, but it was a clear enough stance. "Leave the rest to President Song. We just need to do our job and film well."

After saying this, he tilted his head and drained the small glass of soju in one gulp.

Crisp and efficient, no nonsense.

The atmosphere in the room relaxed slightly. The director's attitude was very clear: when the sky falls, the tall ones hold it up; you just focus on the work.

Song Tianhao stood up just as Director Lee Chang-dong put down his glass. He didn't rush to raise his glass, but first looked around the room.

His gaze was calm, not deliberately exerting pressure, but that composure of someone who had weathered storms and remained as steady as Mount Tai made the department heads who were originally a bit uneasy unconsciously straighten their backs.

"Director Lee is right, Acting is more important than anything." Song Tianhao spoke, his voice clear and steady. "But as an investor and producer, I also have something to say."

He picked up the wine glass in front of him—it was the red wine recommended by Son Ye-jin, the dark red liquid swirling slightly in the goblet.

"In the dark light crew, from today until the day we wrap," he gestured around the room with his glass, "there are only actors, directors, screenwriters, cinematographers, art directors, sound engineers, production assistants, costume designers, makeup artists... all the staff who have poured their efforts into this film."

His gaze paused for a second on Han Hyo-joo's face, seeing her slightly widened eyes, then moved away, his voice deepening: "There is no CJ, no Sky Entertainment, no factions, no past. Here, we have only one identity: creators of dark light."

"All the trouble, all the pressure, all the external factors," Song Tianhao looked at Director Lee Chang-dong and nodded slightly, "I will block them. You only need to do one thing: trust Director Lee, trust the script, trust yourselves, and also trust me, Song Tianhao."

"Then, let go and bring your best state, your best ideas, and pour them into this film."

He raised his glass, his voice not loud, but carrying a resolute power: "This toast is to the film, to Director Lee, and to everyone here. Thank you for your hard work, and I'm counting on you."

After speaking, he tilted his head and drained the red wine in his glass.

Crisp, efficient, and even carrying a hint of unquestionable dominance.

The room was silent for two seconds.

Then, without knowing who started it, applause broke out. At first, it was sparse, then it quickly merged into one. The production manager stood up and raised his glass: "To the film! To President Song!"

"To the film!"

"Cheers!"

The atmosphere was like a pile of ignited firewood, instantly becoming heated. The invisible barrier from just a moment ago was easily pierced by the words of the director and the producer. Yes, regardless of the storm outside, once you enter the crew, Acting is more important than anything. This is the simplest and most effective belief for people in the circle.

Son Ye-jin watched Song Tianhao's profile as he put down the empty glass, the light casting a faint shadow on his jawline. The smile at the corner of her mouth deepened, and she also raised her own glass, taking a small sip. After the astringency of the red wine, there was a lingering sweet aftertaste.

Han Hyo-joo looked at Song Tianhao, her heart beating a little fast. When he said "no past" just now, his gaze swept over her. In that brief glance, there was no sympathy, no scrutiny, only pure trust and encouragement given to a team member.

That feeling of being treated equally and being included in "us" made her nose feel slightly sore. She quickly picked up the juice in front of her and took a big gulp.

Director Lee Chang-dong had no expression on his face, but he poured himself another glass of soju, raised it to Song Tianhao, and downed it in one go. This was his acknowledgment.

The atmosphere of the banquet truly came alive. The heads of various departments began to toast each other and discuss filming details. This traditional Hanok restaurant with excellent privacy was a place Son Ye-jin often frequented, and she was friends with the proprietress.

As a semi-hostess, she naturally circulated among them. She was adept at socializing, her words appropriate; she could discuss the scheduling of a certain long take with Director Lee Chang-dong, chat about color schemes with the art director, and also take care of the slightly reserved Han Hyo-joo.

"Hyo-joo, try this grilled Hanwoo. They use Hanwoo sirloin, and the heat control is particularly good." Son Ye-jin used serving chopsticks to pick up a piece of beef that was grilled to perfection and still sizzling with oil, placing it in the dish in front of Han Hyo-joo, her smile gentle. "You are too thin; filming is tiring, you need to eat more."

Han Hyo-joo was flattered and quickly lifted the small plate with both hands: "Thank you, Son Ye-jin senior."

"Don't call me senior. In the crew, just call me Unnie." Son Ye-jin waved her hand with a smile and turned to the sound engineer on the other side: "Mr. Kim, regarding the ambient sound recording issue you mentioned last time, I thought about it later, wouldn't it be possible to..."

Han Hyo-joo watched Son Ye-jin handle all parties with ease, feeling both envious and grateful. She knew that Son Ye-jin was using her own way to help her integrate into this group and dilute the "troublemaker" label on her.

She ate the fragrant and tender Hanwoo in small bites, her taste buds sensing the deliciousness, and her heart felt a few degrees warmer.

Midway through the banquet, Song Tianhao stood up, nodded to Director Lee Chang-dong and the others, and walked toward the terrace connected to the private room. He needed to catch his breath; he had drunk that glass of wine a bit too quickly, and with the pressure of the past few days, his temples were throbbing.

On the early autumn night, there was a chill in the wind. The terrace was a wooden platform extending from the traditional Hanok, directly facing the meticulously maintained dry landscape garden in the courtyard, and in the distance, one could see the scattered lights of the Han River. The moonlight was beautiful, casting a clear radiance on the gravel-paved "river," shimmering with a silver-white light.

He leaned against the wooden railing, fished out a cigarette case from his suit pocket, pulled out one, and just as he was about to light it, soft footsteps came from behind, along with a faint scent of red wine mixed with some kind of floral fragrance.

It was Son Ye-jin.

She held two glasses of red wine and handed one over. There was a faint flush on her face, whether from the alcohol or the night breeze. Under the moonlight, the lines of her profile were soft, and her eyes appeared exceptionally bright in the night.

"President, the pressure is very high, isn't it?" She walked to Song Tianhao's side, leaned against the railing just like him, and tilted her head to look at him, her voice even softer and more relaxed than in the private room.

Song Tianhao took the wine glass, didn't light the cigarette, but just toyed with it in his hand: "Used to it." He paused, then added, "It's you, you drank quite a bit just now, and you're still out here blowing in the wind?"

"Just sobering up." Son Ye-jin smiled, swirled the goblet in her hand, the dark red liquid leaving faint traces on the glass wall, "Besides, I wanted to be alone with you, President."

When she said this, her tone was natural, but her gaze turned to the dry landscape in the courtyard, as if it were just a casual mention.

Song Tianhao didn't respond, just took a sip of wine. The wine was mellow, with the scent of fruit and oak barrels. He had a good tolerance for alcohol, but tonight, this wine seemed particularly easy to relax with.

"The things you said at the banquet today," Son Ye-jin looked at the lights on the river in the distance, her voice soft, as if recalling, "reminded me of when I filmed my first movie, probably... twenty years old? I don't remember clearly.

At that time, my director also said to us at the kickoff banquet, 'Acting is more important than anything.' Back then, I felt that as long as the Acting was good, everything was worth it. Getting scolded by the director, staying up late, getting injured, it didn't matter."

She paused, turned her head, and looked at Song Tianhao. The moonlight fell on her eyelashes, casting a small shadow.

"Now, it seems like there is a little bit more." Her voice was even softer, carrying a certain gentle and firm emotion. "Besides wanting this film to be good, I also want... to let the people who work hard to make this film good be well, too."

Her gaze fell on Song Tianhao's face, without dodging, implying something.

Song Tianhao understood. She wasn't just referring to herself, not just Han Hyo-joo, and not just everyone on the production crew. She was referring to him. He, who stood at the center of the storm, shouldering all the pressure, holding up a sky where they could create with peace of mind.

The night breeze stirred the strands of hair by her temples; the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the aroma of wine, lingering at the tip of his nose. Moonlight, a courtyard, red wine, a beauty. The atmosphere was quiet and lovely, carrying a trace of imperceptible, tacit ambiguity.

Song Tianhao raised his glass and clinked it gently against hers, the glasses emitting a crisp "ding" sound.

"Everything will be fine." He said, his voice not loud, but carrying a certain commitment-like certainty.

Son Ye-jin smiled, a smile gentler than the moonlight. She tilted her head back and drained the remaining wine in her glass, her fair neck tracing a graceful arc under the moonlight. Then, she placed the empty glass on the wooden stand nearby, rested her hands on the railing, and looked up slightly at the moon in the sky.

"President," she suddenly spoke, her voice very soft, as if afraid to disturb something, "After this film is finished... I have something I want to tell you."

Song Tianhao turned his head to look at her.

She also happened to turn her head, and their eyes met. Her eyes were startlingly bright in the moonlight, reflecting his silhouette, along with some clear, no-longer-concealed emotion. The flush on her cheeks deepened, whether from the alcohol or something else, he couldn't tell.

But she didn't continue, just smiled, that smile carrying a rare, girlish playfulness and shyness. She straightened up and smoothed the hair ruffled by the wind: "Alright, if we don't go back, Director Lee Chang-dong and the others will think we've gone missing."

She turned and walked lightly towards the private room. As she passed him, she brought with her a fragrant breeze, and a whisper that almost scattered into the wind: "The red wine tonight... tastes very good."

Song Tianhao stood where he was, watching her slender back disappear behind the sliding door. He looked down at the remaining half-glass of wine in his hand, then tilted his head and drained it. The wine slid down his throat, leaving behind a scorching temperature and a richer, gentle fragrance unique to a mature woman.

He knew that some things that had always kept them apart were about to be broken through. If not now, then in the near future.

Returning to the private room, the atmosphere was even more lively. Director Lee Chang-dong seemed to be in high spirits, pulling the screenwriter and the cinematographer to discuss the lighting design for a certain scene. Seeing Song Tianhao and Son Ye-jin enter one after the other, he merely glanced up briefly before continuing his topic.

Han Hyo-joo, however, noticed. She saw Son Ye-jin's slightly flushed cheeks, and her eyes, which were brighter than when she left, as if filled with glistening water. She also saw that Song Tianhao was holding an extra empty wine glass, one of the two Son Ye-jin had taken out earlier.

She saw Song Tianhao naturally place both glasses on the corner of the table on his side, then sit down and listen to Director Lee Chang-dong speak, his expression calm and composed.

Han Hyo-joo lowered her head, poked at the cold ginseng chicken soup in her bowl with her chopsticks, and scooped a spoonful into her mouth.

The chicken soup was still delicious, but she found it tasteless, like chewing wax. Her heart felt like it was stuffed with a tangled mess; there was gratitude, dependency, and the steadiness of having found someone to rely on, but there was also a vague, fine, and dense soreness, like needle pricks—not obvious, but impossible to ignore.

Why wasn't it her who met Song Tianhao first, who first received his gentle gaze, and who could first stand so naturally by his side to share the moonlight and secrets with him?

This thought popped up without warning, startling her. She hurriedly took a large gulp of the cold soup, trying to suppress that inexplicable emotion. But her eyes involuntarily drifted towards Song Tianhao's profile again.

He was listening intently to Director Lee Chang-dong, nodding occasionally. His profile, under the warm lights of the private room, appeared focused and composed.

Han Hyo-joo quickly looked away, her heart pounding. She felt ashamed of that thought just now. Song Tianhao had saved her and given her a chance; how could she... how could she have such an inappropriate and presumptuous thought?

The banquet ended in a fairly harmonious atmosphere. Song Tianhao arranged for the company's cars to take the main creators home separately.

Director Lee Chang-dong lived in the north of the city, the screenwriter and cinematographer were on the way, and the others also had their own directions.

In the end, only Son Ye-jin and Han Hyo-joo remained. They both lived in the high-end apartments prepared by Sky Entertainment for its artists, and in the same complex, just in different buildings.

A black Bentley glided quietly to the entrance of the restaurant. Jang Se-hoon got out and opened the car door for Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao said to Son Ye-jin and Han Hyo-joo: "Get in, let me take you home first."

"Thank you, President." Han Hyo-joo said softly, opening the passenger door and getting in. She fastened her seatbelt, but her gaze involuntarily drifted through the rearview mirror to the back.

Son Ye-jin and Song Tianhao were sitting in the back seat. Son Ye-jin seemed to really be feeling the effects of the alcohol; after getting in, she leaned gently against the car window and closed her eyes, breathing evenly as if she had fallen asleep. Her head was tilted slightly towards Song Tianhao, a few strands of hair falling by her cheek.

Song Tianhao, meanwhile, turned his head to look at the night scenery flying past the window, his profile flickering in the flowing light and shadows, his expression unreadable.

Han Hyo-joo withdrew her gaze, the tangled mess in her heart becoming even more chaotic.

She forced herself to look ahead, watching the bustling streets of Seoul at night, neon lights flickering, crowds of people flowing like fabric. But her mind uncontrollably replayed the scene she saw when the terrace door opened earlier.

Under the moonlight, the two stood side by side, very close. The graceful line of Son Ye-jin's neck as she tilted her head to drink, and the gentle smile on her lips as she turned to leave.

That picture was beautiful, so beautiful it made her heart feel blocked.

The car drove smoothly, passing through Cheongdam-dong and heading towards the high-end residential area in Gangnam District. It was very quiet inside the car, with only the low roar of the engine and the faint urban noise from outside the window.

Han Hyo-joo suddenly felt very tired, a fatigue that seeped out from her bones.

She closed her eyes, wanting to rest, but before her eyes, she kept seeing the image of Song Tianhao shielding her behind him at the press conference, his firm gaze when he said "no past" at the banquet, and at this moment, the quiet yet impossible-to-ignore presence in the back seat.

Why? That voice asked softly in the bottom of her heart again.

She opened her eyes abruptly, her fingers unconsciously gripping the seatbelt. She couldn't think about it anymore.

She took a deep breath, firmly suppressing those chaotic thoughts. The most important thing now was Acting, performing well in "dark light", and not letting down the President's trust and protection. She had no right to think about anything else, nor should she.

The car stopped first at the apartment building where Han Hyo-joo lived.

"CEO Oppa, Senior Son Ye-jin, I've arrived." Han Hyo-joo unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to speak to the back seat. She used the term "Oppa", and her heart skipped a beat after she said it.

Song Tianhao gave an "hmm," and said to Jang Se-hoon: "Wait a moment." Then, he rolled down the window and looked at Han Hyo-joo, who was standing outside. The night breeze blew the wisps of hair on her forehead; under the streetlights, her face was a bit pale, but her eyes were bright, carrying a certain stubbornness.

"Get some rest early." Song Tianhao said, his voice sounding gentle in the night, "See you on set tomorrow. Don't be under pressure, just follow Director Lee Chang-dong's requirements."

The simple instruction warmed Han Hyo-joo's heart, and the soreness from earlier seemed to have been diluted. She nodded vigorously, revealing a smile: "Yes! CEO Oppa, please rest early too. Senior Son Ye-jin, goodnight."

She took one last look at Son Ye-jin, who seemed to still be in a light sleep, before turning and walking quickly towards the entrance of the apartment building.

The night breeze blew on her, feeling a bit chilly. She hugged her arms tight and didn't look back. It wasn't until she walked into the building and the motion-sensor lights turned on that she saw, in the reflection of the glass door, the black Bentley slowly driving away, its taillights trailing two red streaks of light in the night.

She stood in the empty lobby on the first floor, suddenly feeling a bit cold and empty. Shaking her head, she pressed the elevator button and told herself: Han Hyo-joo, focus on Acting, don't hope for anything else.

Inside the car, after it turned a corner and drove towards a deeper, quieter area of the complex, Son Ye-jin, who had been "asleep" in the back seat, saw her eyelashes tremble gently, and she opened her eyes. She sat up straight, rubbed her temples, and her voice carried the slight hoarseness of just waking up: "Where are we?"

"Almost there, Son Ye-jin xi." Jang Se-hoon glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

Son Ye-jin looked at the familiar scenery outside the car window and suddenly spoke: "Jang Se-hoon Oppa, no need to drive in. Just stop at that intersection ahead. I want to walk a few steps, get some air, and sober up."

Jang Se-hoon looked at Song Tianhao through the rearview mirror.

Song Tianhao glanced at Son Ye-jin; her cheeks were still a bit red, but her eyes were clear, not looking like she was heavily intoxicated. "Alright." He nodded.

The car stopped at the intersection. Jang Se-hoon got out and opened the car door for Son Ye-jin.

Son Ye-jin got out of the car, the night breeze lifting her long hair and the hem of her clothes. She didn't leave immediately but held onto the car door, leaning over slightly to look at Song Tianhao inside. The light from the streetlamp shone from behind her, gilding her silhouette with a soft halo. Her expression was unclear, only those eyes, exceptionally bright in the night, were visible.

"President, thank you... for tonight." She said softly, paused, and then her voice became even softer, like a feather gently falling, "And, goodnight."

Then, she closed the car door, nodded at Jang Se-hoon, turned, and walked towards the apartment building at a leisurely pace. Her back drifted in and out of sight between the streetlights and tree shadows, gradually blending into the night.

Song Tianhao watched the direction she left in until her figure disappeared around the corner, then said to Jang Se-hoon, who had returned to the driver's seat: "Let's go."

The car restarted and drove away from this quiet high-end residential area.

After turning the corner and confirming that the car was no longer visible, Son Ye-jin stopped. The slight tipsiness and laziness on her face had long since vanished, replaced by complete clarity.

She turned around, leaning her back against the cold stone wall, and looked up in the direction where Song Tianhao's car had left. Deep in her eyes, the gentleness and shyness from just moments ago were gone, leaving only a clear, calm, and determined gleam.

The moonlight, like water, spilled onto her face, reflecting a faint, certain smile on the corners of her lips.

The next morning, at dawn, the "dark light" production crew officially started filming in an old neighborhood in the suburbs of Seoul. The clapperboard sounded crisp, and Director Lee Chang-dong sat behind the monitor, his expression focused.

The movie had begun. And off-screen, some quietly growing thoughts and promises were like seeds that had been planted, waiting quietly in the daylight for the moment to break through the soil.