When Su Wan pulled her phone out of her bag, Zhang Jie’s name was still flashing on the screen.

She pressed the answer button. “Zhang Jie?”

“How’s the shoot going?” Zhang Jie spoke rapidly, as if she’d lit a string of firecrackers. “The client is pressing hard—they want the finished footage this afternoon.”

“Still working on it,” Su Wan said, glancing at the balcony. The tripod was leaning crookedly in the corner, the fill light wasn’t on, and the canvas bag lay open, with a silk scarf meant to go with her spring outfit peeking out. “Natural light isn’t great—the building casts too much shadow, so half my face is bright and half is dark in the shot.”

Zhang Jie clicked her tongue. “The quality of that last set of shots was clearly better. Why don’t you ask that person from last time for help?”

“Just… a friend,” Su Wan paused, unconsciously fingering the edge of her phone case. “He just knows a bit about photography.”

“Then hurry up. Once we wrap up this job and I get the final payment, I’ll send it to you. If the client’s happy, there’ll be another one right after.”

The call ended abruptly. Su Wan stood there for two seconds before turning around and heading back to the balcony to tidy up.

She set up the tripod again, clipped her phone into the holder, and tried a few angles. The slanting sunlight cast a deep shadow under her nose. She adjusted the brightness, hit record, took a couple of steps, then played it back—and the movement looked stiff, the camera shook, and even the folds of her clothes weren’t properly unfolded.

Delete it.

Start over.

On the third take, when she turned, the wind lifted her sleeve and covered half her arm, making the shot even messier. She stared at the screen and hit delete without hesitation.

Forget it.

Su Wan pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found that name. After hesitating for three seconds, she dialed.

By the third ring, someone picked up.

“Hello.”

The voice wasn’t loud; it sounded like the person had just woken up but was already wide awake.

“Shen Rongyuan,” she said. “Could I trouble you? Just… half an hour. I can’t figure it out on my own.”

There was a brief pause on the other end. “What time of day is the light best?”

“Not now—the building’s shadow is blocking it. We’ll have to wait another half hour.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

After hanging up, Su Wan pulled a five-in-one folding reflector board out of her bag—a cheap, flimsy model whose edges got warped when she opened it. She tried holding it up to her face, but as soon as she let go, it snapped shut. Open it again, and it collapsed once more. Finally, she leaned it against the wall and used a makeup mirror to weigh down the bottom edge.

When Shen Rongyuan arrived, he was carrying a rectangular white board that was a bit bigger than hers, with an aluminum frame that looked sturdy. He didn’t say a word as he walked in; instead, he headed straight to the balcony, first putting away her reflector and replacing it with the one he’d brought.

“This angle provides more even fill light,” he said, tilting the board slightly and gently nudging the edge with his fingertip to adjust the angle. A beam of light landed perfectly on the lower part of her cheek, softening the shadows.

Su Wan touched her face—she really did feel brighter.

Then he took a small magnetic fill light out of his backpack, stuck it onto the side of the tripod, switched it on, and warm light instantly washed over the cool tones outside the window. “Use natural light as the main source; this is just for support—don’t make it too bright.”

Su Wan nodded and stepped back into position.

“Let’s run through it once first,” Shen Rongyuan said. “No need to record—just let me see your movement path.”

Su Wan started walking, following the rhythm in the script until she reached the railing and stopped, raising her hand to brush her hair. When she finished the motion, she turned to look at him.

“Your shoulders are too tense,” he said. “When you walk, keep your center of gravity moving with your feet—don’t hold yourself rigidly.”

Shen Rongyuan didn’t explain much; instead, he stepped forward and demonstrated himself. His steps weren’t big, but each landing had a bit of cushioning, and by the time he stopped, the hem of his shirt had risen just a little, forming a gentle curve.

“Try it yourself,” he said.

She followed his lead, and this time it felt much smoother.

“Oh, by the way,” Shen Rongyuan nodded. “When you turn, add a small gesture—lightly touch your sleeve or collar—to make it look less stiff.”

She tried again, running her finger along the edge of her shirt collar. As she stopped, a strand of hair was lifted by the wind and brushed across her brow.

“This works,” he said. “Let’s re-record that part we just did.”

The two of them went back and forth like this, going through scene after scene. Shen Rongyuan didn’t rush or nag; whenever he spotted a problem, he’d step in right away—adjusting the tripod, shifting her position by half a step, even bending down to straighten up her rolled-up pant legs. Once, she turned too quickly and her heel hit the tile, nearly tripping. He reached out and gave her elbow a light, tentative support—didn’t actually touch her, but held the motion steady until she regained her balance.

End of Chapter 14: Better to Make Money