Jiang Han sat in the director’s chair, his knuckles clenched until they turned white.
The beautifully bound script in his hands still reflected the afternoon’s false sunlight, the three stylized characters for Sweet as Honey on its cover. But the contents...
On the first page, the male and female leads meet in a café, sunlight streaming through the window and dancing across the heroine’s hair. Turn the page, and the second page, printed in the same neat typeface, reads: [She doesn’t know that the man sitting across from her died in his rented apartment a week ago. There’s a faint smudge on the rim of his coffee cup, left by his rotting fingertips.]
On the third page, a date scene: the Ferris wheel rises to its highest point, and the city lights spread out like a river of stars. The next page reads: [When the Ferris wheel carriage sways slightly at the very top, it isn’t the wind. One of the steel cables suspending it is slowly snapping. The break is stained with the dried blood of the previous victim.]
Between the warm, romantic lines, the pages were crammed with dense annotations in increasingly frantic handwriting, as if another personality were babbling in a frenzy:
“Add a shadow here! Make it twisted!”
