My cousin asked me to go to Wuha, and Hanikezi stuck to me.

Chen Yi didn't hear Zheng Yiming's comment at all.

The producer didn't tell anyone; he just kept it to himself.

In the months that followed, watching Chen Yi act on set, I noticed a newfound confidence in his expression.

By the sixth week of filming, Chen Yi had completely settled into his rhythm.

The Yunnan segment was filmed in an old village halfway up a mountain in western Yunnan, with stone walls, blue tiles, and long, winding alleys.

The production team transformed the abandoned supply and marketing cooperative at the village entrance into the exterior of a violin shop, painted the door panels with three layers of old paint, and sanded the window frames to create the rough edges of age.

Every morning at 6:30, Chen Yi would go to the makeup room, change into the old craftsman's coarse cloth apron, put on a pair of worn-out cloth shoes with thick soles, look at himself in the mirror for a couple of seconds, and then get up and head to the film set.

This was the most grounded he had ever been on set since he entered the industry.

I used to always have something to worry about when filming.

When I first played the male lead, the studio was just starting out.

He acts during the day and reviews financial reports and signs documents at night.

Xiao Fang would call every few days to ask for instructions and make decisions, with two things running in his mind at the same time.

Later, when filming a suspenseful feature film, she was confined for three months. Her daughter had just turned one year old, and Hanikezi was taking care of the child alone at home.

Every night during video calls, watching the little girl drooling on the screen, he felt a tightness in his chest.

Things are different now.

My daughter is four years old and has started kindergarten. She has a regular schedule.

Hanikezi is currently working on the curatorial of a documentary, proceeding at a steady pace without rushing.

With her maternal grandmother taking care of her at home, the old lady is in good health and can cook and take care of the children with great efficiency.

Xiao Fang manages the studio's daily operations very well, and never disturbs the studio unless it's for something important.

For the first time, Chen Yi realized that all the gears in life were turning smoothly on their own tracks, without him having to reach out and twist them.

Every Friday evening after work, he would catch the last flight back to Beijing right on time.

I took my daughter to her art class at the Children's Palace early Saturday morning. We sat on the bench outside the classroom for two hours, flipping through scripts and resting with our eyes closed, until the little one came bouncing out with her drawing board.

The father and daughter stayed at home on Saturday afternoon.

The daughter was drawing crayons on the living room carpet, while Chen Yi was curled up in the corner of the sofa flipping through a book.

The daughter turned around and shouted halfway through her drawing.

"Dad, do you think this is pretty?"

He leaned over, took a good look, and gave a straightforward reply.

"The colors are quite vibrant, but this tree is painted upside down; the roots are facing upwards."

"I did it on purpose; this is a magic tree that grows upside down."

"Then you're amazing."

Sunday is music day.

Chen Yi moved an old guitar from the corner of the study, sat down on a low stool by the living room window, tuned the strings, and casually strummed a few chords to warm up.

As soon as the daughter heard the piano music, she put down what she was holding, ran to him, sat cross-legged on the carpet, and placed her hands neatly on her knees.

A four-year-old child is no longer just listening.

She started humming along.

As the melody progresses to the chorus, a soft, delicate voice emerges, its pitch slightly off-key and its tempo fluctuating, yet the melody's structure remains perfectly intact.

As Chen Yi played, he tilted his ear to catch the rhythm of her singing and burst out laughing.

When Hanikezi first witnessed this scene, she stood frozen at the kitchen doorway, holding a water glass in her hand, and it took her a full half minute to react before she took out her phone to record it.

In the viewfinder, the father and daughter are sitting and squatting, respectively, with light slanting down from the window, reflecting a golden sheen on the guitar.

My daughter's little mouth opened and closed, her brows furrowed; she was learning with utmost seriousness.

After recording a segment, Hanikezi lowered her voice and muttered to herself.

"The musical background of this father and daughter puts a lot of pressure on me, a dancer."

Chen Yi, with his sharp ears, heard everything clearly across half the living room.

"She imitates you when you dance, spinning around while holding onto the coffee table. There's no such thing as having a foundation or not; kids just learn from everything they see."

"Then why doesn't she learn to cook like me? I'm in the kitchen every day, but she's not interested."

"Because cooking has no melody."

Hanikezi rolled her eyes, turned off the recording, walked over, and sat down on the armrest of the sofa.

The daughter was humming along enthusiastically when she saw her mother approaching, so she looked up and shouted something.

"Mom, be quiet, I'm singing!"

"Okay, okay, Mom, shut up."

After Chen Yi finished playing the last chord, the lingering resonance of the strings circled around the living room before dissipating.

The daughter clapped her hands, the applause loud and rapid.

"Play one more song!"

"My throat is tired from playing too much, I'll sing again tomorrow."

"Not tomorrow, now."

Chen Yi placed the guitar on his lap and looked down at her small face.

"Learn to wait; good things are worth waiting for."

The daughter pouted, seemingly unhappy, but ultimately didn't make a fuss.

He inherited this ability to endure.

My daughter turned four on the second Thursday of April.

Chen Yi asked Director Zheng for leave three days in advance.

The old man didn't ask any more questions and waved his hand to let him go.

Chen Yi flew back to Beijing overnight.

It was already 1 a.m. when I landed, and all the lights in my house were off.

He quietly pushed open the door, changed his shoes, went inside, and pulled a flat cardboard box from the bottom of his suitcase and put it on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

No outsiders were invited on my birthday.

The family of three, along with the grandmother, organized a small gathering at home.

Two strings of colorful balloons hung in the living room, and a cream cake made by Hanikezi herself was placed on the dining table. The cake's decorating skills were not very refined, and the words "Happy Fourth Birthday" were written crookedly.

My daughter ran around the house in her new dress, giggling as she stepped on balloon fragments.

Grandma followed behind with her camera, constantly calling out, "Slow down, don't fall!"

After finishing the cake, my daughter had a ring of cream on the corner of her mouth.

As Hanikezi wiped her mouth with a wet wipe, Chen Yi took out his guitar from the corner and sat down on the right side of the sofa.

The moment the strings were plucked, the girl quieted down.

She ran to her usual spot, sat down, put her hands on her knees, and gazed longingly into the distance.

Chen Yi tried two sounds and cleared his throat.

"I'll sing a new song today, one I wrote especially for you."

My daughter's eyes lit up like two black grapes.

He pressed down the chords with his left hand and plucked the strings with his right index finger, and the melody flowed out smoothly.

The melody is based on a classic children's song, simple and cheerful.

The lyrics have all been changed.

"There was a little girl named Duoduo, and all the trees she drew with crayons grew upside down."

The daughter covered her mouth and laughed.

"She arranged the meat slices from largest to smallest, and after finishing one bowl, she wanted to come back again."

Grandma was laughing so hard she kept wiping her eyes.

"When she learns to sing, she forgets the lyrics and just sings 'la la la,' and when she braids her hair, she complains that her dad braids it crookedly."

Hanikezi held up her phone to record, the camera pointed at the father and daughter, her fingers trembling slightly.

In the viewfinder, Chen Yi lowered his head and plucked the strings, his voice clean and relaxed.

The little girl listened intently, her face beaming with a smile.

"In her paintings, the father is always holding the piano, and the mother is always standing by his side."

When she sang this line, Hanikezi's eyes reddened.

She held down the record button and quickly rubbed the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

In the final chorus, Chen Yi slowed down the tempo, emphasizing each word.

"Four-year-old Duoduo, grow up slowly, Daddy's songs are always by your side."

The piano music stopped, and the living room was quiet for two seconds.

The daughter jumped up from the carpet and threw herself into his arms, her little arms tightly wrapped around his neck.

"Dad sang all of my songs!"

"It's all because of you."

"I'll sing again next year!"

"Sing it every year, until you get tired of it."

Hanikezi turned off the recording, walked over and squatted down by the sofa, gently smoothing the stray hairs sticking up at the back of her daughter's head with her fingertips.

Chen Yi turned his head to look at her.

Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the afterglow of the sunset streaming in through the window.

Some happiness doesn't need a red carpet or flashing lights.

Her voice was very soft, drifting through the quiet room.

Chen Yi reached out a hand, placed it on the back of her hand resting on the armrest, and squeezed it.

"Never needed to."