Five years without pregnancy means you're too weak; I remarried a powerful man and had triplets

"Do you know why I went to the trouble of poaching you from Hsu Che-sheng?"

Lu Zichuan's deep voice rang out, his tone calm, as if he were narrating a past event unrelated to himself.

But he leaned back slightly, crossed his legs, and casually rested one hand on the edge of the table, tapping lightly with his fingertips.

His aura was distant and cold, devoid of any superfluous emotions, like a precisely operating machine, devoid of any feelings.

Shen Zhiyi's hands, hanging by her sides, clenched unconsciously, her knuckles turning white.

She swallowed nervously, her voice barely audible, "I...I don't know..."

I knew about your abilities back in college.

As Lu Zichuan spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the computer screen, not looking at her. "You have a real talent for editing. You have your own unique judgment regarding the rhythm of the shots, the emotional direction, and the control of color tone. While your peers are still following templates step by step, you are already far ahead."

"Later you became Hsu Che-sheng's personal editor. Anyone with a discerning eye can see your techniques in his films. I even heard that you would give him advice during filming, not only reading the original work thoroughly but also figuring out the actors' emotional movements, the lighting angles of the lighting technicians, and the creation of tension in the scenes and environments. You did everything yourself."

He said so much, and every single word was genuine praise.

Every word was a conclusion he drew after privately reviewing her work countless times.

But Shen Zhiyi's heart was beating faster and faster, and a thin layer of sweat even seeped out from her back.

She was all too familiar with this rhythm.

That's how those in positions of power are.

First, they shower you with lavish praise, elevating you to the heavens, making you lower your guard, and making you believe that you are recognized and valued. Then, they bring you down from the highest point.

The more praise you give, the bigger the problems will be later.

She stood there like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, unconsciously holding her breath.

Sure enough, the next second, Lu Zichuan's voice suddenly turned cold, like an ice-cold blade, mercilessly cleaving through the air.

"I paid a high price to poach you from Xu Zhesheng, even at the cost of breaking ties with him, not to hand you over to me as a mediocre person."

His long, slender fingers tapped heavily on the screen, his cold gaze sweeping over the images: "At first glance, your editing is flawless. But upon closer inspection, every frame bears the shadow of Hsu Che-sheng. The rhythm of emotional build-up, the inertia of shot composition, even that market-pleasing smoothness—you're still working with the mindset you used when editing Hsu Che-sheng's films."

"What I need is not a routine editing machine. What I need is something new, something that can break down the original framework and give it flesh and blood."

As he spoke, he slid the mouse, zooming in on a close-up of the timeline, his fingertip tapping the screen: "The plan you gave me before had a good concept, but the execution was too conservative. This transition, using a black screen instead of emotional pauses, is textbook laziness. You're afraid the audience won't understand, so you're feeding them the emotions. But sophisticated editing lets the audience feel the pain themselves."

The mouse continued scrolling, stopping at a close-up shot of an actor's eyes: "The emotional transition here is too abrupt. You cut out those fractions of a second before her pupils contracted, cutting straight to the tears. But true breakdown isn't about tears, it's that suffocating feeling of wanting to cry but being unable to. You only captured the result, not the process."

He switched to another set of environmental shots, his brow furrowed: "And the colors here. The contrast is too harsh, the highlights are blown out, the shadows are dead black, it looks like a cheap mood built up with filters. Any editor with six months of experience could do this. If your abilities stop here..."

Lu Zichuan raised his eyes, his gaze landing precisely on Shen Zhiyi's face like a scalpel, uttering each word with deliberate precision:

"Then I think you're not qualified to be the chief editor."

He didn't utter a single swear word, but every word was like a needle, pricking Shen Zhiyi so hard she could barely breathe.

She felt that every night she had stayed up since joining the company, every frame she had edited, and every transition she had repeatedly refined was completely negated at this moment.

She stared at the problems he had pointed out on the screen, a surge of resentment rising in her chest.

She took a deep breath, raised her head, and spoke in a soft voice, enunciating each word clearly:

"Mr. Lu, since I took on this project, I've definitely read the original work carefully. I believe my editing is fine."

"You initially approached me because I could make a mediocre film stand out. But your film already has a solid script and excellent filming; any further polishing by me would only be superfluous."

As she spoke, she pointed to the close-up of the eyes on the screen that Lu Zichuan had criticized:

"As for the emotional shift you mentioned, I think the expression of the pupils contracting was too deliberate. The actor's micro-expressions at that time already conveyed enough information. If I had kept that shot, it would have made the emotion feel stiff and unnecessary."

She then switched to the environmental shots: "And the color contrast—if the contrast between light and dark were less, the plot wouldn't stand out at all. A suitable amount of gray is to make the colors more impactful when they erupt at crucial moments. This isn't the work of a basic editor; this is..."

She paused, her voice slightly tense: "This is the editor's aesthetic judgment."

She rattled off her ideas in one breath, meeting Lu Zichuan's eyes directly in her gaze, refusing to accept any of his suggestions.

But after she finished speaking, Lu Zichuan's expression remained unchanged.

He quietly raised his head, his extremely pale eyes sweeping over her without a trace of warmth, as if he were looking at an ignorant and arrogant subordinate.

"I think you should understand," he began, his voice as calm as if he were reading a contract termination agreement, "that the editor's final decision rests with the director."

"If you're unwilling to listen to the director's ideas and insist on doing things your own way..."

He leaned back slightly, placed his hands clasped on the table, and spoke in a tone that was almost cruelly indifferent:

"Then I think there's no need for us to cooperate."

The moment those words were spoken, it was as if all the air in the office had been sucked out.

Shen Zhiyi stood there, her lips slightly parted, but she couldn't utter a single word.

She felt as if an invisible hand was gripping her heart tightly, making it difficult for it to even beat.

She thought he would at least argue with her.

I'll argue with her about camera language, discuss narrative pacing, and, as always, patiently listen to her even when we disagree...

But he didn't.

He simply used his position as director to make the final decision.

It was like a bucket of ice water being poured from head to toe.