You are sentimental.

This winter is particularly cold. In the small county public hospital, it's overcrowded. There aren't even extra beds available, let alone a plastic chair. Standing beside Zhou Zheng, an elderly man with a hunched back coughed, spitting yellow phlegm right by Zhou Zheng's feet. Zhou Zheng's face almost cringed as he raised Cheng Liang's IV bag, trying to shrink away from the situation. Cheng Liang looked excessively pale, with only a slight blush on his cheekbones against his bluish-white complexion. He appeared paper-thin, with chapped lips. Wrapped in a familiar army green coat from the crew, he leaned against the wall for support. "Director Cheng, if it's too much, I can book a flight for you to go back first. The three assistant directors in the crew are not just for show," Zhou Zheng almost had to shout over the piercing cries of a child nearby receiving an IV. Cheng Liang slowly opened his tightly shut eyes, squinting at Zhou Zheng with disdain, indicating his annoyance. Zhou suddenly fell silent, knowing Cheng Liang's notorious temper in the industry. Despite not being unreasonably difficult, Cheng Liang's background and connections made him particularly averse to feeling wronged. He had confronted countless tabloids and media, even resorting to physical altercations with paparazzi years ago. Zhou understood from that one icy glare that had Cheng Liang been able to speak, he would have faced a harsh tongue-lashing. After two IV bags, Zhou helped Cheng Liang into the car with a large bag of medications. Cheng Liang was currently directing a dark thriller. Most of the filming locations were in the northern mountains, making it a four to five-hour journey to find even a small hospital. Returning to the set in the afternoon, the winter days were short in the mountain village, with dusk setting in. The chilling wind tore at the plastic sheeting on the windows, intended for insulation. Ignoring the set, Cheng Liang sat on the heated brick bed, lost in thought, wrapped in his coat. Zhou clumsily added a few more charcoal pieces to the stove, the smoke turning dusty black, filling the room. Cheng Liang coughed violently, his face pale, but without a hint of blame. Feeling uneasy, Zhou quietly slipped out, searching for a signal on the hillside with his phone. The call was quickly answered. "Zhou, what do you need?" A cautious female voice, sounding young. Suppressing his anger, Zhou asked, "Where's Huo Qitong?" The girl timidly replied, "Huo is here with me. He's been working hard on variety shows these days, but can barely eat a few bites of the food I bring." Zhou almost cursed aloud, "Please pass the phone to Huo." The same age as Cheng Liang, Zhou addressed Huo Qitong, six years his junior, with a degree of frustration that spoke volumes of Huo's significance in Cheng Liang's life. After a long wait, a deep and seductive male voice sounded, lazily asking, "Hmm?" Shivering in the cold wind, Zhou greeted, "Huo, been busy these days? Tough times." "Get to the point," Huo Qitong's tone lacked patience, showing little regard, especially towards those around Cheng Liang. Zhou explained, "Cheng Liang has been calling you but couldn't reach you. Could you please give him a call or send a text? He's quite ill recently, and finding a hospital in this remote area is a challenge. The longer he delays, the weaker he gets. You know how stubborn he is, and I can't persuade him..." "Stop," Huo interrupted impatiently. "If Cheng finds joy in sacrificing for his art, his physical well-being should be his concern. At his age, is he not aware of his own health?" Zhou was left speechless. "Alright, if he can't hold on, tell him to come back. It's almost the New Year; it's not auspicious to die outside," Huo's words carried a mocking undertone. He understood Cheng Liang well, acknowledging his deep cunning. Surprisingly, Cheng Liang had managed to stay put without causing any trouble so far. Huo was amused at the thought of Cheng on the other end of the call, next to Zhou. The abrupt end of the call hit Zhou like a bucket of cold water. He returned to the room, where Cheng Liang sat awake, looking somewhat pitiful. Trying to appear cheerful, Zhou exclaimed, "Director Cheng! I just stepped out for a smoke and got a call from Huo!" Cheng Liang's expression shifted slightly. "Huo has been very busy lately. You know he's tough on the outside, soft on the inside. He was worried about you since he hadn't heard from you." "Really?" Cheng Liang's tonsils were so swollen that his mouth seemed ready to burst, having not spoken a word in two days. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough and hoarse, barely audible if Zhou were not so close. Excitedly nodding, Zhou assured, "Absolutely, he felt awkward calling you directly." Eyes lowered, Cheng Liang remained silent, lost in his thoughts. Zhou, still uneasy, added more firewood, masking his anxiety. "Coincidentally, the Changqing Film Festival is coming up. I heard from industry friends that Huo might win Best Newcomer. That's quite an honor. You've been guiding him all this while; he must be grateful." This was Huo Qitong's first significant nomination at a national film festival. Cheng Liang wanted to attend, yet he knew Huo was unlikely to want to see him. "Director Cheng...?" After a fit of coughing, Cheng Liang finally spoke, "Go ask for a few days' leave for me tonight from the production team." Zhou beamed, "Sure!" As Zhou happily left, Cheng Liang slowly lay back on the bed. Raised in luxury, he couldn't endure hardships, even if he wanted to. He warmed his rough hands by the stove, unable to shake the thoughts of Huo Qitong from his mind. Zhou had said Huo was tough on the outside but soft inside; Cheng Liang believed it. Yet he doubted Huo would want to see him. Cheng Liang could piece together the truth—Zhou had called Huo to persuade him to return, and Huo likely hadn't offered any favorable responses. Yet Cheng Liang yearned for Huo Qitong. Having spent nearly three months in the crew, he had only a handful of phone calls with Huo. He needed a less pitiable reason to return, even if it was based on deceit.