Chapter 201: Xiang Shuishang’s Daily Life! Happy Daughter And Wife! Xiang Shuishang Has No Regrets In Life!
The light at six in the morning, carrying a clarity untouched by the city’s noise, like the finest rice paper, was gently spread by an invisible hand over the intricate rooftops of Shinjuku District.
The light passed through the clean glass window in Xiang Shuishang’s home, falling on the bowl of miso soup still steaming on the dining table, illuminating the finely chopped green onions floating on the surface until they gleamed emerald green.
The air was filled with the fragrance of rice, the salty freshness of grilled fish, and the unique rich aroma of soy sauce, weaving together into a warm prelude unique to family life.
“Father, good morning!”
A crisp voice rang out, like wind chimes.
Xiang Shuishang’s daughter, Sayuri Shuishang, was sitting properly at the dining table. She wore a brand-new private middle school uniform: an exquisite dark blue suit skirt and a maroon necktie at her chest, adding a touch of kawaii cuteness to her already delicate little face.
She looked at her father who had just come out of the bedroom, her eyes, somewhat similar to Xiang Shuishang’s, now sparkling with heartfelt worship.
“Good morning, Sayuri.” A gentle smile appeared on Xiang Shuishang’s face. He walked to his daughter’s side and reached out to gently ruffle her soft long hair.
“Dear, come eat quickly. The food is getting cold.” From the kitchen, Xiang Shuishang’s wife, Misaki Shuishang, came out holding a plate of freshly pan-fried thick rolled omelet.
She wore a floral apron, and her well-maintained face radiated deep satisfaction and happiness.
She looked at her husband, her always gentle eyes now filled with indescribable excitement and emotion.
“Father! I’m going to register at my new school today!” Sayuri Shuishang shoveled rice into her mouth while mumbling excitedly, her enthusiasm almost bursting from every pore: “I was so excited last night that I didn’t sleep at all! I can hardly believe it—I… I’m really going to Keio Girls’ Middle School!”
She paused, set down her bowl and chopsticks, and stared at her father with her sparkling big eyes without blinking, her worship almost tangible: “Father! You’re amazing! You actually… you actually know that legendary Mr. Hiroshi Nohara! And he… he invited you to star in his new television drama! Oh my god! This is even more unbelievable than me getting into the University of Tokyo!”
“Yes, dear.” Misaki Shuishang sat down beside her husband and served him rice. Her always gentle eyes now glistened with tears: “I was so excited last night that I didn’t sleep either. It all feels like a dream. You… you’re finally back on the stage you love most.”
She looked at the scar on her husband’s face, full of stories, her eyes filled with heartache, gratification, and the emotion of regaining something lost.
“It’s just that Mr. Nohara thinks highly of me.” Xiang Shuishang just smiled calmly. He picked up a piece of golden yellow thick rolled omelet and put it in his mouth; the soft texture and sweet flavor gave him a sense of reassurance.
This calm indifference to favor or humiliation contrasted strangely with the somewhat fierce scar on his face, creating a sense of utmost trust.
“What do you mean ‘thinks highly of you’!” Misaki Shuishang rolled her eyes at him in mock reproach, her voice carrying a hint of frustration at his unfulfilled potential, but also an inseparable pride: “Have you forgotten how popular you were when you were young? You were known as the ‘Last Idol Prince of the Millennium’! If it weren’t for… if it weren’t for offending that damn management company and getting blacklisted by them, you’d be Neon’s top star by now! That Shunsuke Kamiki wouldn’t have a chance to preen on television!”
“Alright, Misaki, that’s all in the past.” Xiang Shuishang shook his head with a smile and reached out to gently hold his wife’s hand. The warmth and strength instantly reassured her: “Now, I’m just a chef. Quietly making food that guests like is pretty good.”
“Father’s not just a chef!” Sayuri Shuishang immediately retorted. She straightened her small back, her daughterly pride making her shine brightly: “You’re… you’re the big star about to star in Mr. Hiroshi Nohara’s new drama! Once it airs, you’ll be a hundred times more popular than that Shunsuke Kamiki!”
“Hahahaha!” Xiang Shuishang couldn’t help laughing. Looking at his daughter’s cute protective stance, a surge of indescribable warmth filled his heart.
He knew this family was his sturdiest harbor, the warm shore he could always rely on.
After breakfast, Misaki Shuishang took her daughter, full of longing for the future, to register at the new school.
Xiang Shuishang changed into clean, neat casual clothes: a simple white shirt and dark blue jeans. Though plain, they perfectly outlined his no-longer-young but still upright figure.
He stepped out the door, took a deep breath of the cool morning air, and walked steadily toward the Tokyo Television Station.
When he stood before the towering Tokyo Television Production Bureau Building, like a steel behemoth piercing the clouds, even he, accustomed to the ups and downs of life, felt an indescribable shock.
He took out his mobile phone and dialed Yō Kitagawa’s number as given by Hiroshi Nohara.
Soon, a girl with a high ponytail, looking youthful and vibrant, came jogging out of the building to greet him.
“Hello! Are you Mr. Xiang Shuishang?” Yō Kitagawa looked at the middle-aged man before her, striking in both appearance and demeanor, her sparkling big eyes flashing with irrepressible excitement and curiosity.
“Yes, that’s me.” Xiang Shuishang nodded.
“Great! I’m Minister Nohara’s assistant, Yō Kitagawa! The minister instructed me to take you straight to his office!” Yō Kitagawa said enthusiastically. As she spoke, she deftly handled the visitor registration for Xiang Shuishang.
When Xiang Shuishang followed Yō Kitagawa into the Nohara Independent Production Department, like an independent kingdom, his calm heart was once again thoroughly swept by an unprecedented shock.
The vast office area was bustling with people, every seat occupied.
Young people dressed in all sorts of creative and individualistic styles hurried between workstations.
Telephone rings, conversations, the rustle of notebooks and steel pens, and passionate discussions wove into a symphony full of vigor and vitality unique to this era.
“So… so amazing!” Xiang Shuishang couldn’t help exclaiming. Looking at this space brimming with creativity and life, his usually calm eyes sparkled with long-lost “hot-blooded” light.
“Right? Right?” Yō Kitagawa beamed with proud satisfaction, straightening her back; her pride as a Tokyo Television Station employee made her shine.
“Our minister is the youngest and most capable producer at Tokyo Television Station, even in the entire Neon television industry!” She lowered her voice, looking like a little spy sharing a earth-shattering secret.
“You wouldn’t know, our minister is only twenty-three, yet already head of the Independent Production Department! In just one year, he accomplished a triple jump others couldn’t in a lifetime! From an unknown assistant director, directly promoted exceptionally to a fourth-class director with his own independent classroom! Then, in half a year, with《World of the Strange》and《Super Change Change Change》, this phenomenal work, promoted again exceptionally to third-class director, and granted this, the largest and freest independent production department in the entire production bureau! This is unprecedented in Tokyo Television Station history!”
Xiang Shuishang listened quietly, his heart, numbed by countless hardships, now filled with bone-deep awe.
“This… is the privilege of genius?” he murmured.
“Yes!” Yō Kitagawa nodded emphatically, looking at Xiang Shuishang with curious sparkling eyes: “But speaking of which, Boss Shuishang, what brings you here today…”
“Mr. Nohara invited me to star in his new drama《Late-night Diner》.” Xiang Shuishang replied.
“Eh?!” Yō Kitagawa’s eyes widened instantly. She covered her mouth, her lively face filled with incredulous shock!
Though she had guessed as much, hearing it firsthand still dazed her with shock.
“You… you’re really playing the boss?!”
“Mm.”
At that moment, a slightly fatigued but surprised voice came from nearby.
“Boss Shuishang? How… how are you here?”
Xiang Shuishang looked toward the voice and saw a disheveled middle-aged man in black-rimmed glasses staring at him in surprise.
“Ah, it’s you.” A gentle smile appeared on Xiang Shuishang’s face: “I remember you. A few days ago, you came to my shop and had a thick rolled omelet.”
“Yes! Yes!” Kenji Sato nodded excitedly, rushing to Xiang Shuishang, his agitation obvious: “I’m Kenji Sato, the… director of this《Late-night Diner》. Didn’t expect to see you again so soon! What a coincidence!”
“Hello, Director Sato.” Xiang Shuishang politely extended his hand and shook his.
“Director Sato, perfect timing!” Yō Kitagawa smiled: “The minister just said to call you! Since you’re here, let’s go see him together!”
“Good!”
Just then, the door at the far end of the office opened silently.
Hiroshi Nohara’s tall, upright figure appeared in the doorway.
He wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans, his casual ease contrasting strangely with the tense, busy atmosphere around him, inspiring utmost trust.
“You’re all here.” His voice wasn’t loud, yet like the most precise note, it instantly drew everyone’s attention.
“Since everyone’s here, no time to waste.” He scanned the group, his clear eyes flashing undeniable confidence and dominance: “Filming starts today.”
“What?!”
Xiang Shuishang and Kenji Sato’s bodies trembled again, their eyes widening instantly.
“To… today we start filming?!” Kenji Sato’s voice trembled as he looked at Hiroshi Nohara: “Mi… Minister! This… this is too fast! We… we haven’t even found the filming location! The actors…”
“Director Sato.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled calmly and patted Kenji Sato’s shoulder gently, the warmth and strength instantly reassuring him: “Right now, contact the filming team and actor team. Have them all assemble in that alley in Kabukicho, Shinjuku District, within one hour.”
He paused, turning his gaze to Xiang Shuishang, his clear eyes glinting cunningly.
“As for the filming location…” A mysterious smile curved Hiroshi Nohara’s lips: “We’ll use your shop for on-location shooting.”
“Eh?!” Xiang Shuishang’s eyes widened again. He looked at Hiroshi Nohara, rare panic appearing on his usually stern face: “Bu… but my shop is small and rundown, and… full of clutter, it…”
“Boss Shuishang.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled, raising a hand to gently interrupt: “That’s exactly the small, rundown authenticity I want. That’s the worldly life full of everyday vibe I want.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the two men stunned by his decisive actions, a confident smile on his lips.
He clapped his hands lightly.
The sound, not loud, echoed like the firmest war drum in everyone’s ears.
“Alright, everyone.”
“Let’s go.”
Xiang Shuishang stood dazed, looking at Hiroshi Nohara’s impossibly young yet unfathomable face. His calm heart, tempered by countless hardships, now burned with utter fanaticism of conquest.
He felt like he was in a dream full of fantasy and adventure.
And the young man named Hiroshi Nohara was the creator of this dream.
“Um… Director Sato…” He subconsciously tugged at the equally stunned man’s sleeve nearby, his voice uncertain: “Is Minister Nohara… always like this?”
Kenji Sato exhaled long, with helplessness, a wry smile, and bone-deep accustomed composure.
He turned to Xiang Shuishang’s shocked, puzzled face and gave an experienced, meaningful smile.
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Our minister is always like this.”
……
The steady black body of the Toyota Crown slid silently like a silent beetle into the daytime streets of Kabukicho, Shinjuku.
Here, like a geisha without heavy makeup, it shed the neon and noise that swallowed everything at night, revealing a somewhat fatigued, pale bare face.
Behind closed shutter doors lurked the unfinished alcohol and hormones from last night, the air filled with the faint laziness and emptiness unique to a hangover.
The streets were almost empty of pedestrians, only a few stray cats rummaging unconcernedly by the trash can for scraps, more composed than the occasional haggard office workers passing by.
“This is the place.” Hiroshi Nohara parked the car steadily, his voice calm as if stating an ordinary fact.
Yet when Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kenji Sato followed him out and stood again before this familiar yet strange alley, their hearts, numbed by countless shocks, still surged with massive waves.
“Mi… Minister, you… you really plan to… film on location here?” Tsuyoshi Yamamoto’s voice trembled slightly as he looked at the shop with its faded sign, his eyes like beholding a miracle about to turn stone to gold.
“What else?” Hiroshi Nohara countered, surveying the quiet alley, his clear eyes satisfied almost childlike: “Nighttime prosperity is for show. Only this daytime tranquility and desolation is life’s truest base. The Late-night Diner story should start from a place like this.”
As soon as he spoke, several prop and equipment vans marked “Tokyo Television Station” drove in silently like trained soldiers, blocking both ends of the alley.
“Seal the alley!”
“Lighting team prepare! A-group camera position over there!”
“Props team! Quick! Raise that black sky curtain! Today, we’re hiding the sun!”
With orders from Tsuyoshi Yamamoto and Kenji Sato, the entire filming team operated like souled precision machines, efficient and orderly.
The massive black sky curtain rose like wings of night, completely isolating the alley from the pale sky above.
Then, high-powered lights were lit, cleverly mounted on rooftops and corners. Filtered through soft light panels, they became beams of cool, gentle moonlight, precisely falling on the faded blue curtain of the “Late-night Diner.”
Props team members, like professional interior designers, moved various everyday items into the already cramped little shop.
Handwritten menus on the walls; various sake bottles on the bar counter; even a wooden rack in the corner holding guests’ stored wine.
In just an hour, this ordinary daytime alley was transformed into a nighttime stage full of story and worldly life.
Xiang Shuishang stood dazed nearby, watching his familiar shop transformed by these professionals into the manga version both familiar and strange, his calm heart now filled with bone-deep awe.
“Mr. Shuishang.”
Just then, a suited middle-aged man, apparently the crew manager, approached respectfully with a document.
“Hello, I’m the line producer of this drama, Ken Minamino.” He bowed politely first, then handed the document to Xiang Shuishang: “This is your actor contract and location rental contract. Please review.”
Xiang Shuishang took it awkwardly, his ordinary person’s nervousness making him avoid the man’s eyes.
But when his gaze fell on the prominent numbers in the contract, his nervous heart was instantly replaced by even greater shock.
“This… this…” His voice trembled, his calm eyes widening, face full of incredulous shock!
“Actor fee, one million yen per episode. Location rental, one million yen per episode. Total, two million yen per episode.” Ken Minamino’s voice was calm yet powerful, as if stating not a life-changing sum for an ordinary family, but routine work reports.
“Two… two million yen… per episode?!” Xiang Shuishang felt his heart about to jump out of his throat.
He instinctively checked the numbers again; each clear “0” hammered like a precise mallet on his reality-numbed heart.
His little shop, working from dawn to dusk, barely broke even after costs; pure income of five hundred thousand yen a month was already booming business.
On slow days, even under three hundred thousand.
But now, Hiroshi Nohara, this impossibly young man, just waved and offered him two million yen per episode!
This… was even more unreal and impactful than robbing a bank!
“Um… Line Producer Minamino…” Xiang Shuishang’s voice trembled slightly as he looked at the well-dressed man, eyes full of gratitude… and a hint of unease: “This… this is too much. I’m… just an ordinary person, not worth this much. And my little shop is small and rundown…”
“Mr. Shuishang.” Ken Minamino smiled calmly, sincere admiration on his face: “You are worth it, because you’re personally chosen by Minister Nohara.”
He paused, tone more solemn: “And your shop isn’t small and rundown. It is… the soul of this drama. So please, no psychological burden. Accept the contract with peace of mind.”
Xiang Shuishang stood dazed, listening to Ken Minamino. His shock-numbed heart was now thoroughly filled with unprecedented “emotion.”
He knew this contract was not just money, but… respect and recognition from Hiroshi Nohara.
“Tha… thank you! Thank you, Minister Nohara!” He bowed repeatedly, gratitude overflowing.
Yet in this grateful, moving atmosphere, a slightly hoarse but powerful voice cut like a biting cold wind in warm spring.
“Save the thanks until after filming.”
Hiroshi Nohara had appeared behind him unnoticed.
He held a dark blue kimono and a thick stack of manuscript paper covered in storyboard drafts.
He handed the kimono to Xiang Shuishang, his clear eyes flashing undeniable confidence and dominance.
“Put it on.”
He paused, then stuffed the storyboard drafts into Xiang Shuishang’s hands.
“Then, memorize these lines. Not a word wrong.”
Xiang Shuishang jolted, looking at Hiroshi Nohara’s young, profound face; his excited heart instantly turned to massive tension.
“Yes! Minister!” He nodded hastily, attitude respectful like a new soldier heading to battle.
“Boss Shuishang, don’t be too nervous.” Nearby, Kenji Sato smiled to mediate, patting his shoulder; his directorly steadiness made him seem especially reliable: “Setting up the location and testing lights will take at least three hours. You have plenty of time to familiarize with the script and get into character. Take it slow, no rush.”
“Mm, thank you, Director Sato.” Xiang Shuishang nodded, looking at the thick manuscript paper; his reality-rusted brain now spun rapidly.
He found a quiet corner and carefully opened the storyboard drafts.
To him, a former actor, these seemingly casual sketches were like magic books full of infinite power; every line, every angle, brimmed with suffocating artistry.
Looking at the scarred yet infinitely gentle man in the sketches, his actor’s heart, dormant for twenty years, beat fiercely again.
Just then, noisy chatter came from the alley entrance.
A dozen middle-aged actors in their forties or fifties, dressed variously but all exuding veteran poise and confidence, approached in groups.
“Hey now! Old Tanaka, that’s not cool! At the《World of the Strange》celebration banquet, you promised to notify me first next time for Minister Nohara’s project! But if I hadn’t seen it in the newspaper a few days ago, I wouldn’t have known!” A slightly plump man with a friendly smile grumbled at a skinny, bespectacled man beside him.
“You’re one to talk!” Old Tanaka pushed his glasses, his calm eyes glinting cunningly: “Last time you got drunk, you hugged my wife crying about eloping! I didn’t block you—that’s already giving you face!”
“I… I was drunk!” The fat man flushed, neck stiff in rebuttal.
“Hahahahaha!”
The crowd burst into good-natured laughter.
All were Kanto faction veteran actors, “old comrades” from《World of the Strange》with deep collaboration with Hiroshi Nohara.
They were used to his wild imagination and decisive style.
“Alright, alright, stop fooling around.” The eldest, most respected female actor smiled helplessly at her old colleagues: “Go get your sketches. Be late, and Minister Nohara might make you copy the script.”
Everyone exchanged knowing smiles.
They smoothly took their storyboard drafts from line producer Ken Minamino, then found corners to study intently.
Their focus and professionalism left Xiang Shuishang nearby stunned.
“They… don’t seem surprised at all.” He whispered to Kenji Sato, debugging the monitor: “I remember, filming always started with script distribution, table reads, then tests. Why… with Minister Nohara, it’s straight to storyboard drafts?”
Kenji Sato gave an experienced, meaningful smile.
He pointed at the muttering veteran actors over their drafts, eyes full of admiration and a touch of envy.
“Boss Shuishang, you don’t know.” He lowered his voice, like a little spy sharing a secret: “Our minister is a monster. His head doesn’t hold a script, but… an already edited finished film.”
“Finished film?” Xiang Shuishang was stunned again.
“Yes, finished film.” Kenji Sato nodded, smiling at his puzzled face: “So what he gives us isn’t an ordinary script, but… the ‘manual’ for this finished film.”
Just then, the fat man who’d bantered with Old Tanaka noticed them. He approached with a cup of hot tea, beaming.
“Well now! This must be our drama’s soul, the ‘boss’ himself?” He looked at Xiang Shuishang, kind and curious eyes smiling: “Hello, hello. I’m Ken Minamino, father of line producer Ken Minamino. In this drama, I play a yakuza elder brother who loves red small sausages. Please take care of me.”
“He… hello, Mr. Minamino.” Xiang Shuishang stood hastily, awkwardly shaking hands.
Of course he knew this man, one of Neon’s most renowned powerhouses, famous for countless classic yakuza roles, his commanding presence unforgettable.
“Senior Minamino, don’t tease Boss Shuishang.” Kenji Sato smiled: “It’s his first time with our minister’s filming method; he’s unsure.”
“Unsure?” Ken Minamino laughed heartily, patting Xiang Shuishang’s shoulder; his boldness eased the tension.
“Boss Shuishang, you’re overthinking!” He grinned: “Let me tell you, filming with our Minister Nohara is the simplest, happiest thing in the world!”
“Oh? How so?” Xiang Shuishang asked curiously.
“Because…” Ken Minamino smiled mysteriously, pointing to his storyboard drafts, eyes fanatic with worship: “Look here.”
He spread the drafts before Xiang Shuishang.
“See this frame.” He pointed to the scarred, infinitely gentle man, slowly reciting the line that would drive any actor mad.
“‘What do you want to eat? Anything I can make, you can order.'”
He paused, pointing to another frame.
“Now here.” He indicated the man frying red small sausages for the yakuza elder brother, eyes full of calm and tolerance.
“And here.” He pointed to the final frame.
“See, our minister doesn’t just draw the image, the lens, the lines. He even marks when each wrinkle on your face should move with what emotion; when each bit of gentleness in your eyes should emerge from what story; the angle and force for your callused hand handing over food… everything is clearly annotated in the sketches!”
“So, Boss Shuishang.” Ken Minamino beamed infectiously: “You don’t think or worry about anything. Just become the man in the sketches.”
“We just need to become the character in the sketches.”
“That’s our Minister Nohara’s most amazing… and most terrifying part.”
Xiang Shuishang listened dazedly, looking at the seemingly casual yet magically potent manuscript paper.
He felt like he was back twenty years, that summer full of dreams and passion.
……
Hiroshi Nohara is like a god!
This phrase echoed like a curse in Xiang Shuishang’s mind over the next three hours.
The artificial “night” in the alley seemed truly magical, time compressed and folded impossibly.
“Scene one, take one! Red sausage! Action!”
At Kenji Sato’s command, Xiang Shuishang instinctively mimicked the sketch man’s posture, picking up the frying pan.
Heat the pan, pour oil, slide in the octopus-shaped red small sausages.
“Sizzle—”
The sound, aroma, crisp clash of pot spatula and iron pot—just like his twenty years in his kitchen.
“Good! Relax the expression more, Boss Shuishang! You’re not acting; you’re cooking for a guest!” Hiroshi Nohara’s calm, penetrating voice came from behind the monitor.
Xiang Shuishang breathed deep, looking at Ken Minamino as the yakuza elder brother; tension faded to a chef’s focus.
“Cut! Good! Perfect! Next!”
“Scene two, take three! Thick rolled omelet! Ready!”
“Cut! Good! Emotions spot on! Next!”
“Scene five, take two! A Long’s flashback! Lighting! Softer light! That old-photo warm yellow!”
“Cut! Good! Excellent! That’s the feel!”
One lens after another flowed like water, at a speed Xiang Shuishang found incredible.
No NG, no arguments, barely any position tweaks.
Everything was like a stage play rehearsed a thousand times, every person, every action precisely on the perfect beat.
When the clock hit eleven-thirty, as Ken Minamino’s yakuza elder brother finished the last red small sausage contentedly, paid, and vanished into the alley’s “night,” Hiroshi Nohara’s calm voice rang again.
“Cut! Done! Episode one complete!”
“Eh?!”
Xiang Shuishang looked up abruptly at the staff packing equipment, his stern face full of incredulous bewilderment.
It’s… done?
A whole television drama episode… just done?!
He felt like he’d only zoned out briefly, dreaming shortly.
“Alright, everyone, good work!” Hiroshi Nohara stood from behind the monitor, smiling satisfied: “Everyone did great, super efficient. Break for lunch! Reassemble here at two p.m. sharp for episode two, ‘Cat Food.'”
“Afternoon… episode two?” Xiang Shuishang’s voice trembled, looking at Hiroshi Nohara like a real monster.
This… isn’t filming a drama; it’s assembly-line producing artwork!
“Hahahaha! Boss Shuishang, you don’t know!” Nearby Ken Minamino laughed heartily, patting his shoulder, easing the tension: “This is our Minister Nohara’s ‘Hiroshi Speed’! You’ll get used to it!”
Just then, Hiroshi Nohara approached Xiang Shuishang.
“Boss Shuishang,” he said, eyes full of appreciation: “Your acting is great, strong screen presence. Doesn’t seem like an amateur at all.”
“Minister, you don’t know,” Kenji Sato smiled over: “Boss Shuishang was an actor in this industry twenty years ago. Known as the ‘Last Idol Prince of the Millennium,’ super popular. Just… left due to some issues.”
“Oh? No wonder.” Hiroshi Nohara smiled knowingly, a hint of regret beneath: “A senior, my apologies.”
“No, Minister, don’t say that!” Xiang Shuishang waved hastily, looking at this impossibly young yet profound man; bone-deep respect shattered his composure.
“This… this is all your credit.” His voice hoarse, profound shock making this seasoned ex-idol lose poise: “I’ve… never seen… such simple filming.”
“These twenty years, though not acting, I followed the industry. I know how hard and tiring dramas are. But with you, I feel… like a puppet, just following your sketch instructions for actions and lines. You’ve thought of everything else.”
He paused, tone fanatic with conquest.
“I even feel we actors, director, lighting, cinematographers… all of us are just brushes in your hand. You alone are the true… creator of this world… god.”
Now, Xiang Shuishang fully endorsed this!
Producing artwork on an assembly line, and by his judgment, at very high quality.
Can’t this be called god!?
Hiroshi Nohara just shook his head smiling, joking to Xiang Shuishang: “Don’t talk gods; ratings will tell. But I think your Late-night Diner will be packed then, no more quiet.”
Everyone burst out laughing.
The atmosphere was extremely harmonious.
