The day after wrap, the crew was summoned by the boss to a familiar place.

Not a high-end club, not a trendy event venue—
but an old haunt: simple yet thoughtful, warmly lit, with old-fashioned furniture that carried a sense of care.

The air held the scent of food, mingled with the woody traces of time.

People arrived one after another.
The group wasn’t large, but laughter kept surfacing.

Someone teased the art lead for dressing too formally.
Someone else held up a phone, snapping photos of the flower wall.
Another snuck glances at the menu.

The mood was relaxed—
as if a certain invisible weight had finally been set down, if only for a while.

When the time came, the boss was the first to rise from his seat, lifting the champagne glass in his hand.

“You’ve all worked hard these past weeks.”

His tone was far more serious than usual.

“Thank you for bearing with my willful choices.”

“I know this script wasn’t an easy challenge for anyone.”

“There were doubts, dead ends, and plenty of difficulties we never anticipated along the way—but you pulled through.”

He paused, as if pressing down a swell of emotion.

“I’m truly honored to work with a team like this.
And I believe that from here on, we’ll only keep getting better.”

With that, he drained the champagne in one go, then turned and passed the floor to the director.

The director stood up, the tips of his ears faintly red—like a young man who’d been called onstage without warning and suddenly realized he didn’t know where to put his hands.

“I… honestly don’t have any lofty ideals,” he said.
“I’m just a director who’s only just started making films.”

He cleared his throat and glanced down at the tabletop.

“Guiltbound is the first project I’ve ever truly seen through to wrap.”

“During this time, I went through a lot of firsts.”

“I won’t say the process was easy—because it really wasn’t. But I’m grateful I didn’t have to do it alone.”

“I had a strong crew behind me, actors who burned their souls for their roles, and a team that was always ready to pull me back when I faltered—I’m truly thankful for that.”

He raised his glass, his tone sincere.

“To all of you—thank you.”

For a moment, the room felt wrapped in something soft—
not exuberant, but real.

A few eyes quietly reddened at the corners.
Others lowered their heads, taking a sip of water to hide the swell of feeling.

This wasn’t just a wrap party.
It felt more like a graduation—
the closing ceremony of a shared memory.

Bitterness, sweetness, exhaustion, relief—everything surged up at once.

Sensing the mood turning inward, the boss clapped his hands with a grin, breaking the hush.

“Hey! Today’s supposed to be a happy day! Don’t go all artsy on me!”

“Eat hard, drink hard! Better yet—eat me out of house and home so I end up washing dishes in the back tonight!”

Laughter broke out around the table.

“I’m definitely eating the boss bankrupt!”
The art lead set down her chopsticks, grabbed the menu, eyes blazing.

The screenwriter rolled his eyes and shot back,
“You’re not bankrupting anyone. Don’t kid yourself.”

“And I’m not sharing my stomach meds this time.”

The manager sat quietly to one side, Lil’ Pink cradled in his arms, wordlessly turning the dishes toward him—like a small, ritual gesture of care.

Across the table, Shen Yanxing picked a piece of fish for Jiang Zhilin.
Jiang Zhilin smiled, eyes curving, and returned the favor without the slightest attempt to hide it.

They didn’t exchange any sweet words.
But the ease and familiarity in every small movement spoke louder than anything else.

“They look like they’ve been married for ten years already…”
the art lead murmured under her breath.

“I’m only just realizing what workplace PDA, officially sanctioned really means,”
the screenwriter replied dully—though the corner of his mouth had already lifted.

The banquet drew to a close.

Jiang Zhilin, slightly tipsy, was led away by Shen Yanxing, their hands intertwined.

At the entrance, the screenwriter waited for a taxi, carrying the completely drunk art lead on his back.

The manager walked out more slowly, one hand carrying a bag, the other holding Lil’ Pink.

“Why are you taking him with you again?” someone asked.

The manager looked up and smiled helplessly.

“A certain CP fan said he needs to go all-in promoting another pair’s comeback.
No time to babysit tonight…”

The sentence trailed off, but everyone understood.

Yes—
the crew was about to restart another universe.

The once-paused Human–Rabbit CP was getting ready to return.

After the banquet, the venue slowly emptied.

There were desserts left unfinished, tea still giving off warmth, and gazes whose memories had yet to cool.

And those who had created something together—who had burned through a shared piece of life—quietly dispersed like this, for now.

The next scene has not yet begun.

This isn’t the end—only a moment of setting the script down.

There are still many stories waiting for them to write.