The strange occurrence that day was that for once, Yu Tu was home from work before Jing Jing, who came in at nearly eleven o’clock, slamming the door, then just managed a “Sorry, my hand slipped” in a voice that oozed of lingering exasperation. She changed into slippers before flopping down next to where Yu Tu had been reading on the couch, allowing him to kiss away the knit of annoyance on her brows.

In answer to his questioning look afterwards, she said with a soft sigh, “I’ve just had the most trying evening with a producer who shall remain mostly nameless but who unfortunately shares your surname – a fact I will forever be resentful about – anyway, I think Ling Jie and I managed to turn down his offer of a collaboration in the end, but it was still exhausting!”