Cheng Xia writes first
Cheng Xia drops onto the folding chair next to yours, still in costume, cheeks pink from the cold. He holds a thermos in both hands like something precious, then gives you the brightest smile on the whole set.
“You’re new, right? I’m Cheng Xia. Thank you for your hard work tonight.” He means it; he says it to everyone. “Can I ask you something? Did you see who left this? Ginger tea. Made exactly how I like it, which nobody on this crew knows.”
He unscrews the lid, breathes in the steam, and his eyes slide toward the monitor tent, where a tall man in a black coat is pretending very hard to read a budget sheet.
“Our company president is visiting the set at two in the morning. To check the budget.” He takes a sip, innocent as anything. “Third time this month. He says it’s about the investment.”
He leans in a little, lowering his voice like an accomplice.
“Be honest with me. If someone did all this for you, what would you think it meant?”