32: Chapter 32 Filming in Paris

February 14th, Valentine's Day, Los Angeles.

The new song "Flowers" was released simultaneously on all streaming platforms worldwide.

The top recommendation spots on all platforms were replaced with the same cover art: Chen Mo stood under a Los Angeles streetlamp at dusk, holding a bouquet of flowers, his eyes deep and melancholic.

In Daniel's words, those eyes looked affectionate even when staring at a telephone pole.

In the bottom right corner of the cover, there was only one line of text: "Flowers — Chen Mo."

Chen Mo posted on Instagram with a photo from the perspective of a girlfriend.

In The Cooper Home garage, he leaned back in a chair, the corners of his mouth slightly curled, just staring into the lens.

The caption read: "This song is for all the girls, for everyone who has ever waited for someone else to buy them flowers and eventually decided to buy them for themselves."

"I bought myself some flowers..."

"I took myself to dinner..."

"Talked to myself for hours..."

The lyrics were as simple as a diary entry, but the emotion instantly struck countless people around the world who felt lonely on Valentine's Day or were tired of hypocritical rituals.

The internet exploded.

@TaylorSwift: Speaking up for those in the back, "I can buy myself flowers." Retweets surpassed one million.

@Billboard: "Chen Mo ignites the internet again. 'Flowers' debuts at #1 on the global Spotify chart, the fastest debut in history for a male artist. He doesn't need a love story; he wrote one for himself." 450,000 likes.

@Variety: "How Chen Mo became the 'Ambassador of Self-Love' on Valentine's Day. While others were showing off million-dollar jewelry, he spent $12 at Whole Foods. Who says he isn't authentic?!" 220,000 likes.

On YouTube, #FlowersChallenge went viral.

The video content was varied; some filmed themselves eating steak alone on this day, others filmed themselves buying a bouquet and smiling at the mirror...

There was even a little boy who filmed a video saying: "Chen Mo said I could buy flowers myself, so I bought some for my mom, and she cried."

In Pasadena, Chen Mo walked into the garden and stuck the bouquet of sunflowers in his hand into an empty beer bottle.

He placed the beer bottle on the workbench in the garage, right next to George's toolbox.

"For me?" George raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smirk.

"To hell with you." Chen Mo put the groceries in the fridge. "It's for Martha. Happy Valentine's Day to her."

"Hey! What about me?" George protested.

"You?" Chen Mo tossed him a beer. "The garage is your lover. Go fix your car."

Martha poked her head out of the kitchen, looked at the flowers, and her eyes crinkled with a smile. "Oh my, these flowers are lovely. How much were they?"

"Not expensive," Chen Mo said. "Mostly, they're fresh."

Daniel said calmly, "The Spotify server has been crashed by you again! Scott just called and yelled at me, telling me to get you to post on Instagram! Now! Immediately! Right now!"

Chen Mo wiped his hands, took out his phone, and opened the Instagram camera.

The lens focused on the beer bottle with the sunflowers in the garage.

In the background, George was fixing a car, Martha was carrying cookies, and the calico cat was yawning nearby.

He pressed the shutter.

Caption: Self-care.

That evening, Chen Mo sat at the dining table with only the roast chicken and mashed potatoes Martha had made, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon George had opened.

Daniel was still outside, frantically taking calls and handling various PR crises and business invitations.

Chen Mo looked at the night view outside the window. His phone kept vibrating, with all sorts of congratulatory messages flooding in.

Ed Sheeran sent a message: "The best Valentine's Day song ever."

Shawn sent: "Bro, you ended Valentine's Day."

Even Simon sent one: "Your song is too wicked. My wife loves you now."

Chen Mo chuckled, placed his phone face down on the table, picked up his glass, and clinked it with George and Martha's.

"To ourselves," Chen Mo said.

"To ourselves!" Martha laughed, and George roared with laughter.

On February 15th, he flew to Paris.

Paris in winter was much colder than Los Angeles.

The sky outside Charles de Gaulle Airport was leaden gray, and the air smelled of a mix of diesel and toasted bread.

He was picked up in a black Mercedes-Benz van; the driver was a taciturn French middle-aged man with a Dior brooch pinned to his tie.

The Palace of Versailles is in the southwestern suburbs of Paris.

As the car drove past the Seine River, Chen Mo saw the golden roof of the Palace of Versailles in the distance through the window.

That gold, polished by centuries of time, had lost its sharp edge and remained only with a gentle, warm luster, like a bronze mirror weathered by the sun.

Chen Mo suddenly sighed and said, "I suddenly want to write a song."

Daniel understood, saying, "It's normal. Paris is a place that easily inspires people."

The Hall of Mirrors at the Palace of Versailles was empty at 8:00 AM.

The Hall of Mirrors was 73 meters long, with seventeen huge floor-to-ceiling windows facing the garden, and opposite them were seventeen equally huge mirrored arches.

Crystal chandeliers hung quietly overhead, thousands of crystals refracting fine, fragmented light that fell onto the parquet floor like scattered diamonds.

The creative director of Dior was named Pierre, a French man in his fifties with silver hair, tortoise-shell glasses, and a dark gray cashmere scarf.

He walked halfway around Chen Mo, stopped, and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know why we chose you?"

"Because I'm too famous?" Chen Mo joked.

Pierre laughed, a short laugh, the kind of French laugh that comes out of the nose.

"No, because of your face." He took off his glasses and wiped them with the corner of his scarf. "Your face in the lens is like a stone dropped into water; the water moves, but the stone does not."

Chen Mo was noncommittal and smiled. "That's an interesting way to put it."

"Do you know who the last person to give me this feeling was?" Pierre put his glasses back on. "Alain Delon."

"There was a shot of him in 'Purple Noon' where he stood at the bow of the boat, the sea breeze messing up his hair, but his expression didn't move a muscle. I've watched that shot at least fifty times."

Alain Delon's features were considered to have both the sharp angles of a Westerner and the subtle restraint of an Easterner, a perfect unity of handsomeness and masculinity.

Under his sculptural brow bone, his blue eyes were deep and melancholic.

Of course, Chen Mo didn't have blue eyes; he had amber-colored irises.

"I'm flattered." Chen Mo smiled; he loved it when people complimented him like that.

"Today's shooting theme is 'Dark Night'," Pierre explained in detail.

"You walk in the Hall of Mirrors, from one end to the other. The lights will follow you. You don't need to do anything, just walk. But while you're walking, you must imagine yourself walking from the dark night into the dawn."

The shooting began.