The screen adaptation rights to the novel were secured by Yeh's company.
In the days when she no longer contacted Lin, Yeh poured all her attention into work.
From over a hundred novels, she narrowed her selection through market logic and content judgment—two broad criteria, broken down into dozens of finer ones—until only a few remained.
One of them caught her almost immediately. The opening alone was enough.
It told the story of two professional women—both rational, cautious, and reflective. Fully aware of the weight of reality, they still chose each other, again and again, after hesitation.
Halfway through, Yeh realized something dangerous.
She was projecting.
She was seeing herself and Lin.
The same restraint.
The same clarity.
The same refusal to let emotion slip out of control.
She closed the book at once, forcing herself back into a professional stance. She told herself that even if reality could not continue, allowing unspoken feelings and unfinished wishes to live on through tv series was its own form of completion.
Not just for herself.But for those who love with too much clarity, and retreat too early.
Of course, as a producer, her choice remained rational.
The story had commercial potential.
As the project's initiator, she understood that solitude at the early stage was unavoidable.
There was a moment when she considered reaching out to Lin out of work.
Rationality stopped her almost immediately.
If it were any other collaborator, she wouldn't initiate contact at this point.
It wasn't time for creative co-development yet.
An invitation too early would mean losing control.
And more dangerously, she might compromise for the sake of Lin's feelings.
That was not something she could allow.
Loneliness was the price an initiator had to pay.