Qin Sizheng went to touch up his makeup, and Shen Changfeng handed him a cup of water. “You did really well just now. Zhou Changjiang even said you’re like his own son.”
“Really? I did okay?” Qin Sizheng was pleasantly surprised.
Shen Changfeng, proud of him, smiled. “Yeah, really well. I was nervous, worried he’d scold you.”
Qin Sizheng smiled, and Shen Changfeng took back the cup and began lecturing him gently: “But don’t get proud. Your performance barely reached his passing standard. He’s satisfied only because the role benefits from it. You still have work to do.”
The makeup artist laughed. “Your assistant’s acting like a mother, scolding a kid. Careful not to demoralize him before the scene.”
Shen Changfeng said, “Won’t happen. Our Sizheng can take it.”
Qin Sizheng chuckled. “I know my limits. Longfeng’s advice is right. I’ll work hard to make this role perfect, so he can rest easy.”
The makeup artist smiled and said, “Alright, then I’ll make sure your makeup is perfect too—icing on the cake!”
“Ah Jing, ready?” Zhou Changjiang called out.
Qin Sizheng adjusted his emotions and walked toward the injured Yao Jinwei in the alley. She had seemed to compose herself and delivered a smooth, clean take.
When Zhou Changjiang called “Cut,” both of them exhaled. Qin Sizheng helped set her down, then stepped back: “Sorry to bother you.”
Yao Jinwei ignored him and walked off.
Even the actors playing the two ruffians couldn’t help but scoff: “Impressive? If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t have taken so many hits, and she still gets angry at herself.”
Qin Sizheng apologized. “Sorry for hitting you so many times.”
“No, no. You were careful with angles and didn’t actually hurt us. Shooting so many takes wasn’t annoying at all. Your temper is really good.”
“Ah Jing, enough chatting. Come here.” Zhou Changjiang called him, then asked Lu Xianqing to get ready. “Everyone else, prep for the next scene. Shooting in half an hour.”
Qin Sizheng snapped out of it, nodded, and went over.
Zhou Changjiang said: “Since that day, you’ve been in endless competitions, facing countless stronger opponents. But you have to win. Your freedom is in Ding Chenhai’s hands. Let your eyes reflect strong hope.”
“Ding Chenhai’s illness was misdiagnosed. The psychologist didn’t cure you; it made things worse. You became sleepless, irritable, more frantic, believing no one in the world can be trusted. Everyone wants to hurt you—even yourself isn’t safe. Cameras watch your life everywhere, so no one can approach your home.”
He paused briefly. Lu Xianqing looked up at him: “Why are you staring at me?”
Zhou Changjiang continued: “You know this. After years in the industry, no one knew where you lived. Eventually, it was exposed, but no one could get in. That’s a bad habit.”
Lu Xianqing glanced at Qin Sizheng, who tensed nervously, silently hoping he wouldn’t mention that she’d been to his house. Otherwise, things would get complicated again.
Luckily, Zhou Changjiang only asked: “Is there anything wrong with protecting yourself?”
Qin Sizheng relaxed. Zhou Changjiang was confused: “Why are you exhaling like that?”
Qin Sizheng waved his hands. “Nothing, just nervous for the scene. Please go on.”
Zhou Changjiang, not suspecting anything, tossed Lu Xianqing a glance: “See how seriously he takes acting,” then returned to the scene instructions: “Chu Jing runs into you, tormented by nightmares. You grab his neck, ready to kill him. But when he hugs you, it’s as if you suddenly see a ray of light. Let yourself show slight vulnerability, but keep it controlled.”
Zhou Changjiang repeatedly instructed: “You have to hold it in, compress your emotions to the extreme. Imagine yourself like a paper doll—touch it and it breaks.”
Lu Xianqing: “…Did you hear that?”
“I have a lot to do, and a lot to say. Do you think I’d be fair to your performance if I didn’t scold you a bit?” Zhou Changjiang shot him a sideways glance and walked off, his face full of simmering resentment.
Qin Sizheng, who had been on set last night, bit back a laugh and waited until everyone left before saying, “Director Zhou—is he mad? His expression looked pretty bad. Do you think he’ll make things difficult for you?”
Lu Xianqing snorted. “Difficult for me? I’ve never been troubled by a director before. Novel experience.”
Zhou Changjiang turned back sharply. “Getting cocky?”
Lu Xianqing calmly tilted his head back to look at the scenery, then glanced at Qin Sizheng. “Come here. I’ll get you back into character.”
Zhou Changjiang waved his script at Xing Yue and Chen Qiu, furious: “Stay away from him! You’re learning nothing. Lying to your superiors, duplicitous, sanctimonious, hypocritical scum!”
Xing Yue hid her face behind the script, laughing. “Director Zhou, your use of idioms is so arbitrary, even a Chinese teacher would be furious.”
Zhou Changjiang added one more for effect: “A record too shameful to write down.”
Twenty minutes later, shooting began on schedule.
Qin Sizheng crouched atop the wall again, checked the camera angle, and gave Zhou Changjiang a hand signal.
Chu Jing, afraid he’d skip his duties, made a point of reporting to Ding Chenhai after every match.
“Hope he’s home. Lately, the doors have been shut tight.” Chu Jing muttered, jumping down steadily from the wall and giving a nod to the dog in the yard. “Hey, brother dog, I’m back.”
After seeing him so often, the dog recognized him and no longer barked wildly like at first. It even stretched out its tongue in a friendly greeting.
“You’re much better tempered than your master. He looks scarier than you, really. Keeping him here is easier than having you guard the place. If we’d known him from the start, Xiao Yu wouldn’t have dared steal anything.” Chu Jing peeked through the sliding glass door, hands casting shadows as he looked inside. The curtains were drawn tight—he couldn’t see a thing.
“No one’s here?”
He was about to leave when he heard a faint sound of something falling. Hesitating, he returned to the living room doorway and touched the handle. It wasn’t locked.
He stepped in quietly. The room was pitch-black; he had to blink a few times to adjust before barely making out the shapes enough to avoid tripping.
A low, labored breathing sounded, tinged with pain, as if the person were enduring torture.
Following the sound, he saw someone on the bed. Hands clenched, breathing ragged, forehead dotted with cold sweat, mumbling words he couldn’t make out.
“Mr. Ding, are you alright?”
The man on the bed snapped open his eyes and, almost instantly, sprang up and grabbed Chu Jing’s neck with a force that could have killed him.
Chu Jing froze at the red fury in his eyes. He didn’t immediately pry the hands away; only when the grip tightened did he realize he might actually be strangled and began to struggle.
“Mr. Ding, it’s me, Chu Jing.”
Ding Chenhai, with his cold temperament and disdain for the poor, usually made Chu Jing want to punch him. But he had never seen this vulnerable side, like a fragile, needy child.
Qin Sizheng suddenly remembered that day, when Lu Xianqing had come over, pale-faced, giving him a lesson. For a moment, there was a flicker of gloom when he was woken, but he quickly returned to gentle apologies, saying he had fallen asleep.
Seeing Lu Xianqing overlap with Ding Chenhai in his mind, Qin Sizheng froze for a moment. According to the script, he should have immediately embraced Ding Chenhai—but caught in distraction, he was two seconds late.
Yao Jinwei, standing beside Zhou Changjiang, softly said, “A bit slow there?”
Zhou Changjiang didn’t even hear her. Clenching his fists in excitement, he exclaimed, “This hesitation is brilliant! For Chu Jing’s character, embracing him goes against his inner nature. That two-second pause is perfect! Little Qin has real talent! It’s a shame no one has championed him before.”
Yao Jinwei looked puzzled. He was just frozen, wasn’t he? This is blatant favoritism! Why isn’t he scolding him?
Chu Jing hesitated, then gently patted Ding Chenhai’s back: “Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid.”
Ding Chenhai shivered, body and voice trembling. In the utterly silent room, his breathing was terrifyingly heavy. He hadn’t spoken a word since shooting started, but his expressive details were perfect.
Qin Sizheng had initially feared he wouldn’t get into character. At this moment, he forgot entirely that he was acting. He was Chu Jing, comforting this fragile yet strong man.
“I’m here. Don’t be afraid.”
Ding Chenhai’s breathing gradually slowed, from rapid to steady. He lowered his head, nuzzling Chu Jing’s neck, inhaling softly, exhaling slowly, gripping his waist tightly. Qin Sizheng could even feel his heartbeat through his chest.
The warmth at the neck was intense. He had never been so close to anyone before; his body tensed, every hair standing on end, his back soaked in sweat.
Qin Sizheng’s heart raced, arms weak from holding him, feeling as if this person was not Ding Chenhai, but Lu Xianqing—or perhaps not the real Lu Xianqing at all.
He was a little dazed.
“You… who are you?” Ding Chenhai whispered, lips brushing against his neck, leaving a kiss-like sensation that made Qin Sizheng’s breathing unsteady.
Lu Xianqing asked again: “Who are you?”
Qin Sizheng still didn’t respond. The tension broke abruptly, and Zhou Changjiang immediately called “Cut.” Yao Jinwei watched, a smile tugging at her lips—now he still won’t scold him?
Even though Lu Xianqing hadn’t scolded her last night, his gaze had frozen her enough. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to film the scene at all.
Zhou Changjiang said, “Little Qin, you—”
“My mistake,” Lu Xianqing interrupted, pressing a hand on Qin Sizheng’s shoulder to stop him from apologizing.
Yao Jin was momentarily taken aback.
Qin Si Zheng whispered, “Why are you taking the blame for me?”
Lu Xian Qing lowered his head in the darkness. Because he couldn’t see clearly, he suddenly kissed her earlobe, and before Qin Si Zheng could push him away, he murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear, “A teacher who isn’t strict is a teacher’s laziness.”
Qin Si Zheng reached out to touch her earlobe and whispered, “So… should I get a spanking?”
Lu Xian Qing had expected her to be upset. Hearing her playful response put him at ease—she was no longer the slightly fearful girl he had first met, always cautious and timid.
The light in his eyes finally began to shine on her.
Zhou Chang Jiang said, “Old Lu, control your emotions a bit. Xiao Qin has just started acting; she can’t handle such heavy feelings yet. Also, when you hold her, try to make the movements a little bigger. Chu Jing is an intruder, but also your lifeline. Xiao Qin, when you hug him back, don’t make your body so stiff—add a touch of compassion and a hint of care.”
Qin Si Zheng pondered what he meant by “compassion,” then blurted out after a few moments of thought, “Like looking at your son?”
Lu Xian Qing blinked in confusion.
Realizing what she’d just said, Qin Si Zheng hurriedly explained, “No, I mean… when Chu Jing looks at Ding Chen Hai, it should be like looking at your child… just that kind of care and concern. I meant…”
“That’s right.” Zhou Chang Jiang nailed her explanation down firmly, leaving no room for argument.
Qin Si Zheng gave up struggling, ready to take the scolding—but a slightly mocking snicker sounded next to her ear: “Big skills. Want to be my boyfriend, and now you want to be my dad too.”
She waved her hands anxiously. “I really don’t!”
Lu Xian Qing asked, “Don’t what?”
Seeing an opening, Qin Si Zheng quickly jumped in: “I don’t want to be your dad.”
“Oh, so you want to be my boyfriend, then,” Lu Xian Qing said.
Qin Si Zheng felt as if she had fallen into a pit—when did she ever say she wanted to be his girlfriend?
They had been talking about the whole “being a dad” thing… and the words “boyfriend” pressed onto her heart like a branding iron, making it ache unexpectedly.
She instinctively clutched her chest, struggling for breath, sensing that she had heard something vaguely similar before—someone confessing in a desolate, almost deserted place, not to her directly, but as if giving a solemn warning.
Her chest tightened, as if something was squeezing her throat, and an overwhelming wave of sorrow washed over her.
Lu Xian Qing’s other senses were sharp in the darkness, noticing her unease. “What’s wrong? Did I offend you? Don’t be mad at me; I won’t say that again.”
Qin Si Zheng hurried to clarify, “No, I just… suddenly felt a little pity.”
Lu Xian Qing asked, “Pity what?”
She replied softly, “Pity… you?”
She wasn’t sure, the vague figure in her memory resembled Lu Xian Qing so much—was it a scene from the original story she had read, now materialized in front of her?
Was she confessing to Jiang Zhen?
Suddenly, Qin Si Zheng felt a little vexed, a tangled mix of emotions rising up. Lu Xian Qing reached out and pressed her forehead gently, asking, “Pity me for what?”
She flinched, swallowed the truth, and said instead, “Pity Ding Chen Hai.”
Lu Xian Qing seemed slightly disappointed, but perhaps he was overthinking it. Qin Si Zheng pressed her tongue against her teeth, stopping herself from asking, “Si Ge, do you like Jiang Zhen?”
She was afraid that if she asked, the answer might be yes.