Pei Qingjian could only obediently go into the bathroom.
Zhou Pengyue had already arranged a room for Lan Xingchen after returning to the hotel. Thoughtful, he knew Lan Xingchen was here for Pei Qingjian and picked a room on Pei Qingjian’s floor, handing over the key early.
But Lan Xingchen clearly had no intention of using it.
He sat on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. When Pei Qingjian finished his shower and put the phone down, Lan Xingchen walked in.
Pei Qingjian sat on the bed, grabbing his phone to message Zhou Pengyue, only to see Zhou Pengyue had already sent a message:
【What’s President Lan planning?】
Pei Qingjian replied: 【He hasn’t said.】
Zhou Pengyue: ……
He asked again: 【Has he gone back to his room?】
Pei Qingjian looked at the closed bathroom door: …How should he phrase it? If he told Zhou Pengyue Lan Xingchen was showering, would he freak out?
He replied: 【Not yet.】
Zhou Pengyue: 【Then when will he go back?】
Pei Qingjian: 【Tomorrow morning?】
Zhou Pengyue: !!!
He shot upright, staring at the four words Pei Qingjian sent, trembling as he warned: 【Don’t get too carried away!】
Pei Qingjian nodded quickly: 【Mm-hmm.】
After replying, he added: 【When you wake me tomorrow morning, don’t knock. Keep it quiet.】
Zhou Pengyue: ???
【Why?】
Pei Qingjian: 【Sometimes he sleeps in a bit.】
Zhou Pengyue: !!!
He thought he shouldn’t have asked!
【Got it.】 he replied stiffly.
With a “thud,” he collapsed onto the bed, worried sick about the little actor—wondering if he’d look the same in the morning.
【Don’t get too carried away!】 Zhou Pengyue reminded again.
Pei Qingjian obediently: 【Mm-hmm.】
Soon, Lan Xingchen emerged.
Pei Qingjian put his phone away, looking at him.
Lan Xingchen wiped his hair and approached the bed.
A brief separation makes the heart grow fonder. Though their separation was short, Lan Xingchen had missed Pei Qingjian—not just him as a person, but his body as well.
He climbed onto the bed, turned off the light, and held Pei Qingjian in the dark.
Before Pei Qingjian could speak, Lan Xingchen kissed him.
The pajama was lifted, replaced by the feel of his palm.
“Zhou Ge said… not to get too carried away,” Pei Qingjian said between breaths during the kiss.
Lan Xingchen thought he didn’t want it. “Mm,” he replied, “Just kisses.”
Pei Qingjian: ……
Pei Qingjian felt that Lan Xingchen hadn’t fully grasped his meaning.
His voice was soft as he said, “So… a little mischief should be okay, right?”
Lan Xingchen: ???
Lan Xingchen laughed suddenly, leaning close to Pei Qingjian’s lips. “What do you mean by ‘a little mischief’?”
“Well…” Pei Qingjian felt a little embarrassed.
Lan Xingchen waited while he said “well,” but the rest never came. He reached out, testing: “Like this?”
“Like this?”
“Or like this?”
Pei Qingjian: ……
His face slowly flushed red.
Lan Xingchen chuckled, ultimately deciding not to push it further. A tiny, tiny mischief—he wiped Pei Qingjian’s hands clean, kissed his cheek, and asked, “That counts as not ‘too’ mischievous, right?”
He deliberately emphasized the word too.
Pei Qingjian was too shy to reply, hugging Lan Xingchen’s waist and nuzzling against his chest.
Lan Xingchen’s smile widened. He stroked Pei Qingjian’s hair, coaxing him: “Sleep now.”
Pei Qingjian closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.
The next morning, when Zhou Pengyue came to wake him, he saw Pei Qingjian tiptoeing around.
“He’s still asleep—quiet,” Pei Qingjian whispered.
Zhou Pengyue: ……
He couldn’t help but think how thoughtful Pei Qingjian was!
This is what you call a friend? Sharing a bed instead of using his own room, and Pei Qingjian worries about waking him? Friend!
He checked every exposed area to make sure nothing inappropriate was visible and finally felt reassured.
“Let’s go,” Zhou Pengyue said. “I’ll take you to breakfast and makeup first. Once President Lan wakes up, I’ll come back for him.”
Pei Qingjian nodded, quietly closing the door and leaving with him.
Meanwhile, Yang Hao was eating breakfast.
As she ate, her phone alerted her to a new, unread email.
She tapped it open, and the spoon she held fell into the porridge.
Her jaw tightened as she read the content:
【Who are you? What do you want?】
There was no reply.
The email’s contents weren’t suitable for others to see, so Yang Hao didn’t dare involve anyone else. She followed the sender’s instructions herself, tracing the source.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t find it.
Yang Hao grew increasingly anxious. The sender hadn’t responded after sending the first email—no requests, no demands. It seemed they only wanted to show her their “work.”
She spent the whole day obsessively checking her mailbox for the next step. But the sender seemed to have forgotten her entirely, never appearing again.
What did it mean? Yang Hao couldn’t understand.
Even worse, the next morning, another new email arrived.
Different from yesterday, and equally alarming.
She typed furiously: 【Who are you? What are you trying to do?】
Still, silence.
Yang Hao tried to calm herself, analyzing who could be behind this.
A paparazzo?
An artist competing with Zhou Bin whom she had blocked?
Someone holding a grudge against her?
She cautiously tried negotiation: 【Whatever you want, tell me. Let’s talk.】
No reply.
She waited until nightfall, still no answer.
The problem had become more complicated.
In some cases, having a demand makes things easier—you just meet it.
Now, the sender treated her like a display board, showing off what they had, without saying a word. That was far more disorienting.
She stared at her phone, dreading the next morning’s email.
Sure enough, the next morning, a new unread email appeared. She nearly threw her phone in frustration.
Who was this person? What did they want?
They controlled the rhythm of her life, yet refused to speak—seemingly toying with her, enjoying her constant anxiety.
Hands trembling, she opened it. Another unfamiliar address, another unnerving message.
She gritted her teeth: 【What exactly do you want?】
Still, silence.
Three days, three emails. For three days, Yang Hao had lived in constant fear, worried that the next second would bring another email—or a demand.
Worse yet, the sender remained silent.
It was as if they were truly without desire or demand.
Yang Hao walked the set, scanning everyone.
Her eyes passed over people, but lingered on no one.
It couldn’t be Song Ye—he wasn’t that type.
Nor could it be Pei Qingjian—she had checked him. He lacked the cunning or ability.
Then… who?
Yang Hao frowned, exhaustion clear on her face.
“Manager Yang.” A man’s voice suddenly came from beside her, making her jump back.
Lan Xingchen smiled faintly. “Step aside, I need to talk.”
Yang Hao looked at him, vaguely recalling that he had appeared recently on Pei Qingjian’s set.
But since Pei Qingjian’s scenes were few, Lan Xingchen’s presence on set had been brief.
Yang Hao looked at the way he was dressed and furrowed her brows slightly. These past few days, she had been entirely consumed by those emails, paying little attention to anything else. Naturally, she hadn’t noticed who was beside Pei Qingjian—or that this person was far from simple.