Along with Lin Xingchen’s relentless weekly visits, Pei Qingjian steadily completed scene after scene as Luo Fei, until he finally reached Luo Fei’s final scene.
It was a breakup scene between Luo Fei and his girlfriend.
The setting was beautifully arranged—under a sky filled with falling snow, the once-in-love couple walked through a park blanketed in white.
The setting sun cast a warm orange glow, blurring the scene into something like an oil painting infused with the scent of ink.
Luo Fei’s girlfriend gazed quietly for a long while before finally speaking. “Luo Fei, let’s break up.”
Luo Fei had already anticipated it. He turned to look at her. “Do we really have to?”
She nodded.
“That morning, I woke up and looked out the window, and suddenly I felt like… maybe I don’t actually love you that much.”
“What do I love about you? Your handsome looks, your gentle thoughtfulness—I think you’re great, and I thought I should have a boyfriend, so I accepted your confession. But that day, I suddenly realized… someone like me can’t marry you.”
“I don’t long to marry you. I don’t imagine us having a home together. I’m even afraid of having a child.”
“I want to be like my friends—travel abroad, explore the world, just by myself. When I’m tired, I’ll stop; when I’m happy, I’ll keep going. And that’s when I realized… I don’t love you that much. You were just someone who felt suitable—someone who fit the rhythm of society, a checkpoint in life I thought I should complete.”
“Being with you is truly happy, but it’s not fair to you. Because you’re sincerely in love with me, and I don’t want to hold you back anymore. Let’s break up.”
“I’m sorry.”
Luo Fei looked at her, an unbidden sadness in his eyes.
Slowly, gently, he smiled. “It’s okay.”
He turned his gaze toward the setting sun hanging on the branches in the distance.
The snow was still falling, and the orange glow of the sunset remained warm—just like the days they had spent together. Those memories did not become any less happy just because of his sadness in this moment.
Love was like this. Not every relationship made it to the end. Sometimes you were the one who stopped; sometimes it was the other person.
That was why the ones who could walk hand in hand all the way to the end were worth cherishing even more.
They turned and walked away from each other in the snow, heading in opposite directions.
Luo Fei lifted his head. Snowflakes fell onto his lower eyelid, melting into droplets—like a tear suspended in his eye.
Looking at the distant sunset, he suddenly recalled a line from a Yuan dynasty verse he had studied in school:
“As the sun sets in the west, the heartbroken wanderer stands at the edge of the world.”
The final shot of the scene was exquisitely beautiful. Pei Qingjian tilted his head upward as the snow fell, and the director deliberately pushed in for a close-up, fully capturing and showcasing his striking features.
“OK, Xiao Pei, that was excellent,” the director called out.
With that, Pei Qingjian officially wrapped his scenes.
The crew prepared a cake and a bouquet for him, gathering around to take photos. Pei Qingjian did not refuse anyone, posing again and again until his smile nearly froze in place before the photo session finally ended.
He cut the cake and shared it with everyone.
As Ning Rong ate her slice, she felt reluctant to see him go.
“If there’s a suitable role next time, I’ll recommend you,” she said.
In fact, over the past few days, Ning Rong had already contacted several directors she was close with, recommending Pei Qingjian and asking them to consider him if they had the right role.
She was rarely this proactive, to the point that one director had even teased, “Who is he—your boyfriend?”
Ning Rong: !!!
She had quickly denied it. “Of course not—he’s my younger brother.”
The director had laughed. “Alright, alright, that makes sense.”
However, the scripts those directors currently had were either unsuitable or already cast and under contract, so Ning Rong did not mention any of this to Pei Qingjian. She decided to tell him only when a suitable opportunity actually came up.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “Sounds good. Then I’ll thank you in advance, sis.”
Ning Rong waved her hand. “Why are you thanking me? I should be thanking you.”
If not for Pei Qingjian, she would never have known that Lin Xingchen had mistakenly believed they disliked him, nor would they have been able to sit together and share a peaceful meal.
Smiling, Ning Rong said, “I hope we get to work together again.”
“Mm,” Pei Qingjian replied.
After saying goodbye to Ning Rong, he returned to the hotel.
Lin Xingchen had already seen the date of his wrap in Pei Qingjian’s schedule, so he had specifically taken time off and come over.
By now, Zhou Pengyue was quite used to it—if Lin Xingchen didn’t show up today, that would be what felt strange.
“I’ll get going then,” Pei Qingjian said to Zhou Pengyue.
Zhou Pengyue sighed. “Go on, go on.”
What else could he say? All he could do was wish them a safe trip.
Pei Qingjian pulled his suitcase and got into Lin Xingchen’s car.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Lin Xingchen replied. “I was waiting to eat with you.”
Hearing that, Pei Qingjian could not help but smile. “Oh.”
On the way back, they stopped at a Western restaurant. Lin Xingchen had already reserved a table to celebrate Pei Qingjian wrapping his scenes.
He was genuinely happy about it—finally, they could spend their days and nights together.
Pei Qingjian laughed helplessly. “Even when I was filming, we were basically together all the time, okay?”
With how often Lin Xingchen had been visiting, it was not that different.
“Basically?” Lin Xingchen looked at him in disbelief. “Seven days a week, and we only get two days together—that counts as ‘basically’?”
Pei Qingjian: …Alright, that did sound pretty different.
“I asked Brother Zhou before I wrapped,” he leaned forward slightly, looking at Lin Xingchen. “I probably won’t have much work for the next one or two months, so I can spend those two months properly with you.”
After saying that, he even winked at him.
Lin Xingchen was charmed by the gesture and could not help but smile.
But as he smiled, a thought suddenly struck him.
Wait a second—he was supposed to be Pei Qingjian’s patron. What kind of patron felt this happy just because his kept canary could spend two months with him?
Something about their relationship was clearly off.
He did not feel like a patron at all—he felt more like a consort waiting for the emperor to finish his duties and come visit him.
Even feeling delighted at the thought of being favored exclusively for two months.
The hierarchy here was completely reversed.
But looking at the smile on Pei Qingjian’s face, he found himself unable to say anything.
Forget it. It was not like he could actually demand that Pei Qingjian stop working and stay home every day waiting for him.
That would be too much of a jerk move.
Lin Xingchen did not think that was necessary.
He liked having Pei Qingjian by his side, but he also liked the version of him when he was working—that focused, diligent, driven, and radiant version of him.
Zhou Pengyue thought highly of Pei Qingjian. Ning Rong did too. They both believed he had a bright future ahead.
Lin Xingchen felt the same—because when Pei Qingjian was acting, he was truly captivating.
Different roles, different states, different personalities—each one compelling in its own way.
Sometimes, watching from afar, Lin Xingchen would feel something strange, as if Tan Xin was him, Luo Fei was him too. But the moment filming ended and Pei Qingjian ran toward him, eyes sparkling with excitement, that illusion would instantly disappear.
Tan Xin was not him. Luo Fei was not him.
Only the one standing before him, talking to him—that was the real him.
A real, vivid, lively, and irresistibly engaging him.
After dinner, the two of them returned to Lin Xingchen’s car.
By now, the snow had stopped. The misty blue sky carried a quiet, cool stillness, and when the evening breeze blew through, Pei Qingjian felt an unexpected chill.
He quickly rolled up the car window, shutting out the cold air.
But after a moment, he looked outside again, puzzled. “Aren’t we going home?”
“We are.”
“Then why are we going this way?” Pei Qingjian asked. “Does this road lead there too?”
Lin Xingchen shook his head, a hint of a smile at his lips. “We’re going home—but not our usual home.”
Pei Qingjian: ???
He blinked. “You have another place?”
Then he quickly realized. “Your uncle’s house?”
“You want to go there?” Lin Xingchen teased. “I can take you next time.”
“I do not,” Pei Qingjian immediately denied. “You were the one who said it’s not our usual home.”
“So if I say it’s not our usual home, it has to be my uncle’s place?”
Pei Qingjian: …
He huffed and turned away, ignoring him, choosing instead to look out at the night scenery.
After a while, the car turned onto a quieter, more remote road.
Pei Qingjian grew even more confused.
Where exactly was he taking him? What other “home” could there be?
Another ten minutes passed before Lin Xingchen finally stopped the car.
He parked in front of a villa and unbuckled Pei Qingjian’s seatbelt. “We’re here.”
Pei Qingjian: ???
He could only follow him out of the car.
Lin Xingchen took out a key to open the courtyard gate, then led him to the front door and unlocked it with his fingerprint.
“My uncle bought this for me before,” Lin Xingchen said calmly as he turned on the entryway lights. “Back when I was planning to move out, he was worried, so he bought this place—said it was close to him so he could look after me. But I refused. I said it was too far from my company, so later he bought the place we usually live in.”
“But he didn’t sell this one either—he gave it to me too. I just don’t come here often, so it’s been empty,” he explained.
Pei Qingjian looked around at the warmly decorated villa and could not help but think how much Lin Xingchen’s uncle must care about him. Even when letting him move out, he still wanted him nearby—and even made sure the place felt like a home.
“Your uncle treats you really well,” he said.
Lin Xingchen agreed.
Growing up, he had never lacked anything materially. Whatever other kids had, Wen Yuan made sure he had too—even things he did not need—just so no one would look down on him for having lost his parents.
“We’re staying here tonight,” Lin Xingchen said, turning to him. “I already had someone clean the place.”
Pei Qingjian nodded. “Okay.”
He did not mind where they stayed—he was just curious. “Why the sudden change?”
“Because…” Lin Xingchen deliberately drew out his words.
“Because?” Pei Qingjian asked.
“Come.” Lin Xingchen pulled him along, leading him outside.
He left Pei Qingjian in the courtyard and went to a rarely used greenhouse, coming back with something in his arms.
When Pei Qingjian stepped closer, he realized—it was fireworks.
“You’re setting off fireworks?” he said in delight.
Lin Xingchen placed them on the ground one by one, then took a lighter from his pocket and handed it to him.
“You light them.”
Pei Qingjian did not quite understand what he was planning, but he still took the lighter, crouched down, and lit the fuse.
With a sharp whoosh, golden fireworks shot into the sky, bursting into countless dazzling sparks that scattered like stars across the night.
“Do you like it?” Lin Xingchen asked.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “It’s beautiful.”
“There’s something even better,” Lin Xingchen said.
He stepped forward and lit another set.
This time, the fireworks were unlike anything Pei Qingjian had ever seen—deep indigo, forming five-pointed stars and hexagrams, blooming layer upon layer, shining brilliantly before cascading down like a curtain of light.
A line of poetry suddenly came to his mind:
“Stars sink into the sea, yet seem to appear outside the window.”
He turned to look at Lin Xingchen.
There was a gentle smile in his eyes. “I told you before—when you wrapped filming, I’d set off stars for you to see.”
Pei Qingjian broke into a wide smile, his joy impossible to hide.
Lin Xingchen handed him the lighter again, letting him light the rest.
Pei Qingjian ran over eagerly, igniting more fireworks shaped like stars.
That night, he saw countless “stars” he had never seen before—golden, sapphire blue, emerald green, even crimson ones with long trailing tails. The snow in the courtyard reflected the moonlight and lamplight, glittering like scattered diamonds, while the sky above filled with radiant bursts, bright as day.
Watching it all, Pei Qingjian felt as if he, too, had been wrapped in light.
As he stood there, suddenly, a silver chain appeared before his eyes. At its end hung a gently swaying blue star-shaped gemstone.
Pei Qingjian turned his head. In Lin Xingchen’s eyes, golden fireworks were reflected.
“Happy wrap,” Lin Xingchen said. “Here’s a star for you.”
Pei Qingjian froze for a moment.
Lin Xingchen reached around his neck and fastened the necklace onto him.
“That way, whenever you want to see it—wherever you are—you can.”
—
Author’s Note:
Qingjian: AHHHHHH—
Qingjian (overjoyed): My sugar daddy is so sweet!
Qingjian spreads his arms wide for a hug!