Although the signal in the mountains was indeed poor, it wasn’t completely nonexistent all the time.
The staff held their phones, using the little internet they could catch to scroll through gossip, then looked over at Bo Hongfang, who was walking back and forth on set with his hands in his pockets and no restraint whatsoever. Finally, their gaze settled on Ming Qi’s “Assistant Min.”
Although they hadn’t caught the gossip at the very beginning, it didn’t matter—what they were seeing now was freshly harvested, extremely fresh gossip straight from the source.
Bo Hongfang had already set the example, and Yu Qinchou followed suit, taking off the mask he usually wore. He sat with Ming Qi in a corner, and during a short break, he fed Ming Qi a piece of apple.
Seeing this, Huo Chengtong asked Bo Hongfang, “Can you be a little more considerate, like Mr. Yu?”
Bo Hongfang replied expressionlessly, “I already lost a bet and gave up my vacation to come to this backwater to film with you. Huo Chengtong, you’d better not push it, or I’ll release your bed photos.”
A passing Zhou Xingxiu heard the words “bed photos,” thought young people really knew how to play, and quickly sped up his steps to avoid trouble.
Huo Chengtong, however, remained as calm as ever, as if he hadn’t noticed Bo Hongfang’s irritation at all. He smiled lightly: “That sounds like I don’t have yours.”
If they really started exposing things, they might end up in the same cell together.
Bo Hongfang: “……”
Fuming, he turned and walked away.
Huo Chengtong shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the script.
…
Filming Frozen Winter was slow in one sense—it stretched from summer into winter—but for Ming Qi, it wasn’t particularly difficult to endure.
Yu Qinchou would visit the set whenever he had time. He came quietly and stayed quietly, never disturbing the filming. Director Zhou Xingxiu didn’t mind at all. When Ming Qi finally wrapped, he even raised a toast to Yu Qinchou: “In all my years making films, this is the first time I’ve spent half a year working so hard—and gained ten pounds. Mr. Yu deserves credit.”
The assistant director and screenwriter laughed along: “It’s not just Director Zhou—we all did.”
With Yu Qinchou present, the crew’s meals were upgraded several levels. In the past, Zhou Xingxiu would worry about whether the budget was enough, but this time there was no need.
As the person in charge of Nanyi put it, only by ensuring a healthy working environment for the crew could they produce satisfying work.
Zhou Xingxiu deeply agreed.
Hearing everyone tease him, Ming Qi subconsciously lowered his head and pinched his waist. Seeing this, Yu Qinchou couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, you didn’t gain weight.”
If he had, Zhou Xingxiu would have already started yelling.
The dinner party ended late. Zhou Xingxiu had drunk a bit too much, and as he was helped into the car by his assistant, he suddenly patted Ming Qi’s shoulder and said something he had clearly been holding in for a long time: “You’re just as impressive as that father of yours, surnamed Lu.”
Ming Qi froze for a few seconds, staring blankly as the car drove away.
In the dim night, Yu Qinchou gently wrapped a scarf around him from behind and pulled him into his arms. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ming Qi came back to himself, then repeated what Zhou Xingxiu had said, before laughing softly. “So he actually knew me from before.”
“Are you that happy?”
“Yeah.” Ming Qi curved his eyes slightly. “But it’s not because he remembers me.”
It’s because even after so many years, someone still remembers Lu Fengzhou and Ming Yun. That’s good.
“When are you taking me to see them?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
The day after tomorrow was the day Ming Yun and Lu Fengzhou left him.
Ming Qi and Yu Qinchou returned to the capital and rested for a day. The next day, they went to Nanshan Cemetery. After Ming Yun and Lu Fengzhou passed away unexpectedly, part of their inheritance was left to Ming Qi, and part was donated. Even what was left to Ming Qi was later divided into several portions; he spent a large amount of money asking Jiang Rui to help select a cemetery with excellent feng shui and environment for the two of them, while most of the remaining money was donated to orphanages in various places.
Standing in front of the tombstones, Ming Qi looked at the two smiling faces facing the camera, blinked, and forcibly held back the rising tears. His voice was so soft it seemed afraid of disturbing them:
“I’ve come to see you. I brought someone with me today. His name is Yu Qinchou. He’s my husband.”
Yu Qinchou was dressed unusually formally. Beneath his black bespoke suit, his shirt was buttoned all the way to the top. He bowed toward the tombstones and, still holding Ming Qi’s hand, said softly:
“Fathers, hello. This is our first meeting. My name is Yu Qinchou. From now on, I will take your place in protecting Ming Qi.”
Ming Qi’s lips pressed together slightly.
He remembered very clearly that when Ming Yun and Lu Fengzhou once came to the orphanage to adopt him, they had also said something similar:
“From now on, baby will have a family. Your Dad and I will protect you well. We hope you grow up healthy and happy.”
He hadn’t expected that, many years later, on a snowy day, the person who picked him up would say something so similar again.
Ming Qi’s heart softened until it felt faintly sore. He talked to the tombstones for a long time—about his life, his work, and how he had chatted with Zhou Xingxiu on WeChat the day before, and how Zhou Xingxiu regretted that he would never again meet a friend and rival like Ming Yun.
“If only you were still here,” Ming Qi said softly. “When Undercover and Frozen Winter are released, I could take you to the cinema. Just like how you used to take me to watch your movies.”
“But it’s okay. Next time, I’ll burn the discs and bring them to you.”
…
Time passed quickly, and before long it was Spring Festival again.
On New Year’s Eve morning, Ming Qi got up early and helped Cen Jin hang lanterns and paste Spring Festival couplets. Yu Qinchou stood behind him watching as he busied around like a little spinning top. The next time he passed by, Yu Qinchou reached out and pulled his waist into his arms.
“Take a break,” he said.
“I’ll rest after I hang this lantern.” Ming Qi lifted it up against his face, looking adorably bright. Yu Qinchou’s hand itched; he snapped a photo, then took the lantern from him. “I’ll hang it.”
Seeing this, Cen Jin smiled and quietly left to do other things.
After decorating Xi Jing Bay, Ming Qi also put a newly bought red outfit on Little Eight. With a red gem necklace, the cat looked both luxurious and fashionable.
“All done.” Ming Qi clapped his hands, satisfied as he looked at the transformed Xi Jing Bay, then turned to Yu Qinchou. “Cen Jin said you gave the chef the day off. Are you cooking dinner on New Year’s Eve?”
“Mm.” Yu Qinchou raised an eyebrow. “Not sure if Mr. Ming is willing to help.”
“Of course.”
Ming Qi couldn’t ask for more.
He hadn’t been this busy on New Year’s Eve in a long time.
Yu Qinchou’s cooking was something Ming Qi had already experienced back on the island. When all the dishes were served, he quickly took out his phone to take photos.
After dinner, Yu Qinchou took him and Little Eight to watch fireworks.
Ming Qi hugged his knees and watched the sky full of sparkling fireworks seriously, while Yu Qinchou watched him seriously. The young man tilted his head slightly upward; his beautiful eyes looked like a pool of spring water. After a long moment, that pool of water gently rippled.
Ming Qi turned to him. “So beautiful.”
“If you like it, we can come anytime,” Yu Qinchou said. He brushed a strand of hair that had curled up at Ming Qi’s forehead, then handed him a red envelope he had prepared long ago.
Of course, Little Eight had one too.
Ming Qi blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Is this my New Year money?”
“Of course.” Yu Qinchou laughed softly. “We missed last year, so I prepared it early this year.”
Ming Qi held the thick stack of red envelopes, his emotions stirring. He leaned over and kissed him. But just as he pulled back, Yu Qinchou held his waist and deepened the kiss. The simple touch turned into something deeper. Little Eight struggled in Ming Qi’s arms and slipped away with a meow. In a daze, Ming Qi still remembered the cat and reached out, but his fingers were caught in Yu Qinchou’s palm.
“It’s fine,” Yu Qinchou coaxed softly. “Little Eight’s leash is on.”
In his blurred vision, the fading fireworks turned into a sky full of stars. Ming Qi buried his face in Yu Qinchou’s chest, breath uneven, and only after a long while did he calm down.
“Is it almost midnight?”
Yu Qinchou checked his watch. Three minutes left until the new year.
Ming Qi counted the seconds. When the hand finally crossed into the new year, he said softly, “Happy New Year, Mr. Yu.”
Yu Qinchou smiled. “Happy New Year, Mr. Ming.”
Holding his fingers, Ming Qi leaned against his shoulder and looked up at the stars.
“This is the happiest year I’ve had since Uncle Jiang passed away,” he said softly.
He had never understood what was so meaningful about New Year before. Only now did he realize—it was the people beside him that made it meaningful.
On the way back to Xi Jing Bay, Ming Qi posted a few photos of dinner and fireworks on Weibo: “Happy New Year / fireworks”
Unlike Ming Qi, Yu Qinchou did not have an official Weibo account. Instead, he posted some photos on his Moments.
Ming Qi took pictures of the scenery.
And he took pictures of Ming Qi.
The photos of Ming Qi standing on tiptoe sticking couplets, Ming Qi looking up at fireworks, and Ming Qi holding Little Eight while making a “congratulations and prosperity” expression.
However, the angles were all extremely tricky. People who weren’t familiar with Ming Qi generally wouldn’t be able to recognize him.
Xi Yixiu left a comment under the post, throwing out three words: love-brain.
It earned him Ming Zhengyue’s unrestrained laughter.
Honestly, it was quite an accurate description.