Pei Tingsong was somewhat surprised.
The moment he spoke, he knew that most people here would not understand what he was thinking or what he was going to do. After all, he had always been like this since childhood, seen by others as nothing more than a tough guy who was not to be messed with. Surprisingly, Fang Jue Xia understood him. He had assumed that Fang Juexia might have guessed he was dissatisfied with the hastily put-together plan, but what he hadn’t anticipated was that Fang Juexia fully understood all his thoughts.
It was as if two unexpected channels had been connected.
They were contradictory. Not mirror images of each other, but strong, distinct opposites.
Fang Juexia had his own warmth and style, and should not be brutally homogenized.
These thoughts seemed to circulate in both of their minds. Pei Tingsong attributed this inexplicable rapport to the two years they had spent together, even though there was almost no communication between them. But there is nothing in the world that is purely isolated. There was indeed a subtle connection between him and Fang Juexia, complex and hard to detect.
Perhaps they shared common ground on a logical level, he tried to offer a reasonable explanation.
Lin Mo seemed very satisfied with Fang Juexia’s proposal. Images and inspiration flashed through his mind, greatly boosting his enthusiasm for the project. “Spring and winter, that’s good.” He studied Fang Juexia’s face carefully, observing it closely, and finally concluded, “You do suit the concept of winter, Andy.”
“Ah~ Here it comes. I also think this version is better. The transition from winter to spring aligns with the current timing, and besides, the two of them aren’t really the same type anyway. I need to think carefully about the makeup and styling for this project.” Andy had been in the industry for ten years and was a seasoned professional. He could tell from Lin Mo’s expression that this was a major project, and any initial thoughts of taking it easy were quickly dismissed. After all, this collaboration involved a renowned photographer and two rising stars in the industry.
In the entertainment industry, it’s taboo to underestimate anyone, as no one can predict who will become an overnight sensation. Moreover, it was already obvious that these two were on the verge of breaking out.
They spent over two hours re-discussing the details, a process uncommon in the efficiency-driven entertainment industry, where everyone prefers to start work immediately and wrap up quickly. However, it was well worth it. After all, the project had evolved from a half-hearted assembly line into a creative endeavor that everyone took seriously. Such an experience was rare and fascinating.
The editor tasked with writing the behind-the-scenes story couldn’t help but smile. Usually, there was nothing to write about, and they had to piece things together. Now, this dramatic turn of events was a goldmine of material right in front of them.
Pei Tingsong’s makeup was clean and simple, and Andy specifically highlighted the two moles on his lower eyelid and under his eye. “This mole is really well-placed. It’s exactly what people now call ‘pure yet alluring.’”
Fang Juexia, who was just coming out of the dressing room, found this odd. He couldn’t quite see that description fitting Pei Tingsong yet. However, “pure” and “sexy” are completely opposite in meaning, and this contradiction does align with his personality.
“The scar at the corner of your eye…” Andy looked at the raised scab and frowned, “Concealer won’t cover it. We’ll have to remove it in post-production.”
“Whatever’s convenient,” Pei Tingsong said, feeling sleepy again and not bothering with the details.
Fang Jue Xia stared at the large mirror in the makeup room, which reflected Pei Tingsong sitting there, along with the scar at the corner of his eye. He had changed into a latte-colored knit sweater, softening his rebellious aura.
“Juexia, coffee.” Cheng Qiang went out and came back, placing a cup in front of Pei Tingsong, then leading Fang Juexia, who hadn’t started styling yet, to sit in the corner of the styling room. “Tired?”
“Not too bad.” Fang Xia noticed that the small wooden table in the corner was empty, but there was a small potted plant in the corner of the wall, with a pink flowering tree inside.
He held the coffee and stared at the flowering tree intently. Just then, styling assistant Coco came over to secure his hair with a clip. He asked softly, “Hello, what kind of flower is this?”
“This? It’s an early cherry blossom that someone gave to Andy teacher a couple of days ago. Since there are so many people today, we were afraid it might get knocked over, so we put it on the ground.”
Early cherry blossom.
After securing the last clip, Fang Juexia crouched down beside the small flower tree. The soil in the flower pot was covered with a layer of fallen petals, a soft pale pink color.
The camera crew was still filming Pei Tingsong. Bored with her makeup, she started chatting with the cameraman, “Rock-paper-scissors, loser tells a story. How about it?”
The cameraman shook the camera sideways, indicating refusal.
“You’re afraid of losing, I get it.” Pei Tingsong concluded with a forced cold expression, his makeup nearly finished. When he looked into the mirror, he saw Fang Jue Xia walking toward him. He had changed into a loose black shirt, which made his skin’s cool white tone stand out even more.
He seemed to be borrowing something from the makeup assistant, eventually taking a small bottle and squeezing some substance onto his hand.
“Try what?” Pei Tingsong had just asked when Fang Juexia had already bent down and leaned in close to him.
The distance between them suddenly shrunk to less than five centimeters, and the air seemed to be tightly compressed. With each breath, the perfume scent reminiscent of the cold air released when unwrapping an ice cream bar surged again. His eyes were filled with the red birthmark at the corner of Fang Juexia’s eye, like the only splash of red in a frozen wasteland.
The moment of stunned silence was brief, as was Fang Juexia’s action, so brief that his consciousness couldn’t process the feeling. His fingertips had already left Pei Tingsong’s skin.
After studying it for a few seconds, Fang Juexia straightened up and looked again.
“How about this?” He finished his artistic expression and looked up at Andy.
Andy held Pei Tingsong’s chin and looked into the mirror. Pei Tingsong only then noticed that the scab on the corner of his eye was covered by a pink petal.
Fang Juexia’s voice was devoid of emotion as he stated his opinion, “It fits the spring theme perfectly. The flower shouldn’t feel out of place.”
Andy looked left and right, clearly delighted, repeating “perfect” several times. He secured the petal with removable adhesive, “And with this, it also echoes the birthmark on Juexia’s face.”
This was something Fang Juexia hadn’t considered. So he paused for a moment, and when he lowered his head, his gaze accidentally met Pei Tingsong’s.
Pei Tingsong raised his eyes and touched the petal covering the scar with his finger. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”
“No,” Fang Juexia rebutted quickly. This was a stark contrast to his usual reaction time.
Pei Tingsong’s lazy gaze swept over his plain face, finally resting on his flushed neck. He said nothing, instead looking at himself in the mirror. With the petals at the corner of his eye, he did indeed share a certain similarity with Fang Juexia.
“Tingsong’s makeup is more minimalist, aiming for that ‘nothing-done’ look but with a lot of thought behind it,” Andy began styling Fang Juexia. “Juexia’s makeup needs to be more distinctive.”
Pei Tingsong picked up his coffee and sat down on the chair beside him, taking the rare opportunity to openly stare at Fang Jue Xia.
The mirror reflected Fang Juexia’s expressionless face.
While styling her hair, Pei Tingsong boldly observed Fang Juexia through the mirror. He noticed that each of her facial features had a strong idol-like quality—beautiful, delicate, and free from the burdens of life. However, his eyebrow bones and nose bridge were uniquely shaped, forming a slender yet prominent T-shape on his narrow face, straddling the line between the rugged prominence of a man and the gentle smoothness of a woman, like a solitary pine tree rising from a flat snowfield.
This solitary, upright bone structure supported his cold, stubborn demeanor.
Pei Tingsong thought that if those brow bones and nose bridge were paired with a pair of sweet, bright eyes, perhaps they could balance each other out. But he had a pair of beautiful, cold eyes instead—double eyelids that were narrow and thin, pale irises, and corners that neither lifted nor drooped. They say that the eyes convey emotions, but Fang Juexia’s gaze seemed to be separated by a transparent ice wall, unable to convey any emotion, only frozen rationality and detachment. All of these features combined on his pale face, like a resilient yet fragile white flower.
That withered branch, waiting to be broken, seemed to stubbornly bloom a flower with its last ounce of vitality, a tragic white.
Fang Juexia’s eye makeup was not complicated. Andy didn’t even curl his eyelashes; instead, he took out a white mascara and carefully applied it to his long eyelashes. The color gradually spread, like snowflakes landing on his eyelashes, instantly evoking a wintery feel.
When Fang Juexia raised his eyes, Pei Tingsong couldn’t help but admit that he was indeed moved by the pure white beauty. The coldness that had been present on his body was now even more pronounced.
Even the stylist assistant beside him spoke with astonishment, “How ethereal, both ethereal and cold.”
Andy applied a touch of blush to Fang Juexia’s lower eyelid, extending it all the way to his red birthmark. He then traced a barely noticeable white eyeliner along the inner side of his lower eyelid, dotting a teardrop-shaped silver shimmer liquid eyeshadow at the lower edge of his eye, letting it flow down like a frozen tear streak.
There was a sense of having cried. Pei Tingsong thought to himself.
But Fang Juexia probably wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t imagine what such an emotionless person would look like when crying.
In the two years since his debut, he could hardly recall any moments when Fang Juexia had shown his emotions. Although their relationship could only be described as business partners, they spent no less time together than anyone else.
After searching his memory, he actually recalled something.
He wasn’t really interested in listening, but he was torn about whether he should buy a drink. Just then, the other person turned around, and their eyes met awkwardly.
At that moment, Fang Juexia’s expression was startled, the corners of his eyes reddened, and the ice in his eyes melted, reflecting a glistening moisture. He gripped his phone tightly, lowered his head, and hurried away, like a cold breeze passing by.
It was also at that moment that Pei Tingsong, who always pursued logical consistency, found the reason behind the rumors about Fang Juexia’s unwritten rules: family circumstances were difficult, there was no background, so he had to take this shortcut. At first, he was certain that this logic was sound, but now he was increasingly doubtful, even wanting to overturn it entirely.
He just wanted to know why Fang Juexia never explained.
There were too many contradictions in this person. Despite being surrounded by rumors, he exuded an indifferent aura of having no desires or needs. Though born in summer and named Summer, he was like a snow that would never melt.
A poem he loved suddenly popped into Pei Tingsong’s mind, and his eyes glanced at the stylist’s pen and notepad.
“I’m done.”
Their relationship seemed to have improved to the point where Fang Juexia could comfortably ask him for his opinion, which was a welcome development. Pei Tingsong said nothing, merely curled the corners of his mouth into a smile, slipped a folded piece of paper into the pocket of his shirt, and then brushed past him under the assistant’s urging.
Fang Juexia remained where he was and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was sparse, just a few lines, forming a poem.
[Please, feel free to,
welcome me with snow.
Whenever I walk alongside the mulberry tree,
slowly passing through summer,
its most tender leaves
will scream.]
