Pei Qingjian took a deep breath, composed himself, and shifted his expression according to Zhou Pengyue’s instructions, repeating the lines he had practiced.
His eyes were innocent, pure, radiating an unintentional sense of expectation.
Zhou Pengyue was stunned. When had Pei Qingjian learned to control his facial features and expressions so well? Not a single feature was off; he looked genuinely pitiable and endearing.
Wow. Three days apart really makes one look anew. Pei Qingjian had clearly put in effort.
Excellent! Zhou Pengyue was thrilled—not only at his acting progress but also because Pei Qingjian was no longer being half-hearted.
“How was that?” Pei Qingjian asked, having finished.
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect!” Zhou Pengyue didn’t hold back his praise. “Far beyond what I expected.”
He patted Pei Qingjian on the shoulder. “When you meet Song Ye, act exactly like this.”
Pei Qingjian hesitated. “Are you sure this will work?”
“Why wouldn’t it?” Zhou Pengyue smiled. “In front of him, you’re just a newcomer. You still have the right to be pure, sincere, and expectant. As long as your performance is genuine, there’s no problem.”
“But will he even intervene?”
Zhou Pengyue wasn’t certain, but he had observed Song Ye at other events. Song Ye was unusually gentle even to someone at Pei Qingjian’s level. Even if he didn’t step in, he wouldn’t reprimand Pei Qingjian.
Moreover, intervening could benefit Song Ye—humans naturally act in self-interest, and Song Ye was no exception.
“Anyway, let’s try it this way first. If he refuses, we’ll think of another plan,” Zhou Pengyue said.
“Okay,” Pei Qingjian agreed.
Zhou Pengyue led him toward Song Ye’s dressing room. The shoot hadn’t started; the director was still testing equipment, and Song Ye was in his room.
Pei Qingjian took a deep breath, steadied himself, and knocked.
“Come in,” Song Ye’s voice called.
It sounded just like Pei Qingjian had heard over the computer earlier.
He pushed the door open and walked in silently.
Bowing slightly, he said, “Hello, Teacher Song. Sorry to bother you.”
Song Ye hadn’t expected him.
He looked at the boy in black tactical attire, eyes cat-like, turning his chair toward him. “Tan Xin.”
Pei Qingjian’s face lit up. “You recognized me?”
Song Ye nodded. The outfit made it obvious.
But his gaze lingered on Pei Qingjian’s face. He didn’t know him, let alone be familiar with him. Why had he come? For lines?
Song Ye wasn’t sure.
His status far exceeded Pei Qingjian’s, so neither his manager nor assistant had ever mentioned this actor on set. With Pei Qingjian’s almost nonexistent fame, he was essentially a blank slate to Song Ye.
Song Ye remained silent, waiting for him to speak.
Pei Qingjian felt a strange tension under that gaze.
He had always acted in front of complete novices—but now, he had to perform for a senior with far better acting and far more experience. The difficulty just skyrocketed.
He remembered what Zhou Pengyue had just told him: “As long as you come across as sincere enough, there won’t be a problem.”
Sincerity. Sincerity.
Pei Qingjian repeated it twice in his mind.
Finally, he steeled himself and walked up to Song Ye in one go.
He let Song Ye look at him from the front, then turned around so he could see his back as well, and asked softly, “Does it suit me?”
Song Ye: ???
He had no idea what Pei Qingjian was trying to do.
Still, he nodded. “Yeah.”
Tan Xin was the actor who had the most scenes opposite Kong Mingxiu aside from the female lead, so when reading the script, Song Ye had inevitably formed an image of him in his mind.
Young, handsome, highly skilled in combat, agile, simple-minded, with a touch of youthful naivety.
And now, all of those traits had fallen perfectly onto the person standing before him, fitting him without the slightest sense of discord.
—He really was well-suited for the role.
Hearing that “yeah,” Pei Qingjian let out a breath of relief. A slow smile spread across his face. “I think so too.”
“So…” Pei Qingjian lowered his lashes, looking a little embarrassed.
“So?” Song Ye was puzzled.
“So, I don’t really want to change my current styling.”
Only after saying that did he lift his eyes again, looking at Song Ye with a bright, expectant gaze filled with trust.
Song Ye frowned.
The statement came out of nowhere. If he didn’t want to change his styling, had someone told him to?
Wasn’t styling always handled by the makeup team? Why come to him about it?
Unless… someone had interfered in something that should have been the makeup team’s responsibility.
“Who told you to change it?” Song Ye asked calmly.
Pei Qingjian looked at him but didn’t dare speak.
Seeing his reaction, Song Ye understood immediately.
If it had only been the makeup team’s suggestion, he wouldn’t have come to him, much less stayed silent after being asked directly.
The only person who could make him take the risk of coming here, yet leave him speechless when questioned, was one.
This was truly beyond Song Ye’s expectations.
He had worked with Yang Hao for many years, and something like this had never happened before.
She shouldn’t have been this kind of person. How could she do something like this?
But soon, he overturned that thought.
The Yang Hao he knew and was familiar with belonged to the past. She was no longer the same person she was now.
If she could go to such lengths to push Zhou Bin and get him cast in this drama, then altering the styling of a little-known actor would be nothing to her.
If anything, she would feel even less burdened about it.
For a moment, Song Ye felt a tinge of melancholy.
Back when they had nothing, they still had their conscience and their bottom line. They believed that even in pursuing their own interests, they shouldn’t harm others.
But now, they had both achieved success and fame, and Yang Hao seemed to have forgotten who she once was.
Forgotten that he, too, had once been bullied like this when he had no name.
Forgotten how she had fought for him back then—and how, when she failed, she had stood there, eyes brimming with tears, wronged and helpless.
That was why they were no longer suited to continue working together, no longer suited to remain partners.
Not to mention, Yang Hao was no longer simply someone who wanted to be his partner.
Song Ye looked at Pei Qingjian.
There was unconscious awkwardness and uncertainty in his eyes.
He lowered his gaze, as if waiting to be judged.
Suddenly, Song Ye smiled.
He thought Yang Hao probably hadn’t expected Pei Qingjian to come to him.
She was his agent—at least in others’ eyes, they were practically one and the same.
And yet, Pei Qingjian had come.
Because he was unwilling to accept it. Because he had no other options. Or perhaps because he hoped Song Ye was a good person.
That was why, the first thing he asked upon seeing him was, “Does it suit me?”
If it did, could it stay the same?
Careful, nervous, tentative—yet with a bit of his own small scheming.
Not annoying. In fact, a little endearing.
“I understand,” Song Ye said. “Go back. The styling won’t be changed.”
Pei Qingjian lit up with delight. “Really?”
“Mm.”
Pei Qingjian quickly bowed again. “Thank you, Brother Song.”
Oh? From “Teacher Song” to “Brother Song,” huh.
Song Ye let out a soft chuckle.
Seeing him smile, Pei Qingjian felt he might not be so hard to talk to after all.
Thinking that, he quietly shifted a little closer.
Song Ye: ???
Pei Qingjian pulled out his phone, opened a trending topic that hadn’t dropped off the charts yet, and bent slightly to hold it up right in front of Song Ye’s eyes.
Song Ye: ???
“Brother Song, have you seen this trending topic?” he asked tentatively.
Song Ye shook his head. He had never been one to keep up with things online in real time.
Pei Qingjian’s voice was soft. “Well, now you have.”
Song Ye: …
“So later, when you see me on set and notice I don’t look quite the same as in the trending topic, of course you’ll find it strange and ask why my styling changed, right?”
Song Ye: ???
“I’ll say the makeup artist adjusted it a bit.”
“And you’ll feel there’s no need for that. The audience for a TV drama is the viewers—since netizens like it, then naturally their preferences should be respected, instead of going against them.”
“Right?” he asked softly.
Song Ye: …
Song Ye laughed.
It was a bright, open laugh, a soft sound escaping him. His eyes lowered, making it hard to read his expression.
Was he pleased, or simply amused?
Standing beside him, hearing that laughter, Pei Qingjian felt his face heat up.
He tried to make out Song Ye’s expression but didn’t dare lean too close. Judging that there didn’t seem to be any displeasure, he didn’t rush to apologize or take back what he had said.
Song Ye laughed for quite a while before finally stopping.
He truly hadn’t expected Pei Qingjian to pull something like this.
He looked up at the person beside him.
Caught off guard by his gaze, Pei Qingjian felt a little embarrassed and could only explain softly, “The makeup artists are just workers too. Especially the two girls who did my makeup—they look about my age, and they’re really nice.”
If he went back right now, holding Song Ye’s “imperial decree” and told Director Wang he wouldn’t be changing his styling, then his own problem would be solved—but what about Director Wang?
It would only put him in a tougher position.
He was caught between Yang Hao and Song Ye—two people he neither dared nor could afford to offend.
And even if he told Yang Hao that he hadn’t revealed anything about her, she might not believe him.
If Director Wang had a hard time, then his assistants would have an even harder time—especially the two assistants who had done his makeup.
Everyone was just working to make a living. No one had it easy.
If possible, Pei Qingjian hoped that while resolving this matter, the makeup team wouldn’t get dragged into it.
How could Song Ye not understand what he meant?
He just hadn’t expected Pei Qingjian to think this far—because he himself hadn’t.
He was an actor, a star, a popular idol admired by countless people. His eyes had long been used to looking forward, forgetting that sometimes, one needed to look downward as well.
Pei Qingjian could have simply gone back. As long as he protected his own image, that would have been enough.
But instead of heading for the door, he had walked toward him.
In that instant, Song Ye felt a trace of appreciation—and goodwill—toward him.
He had been in this industry for too long. The newcomers he’d seen were all smooth, calculating, and skilled at protecting themselves. There was nothing wrong with that, but after seeing it so often, someone like Pei Qingjian inevitably felt refreshing.
“Alright,” he said. “I understand.”
Pei Qingjian brightened again. “Really? Brother Song, you’re too kind—thank you.”
“No need to be polite,” Song Ye replied gently.
Seeing that he had agreed, Pei Qingjian didn’t want to keep bothering him.
“Then I’ll head back first.”
“Mm.” Song Ye nodded.
Pei Qingjian gave him one last bow. Before he could straighten up, he heard Song Ye say, “No need for that. You keep bowing—do I look that stern?”
Pei Qingjian: ???
He quickly straightened up and shook his head. “No.”
“You look very gentle.”
“‘You’?” Song Ye repeated.
Pei Qingjian: …
He cautiously corrected himself, “You.”
Song Ye: “That’s better.”
Seeing that he had nothing more to say, Pei Qingjian figured everything was settled.
“Then I’m going.”
“Go ahead. See you in a bit.”
“Mm.” Pei Qingjian responded, gave him one last glance, and walked out.
The moment Zhou Pengyue saw him, he immediately dragged him aside and into the elevator.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Success.” Pei Qingjian smiled. “Brother Song is easier to talk to than I imagined.”
Zhou Pengyue grinned as well. “Good, good—success is all that matters. Come on, let’s go tell Director Wang it’s not being changed.”
But Pei Qingjian pulled him back. “It still has to be changed.”
“Huh?” Zhou Pengyue didn’t understand.
Pei Qingjian looked at him and repeated what he had just told Song Ye.
Zhou Pengyue had never expected him to add an extra “scene” for himself like this.
“Song Ye agreed?”
“Mm.” Pei Qingjian nodded. “That’s why I said he’s easier to talk to than I thought.”
Well, that was true.
And this worked out well too—if Song Ye personally spoke up in front of everyone later, then no matter how dissatisfied Yang Hao might be, she wouldn’t be able to say much.
“You’re pretty clever,” Zhou Pengyue said with a smile.
“That’s also thanks to you buying that trending topic early today, Brother Zhou,” Pei Qingjian replied, smiling.
Hearing that, Zhou Pengyue felt that not only had his acting improved, but his words had become sweeter too. He seemed to radiate a likable charm from head to toe.
“In a bit, don’t say anything. I’ll go tell Director Wang about this and let him owe you a favor.”
Pei Qingjian didn’t think that was necessary, but Zhou Pengyue was his manager and understood the industry far better than he did, so he didn’t refuse.
The two of them quickly returned to the floor where the makeup room was.
Director Wang had told Zhou Pengyue to give him ten minutes, but two ten-minute intervals had already passed, and they still hadn’t come back. He was getting anxious.
“Where did they go?”
Just as he was worrying, Zhou Pengyue walked in with Pei Qingjian.
Only then did Director Wang let out a breath of relief.
“Settled?” he asked tentatively.
“Settled,” Zhou Pengyue replied.
After speaking, he walked up to Director Wang, pulled him a few steps aside, and whispered something to him.
From afar, Pei Qingjian couldn’t hear what he was saying. He could only see the changing expressions on Director Wang’s face—and finally, after Zhou Pengyue finished, the relief and delight that appeared.
When Director Wang looked at Pei Qingjian again, his gaze had softened noticeably.
“Xiao Pei, why are you still standing? Sit down.”
Then he turned to his assistant. “Lily, why haven’t you poured some water for Teacher Xiao Pei yet?”
“And Amily, what are you standing there for? Hurry and remove Teacher Xiao Pei’s makeup. Actually—never mind, you’re too clumsy. I’ll do it myself.”
After saying that, Director Wang walked over to his personal makeup station, pulled out a chair, and gestured for Pei Qingjian to come sit.
Pei Qingjian: !!!
Pei Qingjian: …
He silently looked at Zhou Pengyue—what exactly did you say to him?!
How did he suddenly become like this?!
With an awkward yet polite smile, he walked over to the makeup station and sat down.
Director Wang immediately began removing his makeup himself, sighing as he worked, “Teacher Xiao Pei, your skin’s in great condition.”
“Thank you,” Pei Qingjian replied.
Director Wang smiled. “What’s there to thank? I’m just stating the truth.”
He quickly removed Pei Qingjian’s makeup and began preparing to apply a new look.
To be honest, Director Wang hadn’t completely believed what Zhou Pengyue had just said. He believed about seventy percent of it and doubted thirty percent—after all, a manager like Zhou Pengyue looked sharp and calculating at a glance.
But that didn’t stop him from being surprised that Pei Qingjian had actually wanted to protect them.
When Zhou Pengyue said this hadn’t been part of his plan and that Pei Qingjian only brought it up after coming out, Director Wang believed that. Because this industry was just like that.
They were called makeup artists, but in the eyes of celebrities and their managers, they were still nothing.
He himself was better off—after all, he was the chief styling director, the one in charge. No matter what celebrities or their managers thought privately, they would still treat him politely on the surface.
But his assistants and trainees didn’t have that luxury. Sometimes they would do someone’s makeup or hair perfectly fine, yet still get scolded harshly for no reason.
So it was completely normal that Zhou Pengyue’s plan hadn’t included them.
As long as the celebrity regained control over their own situation, who would care about the fate of the makeup artists?
But Pei Qingjian did.
He didn’t want them to be put in a difficult position, so he was willing to swallow his pride and muster the courage to ask Song Ye to act out a scene with him.
In that moment, Director Wang felt something both faintly absurd—and deeply admirable.
The reason Pei Qingjian was being targeted by Yang Hao was because he was an almost unknown newcomer.
Yet at the same time, the reason he could still think about protecting others after achieving his own goal was also because he was a newcomer—someone not yet worn down by this industry.
He himself was in a low position, yet he still reached out his hand to pull others up.
Who knew what his future would be like?
But at this moment—right now—Director Wang sincerely hoped he would have a good future.
—He deserved it.