Lan Xingchen stayed six days. On the afternoon of the sixth day, he said goodbye to Pei Qingjian and flew back.
Pei Qingjian accompanied him to the airport. Taking advantage of the fact that he wasn’t famous yet and didn’t know many people, he hugged him and asked him to message once he got back.
“Hurry up and wrap your shoot,” Lan Xingchen urged.
Pei Qingjian thought: this isn’t something I can decide.
He nodded obediently. “As soon as I finish filming, I’ll go home.”
Lan Xingchen was satisfied, ruffling his hair before boarding the plane.
Pei Qingjian watched him leave, still feeling a little wistful.
Reluctantly, he returned to the set to continue filming.
With Lan Xingchen’s warning still fresh in mind, Yang Hao finally stopped causing trouble.
Although she still felt some resentment and considered Pei Qingjian a threat, the few emails in her inbox kept her in check.
She wondered how Pei Qingjian had managed to latch onto such a powerful ally. Looking at his resume again—seeing him return to the crew after nearly a year of sitting on the sidelines—Yang Hao came to a new understanding: this was almost certainly connected to Lan Xingchen.
She sighed, realizing she had truly underestimated the situation.
Yang Hao stayed quiet, and Pei Qingjian could finally focus on acting.
His acting had always been solid, and with guidance from Song Ye and the director, several of his scenes turned out especially impressive.
By the time the weather had fully cooled and autumn arrived, Pei Qingjian’s filming was nearly complete.
The crew bought a wrap cake for him. Rarely showing such childish behavior, Song Ye smeared some cream on Pei Qingjian’s face. He tried to dodge it for a while, but couldn’t escape being decorated with several streaks of frosting.
He took wrap-up photos with Song Ye and the others, posting them on Weibo.
Seeing the post, Song Ye took the initiative to repost it with the caption: “Goodbye, Little Tanxin.”
Such gestures were rare for him these past few years, so Song Ye’s fans paused, speculating quietly in their groups that he must have quite liked Pei Qingjian.
Indeed, Song Ye did like him. “If you ever don’t understand something, just come to me anytime,” he said.
Pei Qingjian nodded and then asked, “I saw online that you’re planning to start your own studio, right?”
Song Ye nodded.
Previously, when he was at Xingyun, the company had set up an official studio account for him. But that wasn’t truly his—it belonged to Xingyun. This time, Song Ye wanted a studio that genuinely belonged to him.
“You’ll definitely succeed!” Pei Qingjian said, sincerely wishing him well.
Song Ye smiled. “Mm.” He ruffled Pei Qingjian’s hair. “If your company ever treats you badly, come to me—I’ll sign you.”
“All right, thank you, Song Ge,” Pei Qingjian said with a bright smile.
He didn’t actually feel that his company was bad; Song Ye’s offer was just a kind gesture, so there was no need to refuse outright.
Essentially, Pei Qingjian still didn’t feel a deep sense of belonging to the acting profession.
He had continued acting before because contracts required it. Now, after filming a drama, he was surprised to discover that acting could be like this. There was a sense of satisfaction in completing a role, of course, but he still didn’t feel fully anchored in the identity of “actor.”
All the diligence and eagerness he showed on set came naturally from who he was—studious and conscientious. Even in another profession, he would behave the same.
Maybe after filming two more projects, he thought, he would be done.
But for now, there was no need to overthink. What mattered was packing and going home.
The thought of seeing Lan Xingchen filled him with uncontrollable excitement.
He booked the earliest flight and returned to the place he knew best on the second day after filming wrapped.
Pushing open the door, he looked at his familiar room, a sudden, inexplicable wave of emotion washing over him.
Strangely, though he hadn’t stayed here very long—less than two months, far shorter than his time at the crew hotel—he felt an unexpected sense of belonging.
Standing at the entrance, his body relaxed instinctively, as if a traveler had finally returned to his resting place.
Here, he could feel at ease, secure, and completely at home.
“I’m back,” Pei Qingjian said happily.
He smiled, pulling his suitcase into the bedroom he shared with Lan Xingchen.
Lan Xingchen was still at work, so Pei Qingjian planned a little surprise by not revealing exactly when he would return.
Yet Lan Xingchen clearly cared, messaging frequently: [Will you arrive today? Or tomorrow?]
[I’ll pick you up.]
Pei Qingjian teased: [Probably tomorrow, sigh.]
[What time tomorrow?]
After thinking, he replied: [Probably in the evening.]
[Message me when you board the plane.]
[Okay.] Pei Qingjian agreed.
He chuckled softly, then asked: [Are you working late tonight? Or do you have any engagements?]
Lan Xingchen didn’t hesitate: [No! If there are, let them handle it!]
[Then will you go home after work?]
[Why, do you want me home?]
[If you don’t come home, where else would you go? [hmph][angry][rage]]
Lan Xingchen: …
He hadn’t really planned to go anywhere; it was just his habitual counter-question.
[Home, home, home. Where else could I go?] Lan Xingchen typed quickly. He didn’t even go to bars anymore!
Pei Qingjian was delighted: [Then come back early and we’ll eat together.]
Lan Xingchen thought he meant a video call.
They had done that before—ordering takeout online, connecting via video, chatting while eating as if at home.
[Okay.] Lan Xingchen agreed.
Pei Qingjian had planned it online, buying ingredients to give him a double surprise.
The delivery arrived quickly. Pei Qingjian checked the time and began washing and chopping vegetables.
Just as he was cutting, the doorbell rang.
Excited, he ran to the door, assuming it was Lan Xingchen. Only at the entrance did he remember—Lan Xingchen had a key. Why would he ring the bell?
Moreover, Lan Xingchen didn’t know he was home.
Puzzled, he opened the door—and was greeted not by Lan Xingchen, but by a beautiful woman in her thirties.
The woman wore a dress and carried something in her hand.
She seemed surprised that it was him opening the door, and looked at him for a moment. Then, she glanced at the door number to confirm she hadn’t made a mistake.
Pei Qingjian blinked. “You are…?” he asked.
In her mind, Zhou Man was asking the same question.
“Hello,” Zhou Man said with a gentle smile and soft tone. “I’m Xingchen’s aunt. Is he home?”
“He hasn’t finished work yet,” Pei Qingjian replied, opening the door wider to let her in.
He bent slightly to help Zhou Man with a pair of disposable slippers. “You can wait for a bit; he’ll be home soon.”
“All right,” Zhou Man said, placing the items she’d brought on the cabinet at the entrance. “Thank you.”
“No, no, it’s nothing,” Pei Qingjian said with a smile.
He felt slightly awkward, unsure of what to say or do next.
In his limited life experience, he had never spent much time with relatives.
And, to make it more complicated, this wasn’t even his own relative—it was Lan Xingchen’s.
“Would you like some water?” Pei Qingjian asked, trying to ease the tension. “I can get you a cup.”
He went to the water dispenser, took a disposable cup, filled it, and handed it to Zhou Man.
Noticing his slightly flustered demeanor, she smiled and took the cup, speaking in a friendly tone, “What’s your name?”
She deliberately added the soft particle “ya” to make the question sound warmer.
Only then did Pei Qingjian realize he hadn’t introduced himself.
He felt a bit frustrated, thinking he’d performed poorly in this regard—but unfortunately, he had never built a foundation for these social niceties.
“My name is Pei Qingjian. I’m a friend of Lan Xingchen. We’re temporarily living together,” he said.
Zhou Man nodded. “Please, have a seat. Let’s sit and chat.”
Obediently, Pei Qingjian sat beside her.
“What kind of work do you do?” Zhou Man asked again.
“Actor,” Pei Qingjian replied. “I just finished filming a drama, so I came back home.”
Zhou Man nodded. “That’s good. I know a little about the acting profession. You’re good-looking, which suits this line of work.”
Pei Qingjian couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay, I’m still adapting.”
“No worries. You look young—you can take your time to adjust. If you ever feel it’s not the right fit, you can always change careers later.”
Pei Qingjian nodded; that was exactly what he thought.
“What was the drama you just finished called?” Zhou Man asked with curiosity. “Did you play the lead?”
Shaking his head, Pei Qingjian replied, “It’s a historical idol drama called Drunken Moon over the River. I played the fourth male lead. It should air around next summer.”
Zhou Man nodded faintly. “Great, I’ll be sure to watch it then.”
“Other than that, have you played any other roles?” she asked.
He shook his head.
Zhou Man understood. “Looks like you’re new to this line of work.”
“Yes,” Pei Qingjian nodded again.
“Well then, work hard. You’re so young; the future holds a lot of potential.”
Her words made him a little shy, and he could only reply, “I’ll do my best.”
Just as Zhou Man was about to ask about Lan Xingchen’s recent situation, a delicious aroma wafted through the air.
“Were you cooking just now?” she asked.
Pei Qingjian nodded. “Yes.”
Upon hearing this, she decided not to drink the water and stood up. “Let me help you.”
Looking at him, she smiled warmly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were cooking. I ended up chatting and took up your time.”
Pei Qingjian quickly shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Come on, let’s do it together. I’ll help you make up for the time I wasted.”
“No need, no need,” he said, embarrassed to let her cook.
He turned on the TV politely. “Aunt, you just watch TV. I’ll take care of it.”
Zhou Man dashed into the kitchen with a smile, finding him seriously chopping vegetables.
Some ingredients had already been cut and set aside. On the stove, a clay pot simmered, filling the air with a rich aroma.
She realized he was quite skilled at cooking—something rare and impressive.
The more she watched him, the more she liked him. The more she observed, the better he seemed.
It was already a good thing that Lan Xingchen had a friend to live with.
And this friend was not only handsome and well-tempered but also skilled in cooking—truly the best of the best.
Now, she could feel at ease.
She washed her hands and approached Pei Qingjian. “Let me do it.”
“That won’t do,” Pei Qingjian refused.
Zhou Man laughed. “How could a younger person cook while an elder just watches? You go watch TV; I’ll handle the cooking.”
She had intended to cook alongside him, so they could chat and she could learn more about Lan Xingchen.
But considering that Pei Qingjian was unfamiliar with her, and that young people nowadays seemed uncomfortable with small talk with relatives, Zhou Man decided to do it herself.
Pei Qingjian had always been unsure how to interact with relatives. So when she mentioned “elder” and “younger,” he instantly didn’t know how to argue.
“Go ahead,” she said with a gentle smile.
Pei Qingjian, seeing the warmth in her eyes, was vaguely reminded of his own mother.
He obediently nodded and stepped aside, standing outside the kitchen.
When Lan Xingchen returned home, he pushed open the door and saw the living room lights on. Pei Qingjian was sitting on the sofa, eating some fruit.
Lan Xingchen paused for a moment, still a little stunned, before the surge of delight hit him.
“You’re back? I thought you’d be coming tomorrow,” he said quickly, striding over to Pei Qingjian.
Pei Qingjian tilted his head and smiled. “Surprise~”
It really was a surprise. Lan Xingchen laughed and gestured with his hand. “Come here.”
Pei Qingjian, still unsure what was happening, stood and walked closer.
As soon as he reached him, Lan Xingchen opened his arms and pulled him into a tight embrace.
At the same time, Zhou Man heard Lan Xingchen’s voice.
Seeing him back, she prepared to serve the meal, picking up a plate as she moved toward the dining area.
But when she reached the doorway, she froze: in the living room, Lan Xingchen was holding someone tightly in his arms.
Zhou Man: !!!
Zhou Man: ???
Were boys really this close these days? Holding each other like that… for so long?