Zhou Ziheng never expected Xia Xiqing to come.
Despite Xu Qichen’s repeated persuasion, Zhou Ziheng didn’t believe Xia Xiqing would actually come to “free” himself by reopening old wounds. After all, for him, indulging in the false happiness of the present and freely manipulating others’ affection was far easier than letting go of the past and loving himself.
That night, Zhou Ziheng couldn’t sleep. He regretted saying those words, but what was even more painful was that Xia Xiqing probably didn’t care at all.
He didn’t care who Zhou Ziheng worked with, or whether someone was really to his liking.
So when Xia Xiqing finally appeared, Zhou Ziheng’s heart skipped a beat.
Xia Xiqing walked toward him, raised his hand to remove the hairband from the back of his head, and let his hair fall beside his cheeks. His eyes met Zhou Ziheng’s, but when he reached him, he turned his face away and placed the script in the hands of Xu Qichen, who was sitting beside him, without looking at him.
Xu Zixi, standing beside Zhou Ziheng, felt an inexplicable tension from Xia Xiqing. He bowed slightly and extended his hand, “Hello, I’m Xu Zixi.”
Xia Xiqing’s face lit up with an extremely gentle smile as he shook Xu Zixi’s hand. “Xia Xiqing.” His voice was as soft as the clouds in the sky. “You did a great job just now.”
Uncatchable clouds.
“Thank you, thank you.”
He smiled and withdrew his hand, not once glancing at Zhou Ziheng.
“Why don’t you give it a try, Xiqing?” Director Kun spoke, his tone full of encouragement. “Don’t be nervous; let’s just see how it feels.”
Everyone knew that Xia Xiqing wasn’t professionally trained in acting; he couldn’t even be associated with the word “actor,” so expectations weren’t high. Even Kun Cheng, who felt he fit the role of Jiang Tong, knew that appearance and demeanor were one thing, and acting was another.
After finishing his introduction, he stepped out of the door, took a deep breath, and closed the door behind him.
Looking at the closed door, Xia Xiqing began to feel panic rising within him. He didn’t know why he had come here—was it really necessary to subject himself to those painful memories for the sake of a ridiculous sense of pride?
Memories were terrifying things. They could almost instantly erode Xia Xiqing’s senses. As long as he didn’t avoid them, they would appear openly and unrestrainedly. Xia Xiqing felt his eyes begin to lose focus. The door in front of him seemed to change shape and color.
It had turned into the deep blue door of his childhood bedroom. He tried to touch the doorknob with his fingertips, and it felt as though a crack had opened deep within him, from which a black, viscous liquid seeped out drop by drop, enveloping his heart and pressing down on each beat.
Breathing became difficult. Xia Xiqing withdrew his hand and tried to convince himself.
This time, he was not the one locked in the room.
He was going to save the child in the room.
The crisp sound of a board being struck in the hotel room was like a strong suggestion to induce hypnosis. Xia Xiqing’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and all the past he dared not recall was overturned, flowing out with the black blood from his heart.
[If only you had never been born! If I hadn’t given birth to you, my life wouldn’t have turned out this way!]
[How could I have given birth to such a son? Are you just like your mother, mentally ill? Why don’t you just die!]
Xia Xiqing raised his hand and knocked on the door twice like a zombie. His hand paused in midair, then knocked twice more.
If only someone had come to save him back then.
His hands began to tremble. To continue, Xia Xiqing pressed his left hand against his right wrist and knocked on the door with increasing force and speed.
Until the door was suddenly pulled open, Xia Xiqing took a deep breath, holding it in his chest. His lips parted slightly, slowly exhaling the breath.
He felt his whole body trembling.
He didn’t look at the male actor he was acting with, but quickly walked over to the little girl, grabbed her, and held her in his arms. The male actor seemed to think that Xia Xiqing was an amateur actor and wanted to help him get into character, so he deliberately cooperated with him and suddenly pulled Xia Xiqing’s arm, shouting, “Are you out of your mind?”
Xia Xiqing didn’t turn around. He broke free, picked up the dumbfounded young actor, and walked toward the door without saying a word. The male actor playing opposite him was taken aback at first, as this was completely different from the previous audition, but he quickly reacted, took two quick steps, and grabbed Xia Xiqing’s arm. “What are you doing! Put her down!”
Being pulled like that, Xia Xiqing stumbled backward a few steps, reaching out to protect the girl’s head, and continued walking toward the door without saying a word.
His legs were trembling slightly, his teeth clenched tightly. He struggled with the girl’s “father” for a long time. Perhaps because his arms were growing sore from holding the little girl, everyone noticed his arms trembling.
The girl’s “father” cursed a few times, picked up a chair nearby, and was about to smash it down. Xia Xiqing didn’t have time to dodge, so he tightly hugged the little girl and crouched down.
Zhou Ziheng’s heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, he rushed forward. Originally, the male actor had thrown the chair from a considerable distance, just to get into position, but Zhou Ziheng was too hasty and didn’t gauge the distance properly. He rushed forward too close and was hit by the chair leg. His eyebrows knitted tightly as he was hit quite hard.
He was afraid that the other actor would be distracted by his injury, so he reacted quickly, pushing him away and reaching out to pull Xia Xiqing up. The first attempt failed, but on the second try, he managed to pull him off the ground.
Xia Xiqing, who had been pulled up, kept his head down and held the little girl, taking a few steps before setting her down.
When he was scolded by that “father” earlier, Xia Xiqing was instantly transported back to the past. He felt a burning pain on his body, as if he had been struck by a golf club. Images of his parents’ hysterical arguments kept flashing through his mind. Locked in the room, he had cried and pounded on the door until his palms swelled.
No one came to save him. No one came to save him.
Xia Xiqing’s gaze fell on the little girl. Her eyelashes trembled, and her eyes were unfocused. He knelt down, pulled the wrinkled hem of her shirt down with his hand, smoothed it out, then gently tucked her messy hair behind her ear and softly stroked her face.
He tried to force a smile, but as his lips parted, his teeth unconsciously bit the inside of his lip. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he didn’t speak. Instead, he took the little girl’s hand and wrote two characters in her palm with his index finger, one stroke at a time.
It wasn’t just for this child; it was also for his younger self.
The strokes were few, but Xia Xiqing wrote slowly, his fingers trembling so badly that he had to pause for a long time after each stroke, each one a struggle.
[Don’t be afraid.]
After the last stroke, he gently closed her tiny palm into a small fist, placed it in the pocket of the little girl’s red coat, and patted the bulging little pocket lightly.
He looked up at her, and his brows suddenly furrowed.
The little girl’s face had transformed into that of his younger, helpless self from years ago.
She was so small, covered in injuries, her dark, shiny pupils filled with confusion and despair.
His body began to tremble. Xia Xiqing dared not look, lowering his eyes slightly, suddenly becoming extremely timid, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, even the young actor was too scared to speak.
Zhou Ziheng, standing nearby, could no longer bear to watch. His patience had reached its limit. Without regard for the script, Zhou Ziheng knelt down and placed his hand on Xia Xiqing’s shoulder.
Though the place was so quiet, Xia Xiqing could still hear the heart-wrenching cries of his younger self, the sound deafening.
Begging for mercy, calling for help, sobbing, silence. His strength was slowly being sapped away.
[Is anyone out there… Can you open the door for me… ]
[It’s so dark… I’m scared. ]
It’s been a long time.
So you were that scared back then.
Xia Xiqing raised his eyes, his eyelashes trembling slightly. He tried to look directly at the little girl’s face, clenched his back teeth tightly, and reached out his arms to embrace her. Her tiny body was so soft and fragile that Xia Xiqing dared not use force, but his arms shook uncontrollably. He was afraid of hurting her, afraid that he had not given her courage.
Afraid she was still afraid.
Finally, a tear that could no longer be hidden slid down from his clear pupils, and Xia Xiqing closed his eyes.
Don’t be afraid anymore.
Perhaps… all of this is already in the past.
“Cut!”
That call to wrap the scene gave everyone holding their breath a chance to release it. The performance just now was completely different from the previous auditioner—no technically flawless dialogue, no explosive breakdown into tears—yet everyone’s emotions were stirred, their hearts hanging in suspense, feeling unbearably uncomfortable.
Xia Xiqing opened his eyes, took a few deep breaths, and then released the little girl. She reached out her soft little hand and wiped his face, her voice innocent and pure.
“Big brother, don’t cry.”
Xia Xiqing laughed.
“Big brother is acting, he’s not really crying.” He reached out and gently pinched the little actor’s cheek. “I’m not sad at all. Are you sad?”
“A little bit.”
Xia Xiqing smiled and hugged the cute little actor, repeating her words gently, “Just a little…”
Xia Xiqing exhaled deeply, turned his body halfway, and grabbed Zhou Ziheng’s arm, accidentally touching the spot where he had been hit by the chair leg earlier. Zhou Ziheng winced in pain.
“Where’s your professional integrity?” Xia Xiqing’s voice was cold, and Zhou Ziheng couldn’t fathom his current mood.
He just wanted to hold him, to hold him tightly, if he gave him the chance.
Xia Xiqing released his grip and stood up, flashing a smile at Kun Dao. The surprise on Kun Dao’s face had not yet faded as he also stood up and walked over to Xia Xiqing’s side.
“Your performance just now was on par with a professional actor.” He smiled in disbelief, “You really haven’t studied acting?”
“No. This role is somewhat similar to me, so I played it naturally.” Xia Xiqing’s emotions had subsided too quickly, and he hadn’t been able to fully regain his composure. He tugged at the corner of his mouth and tried his best to maintain a proper smile. “Director, excuse me for a moment. I need to use the restroom.”
Kun Cheng nodded, watching Xia Xiqing leave the hotel room. He turned and sat back down in his chair. The producer beside him spoke up, “Do you also think Xia Xiqing acted better? That final tear he shed was truly remarkable. Give it a close-up; it’ll be incredibly impactful on the big screen. He didn’t even need to cry or shout; he immediately captured the audience’s hearts.”
The producer was like a child who had found a treasure, analyzing his techniques with great enthusiasm. He talked about how Xia Xiqing controlled the timing of his tears, how he controlled the intensity of his trembling, and which angles suited his face best. The more he talked, the more excited he became.
It wasn’t until he finished his last sentence that Kun Cheng slowly shook his head.
“He wasn’t acting at all.”
Kuncheng noticed that Xia Xiqing hadn’t looked at the actor playing the “father” once throughout the entire performance. It was an unconscious avoidance born out of fear—he was too afraid to look, too afraid to resist. In fact, someone suffering from depression wouldn’t scream out loud. Xia Xiqing might understand that feeling even more.
The most terrifying thing was that he dared not look at the young actor he had been protecting all along.
This精彩的 “performance” only truly reached its climax in the final moment when he stared directly at the young actor.
These are things that cannot be acted out.
Xu Qichen clutched the script tightly, saying nothing. Zhou Ziheng was right; he had indeed been too cruel. Without seeing Xia Xiqing truly open himself up, he had stood in the clear perspective of an observer, coercing him to recall those terrifying past events under the pretext of helping him.
He couldn’t help but feel a little regretful and began to doubt himself.
He didn’t know if he was helping him or hurting him.
Xia Xiqing washed his face, leaning on the sink with both hands. He tried his best to pull himself out of the emotions from earlier, but it wasn’t easy.
“Are you okay?”
It was the newcomer’s voice.
Xia Xiqing instantly switched to a smile, straightened up, and tore off two pieces of paper to wipe his hands. “I’m fine.” He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the wastebasket, his gaze falling on Xu Zixi’s delicate features.
“I…” Xu Zixi’s expression was hesitant. “I want to know why you acted that way. I mean, how did you come up with it? Because after I got the script, I felt that he should really want to protect that little girl, and he was very sad inside…”
Although he expressed himself very unclearly, Xia Xiqing completely understood his meaning and took a step closer.
“The way you acted was actually very good.” Xia Xiqing patted Xu Zixi on the shoulder, then let his hand fall and slipped it into his pocket.
“He did want to protect that little girl, but he was even more afraid. More afraid than the child.”
Xu Zixi’s eyes were filled with confusion. Xia Xiqing just gave a wry smile, his voice sinking slowly like a stone thrown into a lake.
For some reason, he could smile at anyone at that moment, except Zhou Ziheng. Every time he saw Zhou Ziheng’s face, he wanted to tear himself apart and show him his ugliest, most repulsive side.
Self-destructive, without reason.
“Zixi, I’d like to speak with him alone,” Zhou Ziheng walked in, his tone very polite. “If it’s convenient for you…”
Xia Xiqing didn’t say a word. He lowered his eyes and leaned against the sink. Zhou Ziheng didn’t speak either. He grabbed his arm and led him to the innermost stall in the restroom, closing the door.
The cramped space intensified his emotions, and Xia Xiqing felt his temples throbbing. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but when he thought about how Zhou Ziheng had called the newcomer “Zixi” and referred to him as “he,” he felt an inexplicable anger.
But his angry posture was not elegant.
Xia Xiqing licked his lips, looked at Zhou Ziheng with feigned ease, and said sarcastically, “Don’t I have a name?”
Zhou Ziheng paused for a moment before reacting. He tried to explain, “I thought calling him by his full name would be too formal and make him think I was pressuring him as a senior.”
“So what?” Xia Xiqing stared into his eyes, relentless, enunciating each word, “Don’t I have a name?”
Being looked at like that, Zhou Ziheng’s guilt was impossible to hide. He wanted to call him Xiqing, or even a more intimate name, but he didn’t have the right standing to do so.
“You pulled me in here and didn’t say a word.” Xia Xiqing crossed his arms, the corners of his eyes lifting slightly. “Could it be that you want to do it now?” He didn’t know who he was saying these harsh words to, but he couldn’t control himself.
Unable to resolve his emotional turmoil, he chose to mask it with another emotion.
Xia Xiqing lifted his chin, the curve of his neck exuding a fragile beauty.
“Do you think I acted well just now?” Droplets of water still clung to his cheeks. “Do I look good when I cry? Does it make you want to protect me?”
A barrage of questions ruthlessly pounded Zhou Ziheng’s heart.
Watching Zhou Ziheng’s brows furrow deeper and his clenched fists turn white, Xia Xiqing felt an inexplicable sense of accomplishment, as if provoking Zhou Ziheng brought him immense pleasure.
He sneered, his damp strands of hair clinging to his cheeks. “Do you pity me? Do you want to be with me because you pity me?”
“Why don’t we start with a kiss?” Xia Xiqing leaned in close, his lips, which had been bitten earlier, glowing with a vibrant color.
Zhou Ziheng finally couldn’t take it anymore and shoved him hard against the wall.
The pebble thrown into the lake was finally about to fall, landing on the silent, cold lake bottom. Xia Xiqing lowered his eyes, but Zhou Ziheng embraced him tightly, holding him close.
He frowned in surprise, trying to push Zhou Ziheng away, but he held him even tighter.
“I’m very angry right now,” Zhou Ziheng’s voice trembled slightly, clearly holding back his emotions, “But I’ll calm down soon.”
Xia Xiqing froze, his voice trembling.
“You’re angry… why are you still holding me?”
“Otherwise, you’ll run away, and I’ll regret it after I calm down. I don’t want to regret it.” Zhou Ziheng’s arms tightened around him.
There was a moment of silence, during which all they could hear was each other’s heartbeats. Zhou Ziheng loosened his grip slightly, took a deep breath, and said, “I’m not angry anymore.” His hand slowly moved upward, caressing Xia Xiqing’s head, his palm warm beyond belief.
Hugging a rose requires courage and patience.
I know the thorns will pierce the skin, pierce the blood, but it’s okay. Give me a minute, and I’ll pull them out. This pain will pass quickly.
But I still want to embrace that rose.
Zhou Ziheng finally said what he had wanted to say from the beginning, gently kissing his hair.
“Don’t be afraid, Xiqing.”
“I’m here.”
