After crossing the river and passing through the bustling city, the scenery grew increasingly remote. Zhou Ziheng nudged Xia Xiqing with his toe. “Are we almost there?”
“No idea.” Xia Xiqing hadn’t paid much attention.
Feeling brushed off, Zhou Ziheng pressed, “Aren’t you from Wuhan?”
“Few locals have explored every corner of Wuhan.” Xia Xiqing spoke without hesitation at first, but his tone carried a faint hint of wistfulness by the end. Zhou Ziheng caught this nuance, though Fei Ge, seated up front, missed it entirely. He cheerfully chimed in, “Exactly! Even a Wuhan native like me who’s always on the go hasn’t seen every corner of the city.”
Xia Xiqing turned his face toward him, that tiny mole on his nose tip always instantly capturing Zhou Ziheng’s attention. “You know the Three Towns of Wuhan, right?”
Seeing Zhou Ziheng nod, Xia Xiqing continued, “Actually, calling them three towns is a bit of an understatement—they’re more like three cities. Each one is quite large, and combined, well, needless to say.” My family lives in Hankou. Back in high school, I often went to Wuhan University to sketch. The bus ride took nearly two hours—long enough to catch a quick nap on the way.“ His expression softened as he recalled the memory. ”But our drivers here are reckless. Falling asleep was practically impossible.”
Looking at Xia Xiqing’s face, Zhou Ziheng kept thinking how wonderful it would be to hold him. He could just hold Xia Xiqing like this and listen to his stories all night long.
“You two have time—there’s still a week before the machine leaves,” Kun Cheng said with a smile. “Xiqing, take Ziheng around Wuhan more. Help him get into character quickly and soak up the local flavor.”
Xia Xiqing hummed in acknowledgment. His wrist, still clasped by Zhou Ziheng, felt slightly sore. He nudged it gently and shot Zhou a frown. Zhou quickly caught on, thinking he’d hurt him, and promptly loosened his firm grip. Xia Xiqing didn’t withdraw his hand either, simply resting it lightly on the seat cushion. Zhou Ziheng then gently placed his own hand over Xia Xiqing’s.
The conversation continued in the car until they soon arrived at the filming location. This was Wuhan’s most famous urban village—and also the least “Wuhan” part of the entire city. The road grew congested, cluttered with haphazard stalls and pedestrians impossible to avoid. Fortunately, Brother Fei was a skilled driver and steered the car into the Huaanli underpass.
The underpass served as the sole entrance to the Huaanli community, its narrow passageway flanked by bright green walls and covered by a low ceiling. This narrow five-meter-wide passageway handles the daily commute for 100,000 residents.
Brother Fei gripped the steering wheel and honked at the dusty van ahead. “We got lucky today—no oncoming traffic. Otherwise, both ends would be jammed, and neither could move.”
The van finally moved aside, shuffling forward like an elderly person, forcing them to slow down too. They finally entered the underpass, and the light dimmed instantly. Zhou Ziheng instinctively tightened his grip on Xia Xiqing’s hand and glanced over at him, but Xia Xiqing was merely propping his chin on his hand, staring out the window.
At least he hadn’t pulled his hand away. That alone was enough to bring Zhou Ziheng a sense of relief.
The underpass wasn’t actually pitch-black, just slightly dim. The passage wasn’t long, and they soon emerged. Perhaps because it had just rained, the ground was muddy. An auntie carrying two large bags of groceries walked close to the underpass wall. Mud splattered all over her from the car wheels. She cursed in a not-quite-authentic Wuhan dialect, then continued walking along the underpass wall until she exited.
Zhou Ziheng didn’t dislike this chaotic, bustling urban scene. As an actor, he actually enjoyed places like this. It was filled with all kinds of people, each one an open storybook, acting out bizarre plots with their bodies and expressions.
They reached a spot inaccessible to vehicles. The four got out. Fei Ge swiftly secured the doors and led them toward the house Director Kun had arranged for him to rent. Zhou Ziheng and Xia Xiqing trailed behind, both with their caps pulled low. Their shoulders occasionally brushed against each other in the sticky air, only to pull apart again with each step.
After traversing a muddy path, the group arrived at a densely packed residential area. where the buildings rose high, evoking Hong Kong’s sky-scraping cubicle blocks—yet not quite the same. The upper floors here were clearly later additions. The lower walls bore thick, dark stains from cooking grease, while above, indigo-blue metal containers gleamed with a faint purple sheen in the fading sunset.
“Conditions here are pretty rough,” Brother Fei lit a cigarette, took a drag, and exhaled smoke that seemed to cling to the damp air, unable to dissipate cleanly. “This spot’s cramped and overcrowded. With nowhere to build on the ground, they just kept stacking upwards, making the buildings taller and taller.”
Just as Zhou Ziheng lifted his head to glance around, he felt a hand press against the back of his skull. Only when he walked past and turned back did he notice a sagging electrical wire hanging where the hand had been. Xia Xiqing had already withdrawn his hand and tucked it into the pocket of his work pants.
” Keep your head down a bit.“ Xia Xiqing’s voice rang clear in the humid air. ”Who knows what you ate growing up to get so tall?”
Feigege overheard and chimed in, “So, Ziheng, how did you end up this tall?”
“Tall?” Zhou Ziheng looked utterly baffled, turning to Xia Xiqing for help. Xia Xiqing chuckled quietly, lifting his cap brim slightly to look at him. “In Wuhan dialect, we don’t say someone’s tall, especially to kids. For example, if I were your uncle—” Xia Xiqing reached out to touch Zhou Ziheng’s cap brim, mimicking an adult’s tone in Wuhan dialect—” Hengheng, it’s only been half a year, but you’ve grown so much.”
His tone immediately shifted back to standard Mandarin, shedding the dialect entirely. “Understand?”
Zhou Ziheng’s lips curved upward. He couldn’t help but adore Xia Xiqing’s Wuhan accent—it was vibrant and full of life.
“Xiqing’s Wuhan accent is quite flavorful,” Brother Fei remarked with a smile to Director Kun ahead of them. Director Kun seemed pleased. “I told you Editor Xu is brilliant—he even saved me the trouble of dialect coaching. Xiqing, you’ll just use Mandarin with a Wuhan accent for the role.”
“But I’m playing a character with hearing impairment.” The path ahead was too muddy. Even someone as easygoing as Xia Xiqing couldn’t help but bend down while speaking, rolling up the cuffs of his gray work pants to reveal his pale ankles. Zhou Ziheng’s footsteps halted too. His gaze drifted downward, lingering for a second on the slightly protruding ankle bone before tracing back up, all the way to the rolled-up pant leg and the skin hidden beneath.
He couldn’t help but recall that night, the scene of Xia Xiqing’s ankle resting on his shoulder. His gaze back then had seemed soaked in the city’s humid air.
“Oh! Oh right, right, right! Jiang Tong has a bit of a hearing impairment.” Unaware Xia Xiqing had fallen behind, Director Kun snapped his fingers as if awakened. “I completely forgot. Then you train Ziheng.”
Brother Fei chimed in, “He’s playing an outsider, right?”
“Exactly—we need to train him in that inauthentic Wuhan accent, ha ha ha.”
The two burst into laughter. Walking behind them, Xia Xiqing felt the heat. He took off his cap, scratched his head, and fanned himself twice. Just as he was about to flip the cap back on, Zhou Ziheng suddenly pulled him closer and whispered something in his ear.
“I think I’m pretty long.”
Xia Xiqing frowned and looked up, sweat-soaked strands of hair clinging in tangles to his fair cheek, the longer ones extending to his jawline. Even his impending reproachful expression seemed alluring.
Zhou Ziheng leaned close to his ear, his lips deliberately grazing the slightly protruding cartilage as he spoke in a low voice.
“You said it could reach the deepest part.”
This rogue had a whole repertoire of tricks. Xia Xiqing suppressed his anger—he couldn’t lose his temper and end up looking like a teased little girl, could he? He took a deep breath, thinking how true the saying “what goes around comes around” really was. He’d grown up playing the rogue, and now he was being teased by a guy five years his junior!
After carefully managing his expression, Xia Xiqing turned his face toward Zhou Ziheng. He deliberately raised his eyebrows to look fierce, speaking deliberately, word by word, “Height doesn’t matter. Experience is what counts.”
But in Zhou Ziheng’s eyes, it was pure seduction.
He nodded and swept his arm around Xia Xiqing’s shoulder. Just then, Kun Cheng turned back and saw the two of them so affectionate. He was pleased—after all, they’d be acting together for so long that a certain level of camaraderie between actors was essential. Otherwise, he’d have a headache as the director.
“Experience takes time to build.” Watching Director Kun turn away, Zhou Ziheng’s gaze drifted back to Xia Xiqing. He lowered his voice, his words meant to be submissive but delivered with undeniable dominance. “Teach me, big brother.”
His ears burned fiercely. Xia Xiqing shoved him away with one hand, uttering a single word: “Hot.” His pronunciation carried a hint of that Wuhan accent where words are drawn out, like a habitual pout of reproach, which Zhou Ziheng’s keen ears picked up. That single word, “hot,” twisted and turned in its intonation, threatening to spiral straight into his heart.
Even pushed away, Zhou Ziheng felt content. The sweet, savory aroma of braised pork ribs and lotus root soup wafted through the narrow alley from some unknown household. As the last vestiges of daylight faded, he walked behind Xia Xiqing with a smile, experiencing for the first time the simple beauty of everyday life.
It didn’t matter where they were, as long as Xia Xiqing was by his side.
They entered a building where the stairwell was dim and narrow. Xia Xiqing had taken only two steps when Zhou Ziheng took his hand. She’d intended to pull away but couldn’t be bothered to resist. He let him lead him—the light was too dim anyway, and the two ahead were indistinct.
They climbed to the fourth floor, then passed through a pitch-black corridor. A door loomed at the end. Fei took a key from his pocket and fumbled to unlock it, using his phone’s screen as a makeshift flashlight.
“This is the place,” Fei stepped inside first. “Take a look. It’s pretty small, anyway.”
It was actually much better than Xia Xiqing had imagined. He’d expected a filthy, dilapidated place, but in reality it was just small—a narrow one-bedroom apartment with a living room and bathroom. Four people standing inside felt cramped. They walked around the place once, giving Xia Xiqing a good sense of the layout. The door opened directly into a tiny living room. Passing through a narrow hallway led to the bedroom. On the right side of the hallway were the kitchen and bathroom, side by side. Both were about the same size, barely big enough for one person to move around in.
The sole source of light came from a small window in the bedroom, beneath which sat a row of adorable little succulents, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of charm.
The moment they stepped inside, a suffocating heat enveloped Zhou Ziheng like a layer of cling film—transparent yet impenetrable. He lifted the collar of his shirt and fanned himself vigorously several times.
“That’s pretty much it. The original tenant was actually quite tidy—a migrant worker,” Kun Dao chuckled. “He was incredibly honest. I offered to pay him extra since we might need to redecorate, but he flat-out refused. We paid him more anyway, and the kid was overjoyed, thanking me repeatedly.”
Xia Xiqing tried to match this small house with Jiang Tong’s residence in the script. The sensation was peculiar, like deliberately squeezing into a safe little mold to transform himself into another person. A dusty small fan sat on the living room coffee table. He sat on the sofa directly facing it and pressed the switch. The fan creaked to life, its breeze weak but better than nothing.
Zhou Ziheng’s gaze lingered on Xia Xiqing, watching the heat lift his bangs, watching him crane his neck to catch the breeze. Sweat-dampened hair stuck to his mouth, which he brushed away with his hand—yet he paid no mind to the strands clinging to his slender nape.
This scene evoked a down-to-earth sensuality in Zhou Ziheng.
“Oh, right. I have a meeting with the crew. We’re heading out to shoot night scenes. Are you two staying here or heading back to the hotel?”
Before Xia Xiqing could answer, Zhou Ziheng made the decision for them. “Stay. I want to immerse myself in the script.” He strode over to the sofa in two strides, sat down, and wrapped an arm around Xia Xiqing’s shoulder. “Xiqing, come with me. After we’re done, I’ll call Xiao Luo to pick us up at the hotel.”
Feigege pressed a key into his hand. “Here, take this. My wife just texted me, urging me to pick up the kids from tutoring.”
“No worries, Feigege, go ahead. My assistant will be here soon.” Zhou Ziheng tapped Xia Xiqing’s shoulder. “Besides, we’ve got a local here.”
And so, Kuncheng and Fei Ge were persuaded by Zhou Ziheng. The two headed downstairs together, their footsteps fading until they were no longer audible. Zhou Ziheng closed the rust-stained iron gate, but just as he turned to leave, Xia Xiqing shoved him against it.
“What are you up to?” Xia Xiqing flung the hat in his hand backward, landing it on the gray-green fabric sofa behind him. His palm burned like a branding iron, searing through his chest straight to his heart.
With all inhibitions finally shed, Zhou Ziheng lowered his gaze to the lean waist encased in the tailored shirt, wrapping his arms around him. The distance between them instantly collapsed, the stifling air between them seeming to vanish as their skin pressed against each other through the damp fabric.
“I’m scheming against you.”
Xia Xi lowered his head, prying away the hand that held him. “Dream on.” With that, he walked off toward the bathroom, his voice carrying a sticky echo as he spoke, “I’m taking a quick shower. I feel too sticky. Call Xiao Luo now and tell him to pick up some food on his way over. I’m starving.”
As he finished speaking, he reached to lock the bathroom door, only to discover the rust-stained latch wouldn’t budge. He tried several times, but it wouldn’t lock.
A hand with sharply defined knuckles gripped the doorframe. Xia Xiqing looked up to meet Zhou Ziheng’s defiant, slightly mischievous smile.
“I’m starving too.”
With that, he squeezed inside. The cramped bathroom instantly felt packed to the brim. The shower had been turned on the moment Xia Xiqing entered, water cascading down and amplifying the humidity in the confined space.
The sticky dampness was a breeding ground for desire.
“There’s no room for two here.” Xia Xiqing grabbed the hem of his own shirt with one hand, yanking it up to peel off the fabric that clung completely to his body.
Zhou Ziheng edged closer, nearly pressing against him. “A little closer should make room.”
Lifting his head, Xia Xiqing’s lips parted slightly, flushed crimson from the heat. His expression was a half-smile, half-mock, his words tinged with reproach. “Why are you so clingy?”
As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Ziheng snatched the black T-shirt Xia Xiqing had taken off, casually tossing it outside the bathroom. He pushed Xia Xiqing’s chest, step by step, forcing him under the shower turned to full blast. The hot water cascading from above drenched everything, including Zhou Ziheng’s usually deep voice.
“At least I’m not as hard to chase and deal with as you are.”
