“Please… let me see him just once. Just once.”
The pure white light was blinding, impossible to look at. The man’s voice was hoarse with pain, filled with endless pleading. “Please… just once.”
“Bastard! Do you understand what happens when you see him? He won’t even remember who you are. What’s the point? You’ve done so much for him already—what else do you want? His death is not your concern, his life is not your concern!” The icy, mechanical voice pierced the man’s heart like an ice spike, shattering every expectation he held.
“He remembers… he remembers…” the man murmured. His eyes, red as blood, drowned in sorrow almost capable of suffocating anyone.
Qin Sizheng was still biting her pen while reading the script. She watched the scene where Chu Jing died—Ding Chenhai went mad trying to reach him, but they never met. That incident triggered his full-blown schizophrenia, spiraling toward madness before eventually being treated.
Her emotions wavered. She glanced at Lu Xianqing and noticed he seemed to be having a nightmare, hands clasped in a prayer-like position over his chest, forehead slick with sweat, trembling slightly.
“Fourth Brother?”
Lu Xianqing jolted awake, wiping his forehead. “I fell asleep.”
“Did you have a nightmare?”
He didn’t answer; instead, he asked, “Why didn’t you wake me? What time is it?”
“Six o’clock.”
He realized he had slept over four hours? Surprised, he reflected that he rarely slept outside, yet he had dozed for four hours right in this chair, under someone else’s watch.
Qin Sizheng asked softly, “Have you been too tired lately?”
Lu Xianqing said, “Really sorry. I came to lecture you, and I ended up falling asleep myself.”
Qin Sizheng hurriedly replied, “You’ve already taught me so much!”
His scenes weren’t many, and Lu Xianqing had basically guided him through most of it already. Today he had come just to check in. “Tomorrow is the first day of shooting. Make sure you act well—if Zhou Changjiang scolds you, don’t say you’re my student.”
“I’ll act well, I promise!”
“I’ll make a call. You can head off now,” Lu Xianqing said.
Qin Sizheng didn’t suspect anything, picked up his script, and went downstairs to leave. Outside, he saw He Xing and An Ning, and quickly greeted them. “Fourth Brother fell asleep and held you up.”
He Xing said, “I know. Go home quickly—don’t be late for the first day of shooting tomorrow.”
Qin Sizheng nodded and went downstairs. Shen Changfeng wasn’t in the car, standing by the elevator like a pillar, waiting. As soon as Qin Sizheng came down, he reached for the script.
“Why didn’t you wait in the car?”
Shen Changfeng said, “If anything happens in the car, we won’t know immediately. Here, I can keep watch better.”
Qin Sizheng was grateful for his attentiveness. With him around, things felt much easier—he would pre-check anything she didn’t understand about the entertainment industry and scold with that serious expression of his.
“Changfeng, thanks for your effort. I’ll make some soup for you tonight.”
Hearing the word, Shen Changfeng’s face almost turned pale. “No, I don’t like soup.”
“You said you liked soup before. How about I make a pork-bone, fish-head, tomato, and radish soup tonight for you to try?” Qin Sizheng narrowed his eyes, smiling. Seeing him blanch again, she laughed heartily. “Just kidding! I’ll make silverfish soup, and also the pickled fresh pork and osmanthus fish you liked last time.”
Shen Changfeng glared at him fiercely and walked ahead to start the car.
Qin Sizheng got into the car. “Fourth Brother said my cooking has improved lately. Thanks to you tasting the dishes for me.”
Shen Changfeng said, “Can I stop being your guinea pig?”
“Of course not! I’ll even raise your pay privately—half again on top!”
“Oh, thanks, boss. I hope I live long enough to get it,” Shen Changfeng said coldly as he started the car, adding flatly, “Next time, cook something people can actually eat. Fourth Brother might not like those carrot, bamboo shoot, tea mushroom, fish soups.”
Qin Sizheng replied, “He liked them! He drank everything I made him and said it was delicious. You just don’t appreciate it.”
Shen Changfeng said, “Forget I said anything.”
“Okay,” Qin Sizheng answered.
The next day was the opening ceremony. Shen Changfeng had explained the traditional practices—covering the machine with a red cloth, offering incense to heaven and earth, praying for smooth filming—and the precautions so Qin Sizheng wouldn’t mess up.
Qin Sizheng arrived early, the first actor on set.
Everyone was busy with their own tasks and largely ignored him, until a junior assistant ran over and handed him a bottle of water. “You came too early! There are chairs over there; you can rest a bit. The director will be here soon.”
The hierarchy was clear in this simple greeting.
The second actor to arrive was Chen Qiu, the male second lead. A former child star who had always been more famous for his projects than for himself, he nonetheless received due attention from the crew and hurried over to greet Qin Sizheng.
“Hello, I’m Chen Qiu,” he said.
Qin Sizheng stood and shook his hand. “Hello, I’m Qin Sizheng.”
“Why are you here so early? The opening hasn’t even started yet. My agent forced me to come early, I’m exhausted,” Chen Qiu said, yawning.
“It looks like it’s raining a bit. Let’s sit under the umbrella, or we’ll get wet,” Qin Sizheng suggested. Chen Qiu was a bit talkative, but friendly.
They moved under the umbrella together, when someone suddenly called, “Sister Yao’s here!”
They turned to see a black RV stop at the entrance, and a young man helped a finely-featured woman out of the car.
Chen Qiu whispered, “She makes a big scene.”
Yao Jinwei was dressed in couture. Two assistants helped her with an umbrella and her dress. Her black sunglasses covered half her face, and she stepped down like a queen.
The crew quickly gathered around, fawning over her.
This film didn’t have a female lead. Yao Jinwei’s role as the second female lead had more screen time, so the crew treated her like this. If it had been Lu Xianqing, the reception would probably have been even warmer.
The media arrived early. Yao Jinwei and Zhou Changjiang appeared in turn, greeting everyone.
“You’re still as beautiful as ever,” Zhou Changjiang commented.
Yao Jinwei pursed her lips and smiled lightly. “Acting with you means I have to play ugly—beauty doesn’t help. Besides, with Wen Li here, you won’t go easy on me.”
Zhou Changjiang laughed, “It’s for art, a noble sacrifice. Wen Li’s here too, same thing. Go greet the media first; I’ll step away for a bit.”
“Sure, you go ahead.”
Yao Jinwei’s eyes briefly caught Qin Sizheng standing with Chen Qiu. A faint glimmer of disdain crossed her gaze, then she smiled politely and greeted the media.
Chen Qiu said, “Let’s head over too. Some camera time is good.”
Zhou Changjiang didn’t allow filming; photographers snapped relentlessly, trying to capture the news.
Seeing them approach, Yao Jinwei turned slightly to show her better profile, smiling elegantly. “Stop taking photos. I didn’t even do much makeup today, or Qin Sizheng would outshine me.”
It was a joke, but mostly true.
“Good thing we didn’t stand together for the photos earlier. Otherwise, my makeup would’ve been wasted,” Qin Sizheng said.
“It’s fine. You look much better,” Yao Jinwei replied. She didn’t realize at first whether he was mocking or genuinely complimenting her. “Hahaha, is this the highest praise for my makeup artist?”
The media laughed along, treating it as praise for her beauty.
Yao Jinwei’s status was higher than Chen Qiu’s, and she was far more skilled at handling these situations than Qin Sizheng. Standing there, she naturally took center stage, drawing the photographers’ attention. Even when a few tried to focus on Qin Sizheng, she deftly diverted their gaze.
“Have you worked with Qin Sizheng before? You’ll have a lot of scenes together—any thoughts?”
Yao Jinwei replied, “I’m actually looking forward to it. It’s his first big movie, acting opposite someone like Fourth Brother—I hope he does well.”
The media today were polite and cooperative, keeping questions courteous rather than probing.
“Yao Jie is very kind to the younger actors.”
“This is your second time working with Fourth Brother, right? Aren’t you nervous?”
Before Yao Jinwei could answer, Chen Qiu spoke up. “Acting opposite Fourth Brother takes every ounce of focus. If you can’t handle it, it’s going to be rough.”
He leaned close to Qin Sizheng and whispered, “One year I was just an extra in his scene. Got scolded so badly I nearly developed a complex. Then I realized he wasn’t yelling at me, he was yelling at the director. Almost messed me up again.”
Qin Sizheng was slightly stunned. Chen Qiu continued quietly, “This guy is amazing—he dares to scold everyone from producer to director. I was just dumbfounded.”
A reporter added, “Sizheng, your promo video for Little General was amazing—I was moved to tears. Director Zhou said he chose you after watching variety shows. The role of Chu Jing seems tailor-made for you. You’re in for a lot of fun this time.”
Qin Sizheng replied, “I really like this role. I hope I won’t disappoint the director or anyone.”
Yao Jinwei lowered her head and smiled, smoothly shifting the focus back to herself. “Don’t blame Fourth Brother that time. I wasn’t feeling well, and the director insisted I get into the river. The ice was two feet thick—how could I not get frostbite?”
The media had heard bits and pieces but didn’t know the full story. Yao Jinwei continued, “He tried speaking up for me, but the director ignored him. I thought, whatever, just bear with it. Then Fourth Brother kicked the table over. The director scolded him for meddling, but even then he wouldn’t back down. If he hadn’t acted, he could’ve bought the production company himself and made them redo the scene.”
Lu Xianqing had thrown the script at his face and walked off.
The director yelled after him, “If you’ve got guts, don’t come back. This film will get shut down otherwise!”
Lu Xianqing waved dismissively behind him. Yao Jinwei continued, “To be honest, that’s Fourth Brother. Eventually, the director personally apologized, another director replaced him, and the movie went on.”
“Ah, Fourth Brother’s here!”
Lu Xianqing stepped down from the car. He had only one assistant, An Ning, and wore a simple black shirt and pants, his expression cool and detached.
The media swarmed like bees to honey. Yao Jinwei’s carefully posed stance went unnoticed, her face briefly showing surprise, but she quickly recovered and walked elegantly toward Lu Xianqing.
Qin Sizheng stayed frozen in place, unsure how to react.
Yesterday, his mental state had been fragile—he’d looked extremely vulnerable during his nightmare. Would he be better today?
Yao Jinwei smiled lightly. “Fourth Brother, you’re late today. We’ve been waiting a while. Traffic, perhaps?” She offered a considerate excuse for his tardiness, extending her arm for him to link with hers.
Lu Xianqing walked past her directly to Qin Sizheng. “How long have you been here?” he asked softly.
What? The media looked on, bewildered.
Yao Jinwei’s smile instantly faltered, though she quickly restored it for appearances. “I know Fourth Brother well, so no need for formalities, haha,” she said, secretly gritting her teeth.
He had publicly disregarded her face!
The reporters, sensing something, realized Yao Jinwei and Lu Xianqing weren’t really that close; any previous hype had been her own doing.
Yao Jinwei’s expression darkened. “Okay, enough photos.” She turned and left.
Though the crowd pressed forward, no one dared to snap more close-up shots of Lu Xianqing. His cold, firm temper was enough to make anyone wary of angering him. They managed only a few photos and considered whether to take more.
Qin Sizheng pulled a few candies from his pocket and handed them to him. “Changfeng bought these for me. Sometimes filming takes too long, and you can get low blood sugar. It’s good to have a bit of candy.”
The media couldn’t hear the exchange but suddenly saw Lu Xianqing place his hand gently on Qin Sizheng’s head, lightly rubbing it.
Although in previous variety shows their interactions could have been scripted or professional, this small gesture made it clear—they were genuine friends.
The reporters went into a frenzy, capturing the head-rubbing moment. It became the biggest highlight of the opening ceremony.
Qin Sizheng was caught off guard, and Lu Xianqing whispered, “Don’t move. Let them take pictures.”
Zhou Changjiang called out, “Come over, we’re ready.”
The media moved to their positions.
Lu Xianqing withdrew his hand. An Ning, having just heard Shen Changfeng’s gossip, came over. “These media people look down on anyone they think is lower in status. If they knew you were close to Fourth Brother, they wouldn’t dare underestimate you.”
Qin Sizheng hadn’t realized that. An Ning snorted softly. “That’s why so many people cling to trends. What Yao Jinwei just said was part of that.”
Qin Sizheng asked, “The kicking-table incident?”
An Ning shook her head. “Not really. Fourth Brother’s just got fragile nerves and a terrible temper—he couldn’t be bothered with their arguing, nothing to do with defending her.”
Qin Sizheng finally understood.
An Ning suddenly pointed at his hand, mock-complaining, “Hey, I want one too!”
Qin Sizheng quickly handed her a candy. She chuckled and covered her mouth, continuing, “She’s so annoying. Ever since that movie, she keeps hyping ‘Fourth Brother’s wrath for a beauty.’ Fourth Brother probably doesn’t even remember who she is.”
Lu Xianqing tilted his head to look at her. An Ning said, “What? Am I wrong?”
“Candy.” He reached out, his gaze calm as it met the young girl beside him. An Ning stepped back. “No, this is from my idol! I’m keeping it!”
“You have a toothache, you can’t eat it,” Lu Xianqing said.
“I had one last month—it’s long gone. You have to trust the amoxicillin capsules; they’re great at reducing inflammation and soothing pain.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he replied. “Give it here.”
Qin Sizheng looked back and forth between them—one candy, and they were acting like this?
“Well… Fourth Brother, maybe you could give An Ning one. She…”
“I have a headache,” Lu Xianqing interrupted.
Qin Sizheng’s eyes widened. “What happened?”
An Ning, understanding him perfectly, rolled her eyes and tossed the candy at him. “Cheapskate!”
Lu Xianqing caught the candy, and suddenly his headache was gone. He looked calm and said, “It doesn’t hurt anymore. Maybe it was just an illusion.”
Qin Sizheng: “…”
Director Zhou was urging them along. The three of them moved forward. Qin Sizheng, as the third male lead, stood slightly to the side, following the lead of the main actors, smoothly completing the opening ceremony.
Next came the press interviews. Lu Xianqing typically avoided interacting with the media, speaking only a few words. Qin Sizheng was happy to stay in the background, while Yao Jinwei and Chen Qiu ended up talking themselves hoarse.
“Qin Sizheng, get ready for makeup. We’re filming two shots this afternoon,” Shen Changfeng reminded him, politely nodding to Lu Xianqing.
Lu Xianqing also had makeup to do. One of the two upcoming shots involved a scene with him. He took a candy from Qin Sizheng, peeled it, and offered it to him. “Don’t get low blood sugar.”
Qin Sizheng popped the candy in his mouth, mumbling, “See you in a bit, Fourth Brother.”
“Mm.”
Lu Xianqing and Yao Jinwei had a separate makeup room, while Qin Sizheng shared one with Chen Qiu, walking over together.
For this role, he needed a shaved head. The stylist trimmed his hair close to the scalp, applied several layers of foundation to give his pale skin a darker, wheat-colored tone, and drew a scar along his cheek.
From the brow bone down to his cheek, a long, creeping line resembled a tiny centipede, giving rise to a cold, tough, mischievous “little thug” look.
Chen Qiu leaned over. “Wow, so cool! Make me fall for you again, Ah Jing-ge!”
Qin Sizheng smiled.
“By the way, we’ll be sharing a room tonight. Are you okay with that? Sometimes people snore or grind their teeth, can’t sleep—it’s awful.”
“I don’t snore or grind my teeth. But I might hit people.”
Chen Qiu froze. “You… won’t, right?”
“No, just kidding.”
Chen Qiu glared. “You scared me. I saw you break glass with your bare hands on that variety show. If you hit me, I’d split in half.”
“Qin Teacher, ready? The director wants you prepared,” a junior assistant urged.
The stylist said, “Almost done, just change clothes.”
After changing, the stylist adjusted him slightly and fitted a black wrist guard on his right hand. Meanwhile, Zhou Changjiang explained the scene to Lu Xianqing.
“In your eyes, everyone on Xihua Street isn’t even human—they’re like trash or ants. Even if they die before you, it only sullies your eyes. When a kid steals from you, you disdain having your possessions dirtied. So when Chu Jing comes to you, you only shame him. But suddenly you see a backbone in his eyes—you want to crush that backbone, to prove he’s just another ant.”
Lu Xianqing nodded, confirming. Ding Chenhai’s character had no early-stage emotion—utterly cold and merciless.
Zhou Changjiang loved to explain the scene to him—it required no effort. He then turned to Qin Sizheng.
“If Ding Chenhai is an icy sea, you’re a fireball, lighting up all of Xihua Street. You recklessly take on everyone’s burdens. So when your friend steals from Ding Chenhai, you don’t care about consequences—you apologize for him. In your heart, friends and family are everything; you’d face fire and water for them.”
Qin Sizheng nodded. “Willing to take the punishment, not break the backbone.”
“Exactly!” Zhou Changjiang admired his understanding, unaware Lu Xianqing had taught him this before. “Today, we’ll try to shoot as much as possible. The weather forecast says the moonlight tonight should be perfect; if we have time, we’ll shoot the night scene too.”
Lu Xianqing said, “Don’t call him Zhou Changjiang—call him ‘Zhou the Skinflint.’ First day like this, enough already.”
Zhou Changjiang glared. “Don’t speak unless necessary. Don’t cover for anyone—I’m not Meng Zhen. I’ve filmed three consecutive big night scenes; no one pulled this with me.”
Qin Sizheng quickly replied, “It’s fine. I can handle it.”
Lu Xianqing smiled, knowing he could. Zhou Changjiang suddenly realized the full meaning of his earlier remark and nearly shouted, “Stop splitting hairs with me!”
Lu Xianqing looked innocent. “No chit-chat allowed?”
Zhou Changjiang ignored him, then gestured to Qin Sizheng. “Be careful. Any problem, speak up. Your fight scenes are intense—don’t hurt yourself, understand?”
“Got it,” Qin Sizheng replied.
Zhou Changjiang moved to his camera position, signaled both actors, and raised the megaphone:
“‘Between Good and Evil,’ Scene One, Take One! Action!”
Qin Sizheng, holding an apple, bit into it as he walked into Xihua Street. He saw a little girl fall, stuffed his apple into his mouth, and bent down to help her.
“Come on, let me see which fairy fell face-first?”
The girl, in pain and feeling wronged, pouted. Chu Jing exclaimed dramatically, “Oh no, her nose is gone! So ugly!”
The girl cried loudly. Qin Sizheng laughed, “It’s fine, it didn’t fall off. Still perfectly beautiful.” He lifted her onto his shoulder and positioned her near a reflective board around the corner. “See? Your nose is fine.”
The little girl finally stopped crying. Chu Jing set her down at her doorstep, handing over the half-eaten apple, then turned to head back home.
“When did Ah Jing get back?”
“Ah Jing, be careful—Third Aunt will scold you again. You’re so old and still no sense of discipline. Later, she’ll have the rattan stick ready!”
“Did you find a girlfriend on this trip? Third Aunt’s been hoping for a grandchild for ages! You should hurry, find a wife, settle down properly, and have a kid—treat her well.”
Chu Jing plopped down on a worn oil drum. “Uncle Jiu’s braised pork knuckle smells amazing.” He reached for it but got a smack on the hand. “Don’t touch, it’s not cooked yet.”
He retracted his hand as Uncle Jiu handed him a piece of cooked meat. Chu Jing sat back on the drum, eating.
Xihua Street was filthy and chaotic, full of the stench of poverty and decay. Crumbling, greasy buildings leaned precariously, shop signs were rusted. Lights were turned off during the day to save electricity, the barber shop’s spinning sign was unpowered, and broken wires hung everywhere. Faces in the street bore the marks of hardship.
After finishing his meat, Chu Jing washed his hands in a bucket and said goodbye to Uncle Jiu before heading home. He lived upstairs. Passing the adult store, he lifted the sign blocking the door.
“Li-jie, your husband ran off again.”
Li-jie was painting her nails. She stretched out a fair, beautiful foot. “You little brat, paint my nails—I can’t do it myself.”
Chu Jing chuckled. “I’m not into sister-brother stuff. Find someone else to paint.” He ran upstairs, thumping along the way. Li-jie shouted after him, “Keep it down! You’ll collapse the whole building!”
Someone peered out and yelled, “Compared to Li-jie’s noise last night, you just knocked off two layers of plaster!”
Li-jie: “Which wolf pup said that behind my back?”
Chu Jing rapped on the door. Before he could knock properly, his phone rang. On the other end, a voice was crying: “Ah Jing, help… come quick, save Xiao Yu!”
“What did you two get into this time?” Chu Jing said as he sprinted downstairs, earning another scolding from Li-jie. When he arrived, he saw San Yang, bruised and teary-eyed.
“Ah Jing, hurry!”
“What happened? Who hit your face? I told you not to mess with Xiao Yu—sooner or later you’d get hurt!”
“Stop scolding me. I tried to keep Xiao Yu from going, but he said nobody lived there, and he’d been watching. Didn’t expect he wouldn’t come out.”
Chu Jing already had an idea. Xiao Yu’s habit was stealing and sneaking around. “Then what happened to your face?”
“I tried to climb the wall to check, saw that the guy had a bunch of wolf dogs in his yard, got scared, and fell.”
Chu Jing glanced at the house opposite. “That one? Fine. You wait at home. I’ll check it out.”
San Yang grabbed him. “No, let’s think first. If you rush in, you won’t get Xiao Yu back, and if something happens, Third Aunt will kill me!”
“Fine, I’m going.”
San Yang clutched him again. “Ah Jing, you can’t ignore Xiao Yu. If you don’t save him, he’s done for!”
“Then get lost! If I bring you along, we won’t rescue him. Go back to Xihua Street. If you ever steal with Xiao Yu again, I’ll break your legs!” Chu Jing shouted. San Yang froze, nodded, and ran off.
Chu Jing rubbed his face with both hands. The house looked like a European vampire castle, covered in climbing ivy, gray bricks peeling red paint. Even in broad daylight, it seemed sinister.
He nimbly climbed the wall, nearly falling. “Heh, so many dogs—selling them?”
Below, a dozen or more fighting dogs were chained, their lean bodies fierce. If he fell, he’d be torn apart. “Easy, dog brothers, just taking a stroll, just a stroll.”
He carefully balanced on the wall, leapt to another section, then onto the roof. There, Xiao Yu was kneeling with hands bound behind him, face bloodied, head bowed, lifeless or not unknown.
Chu Jing clenched his fists, inched closer to peek inside. Across from Xiao Yu, a man sat, mostly hidden by a curtain—only shiny black shoes and suit pants visible.
The dogs barked wildly. The curtain was yanked aside, and their eyes met. Chu Jing nearly fell from the wall.
Qin Sizheng wasn’t acting—he genuinely slipped but managed to regain his footing in time.
Inside, Lu Xianqing’s sharp brows and piercing gaze cut like the sea itself. His black suit added to the blade-like coldness; even the glimpse of his crisp white shirt cuff was immaculate.
Chu Jing had never seen anyone wear a suit so well—it looked made for him. In character, he was unrecognizable as Lu Xianqing. He was Ding Chenhai.