“No, I will do it myself.”
Qin Sizheng hurriedly stuck his hands under the running water, splashed them hastily, and reached for the towel—only for Lu Xianqing to snatch it away first. He looked up in confusion. “Fourth Brother?”
“You call that clean? Wash again. Even elementary school students know the proper way to wash their hands.” Lu Xianqing sounded stern.
Qin Sizheng suddenly felt a little sloppy by comparison. He put his hands back under the faucet and began scrubbing more carefully.
“Do you know the seven steps of handwashing?” Lu Xianqing asked.
Qin Sizheng froze. He was usually very clean and had washed thoroughly, but after being asked that, he was suddenly unsure of the order of the seven steps. He shook his head.
Lu Xianqing crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway, composed and unhurried. “First, rub your palms together. Fingers together, palms facing, slowly scrub.”
Qin Sizheng immediately obeyed, pressing his palms together under the running water as it flowed over his fingertips.
“Then the backs of your hands and between the fingers. Slide the fingers of your left hand into the gaps of your right and scrub. Then switch.”
Though Lu Xianqing’s tone was light, his gaze lingered greedily on those hands without moving away.
They were nimble. Rougher than when they first met, yes—but that thin layer of callus was like fine sandpaper scratching at his heart, leaving a tingling sensation.
Long fingers slipped between each other, tending carefully to hidden spaces. He wanted to kiss them—to replace those fingers with his tongue, to clean every pale, tender gap himself.
“Interlace your fingers, palms together. Scrub.”
His voice, once cool and detached, gradually turned hoarse, a heavy heat threading through it. It tugged at his pulse and blood, burning slowly, consuming his restraint.
He almost could not stop himself from pressing the boy against the sink, indulging in wild imaginings—those hands cleansing something else, thoroughly, meticulously tracing every groove and hollow.
“Wrap one hand around the other thumb. Alternate.”
Qin Sizheng followed obediently, like a child carefully carrying out instructions. Lu Xianqing suddenly remembered that night—how he had coaxed him into drinking more, how obedient he had been when he lost awareness. Even more docile than now.
When he sobered up, he had no idea what had been done to him. He had even apologized guiltily for falling asleep, blaming himself, then made an excuse to wash his hands in the bathroom.
He had no idea what those hands had once touched. No idea they had been licked inch by inch. And he had stayed the night at his place, foolishly trusting.
“Bend your four fingers together and scrub them against the palm of your other hand. Then switch.”
For the first time, Qin Sizheng felt that washing hands was this troublesome. Lu Xianqing’s low voice echoed faintly in the spacious bathroom, bouncing lightly off the walls and landing in his chest, making his heart tremble.
He never used a dubbing actor when filming. Even if the sound quality on set was poor and required post-production, he would always do the dubbing himself.
Under that gaze, with that voice circling by his ear, Qin Sizheng felt his back nearly drenched in sweat. Even his breathing went uneven.
“That should be clean enough, right?” He was about to lose his nerve. He looked up at Lu Xianqing and was startled by the look in his eyes. “Fourth Brother?”
“Last step.” Lu Xianqing straightened from the wall and walked over. “One hand grips the other wrist. After that, we can eat.”
Qin Sizheng let out a long breath. Finally, it was ending.
He turned off the faucet and reached for the towel, but before he could grab it, his hands were enveloped. Lu Xianqing held the towel with both hands, wrapping it around Qin Sizheng’s and rubbing twice to dry them.
Their eyes met.
Qin Sizheng’s breath caught. The tips of his ears flushed red.
From outside, An Ning called out, “Ancestors, did you fall into the sink? If you do not come out soon, the food is going cold!”
Lu Xianqing hung the towel back up. Qin Sizheng followed him out. The moment An Ning saw Qin Sizheng’s evasive gaze and reddened ears, she rolled her eyes internally. Really? Squeezing in advantage at every crack—managing to take liberties even during handwashing.
“Fourth Brother, you need to return President Ye’s call later.”
“Sister Xingxing said she will call in an hour. Also, you have a magazine cover shoot tomorrow. She has already spoken to Director Zhou. They will spare you the morning.”
“President Ming called just now. He wants you to return it when you have time.”
“There is an interview trying to confirm a time with you. They said if you are unavailable, they can come to the hotel, but Zhou Changjiang does not like media coming over. If we wait until filming wraps, it will be too long. Sister Xingxing suggests doing an online interview instead. She asked me to check your opinion first.”
“And also…”
An Ning took the fruit Shen Changfeng had sent and went to wash it, rattling off reminders like a human memo pad. Lu Xianqing responded to the first few, but when it dragged on endlessly, he finally frowned. “Can you let me finish eating first?”
An Ning said, “Oh.”
Qin Sizheng did not find her noisy. He just realized how busy Lu Xianqing was. He himself barely had any work—aside from that variety show at the beginning, a promotional video later, and this film, that was it. He had no idea Lu Xianqing’s schedule was packed this tightly.
No wonder his complexion looked so poor.
After a moment’s thought, Qin Sizheng picked up a piece of meat and placed it in Lu Xianqing’s bowl.
An Ning quickly said, “Fourth Brother does not eat meat. Sizheng, do not randomly put food in his bowl.”
Qin Sizheng froze, embarrassed, and withdrew his hand. “Sorry.”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head and, still by Qin Sizheng’s hand, bit into the braised pork. He chewed twice and swallowed. “Just afraid of gaining weight. One bite is fine. Do not tell He Xing.”
An Ning looked as if she had seen a ghost. When Lu Xianqing shot her a glance, she swallowed whatever she had been about to say.
“There is nothing else here. Go rest,” Lu Xianqing said to An Ning.
She hesitated, suppressed the worry in her heart, and left.
The door closed, leaving only the two of them. Qin Sizheng suddenly felt nervous. He swallowed to steady himself before asking, “Are you going to shoot the magazine cover tomorrow?”
Lu Xianqing hummed. “What? Going to miss me?”
Qin Sizheng pressed his lips together. He wanted to say yes. He was about to wrap filming soon—each passing day meant one less day. Unlike Chen Qiu, whose role, though less likable, would keep him on set longer, allowing him to be with Lu Xianqing day and night.
Lu Xianqing thought he was troubled and smiled. “Since I will not be here tomorrow, I will go over your scenes tonight in advance. Otherwise Zhou Changjiang, that old bastard, will scold you tomorrow and you will disgrace me, your teacher.”
The small flicker of excitement in Qin Sizheng’s heart vanished instantly. So he had called him over only to avoid embarrassment. He had thought he might like him a little as a student.
“Do not worry. I will not disgrace you.”
Lu Xianqing burst out laughing. “You say it like I am not coming back. I am just shooting a magazine—half a day and I will be back. It is mostly travel time. Unless there is a car accident, I will return quickly.”
Qin Sizheng immediately covered his mouth. “Do not talk nonsense. Spit it out.”
Lu Xianqing was stunned for a moment, blinking as their eyes met. Feeling the warmth against his palm, Qin Sizheng quickly withdrew his hand. “It is unlucky.”
“Did not expect you to be superstitious.”
“Just do not say that. Hurry and spit it out.”
Lu Xianqing said helplessly, “Fine. I spit it out.”
In his previous life, Qin Sizheng had died in a car accident. Even now, when he saw oil tankers on the road, he reflexively closed his eyes. The soaring flames, the heart-wrenching screams, the bone-deep pain—
He did not even dare think about it. Even as a joke, he did not want Lu Xianqing to experience such a thing.
“Yan Yan.”
“Yan Yan?” Lu Xianqing called twice before Qin Sizheng snapped back to himself. Lu Xianqing popped a grape into his mouth, then pulled him up and led him into the study.
“I will walk you through the scene.”
The decor here leaned toward luxury, quite different from Ding Chenhai’s cold, rigid style. But with “Ding Chenhai” himself present, the oppressive aura was already there.
“The later scenes are warmer. Mostly about falling in love. You are my redemption.” Lu Xianqing turned around, the door clicking shut behind them. One hand gripped Qin Sizheng’s waist, the other seized his chin and pressed him against the door.
“You do not mind me doing this, right?” He lowered his head, releasing Qin Sizheng’s chin. In a slightly lowered, courteous tone, he said, “You have not had formal acting training, and you are not from a professional background. The only way to help you is by rehearsing in advance. If you mind, or feel like I am taking advantage of you, you can say so.”
The posture was far too intimate. Qin Sizheng could not help but tense. But he knew Lu Xianqing had no intention of taking advantage—he was just helping him rehearse. How could he say he minded?
“I do not mind. Do whatever you need,” Qin Sizheng said.
“Good.”
Lu Xianqing gripped his chin again and lifted it, then suddenly pushed him harder against the door. His back thudded against it, a faint sting blooming as he instinctively furrowed his brow.
“I am drenched in sin. I have done countless terrible things. Before I met you, my hands were soaked in blood. I drifted and sank in the dark. But one day, you suddenly appeared—like a beam of light. When you illuminated me, you illuminated all my sins as well.”
Lu Xianqing’s voice was low as he leaned close to Qin Sizheng’s ear, closer and closer, until it was almost intimate enough to brush skin against skin.
“I was afraid. That beam of sunlight exposed every filthy part of me. But I rely on you. I cannot help wanting to draw near that light… and yet I am afraid it will disappear.”
Qin Sizheng’s breathing tightened; even his chest felt constricted. Ding Chenhai’s lines were powerful, and Lu Xianqing slipped into the emotion with terrifying ease. It was as if Ding Chenhai himself were pressing him to the door, confessing love and fear in the same breath.
A man that powerful could still be afraid.
Then what about Lu Xianqing?
He was just as strong. Sometimes Qin Sizheng could not even tell the two apart. There were moments when Lu Xianqing felt like Ding Chenhai. Just as he sometimes felt like “Fourth Brother.” Did he overlap with all these roles? Did he carry the same fear inside?
A light squeeze at his waist snapped him back. Lu Xianqing’s fingertips kneaded gently, reminding him not to stiffen so much. Qin Sizheng hurried to relax, adjusting his breathing so he would not seem nervous.
“From the moment you appeared, I never intended to let you go. Even if I had to imprison you, I would keep you by my side.”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head further, his lips nearly grazing Qin Sizheng’s ear as he whispered, “A Jing.”
Qin Sizheng’s breath caught. “Mm.”
“I like you.”
His eyes flew wide open.
His heart pounded wildly, as if it might leap out of his mouth.
He said he liked him.