“Pff… hahaha hahahaha…” Liang Xin couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into uncontrollable laughter in the surveillance room.
He was practically dying of laughter! When Director Bo had called him over, he’d gone reluctantly, never expecting to witness such a spectacle. This was too much—he was laughing so hard his stomach hurt!
Tears streamed from the corners of Liang Xin’s eyes, and he didn’t even notice that the people in the monitoring room had quietly left.
“I’ve been thinking… your year-end bonus might have been a bit too generous,” Bo Rui said, frowning as he stood behind Liang Xin. No wonder this guy hadn’t come down after all that time—he was just sitting in the monitoring room grinning like an idiot?
“Director Bo!” Liang Xin instantly wiped the smile off his face, switching in a second to a professional expression, as if nothing had happened. Pills! How did Director Bo get back so fast?
“Stop dawdling. The person I sent up before? Go follow them now,” Bo Rui said, giving Liang Xin a swift smack on the head. This was a misunderstanding on his part, but it was still not too late to wrap things up.
“Yes, Director Bo,” Liang Xin said, clutching his head. It hurt so much he almost felt it would detach from his neck. Director Bo, do you even know how strong your hands are?!
“I’m going out this afternoon. You head back to the company,” Bo Rui decided coldly after tidying up a few things.
“Director Bo!” Liang Xin touched the large bandage on his face. What about his image?
“Scram.” Bo Rui didn’t want to deal with him. Honestly, who puts such a giant bandage on a minor cut?
—— Shift to the film set ——
It was clear to anyone watching that Yu Junqing hadn’t been himself these past two days.
When filming, he still slipped into character quickly and flawlessly, indistinguishable from before. But once the scene ended, he seemed completely lost, as if his soul had wandered off.
“What’s wrong with Qingqing? He seems so out of it these past few days,” Yuan Qingqing whispered to Xiao Yitong, peeking at Yu Junqing, who was staring blankly at his script. Concern flickered in her eyes.
Xiao Yitong glanced at Yu Junqing, who was so absorbed he hadn’t even noticed his script had fallen, and sighed. He wasn’t keen on explaining.
“It’s nothing serious. He’ll be fine in a few days.”
“What do you mean? Are there days like that every month?” Yuan Qingqing couldn’t help blurting out.
“…” Xiao Yitong gave her a look full of paternal concern.
Yuan Qingqing mentally slapped herself twice—curse her loose tongue.
Xiao Yitong stepped closer anyway. Not good at comforting people, he finally scratched his head and muttered, “My condolences?”
Yuan Qingqing’s ears nearly burned. What kind of comfort was that?
Yu Junqing’s hollow eyes glanced at Xiao Yitong, then dropped back down. Clearly, Xiao Yitong’s so-called comfort did nothing.
…Xiao Yitong quietly stepped back, realizing there was nothing more he could do.
Despite being distracted, Yu Junqing flawlessly completed all the afternoon scenes. Xiao Yitong and Yuan Qingqing watched from afar, amazed. Once he stepped on set, he discarded all his distractions and instantly became the character. That kind of instant transformation—how did someone even develop that skill?
Everyone who had worked with Yu Junqing was already accustomed to his enviable talent, but envy alone wouldn’t help—they couldn’t simply borrow his skill. If acting talent were that easy to obtain, every actor would be a superstar, and there’d be no need for awards.
Furthermore, Yu Junqing always left space in the shot for his co-actors, sometimes even guiding them. Nobody disliked working with him.
Everyone, that is, except Fang Sheng.
Ever since that day, Fang Sheng had been observing Yu Junqing quietly. Not just his acting, but how he worked. Even learning a fraction of Yu Junqing’s technique could be his stepping stone from supporting to leading roles.
The more he watched, the more frustrated he became. Yu Junqing would zone out, drop scripts, yet the moment filming started, he transformed into a master of his craft. How was he supposed to learn anything from that? Just staring blankly wouldn’t teach him instant immersion.
Fang Sheng had quite a few scenes with Yu Junqing. Every time, he meticulously studied the script overnight, arriving the next day full of confidence—only to be ruthlessly outperformed.
Watching Yu Junqing perform flawlessly today, Fang Sheng’s face betrayed his frustration.
This guy was that good—how could he not overshadow him, making it impossible for him to impress the director?
“What’s wrong? Who are you staring at?” an assistant asked, handing over a thermos filled with a warming drink prepared daily for the dry winter air.
“Nothing.” Fang Sheng quickly hid the hint of jealousy in his eyes, lowered his head, and drank, oblivious to the assistant catching his glance.
Yu Junqing returned to his usual spot on the sofa, sitting strangely. Xiao Yitong couldn’t help but comment, “Actually, a new one isn’t bad either.”
Yu Junqing shot him a glare that could devour him alive. Xiao Yitong immediately zipped his lips—clearly, Yu Junqing hadn’t said a word before.
Yu Junqing sat silently, eyes drifting, lost in thought.
“Junqing, are you there?” A knock at the door interrupted him. Xiao Yitong, reviewing Yu Junqing’s post-shoot schedule, went to answer.
Lin Qing stepped in with a bunch of plump green grapes, popping a few into his mouth along the way.
“Here.” He handed a small cluster to Yu Junqing, who glanced up and obediently accepted it.
“For seeing you looking like death warmed over these past few days. Just came by on behalf of the organization. Nothing serious,” Lin Qing said, smiling knowingly—clearly, nothing major was wrong with Yu Junqing.
“…I’m not that out of it,” Yu Junqing protested, a hint of guilt coloring his tone. Had he really been distracted that long? Had anyone noticed?
Lin Qing noticed the flicker in Yu Junqing’s eyes and snorted.
Yu Junqing quietly popped two grapes into his mouth, pretending not to notice anything.
“Seeing you like this… I’m off. No need to linger. Unlike you, I’m swamped,” Lin Qing said, stretching and leaving after devouring half the grapes, smiling subtly.
…Yu Junqing flicked a mental flame at him—shameless, shameless, always secretly floating pink bubbles with Wang Shilin, almost unstoppable on set. If Director Wang hadn’t stayed quiet, the gossip would have exploded online days ago.
After watching Lin Qing leave, Yu Junqing realized his distraction these past days must have been significant; otherwise, Lin Qing wouldn’t have bothered warning him.
Finishing the last grape, Yu Junqing asked Xiao Yitong, who was still reviewing his schedule, “Do I look like I’ve got something on my mind these past few days?”
Xiao Yitong’s heart twisted. My goodness, you still just noticed? You’re practically untouchable on set.
He gave a brief explanation, which genuinely surprised Yu Junqing.
When did he gain such standing in the crew?
Yu Junqing had likely never checked his own social media or the news.
His previous drama, from day one, had blown up for its handsome cast, plot twists, and a director who knew how to tug at hearts. Little details that seemed trivial at first suddenly made viewers tear up.
Moreover, because of two prior scandals, attention had been firmly on Yu Junqing. This drama only cemented his image: deep, gentle, utterly captivating. His fanbase skyrocketed.
During promotion, his slightly clueless demeanor leaked—thanks to the scheming director—and a wave of “mommy fans” descended, screaming online daily.
If Yu Junqing checked his social media now, he’d see his follower count had jumped from a mere hundred thousand to nearly five million, almost entirely from this one drama! By comparison, other actors gained at most a million.
At the peak of his fame, with Bo Rui’s RQ support, the company never stopped promoting him. Though not top-tier, he was a rising star. Add in his past award, and his status was solid.
Xiao Yitong looked at the small bunch of grapes Yu Junqing had left for him and felt a swell of pride.
When he first joined the crew, many gave him strange, sometimes disdainful looks. Initially puzzled, he later realized it was because Yu Junqing had no assistant and was underestimated. Many behind-the-scenes staff secretly mocked him.
Yet Yu Junqing never felt inferior. After exhausting filming, he still fed himself, packed his own things, earning silent admiration.
In contrast, others with less notable roles constantly fussed over their assistants—such arrogance.
By comparison, Yu Junqing’s earnest, gentle personality quickly won over many.
Xiao Yitong recalled some mommy fans barely in their twenties, constantly squealing online… and Yuan Qingqing might be one too.
“What’s with that expression? Kinda gross,” Yu Junqing asked, noticing Xiao Yitong’s rapidly changing face.
“Brother Yu…” Xiao Yitong pouted, accusing him silently. Somehow, his expression looked three parts mischievous, seven parts gross.
Yu Junqing couldn’t help laughing. The gloom of the past few days evaporated, his lips curved in a honeyed smile, eyes brimming with warmth like winter sunlight kissing the skin. Xiao Yitong nearly froze, thinking—how could this slightly older-looking Yu Junqing look even more captivating and impossible to look away from?
Instinctively, Xiao Yitong snapped a photo. Yu Junqing, done with his smile, returned to studying the script.
Xiao Yitong, glancing at the picture, decided to send it to the company for promotion. Though set photos weren’t allowed, a good daily shot could stir fans’ excitement.
Bo Rui, about to leave for the parking lot, suddenly noticed a social media notification. Checking it, he froze for ten minutes straight.
Finally coming back to his senses, he muttered, “This big baby… always making people worry.”
The whole day, he couldn’t reach him. Now suddenly, a post appeared. Either Yu Junqing was too absorbed in filming to notice the news—or he hadn’t seen it at all. Either way, the smile was enough to make anyone swoon.
Ever since Bo Rui started following social media, he realized the chaotic creativity of fans: men giving birth to men, monkeys, rabbits, everything in the zoo. Some couples even cross-species.
Some fans decided to marry Yu Junqing spontaneously, break up with partners on whims… the list was endless. Bo Rui soon understood one truth: this… was… a… cult.
Grateful he’d booked the penthouse for Yu Junqing, Bo Rui knew it was secluded, unlikely anyone from the crew would visit, especially at mealtime.
Adjusting his hair, he felt satisfied with the slight droop in the front—he knew the difference between styled up and down, a skill he used since opening the company.
Xiao Yitong kept muttering about Yu Junqing skipping meals, ignored by Yu Junqing, sighing at the cooling packed food. Suddenly, a knock at the door startled him.
Who could come at this time? Perhaps for a scene? But Yu Junqing hadn’t eaten, so they’d have to wait for a late-night snack!
Opening the door, Xiao Yitong froze. The visitor looked startlingly like the new company CEO he’d recently switched to.
“Who’s there?” Yu Junqing called, hearing no movement, then returned to his script.
Out of nowhere, a large hand clamped on his throat. Yu Junqing, startled, immediately recognized the familiar voice whispering in his ear.
“Bold… I heard you weren’t eating?” Bo Rui’s tone was harsh. How many times had he warned this big baby about taking care of his precious body?
Yu Junqing glanced outside—Xiao Yitong was gone—and immediately tried to grab Bo Rui’s throat. He hadn’t even confronted him yet for spreading rumors behind his back!
They tussled on the small sofa, Bo Rui’s reflexes quick enough to catch him. The big baby almost slammed his head into the ground!
Seeing this, Yu Junqing pouted, calling pitifully, “Brother Rui.”
Bo Rui’s alarm bells rang. He carefully placed him on his lap—good thing Xiao Yitong had left—or someone might have seen this.
Yu Junqing landed, promptly reached to pinch Bo Rui’s throat, eyes full of grievance.
Bo Rui couldn’t help but soften. He had been careless, leading to those photos—excuses aside. Rarely did he show such tenderness, gently stroking Yu Junqing’s cheek.
Yu Junqing snuggled against him, finally voicing a full-blown grievance.
“It’s all your fault! My phone fell and broke—I haven’t touched it for two days!”
…Bo Rui’s head ached. He now very much wanted to adjust his hands elsewhere. How about a perfectly soft backside? Maybe give it a few slaps too!