Ming Qi himself didn’t really browse his own Weibo super topic much.
After being reminded by Bu Hongfang today, he got curious and clicked in. After “Death Notice” and the wave of popularity sent by Lu Sixing and the others, his Weibo super topic followers were no longer the pitiful number that could be counted on two hands. Compared to people like Bu Hongfang, it still wasn’t much, but for Ming Qi, it was already a pleasant surprise.
“My brother lives a long life”: Sharing some photos I took of my brother in the film studio a long time ago. I guarantee you’ve never seen them before [photo][photo][photo]
Ming Qi was drawn in, enlarged the photos, and looked carefully for a while. He vaguely remembered these were taken when he had just entered the industry not long ago. He was wearing a background extra costume—worn, dirty, and rough—but his face was full of a bright smile, even making a peace sign at the camera.
This fan… seemed to be one of the extras at that time too.
He opened the comments and first saw a string of乱码 (garbled ID) leaving a message below: Thank you, saved.
Several teasing replies were mixed in:
[Little alt account bro, you’re really so polite, I’m crying.]
[Today I opened the super topic and it’s all your comments. Just how many photos of 77 have you saved?]
Ming Qi’s sliding finger paused slightly. Thinking of what Bu Hongfang had just said, he stared at that garbled ID for a long time, then clicked into the profile picture. The homepage looked ordinary, but the earliest post could be traced back several years—it was a repost of Jing City Film Academy sharing photos of the freshman gala, and Ming Qi sharp-eyed noticed himself in it.
…It looked like a long-time fan. Then it probably wasn’t Yu Qinchou.
Interrupted by this “garbled brother,” Ming Qi immediately forgot what he had originally intended to do. He exited Weibo and refocused on the set.
Days of filming and watching others film like this passed in rotation. In the blink of an eye, more than half of Ming Qi’s scenes were done, and Huai Manyun had already wrapped. That night’s wrap banquet was held in a restaurant not far from the film city. Huai Manyun had drunk a bit too much and posted photos of herself hugging several main actors on Weibo.
Under Meng She’s reminder, Ming Qi reposted Huai Manyun’s Weibo and added: Congratulations, Sister Manyun on wrapping [fireworks][fireworks][fireworks]
Halfway through the meal, the private room door was knocked. Ming Qi lifted his gaze while holding his teacup and saw a middle-aged man enter. He didn’t recognize him, but Bu Hongfang beside him was already biting a chicken leg while introducing him: “Yu Deyu, heard of him? The earlier popular costume drama Good Things Coming was directed by him. He’s now shifted to making movies. He seems to be shooting a new one these days.”
While the two were speaking quietly, Yu Deyu had already greeted Director Zhang Cong and said: “I saw on Weibo that Manyun wrapped, and found you all here, so I came over to take a look.”
Zhang Cong was somewhat familiar with him and had worked together before, so his attitude was decent. He nodded and asked: “Not rushing schedule? Eating here too?”
Yu Deyu walked to the table. The assistant director very tactfully gave up his seat, and he naturally sat down, smiling: “The investor came today. He’s treating us to dinner.”
After saying that, his gaze drifted toward Ming Qi, who was holding his teacup, drinking water while talking with Bu Hongfang. Then he cleared his throat and raised his voice slightly: “Actually, I came over for something else… The male third I had previously set has broken his contract, and I can’t find a replacement right away. I just happen to really like Ming Qi, so I wanted to ask if Ming Qi could come help me out in an emergency.”
Suddenly being mentioned, everyone at the table turned their attention to the person involved. Ming Qi clearly hadn’t expected Yu Deyu to actually be here looking for him, and was a bit stunned for a moment. Although he didn’t recognize Yu Deyu, he was somewhat familiar with what Bu Hongfang mentioned about Good Things Coming. That costume drama had been very popular at the time, with high ratings, and the main cast’s acting was solid. The costumes and props were also not sloppy, and it was considered one of the most outstanding TV dramas of the year.
He blinked, about to speak, when Zhang Cong said, “Where would he even find the time now? My side isn’t even finished yet.”
Yu Deyu let out an awkward laugh. “If he agrees, I don’t mind waiting a month.”
“You can wait, but can your crew wait?” Zhang Cong glanced at him, finding it rather novel.
That’s just how filmmaking worked. With so many people and so many facilities involved, every extra day burned an unknown amount of money. Investors weren’t charity cases either—they were eager to squeeze the shortest possible schedule out of everyone while still getting the best result.
Still, Yu Deyu did have real ability. Zhang Cong didn’t want to block Ming Qi’s development either. After thinking it over, he said, “Add Ming Qi’s agent on WeChat and see if the schedules can line up.”
Yu Deyu seemed about to say more, but Meng She had already very proactively stood up and gone forward.
After the two sides added each other on WeChat, Yu Deyu still had to return to his private room to attend to the investors, so he didn’t stay long. Once he left, Bu Hongfang stroked his chin and said to Ming Qi, “I’ll ask Zheng Liang and see what’s going on with Yu Deyu’s project.”
Ming Qi had experienced the Tang Ke incident before, so he had a slight case of PTSD when it came to scripts that came knocking on their own. It wasn’t that he couldn’t take them, but at the very least, he needed to understand things clearly before deciding.
After dinner, Ming Qi went to the restroom. The restaurant’s restroom was at the very end of the corridor, passing by Yu Deyu’s crew’s private room. The door wasn’t fully closed; cigarette smoke drifted out through a hand-width gap. Ming Qi glanced casually and thought he caught a familiar figure, but when he looked again, the view was blocked by someone else’s back.
He didn’t think much of it and quickly finished up before returning to the restaurant entrance. Hua Manyun waved at them and headed straight to the airport. Ming Qi, Bu Hongfang, and Fu Yu walked slowly back to the hotel while chatting.
After washing up, Ming Qi checked his phone. His chat with Yu Qinchou had stopped at 3 p.m. that afternoon.
Just as he was wondering whether to say something, he noticed the “the other person is typing…” indicator appear at the top of the chat.
Not long after, Yu Qinchou’s message arrived.
Y: Finished?
77.: Finished. Just got back to the hotel. You’re very punctual.
77.: And you? Have you eaten?
Y: Eating now [photo]
Yu Qinchou was abroad. The food in the photo looked rather unappetizing. He asked, “Does it taste good?”
Yu Qinchou leaned back in a white chair. Just three words seemed enough to conjure up the image of the young man looking up with bright, curious eyes. He glanced at his lunch—ordinary, bland, even less appealing than overly sweet candied hawthorn.
He replied: Not good.
77.: Then when you come back, I’ll treat you to a big meal.
Ming Qi sent him a little emoji of a character happily eating.
Yu Qinchou let out a soft laugh: Okay.
The next morning, Ming Qi and Meng She arrived at the set, and Zheng Liang came over: “Morning.”
He pulled a chair into the resting area while Ming Qi was getting his makeup done and explained Yu Deyu’s new film: “I asked around. The original male third really did go to another crew. This new film of Yu Deyu’s is actually pretty good—he’s probably aiming for awards this time. It’s a literary film, quite ambitious. The production companies are all solid. Take a look.”
Ming Qi took the phone. The companies listed at the top were all top-tier in the industry, including Thousand Cities.
“I also checked last night. Basically no issues.” Meng She said from behind him. But as soon as he finished speaking, he noticed Ming Qi frowning slightly.
“Brother, do you know who the investor at yesterday’s dinner was?” Ming Qi asked hesitantly.
“This I know,” Zheng Liang said. “Changfeng’s young heir, and the young master of the Jiang family, Jiang Haoze.”
Hearing this, Ming Qi pressed his lips together.
As expected, the familiar figure he had seen passing by Yu Deyu’s private room last night hadn’t been an illusion.
Zheng Liang noticed Ming Qi’s expression wasn’t right and vaguely guessed something. He raised his brows slightly and said directly, “This project is decent, but you don’t have to take it. After Shen Yushan’s role, the scripts coming to you will only get bigger. You still have plenty of opportunities.”
Ming Qi smiled at him gratefully. “I understand. Thanks, Brother Zheng.”
“Don’t mention it.” Zheng Liang patted his shoulder and lowered his voice. “This industry is dirty, but I hope you all stay clean.”
Not long after their conversation, Yu Deyu approached Meng She. Meng She refused him in a few short sentences, citing scheduling conflicts and apologizing repeatedly. Yu Deyu was left speechless, feeling somewhat guilty.
After all, failing the investor’s request might affect the production schedule.
He rubbed his temples in frustration, unable to understand why Young Master Jiang insisted on having Ming Qi in the film. Although he had watched Ming Qi’s performance in Death Notice and believed Ming Qi could definitely become an excellent actor, honestly… the male third’s character didn’t really suit him.
After thinking it over seriously, he still opened Jiang Haoze’s WeChat and sent: Sorry, Young Master Jiang. Ming Qi really doesn’t have the time. Maybe we should switch to someone else.
…
Ming Qi treated Jiang Haoze’s involvement as just a small episode during filming. After that, Yu Deyu never came again, so he didn’t think much of it.
Today was Shen Yushan’s final scene. As an undercover agent planted beside the police within a criminal syndicate, his identity was finally exposed.
Inside the underground room where Zhou Ting had been brutally murdered, Shen Yushan and Bu Hongfang’s character Rao Zhengyang silently locked eyes. Under the flickering candlelight, Shen Yushan slowly pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and curled his lips into a smile.
“Do you know how she died? I crushed her fingers. The scalpel left 320 cuts on her body. Blood flowed everywhere, right under your feet—”
“Shut up!” Rage and grief had nowhere to go. Rao Zhengyang’s eyes were bloodshot, his grip tightening on the gun, his whole body trembling.
But this was exactly the expression Shen Yushan loved most—rage mixed with helplessness. His thin lips moved slightly. Each word he spoke deepened Rao Zhengyang’s emotional collapse.
Finally, unable to endure it any longer, Rao Zhengyang pulled the trigger. In an instant, a life-and-death confrontation erupted.
As a forensic doctor, Shen Yushan’s close-quarters combat skills were far inferior to Rao Zhengyang’s. After several exchanges, Shen Yushan was already pinned beneath him.
He was held down in a wretched state, both hands restrained, his face forcibly pressed against the ground. His glasses shattered and fell to the side. Sharp fragments stabbed into Shen Yushan’s hands, drawing blood. The cold, rough cement scraped against his cheek, quickly leaving streaks of blood.
But even so, Shen Yushan was still smiling.
He smiled as he described the pitiful way Zhou Ting died, deliberately stabbing at Rao Zhengyang’s heart.
Finally—
His neck was seized by Rao Zhengyang. The man, pushed to the brink of madness, seemed to lose all sense of reason as he violently slammed Shen Yushan’s head against the cold, hard iron table corner.
Bang. Bang. Bang!
The grating sound of impact, enough to make one’s teeth ache, gradually faded away along with faint laughter, swallowed by the thick smell of blood.
“Cut.”
As soon as Zhang Cong’s voice fell, Meng She—who had been pacing anxiously—rushed forward at once. At the same moment, Bu Hongfang grabbed Ming Qi and hauled him up, his expression dark. “Do you want to die?”
During the struggle, fragments of shattered glass had pierced Ming Qi’s palm, leaving his hand soaked in blood.
Bu Hongfang immediately wanted to call for someone to send Ming Qi to the hospital, but Ming Qi grabbed his sleeve. He said nothing, but when their eyes met, Bu Hongfang understood—this scene still had to continue.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt that much.” Ming Qi wiped his face. Even while being stubborn, his injured hand trembled slightly.
Bu Hongfang looked at him speechlessly. “If it doesn’t hurt, then don’t go to the hospital.”
Ming Qi: “……”
Ten minutes later, Ming Qi was sitting in the emergency room, his face pale from pain.
Meng She covered Ming Qi’s eyes with one hand and his own eyes with the other. But once vision was blocked, hearing seemed to sharpen instead—he could clearly distinguish every uneven breath Ming Qi took. Meng She’s expression turned even worse than Ming Qi’s, until the doctor finally said, “Alright.”
“Don’t get it wet for the next few days, don’t lift heavy things, eat light meals. Understand?” the older doctor glanced at Ming Qi. “Go back and rest early.”
Ming Qi weakly answered “okay” and followed behind Meng She out of the hospital.
His hand still throbbed intermittently, leaving him drained. By the time he finally reached the hotel entrance, he stepped inside—and froze.
Not far away, a man he hadn’t seen in a long time was looking straight at him.