At two in the afternoon, He Zheng received a message from the crew telling him to come take costume and makeup photos.
Beijing traffic was terrible. Even with the air conditioning on, the summer heat was unbearable. Sweat slowly formed on He Zheng’s hands as he held the steering wheel. Nervousness mixed with anticipation kept building. When he arrived at the location, he let out a deep breath, unbuckled his seatbelt, and got out of the car.
Quite a few people from the crew had already arrived. Crew members were carrying equipment back and forth. Several main actors stood together chatting happily. An unfamiliar face cracked a joke, making Du Guosheng knock him lightly on the head with the script in his hand.
One sharp-eyed male actor spotted He Zheng, cleared his throat, and said loudly enough, “The lead actor’s here.”
The surrounding chatter stopped. Everyone turned to look.
He Zheng clenched his fist, then relaxed it. Facing all those eyes, he bowed and said, “Hello, seniors. I’m He Zheng.”
Silence.
Everyone exchanged looks—curious, probing, dismissive. From lead actors to background extras, everyone had their own thoughts. Together, they probably had hundreds of schemes in mind.
Everyone knew how this lead actor had ended up here.
Du Guosheng was the first to break the tension. He walked over, patted He Zheng’s shoulder as if helping him out, and said, “We were waiting for you. Go get your makeup done.”
He Zheng nodded and said okay. Under the unclear mix of looks around him, he straightened his back as much as he could and walked into the makeup room without showing anything on his face.
The makeup artist was a slender young man with small braids. His stiff, unsmiling expression made He Zheng feel even more pressured.
He Zheng gave him a polite smile. The other man glanced at him lightly, took out a hair tie from a drawer, looked at his hair, and asked, “You tying it yourself, or should I do it?”
He Zheng took it and said, “I’ll do it myself.”
He quickly tied his hair into a low ponytail, but just as he let his arms fall, the makeup artist grabbed it and silently re-styled it into a bun.
The tight pull on his scalp made He Zheng frown in pain. He wanted to say something but held back.
“Let’s start with the male look first,” the makeup artist said without emotion.
Comparing to He Zheng’s skin tone, the make-up artist picked a foundation a couple of shades darker than his neck and roughly applied it all over his face. Then, using a brow brush, he deliberately made his eyebrows messy, added spots and acne marks, and finally applied a patch of stubble that hadn’t been shaved properly.
When he was done, He Zheng’s handsome face was transformed into that of a rough, sloppy, greasy young man.
The main character in real life was a writing-obsessed person with dissociative tendencies who didn’t care about appearances; going three days without washing hair was normal.
Thinking of this, the makeup artist brought over a wig with hair soft and limp as if soaked in oil. Once on, it adhered to the scalp perfectly, making him look ugly and sleazy, with a faint unpleasant damp smell.
During the photoshoot, He Zheng was instructed to have a vacant, unfocused expression; the lazier, the better. It reminded him of when he had played a critically ill patient before. Recalling this, he adjusted his expression. Du Guosheng, watching the camera, decisively clapped when the expression hit the mark.
“Good.” Du Guosheng waved at He Zheng. “Turn to the side for a few shots, squat a little.”
He Zheng complied.
The actors waiting in line for their shots whispered among themselves, noticing He Zheng’s precise grasp of the character.
“All right, done.” Du Guosheng nodded. “Go change into the female costume.”
He Zheng sat in front of the makeup mirror again. A few minutes later, another makeup artist came—a young girl with a bare, unpainted face, probably about the same age as Wei Zhenye. She spoke timidly, admitting she was a newcomer and not very skilled.
“It’s okay, just do it your way,” He Zheng said with a gentle smile.
The girl swallowed and stammered, “Cl-close your eyes.”
Her nervousness reminded He Zheng of how Wei Zhenye had sounded the first time he called him—timid yet trying to act brave.
He Zheng’s lips curved slightly. The girl had just removed his previous makeup, revealing his natural face. Being young and inexperienced, her heart skipped a beat at the sight. His smile felt like the biggest scene she’d ever witnessed.
“I think you’re even prettier than Zhang Jiayue,” she whispered as she applied his eyeshadow. “He doesn’t even look half as good without makeup.”
He Zheng replied lightly, “You flatter me.”
He had never met Zhang Jiayue, but he knew the role had originally considered him.
“Really, I’m not lying. My mentor is Zhang Jiayue’s makeup artist,” she said while finishing the eye makeup. “He’s only superficially pretty. Your bone structure is genuinely good.”
He Zheng didn’t know how to respond. Once she finished, he opened his eyes and glanced at the script.
The second personality in the play was a glamorous and capable female writer: big wavy curls, red heels, tailored suit revealing collarbone and waist, makeup emphasizing upturned fox-like eyes, tie loosely around the neck, with a slightly nonchalant attitude.
Her captivating yet aggressive appearance seemed tailored to He Zheng’s features. So when he emerged from the makeup room in this high-fidelity look and stood in front of the camera, the room fell silent again.
If anyone had previously doubted He Zheng relied solely on his looks, there was no denying it now.
Beauty isn’t scarce in entertainment, but some people are naturally gifted. With careful styling, wherever they stand, they become the focus.
…..
At 6:30 PM, the photoshoot ended. He Zheng drove home, stuck in Beijing’s evening traffic. He had smoked two cigarettes already with no sign of moving; he sighed, rolled down the window, and lit a third.
His phone vibrated in his pocket; at this hour, he didn’t even need to check to know who it was.
“Hello?” He Zheng flicked the cigarette in his mouth. “Where are you? I’ll come find you.”
The call was noisy, with several men laughing and shouting in the background. A stranger’s slurred, drunken voice came through: “H-Hello, sister-in-law.”
He Zheng reached out the car window and flicked the ash, saying nothing.
“C-Can you hear me?” the man slurred, clearly drunk. “Wei Zhenye drank too much… he said he misses you, wants to video call…to see you.”
Then a familiar male voice came faintly from the distance, along with the sound of a bottle hitting the ground: “You won’t be going to find He Zheng, got it?”
It was Yang Cheng.
“Can you hear me? Talk!” Yang Cheng shouted, frustrated at no response.
“Video call?” He Zheng said calmly. “Does Wei Zhenye want to see me, or do you guys want to see me?”
“Hey, you…” Yang Cheng’s words were cut off; the phone was clearly grabbed by someone else.
When He Zheng finally heard Wei Zhenye’s voice, he relaxed. Wei Zhenye stammered, “Don’t be mad, baby… he’s just messing around, don’t be mad.”
His drunken tone softened, a stark contrast to his earlier angry cursing. He even gave a silly laugh and carefully asked:
“I just feel a little dizzy… Can you come pick me up?”
“Send me your location on WeChat. I’m coming right now.” He Zheng flicked his cigarette out the window, turned the steering wheel at the intersection, and before hanging up, said one last thing to Yang Cheng:
“Know your limits when joking, Yang Cheng.”
Wei Zhenye was at a street-side barbecue, so remote that He Zheng couldn’t drive in—he had to park about 300 meters away and jog over. When he got there and saw the scene, even his famously good temper flared.
At the table, besides Wei Zhenye and Yang Cheng, were three other men—shirtless, heavily muscled, covered in crude old-style Japanese tattoos, looking far from normal.
Yang Cheng’s short sleeves were rolled up to his chest, a cigarette between his fingers, exuding the same rough vibe as the group. Wei Zhenye was slumped over on the table, face buried in his arms, clearly over his limit, neck red, back twitching.
Nobody around was paying attention, and someone even tried to shove a bottle into his mouth.
As He Zheng approached, one of the men whistled, leering at him and said vulgarly while stroking his chin, “He really does look like a woman.”
He Zheng didn’t even glance at him. He grabbed a beer mug from the table and splashed it straight onto the guy.
Shaking his hand dry, he called out coldly, “Yang Cheng.”
“Next time you drink with your friends, don’t bring Xiao Wei,” He Zheng said, staring at Yang Cheng. “He’s not here for your entertainment, and he can’t handle that much alcohol. If you want to watch someone get drunk, come drink with me at the food stall.”
The soaked man cursed and pounded the table in anger. As he tried to stand, Yang Cheng pressed him back down by the shoulders.
“Alright, my bad,” Yang Cheng shrugged, acting nonchalant. “I shouldn’t have started forcing drinks. My fault.”
“Give me the hotel key,” He Zheng held out his hand. “I’ll take him back.”
Yang Cheng stretched, grabbed a beer, and stood up. “Might as well take me back too.”
“Call a cab yourself.”
“Huh?” Yang Cheng scratched his head. “Then I guess I can’t find the key.”
He Zheng frowned. “Are you out of your mind?”
Yang Cheng laughed, then turned to Wei Zhenye, grabbed his arm, and pulled him up so his upper body leaned against him. He bent down, tapped his face, and said, “Wake up, your wife’s here to pick you up.”
Wei Zhenye still didn’t move, so He Zheng pulled him into his arms with a “thump,” spun around, and started walking.
After a few steps, it was tiring, so he hoisted Wei Zhenye under the knees and carried him horizontally.
Yang Cheng followed behind at a leisurely pace, clicking his tongue in disbelief at the move.
He Zheng carried him to the car, placed him in the passenger seat. When Yang Cheng got into the back, He Zheng gave him a cold glare. Immediately, Yang Cheng’s hands went into his pockets, searching for something, and he even acted confused, “Huh… my room key?”
He Zheng ignored him, buckled Wei Zhenye in, and started the car.
On the main road, the night was still, no breeze, and even with the windows down, there was no cool air. Wei Zhenye rested his head, sleeping quietly. He Zheng looked at him briefly, then glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Yang Cheng’s eyes fixed on Wei Zhenye.
For a brief second, He Zheng caught a fleeting flash of something complicated in Yang Cheng’s gaze.
“Xiao Wei shares a room with you?” He Zheng asked.
“Presidential suite, two bedrooms, separate sleeping,” Yang Cheng pulled his hands behind his head lazily. “I’ve slept in the same bed with him plenty of times though. You jealous?”
“No.”
“Relax. He told me he’s going to Mexico for a couple of days and then come back to buy a place near your set.” Yang Cheng changed the subject. “Happy now?”
He Zheng ignored his tone and frowned. “Why is he going to Mexico?”
“Equity transfer, taking over his parents’ company.”
He Zheng stayed silent. Yang Cheng lit a cigarette, chatting on. “Do you even know what his parents do?”
“You tell me.”
“You really know nothing about him,” Yang Cheng said, taking a drag. “Mexico’s messy. His parents’ jobs are secretive and dangerous. They hid him here when he was a kid. Who would’ve thought it would leave him… broken?”
He Zheng felt like Yang Cheng was leading him by the nose but asked anyway, “Broken how?”
“Autistic. Didn’t you know?” Yang Cheng’s gaze returned to Wei Zhenye. “He lived with you for half a year, and you didn’t notice?”
He Zheng was speechless.
“You think he’s just quiet, right?”
Yang Cheng sneered. “He lived here alone, no friends. When classmates stole his allowance, he didn’t fight back, didn’t tell his parents, went hungry digging through trash. When those jerks beat him unconscious and dumped him in a trash bin, he never told you, did he?”
He Zheng still couldn’t respond. Yang Cheng’s smile sharpened, piercing like a sword straight into his heart.
“In short, you only care about yourself. You never considered his past, never truly imagined what he’s been through all these years. You just enjoy the benefits of him secretly liking you for so long, then hand him a romance like charity.”
“You never thought about him.”
Yang Cheng continued calmly. “You can’t even reply to a letter.”