Moreover, a face-to-face embrace after a heated confrontation was inherently ambiguous, and it would likely be even harder to control their emotions. If both of them became embarrassed, wouldn’t it give away their feelings?
Additionally, scripts were often written concisely, with many details beyond the dialogue left for the director to interpret and develop.
For instance, in a classic crying scene performed by a certain senior actress, the script only contained the phrase “tears streaming down like rain.” Yet, her performance included a combination of actions: walking while crying, pushing away a maid’s assistance, leaning against a wall in agony, and more.
So, if the director had strict requirements for their expressions during this embrace, wouldn’t it lead to repeated retakes? Who knew how many times they’d have to hug, with the entire crew, production coordinators, planners, script supervisors, and prop masters, watching them…
After a brief consideration, Lin Chenghuan felt a sense of foreboding and got up to go next door to find Lu Zhiwei.
When Lu Zhiwei opened the door, her expression seemed somewhat unusual, likely because she had already seen the document in the group chat. Without wasting words, Lin Chenghuan got straight to the point.
“Have you seen the schedule for next week sent by the coordinator?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a scene next Thursday… it might be difficult to shoot.”
“Uh, why would it be difficult?” Lu Zhiwei’s eyes flickered nervously. Initially, she had only felt a little guilty, but now she began to worry that Lin Chenghuan might suggest the screenwriter revert the scene to its original version.
Standing in the living room, the two exchanged glances, each lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Lin Chenghuan finally spoke again.
“Let’s try it first.” Lin Chenghuan smiled, suddenly stepping forward and embracing Lu Zhiwei, whose eyes trembled in response.
“Rehearsing the scene? The lines… I forgot them,” Lu Zhiwei stammered, flustered.
“No need to speak.” Lin Chenghuan tightened her arms around the other, burying her face in Lu Zhiwei’s shoulder. She could feel her own racing heartbeat and the warmth spreading across her cheeks, sighing inwardly in resignation.
Sure enough, she couldn’t maintain her composure, this would definitely be noticed by the crew…
After holding the embrace for a moment, Lin Chenghuan pulled back and looked at Lu Zhiwei. As expected, she also seemed uneasy, her face tinged with a suspicious blush, nothing like the usual demeanor between ordinary female friends.
“If we’re in this state while acting next week, we’ll probably end up sparking rumors,” Lin Chenghuan remarked, raising a hand to playfully stroke Lu Zhiwei’s cheek.
“What should we do? I… can’t control it,” Lu Zhiwei replied, somewhat embarrassed.
“We could hug more often when we have free time these next few days. Maybe we’ll get used to it and it’ll be fine.” Lin Chenghuan said this with a straight face, though she was desperately holding back laughter.
“…………”
Lu Zhiwei stood frozen, momentarily dazed by the unexpected “benefit” and feeling as though she were floating on clouds. But she quickly realized another issue she hadn’t anticipated.
“Is this kind of pre-adaptation to intimate scenes common among actors?” Lu Zhiwei asked earnestly.
“Of course not. I… don’t usually get this flustered.”
Lu Zhiwei felt somewhat relieved, but after a moment’s thought, she cautiously added, “Do you always act unnatural around people who like you?”
“…” Lin Chenghuan’s heart skipped a beat. This was the first time she had heard the word “like” from Lu Zhiwei’s lips, far more direct than the unspoken hints from before.
“No.” Lin Chenghuan suspected her face was growing even redder, so she tried to avoid Lu Zhiwei by walking over to sit down elsewhere, but Lu Zhiwei pulled her back.
Looking at the person before her, Lin Chenghuan felt her heart trembling uncontrollably. Why was she so unsettled? Perhaps it was because… she had developed feelings for Lu Zhiwei too.
“Suddenly, I realized I haven’t formally confessed… I should say it properly… I like you,” Lu Zhiwei said, enunciating each word clearly.
“You… ahem, thank you.”
“That was too casual. Let me think of a way to make up for it.”
“We’re busy filming, why bother with formalities? Right now… this is just fine.” Lin Chenghuan’s heartbeat was completely out of control, and she inwardly screamed for help. If this continued, her face would be hot enough to fry an egg…
“When we’re free, can we hug whenever we want?” Lu Zhiwei suddenly returned to their earlier topic, smiling faintly.
“…Yes.” Lin Chenghuan suddenly felt as though she had dug a pit for herself.
“Good.” Lu Zhiwei nodded, pulling her arm and drawing her into an embrace.
“…”
Once again enveloped in a hug, this time Lin Chenghuan was even more flustered than before. It must be because of Lu Zhiwei’s confession… Right after confessing, he could hug her whenever he wanted, she had truly granted him immense authority.
Oh no, her legs were starting to feel weak after a while. How could this be more embarrassing than her school days? It was just a hug. Lin Chenghuan, oh Lin Chenghuan, and here you are a dual-trained actor, both an idol and a skilled performer…
Strange thoughts raced through Lin Chenghuan’s mind until, in a rebellious impulse, she hugged him even tighter and took a deep breath. Then she suddenly realized they had both just showered, this felt like some scandalous, unforgivable offense… Wait, wrong script.
Fortunately, Lu Zhiwei finally couldn’t take it anymore and released her, murmuring softly, “Do you want a cold drink?”
“Sure, thank you.” Lin Chenghuan felt as if she had been granted a reprieve. Neither dared to look at the other, and Lu Zhiwei quickly retreated to the kitchen.
Lin Chenghuan stayed in the living room for a while before moving to the balcony to get some air. Gazing at the brightly lit night outside, she finally felt her emotions settling down.
That had been… indescribable. She was becoming more and more neurotic as an actor… How could she have suggested hugging more often to stay calm during filming? It was absurd.
Well, mainly because she had already planned to get together after this Hengdian trip ended, so a few hugs in advance weren’t a big deal. But the current situation was still strange and delicate…
After a while, Lin Chenghuan returned indoors. Lu Zhiwei was sitting on the sofa drinking a cold beverage, seemingly having regained his composure.
Lin Chenghuan sat down as well. They exchanged glances, shared an awkward smile, and then began scrolling through their phones with the TV playing in the background.
Online, Xia Yao’s artist had ultimately concealed the relationship, claiming the person was just his assistant. It seemed he would wait until transitioning his career before considering going public. Lin Chenghuan sighed softly and discussed it with Lu Zhiwei for a few moments, and the atmosphere gradually returned to normal.
However, as it grew late and Lin Chenghuan stood up to leave, Lu Zhiwei rose to see her out. At the door, he pulled her back once more.
“One more hug.” A mischievous glint seemed to flash in Lu Zhiwei’s eyes. Lin Chenghuan gave him a meaningful look, her heart trembling slightly as she was drawn into his embrace once again.
This truly set a new standard for ambiguity… one was speaking recklessly, the other was going along with the flow, it was practically using public matters for private gain.
Still, the feeling of the embrace was quite nice. Lin Chenghuan, enveloped in the other’s familiar and pleasant scent, felt that although she wasn’t as embarrassed as last time, a certain spark was still stirring restlessly. If this continued, things might get out of hand.
“Alright… I’m heading off now. Goodnight.” Lin Chenghuan gave one last tight squeeze before breaking free from the embrace, smiling.
“Goodnight.” Lu Zhiwei looked at her, his eyes carrying an unprecedented tenderness that nearly made Lin Chenghuan lose her composure.
Forget it, I have to get up by seven tomorrow… Lin Chenghuan repeatedly reminded herself to prioritize work, then turned to open the door and returned to her own room.
Once back, she couldn’t help but toss and turn, her mind wandering, and it took her a long time to finally fall asleep. The next day on set, when the two met, they could only pretend as if nothing had happened, yet both were acutely aware of the undercurrents swirling between them.
The main filming locations for the crew were the Qin Imperial Palace and the Riverside Scene at Qingming Festival, though most interior scenes were shot on sets built in the studio. The set was filled with countless studios of varying sizes.
While resting in one of the smaller studios with no one else around, Lin Chenghuan sat up straight, her eyes and ears alert to her surroundings.
“Don’t be so guarded. I’m not going to do anything on set,” Lu Zhiwei said quietly.
“Oh.” Lin Chenghuan gave a slight smile, thinking to herself that it wasn’t about being guarded, just a little nervous.
That day, Lin Chenghuan had no night scenes, so she returned to the hotel by 6:30 p.m. Lu Zhiwei, however, as part of the crew rushing to meet deadlines, didn’t wrap up until 9 p.m. By the time he tidied up and went to find Lin Chenghuan, it was already 9:40.
Lin Chenghuan opened the door for him. This time, after entering, Lu Zhiwei made no further moves, so the two sat down, and Lin Chenghuan poured him a glass of lemon water.
Why didn’t he hug her? Was he tired from filming? Lin Chenghuan pondered on the sofa, amused at how much she had been anticipating it. Well, next time, she’d take the initiative herself.
At 10:30, Lu Zhiwei stood up to leave. After saying goodbye, he lingered, looking at her as if hoping for some kind of reward, yet uncertain if he’d receive it.
Lin Chenghuan smiled, stepped forward, and hugged him. After a moment, she pulled away, and they exchanged goodnights.
Lu Zhiwei left cheerfully, but Lin Chenghuan began to ponder a question. Why wasn’t she angry? They weren’t together, yet they were engaging in such ambiguous actions, wasn’t that like wanting the benefits without the responsibility?
Could it be that, because they were filming together, Lu Zhiwei genuinely believed this made sense? But the three times yesterday were enough. Continuing further might not yield better results, and if questioned on set, they could always use the excuse of being out of practice or feeling awkward after just starting filming.
Lin Chenghuan’s thoughts wandered for a while before she checked the crew’s promotional clips online, then turned off the lights and went to sleep. The next day, they continued filming as seriously as ever, with only the occasional subtle tension when they found themselves alone.
That evening, although both had night scenes, they finished early and returned to the hotel a little after 8 p.m.
Hesitant due to her concerns from the day before, Lin Chenghuan didn’t go looking for Lu Zhiwei, and as it turned out, he didn’t come to her either. By 9 p.m., she couldn’t resist and went next door herself.
Lu Zhiwei didn’t rush to make the phone call. Instead, she opened the door first, and the two of them stood facing each other at the doorway. Soon, Lu Zhiwei began to show signs of unease again, making Lin Chenghuan both amused and exasperated.
In the past, when they visited each other, they would naturally walk to the living room and sit down. But these past couple of days, they would pause at the doorway for a while, their hidden thoughts practically written all over their faces…
Yet neither of them took the initiative to hug the other. Lin Chenghuan watched her with interest, and Lu Zhiwei actually blushed slightly. After a moment of silence, she awkwardly said, “Come, have a seat.”
Lin Chenghuan smiled faintly and raised an eyebrow. “Pavlovian effect?”
“Huh? …Well, yes, a reward mechanism has indeed formed,” Lu Zhiwei admitted, feeling a little guilty.
“This conditioned reflex seems a bit off. It’s almost having the opposite effect, we’re feeling awkward even before hugging,” Lin Chenghuan remarked, still smiling but also pondering.
“…So, how do we fix it?”