The top floor of the hotel isolated them from the roar of traffic and the sounds of nature. The cold air from the air conditioner permeated every corner, and the chill from the refrigerator hit Yan Qi full in the face.
He froze in place.
Arms reached around his sides, the fabric creating a soft, subtle rustle as Song Xueyan’s two hands each gripped a corner of the apron strings, pulling them back and smoothing them against Yan Qi’s waist.
He kept his head slightly bowed, his soft hair brushing against Yan Qi’s back. Once he was certain of the position, his arms retracted, securing the thin ties in the middle of Yan Qi’s lower back.
This sequence of movements was quick and light, tracing a thin white line within Yan Qi’s sensory field—restricting, stirring, and disrupting his ability to think.
Song Xueyan is hugging him no, wait, he’s just helping him tie his apron?!
Why help him? Does he not have hands?
It was just a kind gesture, a casual favor. After all, the head chef has been working hard; he was just helping tie an apron.
But he never even tied an apron for his own father!
Jumbled thoughts stampeded through his brain; Yan Qi was dazed and utterly bewildered.
What did Song Xueyan look like just now? When he leaned close, did he bow his head slightly? Was his hair only 0.01 millimeters away from him? What about his expression—was it cold and detached as usual, or—fuck, Song Xueyan hugged him!
The box of beef in his hand let out a sharp, tragic squeal. Yan Qi didn’t notice. A series of stars spun before his eyes, swirling until he felt dizzy and faint.
If Song Xueyan had leaned in just a bit further, he could have rested his chin on his shoulder, just like a real back-hug. Then if Song Xueyan whispered something, his breath would spray against his ear, and he.
Fuck, Song Xueyan hugged him!
The vacuum-sealed beef box suddenly gave a sharp crack, like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. Yan Qi snapped back to reality, looked down—great, the packaging had split open.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his wrists and fingers suddenly losing their strength, turning numb.
Song Xueyan stepped back diagonally, seeing Yan Qi staring blankly at the refrigerator, mouth slightly agape, tail no longer wagging, completely wilted—a total idiot of a dog.
He found it amusing. As he raised a hand to adjust his collar, he secretly stroked his restless heart and calmly provided Yan Qi with a way out. “The quality of the packaging is just too poor.”
“Ah, right.” Yan Qi covered the crack on the box as if to hide it, feigning anger while taking the opportunity to shift the blame. “Shameless merchant! They sell it expensive but use cheap materials next time, we’re switching suppliers!”
He quickly took out the ingredients he needed, lining them up. Between his feeling of guilty panic and bewildered shame, he didn’t dare look back at Song Xueyan, tucking his tail and going off to wash the vegetables.
Song Xueyan sat back on the high stool, taking the opportunity to brighten his gaze, staring fixedly at Yan Qi as if a cat were stealing fish.
Yan Qi’s eyes were focused on the meat and vegetables, his head spinning with images from 108 Ways Song Xueyan Ties Aprons. His back was still hot, his heart was still pounding, and he had no time to worry about anything else, which allowed Song Xueyan to watch him to his heart’s content.
After tossing about for an hour, the rich, savory tomato and beef hot pot was served. With two bowls of white rice, a side of pickled radish, and a bowl of creamy potato soup each, lunch was settled.
After the meal, Chef Yan glanced at Song Xueyan, whose lips were reddened from the heat, and took the initiative to clear the table, telling Song Xueyan to go off and play somewhere else.
Song Xueyan patted his stomach and stayed seated in his chair. He had no particular cravings for food; delicacies and simple vegetables were both just fuel for the body. During work periods, he usually ate nutritional meals or fitness meals. But no matter what he ate, he rarely exceeded seventy percent capacity; this meal, however, was a major overload.
Yan Qi finished cleaning the kitchen counter, untied his apron, and turned to see Song Xueyan supporting himself on the island with his elbows. His upper body was slightly relaxed, eyelids drooping, like a cat feeling lazy in the afternoon after a full meal.
Fair-skinned and beautiful, elegant and pretty even in his laziness, he exuded an air of noble reserve. He really looked like the “Prince” (Wangye).
A father looking at his son—perfectly normal.
Yan Qi used this justification to glance at Song Xueyan several more times.
Yan Qi was a “deadline demon,” but since he had to join the set today, he made sure to shower quickly, change into his new gear, and prepare to leave five minutes ahead of schedule. However, by the time Song Xueyan came out at his leisure, those five minutes were long gone.
Great. So much for being early.
The two got on Yan Qi’s motorhome one after another, and Xiao Bing drove toward the film city.
Song Xueyan sat on the sofa, leaning back. “Director Fang doesn’t care about those things. If it’s set for 3:30, it starts at 3:30 sharp. If you’re late, he won’t wait an extra second for you; if you’re early, he won’t give you a second look.”
Yan Qi squatted nearby, peeling a lychee and popping it into his mouth. “I’m a newcomer, after all. Arriving first shows sincerity.”
Song Xueyan glanced at Yan Qi, who was busy wiping his long, slender fingers with a wet wipe. His gaze flickered. “True sincerity is all in the acting. Although today is just a script reading, it’s very important. There will be more than just the three of us in the room; you better keep your wits about you, lest you get scolded until your face is red and you’re unable to step down in public.”
Yan Qi was thick-skinned. “Even then, I’ll still stand tall in front of everyone.”
Song Xueyan said, “And then go back and whine with your tail between your legs?”
“I’ve never whined since I can remember.” Yan Qi raised his brows arrogantly, then grinned, revealing a row of white teeth. “Teacher Song, the tone you used just now really sounded like a caring senior looking after a junior.”
“‘When an avalanche strikes, no snowflake feels responsible.’” Song Xueyan’s tone was very light. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help myself and end up being one of those flakes.”
Yan Qi tossed the wet wipe into the trash can and shut his mouth.
When the two arrived, Fang Zhouji was sitting in front of a rectangular table reading the script, with a custom ceramic mug beside him a popular design with a row of red characters: Member of the Fu Study Association.
Yan Qi had seen this cup before; his brother had ordered a custom one too, with red characters on a white background: Director of the Fu Study Association.
Screenwriter He Songjun sat to Fang Zhouji’s right. He was a scholarly-looking man in his early thirties, wearing thin-rimmed glasses. He stood up when he saw them enter.
To Yan Qi’s surprise, He Songjun actually bypassed Song Xueyan and only shook hands with him. He glanced at Song Xueyan, who had already taken his seat at the head of the table, and before he could think about whether these two had some conflict, the other actors and crew participating in the reading arrived one after another.
As handshake after handshake passed, he noticed that none of them had any intention of shaking Song Xueyan’s hand. Yan Qi was stunned: Song Xueyan’s popularity is that bad?! Isn’t he supposed to be the “white moonlight” of the industry, with fans crawling all over the place? Did this crew happen to gather all the actors who dislike him?
Looking at Song Xueyan again, the man was bowing his head, reading the script, silent and still. He looked so lonely.
There were empty seats to Song Xueyan’s right and next to him. Yan Qi walked toward the right end, his palm sliding off the tip of the chair back, but he circled around to Song Xueyan’s side anyway. He sat down and leaned over, whispering, “No need to thank me.”
Song Xueyan, who was stroking the corner of the script: “?”
As the clock struck the appointed time and everyone was present, Fang Zhouji skipped the mutual flattery phase and got straight to the point.
The supporting characters’ and extras’ lines were read by staff members, and the rest took turns in order. Problems were raised as they went, answered by the director or screenwriter, or discussed together. Half of the progress was covered in nearly two hours.
Song Xueyan took a sip of cold water to soothe his throat. “I took it for the rain tapping on the window, only to find it was a distinguished guest arriving at the door. Your Highness, coming here in the dead of night—what guidance do you bring?”
Seeing the long segment highlighted in pink fluorescent ink, Yan Qi’s heart skipped a beat. The first bed scene was here.
His Adam’s apple bobbed; his gaze was unsteady. “I miss you, I want to see you, so I came.”
“Uh…” Song Xueyan pursed his lips, did not pick up the line, his expression a bit strange.
Yan Qi waited for about half a minute, but didn’t hear Song Xueyan respond. Unbelievable! Song Xueyan actually dared to zone out!
He scanned Fang Zhouji, whose expression showed neither joy nor anger, and quickly nudged Song Xueyan’s arm with his elbow, clearing his throat in a low voice.
“Uh…” Song Xueyan gave him a light nudge back with his elbow, picked up his paper cup, and drained the remaining half of the cold water.
Yan Qi’s good intentions were met with a nudge; he felt both angry and aggrieved: Look at this zoned-out guy, so arrogant, not even appreciative what a diva.
Just then, He Songjun said gently, “Little Yan, you’ve skipped a line.”
Yan Qi didn’t know why He Songjun suddenly mentioned this, but alarm bells rang in his heart. He quickly said firmly, “I didn’t skip a line! Writer He, I truly want to be an actor.”
After saying that, he began to worry. “Is my delivery that bad? Are you finally unable to tolerate it after hearing this?”
He Songjun’s mouth twitched, unable to respond for a moment. Fang Zhouji also looked up at Yan Qi, his gaze icy.
Seeing this, Yan Qi felt his heart turn cold. He pursed his lips, organized his thoughts, and said resolutely, “Writer He, Director Fang, even if you think I’m too bad right now, it doesn’t matter, because I am still certain that through continuous effort, I will grow into a qualified actor, or even a good actor.”
Song Xueyan was Fang Zhouji’s “true love” and the absolute benchmark for young actors. Looking around the room, whether talking about reason or emotion, he was the most suitable person to use as an argument.
Yan Qi took a breath, used his usual flattery skills, and said in a deep voice, “I will definitely learn from Teacher Song, and take it one step at a time on the road to becoming a good actor, never going astray.”
His tone was pure and natural, his pitch raised, revealing a certain heroic spirit of “who else can compete with me?” The “Dragon Aotian” persona had possessed him at this moment, helping him declare passionately: “Do not bully the youth for being poor, do not despise the newcomer for being clumsy; the youth can climb to the heavens, the newcomer can win awards!”
Teacher Song looked over, his eyes 90% similar to that last glance in the racing track restroom.
Yan Qi quickly gave him a sincere smile. “Teacher Song, please don’t question my attitude and sincerity.”
“Pfft.” A young actress sitting opposite Yan Qi couldn’t help but laugh.
Seeing Yan Qi look over, completely bewildered, Chen Wanlu hurriedly buried her head in the script.
But Yan Qi noticed the corners of her mouth were raised quite high.
What’s so funny? He moved his lips, feeling less confident now. “I wasn’t joking… well, am I really that ridiculously bad?”
This time, more than one person went “pfft.”
Song Xueyan rubbed the corner of the script, unable to hold back anymore. He said coldly, “Idiot, Writer He was saying you skipped a line and read the wrong dialogue.”