When Feng Zhui’s call came through, Yan Qi had just stepped out of the bathroom.
After the standoff the previous night, he had gone back to his bed, tossing and turning, unable to settle his heart. And when he finally managed to close his eyes, Song Xueyan haunted his dreams, refusing to let him be.
One moment, it was the “Yan-Le” CP fans clamoring that they were the “official” couple; the next, it was Song Xueyan’s die-hard fans mocking him, the “official” screen first-love. Finally, Song Xueyan himself the culprit jumped out and stomped right on his chest.
Yan Qi collapsed backward, seeing Song Xueyan’s eyes flicker, at once disdainful and cold; as beautiful as he was, he was abominable, and as abominable as he was, he was beautiful.
Before the 6:00 AM alarm could do its work, Yan Qi woke from his dream at 5:30. He opened his eyes, jumped up, stared at the ceiling for a few minutes in a daze, searched the browser, and finally dug out a copy of the Classic of Constant Purity by the Supreme Lord.
The text contained many profound mysteries, teaching people how to focus and calm the mind, to be both clear and still.
Yan Qi tried a sincere reading, a moment of enlightenment, and felt… he had failed the Daoist ancestor’s painstaking efforts.
Even the Grandmaster couldn’t save him. Yan Qi had no choice but to rush into the bathroom, letting the cold water pour from his head to his toes, just to get rid of the restlessness in his body.
Feng Zhui, unaware of Yan Qi’s internal agony, was full of serious business. “Why did you retweet Song Xueyan’s Weibo last night? And you liked it a few minutes later? Ambiguous, open to imagination good lad, you’ve mastered one of the fundamental souls of shipping CPs.”
Yan Qi opened a can of room-temperature black coffee, finished half of it in one gulp, and couldn’t be bothered to explain.
Feng Zhui didn’t let it go. “Shipping CPs is a convenient shortcut, but if you don’t use it well, it becomes a bloody mess. What’s more critical is that the drawbacks are long-lasting; they’ll follow you for a lifetime. Of course, if you can ship, we’re the ones benefiting, after all, the other party is Song Xueyan.”
Not to mention that Yan Qi had no such intention and looked down on that method, plus the image of Song Xueyan’s face flashing before his eyes gave him a jolt. He curled his lip. “If we were to ship, Song Xueyan would probably jump out immediately to slap our faces. By then, our faces would be lost to the eighteenth floor of hell.”
Feng Zhui chuckled: “Good, you know that. Shortcuts are only for a moment. If you rise too violently and can’t stay steady, you’ll fall even harder. Everyone is restless now; if you want to go far, it’s best not to get filthy. Just film well on set, and you can manage your Weibo appropriately.”
Yan Qi finished his coffee, threw the black can into the trash, stood up to get dressed, and replied to Feng Zhui, “Don’t want to manage it.”
Feng Zhui said: “Then why did you open the Weibo? Just to give birth to it and watch it die?”
Yan Qi snapped open his short-sleeved shirt. “Because I feel like it!”
He stood in front of the wardrobe, making a careful selection, picking out pants to match his clothes, when suddenly he heard a sharp sound outside. Yan Qi turned his head and, almost subconsciously, ran outside.
Feng Zhui called out a couple of times on the phone, only to be slapped back by the sound of the closing door. He choked, hung up the phone coldly.
Song Xueyan stood at the stove, rarely at a loss. He suddenly heard a loud sound of the door opening behind him. He turned to see Yan Qi rushing out like a hungry dog.
“What’s wrong?!”
Yan Qi walked around the living room cabinet toward the kitchen with long, hurried strides. His freshly blown-dry hair was standing up aggressively. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt inside, paired with a small-scent denim blue cardigan jacket, clean and simple, but—
Song Xueyan’s gaze shifted from his chest downwards, pausing at a certain spot, thinking that if he could just put on some pants, this silly boy could go straight to the hotel lobby for a runway show. However, it was also too… He glanced again, reached out to pinch his earlobe, and felt a surge of heat.
Yan Qi didn’t notice Song Xueyan’s gaze. He walked over and took a look. Oh boy, his favorite cheese-yellow little milk pot had turned black!
“It’s just the morning.” Yan Qi murmured, “Can you do some good deeds?”
Song Xueyan cleared his throat, clearing away most of the fantasies in his heart, and said embarrassedly: “I wanted to boil some milk…”
The result was that he stared at a pot of milk until he was dazed, and by the time he regained his senses, the milk pot had been forced into a “tanning session.”
“What about this one?” Yan Qi pointed at the shattered pieces of the matching small ceramic bowl.
Song Xueyan said: “Seeing the big one had died, I was at a loss, so I simply killed the small one too. The whole family lives and dies together; at least on the road to the Yellow Springs, they won’t be lonely.”
Yan Qi gave a thumbs up, retreated half a step, and pulled Song Xueyan aside. “I’ll boil it, I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
Song Xueyan didn’t refuse. He bent down to pick up the pieces, and just as his legs were half-squatted, he was lifted up by Yan Qi.
He straightened up and saw Yan Qi squatting down, muttering: “I’ll pick them up. You can’t even boil milk, what else can I ask you to do? Clumsy, don’t cut your beautiful fingers later, you won’t even be able to focus your magic.”
Yan Qi had blown his hair dry before leaving the bathroom, and it was obediently smooth. But after the recent sprint, there were three or five strands that had turned, randomly piling up on the top of his head. Song Xueyan watched straightly and, as if possessed, reached out and touched them.
Their palms touched, and both were startled.
Yan Qi subconsciously looked up but stopped halfway, staring at Song Xueyan’s soft white pajama pants, murmuring: “Do you know what this scene reminds me of?”
“No.” Song Xueyan thought it was mostly likely a warm, beautiful childhood memory, like being touched on the head by an elder.
Yan Qi held a handful of fragments, as if he had suffered the pain of losing a child, his tone tragic: “Extinction Master Abbot strikes Ji Xiaofu to death with one palm, Song Xueyan kills the three heroes of the Yan family in a row.”
Song Xueyan was stunned, but in the end, he couldn’t help it. He used his fingertips to press on Yan Qi’s forehead, speechless: “You idiot.”
“Aren’t you happy if you don’t scold me?” Yan Qi rubbed his head against the palm and stood up, putting the fragments into the trash can, his tone cold: “Don’t beg me to give you milk to drink later.”
Song Xueyan was expressionless. “Before I beg you for milk, I’ll beg you to put on your pants first.”
“What pan”
Yan Qi turned around yelling, then suddenly froze. The memory skipped back like a movie from this second to before he rushed out of the bedroom. He looked down slowly, staring at his exposed black boxer shorts, his lips trembling. “My legs are long and straight, haha.”
Song Xueyan couldn’t help but laugh, and he was quite wicked, saying: “The air conditioner is on. Both legs are exposed to the root, don’t catch rheumatism.”
At this second, Yan Qi was truly grateful he didn’t have the habit of being completely naked, and even more grateful that although black was slimming, as long as one was strong enough, it didn’t matter if it was black, white, or gray it couldn’t hide his manly stature.
Song Xueyan’s teasing gaze followed him everywhere. Yan Qi refused to show weakness, suppressing his embarrassment and pretending to be a rogue: “My body is great, rheumatism won’t find its way to me.”
“Oh.” Song Xueyan’s tone rose, implying: “I can see that your body is great.”
“Uh…” Yan Qi’s lower abdomen tightened. The effect of the earlier cold shower had long since worn off, and he dared not look down a second time.
Seeing his ears red, Song Xueyan softened a little and said: “Enough, don’t show off your good body here, go back to your room and put on your pants.”
At this time, turning around and leaving what was the difference between that and fleeing in defeat?!
Yan Qi gritted his teeth and said super proudly: “I won’t wear them, I want to show off my external assets!”
Song Xueyan pulled out a fruit knife.
“I’ll wear them!” Yan Qi turned around and left quickly.
The sun rose and fell, and heavy rain broke out in the evening, wetting the ground.
Fang Zhouji temporarily changed the outdoor scenes to indoor scenes, which was a duel between Song Xueyan and Yuan Mo.
The stylist helped with the hairpiece. Song Xueyan sat on a Qilin-patterned armchair, closing his eyes and thinking about the scene. Familiar footsteps came from outside. He didn’t open his eyes immediately. After the segment was over, Yan Qi, who had finished filming for Group B, had already received Fang Zhouji’s permission and was standing on the side waiting to watch the scene.
Yan Qi had memorized the script inside out. One look, and he knew that the next thing to film was the assassination by the xiaoguan, but before the assassination, he had to perform a “seduction.” He stole a glance at Song Xueyan from time to time, thinking it was really reversed letting the best-looking one be seduced.
But there was no helping it. In the entire crew, who could outshine Song Xueyan?
Over there, Fang Zhouji had finished discussing the scene with Yuan Mo, and reached out to call for everyone to prepare, asking the assistant to clap the board to start filming.
Yan Qi pulled a chair with a backrest, placed it backward behind the director, folded his arms on the backrest, and rested his chin on his arms, lying there quietly.
This scene wasn’t difficult. The point was for the xiaoguan to clearly distinguish his posture and temperament before and after the seduction. Xiao Zhenyue wasn’t a violent person; to confuse the ears and eyes in the manor, he had to pretend to be murderous.
Xiao Zhenyue usually liked to wear light colors. To conform to his preferences, the xiaoguan changed his usual style and specially wore a light blue plain robe. Fang Zhouji watched the monitor with a slight frown. Plain robes showed the most of one’s posture, and Yuan Mo’s poise problem couldn’t be hidden, exposing that slightly chubby belly.
The xiaoguan came forward with a bowl of lychee soup, showing eagerness and tenderness as he cared for Xiao Zhenyue with two sentences, and made a gesture to pick up the spoon to feed him, but Xiao Zhenyue raised his hand to block him.
Yan Qi saw Song Xueyan’s fair, slender hand raised. The Southern Red Agate bracelet on his palm and between his thumb and index finger shook out a strand of soft, silent dark light under the dim yellow candlelight.
This bracelet reminded him of the green jade Song Xueyan often wore.
And again, of that wrist wearing the green jade beads.
Over there, the xiaoguan had already changed his gaze, pulled out a poisoned dagger from his sleeve, and lunged violently toward Xiao Zhenyue’s neck—
The poisoned dagger was no longer shiny, the tip clustered with pitch-black poisonous light, barely brushing Xiao Zhenyue’s side neck, piercing straight into the back of the chair behind him with fierce force. Seeing that the tip was about to pierce the Qilin’s head, Xiao Zhenyue blocked it with his wrist, the agate bead catching the handle of the knife with a clink.
Each set of lenses filmed the panoramic view and close-ups skillfully and according to plan.
The dagger was knocked flying. The xiaoguan immediately pulled out the long hairpin from his hair and stabbed again. Xiao Zhenyue still blocked with one hand, his wrist rotating, causing the soft wide robe sleeve to bulge slightly, like a cloud blown by the wind, elegant and refreshing.
Xiao Zhenyue grabbed the xiaoguan’s wrist, pulled, and pushed, raising his foot to kick the man away.
“Cut!” Fang Zhouji shouted, asking the prop and harness team to prepare. The next scene was the xiaoguan landing after being kicked away, rolling and crawling to the corridor.
Yuan Mo reached out and touched his dull, aching chest, turning his back to grit his teeth. In order to show the sense of impact and the intensity of the fight in the camera, Fang Zhouji had specifically said that Song Xueyan’s kick had to be real.
Only then, with later post-production work, could it create a realistic feeling of someone being kicked away. This was hard on him.
Each group was ready. Yuan Mo wore the harness. Fang Zhouji called for everyone to return to their positions and started filming.
The first time Yuan Mo fell on the mat, he was dizzy, only to hear Fang Zhouji say “again.” Before his brain could react, he was helped up, and two stylists surrounded him to tidy him up.
Fang Zhouji said: “The xiaoguan is a martial artist who had his bones broken and was kicked away he’s seriously injured and powerless, but still alive. You fell like a corpse that had been dead for two days. Anyone who didn’t know better would think Xiao Zhenyue threw a lump of pork belly out. Again!”
Yuan Mo returned to his original position.
Fall.
“Why are you rotating your arms? Do you think you’re doing the breaststroke in the air?”
“Uh…”
“Rotation! It’s the body rotating, not your brain and limbs rotating separately!”
“Uh…”
“The expression after landing! Endure the pain, resentment, fear, determination… not a single one! Frowning—not rolling your eyes, big brother! You’ve failed the assassination, you’re not failing to seduce and preparing to try again! What the hell is this!”
“Stop!” Fang Zhouji took off the lid of his porcelain cup, took a big gulp, and tilted his chin at Yuan Mo. “Come over and appreciate it yourself.”
Yuan Mo was in pain all over, feeling ten thousand points of unhappiness in his heart, but he was trembling under Fang Zhouji’s pale face. He moved over, staring at the screen to watch the footage of that scene, pulling himself together, pretending to reflect earnestly.
Fang Zhouji asked for his opinion. Yuan Mo felt it wasn’t that bad, he had fallen over and over again so many times.
If it were the previous crew, the director would definitely praise him for being able to endure hardship with a smile. But he didn’t dare say it, muttering, not knowing how to make excuses.
Fang Zhouji’s brain was stifled, and he was too lazy to squeeze toothpaste. He glanced sideways at Yan Qi, who was watching from the sidelines. The boy was curled up like a big lazy cat, his eyes staring at the armchair straight ahead.
How interesting. Was he here to watch the scene, or to watch the person? It seemed that the whole field was making him angry like a powder keg.
Fang Zhouji put down the cup lid with a “clack” and said coldly: “Little Yan, you say.”
“Huh?”
Yan Qi turned back, his expression a bit dazed.