Song Xuetan: I laughed.
Song Xuetan had a nightmare.
It was fourteen years ago, on a night filled with lightning and thunder.
Song Xuetan pushed open the bedroom door. A woman lay in a pool of blood, her hair covering her face, the maple leaf pattern on the hem of her white nightgown torn to shreds. Her wedding ring had been taken off, and her five fingers pressed down on a stuffed toy, face down, its breath smothered it was a Mother’s Day gift he had made by hand in the first grade.
The award certificate in his hand fell listlessly, soaked through by the filth on the floor. Song Xuetan stepped right over it, turning it into tattered scraps of paper.
He stood in the blood, dazed, thinking this woman was truly awful even in death, she had to die somewhere clearly visible the moment the door opened, terrified she wouldn’t frighten him enough. It was a pity he wasn’t scared; he squatted down, as if out of curiosity, and brushed the hair away from the woman’s face.
Even though all these years she had been hoarse with exhaustion and full of mournful resentment, at least she had been fed and clothed with solid silver, and one could still make out her lost beauty. It was just that her appearance was ruined, and even death could not smooth away the gloom between her brows. Song Xuetan hugged his knees, locked in a long gaze with those slightly wide-open eyes, and whispered softly: “Today is my birthday.”
This woman was his master; she had given birth to him, and then wantonly tortured him, yet now she could only lie horizontally here, unable to beat and curse him as she used to. She couldn’t even speak; she could only glare at him with her eyes, fiercely, how fucking pathetic.
The thunder and lightning made the room abruptly bright and dark, and the wind blew in from outside, wailing like a monster. The curtains and bed canopy danced wildly, grabbing Song Xuetan’s hands and feet in the dead of night. The pool of blood coagulated into the palm print the woman frequently used, slapping him so hard that he turned his head and saw the nanny who had appeared behind him.
“Little Xian killed the madam!”
Yes, he killed the woman.
The villa was in chaos. In their panic, the servants squeezed him out the door. He leaned against the wall, watching a house full of best actors and actresses stage a crying scene; he was the only one who couldn’t cry. Disheveled footsteps rose from downstairs, and that man whom he hadn’t seen in a long time rushed in the very front, not even glancing at the woman as he picked him up and fled downstairs.
They ran to the front door on the first floor, their skin stinging from the bad winter weather.
The blood from the soles of his feet smeared onto the man’s pants, squelching out a muffled, sticky sound. The woman chased down in her red dress, disheveled and wild, smashing furniture, shrill and desperate, coming over to punch and kick them, shouting, “You monsters, you little bastard, why don’t you go die!”
Song Xuetan’s ears hurt, his head pressed against the crook of the man’s neck, rubbing desperately. The man hugged him, squeezing his waist until it ached. Another thunderclap struck, and Song Xuetan vomited on the man’s shoulder, sourness and stench covering his face in a blur. His face turned pale with suffocation, and he turned his head the woman was still cursing.
Stop cursing, he thought indifferently, for fuck’s sake stop cursing, you’re the one who’s going to die first.
“Bang!”
Song Xuetan snapped his eyes open.
In the darkness, Yan Qi tripped his shin on the sofa, sending a water glass crashing to the floor. He reached out to brace the back of the sofa, barely steadying himself. He looked at Song Xuetan; that face was soaked in cold sweat, his eyes like glass beads resting in an urn, so fragile they seemed to shatter at a touch.
At that moment, Song Xuetan hated lightning and thunder to the core. They had sliced open his flesh and blood, laying his body of bad blood and rotting flesh bare before the person he loved.
“It’s four o’clock.” Yan Qi glanced at the clock on the wall, walked over, and pulled Song Xuetan up, his tone normal. “What do you want to eat for breakfast? Something simple.”
Song Xuetan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Whatever.”
“A guy like you will get beaten up by your future partner if you fall in love.” Yan Qi pulled back the blanket, signaling Song Xuetan to get out of bed. “Go wash your face and hair quickly, then come out for breakfast.”
Song Xuetan walked out barefooted, only to be yanked right back by Yan Qi. “Wear your shoes!”
Song Xuetan lowered his head to put on his shoes, pushed open the bathroom door under Yan Qi’s gaze, and gave it a “clack” shut. Yan Qi stood in place, stunned for a few seconds, before taking it in a Zen-like stride. They’d already shared a bed; using the bathroom didn’t seem all that strange anymore.
The glass wall was translucent. Song Xuetan stood with his back to it, unbuttoning his clothes in a few swift motions. The slippery white fabric slid down from his shoulders and neck, exposing a stretch of translucent white. Yan Qi hurriedly averted his gaze, thinking how fucking absurd this was. Who on earth could bear to make Song Xuetan cry?
The showerhead was turned on, trickling water. Song Xuetan raised his head, water washing all over his face, clearing his eyes until not a trace of red mist remained.
It was still pitch black outside, but the second-floor inner chamber had already lit incense and candles. Each group of staff members performed their duties, preparing in an orderly fashion, occasionally letting out a yawn.
Song Xuetan lay on the soft couch while the makeup artist held an eyeshadow brush, helping reduce the swelling around his eyes. Not long after, Yan Qi returned, sitting down on the round stool beside the soft couch, reeking of alcohol.
Song Xuetan opened his eyes and reached out to grope for his cuff. “You really drank?”
Fang Zhouji sat to the side, rocking a ten-yuan bamboo fan. “This scene is about being drunk, with three parts affection and seven parts desire. You need to grasp the emotional state and mood well. Little Yan is the active party and needs to be a bit more aggressive. I guess the kid is pretty rusty, probably needs to psych himself up?”
“Exposing people isn’t a form of high emotional intelligence.” Yan Qi gave Fang Zhouji a resentful glare, and Fang Zhouji laughed heartily. He patted the back of Song Xuetan’s hand with the back of his own. “It’s fine, I took a hangover pill, and I don’t flush easily. Just let the makeup artist cover it up in a bit.”
The back of Song Xuetan’s hand felt warm; reluctant to pull away, he just pinched the hem of Yan Qi’s sleeve. The latter gave a slight cough, pretending not to notice, and used the back of Song Xuetan’s hand as an armrest.
Twenty minutes later, both men were in position, and the assistant director clapped the slate.
Yan Qi shoved Song Xuetan straight into the corner against the wall, but before he could take a step forward, Fang Zhouji shouted cut.
“Put more force into it!” Fang Zhouji hugged his black coffee. “No need to cherish this delicate flower.”
Yan Qi felt a bit awkward, not daring to look at Song Xuetan.
Song Xuetan, however, raised his hand and gently patted Yan Qi’s cheek, saying, “Don’t baby me, act it out properly.”
“Oh.” Yan Qi pouted. “Who’s babying you!”
Song Xuetan didn’t argue, simply holding out his hands. The two adjusted their clothing and started over.
This time Yan Qi used actual strength; Song Xuetan’s back hit the wall with a painful thud. He reached out to push him away, only to be squeezed into the corner behind the door by Yan Qi. A rich aroma of wine washed over him; Song Xuetan didn’t like alcohol, but he could make out the heavy fruity scent.
Yan Qi seized Song Xuetan’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head half-up. Meeting gaze for gaze, Yan Qi was struck with the realization that after this drama aired, the one people would obsessively clip and cut into a flower would definitely no longer be just Song Xuetan’s crying scenes. He was exceptionally good at portraying emotion and desire, using that pair of eyes that ought to have been indifferent.
A pair of fine eyes are the supreme vessel for carrying emotion. Song Xuetan placed all his emotions right inside them, using them with practiced ease. His brows were furrowed, his pupils rippling with allure, yet the corners of his eyes were sharp like a red tassel. Though placed at a disadvantage, he still maintained an aloof, towering posture, as if the intimacy right then was merely a sort of condescending bestowal from above.
Yan Qi became that rebellious, insubordinate bad dog.
Song Xuetan gripped his agate prayer beads tightly, refusing to grab Yan Qi’s clothes. His chin was pinched red, and until the alcohol assault swept over him, he finally reached out and pushed against Yan Qi’s shoulder.
This push carried no small amount of force, yet it couldn’t actually move Yan Qi. But during a one-second hesitation, Yan Qi glanced at Song Xuetan; the resistance expressed by those tightly pressed lips was so genuine that it actually made him step back in compliance.
Fang Zhouji was stunned. Just as he was about to open his mouth to question Yan Qi, he saw Yan Qi switch from retreating to advancing, stepping forward to wrap his arms around Song Xuetan’s waist, the two of them stumbling a few steps to the side in a struggle. Fang Zhouji hurriedly gestured, signaling the camera to follow.
Standing near the wall was a square-cornered cabinet, reaching up to Yan Qi’s waist, with a white porcelain vase on top. Yan Qi swept it down to the ground with a single motion. Shards burst outward as Yan Qi lifted Song Xuetan with both arms, placing him onto the low cabinet. Song Xuetan’s eyes widened slightly, and in the next second, he was grabbed by the back collar and pulled close like a kitten.
“You—”
Yan Qi raised his head and fiercely kissed Song Xuetan. With his eyes closed, his breath reeked of alcohol and this time let Song Xuetan taste hints of mint and berries. Song Xuetan tried to struggle, but was held down by his back collar. Their two breaths merged into one; Song Xuetan’s lips closed into a cold, gorgeous flower, bitten open by Yan Qi, escaping a muffled groan in the chaos.
This was the first time Yan Qi had actively initiated a kiss with someone. In Ming Yan-chao’s mind, this was a wild indulgence born of drunkenness, so he felt he should give in to passion, go berserk, and make the kiss somewhat rough. But when Song Xuetan let out a muffled groan and clung to his shoulders, looking so pitiful with softened waist and unable to steady himself, Yan Qi felt that since Ming Yan-chao’s surface attitude toward Xiao Zhengyue at this moment was seven parts desire and three parts affection, but in reality seven parts affection and three parts desire, he should also be a bit gentler.
The moment the grinding pressure of tongue and teeth relaxed slightly, Yan Qi was captured by the tip of Song Xuetan’s sharp teeth. Stunned by the pain, he opened his eyes and applied slight pressure to the hand pinching Song Xuetan, only to see Song Xuetan lift his damp eyelids, curving the corners of his eyes in a provocative manner.
Fang Zhouji shouted cut, the close-up shot lingering on that single look.
Yan Qi released Song Xuetan and lifted him down. The tip of his tongue still stung. Out of frustration, he reached out and pressed down on the corner of Song Xuetan’s eye, rubbing away a patch of red clouds.
Looking at the monitor, Fang Zhouji nodded in satisfaction, though he didn’t forget to settle scores afterward. “Little Yan, what was going on just now? I almost yelled cut.”
Yan Qi stammered, too embarrassed to say he genuinely thought Song Xuetan was unwilling to be kissed and instinctively stepped back.
Song Xuetan licked his lips, dizzy and disoriented by the alcohol lingering in his mouth, and rasped, “It was my fault. I used too much strength.”
“Is that so?” Fang Zhouji gave Yan Qi a skeptical look. “Little Yan doesn’t look rusty, though?”
With no way to argue, Yan Qi sat silently on a nearby round stool. The taste of the moment still lingered in his mouth; someone as aloof as Song Xuetan was actually warm and sticky on the inside. This feeling was unprecedented, and he didn’t even dare to reminisce, afraid of offending Song Xuetan.
Thinking Fang Zhouji had zero tact, Song Xuetan lifted his eyes and retorted, “Do I look like I’m rusty?”
Fang Zhouji caught a hint of protectiveness, quickly raising his hands. “Okay, my bad, get ready, time to shoot the next scene!”
The next scene required a change of location. Yan Qi stood up and took two steps, but still couldn’t help turning back to look at Song Xuetan. This glance was feigned to be casual, incredibly rusty, but turned into substance the moment it touched Song Xuetan.
Song Xuetan’s fingers were still pressed against his lips, his brows furrowed, looking very much like a capital letter “S” for sorrow. Suddenly, a shadow blocked the candlelight beside him. He looked up to see Yan Qi looming over him, reaching a hand out. Stunned, he was tapped on the side of the face by Yan Qi.
“Don’t be unhappy.” Yan Qi didn’t know what else to say, so he simply added a vague apology.
Whenever Madam Qi got angry, no matter what, his dad would apologize first, and Madam Qi’s anger would instantly dissipate by half. This method worked every single time. When Yan Qi had asked for the reason, his dad said that although he wasn’t sure if Madam Qi was mad at him, as long as there was even a possibility, he had to handle it properly. It didn’t matter if the situation was unclear; attitude had to come first—you don’t hit someone who’s smiling.
Song Xuetan didn’t know where he had shown unhappiness, nor where he needed Yan Qi’s apology. Before he could speak, he heard Fang Zhouji chime in from the side, teasing, “Little Yan, you know how to dote on your partner better than Ming Yan-chao.”
Partner?
Yan Qi froze. Those tangled, incomprehensible emotional bundles seemed to have been loosened slightly by a needle. Before he could think it through, Song Xuetan abruptly stood up and walked away slowly, as if offended by the word “partner.”
Yan Qi let Fang Zhouji’s words drop, but lowered his head with a sense of inexplicable disappointment.
Walking a short distance away, Fang Zhouji looked back. Yan Qi was drooping his head as he came out from the indoor set, following the assistant director toward the set. He lowered his voice. “Why did you suddenly walk away?”
“Then what did you want him to reply with?” Song Xuetan also glanced back. “He can’t take teasing.”
As twilight faded, two or three starlight rays pierced through the branches, casting onto the stone table.
Xiao Bing walked over from the tree line, seeing Song Xuetan resting his eyes with closed lids, his features peaceful, but the corners of his lips slightly upturned was he having a good dream? He stood in place, wondering whether to go over right now, when in the next second he saw Song Xuetan flatten the corners of his lips. Did the good dream run into trouble? A few seconds later, they turned up again was this wave over? Then they pressed down again…
Ah, he saw it now. Teacher Song wasn’t resting at all; this posture looked just like the love-struck male lead in a TV drama! Could it be.
He fiercely snapped a twig beside him, and the moment he looked up again, Song Xuetan had already opened his eyes and beckoned to him.
Suppressing his guess, Xiao Bing walked over, placing two bags north and south. He said, “Teacher Song, President Fu came to visit the crew. This portion is a luxury dinner sent over by President Fu at mealtime, five dishes, one soup, and a dessert. And this portion!”
He poked another very rustic plastic bag with his finger. “This is Brother Yan’s matching dinner tonight, lotus leaf porridge. Although light and plain, it calms the mind. All of Brother Yan’s feelings are like a dewdrop on a lotus leaf, pure and translucent.”
Song Xuetan didn’t move, only asking, “Was this his original intention?”
“No,” Xiao Bing said softly. “Brother Yan’s original words were: ‘Take this porridge to that surnamed Song guy, I accidentally ordered one extra, wasting it is a waste.’ I personally suspect Brother Yan was saying the opposite of what he meant, just acting cool and proud, but to prevent Teacher Song from being unhappy, I polished it up a little.”
Song Xuetan chuckled lightly. “Alright, thanks for running the errand. Thank you, and please thank him for me.”
“Alright, then I’ll retreat first, Teacher Song, enjoy your meal.” Xiao Bing waved and turned to leave quickly, but stopped abruptly behind a cluster of flowering trees in the distance, turning back to pull on a branch and sneak a peek—
Song Xuetan didn’t even look at that luxury meal, heading straight to unwrap the plastic bag.
Xiao Bing twitched the corner of his mouth, thinking whether it was love-sickness was still open to investigation, but right now Song Xuetan had indeed chosen the light and sparse over the delicacies of land and sea! He muttered: “My Brother Yan’s status has been upgraded!”
“Yeah.” A voice drifted lightly behind him. “Even passed me.”
Who is it!
Xiao Bing gave a full-body shudder, turning around sharply to see Fu Yanle also stealthily eyeing Song Xuetan’s direction. He pressed against his heart, which was about to leap out of his throat, and whispered, “President Fu?!”
Fu Yanle clicked his tongue. “He’s smiling so sweetly.”
Looking back over, Xiao Bing saw Song Xuetan taking a sip of the porridge, smiling indeed so sweetly. That expression didn’t look like he was drinking lotus leaf porridge, but rather honey, maltose, red dates, glutinous rice, and eight-treasure porridge. Why… did it look even more love-struck?
Drinking Brother Yan’s porridge while pining for someone else’s love! Xiao Bing clenched his fists apprehensively.
Fu Yanle rubbed his chin and waved at Xiao Bing. “Xiao Qiao came with me. You guys go foster some brotherhood.”
Xiao Bing went off, half-joyful and half-anxious.
Fu Yanle stepped out from the bushes and raised his voice. “What are you smiling at? The corners of your mouth and the tails of your eyebrows are about to connect.”
Song Xuetan immediately returned to normal, saying coolly, “Are we filming a live-action ghost movie here?”
“Yo, drinking porridge?” Fu Yanle sat down across from Song Xuetan. “Why aren’t you eating what I bought? I even deliberately avoided food you dislike, but my sincere intentions didn’t even get a chance to show their face.”
“I can’t eat two portions by myself, and opening them now would just be a waste. Eat it as a midnight snack.” Song Xuetan took a sip of porridge and steered the topic away. “Why come visit the crew so late?”
Fu Yanle unwrapped his packaging. “Brother Chen went on a business trip, and I went out to play for half a day this afternoon, my energy was through the roof, so I might as well come visit.” He sized up Song Xuetan’s expression. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have caught you sitting here smiling foolishly.”
Seeing the topic being steered right back, Song Xuetan remained unmoved and said, “I missed my son.”
“You mean that cat?” Fu Yanle had seen Wang Ye; worthy of being Song Xuetan’s son, it was indeed a gorgeous and noble character. Not knowing whether this excuse was true or false, he casually fabricated, “I just saw a cat. Spring had barely passed when it went love-sick again, simply lacking all decency.”
“Oh.” Song Xuetan said calmly, “If you find it an eyesore, have its owner take it to get fixed.”
“You can fix its tool-testicles, but you can’t fix a heart full of deep affection.” The man surnamed Song was simply too good at putting up a front, so Fu Yanle had to temporarily halt his probing. “How late are you filming today?”
“I have a scene past three.” Song Xuetan paused. “Yan Qi is pulling an all-nighter.”
Fu Yanle finished half of the accompanying soup first, his lips glowing bright. “Then I’ll go check on him first after I finish eating, then come back to accompany you. I’m not going back tonight.”
“Yan Qi!”
Xiao Bing bounced two steps to Yan Qi’s side and whispered, “Teacher Song drank your porridge!”
“Really?” The corners of Yan Qi’s mouth lifted, then were suppressed again. “Count him to have good taste.”