In mid-July, the official Weibo account for Ascending the White Jade Stairs announced the leading actors and the full cast list, accompanied by individual photos of the two leads from the kickoff banquet, a joint photo, and a large group photo of all the actors together.
When the news broke, Tan Shui had just left his talent agency.
He had read Song Xueyan’s works over and over again, writing reviews, character analyses, and long-form critiques… Every time, he discovered something new and exciting. As a die-hard fan of Song Xueyan, Tan Shui and the rest of the fanbase had been in a state of nervous anxiety for over half a month, finally waiting for the official announcement.
Clicking into the official Weibo post, Tan Shui felt his heart leap into his throat at the name “Yan Qi” following Song Xueyan’s. After all the praying the fans had done, this “divine figure” still hadn’t budged!
He clicked on the second image—the individual photo of Yan Qi. Upon looking: broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, a slender neck, an eye-catching shoulder-to-neck line, and perfectly toned arm muscles. At the very least, his physical proportions, poise, and temperament were superior.
Tan Shui relaxed slightly and nervously moved his gaze upward—though a mask covered most of his face, it couldn’t hide Yan Qi’s sharp brows and starry eyes!
He felt a flash of joy, but then a cruel reality struck: just because a handsome guy wears a mask doesn’t mean he’s truly handsome!
His heart felt like it was on a thrill ride—no sooner had it landed than it soared again. Tan Shui quickly scrolled down to the group photo of the leads.
The individual photo showed Yan Qi’s height and leg length, but in the group photo, he was actually a head taller than Song Xueyan! He must be at least 1.9 meters tall! Looking closer at the atmosphere… the two of them actually looked quite compatible in terms of physical appearance and temperament.
Crowds of people jammed the comment section. He scrolled down and saw the second most popular comment:
【Damn… they actually look pretty good together…】
Tan Shui scrolled back up, tapped on Yan Qi in the lead actor list, and discovered that this guy hadn’t even opened a Weibo account yet!
“When are you opening your Weibo?”
Feng Zhui greeted Yan Qi over a video call. “You’re going to join the set tomorrow, you ancestor! The production team announced the cast half a month ago, and people couldn’t even tag you.”
Yan Qi was sitting in his small courtyard watering flowers, dressed in long sleeves and trousers, wearing a sun hat, wrapped up tightly as if afraid the sun would soil his skin.
Taking a close look at the roses behind the hedge, Yan Qi didn’t even lift his head. “What’s the point of opening one? Song Xueyan’s Weibo is clearly alive, yet it looks as dead as a doornail.”
“You’re a small-time rookie, why are you comparing yourself to Song Xueyan?” Feng Zhui gulped down some mint water. “I see so many people who want to follow you but can’t find where to do it.”
“If no one follows me, I won’t lie flat and wither away in despair; if people do follow me, I won’t get all excited and want to fly to the heavens.” Yan Qi set down his watering can, pressed two fingers to his forehead, and pointed at the camera with a very pretentious air. “The strong are always lonely.”
Feng Zhui chuckled: “It doesn’t matter if you don’t open it now, but when the production team has promotional requirements, you’d better behave.”
Yan Qi picked up the watering can again. “Oh.”
“It’s been so long, dare I ask if you’ve ever spoken to Song Xueyan?” Seeing Yan Qi’s handsome face as cold as a coffin, Feng Zhui felt dejected. “Forget it, the idea of us melting Song Xueyan was just me being arrogant.”
Yan Qi mumbled, “I think he’s the one who’s going to freeze us dry first.”
Feng Zhui cursed, “Have some backbone! Can you show some masculine dignity?”
Yan Qi paused, the script he had memorized by heart flipping open in his mind, precise to the page, line, and dialogue. He feigned a low, deep cough, exuding an air of dominance without making a scene.
“Don’t panic. No matter how cold he is, he’ll still have to call me ‘Husband’ when the time comes.”
After the kickoff ceremony, Song Xueyan didn’t see Yan Qi again until the latter updated his Moments with a set of camellia photos.
The brilliant red and beautiful Xia Meng Wen Qing camellias were set against the familiar small courtyard. Yan Qi had returned home to stay with his grandmother.
Yan Qi had been close to his grandmother since he was a child. Song Xueyan guessed that he must have had a good time over these two weeks, and as a result, he felt a bit happier himself. This emotion blended subtly onto his face, visible at a glance to those who knew him well.
“What exactly are you so happy about?” Fu Yangle rested his chin on his hand, looking at Song Xueyan with a gaze both serious and conflicted, as if the other man were an incredibly difficult exam question.
Song Xueyan sat before the coffee table, a pillow tucked under his legs, holding a black pen and doodling on his script. He didn’t look up as he said, “Can’t a person smile?”
Fu Yangle paused his half-finished mobile game, leaned over, and scanned the script. This page was written about a tragic death-or-life scene between two characters, the whole page dripping with “tragedy” and “suffering.” It didn’t look like a scene that should bring joy.
He couldn’t fathom it. “People are going through life-and-death separations, and you’re just sitting here grinning? Is that polite?”
“This run-through is mainly for pacing the lines, so it’s okay,” Song Xueyan countered calmly. “And I didn’t laugh out loud.”
“If you had laughed out loud, I would have really suspected you were up to some mischief behind my back.” Fu Yangle sat back, leaned his head back onto the sofa, and stretched out his limbs like a mudskipper that had lost its dreams.
“You and Yan Qi are joining the set tomorrow, Wanwan is almost there too, Gou is already on set, Lu Minghe isn’t around, and Yu Jingchen is busy like a whirlwind. No one is around to play with me!”
Song Xueyan pacified him gently, “You’re a big kid now.”
Having said that, he paused and quite naturally threw out a question, “Are you joining the set tomorrow? Yan Qi isn’t back yet?”
“Joining in the afternoon. That kid will probably arrive right at the last minute,” Fu Yangle said.
Song Xueyan said “Oh,” having played the part of someone just asking in passing perfectly.
Fu Yangle, true to form, didn’t think much of it and took the opportunity to pull strings. “Hey, this is Qi’s first time joining a set; he’s still a clueless baby. Counting it up, he’s the only 18th-tier rookie on your team.”
“Oh.” Song Xueyan caught the underlying implication. “And so?”
“You must remember to treat him the same way you treated me during my first guest role. You remember how you ‘treasured’ me back then? Well, treasure him the same way now.” Fu Yangle smiled kindly, like the best older brother in the world. “Don’t you dare show mercy to this delicate flower, you hear?”
Song Xueyan’s previous work, Dangerous Symptoms, was also directed by Fang Zhouji and co-starred An Shigo. There was a villainous character in that drama with little screen time but a stunning portrayal. Song Xueyan felt that Fu Yangle, with his long, shoulder-length hair and exquisite, opulent appearance, was the perfect fit, so he invited him for a guest role.
Fu Yangle lived up to his reputation as an acting genius who blended performance with real life. Although he had zero foundation or experience, his performance was unexpectedly good—it was just the details that needed polishing, especially during a key emotional breakdown scene that required multiple takes. When acting, Song Xueyan was a ruthless ghost who knew no relatives. That day, in front of the entire crew, he had “treasured” Fu Yangle quite thoroughly.
To this day, Fu Yangle could still remember himself that day, chugging four bottles of AD Calcium Milk to suppress his indignation.
“I’ve watched the plays he performed with his club during his university days. In all fairness, he is much better than you were.” Song Xueyan changed his words under Fu Yangle’s death stare. “A little better. If there’s an opportunity, I will continue to uphold the principle of fairness and objectivity, and just like I ‘treasured’ you, I will treasure him.”
Fu Yangle was satisfied. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Song Xueyan used his fingertips to twist the corner of the script, rubbing it gently.
“Aah—”
Yan Qi tilted his head back. Two seconds later, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. “Chirp!”
Yan Qi’s self-selected assistant was nibbling on a mung bean cake. This was stuffed into his hands by Yan Qi’s grandmother—the old lady was kind-hearted, and the pastries she made were delicate and delicious, leaving him feeling warm inside.
When he looked up at the sound, he still had crumbs on his lips. “Qi-ge, are you acting cute?”
“I want to sell you.” Yan Qi glanced outside, his tone slightly pressed. “We’re on the highway, you know.”
In an instant, various highway corpse-dumping cases and crime novel scenarios played out in the assistant’s mind like a simulation. He picked up his opened box of Wangzai milk, took a gulp to calm his nerves, and flattered him with all his might.
“The Book of Songs says: ‘I cannot sleep for thoughts of you, I wake and sneeze for thoughts of you.’ It must be that my Qi-ge’s peerless charm is lingering in someone’s mind, making their longing like Nezha diving into the sea or Wukong flying to the heavens, all joining forces to stir up a sneeze that is both elegant and slightly adorable.”
These were sweet words from a working stiff to his boss, but they inadvertently became a needle piercing the boss’s conscience. Yan Qi thought of the dream he had last night and rubbed the tip of his nose unnaturally.
For the half-month he had been in Northern City, besides accompanying his family, Yan Qi’s focus had been on familiarizing himself with the script and his character. But whenever he saw Xiao Zhenyue, he would inevitably think of Song Xueyan. At first, it was with the intention of familiarizing himself with his opponent; he watched all of Song Xueyan’s works. Being attracted to him was expected otherwise, Song Xueyan would be nothing but an empty reputation.
But he never expected that he would become immersed, watching them over and over until he was addicted.
The emotions Song Xueyan presented on screen were rarely joy, mostly sorrow. In his roles, he lived with lifelong regrets, unfulfilled longings, died with eyes unclosed… his body destroyed, his dignity trampled, his soul imprisoned. These roles seemed entirely unrelated to Song Xueyan the person, but for some reason, in his dreams, Yan Qi would pass through the screen and discover a vague, indistinct shadow hiding behind the roles—a shadow very much like Song Xueyan.
“Vague” seemed to have become one of Yan Qi’s trademark adjectives for looking at Song Xueyan.
Just like that day at the racing track, he thought Song Xueyan’s back looked like a bamboo landscape screen. Through that canvas, he couldn’t tell if the quiet silence Song Xueyan displayed was truly his personality.
It was also like now; he couldn’t tell if it was because Song Xueyan’s acting was so good that he had added a layer of character filter to him, making him look both tragic and bitter, inexplicably provoking pity, or if the guy was truly accustomed to wearing a mask that kept people at a distance, while actually hiding some unspeakable past.
Regardless, this desire to probe Song Xueyan came so suddenly and so fiercely that Yan Qi felt incredibly restless.
Immersing himself in Song Xueyan’s work could only mean he was attracted by Song Xueyan’s strength, thus appreciating and admiring him, but addiction represented loss of control.
Yan Qi, who was used to being in control, sensed something amiss.
If he wanted to know, he had to find out; if he wanted it, he had to get it. This had always been his principle. But to probe Song Xueyan? That was too strange.
Yan Qi rested his elbow on the car window, his brow bone and nose bridge outlining a tall, straight mountain range on the glass. His eyes reflected in the rearview mirror were extremely heavy and gloomy for a moment.
The hot air and the scenery along the road stretched into an empty canvas as the car sped along steadily, white and green, just like the scene in his dream last night—misty and hazy.
Until the car stopped at the toll station, and the surrounding environment came into full view, the haziness in the dream dissipated, and that phantom shadow turned around—it was Song Xueyan, with brows knitted and tears hanging from the corners of his eyes.
Past the toll station, they were closer to Nandu.
Yan Qi took out his phone and, after pondering for half a minute, sent a WeChat message to Song Xueyan. Feng Zhui was right; he should at least say hello before joining the set.
An hour later, he lit up the screen to check. Song Xueyan hadn’t replied.
The assistant folded several pieces of oil paper into a ball, put them in a small pocket, and set them aside at his feet. He took out his phone to check the time. “Estimating that after all the tossing and turning on the way to the MS Hotel, it should be just about lunch time. Qi-ge, should we invite Teacher Song to lunch, and hold the ‘Buddha’s feet’ for a moment before joining the set, leaving him with a sweet, cute, and sensible good impression?”
Yan Qi glanced at the chat interface, which remained completely silent, and said coldly: “The Buddha is busy. There’s no foot to hold.”
At the same time, Song Xueyan rolled over in his quilt and muttered a curse: “Idiot.”
“Damn it! It’s twelve o’clock, three hours have passed, and he still hasn’t replied to my WeChat!”
Inside the luxury motorhome, Yan Qi stomped on an empty mineral water bottle at his feet.
Did Song Xueyan see the message but was too lazy to reply? Or had he not been using his phone, so he hadn’t seen the message at all?
Yan Qi pondered this small problem back and forth, his focus as serious as if he were solving an advanced math problem. After a while, not having reached a conclusion, he asked: “Does Song Xueyan have any work scheduled for today?”
“No, he rarely accepts endorsements or commercials, and doesn’t do variety shows, so generally, work time only counts when filming. I spoke with Director Fang this morning; he said Song Xueyan was home in the morning and at the gym in the afternoon. And as far as I know, Song Xueyan is also a ‘head-down’ mobile phone user.”
Feng Zhui sighed, feeling quite pathetic.
“So don’t even think about it. He absolutely just doesn’t want to reply to you.”
Yan Qi felt a bit aggrieved. “Is he still holding a grudge against me?”
“Compared to that, I’m more curious why you are so anxious?” Feng Zhui considerately turned the car’s air conditioning down by one degree. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think you were anxiously waiting for news from your girlfriend.”
“He’s a man.” Yan Qi wiped his hair. “I’m doing this for work. Do you want me to keep waiting for him here?”
“But…” Feng Zhui had endured it all along the way, but in the end, he chose to be blunt. “I’ve wanted to ask from the beginning: why do we have to come over to pick him up and go to the hotel together? Can’t we go first? Song Xueyan, who has hands and feet, has money, has an agent, and a normal brain, will find his own time to come over.”
“Right.” Yan Qi put down his phone and leaned back against the sofa chair. “Xiao Bing, go to the hotel.”
“Alright.” The assistant quickly put down his phone and drove away, thoughtfully finding a grand-sounding reason for Yan Qi. “Teacher Song is a senior, after all, and his place is on the same road to the hotel. Picking him up is out of respect for a senior. Qi-ge, this is a good idea!”
Feng Zhui echoed, “Yes, yes, yes!”
In the rearview mirror, Yan Qi’s complexion looked a little better.
Xiao Bing and Feng Zhui exchanged a glance; the young master was actually quite easy to coax.
The temperature in the car was cool, but Yan Qi felt a bit agitated.
Why did he subconsciously want to pick up Song Xueyan and wait outside his apartment for so long? The guy wasn’t someone who couldn’t take care of himself, nor did he not know the way, and it was very close from the apartment to the hotel. Why did he have to be so attentive and considerate?
Where on earth did these strange “subconscious” impulses come from? Had Song Xueyan been raising Gu poison in his house?!
Damn! How f***ing speechless!
Yan Qi reached out and threw a fierce flurry of punches into the air.
Picking him up, my ass. If he were this attentive again in the future, he’d go become a son to the Prince.
Xiao Bing and Feng Zhui: “?…”
The luxurious and exquisite motorhome arrived downstairs at the hotel. The service staff responsible for receiving guests moved the three suitcases and two large cardboard boxes accompanying Yan Qi out of the motorhome and delivered them upstairs first.
Just as Xiao Bing was about to drive the motorhome into the parking garage, he saw Yan Qi hook two fingers at him outside the car. He got up, walked to the car door, and poked his head out. “Qi-ge, what’s wrong?”
Yan Qi was tired, listless, and said with a look of worry: “Go pick up Song Xueyan.”