[Ahhhh, Qian Xingzhi’s look is insanely handsome, friends!!!]
Is this… a frail, sickly Embroidered Uniform Guard who’s decisive and ruthless, crossed with a fast-and-loose Jianghu hero who kills without batting an eye?
[Can’t decide whether to watch Shen Li’s screen or Qian Xingzhi’s—sob! Leopard and Cat Cat, can you two just sit together already? Waaah!]
[These two character models’ faces… Awkward. I wouldn’t even dare Photoshop them like this; they just look this perfect. Awkward.]
[(Puts down mirror) Nuwa, take a look at what you’ve done. Is this right? Awkward.]
“…So, Teacher Qian, about that sideburn of yours…?”
Several LED makeup mirrors glowed brightly in the styling room, slicing the air into countless shimmering diamond shapes.
The stylist working on Qian Xingzhi was a scruffy guy with a buzz cut and a bushy beard, but his sense of style was spot on. His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the oxhorn comb, leaning in to tidy up the actor’s sideburns.
But Qian Xingzhi kept a cold expression, utterly focused on the live stream screen on the wall, barely cooperating.
The stylist thought to himself, damn, this face is handsome to an outrageous degree.
Too bad he’s deaf.
The price of maxed-out beauty turned out to be hearing loss.
“Teacher Qian?”
The stylist rolled his eyes inwardly and repeated himself: “Tilt your head a bit, yeah? You can check it out slowly once we’re in the studio~”
[? What’s Qian Xingzhi looking at?]
[I just spotted more sugar. Is he secretly checking out his wife?]
[Nope, the camera just panned over the wall—my bro was looking at his own poster.]
[[Wish] Hope the CP fans don’t start imagining them all lovey-dovey. [Wish] Real love doesn’t end in divorce, just so everyone knows, thanks.]
In the shot, Qian Xingzhi finally tilted his jaw ever so slightly, his expression blank, turning his gaze away.
The black obsidian stud in his earlobe caught the cold light, tracing a gleaming arc.
The stylist used a silver hairpin to lift the last stray lock at his temple, shaping it into a crane carrying the moon against his long hair.
“Done.”
The stylist admired his handiwork, and up close, he savored Qian Xingzhi’s face. “Take a look—anything not to your liking?”
Qian Xingzhi eyed the mirror critically for a long moment before saying, “Isn’t the eyeshadow a bit too dark?”
Little Round’s lips quirked up, his pinky finger already setting down the makeup brush in an orchid-like flourish. “The shade right now matches Teacher Shen’s perfectly. You sure you want it lighter?”
Qian Xingzhi: .
Little Round: “Got it. I’ll grab some makeup remover cotton.”
Little Round had seen right through it all. His rummaging for the cotton was a touch performative.
Sure enough, a second later, the Great Film Emperor rose from the makeup chair.
“Never mind. Too much hassle.”
[…Play it cool, pup. Play it cool.]
[[Sweat] Could’ve waited just one more second?]
[Even cooperating with work gets twisted into not playing it cool???]
[Is Money Jar still struggling? I’m starting to feel bad for the jar. He’s so strong.]
Qian Xingzhi stood, rolling his wrists, then strode quickly toward the shooting area. The fabric rustled like clashing metal.
Though the path was short, he drew plenty of stares along the way.
Some people were just born clothes hangers.
While Qian Xingzhi waited for Shen Li, Li Weiwei and Kris had already started shooting in the adjacent set.
Both wore pure white wedding gowns.
Kris mentioned that she and her ex had never taken wedding photos, so this was her first time in a gown. Her Chinese mixed with her native tongue, her blue eyes welling up for the first time, a touch of emotion in her voice.
Li Weiwei straightened her veil and said bluntly, “You’re lucky, then.”
Kris: ?
Li Weiwei: “After the divorce, we had nowhere to dump ours. Ended up burning them during Lunar New Year to ward off bad luck when welcoming the God of Wealth. What a hassle.”
“Pfft.” Kris laughed. “Fair enough.”
“Do you still like him?”
“…Huh?”
“Your ex.”
Kris didn’t answer right away. Her big blue eyes blinked, and she gave a vague reply: “…I don’t know.”
Li Weiwei nodded. Aside from types like her—who joined to screw over their ex—or Little Zhao, here for better schools for her kid, someone purer like Kris probably wouldn’t have signed up if she’d truly moved on.
She had no interest in judging others’ relationships or meddling in their karma.
“Let’s take the photos, then. We’ll do bestie shots.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The two women were stunning, their vibes totally distinct—one cute and sweet, the other regal and commanding.
Under the photographer’s direction, their poses delivered explosive chemistry.
In one, Li Weiwei scooped Kris up, cradling her close.
Li Weiwei’s arm supported Kris’s hips as she lifted her, their noses almost touching, intimacy maxed out. Kris beamed like a fairy-tale princess.
And behind the play of light and shadow, Li Weiwei gazed at her with a smile in her eyes, somehow nailing that intimate vibe of old friends.
[Ahhhh, girl friendships are the best!!!]
[Program Group, listen up—kick out the ugly guys ASAP!! Or I’ll bomb your Douban rating with half-stars. Smile.]
[Their chemistry is off the charts, like they’ve known each other forever~]
[What’s that saying? Some people click instantly, like they’ve been waiting lifetimes. Others stay strangers no matter how long they’ve known each other!]
[Hi there, your Strangers Group is up next.]
[?]
The biggest impression the other photographer had of Qian Xingzhi and Shen Li’s pair was…
They didn’t seem close at all?
Their theme evoked a torrid saga of hate and passion—magazine shoots like this always had a concept and script.
Qian Xingzhi had the demeanor of a rogue hero, both righteous and wicked, while Shen Li was cast as the ruthless Embroidered Uniform Guard of the imperial court.
They’d met in humble beginnings, sharing wild rides on horseback in their youth, sparking fierce carnal desire and tangled love-hate.
But clashing beliefs tore them apart. Yet neither found anyone who fit better.
So they’d cross paths unexpectedly every few years for a no-strings hookup, all lust, no love.
It was a sizzling setup, promo for the movie starring Yao Shuang and Qin Zhao releasing at year’s end—same universe, different characters.
But after the photographer explained the roles, the two men showed zero reaction.
He’d shot hundreds of real couples in the industry over the years.
Normally, a steamy premise like this from ex-lovers got you a flirtatious shared glance if they were still together.
If they’d fought or broken up badly, it’d be eye-rolls or outright refusal.
A one-night stand? Eyes would melt with desire at such a perfect match.
But Qian Xingzhi and Shen Li? They looked like they were in a political education class.
Eyes steely firm, like they were about to join the Party…
Even a veteran like the photographer couldn’t help wondering: Had these two really hooked up?
They were just so damn polite.
“May I hold you?”
Qian Xingzhi didn’t grab first—he asked Shen Li’s permission, like a colleague checking in.
Shen Li shot him a cool glance and said flatly, “Go ahead.” Qian Xingzhi snapped into character, pressing him down with the hatred of crushed rivals. The close-up angle was flawless, perfect enough to draw applause—
Yet his grip on Shen Li wasn’t even as bold as Li Weiwei’s lift of Kris.
The hand stroking Shen Li’s was on his own;
The gold-braced gauntlet grazed Shen Li’s pale jaw lightly, with restraint;
Lips that should’ve brushed his pulse point went for an off-camera borrow;
And when he tugged Shen Li’s cloud-patterned belt with one hand, he didn’t even touch his waist!
Qian Xingzhi nailed the angle for the magazine perfectly—professional to a fault, nailing emotion and lighting.
But as the photographer fired off shots, he was floored inside:
Industry rumors checked out. Colleagues had warned him Qian Xingzhi was always the epitome of gentlemanly, professional impotence with costars. Now he saw it firsthand.
Fine with others, but…
With his ex-wife too?
Okay, exes, maybe too close for comfort.
But not even a waist touch? Either they were that distant, or he had issues—like germaphobia?
In the lens, Qian Xingzhi’s eyes reddened convincingly as he immersed himself—top-tier skills, great at pulling costars along.
Shen Li had a perfect film face, photogenic from any angle, but his emotions ran cool—
Yet he carried this rare, shattered iciness.
That pale neck, lips and teeth hovering near, Adam’s apple sliding under the pressure of a palm, brows faintly furrowed—like a moon sinking into quicksand, falling of its own accord.
The air between them crackled with a tantalizing, pitch-perfect antagonism.
From a stills perspective, it oozed sexual tension and beauty—highly efficient, guaranteed banger shots.
But from the live vibe and stream? Their remarriage odds…
Were looking slim.
[Bro was flashing rings on stream two days ago, charged at Shen Li yesterday when he walked in—what’s up today?]
[Your puppy dog’s battery is low. ?]
[Was it all an act before? They’re awkward just touching hands, needs permission for a waist grab. Sweat.]
[I think Shen Li’s more embarrassed—barely looks Qian Xingzhi in the eye!!!]
[Holly crap! Sham marriage?]
[Don’t forget Qian Xingzhi grinning like Silly Dog in their wedding pics?? Your sham marriage smiles that big?!]
[This pair’s full of red flags. Watching them interact feels like cracking a case. Smile.]
[Qian Xingzhi, do something spicy! (Suck on your wife’s neck!!)]
By the time they wrapped the shots in record time, the preview footage showed smoldering chemistry, like they’d jump into bed any second.
Even with magnifying glasses and microscopes in hand, the netizens couldn’t spot a single rule-breaking moment from the two men throughout the entire shoot and livestream.
Not only did Qian Xingzhi refrain from any “hot-blooded” antics, but he truly reverted to his old aloof, desireless demeanor—proper, calm, solemn, and dignified.
Shen Li, for his part, remained utterly detached from start to finish, looking almost more comfortable than usual.
【Great for my perverted eyes, but terrible for my love-starved soul [shattered]】
【This couple… reeking of dead-end office vibes today… did they have a fight? [frantic head-scratching]】
【Thought we’d get served a feast [shattered], but nope—just a knife to the butt and rude awakening. Qian Xingzhi, your flip from yesterday to today is more volatile than gold prices at market open [smirk]】
【What the heck y’all doin’? I’m losin’ it here, watched half the day and not even a hand touch—draggin’ on like this [rage] I wanna bite someone!】
【So why the sudden livestream? Weren’t they skipping the morning one? [kicks over dog food bowl].GIF】
This time, the stream shut off even more abruptly than it had started. The viewers were left utterly baffled, without so much as a farewell sign-off. From beginning to end, they found no reasonable explanation for the sudden broadcast either.
Or perhaps… no explanation was needed?
It was like a photographer strolling down the street, spotting a stunning flower, and whipping out their phone for an impromptu photo.
Or like a boss getting a wild hair and calling an emergency meeting on a whim—stream when the mood strikes, but the “employees” aren’t primed for showtime, leaving the whole thing motiveless and a total mess.
It began with excitement, only to end in doubt and confusion.
Perhaps they captured some solid shots, but as far as this spur-of-the-moment livestream went, it wasn’t exactly a success.
Even Shen Li hadn’t quite figured it out.
Truth be told, though, the shoot hadn’t felt bad to him at all. It was just like any ordinary day on the job—take the gig, get to work, wrap up, remove the makeup. Only then, recalling Qian Xingzhi’s restrained and professional performance earlier, did he start wondering why the sudden morning stream.
Shen Li knew Qian Xingzhi had always wanted to do a proper photoshoot with him.
Back when they got married, there’d been no banquet, no wedding photos. Their one semi-decent marriage certificate photo was actually from their university days, when their relationship was at its most intense. Qian Xingzhi had dragged him to a studio that time.
Shen Li had offhandedly remarked that they could use it for their wedding later—saved the hassle.
Qian Xingzhi, predictably unhappy, had insisted that was different—this was this, marriage was marriage. Of course they’d need new ones for the wedding. It’s like eating dinner today means skipping it tomorrow? He’d rattled off all sorts of twisted logic.
Shen Li had just laughed, patted Qian Xingzhi’s head like a dog’s, and cooed, “Sure, sure, we’ll do it.”
But when they actually tied the knot, debts had them tied up in knots, so they never reshot. Just like Shen Li had said, they submitted those old studio photos to the Civil Affairs Bureau for registration—a self-fulfilling prophecy.
They never circled back to supplement it later either. The banquet had been a rushed affair too—his own mother was unwell, Qian Xingzhi’s family wasn’t supportive—so they’d only gathered a handful of close friends at Shen Li’s place for a quick meetup. That was squeezed in amid the chaos; a wedding shoot was out of the question.
Afterward… Shen Li had helped Qian Xingzhi build up the company, using equity to settle debts owed to him, which meant diving straight into the criminal police recruitment exam.
Qian Xingzhi had time, unfortunately Shen Li didn’t.
They’d scheduled a few attempts, but it was always something cropping up on his end or issues with the photographer forcing a cancelation.
Qian Xingzhi had called it bad luck and burned mugwort at home every day for a while.
The final verdict? Their registration day had been too impulsive—no almanac check. “Unsuitable for marriage,” a straight-up underworld inauspicious date.
Shen Li, ever the materialist, had felt a bit shattered by that…
So what about today?
Surely it wasn’t another ominous day. Or had some psychic warned that skipping the stream would bring financial ruin?
Shen Li frowned faintly, glancing at Qian Xingzhi, who was still removing his makeup.
Qian Xingzhi wore that same lovestruck expression, squinting at the photo sets—or, to put it more elegantly, utterly mesmerized?
Once the staff had cleared out, leaving the makeup room just the two of them.
Shen Li considered patting his head to reset the settings, but then Qian Xingzhi’s emotionless gaze swung back, accompanied by the return of that squeezed bubble-pop voice:
“Seen enough?”
“Not yet.” Shen Li walked over, answering without much thought.
He’d barely taken position beside Qian Xingzhi, about to ask why the sudden morning stream, when that pine-resin scent on the man intensified—
Qian Xingzhi’s head tilted, his sharp jawline nestling into Shen Li’s waist hollow. That strikingly handsome, cold face shifted its gaze toward the makeup mirror—
Their eyes met.
Shen Li looked away first, only to notice Qian Xingzhi’s throat bob sharply.
Only then did it hit him belatedly: the half of Qian Xingzhi’s face rubbing against his waist felt feverish.
“…Still burning up?”
“Nope.”
Shen Li started to pull back, reaching to check the man’s forehead.
But suddenly, a powerful grip scooped under his rear, spinning him halfway around. Shen Li grabbed the table in shock, now facing the culprit seated in the chair. Makeup brushes clattered to the floor.
He looked down.
In the mirror, Qian Xingzhi’s usually bright eyes were darkened to an alarming degree.
The next instant, Qian Xingzhi fully turned, pressing his high nose bridge against Shen Li’s lower abdomen.
Shen Li froze, suppressing a shiver, holding his breath as Qian Xingzhi clung to him.
Then came Qian Xingzhi’s deep, calm voice, strained with restraint as he explained:
“…Just for a bit. No one’s here now.”
Shen Li closed his eyes briefly.
He didn’t dare move.
