Chapter 13

Wen Chaosheng hadn’t realized at all that Xi Zhui was just teasing him. Instead, he genuinely breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

As expected, Xi Zhui was still as kind as he had been when they were kids.

Xi Zhui didn’t respond, but the amusement deepened in his eyes. Only then did he pull back the blackout curtains he had just closed, letting the light flood in again.

Wen Chaosheng handed back the script he hadn’t finished reading. “Here, do you want to take a look at the rest?”

Xi Zhui didn’t reach for it right away. “Scripts aren’t supposed to be shared outside the production team, right? I’m not one of the main creators—can I even read the whole thing?”

“You’re… you’re not an outsider.”

Wen Chaosheng paused for a moment, his voice soft but resolute. “You’re my friend.”

His best friend, from childhood all the way to now—the finest one he’d ever met.

“…”

The word “friend” landed like a dragonfly skimming water, sending a faint tremor through his heartstrings.

Xi Zhui took the script back, his fingertip brushing along the edge of the pages. “You mentioned earlier that you’re going to direct. Does that mean this film’s about to start shooting?”

“Yeah, we’ll head to Gannan for filming by mid-month at the latest.”

When it came to the creation and shooting he loved so much, Wen Chaosheng’s words finally flowed a bit more freely. “Our team’s all students from the academy, and we don’t have a big crew. We can’t compare to those massive productions.”

Xi Zhui replied, “Good luck. It’s not about having a lot of people to make something great—it’s about putting your heart into it.”

A spark of validated joy lit up Wen Chaosheng’s face. “Yeah.”

Meeting that rare, open smile from him, Xi Zhui asked one more question. “Have you locked in the casting for the actors in the script?”

“Pretty much.”

There weren’t many roles in the script, so it had been easy enough to settle on most of them.

“We originally approached a senior from the freshman class for the lead, but his schedule’s packed lately. My advisor suggested finding someone else.”

Deep down, Wen Chaosheng already knew the answer: Qin Ke was probably going to bail on their film shoot.

After all, the guy had just graduated and hit his career stride. Faced with a choice, who would turn down paying gigs and fame to spend a month in Gannan shooting for free?

Still, having to recast at the last minute was tricky—

For one thing, it was vacation time, so hardly any students were left at the film academy.

For another, the lead role of Tang Yu needed a specific look to match the script’s vision, and that wasn’t easy to find.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, Wen Chaosheng’s gaze suddenly locked onto Xi Zhui. Even if the other man probably didn’t remember, Wen Chaosheng had never forgotten the promise he’d made as a kid—

“Xi Zhui, if I become a director someday, will you star as the lead in my movie?”

The script for Contour was something Wen Chaosheng had conceived and started writing in high school. When crafting the character of Tang Yu, he’d woven in his own imaginings of Xi Zhui between the lines.

The male lead he’d envisioned back then was sitting right in front of him now.

Wen Chaosheng hesitated, then spoke up. “Xi Zhui, I…”

Their eyes met, and in the silence, a natural rapport blossomed between them.

Xi Zhui saw right through the unspoken hint. He raised an eyebrow. “Why are you staring at me like that? Do you want me to play the male lead in your movie?”

To his surprise, Wen Chaosheng—who was usually so mild-mannered—didn’t beat around the bush on this. “Yeah, I do.”

“…”

“Xi Zhui, would you consider it? It’s a short film. We’d shoot on location in Gannan, but the schedule won’t be long at all. It definitely won’t interfere with you going back to school.”

Their budget line for actor pay was next to nothing. But if Xi Zhui agreed to act, Wen Chaosheng resolved to cover his fee out of pocket, along with all expenses during the shoot.

“…”

Xi Zhui had no idea Wen Chaosheng had already thought that far ahead.

Over the years studying abroad, he’d done a few print modeling gigs for jewelry ads at Shen Zhaoye’s urging, and he’d acted in a couple of theater club productions for class credits.

But that was it.

This trip back home was purely for relaxing on vacation—he hadn’t given a thought to shooting a film.

Yet facing Wen Chaosheng’s earnest gaze, the refusal on the tip of Xi Zhui’s tongue shifted tone:

“You want me to star? Planning to pull some strings for me?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng was stumped by the question.

He was the writer and director of Contour, and the overall head of the production team.

In theory, he did have the authority to pick the cast. But he wouldn’t abuse that power—it would be irresponsible to the team and the film.

After several seconds, Wen Chaosheng murmured with firm principles, “N-no, that wouldn’t be right. I just think you look perfect for the role and wanted to invite you to audition.”

That said, as long as Xi Zhui auditioned and cleared the bar, it would be fine.

“Is that so?”

Xi Zhui flipped through the script with pointed interest. “The look fits, and the name’s pretty close too. Looks like this role and I are… quite fated.”

Wen Chaosheng let out a muffled hum, a touch of guilt in his voice.

Xi Zhui stopped teasing him, his expression turning serious. “I need to think it over. Can’t give you an answer right now.”

After all, this wasn’t on his short-term agenda.

Wen Chaosheng nodded. “Okay.”

Xi Zhui pulled out his phone. “Want to add WeChat?”

Wen Chaosheng drew in a sharp breath, then nodded vigorously. “Yeah.”

With a soft chime, their WeChat contacts synced.

The next second, a voice call popped up on WeChat—from Song Xuelan.

Wen Chaosheng glanced at Xi Zhui before picking up. “Hey, Mom.”

“Xiao Sheng, did you leave early? I sent you a ton of messages and no reply.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng had been asleep and missed them.

He checked the time and hurried to respond. “I haven’t left yet. Heading back to the banquet hall right now.”

Song Xuelan said, “Alright, I’ll wait for you so we can head home together.”

“Okay.”

The call ended.

Wen Chaosheng slipped his black-rimmed glasses back on. “Xi Zhui, I have to go. Mom’s waiting for me.”

Xi Zhui didn’t try to stop him. “Sure. Don’t keep Aunt Song waiting too long. Give her my regards.”

“Yeah.”

Wen Chaosheng dipped his head, then noticed the blanket beside him. Worried Xi Zhui might mind that he’d used it, he offered, “I’ll have them swap this blanket for a fresh one.”

“No need. Room service can handle it.”

“Alright then.”

Wen Chaosheng stood, grabbing his backpack.

He looked at Xi Zhui, whom he hadn’t seen in so long, and wrestled with himself for several seconds before mustering the courage to step forward and give him a quick hug. “Xi Zhui, welcome back.”

It was a brief embrace, free of any ulterior motives, and he didn’t even dare squeeze too hard.

Even so, Wen Chaosheng’s boldness left him dizzy, too shy to meet Xi Zhui’s eyes again.

“…”

Xi Zhui stayed silent, lowering his head slightly.

From his angle, he had a clear view of the flush spreading across Wen Chaosheng’s pale nape, dotted with a small brown mole.

Xi Zhui quickly looked away, then casually brushed his fingers against the other man’s slightly curly hair. “Thanks. I got your welcome.”

Deep down, Wen Chaosheng felt a pang of reluctance. “See you later?”

A curve touched the corner of Xi Zhui’s mouth. “Next time.”

“…”

Next time?

Those three simple words were enough to cheer Wen Chaosheng right up. He replied cheerfully and left with light steps.

The door clicked shut softly behind him, leaving the room quiet once more.

Only then did Xi Zhui let his true feelings show—the ones he’d been holding back. He frowned, rubbing his throbbing temples.

The long flight, lack of jet lag adjustment, and discomfort with the hotel bedding had left him exhausted and headachy from poor rest.

Xi Zhui sank back onto the sofa and picked up the blanket Wen Chaosheng had used.

In that instant, a faint, oddly familiar scent wrapped around him. Xi Zhui leaned in for a sniff and pinpointed the source.

“…”

How old is he now?

Is this guy still using Baby Cream?

Xi Zhui chuckled to himself, his taut, aching nerves easing without him even trying.

Ding-dong. The doorbell rang.

Xi Zhui opened the door to find room service waiting outside with a cart of linens.

“Good afternoon, sir. A gentleman just asked me to come by—said you needed fresh sheets?”

As she spoke, the staffer’s gaze zeroed in on the blanket draped over the sofa in the outer room.

The next moment, Xi Zhui stepped aside to block her view, his tone flat and final. “Not for now.”

The staffer blinked in mild surprise, then flashed her professional smile. “Of course. If you need anything later, just call. I won’t disturb you.”

Xi Zhui gave a curt “mm” and closed the door.

He returned to the sofa without a word and carried the blanket back to his bedroom.

…

Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

Blazing sunlight streamed through the art classroom windows, motes of dust dancing in the air.

Wen Chaosheng sat at his spot, intently reviewing the audition footage on his computer.

Just as he’d anticipated, Qin Ke had backed out of the shoot. His advisor Qiao Liang had tapped his connections and quickly lined up four candidates: some acting majors from their school and a couple of rookies from agencies.

Lin Keyang was a year ahead of Wen Chaosheng and serving as field coordinator and assistant director for Contour.

She came over to his side, probing gently. “Chaosheng, what’s your plan for the lead? We have to leave by next Saturday at the latest—how are you not freaking out even a little?”

Wen Chaosheng pulled his eyes from the screen and answered honestly. “None of these four quite fit. It’s just… they don’t have that feeling.”

“Feeling?”

Lin Keyang looked stumped, sensing the perfectionist streak in him that plagued even the biggest directors in the industry—

Nitpicking details, being stubborn, and worst of all, going on about “feeling”!

Sun Xuan, the team’s cinematographer, was fiddling with the camera set up in the corner for recordings.

He couldn’t help chiming in. “Come on, that’s way too vague. How do you even cast based on ‘feeling’?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng knew his explanation sounded abstract, but he couldn’t quite put it into words.

This round of auditions had been arranged last-minute by his advisor Qiao Liang. He’d secretly sent Xi Zhui the address and time, but no reply—and no show.

Still holding out hope, Wen Chaosheng pulled out his phone to check WeChat. “Actually, I did reach out to…”

Before he could finish, the half-open classroom door was pushed from outside with a faint scrape.

Then a voice rang out. “Sorry I’m late.”

It wasn’t the deliberate low timbre of a forced baritone, nor the bright energy of youth, but a cool, magnetic tone somewhere in between.

Sun Xuan had been toying with his camera. At the sound, he instinctively swung the lens around—

There, framed in the doorway, stood a tall, lean young man with sharp, cool features: high nose bridge, fluid contours, and five facial features that showed almost no flaws or blemishes on the camera screen.

Perhaps sensing the presence of the camera, the young man looked straight over without flinching. His deep brown eyes held no excess emotion, only an innate sense of distance.

Sun Xuan stared at the figure on the camera screen and let out a low exclamation. “Holy shit.”

Who was this guy? He’d never seen him around school before.

Cameras didn’t lie, after all. The man had a face so photogenic it was like the heavens themselves had gifted it for the lens.

Xi Zhui paid no mind to the stares from the others. He withdrew his aloof gaze, confirmed Wen Chaosheng’s position, and walked straight toward him.

…

From the moment Xi Zhui had appeared in the doorway, Wen Chaosheng’s gaze had been fixed on him. As the young man drew closer step by step, an inexplicable, uncontrolled fluttering stirred in his chest.

In just a few short seconds, Xi Zhui came to a stop right in front of him. “Sorry about that. It’s my first time at your school. I wasn’t familiar with the place, and I couldn’t find anyone to ask for directions, so I got held up a little.”

Lin Keyang, standing off to the side, hadn’t expected a newcomer like this to show up. Her eyes lit up instantly.

She suddenly understood exactly what Wen Chaosheng had meant earlier by that “feeling”! The man before them was like Tang Yu straight out of the script!

Lin Keyang exchanged a glance with Sun Xuan in the corner before taking the lead. “Classmate, may I ask who you are?”

“Hello, everyone. I’m Xi Zhui.”

As Xi Zhui introduced himself, his gaze lingered steadily on Wen Chaosheng’s face. “And you’re the director?”

Wen Chaosheng looked like he couldn’t quite believe Xi Zhui had actually shown up, his eyes wide in a stunned expression.

Lin Keyang jumped in. “Yes, yes! This is Director Wen.”

Xi Zhui concealed the amusement in his eyes and braced his hands on either side of Wen Chaosheng’s laptop, as if they were meeting for the first time. “The director looks awfully young. Are you an adult yet?”

Wen Chaosheng faltered. “You… I…”

Xi Zhui couldn’t quite suppress the upward curve of his lips as he addressed him face-to-face with the title for the first time.

“Hello, Director Wen. I’m here to audition.”