Chapter 23

In the blink of an eye, another New Year’s was approaching.

Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan unusually had no film projects this year and stayed in the Imperial Capital for the holiday. The housekeeper had already gone home for her New Year break, so the couple pitched in together to prepare dinner.

Wen Chunshen picked up the chicken soup and walked over to the dining table. “Where’s our son?”

“He’s locked himself in his room all afternoon, buried in revising his script.”

Song Xuelan glanced up and nodded toward the bedroom on the second floor. “I heard he’s been lining up investors with his friends lately and plans to start shooting after the New Year.”

Wen Chunshen chuckled. “This kid’s going to write and direct it himself again?”

“That’s right.”

Song Xuelan’s eyes shone with pride. “Our son has outdone us, handling both our jobs all by himself.”

Wen Chaosheng had graduated smoothly from the Imperial Capital Film Academy back in June.

His original literary short film Contour, shot the previous year, had racked up nominations and entries at numerous festivals. The industry hailed him as the most promising new director, and he’d certainly made a real splash.

Wen Chunshen had heard plenty of praise for his son from old industry friends lately. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t proud.

But he had never been good at expressing approval or affection toward his son, so he just turned to his wife. “Call him down for dinner. Health comes first.”

Song Xuelan knew the way these two got along all too well. She raised her voice and called out, “Shengsheng, come down for dinner!”

…

Three minutes later, Wen Chaosheng shuffled into the dining room, his curly hair a wild mess and still wearing his pajamas.

Song Xuelan ladled a bowl of chicken soup for him. “Here, warm your stomach first. Reworking the script must have been tough lately, huh?”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Wen Chaosheng took two spoonfuls of the rich, flavorful soup. “It’s all right. It’s almost done. I should have the final version ready in a day or two.”

Wen Chunshen wiped his hands with a damp cloth and started peeling shrimp for his wife and son. “What’s the new script about? What’s it called?”

Faced with a question from his famous director father, Wen Chaosheng felt a twinge of nerves. “It’s called Flower Moon, also a short film. The protagonist is Bai Yue, an ordinary person just trying to survive in chaotic times…”

He gave them a rough outline of the plot and waited anxiously for their feedback.

Song Xuelan was a professional screenwriter, and she spoke up first with encouragement. “That sounds good. The theme’s solid. How’s the production prep going? Any luck with investors yet?”

“Sister Yang’s still in talks. We should hear something after the New Year.”

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t shake his social anxiety, and he lacked confidence when it came to that kind of networking.

Lin Keyang had graduated a year ahead of him and worked in film investment, so she’d volunteered for the job.

Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan exchanged a glance.

To show their concern and support, Wen Chunshen made a rare proactive offer. “Xiao Sheng, do you need Dad to step in and connect you with some big players in the industry?”

Song Xuelan joined in. “Or Mom and Dad could just fund the whole film?”

With their resources and connections, it would be a piece of cake.

Wen Chaosheng set down his bowl and chopsticks without a moment’s hesitation. “No. Don’t get involved in my script or my film project.”

“…”

“…”

The couple were both at a loss for words.

No one knew their son better than they did.

Wen Chaosheng might seem mild-mannered and easygoing, but he had his own standards and bottom lines. He wouldn’t waver easily under anyone else’s persuasion.

Wen Chaosheng realized his refusal had come across too bluntly and softened his tone. “Dad, Mom, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I just want to make good films on my own, with like-minded friends.”

“I know the resources, connections, and team you could give me would make everything smooth sailing, but that’s not what I want.”

Truth be told, ever since people learned his parents were Wen Chunshen and Song Xuelan, some rude gossip had started circulating. Gossips insisted with conviction that he had no real talent at all—that his “rising star director” title was just hype from his family background, and Contour’s nominations had come from his parents pulling strings behind the scenes!

In short, it dismissed all of Wen Chaosheng’s hard work and effort entirely.

Wen Chunshen had been in the business long enough to hear far worse nonsense than that. He understood the pride and determination buried deep in his son’s bones. Speaking as someone who’d been there, he advised, “Little Sheng, it’s good that you have your own convictions. But you’re our son. You have every right and qualification to enjoy everything we can offer you. There’s no shame in that.”

Jealousy was unavoidable everywhere.

Even if Wen Chaosheng succeeded without their help, purely on his own talent, there would still be people talking behind his back in the future—doubting him, envying him, making things up. That was just human nature.

Song Xuelan nodded slightly in agreement with her husband. “Exactly. All the years your dad and I have worked so hard—wasn’t it all for you?”

She knew her son’s sensitive nature and hastened to reassure him. “Baby, don’t take it to heart if some netizens or industry folks say nasty things. Just keep being yourself.”

Of course, all they wanted to offer was financial and resource support. They would never stoop to bribing festival judges or buying awards for him—nothing that went against healthy industry practices.

Wen Chaosheng certainly understood his parents’ good intentions, but he stuck to his guns. “Dad, Mom, thank you. But I still want to give it a shot on my own.”

He was still young enough to afford a few mistakes.

As long as the films were made through his own efforts and the honors earned fairly, he could face any gossip without a guilty conscience.

Wen Chunshen didn’t push him. Instead, he gave an approving pat on the shoulder. “All right, then. Try it your way.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Wen Chaosheng flashed a small smile and remembered to thank his mother too. “And thanks, Mom.”

Wen Chunshen passed over a plate of perfectly peeled shrimp, putting his care into action. “Here, these shrimp came special delivery from the South Three Islands. You two give them a try.”

“Sure.”

…

Dinner ended, and Wen Chaosheng returned to his bedroom. He sat down at his computer desk but didn’t dive right back into revisions. Instead, his gaze drifted to the side—

There on the edge of the desk sat a photo of him and Xi Zhui, with a little mud sculpture figurine next to it that Xi Zhui had made by hand.

They’d kept up a steady rhythm of contact on WeChat ever since Xi Zhui had gone back to Germany.

Last year’s Spring Festival break, Xi Zhui had planned to come home, but his parents—the elder Xis—had decided on a whim to visit Germany instead. So he’d scrapped his return plans and spent the holiday abroad with the family.

“…”

Would Xi Zhui come back this New Year’s?

Wen Chaosheng picked up the now fully dried mud figurine and examined it lovingly, over and over.

—Buzzed buzz buzzed, buzzed buzz buzzed!

His phone suddenly vibrated insistently, like it wouldn’t stop until it got a response.

Thinking it might be an emergency, Wen Chaosheng snatched it up to check.

In the long-dormant group chat for Contour’s core team, Lin Keyang had forwarded a link, followed by a burst of excited messages.

—AAAAAH! Where is everyone?! Come out!

—Berlin International Film Festival shortlist is out! Contour made it into the short film competition unit AND the new generation unit!

—People! Hurry hurry hurry!

Wen Chaosheng stared at the messages, momentarily stunned.

In disbelief, he tapped the link Lin Keyang had sent. Sure enough, it was the official Berlin International Film Festival shortlist announcement, and there was Contour’s name, bold as brass, in both units she’d pointed out.

Wen Chaosheng took a beat to verify it was real before joy exploded through him. “We really made it?”

The Imperial Capital Film Academy always submitted student works to festivals domestic and international—not necessarily to win, but to get entries for the school’s international profile and prestige.

Last year, post-production on Contour hadn’t wrapped in time to qualify. He hadn’t expected it to pass the screening this year among so many entries and advance to the official shortlist.

Sun Xuan and Liao Qi had already popped up in the group, hyping and celebrating in perfect sync. Even Teacher Yang Jin, way out in Gannan, sent a simple “Congratulations.”

Only Xi Zhui hadn’t appeared yet—probably still busy.

Wen Chaosheng wasn’t in a rush to celebrate in the group. Instead, he tapped Xi Zhui’s avatar first and shared the great news privately.

“…”

Berlin, Germany.

Wen Chaosheng murmured the names silently, his lips curving up again and again.

This was perfect!

Their film had been lucky enough to make this year’s Berlin International Film Festival shortlist. As the director, he finally had a legitimate reason to go see Xi Zhui?

About forty minutes later, Xi Zhui finally replied.

“Just woke up from a nap and saw this awesome news. Congrats, Director Wen.”

They were six hours apart time-wise.

Wen Chaosheng typed back quickly. “Congrats to you too. It’s a team effort we all made together.”

No sooner had he hit send than a voice call from Xi Zhui popped up—unexpectedly fast.

“…”

The phone vibrated again.

Wen Chaosheng was so nervous he nearly fumbled the phone. He gulped down some water to steady himself before answering with feigned calm.

“Hey, Xi Zhui.”

His voice trembled on the last syllable, giving him away.

Xi Zhui on the other end let out what sounded like a soft chuckle. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.”

Wen Chaosheng answered promptly and volunteered the update. “Just finished confirming the shortlist with Teacher Qiao and the others.”

Xi Zhui cut straight to it. “Are you all coming to Berlin for the festival?”

“Yeah. Teacher Qiao says the films in the competition units this time are really strong. Our chances of actually winning with Contour aren’t great.”

“But just making the shortlist is recognition in itself, so he’s all for us students going abroad together to broaden our horizons and make some connections.”

As for travel costs, Teacher Qiao would apply for as much school funding as possible.

Wen Chaosheng and Lin Keyang had already talked it over with the others, though—

As newcomers in the film industry, snagging a nomination at an international film festival was a rare chance. Even if they had to foot the bill themselves, all four of them were set on going to broaden their horizons.

Xi Zhui asked, “When are you guys heading out?”

“Barring any surprises, it should be mid-next month. Return date’s still up in the air.” Wen Chaosheng laid out their itinerary honestly, then couldn’t resist probing. “Xi Zhui, you coming back for Spring Festival this year?”

Xi Zhui caught the hint on the other end of the line and let out a regretful sigh. “Alas, bad timing.”

“I only confirmed with my folks a couple days ago. The whole family’s heading back to keep Grandpa company for New Year’s. Clashes right with your plans.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng went quiet. “Oh.”

Xi Zhui asked, “Not happy now?”

“No.”

Wen Chaosheng wasn’t being straight with him, trying his best to sound less let down. “I was just thinking, if your schedule lined up, you could join us at the festival.”

Xi Zhui drawled back leisurely, “Oh? Sounds pretty good. Guess I won’t head home then.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng felt like he was on a roller coaster, plummeting to the lows only to rocket back up high. Afraid he’d misread the situation, he hurried to ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” Xi Zhui’s amusement was plain in his voice as he delivered exactly what Wen Chaosheng wanted to hear. “I’m not going back with my parents this year. I’ll wait for you here in Berlin.”

“Once you nail down the exact flight times, let me know. I’ll come pick you… all up from the airport.”

“…”

An indescribable thrill spread rapidly through Wen Chaosheng’s chest. He double-checked, “For real?”

“For real. Get those visas sorted fast. Tell me the confirmed round-trip details when you have them, and I’ll handle accommodations for everyone.”

In Berlin, Xi Zhui might as well have been half the host.

Wen Chaosheng agreed meekly, the smile tugging at his lips growing more obvious.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the mud sculpture figurine on the table. With the faint rhythm of breathing coming through the phone, he couldn’t help calling out, “Xi Zhui, see you next month.”

“Mhm, see you next month. I’ll be waiting for you.”

…

Time flew by in eager anticipation.

Wen Chaosheng dragged his suitcase out of the arrivals channel, and it wasn’t long before he picked out that familiar silhouette amid the teeming crowd.

Xi Zhui wasn’t jostling with the masses. Instead, he stood by a floor-to-ceiling window in the arrivals hall.

He had on a solid black overcoat, loosely draped with a deep gray plush scarf. His hair looked a touch shorter, sharpening his tall, crisp silhouette.

Wen Chaosheng’s pulse quickened. He quickened his pace, towing his suitcase straight toward him.

Flight announcements echoed on repeat. Xi Zhui cradled a lidded hot drink in one hand, his gaze drifting idly over the stream of passengers.

Until the one figure he’d been waiting for stepped into view.

“Xi Zhui!”

Wen Chaosheng sported a cropped white puffer jacket, its collar parted just enough to reveal the light beige sweater beneath— all fresh purchases for the trip.

He resembled a soft, warm mochi, radiating gentle warmth.

Like winter’s snow melting under spring’s glow.

The chill in Xi Zhui’s eyes thawed in an instant. He strode forward to meet him. “Out already? Where’re the others?”

Customs and security at the airport ran a bit slow. Xi Zhui had figured he’d be waiting longer.

“We split up into different lines at customs. Mine moved quicker, so I came out ahead.”

Wen Chaosheng didn’t mention how he’d bolted the moment they’d touched down, leaving his mentor and friends in the dust.

A white mask hid most of his face. “You been waiting long?”

He’d skipped the black-rimmed glasses this time, openly displaying his dark, lustrous eyes brimming with mirth.

Xi Zhui paused for a rare beat before curving his lips. “Nah, not long. Everyone’s coming through this exit anyway. We’ll wait for them.”

Wen Chaosheng let go of his suitcase handle for the moment, groping for small talk. “Yeah. I thought Berlin winters ran warmer than the Imperial Capital on average? Feels pretty chilly to me.”

“Temperature’s dropped lately. It is cold.”

Spotting Wen Chaosheng’s fingers faintly reddened from the chill, Xi Zhui passed over the hot drink he’d come prepared with. “Here, this is for you.”

Wen Chaosheng’s numb palm soaked in the blessed warmth. True to form, he thanked him earnestly. “Thanks, Xi Zhui.”

“No problem.”

Without another word, Xi Zhui unwound his scarf and looped it around Wen Chaosheng’s neck, drawing him nearer in the process. “Come here.”

Wen Chaosheng caught the scarf’s lingering scent and residual heat. His breath hitched. “W-what’re you doing?”

Xi Zhui saw right through the nerves but didn’t call them out. “Better wrap up now while we’ve got time. Wouldn’t want you catching cold once we’re outside.”

As he spoke, he tucked the scarf firmly over the open collar of the puffer jacket.

“Mmf.” Wen Chaosheng craned his neck with effort, his mask-muffled voice coming out stuffy and soft. “Kinda tight. Can’t breathe right.”

Xi Zhui plucked off the mask. “Keep it wrapped like that. Ditch the mask.”

Deprived of the mask’s shield, Wen Chaosheng’s social anxiety kicked back in full force. He ducked instinctively into the thick scarf. “Oh.”

Xi Zhui couldn’t help chuckling. “Turtle.”

Wen Chaosheng’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t protest.

Moments later, Liao Qi’s voice rang out from behind. “Old Sun, there they are!”

The group of four came up.

“Xi Zhui, long time no see! Looking sharper than ever!”

Sun Xuan shot the first greeting at his old acquaintance, then slung an arm around Wen Chaosheng’s shoulders. “How’d you ditch us and zoom ahead like that? Where was this speed on the regular?”

Ever-observant Lin Keyang zeroed in right away. “Yeah, where’d that scarf and hot drink pop from?”

Liao Qi let out a knowing “tsk.”

Under the barrage of teasing from his friends, Wen Chaosheng felt a pang of unearned guilt. His gaze flicked involuntarily toward Xi Zhui.

“I picked it up.”

Xi Zhui addressed only the drink before steering the conversation. “Couldn’t carry everything, so I left the rest in the car. Help yourselves later.”

Their mentor Qiao Liang had tagged along this time.

He held a high opinion of Xi Zhui, film lead or not. Grinning, he said, “Little Xi, we’re in your hands for the Berlin leg.”

Xi Zhui replied with polished courtesy. “Teacher Qiao, you’re too kind. It’s the least I can do.”

With effortless poise, he took hold of Qiao Liang’s suitcase—and Wen Chaosheng’s besides. “Everyone’s here. Shall we head to the parking lot?”

It took Wen Chaosheng a couple seconds to process. Hidden beneath the scarf, the corners of his mouth quirked up again. The hot drink cradled in his hands seemed to burn even warmer.

“Good.”

“Let’s roll. Man, it’s colder than I thought.”

Under Xi Zhui’s lead, they soon reached the parking lot. A slightly stocky foreign man stepped forward from beside the black business van.

“Mr. Xi.”

“Mhm.”

Xi Zhui made introductions for Qiao Liang and the rest. “Teacher Qiao, this is Moritz, the local guide I lined up for you. He’s your go-to for anything during the stay.”

Moritz had a touch of mixed Black heritage but spoke fluent Chinese. “Hello, everyone. I’ll drive you to the hotel shortly.”

“It’s getting late, and after such a long haul, you all could use some time to shake off the jet lag and rest up.”

Xi Zhui’s thoughtfulness extended to the finer points of etiquette. “Tomorrow at noon, I’ll throw a proper welcome lunch.”

Qiao Liang nodded with a smile. “Appreciate it. Once the trip wraps, I’ll have Little Wen square up the expenses with you.”

Xi Zhui demurred. “You’re too kind.”

Ever perceptive, Moritz moved to grab their bags. “Everyone, hop in. I’ve got the luggage.”

Wen Chaosheng lingered at Xi Zhui’s side, watching his mentor and friends file into the van one by one. He moved to follow—

When Xi Zhui suddenly caught his wrist. “That van seats five. You’re out of luck.”

Wen Chaosheng blinked in confusion. “Then where do I…?”

“Ride with me in my car.” Xi Zhui nodded toward the Maybach parked nearby and wheeled the suitcase over ahead of him.

Wen Chaosheng didn’t question it. “Oh. Okay.”

The two vehicles pulled away from the airport, one trailing the other.

Once they hit the elevated highway, Wen Chaosheng remembered to call Song Xuelan back home and let her know he’d arrived safely. By the time he looked up again, the business van ahead had vanished from sight.

Assuming they were all bound for the same hotel anyway, Wen Chaosheng thought little of it. Not until, half an hour later, Xi Zhui turned the car into a gated enclave of duplex townhouses.

Then it hit him. “Xi Zhui, you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn? Is our hotel in here?”

“No wrong turn. My parents have a place here.”

Xi Zhui eased into the garage and lobbed his premeditated bombshell at Wen Chaosheng.

“You’re staying at my house tonight.”