Chapter 38

For a fleeting moment, Xi Zhui wished time would simply freeze right then and there. But in the end, the sky grew light.

A message from his assistant, Xiao Chao, popped up on his phone, which had been silent for ages. Xi Zhui, who had sat through the entire night, rose stiffly from the chair and walked out of the bedroom.

The side door of the basement garage swung open.

Xiao Chao stood waiting at the entrance, laden with bags, grinning from ear to ear. “Brother Xi! Good morning! I’m here!”

“Keep it down.”

The house boasted excellent soundproofing, and this was the basement level, but Xi Zhui still worried it might disturb the person upstairs.

Xiao Chao didn’t understand but quickly lowered his voice anyway. “Brother Xi, didn’t you say on the phone last night you were staying at Delight Bay? Why come all the way back here?”

Delight Bay consisted of hotel-style apartments that Xi Zhui had booked on a yearly basis.

This standalone residence in Rong’an Mansion, on the other hand, was one he had purchased four years prior. He had personally designed the entire house during breaks in his filming schedule, handling every detail without delegating to anyone else.

Everyone on his management team had assumed that with such personal investment, Xi Zhui would move in immediately upon completion.

To their surprise, the reality was the exact opposite—

Not only had Xi Zhui left the place vacant, he hadn’t even held a basic housewarming. He merely arranged for cleaners to maintain it periodically.

After the renovations finished, he only returned for short stays on extremely rare occasions, and always alone.

Xiao Chao, serving as his personal assistant, had asked about it more than once out of curiosity. But Xi Zhui always deflected lightly, refusing to explain—as he did now—

“Did you get everything?”

“Yeah.”

Xiao Chao handed over the items. “Here you go—eggs, bread, bacon, that sort of thing. Plus mangoes and milk.”

Xi Zhui had a magazine photoshoot scheduled for that morning, originally set for eight o’clock pickup. Instead, at six, Xiao Chao had received a message instructing him to buy ingredients and deliver them ahead of time.

The area around Rong’an Mansion was idyllic, but rather suburban. At such an early hour, fresh grocery deliveries simply weren’t an option.

Earning a generously above-market salary, Xiao Chao was more than happy to run the errand.

He was just surprised. “Brother Xi, you’ve been going nonstop lately. How do you even have the energy to make your own breakfast?”

Xi Zhui ignored the question. “Wait in the car.”

Xiao Chao paused mid-motion as he started to remove his shoes. “Huh?”

“I’ll head out right on time at eight. Don’t come inside today.”

Xi Zhui took the two large bags of groceries and cut straight to what any worker craved most. “You got up early—tough break. I’ll have Sister Hui double your pay for today.”

Xiao Chao beamed instantly and smartly retreated a couple of steps. “Brother Xi’s the man! I’m gone!”

With that, he proactively shut the side door behind him.

Click-clack.

Xiao Chao stood there for two seconds, shaking his head happily, still basking in the glow of the unexpected bonus. Then, his gaze happened to drift—

Beside the shoe cabinet at the entrance sat a pair of gray sneakers. The size was noticeably small—absolutely not Xi Zhui’s style or fit.

“…”

Xiao Chao froze. In a flash of insight, a wild guess hit him, and he nearly blurted it out.

Holy crap!

Did Brother Xi bring someone home last night?

That’s why the hush? Why no entry? Why make breakfast himself?!

…

When Xi Zhui returned to the second-floor master bedroom, Wen Chaosheng remained asleep on the bed. He lay curled into a tight ball, his brows faintly furrowed, as if his slumber was deeply uneasy.

Xi Zhui frowned and placed a glass of warm water he had brought up on the nightstand. Unable to resist, he reached out to feel Wen Chaosheng’s forehead.

The temperature felt normal—no fever.

The outburst of long-pent-up emotions the night before had gotten somewhat out of hand, but afterward, Xi Zhui had meticulously cleaned the unconscious man.

“Mm.”

Perhaps sensing that gentle warm touch, Wen Chaosheng’s furrowed brows relaxed unconsciously in his sleep. His heavy eyelids trembled slightly, as if he were on the verge of waking.

Xi Zhui pulled his hand back before those eyes could open, schooling his expression at once. “You’re awake?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s eyes fluttered open, his unfocused gaze vacant and bewildered.

Unable to distinguish whether the person before him was real or a dream, he tried to part his lips. But no sound came out.

The preset alarm on his phone suddenly blared. Xi Zhui silenced it immediately.

Gazing down at Wen Chaosheng, still groggy on the bed, he both reminded and informed him. “Remember what you promised me last night. There’s leftover breakfast on the first-floor dining table. Eat it once you’re fully awake.”

“…”

“Wen Chaosheng, did you hear me? I have work today—I’m heading out.”

“…”

What a wonderful dream.

Wen Chaosheng stared greedily at the figure before him.

Even convinced it was merely an illusory dreamscape, he still nodded obediently, forcing out a hoarse murmur in response.

“Mm.”

With that sleepy mutter, utter exhaustion claimed Wen Chaosheng once more, plunging him back into slumber.

Both body and mind had been drained beyond measure the night before. He hadn’t recovered yet and simply lacked the strength to stay conscious.

“…”

Xi Zhui regarded Wen Chaosheng’s gaunt profile, tamped down his roiling emotions, and walked out.

That morning’s magazine shoot had been locked in three months earlier—a top-shelf commitment he couldn’t bail on last-minute.

—

Wen Chaosheng awoke to the insistent vibration of an incoming call.

His eyelids weighed like lead anchors. His entire body felt as though a massive steamroller had crushed it, every inch suffused with an indescribable ache and soreness. Even a disconcerting heat coursed through him.

Wincing in misery, he sluggishly tracked down the source of the vibration. The phone he had left on the bathroom vanity yesterday now sat within arm’s reach on the nightstand.

With no time for further thought, he fumbled to answer. “Hello?”

The moment he spoke, his parched throat burned like fire.

Song Ting on the other end startled at the sound. “Chaosheng, what’s going on? Are you sick?”

Wen Chaosheng mustered a feeble reply amid Song Ting’s fretting concern. “No response to my messages, calls going unanswered. It’s nearly two in the afternoon—I almost came looking for you at your place.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng still couldn’t sit up. He cleared his raw throat with effort. “S-Slept in, Cousin. What’s up?”

Song Ting got straight to the point. “Fang Yanzhou’s agent called this morning. Since we haven’t gotten back to them, their team’s schedule shifted—they probably can’t do the movie Rotten Mud anymore.”

He ventured a guess. “I bet they snagged a juicier role elsewhere, or maybe our offer wasn’t competitive enough.”

“Chaosheng, I wanted to run it by you. If you think Fang Yanzhou fits the role well enough, should we send someone to sweeten the deal with a higher fee?”

After all, through auditions and searches, Fang Yanzhou had indeed emerged as the production’s prime candidate.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s thoughts wavered, last night’s events resurfacing belatedly in his mind.

When silence stretched, Song Ting prompted, “Chaosheng? You there?”

“Yeah.”

Drawing a deep breath, Wen Chaosheng made up his mind. “Cousin, since they proactively called to explain, Fang Yanzhou’s side clearly has a better option now. Let’s not impose.”

Song Ting, acting in earnest for Wen Chaosheng and the crew, grew urgent. “Then what about our film?”

Rotten Mud’s start date was firmly set for October 2nd.

With just over twenty days remaining, failing to lock in an actor for “Brother” would leave even the scheduled script read lacking.

Wen Chaosheng rallied his spirits to explain. “We’ve got one. Xi Zhui… he’s probably on board.”

Song Ting was caught off guard. “Didn’t his team turn us down ages ago? What changed?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story.”

Wen Chaosheng coughed dully a couple times, attributing all the credit elsewhere. “Jin Zhao came on as our film’s supervisor. Xi Zhui must be doing it for his sake, trusting his eye.”

Still lacking any real confidence, he added, “I-I’ll call Jin Zhao in a bit. Have Whale Shadow step in as investors to hash out the contract with his team.”

Xi Zhui’s interest in Rotten Mud stemmed from trust in Jian Jinzhao and affinity for the role and story—not any acceptance of Wen Chaosheng’s past misdeeds.

Having Jian Jinzhao and Whale Shadow, with their leverage, take point would at least prevent hitches in the talks.

“Great, then I’m relieved. Nothing else—talk soon.”

“Yeah.”

The call ended.

Wen Chaosheng sat up despite the discomfort, catching sight of the water glass on the nightstand from the corner of his eye. His body’s desperate signals left no room for hesitation; he lifted it and drained it in one gulp.

The cool water eased the fiery ache in his throat but set his empty stomach to faint spasms.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t recall that brief morning exchange. Instead, those words from last night on the bed lingered vividly. Even after a full night, they still pierced his heart, leaving it raw and bleeding.

From the moment he had woken, Xi Zhui had not reappeared.

Had he left his own home simply because he didn’t want to see Wen Chaosheng?

Recalling the reckless, impulsive folly of the previous night, Wen Chaosheng steeled himself realistically for Xi Zhui’s revulsion.

He lacked the courage to linger in this strange space that didn’t belong to him. Dragging his utterly fatigued body from the bed, he rose.

The spacious bedroom held no bathrobe, but a chair bore neatly folded clean clothes.

Wen Chaosheng hesitated for two seconds. Daring neither to take nor wear them, he awkwardly retreated to the outer bathroom and pulled on the dirty garments from last night.

Before departing, he took care to smooth out the rumpled bedding. Only then did he take the elevator down to the basement level and flee the place at top speed.

“…”

On the road, Wen Chaosheng called Jian Jinzhao.

The other man promised to coordinate with Xi Zhui’s team without delaying the crew’s script read or filming schedule.

The heavy stone in his heart finally dropped.

Returning to his cramped, turtle-shell of a rental apartment, Wen Chaosheng collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

The fever struck suddenly and fiercely.

Wen Chaosheng felt his body plunge into an icy chill, as if he’d fallen into a frozen cavern—only for scorching heat to seize him the next instant, like tumbling into a blazing furnace. The deep ache throughout his body burned straight into his bones.

He lacked the strength to buy any fever medicine and instead let this raw pain ravage him unchecked.

Ever since his diagnosis of severe depression three years ago, Wen Chaosheng had sensed his very soul torn in two.

One half desperately clung to life, struggling onward; the other longed to shut his eyes forever and be done with it all. Self-preservation and self-destruction—two utter extremes—tugged absurdly at each other in his mind at random moments.

Yet Wen Chaosheng knew with piercing clarity that only one person, one persistent thought, had carried him this far and kept him fighting to live.

—We had a deal. I’m the male lead in your first artistic short film, and I’ll be the male lead in your first commercial movie too.

—Okay.

As the sky outside shifted from daylight to dusk, that massive LED poster dedicated to Xi Zhui flickered back to life. In his delirium, Wen Chaosheng felt a powerful, long-buried yearning swell within him:

Staying alive was truly wonderful.

He could see Xi Zhui again—even star in a movie with him once more.

Even if the other man no longer cared for him, it didn’t matter. Real aversion beat the illusory abandonment of his nightmares by miles.

…

The magazine photoshoot dragged on far longer than expected.

The moment it wrapped, Xi Zhui raced home in his car, but things unfolded exactly as he’d feared—

The sprawling villa lay shrouded in endless darkness.

The breakfast he’d meticulously prepared on the dining table sat untouched. The clothes he’d laid out in the master bedroom beforehand remained neatly in place. Even the rumpled bed had been tidied, as if to erase every trace of last night’s wild passion.

Wen Chaosheng had slipped away once more, light as a ghost.

Everything from the night before felt like nothing more than a one-night stand they’d both silently agreed upon.

“…”

From beginning to end, had he been the only fool trapped in place, playing the clown? Pathetically clinging to the hope of some explanation.

Xi Zhui let out a hollow, self-mocking scoff. He slumped onto the edge of the bed, and the exhaustion of the past days crashed over him like a torrent, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

He lost track of time before the buzz from his pocket finally shattered the suffocating silence.

Xi Zhui rubbed his brow and picked up. “Hey, Sister Hui.”

Without waiting for her to speak, he pressed on. “Did you work things out with Whale Shadow? When do I join the crew?”

Wen Hui had no idea why Xi Zhui was ditching his planned vacation to take on this movie.

But she trusted her client’s judgment. “Mm, we hashed out the initial terms over the phone. We can sign officially in the next couple of days.”

“I got the details for you. Group read-through in Heng City on the nineteenth, production kickoff ceremony on the second of next month.”

After rattling off the schedule, Wen Hui added casually, “Oh, right—want me to have Xiao Chao line up a place for you ahead of time?”

Xi Zhui always guarded his privacy fiercely, renting his own spot whenever he shot in Heng City.

To her surprise, he turned it down flat this time. “No need. I’ll bunk at the crew hotel.”

“Sister Hui, do me a favor and put in a quiet word with the production assistant—”

“—tell them my room has to be right next to the director’s. Makes it easier to go over the script during filming.”

The phone’s glow sharpened the icy edge in Xi Zhui’s brows and eyes, masking a desperate, all-or-nothing gamble that even he hadn’t fully grasped.

Good at hiding, was he? Good at running away?

Over the weeks of filming together, Xi Zhui was determined to see just how far Wen Chaosheng could flee from right under his nose.