Chapter 39

In the blink of an eye, the 19th had arrived.

It had been so long since Wen Chaosheng had last worked on a film that he suffered severe insomnia the night before. He was restless and anxious, his mind buzzing with all the potential problems he might run into next.

On top of that, there was the tension and eager anticipation of seeing Xi Zhui again.

The crew had scheduled the main creators’ meeting for one thirty in the afternoon, and they had rented a conference room well in advance.

Wen Chaosheng arrived early. The fairly spacious conference room stood empty. He set down his backpack and checked his appearance in the foggy mirror-glass—

He wore a mask, deliberately covering most of his face.

He had trimmed his hair shorter, his outfit was brand new from the past couple of days, and his new glasses sufficiently concealed the dark circles under his eyes. He shouldn’t look nearly as disheveled as he had during their last unexpected encounter.

Click.

Someone pushed open the conference room door from outside. A clear voice drifted in. “Hey, Brother Xi, we’re pretty early. No one’s here yet…”

Xiao Chao, who had opened the door, spotted Wen Chaosheng standing inside. The rest of his words caught in his throat. “Ah, there is someone here.”

Xi Zhui trailed diagonally behind him.

His gaze skipped right past his assistant and landed squarely on Wen Chaosheng’s face.

“…”

Their eyes met. Wen Chaosheng’s voice came out a little stiff. “H-Hi, you two.”

Half an hour still remained until the official start time. He hadn’t expected the male lead, Xi Zhui, to show up quite so early.

Xiao Chao was still processing it, but Xi Zhui saw everything crystal clear—

Even after all these years, the other’s ingrained social anxiety was still at work. A few unfamiliar faces in a strange setting, and he could barely string words together.

Xi Zhui schooled his expression and replied coolly, “Director Wen.”

“Ah? Oh, right! Hello, Director Wen. I’m Cheng Chaoyang, Mr. Xi Zhui’s assistant. Just call me Xiao Chao!”

Xiao Chao snapped out of it and hurriedly introduced himself with a bow.

“I didn’t expect you to get here so early. With the mask on, I was blind as a bat for a second and didn’t recognize you. Sorry about that.”

And really, no one could blame him—

Wen Chaosheng looked even younger than his actual age, like a college student. He exuded a gentle temperament entirely unlike the lofty demeanor of most directors.

“No worries.”

Wen Chaosheng unconsciously took half a step back. He picked up his backpack from the chair again. “No one else is here yet. Sit wherever you like.”

Xiao Chao started to step forward, but Xi Zhui called him back. “Xiao Chao, I saw a coffee shop downstairs. Go grab some coffee—we’ll hand it out to everyone later.”

“Got it, Brother Xi!”

Xi Zhui had been in the business for years and handled social niceties flawlessly. Xiao Chao didn’t read anything into it. He turned and headed out to place the order.

Suddenly, only two people remained in the conference room.

Xi Zhui stepped inside and gave Wen Chaosheng another subtle once-over. His brow furrowed faintly.

It had only been ten days since they’d last met, but why did he seem even thinner?

Wen Chaosheng caught the flicker of irritation in the man’s eyes and misunderstood completely. He quickly averted his face, forcing his gaze away. “Xi Zhui, just… sit wherever.”

Xi Zhui wasn’t fussy. He countered, “Where are you sitting?”

Wen Chaosheng answered on instinct. “Anywhere’s fine for me. I’ll sit once everyone’s here…”

Xi Zhui cut him off in a low voice. “You’re the director. Even after years away from filming, you’re still the core of this entire production.”

He strode to the front of the oval conference table. With his right hand—knuckles sharply defined—he tapped the head seat. “No need to humble yourself like that.”

Then Xi Zhui took the seat diagonally across from it.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng caught the hint. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before walking to the head of the table and sitting down.

For a crew meeting, the director at the head was utterly routine. No one would bat an eye.

“It’s the dead of summer. Doesn’t that mask get stuffy?”

“It’s okay.”

“Once everyone’s here, you’ll be the only one masked up. All eyes on you.”

“…”

The words struck right at the heart of his social anxiety.

Wen Chaosheng reluctantly pulled off the mask. He ducked his head even lower, stealing glances only from the corner of his eye.

Their seats were close enough that a simple glance would reveal everything.

Wen Chaosheng realized as much. The corners of his mouth curved faintly. He began pulling files one by one from his backpack.

Abruptly, he heard Xi Zhui ask, “Director Wen, got a spare script? I haven’t received a physical copy yet—just been reading the digital version.”

“Huh?”

Wen Chaosheng blinked, then instinctively offered his own marked-up script. “Want to borrow mine for now?”

Field staff would arrive shortly with fresh copies.

“Sure.”

It was exactly what Xi Zhui had been waiting for.

As he passed the script, his warm palm brushed—seemingly by accident—over the back of Wen Chaosheng’s hand.

Their skin temperatures collided without warning, yanking his thoughts back to that feverish, near-deranged night.

Wen Chaosheng yanked his hand away in a panic. He looked up into Xi Zhui’s bottomless gaze.

“…”

“…”

Their eyes locked, then darted away.

The question hovering on Xi Zhui’s lips died unspoken at the evasion. Never mind—pressing would only make him seem overly invested.

He settled into his chair and flipped through the script as if nothing had happened.

That fleeting two- or three-second contact left Wen Chaosheng’s heart in chaos, though. He shuffled and reshuffled his storyboard sheets haphazardly, forgetting entirely what he was supposed to be doing.

Silence stretched between them once more.

The central air conditioner chose that moment to kick in with a fresh blast, humming steadily. It gradually soothed Wen Chaosheng’s agitated pulse and brought a chill to his skin.

He glanced at the vent overhead, then at Xi Zhui, absorbed in the script. He opted to tough it out quietly.

Heng City’s summer swelter dragged on relentlessly, with temperatures hovering in the high thirties Celsius.

The building’s central AC was set uniformly—perfectly comfortable, really. His body had just grown too frail over the past two years, leaving him unusually sensitive to the cold.

Wen Chaosheng crossed his arms silently and rubbed his chilled skin. He turned back to confirming the schedule.

“…”

Xi Zhui took in every little fidget across the table. His brow creased almost imperceptibly.

He pulled out his phone and fired off a quick message.

Five or six minutes later, the door swung open again. In walked the actor playing the “younger brother” from the film.

Yu Yan sported the simplest outfit—a plain white T-shirt and jeans—but his bare face was strikingly gorgeous. He flashed a smile at the room’s two occupants. “Director Wen, Brother Xi, hi there.”

Xi Zhui glanced at Wen Chaosheng before speaking. “You’re early. Grab a seat anywhere.”

“I got in last night.”

Clutching his script, Yu Yan headed inside without a second thought. He plopped down right beside Xi Zhui. “Mind if I sit here with Brother Xi? Good chance to build some brotherly chemistry.”

The pair played half-brothers in the movie, with plenty of shared scenes ahead. Early rapport-building made perfect sense.

Xi Zhui didn’t object. “Sure, sit.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng watched Yu Yan shatter the awkward quiet and strike up easy conversation with Xi Zhui. A strange pang of envy stirred in him.

“Brother Xi, coffees are all ordered.”

Xiao Chao bustled in with a large box of drinks and gave his update. “Split half lattes, half iced Americanos. Brought the first batch up—the rest, store staff will deliver soon.”

He set the box at the table’s far end, then hurried over to drape the jacket off his elbow toward Xi Zhui. “Here—the jacket you asked for. Grabbed it from the car. AC not that chilly, though?”

Xi Zhui skipped the chit-chat. He nodded his eyes toward Wen Chaosheng across the way. “Give it to him.”

Wen Chaosheng and Xiao Chao both froze on the spot—the former surprised, the latter stunned.

Only the baby-faced Yu Yan picked up on the vibe. With quick wits, he covered for Xi Zhui. “Director Wen’s right under the main vent, huh? Gets cold after a bit. Jacket’ll block the draft nicely.”

“Yeah, here you go, Director.” Xiao Chao passed the jacket over, concern kicking in. “You’re the heart of this crew—can’t have you coming down with something.”

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t bring himself to turn down the unexpected kindness. He accepted the jacket with care. Its perfect warmth chased off the chill, along with a lingering trace of Xi Zhui’s scent.

There had once been a long stretch when Wen Chaosheng clung to that very scent, drawing endless comfort from it.

His nose prickled.

He drew a deep breath to steady himself, then addressed the jacket’s true owner. “Thank you.”

Xi Zhui gave a low murmur of acknowledgment, though his mind wandered:

He really had slimmed down a lot.

Wen Chaosheng had worn his clothes before, sure—there was always some looseness from the size difference—but nothing like this emptiness.

…

By the scheduled meeting time, the main creators trickled in one by one. As the first group gathering, the agenda stayed simple—

Introductions all around, to get acquainted.

Then a detailed rundown of the film’s overall arc.

Wen Chaosheng’s debut feature-length suspense script, Rotten Mud, had taken four years to refine. At its center: a pair of half-brothers, older Yao Yi and younger Fang Jing.

Their father, Yao Donggui, was a spineless gambling addict. Whenever he lost big or drowned in booze, he’d unleash inhuman brutality under the banner of family head.

Until one day, Yao Donggui vanished without a trace, never to return. From then on, Yao Yi, Fang Jing, and Fang Jing’s birth mother Fang Xiaoping finally knew some peace.

Years flew by.

Yao Yi had risen to elite success in his career. Fang Jing had graduated and landed steady work. But right then, the police knocked—

At a resort site under development in suburban East Mausoleum District, workers had unearthed a skeleton.

Police forensics confirmed: the remains belonged to the long-missing Yao Donggui. And murder was the strong likelihood.

With this, from the differing perspectives of the two brothers and the police, a dark memory sealed away for many years gradually unraveled.

…

It had to be said that Wen Chaosheng was born for this line of work in film. Even if he weren’t directing movies, his skills as a screenwriter were rock-solid and formidable.

This was his first attempt at a commercial screenplay, yet Wen Chaosheng’s character portrayals were strikingly vivid. The story twisted and turned endlessly, and even the post-credits egg at the end was brilliantly done.

The group spent the afternoon piecing together the full plot outline. Several veteran actors in the room couldn’t help but praise it. “If this script gets filmed right, it’s bound to shine!”

Wen Chaosheng smiled shyly and replied humbly, “It’ll take all of us teachers working together to make this project a reality.”

One of the actor-teachers chimed in, “Naturally.”

Song Ting, who had been listening in from the sidelines, glanced at the time. “Shall we wrap up here for today, then? We can start the formal read-through tomorrow?”

He became Wen Chaosheng’s spokesman and added, “Oh, and if it’s convenient for everyone, teachers, how about we set up a WeChat group for the core creative team? It’ll make communication and coordination easier down the line.”

“Sure.”

Everyone agreed readily, and they created the group right there on the spot.

Jian Jinzhao, as the film’s financier and producer, hadn’t come today due to company matters, but Yu Yan had pulled his boss into the group at once.

The moment Jian Jinzhao joined, he generously sent out several large red envelopes in the chat, livening things up.

Xi Zhui, the lead actor, wasn’t one to be outdone. He followed suit with a few more red envelopes for good measure, and at Wen Chaosheng’s cue, Song Ting sent out several as well.

Wen Chaosheng didn’t join in the scramble with the others. Instead, he ducked away on the flimsy excuse of needing the restroom and took the chance to tap on Xi Zhui’s WeChat profile picture in the group.

—Add to contacts.

Seeing that bold prompt made a bitter pang settle in Wen Chaosheng’s heart. Yes, the two of them were no longer WeChat friends.

His fingertip hovered uncertainly over the “Add Friend” interface for a long moment before he came up with a clumsy compromise.

Wen Chaosheng first went through the group member list, sending friend requests to each of the core team teachers one by one. Finally, steeling himself, he sent one to Xi Zhui as well.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

His phone vibrated nonstop as the outgoing friend requests were mostly approved one after another.

In the end, only the one to Xi Zhui sank without a trace, met with utter silence.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng let out a trembling sigh and silently swallowed his disappointment.

Buzz.

Song Ting’s WeChat prompt came through, urging him—the meeting room had mostly emptied out, so why wasn’t he back yet?

Only then did Wen Chaosheng realize he’d lingered in the bathroom far too long. He glanced down at the jacket on his body that wasn’t his own and hurried back to the meeting room with small, quick steps.

…

He reached the meeting room door just as he came face-to-face with Xi Zhui, who was on his way out.

Their eyes met, then slid away as they brushed past each other.

Wen Chaosheng’s heart clenched. Instinct overrode reason in his plea. “Xi Zhui!”

Xi Zhui paused and turned back to him. “Director Wen, something else?”

“Your jacket’s still with me.” Wen Chaosheng seized on a foolproof reason to halt him and started shrugging it off. “I’ll give it back to you right now.”

Xi Zhui stopped him coolly. “No need.”

“…”

Why not?

Was it because he’d worn it, so now Xi Zhui didn’t want it anymore?

Wen Chaosheng froze midway through taking it off. The sour ache spreading from his chest made his fingertips go numb. “I can take it to the dry cleaners, get it washed clean, and…”

Xi Zhui refused flatly once more. “No need. I don’t lack for jackets. If you don’t want it, just toss it.”

Wen Chaosheng stood there in a daze, at a loss for a moment.

He had never been great at reading others’ intentions or moods, yet right now he could clearly sense it: Xi Zhui seemed angry.

An irritating silence stretched between them.

A nameless fury simmered in Xi Zhui’s chest. He lowered his gaze to Wen Chaosheng. “Director Wen, nothing else?”

“…”

Something else?

Of course there was.

Wen Chaosheng’s thoughts turned slowly, but courage didn’t come easily. “Xi Zhui, I sent you a WeChat friend request. Could you approve it?”

“…”

The gloom that had stirred the moment he’d seen the request erupted fully at this offhand question. “Wen Chaosheng, have you forgotten something?”

Xi Zhui gritted his teeth and spelled it out. “You were the one who unilaterally deleted me from WeChat back then. What do you want with adding me back now?”

“I’m sorry.”

Wen Chaosheng had no defense, nor did he dare meet Xi Zhui’s eyes. He took a subtle deep breath, groping for a reasonable excuse.

“I just thought having WeChat would make communication smoother during filming.”

“…”

And so?

Why bring up the breakup and delete him back then? Why say nothing now, just put on that heartbreaking look and apologize?

Xi Zhui stared at Wen Chaosheng with dark eyes, but pride wouldn’t let him beg for those answers. “Isn’t there already the main group? You can go through my management team if there’s an issue.”

“There’s no need for personal WeChat, is there? I’m afraid once the film’s wrapped and we have no more overlap, Director Wen will delete me again.”

“I won’t!”

Wen Chaosheng promised at once, his voice quivering at the end. “I won’t delete your WeChat again. Really!”

Xi Zhui averted his eyes from that overly earnest gaze and voiced a question even he couldn’t fully fathom. “Wen Chaosheng, do you think you still have any credibility left with me?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s throat closed up entirely, a choking sensation spreading bit by bit.

He had no idea how to justify his past actions and could only let Xi Zhui brand him a thorough deceiver.

The wordless silence struck like a heavy hammer, leaving them both raw and bleeding.

In his extreme distress, the tinnitus hit right on cue. The piercing electric whine made his brain reel, and Wen Chaosheng’s nails dug deep into his palm. He hadn’t brought his meds today—he was on the verge of breaking down.

He had to escape, fast.

Staying longer meant losing control.

Just as Wen Chaosheng turned to flee, Xi Zhui across from him pulled out his phone with a complicated expression. His long fingers tapped the screen twice.

Then he strode out of the meeting room ahead of him.

Buzz.

The WeChat vibration rang out like a command releasing him from paralysis.

Wen Chaosheng stiffly fished his phone from his pocket and saw a new friend request at the top of his contacts.

The instant he tapped into it, the blood frozen solid in his veins surged to life. Even the tinnitus was swept away by the rush.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng stared in disbelief at that dark gray profile picture block. This was the pattern he’d known by heart six years ago!

Xi Zhui had resent him a friend request—using his real personal WeChat account!