Chapter 4

Haishi City, Sunday evening.

When Wen Chaosheng stepped into the restaurant’s private room, Jian Jinzhao had already arrived early with his own artist in tow.

He pushed up his glasses and sat down somewhat stiffly across from the two men. “Jin Zhao, why pick a place like this?”

Wen Chaosheng had suffered from severe social anxiety since childhood. Apart from work directly related to filmmaking, he always felt constrained in other social settings.

The restaurant had been booked out entirely for the evening. The moment he walked in the door, the entire staff had greeted him with utmost deference, their welcoming chorus so overwhelming that it made his scalp tingle and sparked an urge to turn tail and flee right then and there.

Still shaken, Wen Chaosheng muttered, “We could’ve just handled this over the phone.”

Jian Jinzhao caught the underlying meaning in Wen Chaosheng’s words and smiled reassuringly. “Chaosheng, it’s just the four of us tonight. Relax.”

The young man beside him jumped in smoothly. “Yeah, Director Wen. We’ll be seeing each other every day on set anyway. You’re so shy—how did you ever direct scenes in front of a whole crew before?”

Jian Jinzhao spoke up in gentle admonishment. “Yu Yan, mind your manners.”

Yu Yan was a promising newcomer recently signed by Whale Shadow. He had shone during auditions for Rotten Mud and landed the role of the younger brother—a talented sprout with real spark.

Wen Chaosheng didn’t mind the teasing. He lifted his water glass and took a sip.

Remembering the purpose of his visit, he asked curiously, “Jin Zhao, did you find a suitable actor? Who is it?”

That morning, he’d gotten a call from Jian Jinzhao, who said he’d found someone perfect for the role of “brother Yao Yi.” But Jian had coyly refused to name names, insisting they meet for dinner that evening instead.

“Not an outsider—you know him,” Jian Jinzhao said, keeping up the suspense.

Wen Chaosheng blinked in surprise, his gaze drifting unconsciously to the empty seat beside him. “I do?”

Before he could process it, the door to the private room swung open again. A clear, steady voice drifted in.

“Sorry, there was traffic. I’m a bit late.”

“…”

Those simple words hit Wen Chaosheng like a thunderbolt, blanking out his mind in an instant.

Dizziness and ringing filled his ears, spreading like electric current. It froze the blood in his veins, while his heart clenched in the grip of some invisible hand. He couldn’t breathe—didn’t dare to.

These were symptoms of extreme tension.

Wen Chaosheng turned his head mechanically, confirming the man standing in the doorway.

Unfortunately, Xi Zhui—who had just entered—was looking right back at him.

“…”

After all these years, the man’s features had shed their youthful softness, tempered by experience into a mature steadiness. The deep brown of his eyes gleamed cooler now, devoid of the warmth Wen remembered.

The strangeness outweighed familiarity.

In those few short seconds of eye contact, a massive rift tore open in Wen Chaosheng’s heart. Never had it been so painfully clear:

They had been apart for nearly six years.

That much time without crossing paths was enough to change many things—to change a person.

Wen Chaosheng’s hand trembled uncontrollably. His fingers clenched the glass until the knuckles whitened, then lost strength in a flash.

Clink!

The glass struck the table’s edge and shattered on the tiled floor.

Wen Chaosheng jolted awake as if from a trance. A flicker of panic flashed in his eyes behind the lenses. He bent down instinctively to pick up the pieces, only to hear a voice from nearby.

“Did any splash on your clothes?”

Xi Zhui strode over quickly and calmly intervened. “Don’t pick it up. Step back—let the staff handle it.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng opened his mouth, but his throat was too dry to even utter “sorry.”

He obediently retreated a couple of steps, clutching at his shirt hem like a child caught doing something wrong—helpless and uneasy. He’d taken his meds before heading out, but here he was, still causing trouble.

A restaurant server soon arrived with cleaning tools.

Wen Chaosheng lowered his gaze, staring unfocused at the server. His muddled thoughts refused to turn.

He never could have imagined that the “suitable actor” Jian Jinzhao had mentioned would be Xi Zhui—the man he’d thought of day and night.

If he’d known, he would have dressed more properly tonight instead of throwing on a faded old T-shirt. How embarrassing.

Deeply awkward, Wen Chaosheng even entertained the absurd notion of crawling under the table. His eyes never dared stray toward the man beside him.

“…”

While the server cleaned up, Xi Zhui’s gaze lingered quietly on Wen Chaosheng. His scrutiny wasn’t intrusive, but it carried a subtle, complicated undercurrent.

The man before him looked even thinner than he remembered.

His face was pallid, lips bloodless, dark circles under his eyes so heavy that even the thick lenses couldn’t hide them.

He resembled a wilted blade of grass, starved of nutrients and care—fragile enough that a mere breeze might snap him. He looked pitiful.

Xi Zhui had assumed the man had thrived abroad after their breakup. Apparently not.

A wry bitterness pricked at Xi Zhui’s heart, though his expression stayed light as he smiled. “Director Wen, long time no see.”

His tone was utterly calm, unruffled. He even politely pulled out a chair for Wen Chaosheng, as if they were merely casual acquaintances separated by years.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t speak. Hidden bitterness sealed his throat, weighing down his heart.

Teacher Xi, hello.

Despite his youth, Yu Yan had sharp instincts.

He stood first to break the ice. “I’m Yu Yan, a new signee at Whale Shadow. Please take good care of me.”

Xi Zhui glanced over, finally noticing the pair across the table. “No need to be so formal. Jin Zhao mentioned you—you’re one of Director Wen’s leads in the new film?”

Yu Yan nodded.

Jian Jinzhao noticed Wen Chaosheng’s unnatural silence and spoke up. “Let’s all sit. We can talk once we’re settled.”

Quick on the uptake, Yu Yan joked, “Teacher Jian, I’m the least senior here. I wouldn’t dare sit before Director Wen and Teacher Xi do.”

Wen Chaosheng realized the others were trying to ease the tension and knew standing around like an idiot would only make things weirder.

No escaping now. He steadied himself, pushed up his slipping glasses, and sat back down.

Xi Zhui and Yu Yan followed suit. Yu Yan wasted no time opening the conversation. “If I remember right, Director Wen and Teacher Xi worked together ages ago?”

Xi Zhui glanced at the still-silent Wen Chaosheng and answered first. “Yeah. I wouldn’t have broken into the industry without Director Wen.”

Jian Jinzhao chuckled. “Funny—same here.”

As a director, Wen Chaosheng had released two films early in his career.

His debut, Contour, had launched Xi Zhui. His follow-up, Flower Moon, had made Jian Jinzhao’s name. If he hadn’t suddenly vanished from the scene, he’d have carved out a solid place among directors by now.

The Script Box CEO had simply undervalued him and stalled on funding, giving Whale Shadow the chance to swoop in.

As the one who had organized the dinner, Jian Jinzhao raised his glass. “How about we toast and chat?”

Xi Zhui’s brow arched slightly. “Of course. It’s been so long—we should.”

With that, he turned to Wen Chaosheng. “Director Wen, can you drink?”

“…”

He’d taken his antidepressants before leaving home—no alcohol allowed.

But under that gaze from nearby, Wen Chaosheng’s refusal stuck in his throat.

He lifted his glass and forced out a response. “Yeah.”

Clink.

The glasses touched lightly.

In the next instant, Xi Zhui’s wrist shifted just a fraction, brushing Wen Chaosheng’s hand back as if by accident.

Then it was gone.

A fleeting warm tingle passed through—like an illusion.

Wen Chaosheng’s hand shook on the glass, his hard-won composure shattering as his breath hitched again.

Unable to help himself, he sneaked a glance at Xi Zhui—and got caught.

Xi Zhui sipped his champagne calmly, as if oblivious to the contact. “Something wrong?”

“…”

It must have been an accident.

Wen Chaosheng averted his eyes, inwardly chiding his own oversensitivity.

Xi Zhui wasn’t the type to draw attention with stuff like that.

No, it was him—losing his cool over a mere brush and imagining intent. Ridiculous.

Wen Chaosheng shifted uncomfortably and took a quick gulp of champagne.

Servers brought the preordered dishes, refilled their champagne, and departed swiftly.

Jian Jinzhao wasn’t one for small talk. He got straight to the point with Wen Chaosheng. “Chaosheng, I think Xi Zhui fits the role of Yao Yi perfectly in every way. That’s why I set up tonight’s meeting. As director, what do you think?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng looked up slowly. Beneath the table, his left hand pressed lightly against his stomach.

The cold champagne sloshed unpleasantly in his gut.

Before he could respond, Xi Zhui cut in. “No rush. Let’s eat first. We can talk business after.”

Jian Jinzhao agreed. “Sure.”

With Xi Zhui steering the conversation effortlessly, Wen Chaosheng could only focus on slicing the steak before him.

For no reason at all, he recalled that rejected email, a dull ache settling in his chest.

He’d already been turned down formally—why show up tonight for a film-related dinner?

Was it because Jin Zhao had personally invited him? That made sense. He lacked clout as director, but Jian Jinzhao carried weight as producer and investor. Both were top-tier actors around the same age—they’d surely hit it off.

“What’re you thinking? You’ve diced that steak into bits.”

Xi Zhui’s voice came from beside him, calm but tinged with faint exasperation.

Wen Chaosheng snapped back, his breath catching. “…Huh?”

Only then did he notice the mangled remains of his steak.

Sorry, steak.

In a daze, he looked up and realized the seats across from him were empty.

“…”

Where did Jin Zhao and the others go?

As the question formed, Xi Zhui answered precisely. “Yu Yan said he wasn’t feeling well, so Jin Zhao took him and left. They said goodbye to you before going—you didn’t hear?”

Wen Chaosheng blinked in confusion, utterly clueless.

He couldn’t say if it was the meds or the alcohol, but from the moment Xi Zhui appeared, his thoughts and reactions had ground to a halt.

He existed in a state of profound awkwardness and tension, where even breathing felt laborious.

Wen Chaosheng glanced sidelong at the man beside him with his peripheral vision, debating whether he should leave or stay. “Then I’ll also…”

“Also what? You want to leave too?”

Xi Zhui caught the flicker of evasion in Wen Chaosheng’s eyes all too clearly. They had been in the private booth for quite a while now, yet this man hadn’t deigned to give him a single complete sentence.

A flood of emotions surged through his heart in an instant—anger, bitterness, he couldn’t quite tell which.

“Wen Chaosheng.”

Xi Zhui called his full name, his gaze deep and inscrutable. “Gone mute after just a few years apart? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”