Chapter 41

Xi Zhui lowered his gaze and clearly saw the item in Wen Chaosheng’s hand.

Inside the plastic bag were two transparent meal boxes filled with chunks of sugar cake, fresh from the oven not long ago. A faint wisp of steam still rose from the lids.

Wen Chaosheng watched Xi Zhui’s impassive expression, uncertain as he tried to make amends. “I remember you used to love this stuff.”

Yesterday, while scrolling through Xi Zhui’s social media feed, he had spotted a post from two years ago—

Xi Zhui had written that the moment he got back to Heng City, he dove into some sugar cake, though he lamented that it wasn’t quite authentic enough.

That casual post from two years back, Wen Chaosheng had taken to heart years later. Last night, he had scoured online guides and reviews to pinpoint the absolute best spot everyone raved about.

It was in the neighboring city, nearly two hours’ drive round trip.

Even so, Wen Chaosheng had gone.

He wanted to treat Xi Zhui as well as he possibly could, to mend the rift between them as best he could, and to make up for all the lost years as much as possible.

…

Xi Zhui’s eyes lingered on the sugar cake, flickering slightly. His expression grew complicated.

He hadn’t known about this local delicacy before. The first time he tried it was when Wen Chaosheng had personally fed it to him. Later, after becoming an actor, he’d had it a few more times while filming in Heng City.

But the memory that stuck deepest was from back when they shared a cramped rental apartment in Heng City. They would chat about their futures and work while picking at the now-cold sugar cake.

Wen Chaosheng always ate delicately, taking tiny bites to avoid choking.

Xi Zhui found it endlessly amusing and would watch him intently, occasionally catching a glimpse of soft pink at the tip of his tongue. He would patiently wait until Wen Chaosheng had eaten his fill before kissing him, savoring the faint sweet aroma of glutinous rice and red beans.

Even now, years after their breakup, every time Xi Zhui ate sugar cake, those scenes would flood back unbidden.

By the time he snapped out of it, not only had he lost all taste for the snack, but a surge of uncontrollable hatred would rise within him—

He hated himself for standing still, for failing to move on from that relationship that had fizzled out. And he hated the man who had so easily discarded him.

…

The corridor light was a bit harsh.

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t quite read Xi Zhui’s expression for a moment, but as the other man made no move to take it, his confidence began to ebb away.

“I got the original flavor. It should taste just like before.”

The flavor was spot-on—definitely authentic.

But the next instant, Xi Zhui’s words shattered that illusion. “Director Wen, is this really necessary?”

…

“It’s not work hours right now. You knocking on my door this early in the morning—if someone walks by, they might get the wrong idea about us having some improper relationship.”

He bit down hard on those last few words.

It was like a reminder, or a warning to keep their distance.

Wen Chaosheng’s morning of anticipation crashed in an instant. He choked back his breath and asked, voice lacking conviction, “Can’t we at least be friends?”

“Friends?”

Xi Zhui frowned, a bitter laugh escaping him. “Wen Chaosheng, have you ever seen ex-lovers part ways amicably and stay friends?”

Either they never truly committed during the relationship, never loved deeply enough. Or they’d fully moved on and realized friendship suited them better!

Xi Zhui was neither. He was just a fool toyed with by Wen Chaosheng, still secretly hoping for an explanation from him even now!

“Or have you already forgotten we slept together just recently? Then again, a one-night stand probably means nothing to you.”

…

There it was.

Xi Zhui despised having that kind of improper relationship with him.

Wen Chaosheng realized it then, his chest tightening painfully with each wave.

Xi Zhui looked away, tamping down his emotional turmoil. “Wen Chaosheng, it’s been almost six years. People change. Tastes change, preferences change—everything changes.”

“What you liked before doesn’t mean you’ll like it now.”

Those cold, hard words pierced Wen Chaosheng’s heart like an icy blade. Only then did realization dawn on him, belatedly:

Yeah.

Nearly six years separated him and Xi Zhui—years filled with misunderstandings too tangled to unravel, real-world problems he couldn’t fix.

He was just deceiving himself again, fantasizing about easing tensions during the shoot, rebuilding a dynamic they could never return to.

“I get it. I won’t bother you off-set anymore.”

Wen Chaosheng took half a step back, his voice trembling faintly. “I have a production meeting later anyway. I’m heading out.”

Rather than retreating to his own room, he hurried toward the elevators, fleeing Xi Zhui’s line of sight.

As he passed the trash bin at the end of the corridor, he paused. In the end, he tossed the specially bought, still-warm sugar cake right on top of it.

Discarding that presumptuous spark of courage along with it.

…

When Xiao Chao arrived with lunch for Xi Zhui, the actor had just emerged from a cold shower in the bathroom.

Xi Zhui grabbed a bathrobe and roughly toweled his hair. The brusque motions carried an obvious edge of irritation, and a layer of chill clung to his brows, enough to make anyone who glanced at him feel a pang in their chest.

Xiao Chao clearly sensed something was off with his mood, handling the lunch setup with extra care. “Brother Xi, didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Nah.”

Xi Zhui approached and sat down.

Seeing this terse response, Xiao Chao knew his boss was in a foul mood.

Since Xi Zhui wasn’t volunteering anything, Xiao Chao had no right to pry. He unpacked and arranged the lunch on his own.

Suddenly, he noticed the plastic bag on the nightstand. Peering closer, he was surprised. “Huh? Sugar cake? Brother Xi, when did you get this? How come I didn’t know?”

Xi Zhui said nothing about what had happened half an hour earlier—

He had watched Wen Chaosheng leave, watched him leave the untouched sugar cake perched on the trash bin. In that moment, a wave of regret had surged through him.

So after Wen Chaosheng took the elevator downstairs, Xi Zhui had slunk back like a thief and retrieved it.

…

Xi Zhui offered no explanation for the sugar cake’s origins, seeming focused on work instead. “Script read-through’s at one this afternoon?”

“Yeah, still early.”

Xiao Chao peeled off the outer plastic bag right there, pulling out the two full boxes of sugar cake. “Brother Xi, I was planning to grab some for you in the next couple days anyway. Perfect timing—saves me the trip.”

No sooner had he spoken than he spotted a business card at the bottom of the bag.

“Huh? Master Guang’s Sugar Cake?” Xiao Chao read the card and raised his voice. “Brother Xi, seriously—who bought this for you?”

Xi Zhui still didn’t answer. “Why all the questions?”

Xiao Chao handed him the card. “Do you know how far that place is? It’s a full hour’s drive!”

…

“I hear they’ve been slammed the last couple years—weekends mean long lines. Gotta go early or you’re out of luck!”

Every time they came to Heng City for a shoot, Xi Zhui insisted on sugar cake, so as his personal assistant, Xiao Chao had made it a habit to know all the local spots.

Xi Zhui stared at the address on the card. It was indeed in the next city over.

Wen Chaosheng wasn’t the scheming type; that card couldn’t have been deliberately tucked under there for him to find.

It was probably just tossed in by the shop during packing, unnoticed by Wen Chaosheng himself.

“I happened to pass by this morning, so I grabbed extra.”

…

Wen Chaosheng’s earlier words echoed in his mind. Xi Zhui’s gaze darkened, his thoughts growing chaotic. “Liar.”

Xiao Chao hadn’t caught it and pressed. “Brother Xi, who gave it to you? Damn, they’re outdoing me as your assistant.”

As he spoke, he cracked open one box of sugar cake.

A sweet red bean aroma wafted out, mouthwatering.

Xiao Chao grabbed a complimentary bamboo skewer from the bag, about to spear a piece—when Xi Zhui swiftly snatched the entire box from his hand.

“What do you think you’re eating? Did I say you could have any?”

…

What the heck!

Xi Zhui had never stopped him from snagging a bite during past shoots.

Xiao Chao widened his eyes in grievance, disbelieving that his usually generous boss had turned stingy. “Brother Xi, just one piece!”

Xi Zhui shot back, “Not even one. Eat your lunch.”

With that, he pulled the other unopened box in front of himself. “This is my lunch.”

…

The wall clock had just ticked past eleven-thirty.

Wen Chaosheng and the camera team had wrapped up the morning’s production meeting. Before they could pack up and clear out, Xi Zhui entered with his assistant in tow.

…

Wen Chaosheng caught sight of that all-too-familiar figure, his packing motions freezing for a beat. But the instant Xi Zhui glanced his way, he quickly ducked his head to avoid it.

The assistant director seated beside him was surprised and stood up. “Teacher Xi, you’re here early!”

“Nothing to do at the hotel, so I came ahead.”

Xi Zhui picked a vacant seat casually and sat, maintaining his usual mild demeanor toward outsiders. “This shouldn’t interrupt you guys, right?”

The assistant director glanced at the silent Wen Chaosheng before replying. “Not at all. The meeting’s over—we’re just gonna use the space to eat lunch.”

Right on cue, the logistics staff arrived carrying the pre-ordered boxed meals.

A crew member asked, “Teacher Xi, have you eaten?”

“I ate before coming. Go ahead without me.”

Xi Zhui smiled faintly, his peripheral vision shifting toward Wen Chaosheng again.

From the moment Xi Zhui had walked in, the other man had been burying himself in packing up documents, his head practically vanishing into his bag by now.

The logistics staff bustled about distributing the meals, handing one to Wen Chaosheng. “Director Wen, take a break—no need to rush. Here.”

…

Wen Chaosheng heard someone calling his name and reluctantly lifted his head.

He looked at the substantial lunch box in front of him and politely declined in a soft voice. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

Ever since his depression diagnosis, it had come hand-in-hand with uncontrollable emotions, insomnia, and loss of appetite.

While some depression sufferers binge-eat during episodes, Wen Chaosheng was at the opposite extreme. His aversion to food was so severe that he could go a day or two without eating.

He hadn’t eaten anything since waking up early that morning. After his unpleasant conversation with Xi Zhui, the negative emotions buried deep in his body had rampaged without cease.

Even though the aroma wafting from the dishes was enticing, it failed to spark even the slightest appetite in him. His portions had always been small to begin with—let alone now.

Wen Chaosheng didn’t want to waste it, so there was no need to open the lunch box.

“…”

Xi Zhui watched as the logistics staff took the lunch box back. A faint crease formed between his brows, imperceptible to others. He couldn’t help glancing at the meal boxes of the other crew members.

Two meats and three veggies—the exact favorites Wen Chaosheng usually enjoyed.

He was already this thin. Why wouldn’t he just eat properly?

Before Xi Zhui could come to any conclusion, Wen Chaosheng had already risen from his seat. He grabbed his personal backpack and walked out without looking back.

As he passed Xi Zhui at the end of the conference table, he restrained himself from even offering the most basic greeting.

“…”

Xi Zhui held back again and again, but in the end, impulse won out. He stood up.

Xiao Chao looked puzzled. “Brother Xi? Where are you going?”

The gloom between Xi Zhui’s brows shifted as he made up an excuse. “Going out to find a spot for a smoke. No need to follow.”

…

At the end of the floor was a small terrace.

The midday sun blazed fiercely, and no one ever came out at this hour. Wen Chaosheng walked onto the terrace alone and sat down on a shaded step.

Only then did the nerves he had forcibly held taut all morning suddenly snap. He hunched over in a somewhat disheveled manner, clutching his backpack—the only thing providing any support—and silently curled himself into a small ball.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng couldn’t cry. Heart palpitations, chest tightness, and ringing in his ears assaulted him in waves, eroding his will.

As always, he could only endure it. He struggled to draw in the oxygen he needed, his hands hidden beneath the bag clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms until they turned red.

Because of this, Wen Chaosheng didn’t notice the gaze that had lingered on his back this whole time.

It was a long while before he lifted his pale, haggard face. Forcing his frayed nerves back together, he reminded himself that the afternoon script reading was still ahead. As the director, he absolutely could not be absent.

Wen Chaosheng had never mentioned this to anyone: this chance to return to the country had cost him half his life to secure.

If his relationship with Xi Zhui was beyond saving, then at least he had to pour everything into making Rotten Mud a success. When they parted ways again after filming wrapped, it would leave him with one more cherished memory amid his otherwise bleak future.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng fished a small chocolate energy bar from a pocket in his backpack, unwrapped it, and mechanically chewed through it bite by bite, forcing himself to finish.

The warmth from the melted chocolate finally infused a trace of energy into his exhausted body. His muddled thoughts gradually cleared.

A moment later, Wen Chaosheng slowly stood and headed back.

As he passed the safety stairwell, a faint whiff of cigarette smoke drifted from the slightly ajar door. He didn’t think much of it and continued straight to the conference room.

…

The afternoon script reading went smoothly.

Xi Zhui was an award-winning Film Emperor, his delivery far surpassing his peers. The six veteran actors playing key supporting roles were all seasoned performers whose skills were beyond reproach.

As the crew’s sole rookie actor, Yu Yan’s familiarity with the script exceeded everyone’s expectations, and his grasp of the character’s emotions was spot-on.

Four hours flew by, and the first full read-through came to a perfect close. Work wrapped, and people left the conference room in small groups.

Wen Chaosheng stayed until the end again. Instead of rushing off, he sat in his spot, pen flying across his notebook as he jotted down notes.

Some unexpected plot inspirations had struck him during the reading, and he needed to capture them now so he could refine them properly back at the hotel that evening.

Tap tap.

A knock sounded at the door.

Yu Yan had returned. “Director Wen, you haven’t left yet?”

Wen Chaosheng had just finished writing the last word and looked up.

He adjusted his slipping black-framed glasses. He had a few words for his lead actor. “Just about to head out. What about you? Why haven’t you gone?”

“I just got off the phone with Teacher Jian.” Yu Yan smiled as he explained, a hint of subtle bragging in his tone. “I was updating him on today’s script reading.”

Unfortunately, Wen Chaosheng took it as normal boss-employee chatter and nodded as if it were the most natural thing. “Did Jin Zhao say when he’d visit the set?”

Yu Yan replied, “Probably on the first day of shooting?”

Jian Jinzhao was the producer and, in theory, should stay with the crew to oversee filming. But Whale Shadow was newly established, and the company still had many matters requiring his personal attention.

Wen Chaosheng nodded and packed up his things before standing.

Yu Yan invited him. “Director Wen, heading back to the hotel? Shall we go together?”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng hesitated for two seconds. Feeling he should look after this newcomer a bit more, he agreed. “Sure, let’s go.”

They had just descended the stairs to the first floor when they spotted a lone figure in the distance.

Xi Zhui hadn’t left yet. He stood by himself at the main entrance, without his assistant or team members nearby. He was engrossed in his phone, head bowed.

Wen Chaosheng’s steps halted abruptly. The morning’s confrontation was still fresh in his mind, the other’s warning echoing in his ears.

It wasn’t work hours anymore. He couldn’t have any further contact with Xi Zhui.

Oblivious to the tension, Yu Yan beside him called out. “Brother Xi, you still here?”

Xi Zhui’s attention hadn’t really been on his phone. Hearing the call, he looked up with feigned surprise. “Mm.”

He had been waiting for Yu Yan and Wen Chaosheng to approach—but the next second—

Wen Chaosheng, who had been deliberately avoiding eye contact, suddenly turned sideways. Without so much as a greeting, he deliberately slipped out through the side door as quickly as he could.