The final day of the table read drew to a close.
Wen Chaosheng closed the script in his hands, his voice carrying a faint hoarseness from all the scene discussions. “Alright, that’s it for today. Thanks, everyone, for your cooperation.”
His gaze swept across the actors through the lenses of his glasses, pausing just right at the edge of Xi Zhui’s spot to avoid any chance of eye contact.
Wen Chaosheng spoke up. “I’m looking forward to kicking off the official film shoot with all of you.”
“Everyone, take the next two days to rest. Our production starts on October 2nd,” the production coordinator called out from diagonally behind him. “Staff will send the detailed start info to the main creative group chat later. Please keep an eye out for it.”
“Got it.”
“You too, Director—great work.”
The group chimed in with their responses.
Wen Chaosheng gave a slight nod and seized the moment to pack up his backpack.
Yu Yan, one of the leads, piped up suddenly. “With the next couple days off, Brother Xi, how about we all grab a meal together? Once shooting ramps up, easy days like this will be few and far between.”
Xi Zhui shot a glance at Wen Chaosheng across from him. “Sure.”
Ever perceptive, Yu Yan caught the look. “Director, you in? Teacher Jian recommended this great Japanese spot nearby earlier.”
Wen Chaosheng’s fingers paused midway through packing his files. When he raised his eyes again, he kept even his peripheral vision away from Xi Zhui.
“I’ll sit this one out. You all enjoy.”
If anything, it felt less like turning down Yu Yan and more like deliberately dodging someone else.
Wen Chaosheng shouldered his backpack and headed for the door, offering polite nods of farewell to the other actors as he passed.
…
Xi Zhui watched Wen Chaosheng’s retreating figure, an inexplicable irritation bubbling up inside him.
Yu Yan, sitting nearby, picked up on the vibe. “Brother Xi, you still up for it?”
Xi Zhui’s appetite had vanished, but he wasn’t one to back out of a plan. “Whatever works.”
Yu Yan clapped him on the shoulder, slipping right into the “little brother” role from their movie even off-screen. “Bro, I’ll join you for a few drinks tonight?”
“Sure.”
Yu Yan headed out first to call ahead and reserve a table.
Xiao Chao, who had been sitting in his rolling chair in the back row, timed it perfectly and wheeled over with a quick swish. “Brother Xi, level with me. Did you piss off Director Wen or something?”
Xi Zhui shot him a blank look and stayed silent.
…
The quieter he got, the guiltier it seemed!
Drawing on years of reading the room, Xiao Chao’s gut told him something had gone down between Xi Zhui and Wen Chaosheng that no one else knew about.
He fought back the curiosity bubbling over inside him and cut right to the chase. “Brother Xi, I’m just saying—this is obvious as hell!”
Through days of these table reads, Wen Chaosheng chatted normally with the other actors and even broke down scenes for first-timer Yu Yan. But whenever it came to Xi Zhui, it was like he turned into a completely different person.
During work, Wen Chaosheng dodged his eyes.
On breaks, Wen Chaosheng kept his distance.
And forget about after wrap—Wen Chaosheng always bolted first with his bag in tow. They were staying in the same hotel, doors right across from each other, but their chats lately? You could count them on one hand.
…
If Xiao Chao could spot it, there was no way Xi Zhui missed it.
Wen Chaosheng was avoiding him—and not subtly. If it weren’t for the director-actor dynamic holding things together, the man would’ve probably ghosted him entirely!
Xi Zhui tamped down the unease and panic building day by day. When he finally spoke, a trace of urgency leaked through. “Xiao Chao, how’s that thing I asked you to handle this morning?”
“All set, Brother Xi. The car’s en route—should be here any minute!”
…
Night had fallen, its shadows seeping through the window to haze the room’s already dim light.
Wen Chaosheng sat intently at his computer. Ever since getting back to the hotel, he’d been tweaking a particular scene in the script, determined to make the character Yao Yi even more vivid and compelling.
The sporadic clatter of keystrokes and backspaces droned on until a sharp pang in his stomach shattered his focus.
“Hiss—”
Wen Chaosheng frowned and pressed his palm hard against the cramping spot through his shirt.
These past few days, his appetite had tanked. Meals came irregularly at best, and the sleep schedule he’d barely patched together with meds? Total chaos again, courtesy of his moods.
Sleepless nights meant staring at the screen revising drafts—or just sitting there blankly until dawn.
It wasn’t so much obsession with script details as using work to numb his feelings. Wen Chaosheng was terrified that if he stopped, thoughts of Xi Zhui would come crashing uncontrollably back in.
The screen’s cold glow bounced off his glasses now, highlighting the bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes.
He pulled a half-unwrapped slice of butter toast from the drawer, forced down a few bites, chased it with half a bottle of mineral water, and called that his belated dinner.
The desktop clock in the corner read nearly ten.
The hallway outside remained dead quiet. The guy across the hall still hadn’t come back.
…
Wonder how good that Japanese place was?
He could ask Jin Zhao on the sly sometime and check it out himself.
Wen Chaosheng clutched the remaining half of his toast, his mind wandering.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell shattered the long silence without warning.
Snapped from his reverie, Wen Chaosheng jolted and peered toward the door a beat late. “Who is it?”
Ding-dong!
No answer from the hall—just the bell urging him to open up.
Wen Chaosheng approached cautiously, cracking the door just a sliver for safety as he peered out. “Who?”
In the hallway’s murky light, he made out the figure standing there: Xi Zhui.
Wen Chaosheng’s guard dropped in an instant, replaced by tension that straightened his posture on reflex.
…
The door concealed most of the man’s body and face, offering only a pair of startled, dazed eyes.
Xi Zhui reached out and gave the ajar door a tentative push. “Mind opening up?”
“I…”
Wen Chaosheng didn’t get the words out before Xi Zhui nudged the barrier between them aside.
Eyes locked—familiar, yet strangely distant.
The self-imposed restraint of recent days had hardened into instinct. Wen Chaosheng dropped his gaze without thinking. “What… what do you need from me?”
Xi Zhui went right for it. “You eat dinner yet?”
…
Wen Chaosheng blinked in surprise and nodded faintly.
Xi Zhui followed up. “Chocolate bar or toast?”
He hadn’t expected Xi Zhui to nail it so precisely. Wen Chaosheng looked up, caught off guard, words failing him.
The lighting was dim even then, but Xi Zhui clocked the exhaustion plain on Wen Chaosheng’s face. Those cheeks that used to look so boyish had hollowed out.
“That Japanese spot Yu Yan raved about tonight? Solid choice,” Xi Zhui said, extending the takeout bag in his right hand. “Packed up some sushi and sweet shrimp. Want to try?”
…
Wen Chaosheng stared at the bag right in front of him, half-convinced he was dreaming.
Hadn’t they agreed to keep their distance?
So why was Xi Zhui showing up with food out of nowhere?
His fingers tightened on the door handle as an unruly impulse stirred.
But before he could act on it, a dull thud echoed from somewhere down the hall—like thunder cracking his foggy thoughts awake.
“No thanks.”
For the first time, Wen Chaosheng turned Xi Zhui down. “I’m not hungry.”
…
Xi Zhui’s hand, gripping the bag, hung frozen in midair.
Missing the subtle hesitation, Wen Chaosheng repeated their exchange from days before with earnest conviction. “You said it yourself—”
“It’s not work hours. You bringing me stuff this late? If anyone sees, it’ll spark all sorts of dumb rumors.”
“And you didn’t take my Sugar Cake, remember? No need to play polite reciprocity. I don’t want it.”
Even in refusal, his soft-spoken nature kept the tone mild—but the blow landed like a gut punch.
Xi Zhui’s eyes darkened, the stuffiness in his chest growing heavier. For the first time, he truly got what it meant to hoist himself by his own petard.
Too bad Wen Chaosheng had no attention to spare for his feelings; he was dead set on sticking to his guns. “Rest assured, I won’t pull any more of that overreach using my ‘director’ title.”
“Last time was me drunk, acting impulsive—a total embarrassment. Sorry.”
…
“The one who called things off over WeChat back then? That was me. And the one trying to patch it up shamelessly now? Also me. I get it if you want to shut me out, hate me, cut off all personal contact. I’d understand—and accept it.”
Wen Chaosheng’s eyes burned as he willed his fracturing heart to keep going. “All I want is to wrap this movie right. Once we’re done shooting, you can put me out of your sight for good.”
After that, their paths would never cross again—not really.
Time was the kindest and cruelest force of all. Those empty six years between them stretched like an impassable gulf.
Xi Zhui refused to shelve his hard-earned pride to pry further. And Wen Chaosheng, hunkered down in his shell of pain, had no clue how to even start explaining.
The hallway air turned thick and still, silence swelling until it choked the breath from them both.
Sensing his dark moods teetering on the edge, Wen Chaosheng slammed the door shut—but Xi Zhui moved in sync, jamming his hand into the narrowing gap.
“Hiss!”
The solid doorframe pinched Xi Zhui’s hand hard, a muffled grunt of pain slipping from his throat. Red welts bloomed almost instantly across his skin, veins standing out faintly.
Wen Chaosheng spotted it and panicked. “You…”
Before he could finish, Xi Zhui twisted sideways into the room and kicked the door closed behind him with a forceful slam.
Bang!
Wen Chaosheng’s breath caught sharp in his throat.
Xi Zhui frowned as he gazed at him. When he spoke again, his voice held a note of helpless compromise. “Wen Chaosheng, let’s talk.”
Now that they stood closer, Wen Chaosheng caught the faint scent of alcohol wafting from Xi Zhui’s body. “You’ve been drinking?”
Xi Zhui picked up the thread. “Yes, but I’m not drunk. So, can we talk?”
Wen Chaosheng slowly lifted his head, allowing himself to plunge into the dark depths of the man’s eyes before him. “…What is there left to talk about?”
That day in the corridor, Xi Zhui had laid everything out plainly. Wen Chaosheng had understood—completely, soberly. That was why his own earlier words had been such a clear retort.
“Wen Chaosheng, back then, you inexplicably broke up with me over the phone, deleted my WeChat, and tossed me aside like trash.”
Xi Zhui spoke with calm detachment, as if narrating someone else’s tale. But a faint glint in his eyes betrayed his true emotions.
“I admit, I can’t get past it. So when you start acting like you used to, it pisses me off. It makes me uncomfortable.”
A relationship into which he’d poured his heart, a person he’d treated with utter sincerity—ended by an abrupt, unexplained cutoff?
He wasn’t a saint. He wasn’t some lofty gentleman. He couldn’t feign nonchalance, and of course there were times when emotions swept him away.
“…”
“That morning, I did speak out of spite.”
But the instant the words escaped him, Xi Zhui regretted them.
After realizing Wen Chaosheng was avoiding him, regret had drowned out any lingering spite.
Wen Chaosheng’s declaration moments ago about “drawing a clear line” had made it abundantly clear to Xi Zhui—
In all these years, Wen Chaosheng’s nature hadn’t changed one bit. Faced with trouble, he always retreated by instinct. If someone else pulled back a step, he’d retreat ten, a hundred.
If Xi Zhui didn’t press forward now, the man would hide from him forever. They’d wrap up production and go their separate ways.
But that wasn’t what he wanted.
How could Xi Zhui not realize how ridiculous his own contradictory actions were? Yet he was fresh out of moves.
“Wen Chaosheng, I don’t get it. Why did you come back to the country? And why let me join the crew as the lead?”
Five or six years ago, Xi Zhui might have narcissistically chalked it up to favoritism. But now? He didn’t dare think that way. He had no right to.
“You’re right about what you said in the private room, though. Work is work. Personal feelings are personal. I shouldn’t mix them up.”
“I know how crucial this film’s production is to you. And as the lead, I get the responsibilities I need to shoulder. So for the rest of the shoot, I’ll cooperate fully with your work.”
The words sounded lofty at first, but they landed on the rawest truth.
“Wen Chaosheng, you don’t need to distance yourself from me on purpose.”
“…”
The wall of detachment that Wen Chaosheng had forced himself to build came crashing down. He clenched his jaw to stifle his trembling and mumbled in response, “Okay.”
To him, slipping back into a normal director-actor dynamic with Xi Zhui already felt like a rare mercy.
The two of them exhaled in near unison, neither making it obvious.
Xi Zhui remembered the Japanese takeout he’d abandoned at the door. He opened it and retrieved the bag. “Want to try some?”
This time, Wen Chaosheng didn’t turn it down. “Thanks.”
The tension etched into Xi Zhui’s brows and eyes finally eased completely. Then another thought struck him. “Hold on—don’t close the door yet. I’ve got something else for you.”
“Hm?”
Wen Chaosheng watched as Xi Zhui turned and headed back to the room across the hall, his mind still struggling to keep pace.
Less than half a minute later, Xi Zhui returned.
Wen Chaosheng’s gaze locked onto the item in his hand, freezing in place.
