Chapter 44

Wen Chaosheng stood in a secluded corner of the set, away from the prying eyes of the crew, trembling as he gripped his phone tightly.

“Brother Wen, don’t forget what you promised me.”

“You know my patience is limited. If you’re deceiving me, I’ll find you no matter where you flee—even to the ends of the earth…”

The gloomy warning drifted from the phone. Although the October sun beat down on him, Wen Chaosheng felt only bone-deep chills.

Several seconds passed before he managed to force out a reply. “I know.”

“Mmm, then I won’t disturb you anymore.” The voice on the other end shifted abruptly, turning considerate and sweet. “Good luck with the new film, Brother Wen. I’ll be waiting for you to come back.”

The call ended.

In the next instant, Wen Chaosheng staggered backward uncontrollably. His back slammed into the rough outer wall of the building, the protruding granules scraping painfully through his thin short-sleeved shirt.

“…”

Heart palpitations, ringing in his ears, and tremors wracking his body all surged even more fiercely under the assault of pain.

Wen Chaosheng had taken his medication on time that morning, and he carried no emergency pills in his pocket now. He slid down the wall to sit on the ground, teeth gritted as he fought to suppress his symptoms—

He couldn’t collapse. Filming was scheduled for the afternoon.

He couldn’t return yet, either—Xi Zhui would spot something was wrong.

Wen Chaosheng curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around himself in a futile bid for scant warmth.

The agony coiled inside him felt like a dull, unsharpened knife from years past, methodically slicing apart his already fractured soul.

Hold on. Hold on. Hold on…

The lone mantra echoing in his mind took sluggish effect. He lost track of time until his neglected phone buzzed again, shattering his foggy haze.

He shivered on instinct and answered, gaze unfocused. “Hello.”

“Xiaosheng.”

His mother’s voice pulled him back from the brink of total breakdown.

Tears spilled from Wen Chaosheng’s eyes before he even realized it, as if he’d been yanked from the edge of a sheer drop.

“Hello? Xiaosheng? Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

Wen Chaosheng snapped back to awareness, desperately masking his true state. “Mom, I’m listening.”

Even so, Song Xuelan detected the anomaly in an instant on the video call screen. “Why does your voice sound so hoarse?”

“It doesn’t. I’ve just been busy today—haven’t had a chance to drink water.”

Fearing further questions, Wen Chaosheng pivoted. “What made you call?”

“I just caught a clip of your interview for the new movie.” Song Xuelan paused, her hesitation clear before she continued. “Your dad… he saw it too.”

Wen Chaosheng fell silent for several seconds. “Mm.”

These past years, his relationship with his father had plunged to an icy low, contact severed almost entirely.

Song Xuelan could still reach Wen Chaosheng through WeChat, but the screen between them left so much unsaid, eroding the once-close bond between mother and son.

Understanding the root of this unbridgeable rift, Song Xuelan sighed on the screen.

“Xiaosheng, no one wanted that accident to happen back then. Your father’s methods were harsh, I know, but he truly had your best interests at heart. You can’t squander your whole life on that person.”

“Mom, please—don’t. I know what I’m doing.”

Wen Chaosheng cut her off weakly, an intractable bitterness rising in his throat. “You know there’s more between Dad and me than just that one thing.”

“The male lead in your new movie…”

Song Xuelan had considered skirting the issue, but she plunged ahead directly. “What’s going on between you and Xi Zhui?”

“Xi Zhui was handpicked by Jin Zhao for the film. He and I are just director and lead actor. We’ll part ways once shooting wraps.”

Wen Chaosheng recited the line from rote memory in his head, the words numb on his tongue.

He paused, then added a disingenuous afterthought. “Rest assured, Mom. Dad can rest easy too—there won’t be anything more between us.”

The call lingered on, but silence enveloped mother and son.

Wen Chaosheng’s mind wandered blankly. Memories of the last six years tangled like a knotted mess around his heart—about Xi Zhui, his parents, the accident he never wanted to revisit, and how it had utterly upended his life.

Only after a long stretch did Song Xuelan shift topics. “Xiaosheng, you look so much thinner. I’ll make time to visit you in Heng City, all right?”

Wen Chaosheng had spent those years abroad; even she saw him infrequently.

“No need.”

He refused as always, layering on a lie. “Mom, I’m doing great. Eating properly every day—no need to worry.”

“…”

Sensing the sorrow across the line, he finally relented with a concession. “After the film wraps, I’ll head back to the Imperial Capital when I can, okay? I’ve got set work this afternoon—gotta go.”

Song Xuelan sounded reluctant. “All right, then. I won’t keep you.”

Just before disconnecting, she couldn’t hold back. “Xiaosheng!”

“Mm?”

“Mom loves you so much. Take good care of yourself.”

“…”

His heart, chilled to numbness, began to thaw under the embrace of maternal warmth.

Wen Chaosheng choked back a sob with effort. “Mm. I know.”

The call ended.

Wen Chaosheng hauled himself up from the ground with difficulty, legs leaden and numb.

He shuffled to the nearest restroom, mustering the strength to straighten his appearance before heading back to the set.

The first scene of the production’s opening day was slated for the afternoon.

Lunchtime was in full swing; crew members clustered in twos and threes, digging into box lunches.

Wen Chaosheng had no appetite and retreated alone to the innermost resting cubicle. He pushed open the door—and locked eyes with the familiar figure on the sofa.

Xi Zhui had shed his launch-event short sleeve but remained seated, unmoving.

He glanced up, fixing Wen Chaosheng with a steady gaze. “You’re back?”

He knew he shouldn’t intrude, had no right to pry. Yet after Wen Chaosheng slipped away, Xi Zhui had followed on impulse.

Whose call demanded such secrecy—hiding from him, dodging him just to answer?

Alas, the tortoise had turned into a rabbit; Wen Chaosheng had bolted fast and vanished.

Xi Zhui’s search turned up nothing, forcing him back to the resting room to wait, minutes dragging interminably.

Waiting for Wen Chaosheng was Xi Zhui’s greatest skill—and deepest loathing. As years of pent-up anxiety teetered on eruption, the door finally swung open.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng’s grip tightened on the doorknob, terrified his condition would slip. “You—you haven’t had lunch yet?”

An actor of Xi Zhui’s caliber always had a private RV waiting on set. By now, he ought to be lounging in far greater comfort and seclusion.

Xi Zhui noted the redness at the corners of his eyes, the weary rasp in his voice.

Crying?

Why?

Doubts flickered through Xi Zhui’s mind, but jealousy edged his words. “You were gone a long time.”

Wen Chaosheng managed an awkward “Mm,” revealing only the tail end of the truth. “On the phone with my mom—it dragged on. She’d seen the launch interview clip…”

The earlier call, the one requiring his frantic escape to answer, he concealed with what he thought was cunning.

“…”

Learning it was Song Xuelan eased Xi Zhui’s baseless pique.

Too long without family, and the emotions had overflowed into tears?

Xi Zhui eyed Wen Chaosheng, still rooted foolishly in the doorway, a faint wrongness nagging at him. But before he could probe, the assistant’s voice rang out from beyond.

“Brother Xi!”

Xiaochao approached, hefting two bulging bags of takeout. “Director Wen, you’re here too!”

Wen Chaosheng stepped aside courteously, clearing the path into the room. Realizing Xi Zhui planned to eat here, he snatched his backpack to depart—lest he intrude.

“Where are you going?”

Xi Zhui halted him sharply, nodding toward a seat. “Sit. Eat.”

Since script read-throughs began, Wen Chaosheng hadn’t touched a crew box lunch in his presence.

Lunchtimes saw him vanish—nibbling a meager energy bar or a sliver of toast, portions woefully sparse. Small wonder he’d wasted away.

Xi Zhui knew he had neither claim nor cause to fuss over Wen Chaosheng anymore. Still, his heart tilted stubbornly toward the man.

Stunned by the unforeseen summons, Wen Chaosheng faltered. “M-me?”

Xiaochao, assuming a bid to mend fences, jumped in eagerly. “Of course, Director Wen! Brother Xi told me this morning to order extra. Come on, sit!”

As he unpacked the meals, he raved to Wen Chaosheng.

“Director Wen, you have to try this place—their stir-fries are legendary in Heng City. Open just five years, and already swamped. Brother Xi orders from them every time he films here!”

Richer aromas wafted through the resting room, far more tantalizing than crew fare.

“Xi Zhui’s go-to for shoots”—those words sparked rare hunger in Wen Chaosheng. But two years of scant appetite meant he’d struggle through half a box of rice at most.

“What are you waiting for?”

Spotting the hesitation, Xi Zhui deployed a perfect pretext. “After lunch, we’ll run through the script—make good use of the time.”

Director and star sharing a meal and script talk? Perfectly routine.

“Fine.”

Unable to demur, Wen Chaosheng entered and took the seat opposite Xi Zhui.

Six dishes, one soup; rice steamed in a thermos—portions vast, unlikely for three.

Wen Chaosheng ventured uncertainly, “What about Yu Yan? And Jin Zhao? Call them over?”

“Bolted the second the interview wrapped.”

Xi Zhui unpacked disposable cutlery, inspecting the chopsticks for splinters. “What, worried they’ll feel left out?”

“Huh?”

Wen Chaosheng missed the subtext but clarified. “Just seems like too much food. Might not finish it all.”

Xi Zhui saw right through his thoughts. “If you can’t finish it, just leave the rest. You’re not the only one who won’t clean his plate—no need to go around apologizing.”

“…”

Wen Chaosheng heard that last part, and his face inexplicably heated up.

Xi Zhui handed over the chopsticks he’d checked. “Xiao Chao will clean up afterward, then feed the leftovers to some stray cats and dogs.”

Wen Chaosheng took them a beat late. “Oh.”

A new task had suddenly appeared, but Xiao Chao hopped right to it with perfect cooperation. “Yes, yes! Go ahead and eat your fill, Director Wen—as much as you want, no waste on my watch!”

He opened the insulated lunch pail and got to work as Wen Chaosheng’s life assistant. “Director Wen, how much rice do you want? I’ll scoop it for you.”

Wen Chaosheng had been about to say he’d just have a couple bites of the stir-fried veggies, but the words caught in his throat. He felt too awkward to say it. “Thanks. A small half-bowl will do.”

“That little? You sure you don’t want more?”

Xiao Chao was surprised and couldn’t help glancing at Xi Zhui.

Xi Zhui stayed perfectly calm. “Whatever he says. No need to push.”

Half a minute later, Wen Chaosheng cradled his small half-bowl of rice. He didn’t rush to dig in. Instead, he sat quietly, gazing across the table at Xi Zhui.

That familiar look of docile obedience.

Xi Zhui was still tapping away on his phone, replying to work messages from his manager, but that gaze softened something in his chest. “No need to wait for me. Go ahead and eat.”

Wen Chaosheng shook his head with firm principles. “I can’t.”

He understood proper etiquette.

Xi Zhui had bought this meal, after all. They had to eat together.

With no other choice, Xi Zhui set his phone down and picked up a slice of bamboo shoot with his chopsticks. “Alright, dig in.”

“Okay.”

Wen Chaosheng eyed the spread of dishes on the table, unsure where to begin.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to follow Xi Zhui’s lead and take a bite of bamboo shoot first.

The thin slice was refreshingly sweet going down, carrying a hint of the charred savoriness from the meat. It instantly awakened his palate, dulled for so long by the side effects of his medications.

Wen Chaosheng let out a quiet “Mm,” sighing in low wonder. Then he caught sight of Xi Zhui taking a bite of fish.

After deliberately waiting two or three seconds, Wen Chaosheng sneaked a piece for himself. It was just as delicious.

He’d thought he wasn’t hungry at all. Yet after those two bites settled in his stomach, a long-forgotten sense of joy bloomed—the simple happiness of a good meal.

“…”

Across from him, Xi Zhui sampled some eggplant. Wen Chaosheng stealthily followed suit.

When Xi Zhui went for a piece of corn pancake, so did he, taking a small sliver.

Wen Chaosheng ate at a leisurely pace, convinced his “copycat” antics were perfectly subtle. Little did he know Xi Zhui had spotted them from the very first one.

Xi Zhui didn’t call him out. Instead, he quietly observed Wen Chaosheng’s swallowing rhythm.

No matter how slowly he ate, Xi Zhui waited patiently.

Ten minutes or so later, Xi Zhui had unobtrusively sampled every dish on the table. Wen Chaosheng had followed right along, trying them all.

Until the bottom of his small half-bowl of rice came into view.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng licked his lips, still savoring the flavors, but his eyes fell on the empty bowl with a touch of distress.

He wanted more.

How was he not full yet?

Xi Zhui took in his expression and nearly burst out laughing. “Full?”

Wen Chaosheng stayed quiet. He didn’t want to lie, but he was too embarrassed to admit he could go for seconds on rice.

Xi Zhui didn’t wait for an answer. He simply scooped some rice and filled Wen Chaosheng’s bowl. “There’s still plenty left. Have some more—try not to waste it.”

“…”

Oh? No waste now, huh?

Xiao Chao stared at Xi Zhui, who was clearly acting out of character today. Suddenly, something clicked in his mind. He squinted and sneaked a glance under the table.

In that instant, he felt like he’d stumbled onto a massive secret.

Holy crap!

Those shoes on Director Wen—weren’t they the exact pair he’d spotted that day in the villa’s garage side door?

Wen Chaosheng had no idea Xiao Chao was scrutinizing him.

He stared at the extra-steaming pile of rice now in his bowl, his lips curving in satisfaction.

Seizing the moment, Xi Zhui made a suggestion. “We could have lunch together from now on. It’d be convenient for going over the script.”

Wen Chaosheng assumed the script part was the main point, but he couldn’t bear to turn down the lunch invitation. “Sure.”

…

The afternoon’s first shoot went off without a hitch. The crew cheerfully called it a good omen. Wen Chaosheng’s tightly wound nerves finally eased, and he gradually rediscovered his groove sitting in front of the monitor.

The production’s schedule was packed, with plenty of night shoots in the first half of the month.

Wen Chaosheng wrapped up late every day and worried Kuai Kuai would get lonely cooped up in the hotel room. So he bought a small transparent tank and occasionally brought the little guy along to set.

It was another round of blazing sunshine. The morning’s scenes wrapped perfectly, bringing them to lunch break.

Wen Chaosheng, having confirmed the footage, was still parked by the monitor. He pulled the tank from the corner of the table and called softly, “Kuai Kuai.”

The little turtle in the tank poked its head out, bobbing back and forth.

Xiao Chao, who’d been hanging back, suddenly darted over. He’d been secretly observing for days and finally couldn’t contain his curiosity. “Director Wen, are you and Brother Xi super close off-set or something? He actually gave you Kuai Kuai to look after!”

“Hm?”

Wen Chaosheng’s thoughts took a moment to catch up.

Xiao Chao toyed with the turtle in the tank, blurting out whatever came to mind. “Look, our team always jokes that this little turtle is Brother Xi’s baby—he spends a fortune keeping it.”

Wen Chaosheng blinked. “A fortune?”

“Yeah!”

Xiao Chao started ticking off on his fingers. “The turtle food is custom-made special order. No matter which city we’re shooting in, as long as the accommodations aren’t too rough, he gets a dedicated person and car to bring Kuai Kuai straight to set.”

“Oh, and he’s got a myna bird too. He hauls both little guys along and takes care of them personally.”

“…”

“Right, about four years back? Kuai Kuai got really sick—touch and go, like it was on its last legs. Several exotic pet clinics said it was hopeless, but Brother Xi heard there was this amazing exotic vet in Zheng City. He drove there overnight right after wrapping a shoot!”

Wen Chaosheng’s breath caught. This was the first he’d heard of any of it.

Why?

He clearly cared that much, yet he’d lied and said he didn’t really want to keep it?

Just as the questions bubbled up, a voice cut in from behind them. “Xiao Chao, why aren’t you grabbing lunch yet? What are you mumbling about?”

Xi Zhui had changed into his afternoon costume and was standing right behind them. No one knew when he’d arrived.

Xiao Chao met his boss’s eyes and realized he’d said too much. He bolted. “On it!”

Wen Chaosheng stayed rooted in place, his right hand tightening subtly on the edge of the glass tank. “Xi Zhui, Xiao Chao said…”

“He’s the king of exaggeration. Don’t mind him.”

Xi Zhui, unusually, avoided his gaze. He stuck to his line. “It’s a life, after all. If money can save it, there’s no reason to just watch it die.”

Wen Chaosheng wasn’t entirely convinced. “Oh.”

Xi Zhui settled into a nearby resting chair and tossed out a casual reminder. “You bring the turtle food? That head-shaking means it’s hungry.”

“I did.”

Wen Chaosheng hurriedly pulled a small pre-portioned bag of turtle food from his backpack. He fed Kuai Kuai with careful precision, though his gaze kept drifting sideways despite himself.

Truth be told, he really wanted to ask more—why was Xi Zhui so good to Kuai Kuai?

Was it really just because it was a living creature? And because…

His suspicions hadn’t quite coalesced when another question came from the side. “Director Wen, why are you staring at your pet bastard again?”

Wen Chaosheng looked up to see Yu Yan peering curiously. He corrected him slowly. “It’s a turtle.”

Yu Yan furrowed his brow, unable to see the difference. “Isn’t that just a bastard?”

Wen Chaosheng drew a deep breath and raised his voice for a firm correction. “It’s a turtle!”

“Oh.”

Yu Yan patted the turtle’s shell and added, “Pretty much the same thing.”

Wen Chaosheng choked on his words. He was usually so mild-mannered, but he decided Yu Yan needed a little warning. “You—put in a good performance this afternoon.”

“…”

Yu Yan fell instantly silent.

Xi Zhui, sitting off to the side, couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He lifted a hand to cover his mouth.

Fortunately, Jian Jinzhao spoke up from nearby in time to rein in Yu Yan’s antics.

But Yu Yan was young and full of mischief. With Jian Jinzhao as his boss for backup, he dashed off after tossing one last jab. “Director Wen, is there really a difference between a turtle and a bastard? Nah.”

“…”

Big difference!

Wen Chaosheng was thoroughly bummed. He scooped up Kuai Kuai’s tank at once to comfort it. “Baby, don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot.”

With that, he turned slightly, letting his gaze drift—not accidentally at all—toward Xi Zhui.

Xi Zhui had witnessed the whole thing, including the mutter under his breath. He couldn’t stifle his laughter.

“…”

Wen Chaosheng was thrown off by that smile. “A-Are you laughing at me?”

“Nope.” Xi Zhui smoothed the curve of his lips and picked his side after a slight delay. “Mm. A turtle.”

Two of them, even—a big turtle cradling a little one.

Wen Chaosheng felt inexplicably bashful. “It is.”