Bai Ying was truly afraid that those three would start fighting, but fortunately, such a thing did not end up happening.
That day, the crew had no major filming tasks scheduled. The previous night’s shoot had lasted a full twelve hours, leaving most of the crew utterly exhausted. Yang Dao deliberately gave everyone a break, only shooting a few simple scenes.
This was the first time Bai Ying had seen Xie Jin in ancient costume. Actually, the moment he spotted Xie Jin, he noticed that his appearance had clearly changed from before. His previously well-proportioned and sturdy build had become gaunt, with his cheeks slightly hollowed. Xie Jin had deliberately lost around forty pounds in a short time to better fit his role. After the makeup artist made minor adjustments to his face, the gaunt look became even more pronounced. Dressed in a set of heavily worn old clothes, Xie Jin’s eyes gleamed with a wolfish ferocity—he perfectly embodied the down-and-out swordsman from the film who had lost everything and was on the verge of abandoning his chivalrous heart.
In the action scenes, it was clear that Xie Jin had excellent martial arts foundations; he could effortlessly replicate the martial arts instructor’s demonstrations. With robes fluttering and blade flashing like snow, Bai Ying couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Lu Changjun felt a sour pang in his heart.
Before bed that evening, he couldn’t help saying, “Those moves look flashy, but they’re not practical in a real fight.”
“But they’re so cool!” Bai Ying replied as he wiped his damp hair.
Lu Changjun felt even more sour. “Does Senior like that type?”
“I do!” Bai Ying’s eyes sparkled.
Who wouldn’t like a grand hero from a wuxia film?
Even knowing that the “like” Bai Ying meant wasn’t the kind he hoped for, Lu Changjun still felt incredibly frustrated. He plugged one end of the hairdryer into the socket, tested the heat with his palm, and then said to Bai Ying, “Senior, let me blow-dry your hair for you.”
“Thanks, Xiao Lu.” Bai Ying draped the towel aside and sat on the chair nearby. The hairdryer’s temperature was just right, and the airflow perfect. Bai Ying felt a pair of hands gently parting his hair, so comfortable that he nearly dozed off.
As drowsiness crept in, Bai Ying suddenly remembered something and mumbled with a slur in his tone, “Xiao Lu, you guys shouldn’t fight.”
With those two? Lu Changjun thought that even though they hadn’t fought today, there would surely be scraps in the future.
“Xiao Lu?” Lu Changjun didn’t respond, so Bai Ying reached back, grabbed his sleeve, and tugged it lightly. “Fighting is bad, oh. Others get hurt, and you feel pain too.”
The strands of hair in Lu Changjun’s hands were soft. It was said that people with soft hair had soft hearts.
“Got it. I won’t stoop to their level,” Lu Changjun conceded.
Bai Ying smiled silently.
Once his hair was dry, Bai Ying prepared to sleep. It was only seven in the evening, but tomorrow’s scene had to be shot at sunrise, and with prep time, everyone needed to be up around two in the morning.
The mountain nights cooled dramatically; not long after sunset, the wind carried a distinct chill. The room temperature dropped sharply too, but fortunately, Bai Ying had an extra small blanket from Tan Ming. He worried if Xiao Lu might feel cold. Lu Changjun, sitting on the bed in just a tank top, invited Bai Ying to touch his arm. Bai Ying did—his skin was scorching hot.
Young people really had vigorous energy, like a furnace.
Lu Changjun grabbed Bai Ying’s wrist in return and smiled. “If Senior feels cold, you can sleep with me. You can warm up against me.”
Bai Ying’s pajamas were thin—just a loose shirt, with shorts that didn’t reach his knees. After all, April in Shen City was already quite warm, and these were the pajamas he wore at home there.
Lu Changjun eyed the open collar of his shirt, revealing a glimpse of jade-white collarbone, and felt an itch in his heart.
Why should Tan Ming get all the perks? He wanted to sleep with Senior too!
Bai Ying patted Lu Changjun’s blanket. “The bed’s too small. I’m not squeezing in with you.”
The crew-issued beds were simple and narrow, about a meter wide—barely enough for one person to stretch out. Two grown men on one would have to huddle together.
Lu Changjun felt aggrieved; he wished he could hug Senior to sleep.
Bai Ying reached out and ruffled his hair, feeling like he was petting a big dog. He smiled. “Alright, I’m heading back to sleep. Good night.”
“Good night.” Lu Changjun lingered on the warmth of Bai Ying’s palm.
The room light went out soon after. Bai Ying, who could fall asleep at lightning speed anywhere, had steady, even breaths not long after his head hit the pillow. Lu Changjun stared up at the pitch-black ceiling, his mind filled with the snowy white of Bai Ying’s neck beneath his collar.
Pull it down a bit more, and you’d see the jade-colored collarbone, faintly flushed, probably steamed red from the hot bath.
If he tugged the collar further, popping a few buttons, the chest would be revealed. The skin there must be just as pale, slightly mounded, dotted with pink like little cherries.
Lu Changjun closed his eyes, his breathing growing hot.
In the end, he couldn’t resist turning to look at Bai Ying, who slept with his back to him. He seemed to have a habit of hugging something to sleep; Lu Changjun saw he’d brought an extra pillow, which Bai Ying now clutched.
So when he slept with Tan Ming, did he bring an extra pillow to hug… or hug the extra person in bed instead?
Lu Changjun’s heart churned with discomfort. Who did that guy think he was…
His mind swirled with messy thoughts, and Lu Changjun fell asleep too—but it was restless. He dreamed of the moment just before sleep, as if time rewound, with Bai Ying stroking his head.
The dream version was bolder, more unrestrained than reality.
Lu Changjun seized Bai Ying’s hand. Bai Ying looked at him with confusion. Lu Changjun lowered his head and kissed his palm.
Skin contact wasn’t enough; he stuck out his tongue and licked the soft center.
He looked up to see the other’s eyes misty, mouth slightly agape, as if startled by his actions.
Lu Changjun grinned.
This seemingly gentle big dog might actually be a wolf in disguise.
He guided that hand lower.
***
Life on set was more relaxed than Bai Ying had imagined.
Lin Si had worried he’d be too busy and sent an extra Xiao Lu, but it was completely unnecessary. He had so little work assigned that Bai Ying felt embarrassed and proactively helped the props team—carrying props here, handing water to actors there. If there was anything bad, it was the chaotic schedule. Yang Dao insisted on real locations, but weather didn’t cooperate. For a sunrise scene, the whole crew started at two a.m. for five straight days. For a proper rain scene, they’d waited over ten days already without luck.
Another downside: the mountain signal was terrible.
Bai Ying shot plenty of behind-the-scenes clips to send back to the studio for later release. But with only one bar of signal most times, uploading videos was agonizingly slow—even texts spun for ages before sending.
Bai Ying was still chatting with Liu Qingzhang, but the crap signal made it tough. They conversed like snails, replies taking at least ten minutes.
One afternoon, the crew moved to a new location—still in the mountains, but with much better signal. Bai Ying quickly sent all the pending clips, then downloaded some videos.
All of them were Xie Jin’s interviews.
Though Director Yang Lijin was the crew’s boss and screenwriter Tan Ming second-in-command, in a movie, the leads always drew the most attention—promo would center on the actors. Bai Ying didn’t know Xie Jin well yet, so he planned to catch up via interviews.
They were easy to find; Bai Ying joined one of Xie Jin’s fan groups, full of everything.
With nothing for him at the moment, Bai Ying dragged over a small stool, put on earphones, and watched videos under a tree.
The first interview was about why Xie Jin became an actor.
The man on screen had an elegant air: “My mother was a stage actress, and my father worked in theater too. Influenced by them, I’ve been interested in acting since childhood…”
Oh, a family influence. Bai Ying thought stage acting sounded so classy—no wonder Xie Jin had such great poise.
The second was Xie Jin’s dating standards, the group’s top download.
An old interview from years ago, when Xie Jin was just twenty, looking very young. But he’d already won his second Best Actor award, at the peak of his fame. Everyone was curious about this young, handsome emperor’s love life.
Yet Xie Jin had no scandals; forced gossip looked fake at a glance, so reporters asked about ideals.
“I haven’t thought about it,” Xie Jin said after pondering. “Maybe I’ll only know when I meet the fated one.”
The reporter asked, “Does Teacher Xie believe in love at first sight?”
“I can hardly imagine it,” Xie Jin replied. “But in movies, hearts are often moved in an instant—perhaps love sprouts the same way.”
Bai Ying closed it and scrolled for more.
A bit further down, a title caught his eye: Xie Jin’s favorite pet type.
Bai Ying clicked immediately. Soon, Xie Jin’s voice came through the earphones.
“Pet? I’ve never had one… If I had to choose, I’d prefer reptiles.”
Most answered cats or dogs; Xie Jin’s shocked everyone, including the host. But Bai Ying barely heard the follow-up—his mind fixated on one thought:
Xie Jin liked reptiles!
And he was a reptile!
Bai Ying gripped his phone, eyes off the screen. Fireworks exploded in the little snake’s head. Could it be… could Xie Jin be his destined owner?
Bai Ying was dazed when someone approached from behind. A familiar voice sounded nearby: “What are you watching… hmm?”
Bai Ying whipped around to meet a pair of eyes brimming with amusement.
Xie Jin asked, “Are you watching me?”
Caught watching the man’s interviews by the man himself… Bai Ying froze. Only after a long moment did his brain reboot. His hand jerked, and the phone clattered onto his knee.
“Ah!” Startled, he snatched it up and clutched it to his chest.
Xie Jin finally burst out laughing.
