Chapter 68: The Clubhouse

Liu Nian had only gotten up close to Lin Xun once.

This statement wasn’t entirely accurate—it was laced with a lot of personal embellishment from memory. With Liu Nian’s acting credentials, he hadn’t truly qualified to spend much time in close proximity to Lin Xun.

Anyone in the industry with ambitions to climb the ladder knew the name of the Lin Family’s young master. In one previous drama, Liu Nian had lucked into a minor role that only appeared for a few episodes. The lead actor back then was far more famous than him—even a year younger—and by basking in that star’s glow, Liu Nian had the fortune to catch distant glimpses of Lin Xun a few times on set.

The up-and-coming lead actor projected an image outside of being a talented young talent who succeeded through pure hard work. In reality, everyone could see he had latched onto Lin Xun’s high branch. But his “novelty” seemed to wear off quickly. The last time Liu Nian saw him, the young star was trembling violently like a leaf in the middle of the set, down on his knees with his kneecaps aimed right at Lin Xun’s shoe tips.

The young star sobbed pitifully, gazing up at Lin Xun and pleading with sweet words, tears rolling down like strings of pearls. His appearance drew attention yet felt like thin air—no one spared him a glance, not even the director and crew who had always looked after him. Lin Xun just stood before him, lips curving slightly in what could almost pass for a serene smile.

Lin Xun seemed to smile often. The moment their eyes met, the young star shuddered dramatically, then his chin was seized. Half his sob caught in his throat, like a rooster suddenly choked mid-crow.

“Take it back,” Lin Xun said with a smile. “You think you can fool me?”

The eyes opposite him widened in an instant, a gray despair blooming within. Right after, that pitiful, innocent air—that sense of genuine agony and remorse—vanished entirely from the young star.

His performance-type supernatural ability was shut down. The moment Lin Xun released his grip, the guy collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Lin Xun turned and left the scene, brushing past Liu Nian on the way, his peripheral glance catching Liu Nian in the process.

Liu Nian’s heart tightened. Without thinking, he instinctively flashed Lin Xun a smile.

Lin Xun’s peach-blossom eyes curved, his steps never slowing as he returned the smile before moving on past him.

“Up close contact.”

After that, the young star was first exposed for moral scandals, then diagnosed with a sudden blockage in his supernatural ability, rendering it unusable. He vanished from the industry soon after. Once Lin Xun had left that day, the director gave Liu Nian a thoughtful look or two, then had him audition a few scenes, promoting him from an extra among extras to the third male lead. That opened the door to a surge in Liu Nian’s popularity.

This little interlude completely dispelled Liu Nian’s past hesitations. He saw another door swing open and chose to step onto a different path. That decision became the primal drive that brought him here today to the Gongguan—this secretive private playground.

Everyone needed “ambitions.” Liu Nian’s target was naturally Lin Xun; there was no point hiding it. Who wouldn’t aim for Lin Xun? This place was like Lin Xun’s private playground. Others didn’t pursue it because they lacked the chops. Given a real shot, everyone would kick aside their lesser options.

Even if that young star occasionally threw a little tantrum at Lin Xun, it was only because Lin Xun happened to be into that type at the time. Liu Nian figured no actor could truly break free of the boundaries Lin Xun set.

As for the necessary resolve, Liu Nian believed he was prepared. Whatever rewards came with matching risks—just like how the bigger the waves, the pricier the catch.

Besides, Liu Nian felt he wasn’t without a chance.

The people scheduled to serve at the Gongguan today had been compiled into a list early on and submitted. His agent had tried inviting Lin Xun, who hadn’t visited the Gongguan in ages—and surprisingly, Lin Xun agreed to the gathering. Everyone was privately speculating if someone on the list had caught his interest.

Liu Nian headed straight inside upon arriving at the Gongguan. He could feel several gazes sweeping over him, laced with envy, jealousy, surprise, hesitation, and more.

Outside the Gongguan lay an open-air pool, where plenty of people frolicked in or around the water, laughing and playing. It started off looking respectable enough, but after a while, it would turn into quite the spectacle. Inside the Gongguan, though, things progressed with far more “class.”

If you compared himself and his peers to dishes on the menu, the ones outside were everyday fare. Only those inside counted as bespoke gourmet selections.

Once one of those young masters or ladies zeroed in on their pick and casually pulled them onto their sofa as they passed by, Liu Nian’s agent seized the opening from the prior invitation and slotted him right next to Lin Xun.

To be fair, Liu Nian had good looks—seductive yet bright and vivid, with a beauty mark under his eye as one of his signature features. He sat down gracefully and greeted Lin Xun with a smile. Lin Xun curved his eyes in return, flashing that same spring-breeze smile as before.

At this point, things were more or less locked in—but far from over.

Savoring a meal had its rituals. Sure, the acts were all much the same, but grabbing someone the moment you took a liking, heading upstairs, getting a room, locking the door, and jumping into bed all at once? That lacked refinement. Usually, there was some buildup: rounds of drinks, a few games for fun, and then heading upstairs as a nightcap—or skipping it altogether if the prelude satisfied. No one truly cared about the finale; it wasn’t the point.

In that sense, Liu Nian was fortunate. Compared to past vertical benchmarks, this gathering was remarkably tame, greatly reducing the odds of anyone peaking too soon. Rumor had it this was at Lin Xun’s behest. Liu Nian was highly confident—no, certain—he’d make it to the end.

Lin Xun didn’t seem to have fixed tastes; his interests shifted types every so often, and no one stuck around long-term. Especially in the past year, very few had gotten close to him. But toys got passed around in these circles all the time. Even a brief success struck Liu Nian as a net win.

With that in mind, Liu Nian wet his lips and, amid the crowd’s goading, downed another full glass. He matched others for several rounds until it was finally his turn to toast Lin Xun. But Lin Xun just smiled, grasped his wrist, and guided him to set the empty glass back on the table.

Liu Nian blinked. While Lin Xun turned to chat with someone else, a flash of clarity cut through his slightly drunken haze.

Under the gorgeously dazzling lights, Lin Xun drew the eye more than ever tonight, for some reason.

Of course, Lin Xun was always handsome, and he never lacked stars treating him with fan-like fervor. But seeing him up close again today, Liu Nian couldn’t help thinking just how strikingly beautiful he was.

His posture was upright and elegant, lashes long and thick, skin pale yet healthy, eyes pitch-black and profoundly deep. The stark black-white contrast on Lin Xun was striking without being jarring, leaving a powerful impression at a glance. His features were so sharp they bordered on cutting; if he scowled, he’d probably exude intense pressure.

But Lin Xun’s habitual smile and easygoing aura neutralized that chill. His smiles reached his eyes, as if sprinkled with stars, every gaze brimming with a seductive, spring-water depth that hooked you.

Coupled with his status, Lin Xun firmly held court as the party’s center—relaxed without stiffness, approachable without distance, chatting amiably with anyone.

Liu Nian could see the arrogance innate to his kind lurking beneath that affability. It showed most when Lin Xun’s gaze casually swept the room: hunting for amusement without lingering on anyone to appraise their worth.

Yet in contrast, Lin Xun still held Liu Nian’s wrist, even while talking to others.

A perfectly logical progression. Overt groping wouldn’t suit his style. Lin Xun’s grip was casual, like he’d just rested his hand there. To some, it might seem forward, but it was surprisingly… crisp, restrained.

Liu Nian was more than happy. He put on a touch of restraint, his eyes flicking several times to their joined hands. Lin Xun’s hand looked even whiter next to his, nails pristine, fingers long and strong with elegant bones. Even in a loose hold, it exuded nobility.

Liu Nian wore a carefully chosen accessory on his wrist; Lin Xun’s was bare. But like this, both he and the jewelry seemed mere accents to Lin Xun. Liu Nian glanced down, an odd feeling inexplicably rising in his chest.

Then, the next second, that thumb stirred—gently, slowly rubbing his wrist twice, as if savoring the smooth texture of his skin. Liu Nian’s faint doubts evaporated like smoke, replaced by a flicker of irreverent mockery.

He acknowledged Lin Xun’s excellence, talent, nobility, even his… diligence at work. Any project he touched achieved stellar results. But as expected, no matter how polished the exterior, they all harbored base desires deep down.

And good thing, too—that desire made what came next natural. After the first pair stood and left amid laughter and teasing, the crowd gradually dispersed as if by cue.

Liu Nian, naturally, went with Lin Xun.

Lin Xun said nothing, did nothing—no arm around Liu Nian, not even holding his hand anymore. Liu Nian, buzzed from the drinks, wobbled slightly on his feet, but it didn’t stop him from following. The rooms were upstairs; Lin Xun swiped his card and entered without touching the door. Liu Nian followed, dutifully closing and locking it behind them.

Now, it was just the two of them. Liu Nian watched Lin Xun shrug off his jacket, undo a button at the collar for air, then stepped forward to take the garment. “I’ll go wash up.”

Lin Xun glanced at him, eyes devoid of lust, and suddenly chuckled lightly—in that familiar upward lilt, like an offhand tease. “You want the lead role?”

The question, meant to go unspoken, was laid bare. Liu Nian’s mind raced through countermeasures.

The prideful type: forced into submission against their will, plunging into the abyss—so when exposed, eyes redden with suppressed reluctance. Textbook, but mismatched with his image tonight, likely “not to taste,” and easy to overplay.

If he went that route and got dismissed with a “forget it,” there’d be nowhere to cry. Better to play it “frank and clear-headed.” “Yes,” Liu Nian tilted his head with a smile, following up softly. “Does Young Master Lin think I have a shot?”

Lin Xun’s gaze settled on him. Meeting those ink-black eyes sent an inexplicable chill down Liu Nian’s spine, like being peered into by an abyss. Another strange feeling stirred in him. Then Lin Xun turned, sat on the bed, tapped his knee, and asked, “Did you bring the script?”

…?

What?

Strange—wait, not really? Liu Nian had seen Lin Xun at work on set: intensely serious, even intimidatingly stern. His back straightened instinctively, like he’d been called for an impromptu audition. “Of course. Young Master Lin—”

“Give me a copy.”

Lin Xun cut him off with blunt command, clearly uninterested in bed play. Somehow, he’d shifted—cooler now, more inscrutable.

Liu Nian faltered for a beat, then heard Lin Xun ask with amused edge, “Didn’t you want to know if you have a shot?”

What was one body worth against a whole production? Lin Xun’s tone was friendly, intimate, but the words carried barbs: “You didn’t think I’d have no demands, did you?”

That gaze held icy scrutiny, evoking the Lin Xun who’d loomed over the young star that day. Liu Nian’s face paled. He gritted his teeth inwardly, adjusted his expression in the next breath, and nodded. “You’re right.”

Very good, Wen Jiang thought.

Liu Nian remained under mental interference. This direction was correct.

Although Lin Xun had repeatedly stressed that he’d been on his best behavior lately, the public’s lingering impressions made it all too likely that a situation like this would still arise—ending up in a room alone with someone. Wen Jiang had actually foreseen this very development.

To keep his friend from fretting too much, he’d soothed Xie Qi yesterday and specifically told him not to worry about anything today.

……Deep down, though, he suspected Xie Qi would sneak around the rules on a matter like this—unable to truly let it go just because he’d said so. Wen Jiang had felt a nagging sense of unease from early that morning, but it was too vague and ethereal to pin down. Right now, his top priority was still evaluating the practical assignment.

How should I “act” next?

“I’ll pick a scene for you,” he thought, sensing he needed to buy time. Wen Jiang’s eyes curved into sly crescents as he sat up straight, directing Liu Nian with poised command. “Go on—perform a segment for me right now.”