Chapter 29 Part 1

Because it was a scene featuring her own favorite ship, the screenwriter got super pumped and pulled an all-nighter. The next day, she showed up sporting massive dark circles under her eyes and handed the Flying Pages over to Director Ding.

Director Ding read through it and nodded in approval. It passed muster.

The screenwriter let out a couple of gleeful chuckles, perfectly satisfied, and drifted back to the hotel on light feet for some much-needed sleep.

When Jing Li got the Flying Pages, he was a little thrown.

—He still had no idea Ji Yunzhang was coming. An Jiaming had kept him company for two days before heading out yesterday, replaced by Le Xiaoxiao, who knew nothing about Ji Yunzhang’s schedule.

After skimming the short new plot additions, he frowned in confusion. “Why the sudden extra scenes?”

Nan Xing wasn’t a major character, and he had hardly any screen time. He existed mainly to plant a lingering emotional scar in the female lead and propel her through her tribulation.

In short, he was a plot device.

But these new emotional beats in the Flying Pages fleshed him out nicely—his backstory, the shifts in his personality, why he faced death without fear, even smiling right up to the end.

For Jing Li personally, it was great news. A character with real depth and humanity, not just a disposable tool, was far more likely to stick in people’s minds and win them over.

Director Ding slurped on his cola through a straw. “Yunzhang didn’t tell you? He agreed to swing by for a cameo.”

Jing Li: “?!?”

Holy shit!

He was doing the emotional scenes with Ji Yunzhang?!

The shock was written all over his face. Director Ding inwardly cringed. Damn it, had he just ruined his buddy’s surprise? The happy couple were trying to have a little romantic fun, and he’d gone and spoiled it…

Director Ding cleared his throat, scooted closer to Jing Li, and lowered his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear that?”

Jing Li blinked at him, a flock of question marks practically hovering over his head.

“Think about it—Yunzhang kept it from you on purpose to surprise you. Now I’ve blown the lid off it, so when you see him, it’ll be old news. All that sweet anticipation he built up? Poof, gone.”

He laid out his airtight logic. “So when the moment comes, act surprised. Fake it till you make it.”

Jing Li: “…”

No wonder he was a director. What an imagination.

Ji Yunzhang arrived at noon. He skipped the hotel altogether and headed straight to the film set.

By the time he got there, Jing Li was deep in rehearsal with Xiao Ya. They were both fully immersed in their roles, oblivious to the buzz on set suddenly dying down.

A few seconds ticked by before someone called out, “Teacher Ji!”

That’s when Jing Li clocked it. He whipped his head around and locked eyes with Ji Yunzhang, who was gazing at him with a warm smile.

Jing Li’s lips curved up into a natural grin in response.

He glanced at Xiao Ya, about to say something, but she waved him off. “Go on, shoo. We’ve nailed it anyway.”

With that, she propped her chin in her hands and settled in with a mischievous grin, ready for some prime-time ship fuel up close.

Jing Li tugged his military coat tighter around himself and bolted over to Ji Yunzhang. Remembering Director Ding’s plea, he paused for a beat, then plastered on his best clueless-and-thrilled expression. “What are you doing here?”

“…”

Ji Yunzhang affectionately booped his forehead with one finger, chuckling. “Cut the act. Way too obvious.”

Jing Li rubbed his forehead and laughed it off, then crooked a finger at him. Once Ji Yunzhang leaned in, he murmured right in his ear, “Director Ding’s orders. He figured you kept quiet about coming to surprise me, and he accidentally spilled the beans. Now he feels awful.”

“What if I did?”

“Did what?”

“Surprise you.”

Jing Li shot him a sidelong look, at a total loss for words. “Teacher Ji, you’re joking again.”

Ji Yunzhang’s lips quirked. “Not this time.”

He reached up to smooth Jing Li’s wig, which the wind had tousled forward during his dash, then clasped his chilled, reddened hand. Just as expected, it was ice-cold.

Ji Yunzhang’s words made Jing Li’s heart stutter and race. He froze for several long seconds. Then the warmth of that grip enveloped his frozen fingertips, sending a shiver through him as his pulse hammered.

Eyes were on them from every direction, the shippers—guys and girls alike—beaming with those classic fangirl grins, their faces lit up with “so sweet, I’m living for this!”

Under that kind of scrutiny, Jing Li couldn’t just yank his hand free. He let Ji Yunzhang keep holding it, warmth steadily seeping in through their joined skin.

The cold was the last thing on his mind now.

Ji Yunzhang led Jing Li off to find Director Ding. As they passed Le Xiaoxiao, he told him to grab a hot water bottle.

Worried Ji Yunzhang might think Le Xiaoxiao was slacking, Jing Li quickly explained, “We always keep hot water bottles on hand. The last one went cold, so it was charging.”

Ji Yunzhang replied, “You should stock an extra one.”

Le Xiaoxiao’s mind suddenly cleared—right, why hadn’t he thought of preparing an extra one? He smacked his forehead in self-reflection. Sure enough, his experience wasn’t quite rich enough yet.

Spotting Ji Yunzhang’s assistant nearby, he gave him a quick instruction and dashed out to buy a hot water bottle.

With filming on a break, Ding Yixiang had dialed back his temper. He lounged lazily in his chair, and when the two men approached, he didn’t budge an inch from his seat. He just lifted a hand and gave a lazy wave.

“You’re here.” He pointed to the two chairs his assistant had just hauled over. “Have a seat.”

He then handed over a stack of a dozen or so freshly printed scripts, still carrying the sharp scent of ink, to Ji Yunzhang. “These are your scenes. Take a look first. If there’s no issue, we’ll start shooting tonight.”

Ji Yunzhang took the scripts and paused when he reached the penultimate scene—the kissing scene—halting his page-turning.

Ding Yixiang noticed he wasn’t flipping ahead and assumed something was off. He sat up straight, grabbed his glasses from the side table, slipped them on, and leaned over to peer at the page. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Issue with the kiss scene?”

Ji Yunzhang didn’t reply right away. Instead, he turned to Jing Li. “Do you mind?”

He added, “If you’re not comfortable, we can cut it or rewrite it.”

He always respected Jing Li’s feelings. Besides, their contract stipulated that all intimate actions required Jing Li’s full consent and willingness.

Jing Li had already read through that section of the flying pages that morning. Back then, it hadn’t fazed him much. But when he learned his scene partner was Ji Yunzhang, he’d felt a brief moment of disorientation.

If it had been some random actor, he’d have treated it as just another standard kiss scene—purely professional, forgotten the moment wrap. But with Ji Yunzhang as the partner, an inexplicable embarrassment crept in.

That said, it had nothing to do with cutting or altering the scene. He wouldn’t dream of it; that would be unprofessional and disrespectful to the screenwriter and director. No, it was simply the fact that it was Ji Yunzhang that left him feeling a touch awkward.

Still, he’d already adjusted his mindset by the time Ji Yunzhang arrived.

“I’m fine with it,” Jing Li said with a smile.

Ding Yixiang glanced between Jing Li and Ji Yunzhang, unable to hold back a grumble. “You two… seriously? You’re married and acting like you’ve never done anything? Do you have to be this pure? It’s just a kiss scene—no big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Ji Yunzhang said with a soft chuckle. “PDA isn’t kind to single dogs.”

Ding Yixiang: “…”

This had to be a direct attack, right?

Ding Yixiang rolled his eyes without a shred of decorum. “Get lost.”

~~~

That afternoon, Ji Yunzhang had no scenes of his own. Once his makeup and costume were set, he settled into a chair on the film set and watched Jing Li run lines opposite Xiao Ya.

As Ding Yixiang had pointed out, Jing Li’s strengths as an actor were glaringly obvious—and so were his weaknesses.

His performances brimmed with vitality and natural spirit, utterly unforced and polished by artifice. He had an innate knack for the camera too, the kind of God-given talent that made him a natural for the industry.

But that same talent fueled his flaw: his emotions ran so rich and full that he tended to pour everything in at once, without the nuance of layers. He needed some technical tools to temper it.

His formal training had been brief, and he’d only tackled a handful of roles so far, which explained the occasional stiffness and awkwardness in his movements.

Ji Yunzhang decided it was time for him to step in as a performance coach.

Lost in thought, he suddenly noticed a pale, elegant hand waving up and down in front of his face. Then Jing Li’s bright voice floated down from above.

“Teacher Ji, what are you thinking about? I called your name a bunch of times and you didn’t hear me.”

Snapped back to the present, Ji Yunzhang looked up. Jing Li stood there with his head cocked slightly, gazing down at him. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a radiant smile.

Ji Yunzhang took hold of Jing Li’s wrist and tugged him down to sit beside him.

“Your schedule’s about to get packed,” he said, meeting Jing Li’s eyes in a tone that was equal and consultative. “Ms. Zhao’s acting classes—you probably won’t be able to make them every day like you did before the New Year. So, would you be willing to let me teach you?”

Jing Li froze for a second, a dreamy haze washing over him.

Having Ji Yunzhang personally coach his acting? That was the stuff of every performer’s wildest dreams. How could he say no? What possible reason would he have?

His spirits soared on the spot, his smile stretching even wider. He leaned in close to Ji Yunzhang’s face, eyes sparkling, and nodded vigorously. “Of course I’d love that.”

“Willing to do what?” Xiao Ya wandered by sipping a cup of milk tea, catching the tail end of his words. Curiosity piqued, she stopped and strolled over.

Jing Li beamed as he shared the news. “Teacher Ji’s going to coach my acting.”

Xiao Ya let out a genuine “Whoa,” her admiration plain. “Lucky you.”

She took another sip of her milk tea. “Oh, right—I have a question.” She blinked, finally voicing the curiosity that had nagged at her all afternoon. “Why do you call Teacher Ji ‘Teacher Ji’ too? Why not something more intimate and one-of-a-kind?”

The real reason was, of course, not something he could say aloud. Jing Li’s eyes darted as an idea struck. “It is special. The way I say ‘Teacher Ji’ is totally different from everyone else. The title’s special because the person is.”

With those words, he lowered his gaze and smiled shyly. “Besides, since we’re outside, it wouldn’t do to go overboard.”

As a devoted CP fan, Xiao Ya had a real talent for filling in the blanks. She immediately pictured all sorts of fun nicknames that wouldn’t be appropriate to call out in public—like “husband,” “big brother,” or even spicier dirty talk.

She resolved to make up for it that night by diving into some dirty talk fanfiction!

Giggling to herself, she shot Jing Li an “I get it” look before skipping off happily to gossip with her assistant about this delicious new bit of CP fodder.

Jing Li waited until she was out of sight, then flashed Ji Yunzhang a cheeky V-sign.

Ji Yunzhang’s gaze lingered on Jing Li’s fair, exquisite face, taking in that smug little expression of triumph at having sent her on her way. Amusement bloomed thick and warm in his eyes.

~~~

Dusk had just fallen when Ding Yixiang called for the first scene between Ji Yunzhang and Jing Li.

Ji Yunzhang was guest-starring as Chu Huian, the current Vice Minister of Punishments—a paragon of integrity who toiled tirelessly for the common folk and the realm.