He spent his days buried in work, and in his scant free time, he roamed the streets righting wrongs for ordinary people. He shunned both men and women, keeping no wife or concubine at home. In all his dealings, he was the model of propriety, never once stepping out of line.
Lately, he’d been tasked with investigating a corruption case, and one lead pointed to the pleasure house where Nan Xing held court. For the sake of justice, he’d had no choice but to set foot in a place he’d never dreamed of visiting.
It was there that he encountered Nan Xing.
Tonight’s shoot covered three scenes. In the first, Chu Huian entered the pleasure house and caught sight of Nan Xing dancing, utterly captivated. In the second, he inexplicably blurted out the answer to Nan Xing’s couplet riddle ahead of the other patrons, winning himself a night in his company. And in the third, he entered his room and spent the night with him—not in the usual way, but playing chess, chatting, and telling stories until dawn.
…
It was Ji Yunzhang’s first time seeing Jing Li dance.
He’d known that Jing Li had started lessons young, even won awards, and must be skilled—but seeing it firsthand hit differently than any description.
Jing Li’s body moved with perfect looseness and grace, tailored to the top courtesan role with extra emphasis on his waist and hips. His limbs flowed with feminine softness, light as a startled swan, elegant and alluring, dripping with seduction and charm.
Yet amid those seamless, fluid motions, he never lost his underlying strength. Power and delicacy blended seamlessly—a leap, a spin, each revealing the dancer’s vigor and beauty.
His expressions were pitch-perfect too. A faint smile curved his lips, his eyes shimmering with endless allure. One upward glance, one turn of the head, and he had the whole room spellbound.
Ji Yunzhang sat below the stage, eyes locked on Jing Li. The awe that Chu Huian felt in the script mirrored his own real thoughts exactly.
He could hear his own heartbeat, clear as day.
It wasn’t method acting.
He was simply moved—by Jing Li himself.
Jing Li had started dancing at five, and by now it was etched into his very DNA. It was pure instinct, no thought required; even if he slipped, he corrected in an instant.
Ji Yunzhang’s acting was at its absolute peak, equally flawless.
The dance-watching and love-at-first-sight scene? One take, nailed.
The second scene—Chu Huian solving Nan Xing’s couplet to claim his prize—went just as smoothly. It was mostly Chu Huian’s spotlight, with Nan Xing’s role limited to a glance down from the balcony at the end, picking out his guest for the night. When his eyes landed on Chu Huian, recognition flickered with a touch of surprise before smoothing into calm.
Three years prior, right after the palace exams, Chu Huian had been named Third-Place Scholar. Mounted on a fine steed, he’d paraded through the city alongside the Top Scholar and Second-Place Scholar. That day, Nan Xing had leaned on the railing and spotted them. On a whim, he’d ordered flower petals scattered as they passed, drifting down like gentle rain.
The petals settled on their shoulders. The Top and Second-Place Scholars both looked up, stunned by his beauty, their gazes lingering.
Pleased with himself, Nan Xing had been about to turn away when his peripheral vision caught Chu Huian—not staring, just calmly stroking his horse.
He paused, tempted to toss a few more handfuls. But then Chu Huian looked up, his gaze flat and indifferent. It was so utterly serene that Nan Xing suddenly lost all interest.
In the three years since, his patrons had included that Top Scholar and Second-Place Scholar—but never Chu Huian.
Nan Xing had never encountered a guest as peculiar as Chu Huian. He had clearly won the chance to spend the night together, and time was short, yet the man insisted only on a chessboard and tea, making him sit and play.
Was chess more captivating than him? More entertaining? And so domineering too—demanding he dress properly, forbidding alcohol. Utterly bizarre.
By the flickering candlelight, Nan Xing stole glances at Chu Huian, marveling inwardly at how strikingly handsome he was, the most beautiful guest he’d ever laid eyes on. For that face alone, he’d gladly pay out of pocket.
But the man was utterly absorbed in the board, his long fingers with their prominent knuckles touching nothing but the pieces, leaving Nan Xing to question his own allure.
Chu Huian placed a stone and looked up. “Your move.”
Nan Xing pouted, his temper flaring as he tossed his piece aside. “I’m done.”
He slipped off his shoes and extended a bare, snow-white foot toward Chu Huian, rubbing it teasingly against his leg. His gaze was direct and inviting, his voice soft and coaxing. “It’s late. The night is short.”
Chu Huian remained unmoved. “It’s still early.”
He rose, crouched down, grasped Nan Xing’s ankle, retrieved the discarded shoe, and carefully slipped it back on. Then he went to wash his hands.
When he returned to his seat, he picked up the abandoned stone and placed it back in Nan Xing’s hand. “Let’s continue.”
Nan Xing: “…”
He dropped the stone haphazardly onto the board, his eyes drifting uncontrollably to Chu Huian’s lower half. An odd expression crossed his face as he wondered if the man was perhaps… incapable? How else could he resist? Every guest who entered his room had been unable to keep their hands off him.
The thought instantly lifted his spirits.
He shot Chu Huian a look of pity, forgetting his grievance about the chess-only evening. His attitude straightened, and he played properly alongside him through the night.
They chatted as well, and Nan Xing discovered that Chu Huian was genuinely erudite, versed in countless subjects. No matter what he asked, Chu Huian had an answer.
He seemed to know everything.
By the fourth watch, exhaustion weighed on Nan Xing, but he refused to sleep. The stories Chu Huian told and the vivid landscapes he described were too enchanting; he craved more.
Pillowing his head on his arm, he struggled to keep his eyes open. “Is the desert truly as vast and majestic as you say? I want to see it someday.” As he spoke, his eyes sparkled.
Chu Huian noticed, his downward gaze softening. In a gentle voice, he replied, “You’ll have the chance.”
Nan Xing didn’t see it—his eyelids finally surrendered, drifting shut. His lips moved faintly, his voice barely a whisper. “I hope I can see it in tonight’s dreams.”
When Nan Xing awoke again, it was the next day.
Someone had carried him to bed and tucked the covers up to his chest. His clothes were still neatly in place. He blinked lightly at the sunlight filtering through the window, then bolted upright.
Chu Huian was long gone from the room. If not for the chessboard on the table and the unfinished game upon it, Nan Xing might have thought the whole night a dream.
~~~
The final shot of the three-scene sequence captured Nan Xing’s wistful, lost expression.
Ding Yixiang watched the monitor intently, signaling for a slow zoom-in. Jing Li had nailed this one—the emotional progression was richly layered, flawless even in close-up. Remarkable progress in a single night.
“Cut,” Ding Yixiang called. “That’s a wrap!”
Le Xiaoxiao hurried over with an army coat and draped it over Jing Li’s shoulders. It was past one in the morning, with temperatures dipping below freezing. The flimsy courtesan costume offered no warmth at all.
Jing Li was chilled to the bone. He hopped in place beneath the coat to get his blood flowing, then dashed toward Ji Yunzhang.
Seeing him approach, Ji Yunzhang poured a cup of hot water. “Here, warm yourself up.”
Jing Li hummed gratefully, taking the cup. Expecting it to scald, he sipped cautiously at first, only to find it perfectly warm. He drank it down with relief.
Fully warmed now, he handed the empty cup back to Ji Yunzhang with a smile. “Wait for me. I’ll go change and remove my makeup.”
Ji Yunzhang had wrapped his scenes earlier and was already fresh-faced and comfortable in his street clothes.
“Sure,” he said.
As Jing Li headed off to makeup removal, Ding Yixiang paced over, cigarette clenched between his teeth to stave off fatigue. He shook a cigarette from his pack. “Want one?”
Ji Yunzhang accepted it, lit up, took a single drag, then let it smolder between his fingers. He glanced at the director. “What’s up?”
Ding Yixiang chuckled. “Let’s talk business. Mind if I borrow some of your star power?”
“Spit it out.”
“We got a bunch of videos and photos of you and Jing Li today. I’d like to post them to the Set Diary.”
Ji Yunzhang arched a brow. “Smart way to cut promo costs.”
“You know it—budgets are tight, and actor pay ain’t cheap.” Ding Yixiang pulled a face, playing the broke artist.
Ding Yixiang propped his elbow on Ji Yunzhang’s shoulder and changed tack. “And it’s good for Jing Li too. I didn’t just catch your little interactions on camera—I got footage of him playing piano, painting, and dancing as well. The more people see it, the more fans he’ll pick up.”
The point struck home. Ji Yunzhang shoved Ding Yixiang’s arm off his shoulder and gave in. “Fine, post it.”
Ding Yixiang snickered twice, ribbing him. “Lover over bros, huh?”
He blew out a smoke ring and added, “You’ve fallen hard, haven’t you?”
Ji Yunzhang picked up his cigarette, nearly burned to the filter, took the last drag, and smiled. “And that’s not a bad thing.”
“I don’t get it.” Ding Yixiang shrugged. “If you think he’s the one, that’s what matters.”
Ji Yunzhang’s expression softened. “Jing Li’s wonderful.”
“…”
Here we go again, getting shown off to.
“One more thing,” Ding Yixiang said. “I ordered a gift for Jing Li. Consider it a belated housewarming for your marriage and congrats on tying the knot. It’ll probably arrive right after your cameo wraps—make sure to sign for it.”
Ji Yunzhang nodded. “Got it.”
Spotting Jing Li step out of the dressing room, he clapped Ding Yixiang on the shoulder. “Let’s head out.”
~~~
Back at the hotel, Jing Li realized the real trouble was still waiting for them.
His suite had just one king bed. Even if he’d wanted to crash on the sofa, there wasn’t one big enough—the room’s lone loveseat was barely four feet wide.
He and Ji Yunzhang were legally married now. Sleeping apart would have the tabloids screaming about a marriage already on the rocks by morning.
And they’d only gotten their certificate half a month ago.
“What’re you thinking about?” Ji Yunzhang murmured close to his ear.
It was pushing two in the morning. The floor was dead silent, their footsteps the only sound echoing down the empty hall—any voice would carry. Jing Li started to reply, then thought better of it. Walls had ears. He shook his head. “Inside the room.”
They swiped their keycard and stepped in. Ji Yunzhang’s luggage had already been delivered, stacked neatly in the corner beside his own suitcase.
Jing Li swept his gaze around once more, more convinced than ever that Ji Yunzhang had no choice but to stay. Switching to another double room wouldn’t stop the gossip mills from churning.
So they’d share.
This sort of thing would crop up constantly on the variety show anyway… Actually, during filming, he and Ji Yunzhang would probably be bunking together every single night.
He couldn’t help mulling over his own sleeping habits. They should be… decent, right?
Ji Yunzhang’s voice pulled him from his daze at the doorway. “Jing Li.”
Jing Li blinked back to reality and met his eyes, choosing his words carefully. “I sleep pretty well, but if I kick you or hog the blankets in the middle of the night, just wake me up. No need to be polite.”
Ji Yunzhang hadn’t expected such a earnest disclaimer. He froze for a second, then burst out laughing.
When the laughter died down, he fixed Jing Li with a deep gaze, his voice dropping to a husky rumble. “How are you this adorable?”
Jing Li had zero defense against a voice like that—especially when it was complimenting him. His fingertips curled tight, and his heart hammered away, loud and fast.
He was sure Ji Yunzhang could hear it.
The very idea had him bolting. He whipped around and fled like a startled rabbit, tossing over his shoulder, “I’m hitting the shower!”
In the bathroom, he sank to the floor, hands clamped over his face, ears burning hot.
