Old Xu nearly lost it when he saw Qin Baiyan step out of the RV again.
How had the guy’s coffin-stiff murder face morphed into full-on King of Hell glare?
Wasn’t he supposed to go sweet-talk him or something?!
Luckily, the set carried on as usual. Qin Baiyan might fume in his off moments, but once the cameras rolled, he was all in.
After wrapping two scenes, the assistant director barked orders for the crew to load up and head to the exterior shoot.
They’d hit the location right at dusk—perfect lighting for the shot.
The outdoor set was just down the road: a meticulously crafted Hong Kong street scene.
Shopfronts, towering building facades, traffic lights, street signs—all hyper-realistic props. They looked phony in stills, but throw in a crowd of extras, and the place breathed with life.
Nailing the Sunset Boulevard vibe demanded impeccable timing, the right angle, and extras who moved like the real deal.
The site buzzed with frantic activity, the leads killing time in the makeshift lounge area.
“Gloves on for the traffic cop extra!”
“Office drones in those rags? Costume—get ’em heels and loafers. That wardrobe’s straight out of the Stone Age!”
“Vendors! Where the hell’s Vendor ABC? Move it!”
As twilight crept in, a stiff breeze roared down the street like a rogue ocean swell.
Min Fan tugged his collar tighter and scooted his chair into better cover.
He was still in human form, but his instincts screamed to bolt for an underground den.
Somewhere windless. Safe.
Qin Baiyan tapped away at work emails on his laptop. Dressed in costume, he still radiated investor-on-a-walkthrough vibes.
Anyone with half a brain could tell the bigwig was in a foul mood. Best not to poke the bear today.
Then someone tugged his sleeve.
“Qin Baiyan,” the young man murmured. “Wind’s brutal. I feel off.”
The man shot him a frigid glance over his shoulder.
Old Xu reflexively mustered his best placating grin, ready to play peacemaker.
Set’s almost good to go—don’t start bickering now!
The next instant, Qin Baiyan set his half-finished email aside, shrugged off his overcoat, and draped it fully over Min Fan.
His tone stayed icy: “That do it?”
Old Xu’s face went through a dozen contortions, like he’d stumbled into a sci-fi flick.
Ayi gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat.
Young couples squabbling? Classic.
The coat swaddled Min Fan tight, blocking the gale completely.
He squinted, savoring the warmth for a beat, before deigning to let Qin Baiyan sit back down.
“I want orange juice,” he said. “Hot.”
Qin Baiyan hadn’t even opened his mouth when his assistant bolted upright. “On it! Be right back!”
The assistant vanished in a flash. Everyone else suddenly found their phones riveting—or was it the floor tiles?
Qin Baiyan paused, then leaned in to secure the coat’s hems and collar snug around Min Fan.
“Remember anything yet?”
The long wait had left Min Fan drowsy. He drawled lazily, “Remember what?”
Qin Baiyan fell silent and went back to his messages.
Off-set, he’d have just scooped Min Fan into his arms to shield him from the wind.
At least, that’s what the white falcon craved.
Wings unfurled wide, black snake tucked safely inside, lost in addictive bliss even as the urge gnawed to rend flesh and gulp it down.
Several more scenes later, it was deep into the night.
The two suites connected via a hidden door, but both sides lay eerily still.
For once, Qin Baiyan headed straight to his own room and shut the door without a word.
Min Fan didn’t press. He soaked luxuriously in the tub, shifted forms, and surrendered his mind to instinct.
Roughly twenty minutes later, the white falcon jimmied the window open and winged back into Min Fan’s side bedroom. One glance revealed the little snake curled up cozy in the falcon’s nest.
It gazed at him, a cocktail of delight and agitation, and let out a shrill cry—half warning, half challenge.
The little snake stared blankly—or maybe slept—utterly unresponsive.
The white falcon swooped in again, beak clamping his long neck. Pure instinct: fling him skyward and swallow whole.
As the black snake hissed and writhed in protest, talons pinned his tail. The intrusion recommenced.
It dominated him, on the verge of devouring every inch, kill-lust and desperate attachment twisting together in the frenzy of coupling.
The little snake thrashed to break free, managing only a few desperate neck arches and coils.
Min Fan jolted awake.
Raw ecstasy and stretching fullness yanked his awareness back. He was still a snake—and enduring even rougher demands.
The black snake’s tongue flicked wildly, eyes glazed, instinctively constricting to fight back.
In that moment, Min Fan just wanted to swear.
Fuck! Of all the times for this!
He strained to pull away, but his partner clamped down harder, refusing to yield.
In a flash, the white falcon seemed to sense the shift. It released beak and claws, launching toward a nearby soft rug.
Qin Baiyan rose, towel-drying his hair. The black snake lay spent along the nest’s edge, utterly still.
“I know you’re awake,” the man said. “Are you going to get up yourself, or should I help you?”
The tip of a slender tail twitched once, and the man promptly scooped it up into the soft blanket.
Moments later, Min Fan sat up, his face pale.
“I apologize,” he said, his voice still trembling faintly at the end. “It was my fault.”
Qin Baiyan was the one taken aback instead.
Given this man’s temperament, he would stubbornly argue his way through even when in the wrong, so why the sudden change in attitude?
Qin Baiyan had been stewing in his anger for a good while, but now he found he couldn’t bring himself to glare at Min Fan.
“…No need to say that.”
Qin Baiyan knew full well that Min Fan hadn’t fully entered the Stabilization Period yet. More often than not, it was his instincts driving him.
His own anger stemmed from caring too much—and from the frustrated humiliation of being rejected after trying to kiss him.
The young man was wrapped in the fluffy blanket, though half of his long legs still peeked out.
Ever since his Transformation, his body had grown even more slender and graceful, the lines of his form smoother than before.
“I know my place,” Min Fan said, head bowed. “With your character, you wouldn’t do something like that while I wasn’t fully conscious.”
“No wonder you got so angry.”
It took Qin Baiyan a long moment to reply: “I was willing.”
“How did you know I was awake just now?”
“Your eyes were different.”
Min Fan furrowed his brow at him.
What expression could a snake even make? Its eyes were no bigger than sesame seeds.
“I’m apologizing. Name your compensation—I’ll make it happen.” He started to rise, intending to take another bath, his tone laced with irritation. “From now on, I’ll lock the doors and windows before bed. If that’s not enough, I’ll request a room change at the hotel. I won’t disturb your rest anymore.”
It would protect both their reputations, too.
Things weren’t supposed to turn out like this.
He and Qin Baiyan were supposed to be strangers. Sure, they’d collaborate on a movie shoot, but after a while, their paths wouldn’t cross again.
All the problems should have been chalked up to the faults of a snake and a falcon.
He headed toward the bathroom but hadn’t even reached the door when a low, muffled question came from behind him.
“So, you don’t even want my body?”
Min Fan: “…?”
The young man slowly turned his head, looking toward Qin Baiyan, who was draped in the long blanket.
Qin Baiyan shrugged off the blanket instead and advanced on him step by step.
Min Fan instinctively retreated to the side until he was pinned against the wall. Both of them were nearly bare.
“Why aren’t you talking now?” The man fixed his gaze on Min Fan’s eyes. “Don’t you love drawing lines between us?”
Qin Baiyan pressed closer still, and Min Fan pressed a hand to his chest, his mind going blank.
“No, it’s not that,” the young man struggled to string his words together. “Like this morning when you tried to kiss me—I’m not used to it, and—”
He seized Min Fan’s wrist in a tight grip, silencing all excuses with a deep, lingering kiss.
When the man kissed, it was just like the White Falcon—predatory, with an even stronger urge to dominate.
Min Fan endured it passively, his breaths coming in short gasps as he tried to pull away, only to be kissed even more fiercely.
“Not used to it?” Qin Baiyan murmured against his ear. “Then how do you explain how hot you are?”
Min Fan’s legs were starting to give out from the kissing. He took a deep breath and managed, “You’ve got some nerve, playing thug like this.”
“Then call the cops.” One of the man’s hands clamped firmly around Min Fan’s slim waist while the other stroked through his tousled hair. Light, scattered kisses trailed from the side of his neck down to his collarbone, like the White Falcon pecking freely at captured prey.
“That snake of yours seems to love it when I do this,” he said with a malicious chuckle. “I haven’t even rubbed its cloaca yet.”
Min Fan’s thoughts began to scatter. Even minutes ago, he’d already started losing track of the man’s words.
Desire and instinct were both sinking into oblivion.
Perhaps his life had been meant for a different path.
To be a chaste idol king, upholding professional boundaries and morals, shining brilliantly on stage.
But when he’d woken, he was a snake run through, an exotic creature whose scales glimmered like jewels in the sunlight.
The White Falcon had gripped him by the neck, pinned his vital spot, leaving even the tip of his tail immobile.
The bad news was, he might be a bad idol now.
Good kids didn’t get kissed until they could barely breathe, and they certainly didn’t curl up in another man’s arms to sleep every night.
But the good news was, compared to being an idol, he might be having trouble even staying human at this point.
Not to mention the lunatic who was even less human than he was.
“I need to take a bath,” Min Fan gasped, trying to shove him away. “Let go. We’ll live separately from now on.”
There was still room to smooth things over, paths to retreat down—as long as they stopped now.
“Who agreed to that?” Qin Baiyan asked leisurely. “Did I?”
He gripped Min Fan’s chin, forcing him to look at the Falcon Nest strewn with feathers.
“You don’t like me?”
“If you don’t like me, then why keep every single one of my feathers? Why sleep on them?”
“Min Fan, when you were nuzzling my chest with your cheek, how come you weren’t so stubborn then?”
“You’re the one who said no one would like that nest. So what does it make you, running in there every day?”
“How could such a young, slender snake carry all those feathers from the master bedroom back to the side room? How could it cling to a White Falcon day in and day out without letting go?”
“You love to quibble, so spell it out for me now—what exactly were you doing?”
Min Fan stared in stunned silence, his voice hoarse as he asked, “Myself… I just went in to sleep?”
Qin Baiyan let out a cold sneer. “You slept in my nest. Every single night.”
Still gripped by the chin, Min Fan couldn’t say more. Instead, he pettily sank his teeth into Qin Baiyan’s wrist.
Somehow, the two of them tumbled onto the soft rug, caught in a tangle of brawling and flirtation.
Min Fan shoved and kicked, biting down hard, but his long legs coiled around Qin Baiyan’s waist like the tail of a snake not yet accustomed to its prey.
White marks and teeth impressions marred Qin Baiyan’s shoulders and back, a few spots even beading with blood.
He merely pinned Min Fan’s shoulder with his thumb and forefinger, gazing down at him from above.
Snakes were cold-blooded by nature.
Yet the young man’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks flushed with heat, color blooming across his pale skin.
Qin Baiyan thought, This is good.
Snakes were ectothermic creatures.
From now on, his body heat would come solely from him.
The warmth in his blood would belong to him alone.
Leaning down, Qin Baiyan kissed away the tear tracks at the corner of Min Fan’s eye and murmured, “We weren’t finished earlier.”
