In a brunch spot in Chaoyang District.
Director Zhuang ordered another plate of cheese platters, his appetite suddenly whetted.
“Has Baiyan’s condition improved at all?”
“It stabilized last night,” Old Xu fibbed stiffly. “The doctor said he needs to rest quietly for about ten more days.”
“Hey, you two, don’t be so reserved. Eat up,” Director Zhuang said with a laugh. “I’m treating today. This place does Spanish food just right—takes me right back to Valencia.”
Ayi cautiously ordered a couple of items and forced a smile.
Qin Baiyan had powerful backing, but Min Fan didn’t. Better play it safe.
“Director Zhuang, what happened yesterday was so sudden. We’re truly sorry…”
“Don’t say that—it makes things awkward between us,” Director Zhuang waved him off. “Waiter, add a serving of garlic shrimp for each of them. Oh, and bring some Breton scallops too. Those are delicious.”
Director Zhuang sipped his orange juice, his tone turning sly and teasing.
“You know how much this old man loves gossip. In the dressing room yesterday… those two didn’t get into a fight, did they?”
According to the deputy director’s report, Old Xu had stood guard outside the dressing room for a good ten minutes, and it sounded like a manager was in there trying to break things up.
Both of them had slipped out without a word and rushed off to the hospital for bandages. Had they roughed each other up and gotten hurt?
Ayi and Old Xu exchanged a glance, both of them visibly guilty. They put on a show right there on the spot.
“Fanfan’s a junior artist. It’s an honor for him to get pointers from Brother Qin. There wouldn’t be any conflict.”
“Brother Qin just went to chat with him about the White Ink script yesterday. He didn’t expect the sudden illness. Thank goodness Mr. Min spotted it in time.”
Director Zhuang kept a straight face. “So… the two of them get along pretty well?”
The two managers spoke at the same time.
“Not bad.”
“Very well.”
Old Xu shot Ayi a glare, thinking, Buddy, why are you pretending you don’t know each other?
Living together—do you know what that means?
These two were obviously a pair of lovebirds reuniting after a breakup. Yesterday, they’d reignited their passion and gone completely overboard, too busy with their romp to even care about Beijing TV’s Spring Festival Gala!
It was strange, really. Old Qin had been single for twenty-eight years. Paparazzi had staked him out countless times for scandal shots and come up empty every time.
His family and relatives had tried setting him up on blind dates several times, but he’d brushed them all off with work excuses. He’d never gone to a single one.
Min Fan really was exceptionally handsome… Damn, the afterglow must’ve hit hard.
Ayi wanted to grab a steak knife and stab Old Xu right then.
We’re not close! Bro!
Do you have any idea how hard my artist worked to become a trending idol? “Avoiding suspicion” has to be carved into his bones!
This was the peak of his rising career. He couldn’t touch flops, and big stars were even more off-limits!
Min Fan was transitioning from idol singer-dancer to serious actor. Three months ago, his debut film Mint Soda had hit theaters.
His acting was still raw, but his emotions rang true, his smile bright and pure. Fans loved it.
Then someone dug up photos of Qin Baiyan at seventeen and posted them online.
“Min Fan looks way too much like my bro. Is that makeup deliberately copying him to stir up hype?”
“Holy shit, no wonder he looked familiar. That’s not cool!”
“…Casual fans like me are about to turn haters. Debuting by dragging down and leeching off others?”
They were both youthful, but one had a sharp, rebellious edge, the other a gentle, refined charm. The vibes were worlds apart at first.
To match the original novel’s description in Mint Soda, the makeup artist had added a mole above Min Fan’s right eye, tweaked his brow line and lip shape.
The character himself was fiercely competitive, with a wild, carefree grin.
A few screencaps side by side, and there really was an uncanny resemblance.
—The fan wars with the haters were still raging to this day.
Ayi wanted to Morse-code Old Xu with frantic blinks.
The best kind of relationship is no relationship at all. Show some modern professional etiquette, please!
Old Xu’s face said, You okay there? Maybe eat something.
Director Zhuang saw it all and chuckled. “Since they get along so well, with Baiyan already on board for that variety show, how about Little Min considers it too?”
“Beijing TV has always supported Min Fan. We can definitely talk pay,” Ayi said sincerely. “It’s just his schedule’s booked solid through next year. I’ll try to work something out with the company. If it doesn’t line up, we’ll definitely do the third season next year.”
“I get it, I get it.” Director Zhuang nodded, pleased but still bargaining. “Beijing TV might look big, but our budgets keep getting cut. If we really throw money around, we can’t compete with those Jiangzhe Hu channels.”
Ayi agreed profusely, wiping cold sweat from his brow. He still needed to check with Min Fan as soon as possible.
This was tricky. He didn’t even dare knock on the door to fetch him.
Were they really living together…?
Meanwhile, the man in question was toasting sandwiches.
Min Fan hated strangers around. The company had wanted to assign a live-in housekeeper, but he’d shot it down flat.
He made two bowls of kiwi yogurt parfait, toasted a sandwich and cut it into four pieces, then carried it all to the table.
Qin Baiyan had thrown his robe over his shoulders, leaving his chest bare.
Min Fan stood at one hundred and eighty-two centimeters, slim and lithe in the style of a Korean idol.
Qin Baiyan was not only one hundred and eighty-nine centimeters tall, but his arm span and broad shoulders radiated raw masculine power. His waist was narrow as a greyhound’s, and his ass was high and tight.
Min Fan had given him a few cold once-overs and thought, Nothing special.
He pushed the porcelain bowl toward the man.
“Eat.”
Qin Baiyan sniffed it delicately.
He ate slowly, more often than not fighting back his primal urges and forcing himself to stick to vegetarian fare.
It had started two months ago: human food losing all its savor.
Raw meat had become intensely tempting, especially when it was still dripping with blood.
The Haidongqing’s hunting instincts were warping his senses of taste and smell.
He wanted so badly to sink his teeth into something.
Something steaming hot, with its throat freshly torn open, spilling delicious crimson…
“Will you change back in a bit?”
Min Fan didn’t look up as he asked the question calmly.
“Mm. It’ll probably go back and forth for a few days, until I get a flexible handle on it.”
“And once it’s stable? Fully human?”
“That’s hard.” Qin Baiyan scooped up a spoonful of yogurt but let it sit undrunk for a long moment.
“I have to periodically give in to my animal instincts. Before last night, I’d resisted for a long time, which is why I lost control.”
Qin Baiyan explained the prior warning from OAC about his abnormal body temperature episodes.
Min Fan lifted his gaze just a fraction, letting it linger on the other man’s collarbone.
There was a small mole there.
Another sat at the upper outer corner of his right eye.
Perfect for a quick lick, like the cocoa nibs on a slice of red velvet cake.
He was only pretending to listen. In truth, the young man was simply watching him in silence.
From the rise and fall of his chest to the line of his shoulder vanishing into the robe.
He sipped his orange juice but still felt parched.
“I don’t want to tell anyone about the Transformation—not even my parents,” Qin Baiyan said in a low voice. “So I’ll have to trouble you a little longer. I’ll sort it out as quickly as I can.”
“But I’m not at leisure,” Min Fan replied coolly. “I can’t exactly retire to keep birds for you.”
A glint of amusement flickered at the corner of Qin Baiyan’s eye. “White Ink starts filming in two weeks. You’ve already passed the audition for the second male lead. You don’t want in?”
Min Fan paused, the chill in his demeanor visibly thawing.
“Our suites will be right next to each other,” Qin Baiyan said after a moment’s thought. “I’ll need to hold human form for long stretches during the day. At night, I should revert to bird form to rest.”
“I’ll do my best to stay in control most of the time. But if I vanish for too long, could you check on me?”
“As payment, you can ask for anything.”
“No need. It’s not unusual for celebrities to bring their pets on set.” Min Fan paused. “You can sleep in the side bedroom of the suite. Let me know if you need anything.”
“In exchange,” he said, locking eyes with him, “teach me how to act.”
“I dropped out in my sophomore year and spent two years as a trainee in Korea.”
“My strengths are that I’m a quick study with good flexibility. I’m diligent and not afraid of pain in the fight scenes.”
“But my dialogue work is weak. I don’t know how to deeply dissect a script. My acting coaches have been giving me extra lessons, but I can tell—they don’t have much real performance experience themselves.”
Qin Baiyan leaned forward, the amusement in his eyes deepening.
His aura was that of a reclusive noble, yet here he was maintaining a disarmingly humble posture.
“No other compensation?”
The words came like a soft, seductive murmur.
“Endorsements, resources—even one of the big three film awards.”
“I’ll owe you even more. Name your terms.”
Min Fan gave a detached smile.
“No need.”
“I’ll get everything else on my own.”
Not long after breakfast, Qin Baiyan returned to the desk and secured himself once more. He wrapped himself in a blanket and, moments later, shifted back into a Haidongqing.
Min Fan had plans to meet a friend. Before heading out, he refreshed the food and water. Still uneasy, he dragged the table over to block the edge of the bed.
If it got stubborn again, at least it would land on something soft.
As for his germaphobia… whatever.
Once outside, he called Ayi first.
“Find me a reliable hourly cleaner. The bedroom door will be locked—no need to clean in there. Everywhere else, spotless. Disinfect twice.”
Ayi sucked in a sharp breath. “You locked up the big boss? Haven’t had your fun yet?”
Min Fan was baffled. “Who’s having fun with who? What the hell are you thinking?”
Ayi sounded torn. “So are you two going underground with a romance? Or just having a fling for a few days?”
Min Fan double-checked that the car window was sealed tight before letting loose.
“Me? Dating him? Have you lost your mind?”
“Can’t it just be that he had something urgent and asked for my help? Is your head full of nothing but smut?”
Ayi groaned like he wanted to pinch his philtrum. “Yeah, yeah, my mind’s in the gutter…”
“No need to beat around the bush. Put off work for the next few days. I’ll stay home reading the script and wait to join the White Ink crew.”
“Huh? How’d you know the production sent over the contract? Did someone from the company tip you off?”
“Qin Baiyan told me,” Min Fan added. “He agreed to it. He’s the one bringing me on board.”
Ayi whispered, “Bro, I’m your manager. If you’re really dating someone, I’d totally help cover for you.”
Min Fan said, “Say that again?”
Wang Runfa was waiting under the archway at Shilihe Flower and Bird Market. Spotting Min Fan, he waved.
“Still got the mask on? Isn’t it stuffy?” he called out. “This place is all grandpas and grannies. You’re fine.”
Min Fan headed inside with his old pal from childhood. A moment later, he pulled off the mask and gave a smiling nod to a young woman who’d recognized him on sight.
“Damn, buddy, you’re a real star now—even fans here,” Wang Runfa said, noticing people all around sneakily snapping photos of them. “My mom was saying you were supposed to hit the Spring Festival Gala this year. Shame we missed it.”
“I was lined up for it, but I got sick.”
“Speaking of, what’s with you suddenly keeping birds? How many you got?” Wang Runfa didn’t sound reassured. “I’m a veteran bird guy. I’m just worried the little fella might suffer.”
Back in high school, classmates had gifted Min Fan a few potted plants. He’d either drowned them or let them shrivel up—somehow even turning succulents into sad, wilted heaps.
“Just the one.”
Wang Runfa let out a heavy tsk.
“One, huh? Not all good, not all bad.”
“Get two, and it won’t get lonely so easy. They’ll keep each other company, play around.”
“But one? It’ll bond tight with you, sure—but that possessiveness kicks in hard.” Wang Runfa ran a hand over a woven cage of fragrant grass at a nearby stall, teasing the katydid inside. “Some birds get jealous as hell. They’ll block your phone, your TV—get right in your face no matter what you’re doing.”
Min Fan was speechless. “So what am I allowed to look at?”
“Just it.”
The young man lowered his long lashes, as if struck by a thought, and let out a chuckle.
“Not a bad idea.”
