Sichuan cuisine was indeed delicious. By the time Luo Ding put down his chopsticks, his head was lowered in full satisfaction. The fish fillets, carefully deboned and steeped in a fragrant, spicy broth, filled his mouth with peppery heat. After refraining from eating spicy food for so long, Luo Ding felt utterly fulfilled, beyond words. In his previous life, after retiring from singing, he had thrown himself into exploring all sorts of delicious food. Having once experienced such pleasures, it was hard to return to a bland, restrictive diet.
Duan Xiubo simply watched Luo Ding eat, content to let him indulge. The candle on the table had been removed earlier by the waiter, likely to avoid creating an overly romantic atmosphere. Duan felt a pang of regret, wondering when he’d get the chance to prepare a proper candlelit dinner at home.
But then he thought, how would a candlelit dinner pair with instant noodles?
Even watching Luo Ding spit out fish bones was an enjoyable sight for him.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
Catching Duan Xiubo’s grin, Luo Ding looked up and smiled back. “What are you smiling at?”
Duan Xiubo gently covered Luo Ding’s hand on the table, his eyes softening as if a warm spring breeze had passed through them. “I don’t know. I’m just happy.”
Luo Ding was silent for a moment. Then, he turned his hand over to hold Duan’s, lowered his head, and continued eating.
Duan Xiubo was both suffering and happy at the same time. Luo Ding was holding his right hand, which meant he couldn’t use it to eat. But he didn’t want to pull away… So be it. Holding hands was more important than eating; you can always eat Sichuan food later, but holding hands wasn’t something that could happen just anytime.
The meal dragged on slowly as neither of them wanted the date to end too quickly. Even after finishing dinner, they lingered for a while, reluctant to leave. It wasn’t until it neared ten o’clock that they finally, though begrudgingly, got up to leave.
Being stopped at the elevator was entirely unexpected. In fact, as soon as Luo Ding saw the elegantly dressed man standing at the VIP elevator, he had a bad feeling. He immediately turned to look at Duan Xiubo. By then, Duan had already put his mask back on, concealing his expression. However, the atmosphere around them became tense in an instant.
Duan Wanqing’s complex gaze shifted between the two of them, settling on Luo Ding’s face before moving back to Duan Xiubo.
Duan Xiubo wasted no time. Seeing Duan Wanqing standing at the VIP elevator, he quickly grabbed Luo Ding’s hand and walked toward the regular elevator instead.
“Stop right there!” Duan Wanqing’s voice was deep and filled with barely restrained anger, intimidating in its intensity. “You ungrateful brat!”
Duan Xiubo didn’t even acknowledge him, acting as though he hadn’t heard a thing. He pressed the button for the elevator with calm efficiency. Duan Wanqing, stunned, hurried after him, grabbing Duan Xiubo by the sleeve. “Didn’t you hear me tell you to stop?!”
Luo Ding frowned, stepping forward to shield Duan Xiubo. His presence was imposing as he faced off against Duan Wanqing. “Sir, please calm down.”
Duan Wanqing was taken aback. Up close, Luo Ding wasn’t exactly as he’d imagined. “I’m his father!”
Sure enough, he guessed right.
Luo Ding glanced back at Duan Xiubo, who firmly shook his head, his grip on Luo Ding’s shoulder both slow and steady. The elevator, still on the first floor, hadn’t moved. Regaining his composure, Duan Xiubo gently moved Luo Ding behind him. His voice and gaze were cold. “What do you want?”
This was no way to speak to your father!
Duan Wanqing was furious. But faced with Duan Xiubo’s icy stare, he couldn’t muster the courage to lose his temper. After struggling internally, his expression changed colors several times before he finally managed, “I’m your father. Is this how you speak to your father?”
Duan Xiubo gave him a disdainful side glance, showing no sign of holding back. “I’ll take care of you in your old age. Until then, we don’t need to see each other.”
“What kind of talk is that?!”
“Isn’t supporting you financially enough?”
“You think I need your money?!”
“Even better.” The elevator finally arrived. Duan Xiubo pushed Luo Ding inside first, then followed suit, not even sparing his father another glance. “Since I’ve already paid you back for all my childhood expenses and doubled the going rate for sperm donations, we don’t need to meet again.”
This wasn’t how Duan Wanqing had envisioned their reunion going. As the elevator doors closed and they descended, he stood there, dumbfounded. After so many years, Duan Xiubo was nothing like the child he remembered. He couldn’t gain any advantage from this encounter, and a few words had almost driven him to rage. He had imagined catching Duan Xiubo in a compromising situation with Luo Ding, hoping to use it to control him. But now, he just stood there, stunned. Even after the restaurant staff came over to check on him, he hadn’t fully returned to his senses.
Already lacking confidence in confronting his son, Duan Wanqing now felt even less sure of himself.
Reflecting on how Luo Ding had instinctively shielded Duan Xiubo, Duan Wanqing’s brow furrowed deeply as he returned to his seat, sinking into a long, contemplative silence.
*****
A young man, holding a portfolio filled with photos of his work, rushed through the crowd with his head down, squeezing past people. He was stylishly dressed but lacked maturity, his face still showing signs of youthful inexperience. Though his features were exceptionally handsome, his presence was not striking enough to make him stand out in the bustling crowd.
He walked quickly but with purpose, his steps firm and resolute. Lost in thought, his gaze drifted somewhere far away. It wasn’t until he had walked far past his destination that he realized his mistake, quickly turning back, his eyes nervously scanning his surroundings. He seemed embarrassed, worried about being laughed at by those around him. Straightening his back in an attempt to appear more confident, he unconsciously kept adjusting his glasses, betraying his nervousness.
“Cut!”
Tang Rui’s voice cut through the air, breaking the tension that had built around Luo Ding as the center of attention. The extras scattered, and Luo Ding stood in place, eyes closed, as makeup artists rushed to touch up his makeup. A moment later, Tang Rui’s satisfied voice rang out: “Great, this take is good.”
Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief.
Though the weather outside was starting to warm up, Luo Ding had to wear a thick robe for his character. He exhaled in relief as he shed the heavy garment. Walking back to the car, he spotted Duan Xiubo inside, holding a thermos, lost in thought.
The thermos gave off the sweet aroma of longan and tangerine peel soup, prepared by Wu Fangyuan. Seeing Duan in a daze, Luo Ding snatched the thermos away.
Duan Xiubo snapped back to attention. “Huh? You’re done filming?”
Luo Ding glanced around at the passing crew members, some of whom were trying to sneak a peek into the car. Since the scene was shot on a busy street, there were even onlookers gathered at a distance. With a sigh, Luo Ding climbed into the car and shut the door, his concern apparent as he touched Duan Xiubo’s forehead. “You’ve been really distracted lately.”
Duan Xiubo grabbed his hand, holding
it tightly as if drawing strength from the contact. After a long pause, he finally managed a wry smile. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not still thinking about your dad, are you?” Luo Ding didn’t believe him. Duan Xiubo had been in this state ever since they encountered his father at the Half Mountain Hotel. Though it wasn’t obvious most of the time, he would zone out whenever he had a moment to himself, leaving Luo Ding worried about his mental state.
Duan Xiubo sighed, slowly shaking his head. Before they could continue, Wu Fangyuan knocked lightly on the door. “Luo Ding, Brother Duan, they’re ready for the next scene.”
The next scene was a key one, with both Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo featured. It involved Song Yuan’s entrance into the company and his first encounter with Chi Yong.
Su Shengbai, wrapped in a soft woolen scarf, sat quietly nearby. Ever since the filming began, he had kept his distance from Luo Ding, in stark contrast to his usual behavior. Luo Ding didn’t know what was going on, but the absence of Su Shengbai’s advances was a relief. Since it was a good thing, there was no need to investigate further.
The extras were in position, and the scene wasn’t particularly difficult to shoot, though a close-up shot of facial expressions would require some emotional preparation. Luo Ding paced around, trying to get into character, when he sensed someone standing close behind him. He turned, wary, and as expected, it was Su Shengbai.
Su Shengbai’s face was pale, devoid of any blood. He looked alarmingly weak, and no amount of makeup seemed to help.
When their eyes met, Su Shengbai offered a faint smile but said nothing.
After the other actors playing trainees had taken their places, Luo Ding reluctantly moved closer to Su Shengbai. The script required their characters to share a close relationship, so he had no choice.
With a command, everyone perked up.
Luo Ding, now dressed in a thinner outfit, played Song Yuan, who had just been selected as a trainee and was riding the high of success. His walk had a confident swagger, and there was no trace of the nervousness he’d shown earlier when he first arrived at the company. He was now fully self-assured, as if he had the future in his hands.
As he exited the building, he chatted with Lu Yiyang, his youthful energy evident in the way he lightly bumped Lu’s shoulder while talking. Lu Yiyang, a quieter character, responded with a soft smile, but Song Yuan wasn’t satisfied, insisting on getting a verbal response.
Behind the camera, Tang Rui stroked his chin, eyes glued to the monitor. The assistant director, peeking over his shoulder, smiled. “He lives up to the hype.”
It was the first time the assistant directors had worked with a newly popular young actor like Luo Ding, and though some had been skeptical, their doubts vanished after seeing his first take. Even those who had initially questioned casting a rising star for such an important role were impressed. Transition roles were tricky, and typically, directors preferred working with actors they were familiar with. But when they weighed their options, they found that very few actors could pull off a character like Song Yuan, especially given the character’s young age.
Though they remained polite, it wasn’t until after Luo Ding’s first successful take that the crew truly relaxed.
Luo Ding had a knack for adding small, natural touches to his performances. Combined with his expressive eyes, everything felt genuine.
Take now, for instance. Even in a wide shot where the actors’ faces were barely visible, Luo Ding still incorporated subtle movements that highlighted Song Yuan’s youthful arrogance and his budding friendship with Lu Yiyang. This level of attention to detail showed how deeply he had thought about the character and the relationships in the script.
“Quiet down,” Tang Rui, though satisfied, was still fully focused on his work and waved the assistant director away.
A group of young actors chattered as they exited the building. Lu Yiyang, being less sociable, stood slightly apart from the group. Meanwhile, Song Yuan was enthusiastically discussing plans to go drinking and partying. When he noticed Lu Yiyang standing alone, he raised an eyebrow and reached out to pull him into the conversation.
At that moment, a car slowly pulled up by the roadside. Chi Yong’s assistant opened the door for him, and a tall man, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, stepped out. The air seemed to change the moment his foot hit the ground. Without acknowledging anyone, Chi Yong began walking toward the company entrance, his eyes lowered. As he ascended the steps, he overheard Song Yuan exclaiming, “I’m going to become a supermodel!”
Chi Yong raised an eyebrow, casting a fleeting glance in their direction. His gaze cut through the crowd and landed squarely on Song Yuan, who was beaming with pride. Chi Yong’s lips curled slightly, but it was unclear whether it was a smile or a sneer.
His presence was so commanding that everyone else scattered like birds before a storm, leaving only the clueless trainees standing frozen in place. One by one, they turned to look at Chi Yong, and as he approached, they instinctively began to back away.
Song Yuan, however, stood rooted to the spot, standing out awkwardly from the retreating crowd. Recognizing Chi Yong, his eyes flashed with excitement. He opened his mouth, as if wanting to call out, but then hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. His face flushed red with suppressed emotion.
Chi Yong only glanced at him briefly before averting his gaze. He disliked such scenes and quickened his pace. However, Song Yuan’s intense gaze was so persistent that even Chi Yong, used to being the center of attention, couldn’t help but furrow his brows slightly. As he passed Song Yuan, he cast him another quick glance from the corner of his eye.
The moment their eyes met, Song Yuan shrank back for a second, but his excitement only grew. A faint smile tugged at his lips, and his face brightened with unrestrained joy.
Chi Yong, on the other hand, showed no change in expression, as though nothing had happened. He walked past without a second glance, his assistant stepping in to block Song Yuan’s path, muttering under his breath, “Where did this clueless kid come from? Doesn’t he know to move aside?”
Song Yuan felt utterly dejected. His shoulders slumped, and he stared blankly at Chi Yong’s retreating figure. All the excitement drained out of him, leaving only disappointment. He unconsciously took a few steps forward as if to follow, but stopped just short of the company entrance. He could only stand there, watching Chi Yong disappear, his face a mix of fading admiration and rising ambition.
Chi Yong entered the building but, for some reason, stopped in his tracks.
He turned around and saw that the young man was still standing there, staring at him through the glass door. A flicker of irritation crossed Chi Yong’s face, but there was something else, a hint of an unfamiliar emotion.
Through the spotless glass, the two, seemingly from different worlds, met for the first time.
Outside, Song Yuan, seeing that Chi Yong had looked back, smiled shyly, nodding at him with nervous excitement.
Chi Yong, as if snapped out of a trance, showed no response. He turned away with a dismissive smirk, walking off without a second thought.
Song Yuan’s next expression was one that even Tang Rui behind the camera couldn’t easily describe. He hadn’t expected Luo Ding to portray the character’s complex, conflicting emotions with such depth and precision.
After shouting “cut” and watching the lead actors approach him, Tang reviewed the footage several times. Despite his usual reluctance to compliment anyone, he finally found a minor flaw to criticize.
“Su Shengbai! You’re the supporting actor, the main supporting actor! Where was your presence just now? Were you just going to stand there and watch Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo act? You need to fight for your own screen time!”
Su Shengbai froze, glancing nervously at the other actors who turned to look at him. He forced an awkward smile, his fists clenched tightly as cold sweat gathered in his palms.
He had tried. In fact, during the scene, he had attempted to reach out and grab Luo Ding’s sleeve while stepping back. But as soon as Duan Xiubo appeared, Su Shengbai felt overshadowed before he even looked at the monitor. He didn’t need to see the footage to know that Duan Xiubo’s presence had completely overpowered his own. When Duan had glanced his way before locking eyes with Luo Ding, Su Shengbai couldn’t shake the feeling that the disdain in Duan’s eyes was directed at him personally.
After that, he found it impossible to pull his attention away from the intense confrontation between Duan Xiubo and Luo Ding. The tension in their interaction was palpable, and Su Shengbai felt as though he couldn’t insert himself into the scene at all. When the director finally called “cut,” he realized with a start that he had been completely swept up in the moment.
Duan Xiubo emerged from the building in his tailored suit, his cold, aloof expression from the scene gone. Just a few steps away from Luo Ding, he suddenly lunged forward, throwing an arm around Luo Ding’s shoulders and playfully draping himself over him, causing Luo Ding to stumble under his weight.
Then he laughed.
Luo Ding didn’t seem annoyed at all, maintaining their friendly posture as they walked together toward Tang Rui. Though Tang had been frustrated with Su Shengbai’s performance, he couldn’t deny that Luo Ding and Duan Xiubo had done exceptionally well.
So, after some thought, he decided against demanding a reshoot.
Supporting actors had to support the leads, after all. Su Shengbai wasn’t being deliberately overshadowed—it was just that he wasn’t up to par. No use worrying over it.
Keep me fueled with caffeine! Support me on Ko-fi! It helps a lot ! Thank you so much ♡(´･ω･)(･ω･`)♡
thank you for the translation 🥰🫶🏽