Zhu Huai had just logged out of the game when a call came through on his phone. His expression softened considerably when he saw who was calling.

He found a quiet place and answered. “Mom.”

“Huaihuai.” His mother’s gentle voice came from the other end of the line. “Are you busy right now?”

“Not yet, but I’m about to start filming. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to ask whether you’re free this weekend. Your stepfather, Uncle Qi, is celebrating his birthday.”

Zhu Huai let out an “Ah,” suddenly remembering that his stepfather’s birthday really was around these days. He had been so busy with various things lately that he had completely forgotten. He readily agreed, “No problem. I’m almost done with my scenes, so I can make time.”

Zhu’s mother felt relieved. After hesitating for a moment, she asked, “Have you been in touch with Xingyu…?”

Zhu Huai frowned slightly. “No. Why bring him up?”

Hearing the displeasure in his voice, his mother hurried to explain, “It’s just that this year is Qi’s fiftieth birthday. After all, he raised Xingyu for more than ten years. If Xingyu could come over for a meal, he would be very happy…”

“Mom,” Zhu Huai interrupted her helplessly. “After learning that his biological father was the head of the Meng family, he immediately followed his biological mother and abandoned the man who raised him. How much affection do you think he can possibly have for Dad Qi?”

Zhu’s mother was silent for a while before saying quietly, “It’s not that I don’t know that… But he was raised as Qi’s own son, after all. Even if he doesn’t come for dinner, it would be nice if he called.”

Zhu Huai put a stop to his mother’s wishful thinking. “Although we both make our living in the entertainment industry, we really have no contact with each other. Besides, have you discussed this with Dad Qi?”

His mother fell silent. From the other end of the phone, a man’s voice could faintly be heard: “Why bother Huaihuai? He’s finally managed to get a role. Don’t interfere with his work.”

Zhu’s mother replied, “Well, it’s your birthday.” After a pause, she added, “I wanted him to ask Xingyu whether he was free.”

Qi’s father was taken aback. “…Both boys are busy. Don’t invite him.”

Zhu Huai heard this and let out a quiet sigh.

Zhu Huai’s biological father was a bastard, guilty of every vice imaginable: drinking, eating, visiting prostitutes, and gambling. As far back as Zhu Huai could remember, that man’s fists had never stopped flying. Sometimes they landed on him, sometimes on his mother. When the man got drunk, it was even worse. He would pick up a chair and throw it straight at them. Every time this happened, his mother would desperately shove him into his room and lock him inside, enduring the man’s furious roars alone outside. Even through the wall, Zhu Huai could clearly hear his mother’s agonized screams and the man’s violent curses, along with the clatter of objects being smashed.

The injuries on both Zhu Huai and his mother never had a chance to heal. New wounds were always added to old ones, and neither of them was ever free of bruises. He was too young for his mother to flee with him. She had married far away from her hometown, and her family favored sons over daughters. To them, a married daughter was like water spilled on the ground. They had long since stopped caring about her. Even if she ran away, she had nowhere to go.

The turning point in their lives came in the year Zhu Huai was moving from primary to middle school. He had accidentally spilled a single drop of water on the table, and that man kicked him in the chest so hard that he ended up in the hospital.

At the time, Zhu Huai had thought, Just endure it. Once I’m capable enough, I’ll be able to take Mom and escape. He had no idea how long he would have to endure it. Yet at only ten years old, he already felt as though there were no light left in his life.

His mother finally reached her limit and called the police. After several days of fighting tooth and nail, she finally managed to get a divorce. But the mother and son could not take anything with them. After the police left, Zhu Huai’s biological father came looking for them, and the two of them were nearly beaten to death.

Then they encountered Qi Baojia, who rescued them.

Qi Baojia had also just divorced his wife at the time. His former wife had cheated on him, and the son he had painstakingly raised for twelve years turned out to be another man’s child. When the boy’s biological father arrived in a Porsche to take the mother and son away, this honest man had still been bargaining with a customer over a few yuan in taxi fare. The divorce proceedings had been completed in a flash, but even after holding the divorce certificate in his hand for a long time, he still had not fully grasped what had happened. The day before, his home had been filled with laughter and cheerful voices; today, he was suddenly all alone.

Qi Baojia treated Zhu Huai with wholehearted kindness. He supported this boy, who had no blood relationship to him, through high school and helped him get into university. Zhu Huai sincerely respected and loved him. Naturally, this also meant that he had little goodwill toward Meng Xingyu.

Qi Baojia had once secretly brought gifts to visit the boy he had raised for twelve years. But he had been driven away before he could even enter the family’s front gate. His son, who had now become a young master of the Meng family, had not even shown his face.

Zhu Huai knew about this, and his dislike of Meng Xingyu grew even stronger.

Both Zhu Huai and Meng Xingyu knew each other’s identities, and they worked in the same industry, so it was inevitable that they would cross paths occasionally. Yet they were no more than acquaintances who nodded at each other; they had barely exchanged a few words, let alone exchanged contact information.

Zhu Huai was unwilling to associate with Meng Xingyu, while Meng Xingyu considered himself above associating with Zhu Huai.

But Dad Qi still cherished the bond they had shared over those dozen or so years.

Zhu Huai finally relented. “I’ll find an opportunity to ask him, but I can’t promise he’ll agree.”

His mother breathed a sigh of relief, then said with concern, “I’m sorry to put you in such a difficult position.”

They chatted for a while longer. His mother mostly reminded him to take care of himself and not exhaust himself with work. Zhu Huai listened patiently, occasionally responding with a few words.

After he hung up, the door in front of him suddenly opened, and he nearly collided with a human wall.

Zhu Huai looked up properly and greeted him with a smile. “Jiang-ge.”

Jiang Sheli was dressed in a dark-ink martial outfit, his long hair tied high with a black ribbon. His features were handsome, his brows and eyes sharp as blades.

It was the costume for today’s fight scene: the one in which the Ninth Prince was assassinated by an assassin.

A faint sense of melancholy rose in Zhu Huai’s heart. This was also his final scene.

Jiang Sheli nodded in acknowledgment and said, “Excuse me. Could you let me pass?”

Only then did Zhu Huai realize that he was blocking the entrance to Jiang Sheli’s dressing room. Jiang had been about to come out. Zhu Huai awkwardly rubbed his nose and stepped aside. “Sorry.”

Jiang Sheli did not immediately leave, however. He looked him over and asked, “Aren’t you going to get your makeup done?”

“I’m going right now,” Zhu Huai replied.

Jiang Sheli nodded in understanding and said calmly, “Good luck.”

Zhu Huai froze for half a second before realizing that Jiang was encouraging him. He smiled. “Thank you.”

Watching Jiang Sheli walk away, Zhu Huai felt that inexplicable melancholy in his heart grow even more distinct.

Zhu Huai’s new makeup was finished quickly. His costume for the day was similar to Jiang Sheli’s: a dark martial outfit, with his hair tied up high. Although Zhu Huai had a pretty face, he did not look feminine. The makeup artist had deliberately sharpened the appearance of his eyebrows. When he did not smile, he looked like a cold, ruthless martial artist. But the moment he smiled, the effect fell apart: the dimples at the corners of his cheeks lent him a touch of cuteness, making him look like a sheltered young master from an aristocratic family who knew nothing of the world.

His new look was striking enough to make people’s eyes light up. Several young actresses came running over with flushed faces to take photos with him, then left with their hands pressed to their chests.

The director was explaining the scene to the male actor playing the assassin who would kill the Ninth Prince. Jiang Sheli held a bow and arrow in his hand, practicing the angle at which to release the arrow. When he turned sideways, he happened to catch sight of the young man nearby, busy posing for photographs.

Unlike his usual languid, alluring look, the well-fitted martial outfit accentuated the young man’s slim waist and long legs. At the female actress’s request, he struck a cool pose, looking exceptionally handsome.

Jiang Sheli’s gaze deepened for a brief moment.

After taking a photo with the last actress, Zhu Huai’s cheeks were tinged with red. He had not been surrounded by so many girls in a long time, and he felt a little uncomfortable.

He took out his script, intending to recite his final few lines once more, when he saw Jiang Sheli walking toward him. Unable to help himself, he broke into a brilliant smile.

Jiang Sheli’s steps came to a halt, but after no more than half a second, he started walking again and stopped in front of Zhu Huai.

Zhu Huai greeted him happily, “Jiang-ge.”

Jiang Sheli held an arrow with feathers in one hand. Pressing the pad of his index finger against its tip, he poked Zhu Huai right over the heart and said, “I’ve hit you.”

Zhu Huai’s heart skipped a beat.

In his final scene, the Ninth Prince would shoot him dead with an arrow. Saying that Jiang Sheli had hit him was not technically wrong.

Yet Zhu Huai’s heartbeat had fallen out of rhythm.

Seeing him frozen in place, Jiang Sheli furrowed his brows almost imperceptibly. “Did I hurt you?”

As he spoke, he reached out to examine Zhu Huai’s chest.

“No! No!” Zhu Huai jumped back nervously, his voice rising guiltily. This drew everyone else’s attention. His face flushed crimson, and he said in embarrassment, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Jiang Sheli’s fingertip had been pressed against the arrowhead. If anyone should have felt pain, it ought to have been Jiang Sheli.

Jiang Sheli’s hand remained suspended in midair for several seconds after Zhu Huai dodged it. Then he lowered it as though nothing had happened and nodded. “That’s good.”

The director was already calling for everyone to get ready, and Zhu Huai fled as though escaping for his life.

The Ninth Prince had taken his family on an outing. On their way home, they were ambushed. Although the assassins were numerous, they were no match for the Ninth Prince’s well-trained soldiers and powerful cavalry, and they gradually began to lose ground.

Amid the chaos, one assassin seized the opportunity to take Wangui hostage, as no one was guarding him, and used him as leverage to force the Ninth Prince to grant them a way to escape.

This scene was a considerable test of emotional acting, which happened to be one of Zhu Huai’s weaknesses. He had secretly practiced many times using the methods Jiang Sheli had taught him, and he had made some progress.

There was no possibility of letting the assassins go. The Ninth Prince was a ruthless man by nature; how could he allow a mere male courtisan to persuade him to release a potential threat?

The instant the Ninth Prince raised his bow and aimed it at him, Wangui’s eyes filled with disbelief and despair, but above all, with sorrow and desolation.

He should have understood this long ago. The prince had great ambitions and aspired to serve the state. How could he spare even the slightest bit of attention for romantic attachment?

Zhu Huai’s first take was not very good. He wanted so badly to convey the character’s emotions that he overacted instead.

Before the retake, he instinctively looked toward Jiang Sheli, as though doing so would allow him to draw a little reassurance from him.

Jiang Sheli met Zhu Huai’s eyes. The young man himself had probably not even realized that there was a plea for help in them.

But Jiang Sheli did not come to his aid. Relying too heavily on someone else to guide him into a role was not a good thing. Zhu Huai would work with other crews in the future, and Jiang Sheli could not possibly happen to be working alongside him every time.

In fact, The Unfaithful Minister was the last television drama Jiang Sheli would film. After this, he would focus on the big screen and behind-the-scenes work. If he had not been fulfilling a favour he owed Shen Peiping from the past, he would not have taken part in this drama.

Still, fortunately, things had worked out this way, allowing him to make up for at least some of the guilt he felt toward Zhu Huai.

Jiang Sheli’s eyes were as calm as still water. His light-brown irises were steady and deep, like fine wine that had matured with age: rich and intense.

After meeting his gaze for a few seconds, Zhu Huai could not help looking away. He raised a hand and touched his ears, which had grown rather hot.

During the second take, Zhu Huai restrained himself somewhat, but something was still missing. Although Shen Peiping did not hold actors without formal training to such high standards, Zhu Huai had performed well in his last two scenes, and this had inevitably raised Shen’s expectations. He asked Zhu Huai to do it once more.

After adjusting his emotions, Zhu Huai raised his head and looked at Jiang Sheli, who stood opposite him. That was where Jiang Sheli had raised his arm, drawn his bow, and ended Wangui’s life.

“The Unfaithful Minister, scene fifteen, shot three, take three. Action!”

Everything went smoothly at first. When the Ninth Prince drew his bow and shot him, Zhu Huai successfully conveyed the character’s emotions. As the camera moved closer, Shen Peiping saw a fleeting look of bewilderment in Zhu Huai’s eyes as he fell to the ground on the monitor. Combined with Wangui’s tragic circumstances, that moment was even more effective at stirring the audience’s sympathy than outright disbelief would have been.

“Congratulations on wrapping!”

Zhu Huai got up from the ground and politely thanked everyone who offered their congratulations, but his gaze kept drifting toward Jiang Sheli despite himself.

During the scene just now, Jiang Sheli’s expression had actually revealed the slightest hint of reluctance. It had startled Zhu Huai. Only after the scene ended did he realize that Jiang Sheli had once again been helping him get into character.

Shen Jingjing came over and handed him a bouquet of flowers wrapped in decorative paper. Her expression was both happy and sad as she said, “Kiddo, congratulations on wrapping!”

“Thank you.” Zhu Huai accepted the bouquet and held it in his arms, then teased her, “Call me ge.”

Shen Jingjing said reluctantly, “Now that we’re parting, who knows how long it’ll be before I get to see you again?”

Zhu Huai opened his camera and asked, “Want to take a photo together?”

“Of course, of course!” Shen Jingjing’s sadness immediately faded, and she happily struck a pose.

Just after the two had finished taking their photo, a staff member hurried over and said to Zhu Huai, “Brother Zhu, some fans have come to visit you on set. Would you like to see them?”

A flicker of surprise passed through Zhu Huai’s eyes. “Me?”

The staff member nodded. “Yes. They’re holding up a banner with your name and keep asking me whether they can see you, so I said I’d come and ask.”

An inexplicable, strange feeling rose in Zhu Huai’s heart. It had been a long time since any fans had come to visit him on set. Perhaps the people in Shen Jingjing’s fan group were the only fans he had left. The sudden attention left him feeling somewhat unaccustomed to it.

“All right, thank you. I’ll go and see them.”

 

Translator : DarNan