The scene being filmed today was not inherently dangerous, so no medical staff had accompanied the crew, nor was there a medical kit on hand. Qi Bailu’s assistant rushed forward in a panic, immediately insisting on taking him to the hospital. Lydia volunteered to go along, and the director, now thoroughly flustered, joined the crowd of people all talking at once, asking if Qi Bailu was alright. Cai Tongyue’s manager pushed through the throng and immediately spotted the jagged, blood-stained rock lying quietly in the grass. she turned to look at Cai Tongyue; his fingers twitched at his side, but his face remained a mask of grim silence.
Ruan Qiuji knelt on the ground. Seeing that Qi Bailu’s bleeding wouldn’t stop and that his snow-white pocket square was already soaked through, he lowered his head and said calmly, “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Half-lifting and half-carrying Qi Bailu, he supported him against his chest as they stood. He kept one hand pressing the handkerchief to the wound while he strode forward.
Qi Bailu’s assistant, not recognizing Ruan Qiuji, looked at him with suspicion and stepped forward to take over. Lydia also followed, holding Qi Bailu’s down jacket to drape over him. Ruan Qiuji spoke up: “Too many people will draw attention. You can’t let the media catch you like this.”
Although this was a prime opportunity to play the "sympathy card," Qi Bailu had never liked appearing in the headlines for such things. Moreover, the full story of what had happened hadn't been cleared up yet, and Cheng Wenhui wasn't in Hengdian. If the news broke now, it would only leave the team scrambling. Without timely communication with the media, entertainment reporters would likely spin the story wildly, or worse, it could be exploited by those with ulterior motives.
Lydia quickly understood. The two men clearly knew each other; she assumed he had come specifically to visit Qi Bailu on set. She gave the assistant a meaningful look and stepped forward to drape the coat over Qi Bailu’s shoulders.
Ruan Qiuji gave Lydia a brief “thank you,” freed a hand to fish out his car keys, and without wasting a second, led Qi Bailu toward the car. The director escorted them all the way to the vehicle and helped open the door. This location was quite desolate; as the car sped away down the dirt road, it kicked up a cloud of dust.
Watching the Mercedes disappear into the haze, Qi Bailu’s assistant pulled out a phone to call Cheng Wenhui. Having only been on the job for a few days, the assistant asked Lydia anxiously while waiting for the call to connect, “He’ll be okay, right?”
Lydia looked back at Cai Tongyue and his manager. The manager was currently speaking to Cai with her back turned to them. Lydia replied, “If there’s trouble, it won't be for us.”
The passenger window was rolled down a third of the way, allowing fresh air to pour in. Qi Bailu was struggling on the edge of fainting. Ruan Qiuji leaned over and unfastened the buttons at Qi Bailu’s neck—three of them—so he could breathe more easily. Ruan Qiuji asked, “You have hemophobia, don’t you?” Qi Bailu gave a slight nod. Ruan Qiuji helped him fasten his seatbelt, looking at his pale face. “Then close your eyes for now.”
Qi Bailu’s head was swimming, his heart racing. It was as if he hadn't quite understood the words. His gaze lingered on the lapel of Ruan Qiuji’s overcoat, which was stained with blood. Ruan Qiuji reached out, one hand steadying Qi Bailu’s shoulder while the other covered his eyes. His palm and fingertips brushed over Qi Bailu’s eyelids as he said, “Bailu, close your eyes.”
Qi Bailu obediently closed them. Though it made him feel slightly better, he could still smell the metallic scent of blood in the air. He turned his face toward the window, enduring it with all his might. The car started moving. Perhaps worried that he might lose consciousness, Ruan Qiuji checked the rearview mirror frequently. Qi Bailu leaned against the headrest, his brow slightly furrowed. Half of his face was smeared with blood, a startling and distressing sight.
Beneath his coat, he was still wearing his costume—a crisp white shirt under a yellowish-green military uniform. The blood had flowed down into his collar and onto his neck. Ruan Qiuji only had tissues in the car, so while waiting at a red light, he pulled a few out and turned to wipe the blood from Qi Bailu’s cheek.
Qi Bailu felt the man’s fingers, which were icy cold. He tilted his face away slightly, intending to open his eyes, but Ruan Qiuji said, “Don’t move yet.”
“I’m much better.”
Qi Bailu turned his face back a little, seemingly wanting Ruan to see that he had indeed recovered, but Ruan Qiuji caught his chin, signaling for him to maintain the angle. Once he was sure Qi Bailu wouldn't move, he continued wiping the bloodstains from his jaw and neck.
After a moment, Ruan Qiuji finished. Just then, the red light across from them began its countdown. He didn't pull his hand back immediately, but remained in that position, studying Qi Bailu’s face. They had been filming all morning without a break; Qi Bailu’s lips were bloodless and dry enough to be slightly peeling. Ruan’s gaze moved upward to Qi Bailu’s trembling eyelashes. Despite the exhaustion, it was still a face as beautiful as a painting.
The red light flashed its final numbers, warning pedestrians that the crossing was about to end. On the crossroad ahead, the roar of passing vehicles gradually faded. Just as Qi Bailu was about to open his eyes, Ruan Qiuji silently withdrew his hand, letting the seatbelt pull him back into the driver’s seat.
The car moved forward slowly. A private hospital was just a block away. Ruan Qiuji suddenly asked, “Do you want to be photographed?”
Qi Bailu stared ahead, stunned for a moment before realizing Ruan Qiuji meant taking photos of his injury for publicity—or "selling a sob story," as the internet called it. Given Qi Bailu’s level of fame, walking openly into a hospital would almost certainly lead to him being recognized. While not every celebrity team was keen on such tactics, the general consensus was that any buzz was better than no buzz. Of course, some simply wanted to share their daily lives with fans, but in an atmosphere rife with conspiracy theories, an idol’s actions were no longer theirs to define.
“Your manager has likely received the news. I imagine he would be very willing, as would the PR firm.”
Qi Bailu shook his head. Ruan Qiuji glanced at him and smoothly parked the car in the hospital lot. As Qi Bailu prepared to open the door, Ruan Qiuji said, “Wait.” With that, he unwrapped his own scarf—a wool piece—and draped it over Qi Bailu’s head and face. A scarf was, after all, a rather intimate item. Enveloped by the warmth and the scent of another man’s aftershave, Qi Bailu couldn't help but let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Mr. Ruan...”
“If you’re going to say thank you, you can wait until later.”
In the end, Qi Bailu was wrapped so tightly that only his clear, bright eyes were visible.
Qi Bailu had originally thought that a simple cleaning and dressing of the wound would be enough, but Ruan Qiuji insisted on a tetanus shot and a CT scan for observation. Since the CT results would take three or four hours, Ruan Qiuji took him to the hospital cafeteria for lunch. To Qi Bailu’s surprise, the food was actually quite good.
They found an inconspicuous corner and ordered wontons. While waiting for the wontons to be ready, Qi Bailu received a call from his manager. He spent a minute brushing him off. Cheng Wenhui said he would be back in Hengdian tomorrow. Qi Bailu gave a noncommittal “mm,” and Cheng Wenhui added, “I’ve already called Mr. Zheng.”
Qi Bailu paused for two seconds. “What did he say?”
“He didn't say anything.”
The cafeteria wasn't crowded and the atmosphere was quiet, so Ruan Qiuji, sitting across from him, could hear the contents of their conversation clearly. When the staff called their number, Ruan Qiuji shifted his gaze from Qi Bailu’s face, stood up, and walked toward the counter. By the time he returned with a tray carrying two bowls of wontons, Qi Bailu had already hung up.
Ruan Qiuji didn't ask about anything. He simply asked Qi Bailu to pass the jar of chili sauce. Qi Bailu stirred his soup with a spoon; bright green cilantro leaves floated on the surface of the broth. He pushed the chili and vinegar from his side over to Ruan Qiuji.
A television in the cafeteria was playing a period drama, its theme song crooning lingeringly. Aside from that, there was only the low murmur of other diners. For the past two years, Qi Bailu’s life had been spent either on film sets, at events, or with Zheng Kunyu. Zheng Kunyu only ever took him to private restaurants—the kind where he could avoid being seen. He suddenly realized he couldn't remember the last time he had sat like this.
In truth, Ruan Qiuji looked quite out of place sitting there, yet his every movement was perfectly composed. Lost in thought, Qi Bailu ate slowly, unconsciously staring at Ruan Qiuji. He had a bit of an occupational habit: whenever he met someone, he would study them like a specimen. Ruan Qiuji noticed and looked up to meet his gaze.
Knowing his stare might be perceived as offensive, Qi Bailu lowered his head to eat his wontons, only to hear Ruan Qiuji say, “I thought you would have asked me by now.”
“Asked what?” Qi Bailu said.
“Many things.”
Seeing that Qi Bailu still showed no reaction, Ruan Qiuji smiled and said, “For example, the casting for *Fierce Spring Water*.”
“Should I ask you?”
“That depends on you.”
Ruan Qiuji seemed like an easy man to read at first glance, yet he became unfathomable the more one looked. Since their last encounter at the charity gala, Qi Bailu had found many things about him puzzling. For instance, he seemed interested in Qi Bailu, yet he made no move. He was a man at the top of the social pyramid, yet he was so kind and considerate. Qi Bailu didn't believe in free lunches. Perhaps Ruan Qiuji was like this with everyone he "liked." If Zheng Kunyu was a fisherman using a straight hook, then Ruan Qiuji preferred to cast lavish bait.
“Fine. Was it your people who leaked the photo of the casting wall?”
Ruan Qiuji hadn't expected him to be so direct. He looked into Qi Bailu’s eyes, shook his head, and smiled. “No.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“I do, but I can’t say for now.”
“Do you really want me to play Pan Xiaoyun?”
“I do.”
“Do you think I’m suited for the role, or is someone else a better fit?”
“Others are good too, but in my heart, you are the most suitable.”
Qi Bailu found himself with nothing left to say for a moment. Ruan Qiuji asked, “Anything else?”
“That sounds a lot like flattery.”
“But you should know it isn't.” Ruan Qiuji smiled faintly. Seeing that Qi Bailu truly had no more questions, he gestured with his chin toward the wontons on the table, indicating that he should eat them while they were hot.
***
Chinese
