As the year drew to a close, the production schedule became increasingly tight. *West Wind’s Regrets* had to wrap before the Lunar New Year; there was no room for error. Consequently, once the crew learned that Qi Bailu’s injuries were not severe, they consulted with Cheng Wenhui and arranged for him to return to the set the very next day. To accommodate his injury, he would either wear a wide-brimmed hat or be filmed only from the left side.
Thus, early the next morning, Qi Bailu saw Cheng Wenhui, who had rushed back from Guangzhou. Cheng accompanied him to the set, questioning the assistant and the makeup artist in the car about every detail of yesterday’s incident. Lydia, always meticulous, did not forget to mention: "He saw Xiao Qi on the ground and didn't even try to help him up."
As soon as their car arrived at the set, Cai Tongyue’s manager hurried over with warm greetings and feigned concern. He brought Cai Tongyue along to apologize to Qi Bailu, promising to treat them to dinner another day. However, Lydia, standing to the side, was incensed by the lack of sincerity; Cai Tongyue’s apology was airy and dismissive, a mere "This was my mistake" to brush the matter aside.
Since it was impossible to prove that Cai Tongyue had acted with intent—the rock had been well-hidden in the grass, not placed there by hand—it appeared on the surface to be nothing more than Qi Bailu’s bad luck and Cai Tongyue’s unintentional error. Even if Cai Tongyue had stood by with cold indifference, he could simply claim he had been paralyzed by shock.
Qi Bailu stood by without saying a word. Cheng Wenhui played along with a smile, smoothing things over. Cai Tongyue’s manager took the cue, blaming Cai for being too careless, while Cheng Wenhui countered with sharp-edged remarks, hinting that there must not be a next time. The manager naturally gave his word, and in a few brief exchanges, it was as if peace had been restored.
In this industry, everyone crossed paths sooner or later. The unspoken rule was to always leave a way out for others to ensure a smooth meeting in the future; one must never burn bridges completely. Men like Cheng Wenhui and Cai Tongyue’s manager, who had handled numerous artists over the years, were seasoned veterans—masters of playing dumb. Unless they were certain they could deal a fatal blow, they would maintain a facade of flowery harmony, no matter how many knives they plunged into each other's backs in private.
The director, seeing them acting so cordially, was naturally relieved. Once Qi Bailu had changed into his costume and was ready to film, the director walked over to explain the scene. Cai Tongyue was one of the most popular "traffic" idols, and Qi Bailu was the second male lead personally appointed by Producer Zheng; the director didn't want to offend either side.
While the director was explaining the scene, Cheng Wenhui stepped aside to continue chatting with Cai Tongyue. The upcoming scene was a major emotional conflict for the male lead, so the director, seated in his folding chair, spoke mostly toward Cai Tongyue. But after a moment, Qi Bailu suddenly asked, "Are we not reshooting yesterday’s scenes?"
The director turned, a troubled expression crossing his face. Not far away, Cheng Wenhui heard the commotion and looked over. The director’s assistant, being quite perceptive, leaned down and said, "It’s like this, Teacher Qi. You know the schedule has been tight lately, and we need to catch up. We used a stunt double to finish your scenes from yesterday, so today we’re moving straight to the next one."
Qi Bailu asked in return, "A stunt double?"
The director was momentarily at a loss for words. These days, more and more actors used doubles out of laziness; it was rare to encounter one who disliked using them. After a pause, he explained, "Xiao Qi, the main shots we took of you yesterday are all usable. The double only filled in the later shots, which were mostly action sequences. If it were a dialogue-heavy scene, we would definitely have you film it."
"Can we not reshoot it?"
The director rolled up the script in his hand, looking thoughtful, though it was clear he had no desire to reshoot. Half a day’s delay on a film set meant the loss of tens of thousands in funding. They had already gone over budget due to several explosion scenes, and the production manager had been nagging him every day. As he said, if it were a pivotal scene, he would certainly be fastidious, but these were just minor action shots.
Cai Tongyue looked at the director, then at Qi Bailu. He nonchalantly turned back to take a milk tea from his assistant, sipping it as he spoke. "Reshooting is fine with me, I don't mind. But if we do, the whole crew will have to work overtime. Today’s schedule is exhausting enough as it is—we’re filming until six, and then we have to move locations for night scenes."
He phrased it so reasonably that the director’s assistant seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, looking expectantly at Qi Bailu. Qi Bailu’s expression did not soften. He stood up from his chair, about to say something more, when Cheng Wenhui stepped up behind him and pressed a hand onto his shoulder. "Tongyue is right. A drama isn't defined by a single shot. Everyone has worked hard; Xiao Qi has no objections."
The director nodded and said "Good," praising Qi Bailu for his professionalism before standing up to signal the cinematography team. That single command was like pulling a lever; the entire crew, like a massive machine, began to churn. The gaffers, sound mixers, and stagehands all took their positions, waiting for the actors.
Cai Tongyue set down his milk tea and walked over.
Cheng Wenhui glanced at Lydia. She hurried forward to touch up Qi Bailu’s hair and makeup, looking at him with concern. Once the surrounding people had dispersed, she whispered, "Xiao Qi, don't take it to heart. You’ve already done very well."
Qi Bailu’s eyes held a cold, weary light. He allowed Lydia to comb his hair and straighten his collar, but when he turned around, his gaze became sharp and piercing. Having worked with him for two years, Lydia understood his temperament well; seeing him enter character, she felt at ease.
The night scenes lasted until nine o'clock. To celebrate the successful completion of these major scenes, the crew members began calling friends to arrange a gathering. Cai Tongyue invited the production manager, the director, and several lead actors to dinner, smiling as he asked Qi Bailu if he wanted to join. Qi Bailu, who was packing his bag, naturally declined.
Cheng Wenhui watched from the sidelines with a cold eye. In his opinion, Qi Bailu was perfect in every way except for his lack of social maneuvering. Usually, it was fine when Cheng was there to guide him, but without that guidance, Qi was too lazy to bother. Perhaps Zheng Kunyu had spoiled him, never letting him taste the bitterness of being trampled upon, which led to Qi Bailu’s indifference toward building a network. Yet he wasn't stupid; he was an exquisitely clever person—otherwise, how could he have Zheng Kunyu so firmly under his thumb?
On the way back to the hotel, Cheng Wenhui adopted a posture as if he wanted to have a serious talk, but Qi Bailu remained unmoved, immersed in his own world, not listening at all.
Cheng Wenhui asked, "What are you thinking about? Yan Peiyun?"
Qi Bailu leaned lazily against the seat back. Hearing this, he finally moved, tilting his head. "Do you think this character requires any effort to think about?"
Cheng Wenhui seemed exasperated. After a moment, he said, "Don't say that to reporters, alright?"
"Is what I said wrong?"
At this moment, he looked like a wicked, mischievous child.
But Cheng Wenhui knew he wasn't joking or trying to provoke him; he truly felt that way, and he was likely right.
Cheng Wenhui gave up on the conversation. He escorted him all the way to his hotel room door and disappeared into the adjacent room without another word. Qi Bailu was glad for the peace. The first thing he did upon entering was lean against the door and light a cigarette. When he didn't need to socialize, he only smoked menthol slim cigarettes; the cigarette was delicate and long, lending an indescribable touch of femininity when held between his fingers.
Qi Bailu took off his coat and shoes and walked toward the living room, too lazy even to change into slippers. But as soon as he sat on the sofa, he sensed something was wrong. On the coffee table sat a half-finished bottle of champagne, its glass gleaming softly under the lights. Qi Bailu stood up and walked toward the bedroom. The first thing he saw was a suitcase, then Zheng Kunyu’s overcoat tossed at the foot of the bed, and finally, Zheng Kunyu himself, standing by the bedroom window on a phone call.
Qi Bailu slowly leaned against the doorframe, the hand holding the cigarette dropping to his side.
The call seemed to have just ended. Hearing footsteps, Zheng Kunyu turned around. His gaze fell on Qi Bailu’s stockinged feet, then swept upward to the cigarette in his hand and those clear, cold eyes.
Qi Bailu didn't have time to ask "Why are you here?" Perhaps because they hadn't seen each other for over a week, Zheng Kunyu was acting a bit like a beast again. Before they got into bed, Qi was stripped completely bare; Zheng Kunyu never liked him to keep his clothes on, yet he remained fully dressed himself. Qi Bailu was kissed into a daze, his hands clutching Zheng Kunyu’s back, forced to taste the bitter wine in the other man’s mouth.
Zheng Kunyu hadn't drunk much, not enough to be drunk, but his movements were no more gentle than the last time. Qi Bailu sat on his lap with his legs spread wide; every time the stimulation made him want to clamp his legs shut, Zheng would simply pry them further apart. Qi Bailu had nothing to say, thinking the man was about to enter him, but Zheng Kunyu was in no hurry. Instead, he reached up to touch Qi’s brow, looking at the corner of his forehead.
"I remember you have a scar-prone constitution."
Qi Bailu hated it most when the man kept him hanging, so he only gave a lazy "Mm."
Zheng Kunyu’s palm slid down from his shoulder, stroking his arm with a rhythmic, lingering touch. After two seconds, Qi Bailu realized what he was feeling for, and his gaze instantly sharpened. Zheng Kunyu stared at him from behind his glasses; seeing Qi Bailu grow defensive, he withdrew his hand and said in a certain tone, "I will find the best doctor. It won't leave a scar."
"Is that why you came here?"
Zheng Kunyu placed a hand on the back of his neck. "Don't you want to see me?"
Qi Bailu reached up with both hands to touch his face, removing the glasses from the bridge of his nose and setting them aside. Then he moved his hands to the man’s chest, undoing his tie. Once finished, Qi Bailu held it up for him to see; the silk tie slid from his palm like a fish, falling onto their laps. The light illuminated Zheng Kunyu’s face clearly, but Qi Bailu’s face was shrouded in ambiguous shadows, his back to the light.
Zheng Kunyu always preferred to take the lead. He used the momentum of the position to pin Qi Bailu onto the bed. Now, Qi Bailu’s face was fully exposed under the incandescent light. Zheng Kunyu pinned both of Qi Bailu’s wrists above his head, picked up the tie, and bound them together.
This passive posture only seemed to enhance the fragile beauty of his body—a knot of fate tied even tighter. He looked as pure as he had two years ago, yet he exuded desire like a piece of overripe fruit.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 《西风多少恨》 | West Wind’s Regrets | The title of the drama being filmed. |
| 替身 | Stunt double / Stand-in | An actor who takes the place of another for specific shots. |
| 疤痕体质 | Scar-prone constitution | A physical tendency to develop prominent scars or keloids. |
| 七窍玲珑 | Exquisitely clever | Literally "seven apertures of the heart," meaning very sharp-witted or perceptive. |
| 闫培云 | Yan Peiyun | The name of the character Qi Bailu is playing. |
| 不做人 | Acting like a beast | Slang for being aggressive, dominant, or "inhuman" (often in a sexual context). |
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