Qi Bailu woke from a nightmare. Like a drowning man finally finding buoyancy, he broke the surface of the water, gasping toward the pitch-black sky. The incessant sound of rushing water that had been pressing against his eardrums vanished instantly, yet before his eyes remained darkness—a thick, viscous, unbreakable darkness.
He opened his eyes, heart still pounding with lingering fear, feeling as though he were still lying in drenching water. Qi Bailu stared fixedly at the ceiling, taking a long moment to steady his mind. But in the darkness, there was another breath. In the silent room, the sound of that breathing was like a crocodile gradually surfacing from the water, becoming clearer and clearer. Qi Bailu turned his head and saw Zheng Kunyu sleeping beside his pillow.
To say he "saw" him wasn't entirely accurate; in the dark, Qi Bailu could only discern a faint, blurred silhouette, like looking at a distant mountain. Though he could not see the man's face, his scent, the rhythm of his breathing, and every one of Qi’s own ethereal sensations combined to form an presence that could not be ignored.
Qi Bailu could sense that Zheng Kunyu was sleeping facing him. He propped himself up with his hands and slowly sat up, the quilt sliding down his body.
He didn't turn on the light. Instead, he fumbled his way out of bed and, by the extremely faint moonlight filtering through the window, picked up a piece of clothing from the floor. It was a waning crescent moon, hanging in the gap where the curtains weren't fully drawn—a thin curve casting a beam of light that looked more like cold, dismal snow. The buttons on the garment reflected the light; Qi Bailu knew it was Zheng Kunyu’s shirt. He draped it over himself, haphazardly fastened a few buttons, and walked toward the bathroom.
The hotel had wooden floors, which felt quite chilly against his bare feet. Qi Bailu held his breath as he moved forward, only to be tripped up after a few steps. His arm slammed into the corner of a nearby cabinet. Enduring the pain, he stood up. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he saw that what had tripped him were Zheng Kunyu’s slippers.
He stood there and looked back, seeing that Zheng Kunyu was still fast asleep. He continued to the bathroom door and switched on the light. Because he hadn't taken his medicine before bed, his symptoms were acting up painfully. He leaned over and lifted the toilet lid; before he could even steady himself, he began to retch. Nothing came up; he was simply dry-heaving into the bowl.
Qi Bailu was drenched in a cold sweat. He knelt on the bathroom’s anti-slip tiles. The floor still had undried patches of water, making it cold and damp against his knees, but he didn't care. He lowered his head, waiting for the sensation to pass.
It had indeed been a long time since he’d had such a nightmare. In the dream, that person held him by the waist and plunged a pair of rust-stained scissors into his chest. Blood flowed down continuously. His face tilted back, his vacant eyes staring at the chandelier on the ceiling. For a moment, it felt as if he had truly died, yet even then, that person still pressed down upon him. Reflected in his lifeless pupils was that heaving silhouette.
Qi Bailu remained kneeling on the floor, the light in his eyes gradually dimming. He knew why he was having this dream; he knew what he feared. He knew the fear but could not escape it, which instead gave rise to a strange sense of composure. But he was too exhausted, lacking the energy to think. His eyelashes drooped as he prepared to close his eyes, when he suddenly heard Zheng Kunyu’s voice: "Bailu."
Qi Bailu looked up and saw Zheng Kunyu standing outside the bathroom door. He stood within the patch of light cast from the bathroom, without his glasses, frowning at him.
Zheng Kunyu saw him curled up there, his cheeks flushed with an abnormal feverishness, looking as pitiful as a stray kitten or puppy. Yet the moment Qi saw him, he tucked away his fragile expression. Qi Bailu offered no explanation, saying only: "Get me my medicine."
"Go back to bed first."
As Zheng Kunyu spoke, he crouched down to pick him up. Qi Bailu grabbed the collar of his bathrobe and urged, "Go get my medicine. Go, now."
His tone was soft and weak, as if he didn't realize he sounded like he was acting spoiled. Zheng Kunyu had no choice but to let him go for the moment. He went out, poured a glass of water, and returned to rummage through the drawer of the nightstand where Qi Bailu usually kept his sedatives. Opening the pill bottle, he saw it was empty, so he pulled the drawer further out to keep searching.
Rummaging down to the bottom drawer, he checked the labels on the bottles and took one out. Zheng Kunyu pushed the drawer back, but a moment later, he suddenly pulled it out again. He looked at the object lying deep within the drawer. Setting the pill bottle aside for a moment, he took out a paper bag and opened it.
The mahogany box glowed with a warm, gentle luster under the lamp light. As Zheng Kunyu took the wooden box out, a card fell out with it. Zheng Kunyu calmly picked the card up from the floor and opened it. After a quick glance, he remembered what this box was.
It was the music box that Ruan Qiuji had won at the auction. He didn't know when Ruan Qiuji had given it to Qi Bailu. *Let her finish her dance*—it was certainly a distinctive sentiment.
Zheng Kunyu looked at the line of writing for a moment, then put the card and the music box back in their original places. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom with the water glass, appearing as if nothing had happened. The moment Qi Bailu saw him, he reached out to grab the glass, but as his hand gripped it, it actually trembled slightly. Zheng Kunyu placed one hand over the back of the hand holding the water and used the other to help feed the sedative into his mouth.
Qi Bailu’s hand was truly unsteady; the water in the glass seemed constantly on the verge of spilling. Zheng Kunyu looked at his profile and placed a hand on the crown of his fluffy hair, smoothing down a few stray locks. Zheng Kunyu said, "If you felt unwell, why didn't you wake me?"
After taking the medicine, Qi Bailu’s expression softened slightly. He said steadily, "You were sleeping deeply."
"I woke up the moment you got out of bed."
"Then why were you pretending to be asleep?"
"Where did you bump yourself just now?" Zheng Kunyu’s eyes swept over him. The shirt hung loosely on his body, half-concealing and half-revealing, possessing an indescribable sensuality.
Qi Bailu moved his arm. Zheng Kunyu rolled up the sleeve, which was somewhat oversized on him, and saw a patch of bruising. He said flatly, "Serves you right."
Qi Bailu glared at him, pulling his arm back to hide it from view, and turned his face away to drink more water. Zheng Kunyu placed his hand on the top of Qi's head again and suddenly tugged at his hair. Qi Bailu nearly choked on the water, spilling half the glass down his chest. He turned his head in surprise. Zheng Kunyu’s grip was light, and there was no trace of anger on his face; it was likely another moment of "flirtatious play."
"What are you doing?"
"Domestic abuse."
"Could you bear to?"
Zheng Kunyu couldn't tell if he was being sincere or acting. If it was acting, then his skills were perhaps too good. Without a word, he reached out and hooked his arm around Qi Bailu’s waist, raising his other hand as if to swat his backside. Qi Bailu caught the descending hand, refusing to let him take the liberty.
The two of them pushed and parried back and forth. Qi Bailu was annoyed with him, yet because his skin was being tickled, he couldn't help but laugh. Finally, Qi Bailu frowned and said, "Stop messing around. When are you going back to Beijing?"
"We'll see in a few days. I'm not going back yet." Zheng Kunyu leaned down and kissed his collarbone.
Qi Bailu nestled quietly in his arms, his eyes fixed on the floor, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Zheng Kunyu said, "After you finish filming this drama, I’ll take you to see a doctor again." Qi Bailu didn't take it to heart, assuming he meant a dermatologist. Zheng Kunyu added, "My assistant told me you’re taking your medicine more and more heavily. You know these drugs are addictive."
Qi Bailu looked up at him and said, "I'm fine."
Mild anxiety and depression only required psychological therapy, but Qi Bailu disliked psychologists, so Zheng Kunyu had tacitly allowed his use of sedatives. In fact, drug and medication abuse were common in the industry; Zheng Kunyu’s conservatism in this regard was something Qi Bailu hadn't expected.
When they returned to bed, Qi Bailu suddenly realized that Zheng hadn't asked about Cai Tongyue or Ruan Qiuji. Not asking about Cai Tongyue was understandable—firstly, because his manager had already reported it, and secondly, because Zheng Kunyu was the producer of *How Much Hate in the West Wind*. He sought to maximize the interests of the entire production; no matter how much he liked Qi, he wouldn't cast his business aside.
But regarding Ruan Qiuji, he hadn't even mentioned it.
Qi Bailu lay in the darkness, silently calculating, but he couldn't reach a conclusion. Zheng Kunyu leaned over and kissed him. It was only a kiss. Soon, Zheng Kunyu said to him, "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Over the past two years, they had actually shared many such moments of tenderness. Because they were always half-real and half-fake, Qi Bailu himself could no longer tell which parts were genuine and which were performance. Perhaps Zheng Kunyu was well aware of this too. Their play within a play, their dream within a dream—in the end, they were all but illusory bubbles.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 镇静剂 | Sedative | Refers to the medication Qi Bailu takes for anxiety/sleep. |
| 疤痕体质 | Scar-prone constitution | A physical trait where one scars easily (keloid-prone). |
| 八音盒 | Music box | The item Ruan Qiuji gave to Qi Bailu. |
| 阮秋季 | Ruan Qiuji | A character mentioned who gave Qi the music box. |
| 梦幻泡影 | Illusory bubbles | A literary/Buddhist term (from the Diamond Sutra) referring to the ephemeral nature of reality. |
| 戏中戏，梦中梦 | Play within a play, dream within a dream | A metaphor for the layers of deception and performance in their relationship. |
