The two of them stayed in the same hotel as they had the previous month. Qi Bailu felt it would be awkward to throw the flowers away right in front of Ruan Qiuji, so he carried them all the way back. Fortunately, Ruan Qiuji didn't say anything strange on the way.
It seemed a waste to discard such beautiful flowers. Since the bouquet didn't carry any other particular meaning, he felt no qualms about bringing them into his room and arranging them in a vacant hotel vase.
Ruan Qiuji’s flight wasn't until the following evening, so he spent the entire day at the film set. As Yuntian Media was the primary investor in the film, Ruan Qiuji could naturally go wherever he pleased; he could even have the script changed with a wave of his hand if he wanted. However, his presence there was indeed a bit of an eyesore for Qi Bailu.
The production team had promotional needs, so after wrapping for the day, the studio used the occasion of Qi Bailu’s birthday to hold a livestreamed set visit. Several of the lead creators were present. The livestream format was similar to an interview, requiring them to constantly answer questions from reporters. When the half-hour session finally ended, everyone was hungry and began calling out to one another to cut and eat the cake.
This was the first time Qi Bailu had celebrated a birthday on set. With so many people and such a lively atmosphere, it did lend a festive air to the occasion, and he found himself caught up in the mood. The crowd swarmed around him, urging him to blow out the candles and make a wish. In the flickering candlelight, Qi Bailu clasped his hands before his chest, pressed his lips to his knuckles, and lowered his eyes.
Much later, Ruan Qiuji would remark that his posture at that moment looked like "A Maiden's Prayer." Qi Bailu, dazed with sleep, had simply rolled over to face upward, too lazy to acknowledge him. Ruan Qiuji asked what he had actually wished for that day. With his eyes closed, Qi Bailu asked why he cared. Ruan Qiuji turned on his side, gazing at his profile, and asked, "Did your wish have anything to do with me?"
Qi Bailu remembered the wish he made at twenty-three with absolute clarity. It wasn't that the wish itself was so memorable, but rather that his twenty-third year had been a time when his world crumbled. The wish he made then had perhaps been overlooked by the Heavenly Father, for his life since then had known neither fulfillment nor peace.
That day, Ruan Qiuji had stood across from him, looking at him over the cake. The cake was decorated to look as though it were covered in gold leaf and greenery, with laurel branches and leaves climbing up through the cream. After closing his eyes, Qi Bailu’s first wish was for his work to go smoothly in the coming year. His second wish was for the person he loved to love him back with all his heart, and for them to be together for a long, long time.
There was no third wish. He knew one shouldn't be too greedy; two were enough.
Even with his eyes closed, Qi Bailu could feel Ruan Qiuji, lying beside him, watching him—like a searchlight on the ocean floor, scouring the deepest, darkest reaches for the wreckage and relics of the Titanic.
Who was the person he loved back then?
Just as Ruan Qiuji thought he had fallen asleep and wouldn't answer, Qi Bailu kept his eyes shut and said slowly, "I forgot."
Halfway through the cake, a few reporters brought over some photos and politely asked Qi Bailu to sign them; they were intended for a giveaway later. The reporters' own pens weren't working well, so Qi Bailu took the photos and went to the dressing room to find his own signature pen.
Most of the crew were outside eating cake. When he entered, only Ruan Qiuji was there, sitting in a chair on a phone call. Seeing him come in, Ruan Qiuji stopped talking, covered the receiver, and set the phone down. "Why are you in here?"
Qi Bailu showed him the photos in his hand. "Signature pen."
Because he was holding his phone in one hand and a plate of cake in the other, it was difficult to search for things, so he set everything down on the vanity. Ruan Qiuji said a few more words and hung up, then stood up to help him look.
The gold signature pen was buried among a chaotic pile of concealers and contouring palettes. Qi Bailu locked onto his target and leaned down to grab it, but his clothes accidentally brushed two of the photos off the edge of the table.
Ruan Qiuji saw them first, but he accidentally stepped on one. Qi Bailu stepped back and was about to bend down to pick them up when Ruan Qiuji crouched, retrieved the photos, and looked at them. He paused for a moment before handing them back, smiling. "I think I stepped on your face."
The comment was both annoying and amusing. Qi Bailu could tell Ruan Qiuji was teasing him. He snatched the top photo away and wiped it clean with a tissue. "That’s not me."
"Then which one is you?"
Qi Bailu glanced at him. "...The person in front of you."
Ruan Qiuji found a hint of ambiguity in those words. He leaned against the edge of the table, turning his body to look at him, but Qi Bailu had already suppressed his smile and lowered his head to sign. As soon as he finished one, Ruan Qiuji would hand him another.
After a moment, Ruan Qiuji studied one of the photos of Qi Bailu. "This one looks better."
Qi Bailu leaned his head over to see just how 'better' it was, but it didn't look any different; it was his face either way.
"They all look the same."
"In this one, you're looking directly into the lens."
Qi Bailu compared them, and it was true. In the others, he was either not looking at the camera or facing it from the side, his gaze betraying a hint of confusion. Ruan Qiuji said, "Perhaps it's because I want you to look at me."
He spoke his flirtations so directly, so candidly, so openly, that Qi Bailu found it hard to even feel embarrassed. He reached out, snatched the photo, and shooed him away. "What are you still doing here? You have a flight to catch."
Ruan Qiuji picked up his suit jacket and phone. "Then I'll be going."
Just as Qi Bailu was about to turn away, Ruan Qiuji leaned in from the side and gave him a light, fleeting kiss on the cheek. "Bailu, happy birthday."
The kiss was merely a gentlemanly touch, devoid of any particular sensation, entirely different from the kiss in the hotel room.
Ruan Qiuji wasn't the first person to wish him a happy birthday that day, but his tone was so tender. Qi Bailu turned back to look into his eyes. Had that searchlight, sweeping its clear beam, found anything in his rusted heart?
It seemed no one knew.
Counting the comments in the livestream and the social media platforms, Qi Bailu couldn't keep track of how many people had said "Happy Birthday" to him. By the time he put down his phone and finished his work, it was already nine o'clock at night. He hadn't expected a birthday to be such a grand production; he was the busiest person of all, with no time to rest. He had to patiently reply to messages from colleagues and peers, thanking them for their well-wishes.
After replying to all the unread messages, his recent chat list was submerged in a sea of identical "thank yous." Cheng Wenhui finally let him be, though the manager still had his own work to attend to, pacing the sitting room while making phone calls.
After showering and climbing into bed, his cheek pressed against the soft pillow, Qi Bailu felt a blind, swarming sense of happiness. But that happiness soon took on a different flavor, as if the very existence of this joy made the slight chill of sorrow seeping through it even more desolate.
The day was almost over. Thousands of people had told him to be happy and fulfilled, but there was one person who hadn't. In fact, there had been no call, no message. Not a single word.
He was still happy, but it was a very aimless happiness. Multicolored capsules and tablets were poured into his hand. Colorful dreams. He would still be happy after falling asleep. But entering the dream was different. In the dream, he felt lost, as if he had harvested a whole trellis of perfectly ripe grapes, leaving only the very last one hanging on the highest branch. No matter how he stood on his tiptoes, he couldn't reach it, fruitlessly stretching his aching arms upward.
Now, he didn't care if that grape was sour or sweet; he wanted it regardless. Even if its heart had been hollowed out by aphids, he still wanted it.
If a person stares too long at dappled sunlight, they will always feel dizzy. When Qi Bailu opened his eyes again, he heard a voice standing in the light saying, "He went to sleep very early today, probably tired..."
The door swung open, tracing a small semi-circle on the floor, followed by the rhythmic sound of leather shoes tapping on the ground. Strange—it was a sound he felt he had heard countless times, yet he still couldn't open his eyes.
The shoes stopped when they reached the bedside. They stayed there for a while. In the vase on the nightstand sat a bouquet of red roses. Cheng Wenhui’s voice was muffled: "I remember these were from the crew... take them away... put..."
After a moment, there was the rustle of rose stems and leaves rubbing together. Qi Bailu had long been stirred by the voices, but drowsiness still weighed too heavily for him to lift his eyelids. After struggling for a long time, he finally opened his eyes. He saw a dark silhouette sitting by his bed, the person’s head lowered.
Withered roses always droop their heads. Qi Bailu, still on the edge of a dream, couldn't help but feel that what stood before him was a massive, thorny plant.
Zheng Kunyu leaned down, his hand pressing against Qi Bailu’s face, stroking it once or twice. Qi Bailu instinctively sought the warmth, nuzzling into the palm, murmuring, "You're back."
His voice was so faint that even a mosquito on his face wouldn't have heard it, let alone Zheng Kunyu. Yet Zheng Kunyu, still leaning over, gave a quiet "Mm" and said, "Happy birthday."
Qi Bailu gave a very, very soft hum. He felt hot, so he pulled his hand out from under the covers, grabbed that hand, and closed his eyes again. Zheng Kunyu squeezed his fingers and kissed his lips directly. Qi Bailu frowned slightly in his half-asleep state because he could feel something cold being slipped onto his ring finger, the sensation slightly uncomfortable.
But the kiss was comfortable. Qi Bailu couldn't help but reach up to hold onto something, and he found Zheng Kunyu’s neck. His mind was full of grapes—full, ripe, a bountiful harvest—and he thought to himself that this grape was quite bitter. After a long time, perhaps due to a brief lack of oxygen, Qi Bailu’s head tilted to the side, and he fell into a deep, total sleep.
The dream felt as though it lasted forever, yet also as though it were but the blink of a Buddha's eye. Early the next morning, Qi Bailu suddenly opened his eyes—as suddenly as if that long-delayed grape had finally fallen and struck him on the head.
He actually reached up to feel his head, but there was nothing there. There was nothing on the pillow or the blanket, either. He was the only one in the room. It seemed he had had an unspeakable dream; he had dreamed of Zheng Kunyu. How pathetic.
The room was thick with the scent of roses. Qi Bailu turned his head to look at the vase on the nightstand. He looked away, but a moment later, his gaze suddenly snapped back.
These weren't the flowers Ruan Qiuji had bought. Although all flowers looked more or less the same, Qi Bailu just knew they weren't the ones. Qi Bailu sat up and reached out to count the flowers, but in the morning light by the bed, he saw a ring encircling his ring finger.
His hand froze there, the finger crowned with a brilliant, shimmering light.
***
