Chapter 72 - Hide and Seek
Ruan Qiuji arrived at Cassini’s private booth quite late.
As he pushed open the door, the strains of a birthday song drifted through the air. A boisterous crowd had gathered around a young, strikingly handsome actor, cheering as he prepared to blow out the candles. Youth was always synonymous with such restless energy. Ruan Qiuji handed his coat to a waiting server, his gaze drifting indifferently over the faces of the men and women present. Most were strangers to him, yet nearly all of them recognized him—either by reputation or through the frantic whispers that had rippled through the room the moment he stepped inside.
One individual, bolder than the rest, chirped a bright "President Ruan" and squeezed into a spot on the sofa beside him as he sat down. The face was unfamiliar, certainly not one of the artists from his own company; his own employees were far too disciplined, addressing him only as "Boss" with a practiced reverence.
Ruan Qiuji offered a faint, polite smile and accepted the drink the youth poured for him. Before he could take a sip, the other man lightly clinked his glass against Ruan’s, his eyes brimming with an unmistakable, suggestive intent. Ruan’s expression remained an immovable mask of pleasantry, but deep within his eyes, a cold detachment flickered.
Pan Xiaoyan, who had arrived much earlier, finally tore his attention away from the girl in his lap. He shot Ruan a mischievous, knowing grin. "Only you would have the clout to get such a busy man to show up and grace us with his presence."
Pan Xiaoyan was speaking to the birthday boy, who was currently sporting a festive paper hat. Hearing the comment, the young actor looked up and smiled, carefully plating the first slice of cake for Ruan Qiuji. Pan Xiaoyan made a playful grab for it, but the youth shielded it, ensuring it traveled across the table to land safely in Ruan’s hands. Ruan accepted it with a nod.
To any observer, the interaction was thick with ambiguity. Under the dim, shifting lights, the youth’s skin looked as pale and smooth as fine jade, his eyes shimmering with a watery brilliance. He was clearly a clever, exquisite creature; otherwise, he wouldn't have ascended to the status of the industry’s most sought-after young star in a mere year.
Ruan Qiuji found himself thinking that this boy didn't actually look like Qi Bailu. They were merely similar in age—both twenty-five—yet for some reason, the public insisted on drawing comparisons.
A year ago, entertainment headlines had been saturated with such talk, even as Qi Bailu himself seemed to vanish from the limelight. Ruan Qiuji knew better, of course. Qi Bailu hadn't disappeared; he had co-founded a tiny film production outfit with Lin Yuewei called Yangzhi Ganlu, focusing on niche, low-budget projects.
Ruan Qiuji took two small bites of the cake before setting it aside, preferring the solace of alcohol in such a setting. As a regular, the establishment knew his tastes; a server soon arrived with a bottle of champagne specifically for him. The liquid poured into the flute was a delicate, translucent rosé. Ruan hesitated for a heartbeat before picking up the glass. It was June—the season when grapes reached their peak.
After the cake was distributed, the star of the evening slid closer, using his phone to browse the karaoke queue. He leaned in, the warmth of his body seeping through Ruan’s thin shirt. "What do you want to hear?" he asked softly.
Ruan Qiuji watched him in silence. The youth smiled, his voice a silken murmur. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I’m looking to see what it is you want," Ruan replied with a faint, dry smile.
The youth placed a hand on Ruan’s shoulder, gently pushing him back until he was leaning against the sofa’s upholstery. He leaned in further, his fingers grazing Ruan’s collar as if to straighten it—a gesture that mimicked the prelude to a kiss. Yet, he lacked the true courage to follow through, hovering there to gauge Ruan’s reaction. Fearing rejection, he settled for resting his hand on Ruan’s arm. Ruan felt like a grape being inspected, as if the youth wanted to peel away his skin and expose everything beneath.
It was a beautiful face, and the boy was intelligent enough not to be annoying, but there was a certain tediousness to it all. For Ruan Qiuji, anything obtained too easily lost its flavor. Those eyes were clearly infatuated, yet the boy was still struggling with his own pride, failing to master the delicate art of playing hard to get.
Just as the young man seemed ready to cast caution to the wind, the music in the booth shifted. Even from the first few notes of the intro, Ruan Qiuji recognized the song: *Dewy Night Run*. He turned his head instinctively, searching for the singer, only to find it was a young woman at the mic.
Ruan patted the youth’s waist, signaling him to move, and stood up. The boy, assuming Ruan wanted him to follow, stood as well. "I’m going to the restroom," Ruan said.
"I’ll go with you."
Ruan Qiuji led the way out. Their departure, one after the other, carried the suspicious air of a clandestine tryst. A few of Ruan’s fair-weather friends whistled after him, and one laughed, calling out his name. "Look at you, playing the part of King You of Zhou today!" Ruan ignored the jab, merely offering a thin smile as he held the door open for the youth.
The decor of Cassini remained unchanged from two years ago—a long corridor painted a deep, bruised rose-red, with carpets so plush they swallowed the sound of footsteps. Ruan sensed the young man beside him had something to say and waited for him to find his voice. Sure enough, after a moment, the youth whispered, "Will you be staying tonight?"
"Do you want me to?"
Ruan’s answer was noncommittal, yet it held just enough possibility to be tantalizing. The youth looked up, deciding that this was the moment to strike. Finding the hallway momentarily empty, he boldly grabbed Ruan’s arm, bringing them to a halt in front of a private booth. But neither of them expected what happened next. Just as the youth’s lips leaned in—
The door to the booth swung inward with sudden force, and someone stumbled out.
The collision was so abrupt that Ruan Qiuji didn't have time to see who it was before they were chest-to-chest. Because the person had shoulder-length hair that obscured their face, Ruan assumed it was a woman. He caught them by the elbows to steady them. "Are you alright?"
The intruder looked up, their gaze meeting Ruan’s. Both froze.
Ruan was the first to register the shock. "Bailu?" he breathed.
Qi Bailu’s realization came a second later. Dazed by the alcohol in his system, it took a moment for his vision to clear. When he finally recognized the man holding him, his eyes filled with a bewildered, dawning surprise.
It felt as though they had both fallen into a dream. Ruan Qiuji reacted instinctively, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Qi Bailu’s ear. His fingers lingered, sliding down the side of his face as if to confirm that this person was indeed real. His arm remained hooked behind Qi Bailu’s back in an intimate embrace, leaving the young actor standing beside them wide-eyed with shock.
Qi Bailu looked at Ruan, then at the beauty standing next to him, before finally fixing his gaze back on Ruan’s face. He forced out a single, stiff word: "Congratulations..."
Ruan’s expression shifted, as if a needle had pierced his pupils. To meet again after nearly two years in such a setting was nothing short of grotesque.
But Qi Bailu wasn't finished. He steadied his tongue and added, "...and may you be prosperous."
"..."
Taking advantage of Ruan’s stunned silence, Qi Bailu pushed him away and leaned back against the wall. He fished a small card from his pocket and held it up for Ruan to see. "My apologies..."
Ruan’s eyes flicked downward. The card read: *Truth or Dare #14: Say 'Gongxi Facai' to the first person you encounter outside the door.*
The encounter was a total ambush for both of them—a "Great Dare" indeed. Ruan Qiuji remained stoic, while Qi Bailu maintained a facade of nonchalance. Neither allowed a crack to show in their expressions, yet their locked gazes were like two master swordsmen meeting on a narrow path, testing each other’s aura before a single blade was drawn.
To the young man standing with Ruan, however, the look they shared was nothing short of "soulful." To him, Qi Bailu’s glance felt like an ex-lover catching him in the act. He didn't quite recognize Qi Bailu, knowing him only as an actor who had been famous for a fleeting moment. "President Ruan..." he ventured hesitantly.
"Go back inside," Ruan interrupted, his tone unreadable.
Qi Bailu finally seemed to take a proper look at the person beside Ruan. Playing the fool, he deliberately took the command as if it were meant for him and turned to leave. He reached for the door handle, but Ruan grabbed his wrist and hauled him back against the wall.
This time, Ruan used a sharp look to dismiss the other youth. The boy, sensing the shift in gravity, was wise enough to retreat back into the booth. Once they were alone, the atmosphere curdled. The muffled bass from the speakers vibrated through the door and into the hallway, a low, rhythmic thrum like the call of a whale, as if a tidal wave were about to sweep through the corridor and drown them both. Qi Bailu looked up at the ceiling, searching for something.
"I’m not going to eat you," Ruan said dryly, knowing he was looking for the security cameras.
A small red light blinked in the corner. Qi Bailu retracted his gaze. "Let go."
Seeing that he had no further intention of running, Ruan released his grip. Qi Bailu showed no desire for small talk. "I’m here with colleagues," he said, his eyes averted. "They’re waiting for me."
He tried to move again, but Ruan, frustrated by his refusal to even engage, used uncharacteristic force to pin him back against the wall, bracing an arm beside his head to block his path. Qi Bailu stared at him, speechless. The pose was so reminiscent of a dramatic "wall-slam" from an idol drama that it lent their reunion an unwanted air of theatricality.
Two years. He had become the kind of person who went to parties with colleagues.
"Are you planning to hide from me for the rest of your life?" Ruan asked.
"It’s just been a long time since our paths crossed," Qi Bailu replied, crossing his arms.
He seemed far more composed and mature than he had been two years ago. His voice had lost its soft edge, and he was dressed simply in a T-shirt and trousers. His hair, grown out long, gave him a slightly feminine air, but his overall aura had changed; the old fragility had been carefully tucked away.
"Just a coincidence that you moved, changed your number, and deleted your WeChat?" Ruan said tonelessly. "A coincidence that you avoid every event I attend? A coincidence that every invitation I send you vanishes into thin air?"
Exposed so ruthlessly, Qi Bailu shot him a cool glance but remained silent.
"Don't give me that look," Ruan said.
"You already know the answers. Why bother asking?"
The words stripped away Ruan’s polished veneer. Their past interactions had been a game of mutual seduction, but two years had scoured away the romance. Now, it was like a blade being drawn from its sheath, the cold steel reflecting two hearts that had stopped pretending.
On that morning amidst the fire, they hadn't even spoken. After Qi Bailu left with Lin Yuewei, he had unilaterally severed all ties. Ruan had initially thought it was a temporary whim, never imagining such cold-blooded resolve. Over time, that unresolved tension had frozen into a block of ice. And just as that ice was beginning to thaw, he had fallen from the sky—a free gift landing right in Ruan’s arms.
Ruan Qiuji studied this "gift," weighing the question: to take it, or not to take it?
"I thought we were at least friends," Ruan said, his voice smooth with the habit of glossing over unpleasant truths.
Qi Bailu studied this so-called "friend." If they hadn't shared a kiss and nearly ended up in bed together, he might have actually believed Ruan’s nonsense.
As they stood in a stalemate, a neighboring booth door flew open, and a head popped out. It was Qi Bailu’s new assistant. Before he even saw who was there, he shouted drunkenly, "Where’d you go?"
The assistant didn't realize there were two people at first. He leaned out further, hollering, "Everyone’s ready to head out..." His voice died in his throat as he realized Qi Bailu was standing inches away from another man. His confused grin vanished.
Ruan Qiuji met his eyes. "You’re leaving?"
"Yes," the assistant stammered instinctively.
Qi Bailu felt a surge of apprehension. Ruan turned back to him. "I’ll drive you."
"You’ve been drinking," Qi Bailu countered.
"My driver is waiting downstairs."
"I don't—" Qi Bailu started, but he cut himself off when he saw Ruan’s expression. In all the time he had known him, he had never seen Ruan look quite like this. There was a mocking tilt to his smile, as if he were simply waiting to see what excuse Qi Bailu would fabricate next.
Qi Bailu knew Ruan’s character; he was not a man who let things go. Even if he escaped today, he wouldn't escape tomorrow. It was better to settle things now. He turned to his assistant. "Get my backpack. Tell the others I’m heading home."
A moment later, the assistant emerged with a black double-strap backpack. Qi Bailu took it by the strap. "Let’s go."
Ruan noticed it wasn't the bag Qi Bailu used to carry. But then, everything from his past had been consumed by that fire. Qi Bailu took the lead, and they walked one after the other down the rose-red corridor. Ruan watched his back, struck by the irony. They had met for the first time right here at Cassini, in a hallway just like this. He remembered Qi Bailu wearing a black down jacket, his hands tucked into his sleeves because he had no gloves.
The slightly unfamiliar Qi Bailu before him merged with that ethereal shadow of the past. Back then, he had stood beside Zheng Kunyu, his forced composure betrayed by a lingering hint of fear. Now, he moved with a self-assured grace, showing no sign of the hardship he had endured.
Qi Bailu didn't recognize Ruan’s car. Ruan led him to the vehicle and opened the door for him. Both had been drinking, and the interior of the car was soon filled with the heavy scent of alcohol. Ruan’s coat was still back in the booth; he handed his membership card to the driver and gave the booth number. "Go grab my jacket." The driver took the card and stepped out.
As the door clicked shut, Qi Bailu gave a small involuntary shiver and rubbed his arms. The air conditioning was set low, and the chill seemed to settle in his bones. Ruan noticed, stepped out to the driver’s seat, and adjusted the temperature before turning on the music.
Qi Bailu watched the back of his head as he lowered his hands. Ruan was scrolling through tracks, eventually settling on some jazz. Ruan looked into the rearview mirror, catching a pair of dark, unreadable eyes. Qi Bailu, caught staring, looked away without a word.
When Ruan sat back, the physical proximity only seemed to deepen the sense of estrangement between them. Amidst the slow, flowing melody, it was Qi Bailu who spoke first. "You don't need to see me all the way home. If you have something to say, say it now."
"I have many ways of finding you," Ruan replied.
The statement was layered with meaning—an admission that he could have found him sooner but chose not to, and a warning that he could find him again, so he shouldn't bother running.
"You could have just pretended we didn't run into each other."
"And if I refuse?"
Qi Bailu didn't answer. He simply turned to look at his own reflection in the window, clearly unwilling to continue the conversation. At the heart of it, there was only one issue between them, but after so much time, bringing it up was like trying to pull a rotted vine from a pond; it would only muddy the waters. Ruan, seemingly unwilling to shatter the fragile peace, let the silence stretch.
Lost in their own thoughts, they remained quiet until the driver returned with the suit jacket. Ruan didn't put it on, tossing it aside and unfastening the top two buttons of his shirt. He hadn't had much to drink, yet he felt the intoxication beginning to take hold.
A wine fermented for two days was nothing like a wine fermented for two years—or two hundred.
"President Ruan, where to?" the driver asked carefully, sensing the heavy atmosphere.
Qi Bailu glanced at Ruan, who merely watched him in silence. Qi Bailu gave the driver an address. It wasn't far; they would be there soon.
The rest of the trip passed in silence. They reached the apartment complex in less than half an hour. Several streetlights were broken and had yet to be repaired, leaving the area shrouded in darkness under a starless sky. The air was stiflingly humid—a sure sign of an impending storm. Ruan got out to walk him to the door. Qi Bailu didn't protest, so Ruan took it as consent.
They didn't walk like a couple; there was a wide, deliberate gap between them. The wind whipped through their sleeves and collars, offering a sharp, refreshing chill. They were halfway to the building when Qi Bailu opened his mouth to tell Ruan he could leave. At that moment, Ruan touched his own face, feeling a single drop of water on his cheekbone like a stray tear. He looked up at the sky. "It’s raining."
As the words left his mouth, Qi Bailu felt a drop on his own forehead. The rain began in earnest, heavy droplets pelting down and making him flinch. In the blink of an eye, the drizzle turned into a downpour, leaving dark streaks across their clothes. A little rain was one thing, but the low rumble of thunder from deep within the clouds was another. The sound grew louder, as if the sky were about to split open directly above them.
They shared a look and quickened their pace toward the entrance. Ruan was still looking at the sky, seemingly unbothered. Qi Bailu grabbed his hand and gave him a tug. "It’s thundering! Are you waiting to be struck by lightning?"
He pulled Ruan along for a few steps before remembering the man had a car. He hesitated, unsure whether to let go or keep running, but eventually released his grip. It was too late to run back to the car now. "I’ll lend you an umbrella in a minute," Qi Bailu said, pointedly avoiding an invitation to come inside and wait out the storm.
In the time it took to speak, both their faces were drenched. Qi Bailu didn't wait to see if Ruan followed; he simply bolted. Ruan held his suit jacket over his head and, with his long stride, caught up in seconds. Before Qi Bailu could even see where he was going, Ruan’s arm hooked around his neck, pulling him close under the makeshift shelter of the jacket. It offered almost no protection, but it was a gesture of shielding nonetheless.
Qi Bailu was enveloped by the scent of rain, fabric softener, and a faint trace of alcohol. This wasn't just a storm; it was as if the heavens had opened up a river. In the flowerbeds below, the pomegranate blossoms were being ruthlessly battered, their petals scattered across the ground. As they ran, Qi Bailu realized he couldn't smell anything else—the rain had washed away the world, leaving only the lingering, ghost-like aroma of red wine.
He stole a quick glance at Ruan. From this angle, he could only see the sharp line of his profile. A bolt of brilliant white lightning tore through the night sky like a silver fish darting through the dark, momentarily illuminating the two of them as they stood submerged in the deluge.
Qi Bailu thought of nothing—or perhaps he thought of everything, and simply didn't know it yet.
***
