Chapter 85 - The Princess and the Pea
After Lin Yuewei returned, she did not, as expected, refuse Ruan Qiuji’s proposal. However, Ruan Qiuji’s side had put forward several suggestions for script revisions that left her simmering with irritation. With a little over a month remaining before the cameras were set to roll on *Golden Branches and Jade Leaves*, Qi Bailu found himself with little to do other than memorize his lines. Seizing the opportunity, Ruan Qiuji suggested that Qi Bailu move in with him, or at the very least, allow him to find a closer apartment. Qi Bailu, however, remained unyielding. He understood better than anyone that once they shared a roof, the very nature of their relationship would shift into something far more domestic and permanent—a boundary he was not yet ready to cross.
Consequently, their trysts were relegated to hotels or each other’s homes, conducted with the hushed secrecy of underground intelligence operatives meeting in the dark. The sweltering heat of July was at its peak, a heavy, humid blanket that made one want to retreat into an air-conditioned room and sleep away the entire summer. Because Qi Bailu took a taxi every time he visited, Ruan Qiuji offered to buy him a Porsche Cayenne. Qi Bailu refused without a second thought.
Ruan Qiuji had never encountered someone so difficult to please. It seemed as though the only thing Qi Bailu currently had any interest in was sleeping with him; once the act was over, he would turn cold and distant, as if flipping a switch. Ruan was perpetually busy with work, but one day he managed to find a gap to invite Qi Bailu out for dinner. Qi Bailu’s only response was to ask if he had booked a room. When Ruan replied that he hadn't, Qi Bailu sent back a single smiling emoji. Ruan stared at that digital expression for a long time, increasingly convinced that the subtext was: *If we’re only eating, why bother calling me?*
Eventually, they ended up at Ruan Qiuji’s house. After a few lingering kisses, Qi Bailu asked if he had showered yet. Ruan had no choice but to retreat to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, watching the water fill the tub, but when it was only halfway full, he abruptly opened the door and stepped back into the bedroom. The move was unexpected. Ruan stood silently, watching Qi Bailu’s silhouette as he rifled through a cabinet. Hearing the door, Qi Bailu’s movements slowed and then stopped. Without waiting for Ruan to speak, he turned around with practiced nonchalance and asked, "Where are the condoms?"
"First drawer on the left."
Qi Bailu slid the drawer he had been searching shut and took two foils from an unopened box. Ruan went to the walk-in closet to grab a bathrobe, casting a brief glance at the items in Qi Bailu’s hand. "They’re new," he remarked. "Strawberry flavored."
"..."
Ruan watched him sit on the edge of the bed before returning to the bathroom and closing the door. The moment he turned away, his relaxed expression vanished. Through the barrier of the door, he could hear no further movement from Qi Bailu. He knew exactly what the younger man was looking for: the missing DV camera, the one Ruan had intercepted from the investigation team two years ago.
Aside from Zheng Kunyu, Ruan Qiuji was the only person who had seen its contents.
He suspected Qi Bailu didn't realize that the device contained more than just a single explicit video. Ruan stared at the water cascading from the faucet into the tub, but he felt no rush to wash. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, looking down at his own distorted reflection in the rippling water. He reached out to test the temperature, swirling the water with his fingers. Only after the surface had begun to overflow did he remember to tighten the tap.
If his intuition was correct, Qi Bailu believed Ruan was holding onto that video as a means of blackmail. A faint, bitter smile touched Ruan’s lips. Qi Bailu’s guard was always up, whether he was facing Zheng Kunyu in the past or Ruan in the present.
Ruan recalled the first video on the DV—a younger Qi Bailu from his student days, looking tense and defensive in a fleeting shot. Some things about him had never changed. That particular footage seemed to be raw material for a school project: shots of the campus flowerbeds, a grey starling perched on a branch, and pedestrians passing by at night. Finally, Qi Bailu’s voice had drifted over the images: *September 1st, weather clear.*
There were several such clips, occasionally filmed by Qi Bailu’s classmates. The DV footage possessed a natural, nostalgic filter; seeing it for the first time, Ruan found it difficult to reconcile the cynical man he knew with the raw, green youth on the screen. By the third video, Qi Bailu was filming a school sports meet, but the recording cut off abruptly halfway through.
Ruan surmised that this was the moment Qi Bailu had become involved with Zheng Kunyu. In the next segment, Qi Bailu was filming a botanical observation diary when Zheng Kunyu’s voice entered the frame. Zheng seemed to be standing some distance away. "Did you water the flowers?" he asked.
The filmmaker was clearly startled; the camera jerked violently. Qi Bailu didn't answer immediately. It was only when a corner of a garment entered the frame that he finally whispered, "No."
A long silence followed, the lens remaining fixed on the flowerpots in the garden. Finally, Zheng Kunyu’s voice came again: "Did you just catch me on camera?" The screen went black.
From beginning to end, Zheng Kunyu never fully appeared. Even in the explicit footage that followed, there was only a blurred glimpse of his profile. Qi Bailu was the sole protagonist of those scenes.
On screen, he looked debauched, vulnerable, and hauntingly beautiful. He appeared to be teetering on the edge of a total breakdown, a sight that provoked a toxic cocktail of vindictiveness and surging jealousy in the viewer. It made one want to throttle him in a fit of possessive rage, then preserve his dying body like a butterfly specimen. For a fleeting moment, Ruan Qiuji had almost understood that impulse.
But the videos didn't end there. The later footage had clearly not been filmed by Qi Bailu, and the setting was no longer domestic. Seeing the waves crashing in the background, Ruan realized it was Tahiti. Qi Bailu was shown napping in a hammock by the beach, one hand dangling over the side of the mesh. The person behind the lens had originally been filming the clouds, but then pivoted to focus entirely on him. The camera traveled slowly from his legs to his jaw, from his shoulder to his cheek, hovering there for a long time without wavering.
Wine glasses, sunglasses, and tourists in vibrant bikinis flashed by, but Qi Bailu remained still, as if sleeping inside a crystal ball, never waking. Only the rhythmic sound of the tide provided a sense of passing time. At the very end of the video, a hand wearing a ring pressed down on a book whose pages were fluttering in the wind, marking the place with a bookmark before closing it. The camera caught the title—the book Qi Bailu had borrowed from Ruan before his nap: *The Fall*.
Had he not seen it with his own eyes, Ruan would never have imagined Zheng Kunyu filming such a tender, quiet moment. It was hard to say what impulse had driven Ruan to keep the DV. Perhaps it was because it served as a perfect tool for coercion, or perhaps because it captured versions of Qi Bailu he had never seen—the shy, the struggling, the serene. Each was a vivid specimen.
Unfortunately, Qi Bailu would never see them. The day Qi Bailu had mentioned the device to Cheng Wenhui, Ruan knew he would never stop looking for it. As long as they were together, Qi Bailu would continue to doubt him. And so, upon returning home that day, Ruan had deleted every single file. Once, Ruan had cared deeply about the younger man’s past; now, it seemed irrelevant. No third person would ever know the Tahiti video existed. Qi Bailu would never know, and he didn't need to.
The DV, its hard drive now hollow and empty, sat in the bottom-most drawer on the left. If Ruan wasn't mistaken, Qi Bailu had already found it and was checking to see if the ghosts he feared were still there. If Qi Bailu could think clearly, he would realize that for both of them, the device now symbolized only one thing: the past is beyond retrieval.
Starting a new project in late August was an uncomfortable prospect. A week after filming began, Qi Bailu hadn't sent Ruan a single word. Even when Ruan messaged him, the replies came a day late. When Ruan asked if he was really that busy—noting that the call sheets didn't show many scenes for him yet—Qi Bailu replied with two laconic words: *Heat stroke.*
Although Cheng Wenhui managed Qi Bailu’s contract, he wasn't on set with the crew, so he was unaware of the medical situation. Hearing this, Ruan had his secretary book a flight, and Lin Yuewei sent her assistant to pick him up. Upon arrival, Ruan discovered that the "heat stroke" was more severe than Qi Bailu had let on; he had been sent to the hospital for an IV drip.
The production gave Qi Bailu a day off to rest in the hotel. When Ruan arrived, Qi Bailu was napping and was jolted awake by the knocking at the door. He sat up, realized one of his slippers had been kicked off to parts unknown, and was forced to limp to the door with one bare foot. Ruan stepped inside, noted his pale complexion, and said, "Good afternoon, Princess and the Pea."
He moved to kiss Qi Bailu’s cheek, but seeing the bare foot, he paused. "Or is it Cinderella?"
Qi Bailu gave him a shove and sat on the sofa to pour himself some water. "It's a wicked monster," he muttered crossly.
Ruan sat beside him with a faint smile. As Qi Bailu handed him the glass, Ruan leaned in and kissed the "wicked monster," gradually pressing him back against the cushions. He took the glass from Qi Bailu’s hand and set it aside. Qi Bailu lacked the energy to resist, but as he sensed Ruan’s intentions, he murmured, "No sleeping together today."
Though Ruan didn't immediately let go, he eventually withdrew his hands. He traced the medical tape on the back of Qi Bailu’s hand before nipping at his lip in a small act of retaliation. "How long were you out in the sun?"
"Five or six hours."
"You’ve tanned a bit," Ruan observed, studying his face.
Qi Bailu caught the scent of alcohol and perfume on Ruan’s collar. He grew wary. "Have you been drinking?"
"Only a little." Ruan had ducked out halfway through a business banquet, hardly eating a thing.
"There’s no one here to drink with you."
"I only wanted to see you."
Qi Bailu looked at him sullenly for a moment. Ruan reached out and pinched Qi Bailu’s reddened ear, fiddling with it like a toy. "Are you done talking?" Qi Bailu asked.
Ruan nodded. Qi Bailu added, "You’re crushing me."
At that, Ruan shifted to give him room to sit up. Qi Bailu was indeed weak, nearly breathless from the weight. He rubbed his neck and looked back at Ruan, who was now reclining on the sofa. "Have you had lunch yet?" Ruan asked. "What do you want to eat?"
"Anything is fine."
Ruan looked down at a food delivery app on his phone, and Qi Bailu leaned over to glance at the screen. After a moment, the doorbell rang. Ruan handed the phone to Qi Bailu and went to see who it was. Unfamiliar with this particular brand of phone, Qi Bailu accidentally swiped back to the home screen and tapped into another application.
The visitor turned out to be Lin Yuewei’s assistant. That morning, Qi Bailu’s assistant had accidentally taken the wrong script for the supporting male lead. Qi Bailu called out to Ruan, "Go check the bedroom."
The app he had accidentally opened was the call history. Qi Bailu knew Ruan kept two phones to separate his professional and private lives; this was the number Ruan used to contact him. The logs were laid bare before him. Though he hadn't intended to pry, his eyes caught several entries. As Ruan searched for the missing script, Qi Bailu felt a sudden, subtle "adultery-catching" impulse. He scrolled down to see who else Ruan had been in contact with.
The outgoing and incoming calls on this phone were few—mostly the secretary, friends, and family. His own contact name was listed formally as "Bailu." Qi Bailu found it dull and was about to exit when one entry caught his eye. It was a record from two years ago. The contact name was Zheng Kunyu.
Ruan emerged from the bedroom, handed the script to the assistant, and returned to the sofa. Seeing that Qi Bailu had already placed an order, he took the phone back. "Ordering this much?"
Qi Bailu nodded.
Ruan didn't think much of it, but then Qi Bailu spoke. "To you—"
The sentence was fragmented and lacked context. Ruan stared at him, but Qi Bailu immediately followed up with, "It’s nothing." A flash of suspicion crossed Ruan’s eyes, but he had no way to press the issue.
What Qi Bailu had wanted to ask was: *To you, is everyone expendable? Have you ever truly given your heart to anyone?* They had always avoided the past, but the more they ignored it, the heavier its shadow became. Taboos remained taboos. Every time Qi Bailu felt his heart stir for Ruan, it served as a recurring reminder: this man had deceived him, used him, and humiliated him. What would the future hold?
***
