Zhang Jin’an checked his watch. Who would be looking for him at this hour?
With that thought, he stood up anyway.
Walking to the door, Zhang Jin’an placed a hand on the handle and peered through the peephole. A familiar face met his gaze.
Jiang Siyang?
Zhang Jin’an immediately checked himself in the entryway mirror. A plain short-sleeved shirt and pajama shorts—good, nothing inappropriate.
Only after this quick inspection did he open the door. Jiang Siyang stood there wearing a yellow layered hoodie and knee-length cargo shorts. White crew socks covered his ankles, paired with white sneakers. His hair was still styled for his character; it seemed he hadn't had time to wash it yet. He looked like a completely different person from the one in the drama—vibrant and full of sunshine.
Though Zhang Jin’an was no stranger to Jiang Siyang’s private persona, his brain had finally grown accustomed to the younger man's decadent, disheveled appearance in the show. Seeing that original, vigorous energy suddenly reappear before his eyes made him daze for a moment.
"Ge," Jiang Siyang greeted him, immediately breaking into a smile.
Snapping out of it, Zhang Jin’an asked, "Siyang? Weren't you all out for late-night snacks? Finished so soon?"
"They’re still eating. I came back early," Jiang Siyang said, lifting his right hand to show Zhang Jin’an the plastic bag he was carrying.
Sure enough, a savory aroma wafted through the air.
Jiang Siyang explained, "I noticed you didn't eat much for dinner, Ge. I figured you’d be hungry, so I asked them to make some egg fried rice and brought it over while it’s still hot."
Zhang Jin’an felt his heart give a sudden, sharp throb.
He really hadn't eaten much today; he’d only managed a few bites to save time. But he had eaten after the others. Logically, by the time he sat down, everyone else had already left, leaving only the directing crew.
For a moment, Zhang Jin’an didn't know what to say. He pursed his lips. "How... did you know I didn't eat much?"
Jiang Siyang explained candidly, "You went late and came back early, Ge. Even I can't eat that fast. It was obvious you barely ate."
Zhang Jin’an looked at Jiang Siyang, responding somewhat blankly, "Ah... I see."
"I wasn't sure if you'd want it, though. I didn't add anything extra, just eggs and sausage. If you don't want it, I'll take it back—"
*Take it back?*
The moment Zhang Jin’an heard those words, a voice screamed in his head: *No!* He subconsciously snatched the bag, cradling it in his hands as he interrupted, "I want it!"
The words left him stunned. Jiang Siyang froze too. The air between them suddenly solidified.
Zhang Jin’an felt like a complete idiot.
*Damn it! What did I just do?!*
"I didn't mean..." Zhang Jin’an began, flustered and ready to explain, only to see an expression of sudden realization dawn on Jiang Siyang’s face.
"I understand," Jiang Siyang said. "I’m the same way when I’m hungry. I get protective of my food."
Anyone with eyes could see that Jiang Siyang was covering for him to ease the awkwardness.
Even through the plastic bag, he could feel the warmth of the container. It really had been brought to him while it was still hot. Had he run here?
Zhang Jin’an felt his throat go dry. His voice lowered involuntarily. "Siyang, do you want to eat together?"
Jiang Siyang looked at him with a hint of pleasant surprise. "Can I?"
Good, he didn't refuse.
Zhang Jin’an said immediately, "Of course. I don't think I can finish all of this anyway. I have my own bowls and chopsticks, so don't worry. It’s perfect—if there’s anything in the script you’re unsure about, you can ask me."
In the past, he had always approached invitations with a "take it or leave it" attitude. This was likely the first time he had added so many conditions just to convince someone to stay for a midnight snack.
He even found himself intensely anticipating Jiang Siyang’s answer.
"Then that sounds great," Jiang Siyang replied.
Hearing him agree, Zhang Jin’an felt a wave of relief wash over him. He felt happier than if he had nailed a scene in a single take.
"I'll carry that, then," Jiang Siyang said, taking the bag back from Zhang Jin’an’s hands.
Zhang Jin’an nodded, stepped aside to let him in, and closed the door.
"Should I sit here?" Jiang Siyang placed the food on the table and stood by the chair Zhang Jin’an had just been occupying.
"Yeah, that’s fine." Zhang Jin’an pulled over another chair from the guest area and took out two sets of bowls and chopsticks from the cupboard. Since they were staying here for over a month, they couldn't use disposables every day; bringing one's own utensils was common practice.
Just as Jiang Siyang was about to sit, Zhang Jin’an’s eyes swept over the chair and noticed his clothes were still draped there. He stood up quickly. "Ah, wait, let me move those." The clothes and the chair were both black; he had almost missed them.
Jiang Siyang waved him off. "It’s fine, Ge. You start eating." As he spoke, he picked up the garment, placed it on the bed, and neatly folded it with practiced ease.
Zhang Jin’an’s heart skipped another beat.
Jiang Siyang sat back down. Noticing the Bluetooth earphones, he asked, "Ge, were you listening to music?"
Zhang Jin’an shook his head, scooping a portion of rice into a bowl. "No, I was just on the phone."
"Oh..." Jiang Siyang snapped his disposable chopsticks apart. "Actually, Ge... you don't need to put so much pressure on yourself."
Zhang Jin’an’s hand paused. "What?"
"Even though today was our first day of filming and our coordination isn't perfect yet, we’ll work hard not to hold the production back." Jiang Siyang paused to take a few bites of rice before looking at Zhang Jin’an. "Personally, I think the production trending is a good thing, but it’s also an invisible pressure. High visibility means higher expectations. Since we’re just minor actors, not many people are paying attention to us..."
Though it wasn't polite to interrupt, hearing Jiang Siyang speak about himself with such self-deprecation made Zhang Jin’an uncomfortable. He couldn't help but correct him. "You shouldn't say that about yourself. You need to have confidence. Plenty of people became your fans today."
Jiang Siyang clearly hadn't expected that. He blinked, stunned, before a soft smile touched his lips. "Okay, I won't say it... Anyway, half of the public's attention is on you, Ge. Some of the news about you online... Yuan Yuan and the others were talking about it just now. I overheard a bit..." Jiang Siyang trailed off, seemingly searching for the right words.
Zhang Jin’an understood. No wonder Siyang had suddenly brought this up. It seemed that while they were eating, others had checked Weibo just as he had.
Zhang Jin’an didn't speak, listening quietly to Jiang Siyang. There was still no music playing in the room, yet Zhang Jin’an felt it was much livelier and warmer than before.
After a few seconds, Jiang Siyang spoke again, his eyes meeting Zhang Jin’an’s. "There isn't much I can do to help you, Ge. I just hope that if the pressure gets too much, you can talk about it. You can talk to me. I’m thick-skinned; words rarely get me down. I’m a very willing listener."
Zhang Jin’an’s first instinct was to refuse. He wasn't used to sharing his inner thoughts or his stress with others; or rather, he wasn't used to troubling people.
His lips parted, but the refusal failed to come out. He looked into those eyes and remembered a line Tuanyuan had written:
*Jiang Siyang’s thoughts are too easy to read. What he likes, what he hates, what he wants to do—it’s all reflected in his eyes, making one want to peer through them to see what kind of glass-and-jade heart he truly possesses.*
If the person was Jiang Siyang, perhaps it would be different.
"Okay..." Zhang Jin’an replied.
Jiang Siyang beamed with delight. "Really? That’s great."
Zhang Jin’an had never met someone like this. How could such a person exist? He was the one offering to share the burden, yet he was the one smiling so happily. Those smiling eyes reflected the lamplight, looking as though they really were made of glass and jade.
It was truly strange.
His hands were empty—or rather, all they held was the lingering warmth of the food container—yet Zhang Jin’an felt as though something like a toxin was seeping through his fingertips into his veins, spreading toward his heart.
It made his blood and his heart feel as scalding as freshly boiled water.
***
