AS Chapter 46

Li Mu’s arms encircled Zhuang Qin’s waist as he helped him stand, both bodies pressed close together. Zhuang Qin realized what felt off—the gloominess dissipated, replaced by embarrassment: “Thanks, but I got you wet, messed up your clothes.”

“It’s not dirty,” Li Mu said, his gaze intense, feeling every contour against his skin as they stood in the cold, soaked clothes.

“That…” Zhuang Qin felt uncomfortable, thinking if it were anyone other than Li Mu—who had been with him the previous night—he might have reacted more violently. Thankfully, they had embraced outside of their roles before, so it wasn’t entirely awkward. What made him embarrassed was the situation at hand.

Zhuang Qin tried to push away, not very hard, but still couldn’t budge Li Mu, whose arms were as firm as metal.

Looking up into Li Mu’s eyes, he whispered, “Can you let go of me, please? I’m a bit cold and want to change my clothes.”

Li Mu’s ears tingled—this kid was charmingly whining again.

The palm and arm against Li Mu’s skin were burning up, almost electric.

Changing his hold to a hand grasp, Li Mu led him towards the restaurant. “When we get there, wait for me in the corner. I’ll bring you some clothes.”

Zhuang Qin didn’t want to face a barrage of questions about his wet clothes and nodded. Li Mu glanced at him under the light, “Is work stressing you out?”

Thinking Li Mu meant acting, Zhuang Qin relaxed and replied, “If it’s a play I like, then there’s no pressure.”

Li Mu felt it; Zhuang Qin truly loved acting. But once a passion becomes a job, the fervor can fade.

After changing and eating something more, Zhuang Qin left with the crew’s convoy.

Qiu Ming, driving, was puzzled, “He’s heading back to the hotel? Why isn’t he with you?”

Li Mu just hummed.

What did that mean?

Qiu Ming remarked, “I quite like him. If it were me, I’d be happy to hold him every night. Even if we don’t sleep, just looking is good—he’s handsome.”

Li Mu glared, “Mind your own business.”

“I’m just making a comparison, not that I’m really interested…”

“Scram.” Li Mu knew he was joking, but disliked these jokes.

It seemed like he really considered Zhuang Qin as one of his own.

“You know I’ve been taking good care of your cat. It hasn’t been easy, and you’re telling me to scram?” Qiu Ming then asked, “You came back with wet clothes, did you go play in the water?”

Li Mu didn’t respond.

On the ride back, Zhuang Qin read the script. After showering at the hotel, he rehearsed his lines alone. His imagination vivid, he vividly envisioned Li Mu’s face and voice as they exchanged dialogue.

He memorized both roles’ lines and, satisfied, turned off the light to sleep.

Li Mu sent a video of a cat to Zhuang Qin, but got no reply.

He showered, the phone’s notification pinging. Li Mu almost went to check it.

Another alert.

Before sleep, he checked the messages, still no reply from Zhuang Qin.

This feeling of eagerly waiting for a response, excited at each phone ping, then disappointed when it wasn’t from him, Li Mu felt for the first time.

And it wasn’t a bad feeling.

After a few days on set and settling into his role, Zhuang Qin felt better. He consulted a lawyer anonymously and ultimately refused Sister Wen’s offer over the phone, deciding to focus on acting and not take on the reality show.

He wasn’t aware of all the ins and outs, nor of any binding contract. Su Wen was cautious, never too explicit over the phone. But Zhuang Qin knew there were things behind the scenes he didn’t understand, outcomes of company management—if he were his own agent, according to the later signed betting agreement, the company couldn’t interfere with his private contract signings.

The two contracts he signed were contradictory; theoretically, the terms of the second should supersede the first. He could act on this, and the company management couldn’t stop him, but doing so would mean burning bridges.

Who knew what other means Yuedong might use against him?

As for what those might be, Zhuang Qin could guess—he’d already experienced being frozen out once.

Leveraging connections through friends, Zhuang Qin took on some simple jobs while immersing himself in filming. Half a month later, he had lost more weight.

“Cut!” Director Guo called from behind the monitor, “This take is good. Take a break and then come for the next scene.”

Zhuang Qin got up from Li Mu, apologizing.

“Put this on.” Li Mu handed him a piece of clothing.

Zhuang Qin took it, thanking him. The warmth from the scene lingered, but as soon as the lights went out, reality set back in.

The scene they had just shot involved minimal clothing, with Zhuang Qin lying on Li Mu in a “post-act” intimate talk, his back against Li Mu’s chest. The lighting simulated morning light perfectly, though it was actually night.

The two scenes during the day took all day to shoot, skipping the bed scenes. The third, planned for late, hadn’t started, and the fourth was still pending.

“Director Guo.” The set was cleared, and Zhuang Qin climbed off the prop bed to view the footage on Guo Baozhen’s monitor.

It was the scene they had just shot.

“Good timing, you both have been in great form lately,” Guo Baozhen remarked, “Even through the screen, I can feel the sexual tension.”

Zhuang Qin watched the screen intently.

He rarely revisited his performances unless the director asked him to view the final colored version. Seeing it now made him somewhat uncomfortable—it was just a topless scene, but viewing it made him blush, “Director Guo, isn’t it a bit much…”

“Too much?” Guo Baozhen rewound the scene, thinking he missed something, “There wasn’t even a kiss, just dialogue, how is it too much?”

“No, I mean…” Zhuang Qin had noticed some small details.

Details he wouldn’t feel during filming, often forgetting right after, like the blanket covering them, making it appear they were undressed when they actually wore shorts.

He had sweated a lot on Li Mu, whose arms encircled his waist.

Zhuang Qin noticed how Li Mu’s palm caressed his waist during their dialogue—a small detail that caught his attention significantly more upon viewing than during the act itself.

Zhuang Qin pointed out the gesture, leaving Guo Baozhen speechless, “Embarrassed? You weren’t shy while shooting, why shy watching it?”

“Of course, I’d be embarrassed… I was just saying, you filmed it well.”

Actually, Zhuang Qin thought Li Mu’s gesture was perfect. Acting was for the audience; they didn’t know your thoughts, only heard your tone and saw your actions, feeling the characters’ emotions through sight and sound.

Guo Baozhen found this young actor amusing. He hadn’t been so unrestrained during filming, but now even watching a touch made him blush.

Unable to help himself, he joked, “Mr. Zhuang, if this embarrasses you, what about tomorrow’s bathtub scene? Will you watch after we shoot it?”

“Not watching, not watching,” Zhuang Qin was too embarrassed; he could immerse himself while acting, but watching was a different story, “Once it’s all shot, I can watch when you edit. I can help in the editing room.”

“You know how to edit?”

“Simple videos, nothing major. I can assist the editor.”

“Forget it, I can’t afford you.”

Zhuang Qin was about to say something when Li Mu emerged from the makeup room, freshly groomed and changed.

“What are you watching?” Li Mu noticed the two by the monitor as the crew set up props nearby.

“That last scene?” Li Mu approached.

“Yes,” Guo Baozhen said. “Mr. Zhuang was embarrassed, thought I went too far. What do you think, Mr. Li?”

“I didn’t…” Zhuang Qin weakly protested.

Li Mu glanced at him; under the lights, his black hair turned a brownish hue, his ears visibly red.

“Let me see.”

The monitor was set at Guo Baozhen’s seated height, so Li Mu had to bend down.

Guo Baozhen rewound to replay.

Li Mu watched the entire scene, lasting just over a minute, all dialogue.

The dialogue wasn’t suggestive, and the coverage was thorough; below the waist was fully covered. Although he also wasn’t wearing a shirt, not much was exposed because Zhuang Qin’s movements covered almost all of his body.

He couldn’t see what Zhuang Qin found excessive. Just then, Li Mu noticed in the monitor, Zhuang Qin’s chest.

His gaze was drawn there; Li Mu watched a small patch of pale skin on Zhuang Qin’s chest as Guo Baozhen paused at a particularly noticeable moment—Li Mu’s hand resting on his waist.

“Too much?”

Li Mu’s eyes lingered on a certain spot.

During the intimate scene, his perspective hadn’t allowed him to see this part.

Recalling unintentional touches during their filming, Li Mu paused for a few seconds, breathing halted. His eyes fell on Zhuang Qin, who couldn’t bear to watch the scene, overwhelmed with embarrassment, and said gravely, “It’s too much.”

It seemed he would have to insist that Guo Baozhen cut all these unbearable parts in post-production.

At this moment, the capitalist-minded Guo Baozhen thought, “If it’s too much, why touch others during filming?” His script didn’t include caressing.

“Forget it, you two don’t watch the final cut. Get ready for the next scene.”

The fourth scene started filming, now past midnight.

An hour later, it was done.

“That’s a wrap, thank you everyone for your hard work.”

“One more hard day tomorrow, then it’ll be much easier the day after,” Guo Baozhen, ever energetic, continued directing with his megaphone.

Scattered responses came from the crew.

From 6 or 7 in the morning to past 1 AM, everyone was exhausted.

Li Mu and Zhuang Qin changed clothes in the makeup room. When they emerged, Guo Baozhen saw Zhuang Qin and asked, “By the way, Mr. Zhuang, you don’t smoke, right?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then tomorrow might be a bit…”

“I understand,” Zhuang Qin interrupted before he could finish.

Tomorrow’s scene was a bathtub intimacy scene, clearly difficult just from reading the script.

In the cramped bathtub, they would sit opposite each other, unable to avoid physical contact. Li Mu’s assassin character had a smoking scene here, and Zhuang Qin’s An Ke would naturally take the cigarette from his hand and expertly inhale.

There was also a kiss scene where they exchanged breaths of smoke.

The dialogue was minimal, but such scenes were the hardest to shoot, and Guo Baozhen excelled at directing these.

“Let’s do a trial run tomorrow. Smoking isn’t good; it’d be best if we get it in one take, but if not… we’ll consider using a prop cigarette.”

“I’ll try to get it in one,” Zhuang Qin said, leaving the wrap site with Guo Baozhen.

Li Mu, in a loose white T-shirt, leaned against a large black SUV. His expressionless face appeared cold. He was biting on a cigarette, glowing red at the tip, one hand in his pocket.

Noticing Zhuang Qin approaching, Li Mu extinguished the cigarette. He rarely smoked in front of others and was about to find a place to discard it when Zhuang Qin said wait.

“Got another cigarette?”

“You want one?” Li Mu frowned, “Don’t smoke this.”

“I won’t.” Zhuang Qin had no interest in smoking, as Zhuang Xuejiu’s smoking had caused his lung issues, “I just want to try it, get a feel.”

Li Mu opened the car door, inviting him in.

Zhuang Qin greeted Xiao Lian, telling him to go with Director Guo, then sat in the passenger seat.

Li Mu pulled out a pack of cigarettes, handed one to Zhuang Qin, and started the car but didn’t drive off.

Zhuang Qin, who had never touched these things in his life, first sniffed it, then placed it in his mouth, biting down. Just holding it between his lips, he could taste the strong tobacco flavor, similar to what he often smelled on Zhuang Xuejiu.

Usually, he saw others smoke, but acting it out felt foreign. Holding the cigarette between two fingers, he looked to Li Mu for guidance.

“Everyone has their own way,” Li Mu said, not really wanting him to learn this, so he offered, “Let me show you, but don’t light it.”

“You want this?” Zhuang Qin removed the cigarette, “I’ve had it in my mouth, it’s got saliva on it.”

“It’ll be like this tomorrow anyway, give it here.” Li Mu didn’t mind.

Zhuang Qin, seeing he truly didn’t care, wiped the cigarette and handed it back.

Li Mu had never taught anyone such bad habits. He demonstrated briefly, Zhuang Qin watching closely, then said, “Let me light it for you.”

Li Mu looked at him.

“The script says so, let’s just try it.”

Li Mu: “So this is rehearsing?”

“Yeah, you could say that, or call it sharing experience.”

Zhuang Qin found a lighter in the car. Li Mu, with the cigarette in his mouth, leaned in as Zhuang Qin lit it. The flame ignited the tip.

Li Mu inhaled deeply and moved back. Holding the cigarette between his fingers on the steering wheel, the smoke filled the sealed car. Concerned about bothering Zhuang Qin, he rolled down the window: “Are we just rehearsing this one shot? After you take the cigarette, the script has a kiss scene. Are we rehearsing, or is this sharing experience?”

“Consider it a lesson?”

“Alright.”

Li Mu relaxed, his expression lazily sexy: “We still have to sit in a bathtub together. Have you ever bathed with someone before?”

Zhuang Qin was still focused on his expression and details, treating this as a learning opportunity.

“No,” he replied offhand.

“Neither have I,” Li Mu handed back the cigarette, “Hold it, don’t inhale.”

It was like rehearsing, yet not quite, since the script included the action but not this dialogue.

Zhuang Qin took it, truly heeding his advice, holding the cigarette without inhaling. The tobacco taste was too strong, an unpleasant warmth.

He held it without inhaling but couldn’t help thinking he should look experienced and take a drag.

He then asked Li Mu, “What if I have no experience?”

Li Mu thought he was asking about having no experience bathing with someone.

“My bathtub is large.” Li Mu started the car, taking the cigarette from him to put it out, “Don’t really smoke, it’s addictive… come over to my place and try, it won’t delay anything.” He smoothly mixed topics; everyone bathes at night anyway.

Bathing together would even save water and aromatics.

Why specifically go to his place to practice smoking?

Zhuang Qin was puzzled, but something clicked, and he agreed, “Okay.”

They had to film early tomorrow; perhaps there’d be no time to rehearse. If he learned in advance, it would reduce the chances of needing multiple takes.