Heavy rain poured down. Outside the window, thunder roared and lightning flashed.
The hotel near the film set had poor soundproofing. Even with the doors and windows tightly shut, the noise from outside could still be heard clearly.
“Alright, got it.” Yu Zhi hung up after receiving a call from the production assistant informing him that tomorrow’s outdoor shoot had been changed to an indoor one.
He turned his head to look at the man lying unconscious on the bed and let out a quiet sigh. Left with no choice, he went online and ordered some fever medicine.
Who knew how this person even took care of himself, he hadn’t even noticed he had a fever.
Half an hour later, the medicine arrived. Yu Zhi boiled some hot water, preparing to feed it to him, but then worried that the man might not be able to swallow it.
He called out to Ji Xingyu, but there was no response at all.
Yu Zhi checked his temperature. It hadn’t gone down, but it hadn’t risen either. After a moment’s consideration, he ultimately decided to force him awake.
Watching Ji Xingyu groggily open his eyes, Yu Zhi said, “The medicine’s by your bedside. Take it before you go back to sleep.”
Ji Xingyu’s head buzzed, but he still heard Yu Zhi’s voice clearly. With his eyes open, he looked at Yu Zhi, then glanced at his surroundings, and struggled to sit up from the bed.
The exhaustion in his body and the pounding in his head only made his mood worse. Thinking back to what had happened earlier that day, he felt like he must have completely lost his mind, otherwise, how could he have been so overwhelmed by lust that he ran to this man’s room and even hinted at doing that?
Ji Xingyu, are you that desperate? How utterly embarrassing!
Right now, he didn’t want to say a single word. He only wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. Just now, he must have been thoroughly laughed at by that brat!
He got out of bed without even sparing a glance at the hot water and medicine on the bedside table. His eyes seemed to hold a blazing fire with nowhere to vent.
After putting on his shoes and straightening his slightly rumpled clothes from sleep, Ji Xingyu was about to leave. But as he passed by, he suddenly felt his wrist being grabbed. The grip wasn’t strong, yet it was stubborn enough that he couldn’t break free.
“Is there something?” Ji Xingyu’s face was cold as he shot him a sidelong glance. However, his face and body were flushed red from the fever, his gaze hazy. Even with a cold expression, there was no intimidation in it.
Yu Zhi frowned slightly and looked at him. “Take the medicine before you go.”
Ji Xingyu lowered his gaze to look at the hand gripping his wrist. After a long moment, he let out a cold laugh. “Yu Zhi, if you show this much concern for me, I might start to think you like me.”
“Or… is that not a misunderstanding?”
Hearing such a provocation, Yu Zhi merely raised an eyebrow slightly. He didn’t show any displeasure, nor did he let go of him.
Instead, he reached out, picked up the glass of water, and handed it to Ji Xingyu. His expression remained indifferent as he said, “You’re overthinking it. I just don’t want you delaying the shoot.”
Ji Xingyu choked on that response, he actually couldn’t refute it.
“You’ve acted in so many productions. You should understand how much trouble it causes a crew if filming gets delayed because of your health,” Yu Zhi continued.
Through the fog in his mind, a flicker of clarity suddenly passed through Ji Xingyu. His gaze shifted slightly. “You know how many productions I’ve been in?”
Back when they first met, this man hadn’t even recognized him. So was that ignorance an act or had he looked him up afterward?
If it was the former, then Yu Zhi’s encounter with him had been deliberate from the start. If it was the latter, then Yu Zhi had, for some reason, been trying to learn more about him.
Either possibility made Ji Xingyu’s mood improve, just a little.
Seeing his tone soften, Yu Zhi didn’t quite understand why, but he had no intention of arguing with a sick person. So he spoke a few flattering words, coaxing him like one might coax someone stubborn:
“After all, Teacher Ji is an internationally renowned Film Emperor. As a newcomer to the industry, it’s only natural for me to pay attention and learn more.”
Hearing this, Ji Xingyu recalled what Director Zhang had once said to him, then thought back to how Yu Zhi had acted earlier that day. He couldn’t help letting out a soft laugh.
“With your ability, you still need to learn from me?”
Yu Zhi didn’t speak. He simply handed him the water and the medicine, his eyes unflinching, unyielding, fixed squarely on him.
Ji Xingyu, under that unwavering gaze, grew restless. He wanted to turn his head but felt as though doing so would make him look afraid.
Realizing that refusing might make leaving very troublesome, Ji Xingyu swallowed his irritation and snatched the medicine, shoving it into his mouth. The bitter taste spread immediately, making his brow furrow. He grabbed the water cup and gulped down several mouthfuls, over half the cup, finally suppressing the lingering bitterness.
“Is that enough?!”
Yu Zhi released his hand, eyes scanning the wrist now pale from his grip. “As you wish.”
Having just taken the medicine, its effects hadn’t kicked in yet. Ji Xingyu still felt dizzy, his head pounding. He had been forcing himself to endure while speaking with Yu Zhi, but now, as he stepped out of the bedroom toward the door, he finally allowed himself a moment of release.
“Ji Xingyu.”
He froze.
Inside, the young man stood with arms crossed, eyes fixed on his back. There was a deep deliberation in those eyes, a silent weighing of possibilities. Ji Xingyu, growing impatient, almost brushed past him, but then Yu Zhi continued:
“I did sign the contract, that’s true. But the contract never explicitly states that I’m required to provide physical services to you.”
Ji Xingyu pressed his lips together, offering no rebuttal. The contract was vague, yes, and indeed made no explicit mention of such matters.
“Why it wasn’t specified, I suppose, is because at the time you drafted it, you never imagined there would come a day like this, right?” Yu Zhi asked.
Ji Xingyu clenched his fists, unable to resist glancing back. “It isn’t now, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be later. Don’t forget, the supplementary clause is clear. Party A has the right to add new requirements at any time.”
Yu Zhi’s lips curved slightly. “I know.”
“I’m just saying, if there ever comes a day when you truly want to take it further… it’s possible.”
Ji Xingyu raised a brow, somewhat surprised.
“But,” Yu Zhi continued, “I have one condition.”
“You don’t have the right to set conditions,” Ji Xingyu snapped, irritation creeping in.
Yu Zhi ignored him, continuing evenly: “It must be after you’ve forgotten your white moonlight.”
Ji Xingyu’s chest jolted as though struck by something.
Not heavy, yet a dull ache spread through him, growing sharper with every passing moment.
White moonlight. White moonlight. Always that white moonlight.
He suddenly understood Yu Zhi’s cunning intent. By constantly bringing up the white moonlight in front of him, Yu Zhi had two aims: first, to use it as an excuse to avoid any intimate contact; second, to make him physiologically recoil at the mere mention of those three words; essentially a subtle psychological strike against his opponent.
Ji Xingyu fixed Yu Zhi with a long, deep look. After a while, he turned and left.
Yu Zhi watched him go, then withdrew his gaze. He glanced at the bed in the bedroom, furrowed his brow slightly, and, too lazy to fuss with changing the sheets, simply lay down on the other side.
In a way, Ji Xingyu hadn’t been entirely wrong.
Yu Zhi had no intention of sacrificing himself to complete the mission; his earlier words were merely meant to help Ji Xingyu free himself sooner from the hold of the white moonlight.
When the day came that Ji Xingyu truly approached him, declaring he had let go of the white moonlight, that would be the moment for Yu Zhi to leave.
Perhaps aided by the effects of Yu Zhi’s medicine, Ji Xingyu slept soundly that night. By the next day, the heavy-headed, dizzy sensation had vanished. Aside from a lingering stuffy nose, he felt largely fine.
A knock came at the door. Ji Xingyu opened it to see a hotel staff member holding a bag.
“Good morning, sir. This is from the gentleman in Room 2903. He asked me to give it to you and to remind you to take your medicine on time.”
Ji Xingyu frowned, accepting the bag, puzzled by Yu Zhi’s motives.
He didn’t like him. He had never tried to win him over. Yet he still did these easily misinterpreted things. Could it be… that he was trying to win his heart?
The thought struck Ji Xingyu as amusing. He casually tossed the medicine onto the coffee table.
Still, considering the possibility of delaying the shoot due to his own health, he reluctantly took the medicine.
The absolute lead of 《Evolution》 was the male protagonist, Yi An, but the show also had other significant characters:
A high-ranking official firmly opposing regenerated humans.
A mother opposing regenerated humans, yet forced to become one due to a genetic disease.
A superstar actress who had become a regenerated human but used her life to warn humanity.
Ji Xingyu, as a guest actor, had a role with relatively few lines but crucial importance:
He was the friend of the protagonist.
Once a friend when Yi An was human, he later found himself on the opposing side after Yi An became a regenerated human.
Today’s scene involved a confrontation between these two.
In the protagonist’s home, steeped in high-tech, cold aesthetics, the friend sat on the sofa.
“Everyone hasn’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to? Any new projects?”
The friend had no idea that this terrifying scientific genius had already experimented on himself and become a regenerated human.
Yi An’s gaze, icy and devoid of any warmth, scanned him.
“Your daily routine averages eight hours of sleep, two hours for meals, eight hours for work, one hour for exercise, one hour for reading, and two hours for leisure. That leaves only two hours for socializing and spending time with friends. Your friends fall into three categories: close friends, with whom you can speak freely; casual friends, with whom you cannot share your heart; and social acquaintances, merely within your circle of recognition.”
“As one of your close friends, I have roughly half an hour to an hour to communicate and maintain our bond. But I do not consider this a necessary task. In that time, small increments accumulate, and I can achieve more results in the laboratory.”
The friend froze, dumbfounded, a chill running down his spine.
“Yi… Brother Yi, are you okay?” he stammered.
Yi An’s tone was calm, precise. “I’m fine. I’ve merely discarded burdens to become a more useful version of myself.”
The friend clenched his hands tightly, recalling the last time Yi An had said his research was only one step from completion.
“The last time you mentioned your research was successful, I never asked… what exactly were you researching?”
“Research that allows humans to evolve,” Yi An said casually. “My brain can now function as a light-brain. If you want, you could have one too.”
His friend’s pupils constricted, his body stiffening instantly.
“Cut! Break!”
Director Zhang chuckled as he reviewed the take, glancing at Yu Zhi and Ji Xingyu. “You two really are friends. You must have rehearsed this privately yesterday, right? Everything in one go. Today’s shoot should go smoothly!”
Ji Xingyu shot a glance at Yu Zhi. He hadn’t expected the scene to flow so effortlessly. They hadn’t rehearsed together, yet their performance was natural and fluid, like two fish in water.
Yu Zhi gave a faint smile. “It’s thanks to Teacher Ji’s cooperation.”
Director Zhang, watching their on-screen confrontation, felt a sudden, almost itchy excitement in his mind. He called over the screenwriter, and the two huddled together, whispering in conspiratorial tones. The screenwriter’s eyes gleamed when they looked at Yu Zhi and Ji Xingyu, full of anticipation and eager to test something new.
Yu Zhi noticed but didn’t dwell on it. In the end, it was just about filming; nothing worth overthinking.
Out of the corner of his eye, Yu Zhi saw Ji Xingyu reaching for an ice-cold bottle of water. Swiftly, he snatched it away.
Ji Xingyu, parched, felt a surge of irritation. “What are you doing?”
Yu Zhi tightened the bottle cap and, using a paper cup, poured hot water from the dispenser, placing it into Ji Xingyu’s hand. “Drink this.”
Ji Xingyu’s palm closed around the paper cup, and the scorching heat seeped into his body, spreading through his veins, almost as if it could reach his heart; burning and insistent.
Yu Zhi pressed his lips into a faint smile. “Sometimes, Teacher Ji makes me feel like you’re the younger one, someone who needs taking care of.”
The strange feeling Ji Xingyu had felt moments ago quickly ebbed. He restrained a sigh of frustration. “No need. I have an assistant,” he muttered, though he hadn’t brought them this time, treating the trip more like a vacation.
“Hahaha, Xingyu, Xiao Yu is just complimenting you on being young,” Director Zhang said with a laugh, as if reading the moment aloud.
Yu Zhi smiled but said nothing, letting it pass.
Ji Xingyu was speechless. He was only thirty, naturally young, and who cared about such a compliment anyway?
That evening, Yu Zhi was still shooting, leaving Ji Xingyu alone and bored in his room. He decided to linger at the set instead, and coincidentally, Director Zhang had something he wanted to discuss with him.
Listening to Director Zhang’s ideas, Ji Xingyu stayed silent. Seeing Director Zhang eagerly awaiting a response, Ji Xingyu turned his gaze to Yu Zhi, still busy rehearsing scenes with others, and took a sip of water. “He’s the lead actor. You should be asking him about this.”
Director Zhang chuckled warmly. “Whatever your relationship, if you agree, he’ll definitely agree too!”
It was hard to argue with that logic.
After wrapping up the day’s shoot, Yu Zhi listened to Director Zhang’s plan to film two versions. Once he learned that Ji Xingyu had agreed, he didn’t hesitate long before giving his approval.
If Ji Xingyu didn’t mind, Yu Zhi saw no reason to object.
Director Zhang planned two versions: in one, Ji Xingyu played the protagonist’s friend, which mirrored today’s shoot.
In the other, Ji Xingyu would play the protagonist’s lover.
Director Zhang’s thinking was simple: if the lover version didn’t pass review, they’d default to the friend version. But in his mind, the lover version was far more compelling and suited his vision.
The protagonist, a scientific fanatic, was originally indifferent toward romance. The story had him gradually moved by the lover’s initiative. Yet, once he became a regenerated human, emotions were stripped by his programming. Facing a lover, there was no warmth, only duty.
Because a regenerated human no longer needed to satisfy bodily desire, intimacy with a lover became a cold and mechanical obligation, devoid of tenderness.
This alone sparked countless ideas for Director Zhang. He immediately convened with the editor, worked overnight, and after two days of discussion, produced the script for the lover version.
Yu Zhi frowned slightly as he watched the two intimate scenes on the script monitor. He glanced at Ji Xingyu, who maintained his usual calm expression, and said nothing.
With this change, Ji Xingyu’s role had been elevated from a minor friend cameo to a fully-fledged male supporting role.
Being paired romantically with the protagonist naturally boosted his visibility and screen ranking.
But for someone like Ji Xingyu, an internationally acclaimed actor, this change was more harm than good.
He had already reached the pinnacle, already held success in his hands; there was no reason to regress to playing a secondary character.
Previously, it was acceptable. He was merely a special guest, and the ranking wouldn’t matter. But now, this change would directly make him a male supporting character of unknown rank. Fans and audiences would inevitably claim that Ji Xingyu’s status had been downgraded.
Yu Zhi could see it coming. He knew Ji Xingyu could see it too, but he didn’t care.
Apart from calling him willful, Yu Zhi had no room to complain.
Ji Xingyu’s scenes were scheduled together: first, they would film the friend version, and then only the lover version remained.
Yet, unexpectedly, the two, who had previously worked seamlessly, ran into problems. Director Zhang kept calling “Cut!” repeatedly.
When Director Zhang still couldn’t get the right feeling, he had no choice but to call them over for a talk.
“Xingyu, Xiao Yu, you’re both excellent actors. I completely trust that you can do justice to this scene. You’re friends, so there’s no reason to hold back. Since you can’t find the right rhythm for now, I’ll give you two days off. I’ll shoot other scenes in the meantime. Take this time to get the feeling right. I hope afterward we can all be satisfied with the performance.”
Director Zhang was not known for patience on set. But what could he do? One was an untouchable international actor, and the other was his highly regarded cross-generational protégé. As someone far down the production hierarchy, Director Zhang could only swallow his pride and let the two of them work things out themselves.
The two readily agreed on the spot. Afterward, Ji Xingyu went straight back to his hotel room without so much as a glance at Yu Zhi.
Yu Zhi frowned at his retreating figure. Chen Yue’s assistant, newly on duty, hurried over and asked, “Brother Yu, shall we go back too?”
Yu Zhi nodded. “Let’s go back.”
“The way Teacher Ji acts is really willful,” the assistant mumbled, half complaining. “He promised to act opposite you, but he just ran off and disappeared.”
Yu Zhi gave him a sharp look. “Don’t talk nonsense.”
The young assistant, thinking he’d said something wrong, hurriedly stammered, “O-okay, I understand. I won’t do it again, Brother Yu.” But in his heart, he thought, Wow, Yu Zhi really does have a good relationship with Mr. Ji, otherwise, why would he speak up for him?
Back at the hotel, after finishing dinner, Yu Zhi knocked on Ji Xingyu’s door, a script in hand.
The door opened, revealing Ji Xingyu in a loose, sloppy bathrobe.
His chest was exposed, the robe hanging carelessly to reveal his refined torso and faintly outlined nipples without any concern.
Yu Zhi’s brows furrowed slightly, and his first instinct was to leave, but he worried that someone passing by might see this, so he quickened his pace into the room and shut the door behind him.
“Why did you open the door without putting on proper clothes?” he asked.
What if someone caught sight of him like this?
Ji Xingyu crossed his arms, calmly fixing him with a stare. “Are you questioning me?”
“I’ll wear whatever I want,” he replied, turning to walk in.
Yu Zhi followed, the crease between his brows deepening unconsciously.
He couldn’t deny that calling this person willful and childish earlier had been entirely accurate.
“Where’s your script?”
He looked around but still couldn’t find it.
Even if Ji Xingyu could recite it from memory, having the script was secondary; the question was mainly a reminder to start the scene.
Ji Xingyu settled onto the sofa, closing his eyes to rest, rubbing his forehead, completely ignoring Yu Zhi’s words.
Seeing that Ji Xingyu was being deliberately stubborn and ignoring him, Yu Zhi tapped the table. “Ji Xingyu—Teacher Ji, where is your professional discipline? I don’t want any problems on set caused by the two of us.”
Ji Xingyu opened his eyes, his sharp gaze piercing straight at Yu Zhi. Watching the young man act entirely professionally, all business and no personal feelings, completely unflinching, the anger coiling in his phoenix-shaped eyes could no longer be contained, it blazed uncontrollably.
He sprang to his feet and strode to Yu Zhi, pushing him forcefully onto the sofa.
Leaning over him, his robe had fully fallen open. A slight turn of the head revealed everything in plain sight:
Pale, delicate skin, perfectly proportioned muscle and bone, beautifully sculpted muscles… and droplets of water sliding down along the smooth lines of his body, one by one, frame by frame, each provoking unbridled desire.
Yet despite all of this, Yu Zhi’s eyes remained utterly calm, showing barely a ripple, as if none of it even registered.
Why…
“Why?”
Ji Xingyu’s voice was low and intense. “Yu Zhi, why is your mind as still as water? Why are you so completely focused…”
He knew perfectly well why the performance wasn’t enough, he understood that part.
But facing him like this, alive, vivid, and irresistible, Yu Zhi could remain unmoved, acting purely on craft. Ji Xingyu refused to accept it; he could not reconcile with the fact that this man, even if a cultivated monk or a devoted Daoist, harbored no carnal thoughts toward him.
He wanted to drag him into temptation, to watch him drown in desire, to see his mind overrun with illicit longing…
Yu Zhi frowned slightly at Ji Xingyu’s display.
“What do you mean by that, Teacher Ji?” he asked.
“Humans aren’t just beasts driven by instinct alone.”
“My desires have nothing to do with you, Teacher Ji! Have you forgotten that in your heart, there’s still that—”
“Shut up! Don’t you dare say those words!” Ji Xingyu roared, his voice sharp and unyielding.
He leaned down, head lowering instinctively, thinking of nothing but silencing this man’s mouth.
====================
