“Why are you here?”
Yu Zhi had just finished one take, with a few minutes for a break and touch-ups.
He had just taken a few sips from the ice water his assistant handed him, and then his gaze froze.
From a distance, a familiar figure approached, step by step. The nearby crew and actors all noticed the newcomer, eyes lighting up with delight.
Why was Ji Xingyu here? Was he here to act in this drama too?! Was this crew really that good? Did that mean… maybe he’d have a chance to film alongside Ji Xingyu?!
Before anyone could get too excited or start speculating, the internationally renowned movie emperor strode straight toward the drama’s new male second lead.
Ah, so he’d come looking for someone. The crew’s initial disappointment quickly shifted to curiosity about the relationship between these two men.
No wonder this newcomer had immediately secured the second male lead, he had Ji Xingyu, the movie emperor, backing him up. The crew couldn’t help but feel a mix of envy, jealousy, and a hint of admiration, clutching their handkerchiefs as they watched these two men radiate a tension-filled aura, the kind that made the air between them practically electric.
“Why are you here?” Yu Zhi asked again, his gaze fixed on him.
Ji Xingyu walked up, stopping about three meters away, his eyes unapologetically meeting Yu Zhi’s. “Can’t I come?”
Their eyes locked. For some reason, Yu Zhi felt a sudden searing heat from the unidentifiable light in Ji Xingyu’s gaze. His eyes flickered for a moment, then he calmly said, “Of course you can.”
Ji Xingyu’s eyes subtly swept over Yu Zhi’s attire, luxurious robes, a gentlemanly aura. In this outfit, Yu Zhi appeared as if he had stepped straight out of an ancient manuscript: the very image of a refined young noble. Entirely unlike the mechanical, rehearsed robot he had played in the previous drama.
This kind of presence couldn’t possibly be cultivated in just half a month on set. Ji Xingyu couldn’t help but wonder: just how many abilities of Yu Zhi’s had he never witnessed?
It was obvious that Ji Xingyu had come to see Yu Zhi. Yu Zhi couldn’t ignore him. After finishing his scenes for the day, Yu Zhi removed his makeup and changed clothes, intending to show Ji Xingyu around the set.
But Ji Xingyu stopped him.
“I’ve been here before. There’s nothing to see.”
Yu Zhi was momentarily speechless. Then why are you even here? That thought flashed through his mind, but he knew full well the truth: Ji Xingyu had come only for him. To say it aloud would chill the other man’s heart.
“Why is it that even though you’ve never studied acting, you can perform so well?” Ji Xingyu asked.
As an expert in this field, he could immediately see that Yu Zhi’s talent wasn’t simply a matter of innate flair or natural charisma. If acting could be chalked up to talent alone, it wouldn’t explain Yu Zhi’s mastery of camera angles and subtle filming techniques, skills that only come with experience.
This wasn’t the first time someone had asked Yu Zhi this question, and he had no desire to lie. He thought for a moment and said, “Consider it like this: I trained myself in private, or perhaps I learned it in a dream.”
Yu Zhi didn’t believe Ji Xingyu had come just to ask such a trivial question.
As the two spoke, the nearby crew instinctively gave them space. Everyone maintained a respectful distance from the internationally renowned movie emperor, a reverence that created a natural boundary. Even the other actors stayed back. Approaching him in public without purpose would be seen as clinging to power, and none of them were foolish enough to risk it.
In that moment, it felt as if the world around them had vanished, no interruptions, no intrusions.
Ji Xingyu looked up at the sky. “That’s quite a dream of yours.”
Yu Zhi was surprised. The remark wasn’t sharp or cutting. It was mild, almost offhand, as if he hadn’t taken it seriously. He glanced at Ji Xingyu and noticed him staring at the sky, shifting from clear to overcast, lost in thought.
“If you have a lot of free time, perhaps you could take on some work,” Yu Zhi suggested earnestly.
He figured that Ji Xingyu, being busy with only one drama a year, the one scheduled for the end of this year, wouldn’t be joining his set anyway. That left him with plenty of free time: time to be alone, ruminating, or worrying about white moonlight and getting distracted by Lu Qi. Better to give him tasks and keep him busy so he couldn’t idle away his thoughts.
Indeed, Ji Xingyu had taken very few jobs in the past two days. His personal rule was strict: one drama a year, with all other days reserved for himself, uninterrupted.
He flatly refused: “No, I’m quite busy.” Busy thinking about how to conquer the fresh young actor.
Yu Zhi: “……”
Looking at Ji Xingyu, who had nothing better to do and could only waste time with him, Yu Zhi suddenly noticed a new trait: thick-skinned.
“Do you believe in fate?” Ji Xingyu asked suddenly, looking at him with genuine curiosity.
“I do.” Yu Zhi answered without hesitation, naturally.
This time, Ji Xingyu froze. He had expected Yu Zhi to argue or play devil’s advocate, but he didn’t.
“All people are fated to die,” Yu Zhi added seriously.
Ji Xingyu: “……”
Of course, he shouldn’t have held any hope for this guy.
At that moment, Ji Xingyu desperately wanted to ask someone: how exactly does one conquer a man who clearly dislikes you, has strong opinions, and an unyielding will?
Could he throw money and resources at him?
Judging by this guy’s style, that seemed utterly impossible.
Ji Xingyu was stumped. He had only just realized his own feelings and had no clue how to pursue someone, especially when the target was so unusually stubborn.
Seeing Ji Xingyu staring blankly at him, Yu Zhi thought for a moment and asked, “Are you sunstruck?”
Ji Xingyu: “……”
Yu Zhi: “Don’t sit here in the sun. Go find a cooler place to rest.”
After some discussion, it just happened to be lunchtime, so they decided to head to a nearby restaurant to eat.
The restaurant served Japanese cuisine, and its décor was thoroughly Japanese in style. Ji Xingyu wasn’t particularly fond of Japanese food, but given the restaurant’s recent popularity and the fact that he really didn’t want to waste time traveling, he went along with it.
Yu Zhi let Ji Xingyu order while he made a quick call to his assistant to arrange the next steps. Just as he sat back down, he noticed Ji Xingyu, who had already finished ordering, staring at him.
Instinctively, Yu Zhi tensed a little, Ji Xingyu was acting strangely today.
Coming to visit his set, either smiling or zoning out, and speaking without any sarcasm… could it be following the looks better from afar than up close rule?
Regardless, you can’t hit a smiling face. Ji Xingyu wasn’t causing trouble, and Yu Zhi couldn’t just keep bringing up the White Moonlight.
They finished their meal, and Ji Xingyu didn’t linger. Once in the car, he called Xue Yan.
With just one sentence, he nearly made Xue Yan fall off the sofa in shock.
“Do you know how to pursue someone?”
Holy hell. Ji Xingyu, who’s been clinging to the White Moonlight, a man whose heart had never bloomed in a thousand years, was actually trying to chase someone?!
Xue Yan didn’t waste a second. “Where are you? I’ll come find you! Let’s meet and talk!”
Back on set, Yu Zhi noticed the cast and crew stealing glances at him from time to time.
They seemed curious to see just how impressive he was, capable of having such a close relationship with Ji Xingyu, who was practically enshrined on a pedestal.
Some were curious, some skeptical, some jealous, and others eager to curry favor. Ji Xingyu’s visit had shifted many people’s perception of Yu Zhi.
Yu Zhi didn’t care at all. His attitude hadn’t changed, unassuming yet unyielding, completely unfazed by outside matters.
If someone gave him trouble, he wouldn’t swallow it quietly. If someone tried to be sly or passive-aggressive, he’d just smile, then in the next scene together, he’d quietly prove whether or not he truly had skill.
Gradually, people realized they were only making themselves look foolish. Clearly, Yu Zhi didn’t even consider them worth his attention.
Indifference and aloofness are the most powerful tools against those you dislike.
Yu Zhi wielded them to perfection.
Paradoxically, some people even found themselves warming to him because of it. Relationships grew smoother.
For instance, the drama’s lead actor, Tang Chuyi, a popular young star playing the emperor, and a few veteran actors of an older generation.
The seasoned actors, worldly and experienced, treated the juniors with leniency. Moreover, Yu Zhi’s skill and personality earned their full respect. At times, they felt he wasn’t a rookie at all, but a peer among them.
Tang Chuyi, who had started as a child actor, had polished his craft over many years. Confident, talented, and already successful, he had no reason to envy anyone. Yet in daily interactions, he genuinely liked Yu Zhi, the young man who treated his colleagues with the same respect and care both on and off the set.
He had always been straightforward in temperament, rarely hiding his thoughts.
Once, after finishing a private scene rehearsal, he casually asked Yu Zhi, “Are you dating Ji Xingyu?”
When he noticed Yu Zhi looking at him, he smiled and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”
Yu Zhi blinked once and answered calmly, “No, you’ve misunderstood.”
Hearing that, Tang Chuyi looked visibly surprised and a little displeased. “Misunderstood? That’s impossible.”
He turned to Yu Zhi, confident. “Ji Xingyu definitely likes you. Even if you two aren’t dating, he’s certainly fond of you.”
Seeing Yu Zhi remain silent, Tang Chuyi assumed he didn’t believe him and continued, “I’ve been in this industry for years. My eyes aren’t just for show. I can tell at a glance which couples are real, which ones are faking, who’s flirting behind the scenes, and who’s just pretending. I don’t get fooled.”
Especially since Ji Xingyu hadn’t exactly been subtle, if he couldn’t see it, that would be unbelievable.
Yu Zhi continued to watch him silently. It took Tang Chuyi a moment, but then he seemed to understand something. He rubbed his head, cleared his throat twice, and turned to leave. “Ah, right, I just remembered. I haven’t memorized my lines for tomorrow. I’ll go first!”
He hurried out the door, finally letting out a light breath. He clicked his tongue twice, shaking his head in quiet exasperation.
How could he have forgotten that sometimes silence isn’t disbelief, but it’s simply unwillingness to admit the truth?
When it came to other people’s love lives, Tang Chuyi just couldn’t make sense of them.
After washing up, before closing his eyes, Yu Zhi’s mind still lingered on Tang Chuyi’s words: “He likes you.”
Meanwhile, Ji Xingyu returned home and, right at the door, ran into Xue Yan, who had arrived early. They hadn’t even stepped inside yet, and Xue Yan’s eyes were already shining with excitement.
Once inside, Xue Yan didn’t even take off his shoes, rushing him with rapid-fire questions: “Spill it, who caught your eye? Why them? You’re actually going after them? You really like them? And what about that White Moonlight of yours? Have you truly let go?”
Ji Xingyu froze mid-motion while changing his shoes.
Then he slowly looked up at him. “So many questions… which one do you want me to answer first?”
“Every single one!” Xue Yan said without hesitation.
Ji Xingyu wasn’t in a rush. After washing his hands, he leisurely went to the kitchen, washed and sliced some fruit, and placed it neatly on the coffee table.
Xue Yan instinctively reached for a piece, then froze mid-motion, frowning in suspicion. “Wait a minute… this isn’t like you. You’ve never done this before. If no one cooks, you’d rather order takeout. When did you even start eating fruit? And you did it yourself?!”
Had his brother just switched from a carefree, unattainable male god to a domestic, warm, homebody type?
Ji Xingyu didn’t want to waste words. He asked directly, “So… is there actually a method to pursue someone?”
Xue Yan took a bite of mango and waved his hand. “Not so fast. First, indulge my curiosity a little.”
Ji Xingyu: “……”
Faced with his friend’s relentless nosiness, Ji Xingyu had no choice but to give a brief summary.
Though concise, Xue Yan could already extract the essential points.
Target of pursuit: The golden canary surnamed Yu.
Reason for pursuit: Genuine affection.
The story so far: A friend has moved on from his idealized first love, the White Moonlight, and is now pursuing a newcomer; the substitute is stepping in to replace the original white moonlight.
Xue Yan silently popped a piece of dragonfruit into his mouth and thought, Wow… what a drama this is!
Ji Xingyu watched him quietly, pressing his lips together and saying evenly, “I asked you for advice, not to listen to gossip.”
Xue Yan swallowed the dragonfruit and took a sip of water. “Oh, you’ve come to the right person. I happen to have a fiancée, and as someone with experience, with my help, that substitute… oh, I mean, your lover, will be yours without fail!”
Ji Xingyu fell silent. He realized that now, the words substitute and white moonlight no longer stirred anything in him; not the buried obsession from the beginning, nor the irritation and deep aversion he’d felt later when Yu Zhi kept mentioning them.
They had become just ordinary words, completely detached from his heart.
“Explain carefully,” he said.
“First, you have to end the support arrangement with your lover, then tell him you genuinely like him. Start with an apology, then confess.” Xue Yan had read countless novels, especially CEO romances, stories about substitutes, and all kinds of misunderstanding plots; he knew the tropes inside out.
Ji Xingyu thought it made sense and let him continue.
Leaning back on the sofa, Xue Yan said leisurely, “After that, it depends on what kind of person your lover really is, and what approach and attitude you should take toward the relationship.
“There’s the clingy-and-persistent type, the devoted-but-unwavering type, the slow-burn type, the too late, regret chasing your husband type… Which route do you want to take? No, better said, which route suits your lover?”
Ji Xingyu furrowed his brow, momentarily at a loss.
Should he try each one?
Over the past two months while Yu Zhi had been filming, Ji Xingyu often visited the set. Visiting the set was one thing, but each time he came, he did strange things, said strange words, and yet always pulled back just as Yu Zhi teetered on the edge of exasperation or irritation. It left Yu Zhi helpless.
The man was slippery, so slippery that even if Yu Zhi wanted to push back or take advantage of the situation, it was nearly impossible.
While Ji Xingyu was seriously thinking through his next move, Yu Zhi’s filming wrapped for the day.
The young man lay weakly on the bed; his ashen complexion only emphasized his fragility.
His cheeks were hollow, eyes sunken; the once-deep gaze was clouded and blurred. He could no longer see the world clearly.
In Yun Lang’s mind, he could still hear what the Imperial Uncle had said before leaving:
“Prince Lang, do you really think the late emperor spared you out of some shallow father-son sentiment? After serving under him for over a decade, don’t you understand what kind of man he was? He left you alive only so you could continue serving the royal family. In his eyes, you were nothing more than a dog tossed aside. Yet you actually believed, as he intended, that you devoted yourself wholeheartedly to this country and the royal household? Laughable. Truly laughable!”
Yun Lang exhaled softly and closed his eyes, letting the cold sunlight wash over his face.
He understood.
He knew it all.
How could someone as sharp and perceptive as him not see the late emperor’s intentions?
And yet… so what?
Could he truly let go, allow this country to crumble, allow its people to suffer in misery, and do nothing?
In the end, it was because he was soft-hearted, because he could not bear it. It was his own choice.
But now, he was exhausted. Helpless.
His weary soul sank into slumber, and those eyes never opened again.
At last, he could dream without waking.
“Cut!”
“Congratulations to Xiao Yu on wrapping up filming!”
“Thank you,”
Yu Zhi smiled and greeted everyone. The others still had over half a month of shooting left. When the director invited him to the wrap-up banquet, Yu Zhi politely declined.
He had other, more important matters to attend to; a banquet like this did not merit his attention.
Chen Yue came to pick him up. On the way, he mentioned something: “The company annual meeting is coming up. Later, I’ll help you pick out a suit. It’s a good chance to network. You can meet new people and make an impression.”
Yu Zhi’s company didn’t just invite its own artists to the annual meeting; it also extended invitations to artists attached to affiliated studios under the company’s umbrella.
Chen Yue had originally assumed Yu Zhi wouldn’t attend, but since he happened to be back in time, it seemed a waste not to go.
Yu Zhi, for his part, wasn’t planning to return to Ji Xingyu just yet, so he agreed, giving himself more time to think.
The two of them reached the entrance to the venue and were immediately struck by the lively scene inside. Chen Yue made a quick call and learned that the gathering wasn’t just for company personnel, some of the most popular, well-known celebrities had also been invited.
Yu Zhi stood outside, frowning slightly, reluctant to dive into the crowd.
Just as he was about to turn to Chen Yue and suggest calling it a night and going home to sleep, his eyes caught something in the corner of his vision.
His gaze paused. He focused. Across the wall, through the colorful, glittering chaos of the venue, the lead actor, Lu Qi, was energetically chatting with someone, gesturing enthusiastically, while the person he was talking to merely responded politely, signaling that they were listening.
Facing Lu Qi, Ji Xingyu’s expression remained calm and neutral, entirely unaffected by the scene’s theatrics.
Chen Yue hung up the phone, noticing Yu Zhi frozen in place. Following his line of sight, he saw the same scene, but his thoughts were entirely different from Yu Zhi’s.
“Uh… Xiao Yu, don’t misunderstand. Ji Xingyu is probably just chatting casually with someone he knows,” Chen Yue said cautiously, worried his artist might be upset.
Unexpectedly, Yu Zhi didn’t react with anger. Instead, a smile softened his features, a relaxed warmth spreading across his eyes, as if a weight had been lifted.
“That’s fine,” Yu Zhi said calmly.
Chen Yue panicked internally. ‘Oh no, he’s totally overreacting!’
But Yu Zhi truly meant it.
Seeing Ji Xingyu able to converse with Lu Qi evenly, unaffected, Yu Zhi realized that the moment had arrived.
His mission was already complete. From now on, Ji Xingyu would no longer follow that path in the storyline.
And he, having served his purpose, no longer had to worry about whether to keep guiding Ji Xingyu out of that controlled path.
Ji Xingyu’s future was now full of endless possibilities, and he, the temporary aid, would quietly withdraw from his life.
Perhaps because he had been staring too long, Ji Xingyu, seated across the glass, looked up. Just a glance was enough; he quickly drained his glass, brushed past the others, and strode out.
“Finished filming? Why aren’t you going inside?” Ji Xingyu naturally knew in advance that Yu Zhi would return today and that he’d most likely be here.
“It’s too late. I won’t go in,” Yu Zhi replied.
“Wait here. I’ll get the car, and we’ll go home together.” Thinking of the preparations at home, Ji Xingyu felt both nervous and excited. Without giving Yu Zhi a chance to refuse, he turned and headed straight for the parking lot.
Yu Zhi could only turn to Chen Yue and say, “I’m leaving. You should head home and rest early too.”
Watching the interaction between the two, Chen Yue was utterly confused. After thinking it over, he decided it was best not to interfere. Judging by the looks of it, his artist wasn’t likely to come to any harm.
Yu Zhi got into Ji Xingyu’s car. The two remained silent for most of the drive: one preoccupied with thoughts of how he’d arranged things at home, the other considering how he would phrase what he wanted to say once they arrived.
When they finally stopped in front of the door, Ji Xingyu didn’t rush to open it. Instead, he turned to Yu Zhi and said, “Actually… there are some things I want to say to you today. No matter what, I hope you’ll hear me out.”
Yu Zhi studied the expression in his eyes, and a sudden thought flitted through his mind.
No way…
The fingerprint scanner beeped, and the door unlocked. Ji Xingyu pushed it open with his hand. The scene inside unfolded before their eyes.
Red candles bathed the entire room in a bright glow, almost like daylight. Crimson roses, lush and full, adorned the living room, decorating the space with their vivid beauty.
Everywhere he looked, red festivity filled the room.
His suspicion had proven correct, and Yu Zhi felt a swirl of complex emotions as he gazed at this sea of romantic red, suddenly hesitant to step forward.
But Ji Xingyu, as if afraid he might retreat, seized the moment of his hesitation and pulled him inside, closing the door behind them.
Ji Xingyu’s palms were damp with sweat, and he pressed his lips together to hide his nervousness.
This was the first time he had ever done something like this. He had consulted Xue Yan and considered several approaches, eventually settling on this simple, unmistakable opening.
It left no room for refusal, no room for misunderstanding.
“Although we had a mistaken beginning, that doesn’t change the fact that we can have a beautiful future.”
“Yu Zhi, I want to apologize for the things I did to you before. I shouldn’t have spoken to you about being kept or treated you as some kind of stand-in. You are you, unique and irreplaceable. I apologize to you, and I also want to tell you that I like you…”
“Would you… give me a chance to make it right and correct my mistakes?”
The man who never admitted defeat was looking at him with earnest sincerity. Even as he tried to hide it, the anticipation and nervousness in his eyes were almost impossible to conceal.
He waited.
He hoped.
The room, filled with flowers and candlelight, silently bore witness to this beautifully serendipitous moment.
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