A light rain had started outside, its patter soft and steady.
Sheng Min woke to the sound of rain, his head resting in Li Xuan’s neck. His voice was groggy as he mumbled, “What time is it?”
“Two-thirty.”
“In the morning?”
“In the afternoon.”
Sheng Min stirred slightly. The bright daylight filtering through the curtains was a bit harsh on his eyes. Like a small creature afraid of the light, he immediately burrowed back into Li Xuan’s embrace. “But isn’t it raining? How is there still sunlight… You’re lying.”
“Who’s lying?” Li Xuan chuckled at his groggy state.
“You are.”
“Alright, it’s my fault.” Li Xuan’s voice carried amusement. “I’ll go have a word with the Dragon King and ask him to stop the rain sooner.”
But Sheng Min didn’t reply this time. He lay there quietly for a while, then suddenly, as if just coming to his senses, lazily asked, “Why is it so late?”
Li Xuan tucked the blanket around him. “It’s not late at all. If you’re sleepy, sleep a little longer.”
“My whole body aches from sleeping too much,” Sheng Min grumbled.
“Then should you get up?”
After a moment of thought, he still shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
Li Xuan chuckled to himself and lowered his voice to coax him. “Then I’ll get up first and make something to eat. Once it’s ready, I’ll come back and wake you.”
“Mm.” Sheng Min pulled the blanket over his face, mumbling as he closed his eyes again.
He didn’t sleep for too long. The saying ‘it’s hard to return to hardship after luxury’ wasn’t a lie.
He had spent so many nights sleeping alone, but now, with Li Xuan gone, he felt unaccustomed to it.
Instinctively, he shifted toward the empty spot beside him, his palm seeking the lingering warmth Li Xuan had left behind. But when the warmth gradually faded, he got up as well.
It seemed Li Xuan’s words had come true—when he opened the door, the rain had already stopped.
And the one who had spoken so boldly was now in the kitchen, standing with an unfamiliar posture in front of a pot of boiling water.
“What are we having?”
“How are you up already?” Li Xuan turned down the heat a little and looked over at him.
Sheng Min didn’t want to admit his thoughts and simply said, “I’ve slept enough.” Then he asked again, “Do you need help?”
“Cooking a bowl of noodles isn’t hard.”
“What’s the topping?”
“Tomato and egg.”
Sheng Min smiled. Li Xuan shrugged and smiled back. “I told you, I only know how to make two dishes.”
“I want mine sweet.”
“Alright, I’ll cook them separately.”
Sheng Min nodded and smiled in satisfaction. “I’ll take a shower first.”
Just as he was about to leave, Li Xuan called him back.
“Mm?” He turned around, and Li Xuan took a couple of steps forward, pulling him in for a kiss, brushing their noses together with a contented smile. “Alright, go ahead.”
By the time Sheng Min finished his shower, two bowls of noodles were set on the dining table, accompanied by small side dishes of pickled snow mustard greens and cold mixed vegetables.
“Are you heading to the office later?” Sheng Min asked while picking at his food. Li Xuan’s cooking was sloppy, the presentation mediocre, but the taste was acceptable.
“I’ll stop by. Qi Boyuan just called—there’s a game operations and technology forum next week, and Yuan Yi is invited. The presentation materials are ready for release, so I need to review them.”
“As the boss, you’re not going?”
“I hate social gatherings,” Li Xuan said nonchalantly. “These kinds of events are just for exchanging pleasantries—it’s more suitable for Qi Boyuan to go.”
“Oh.” Sheng Min glanced at him. “Yet you’ve said so many pleasantries for me.”
Li Xuan put on a serious expression. “That’s different—I thought that was in the boyfriend manual.”
“At the time, you weren’t my boyfriend yet,” Sheng Min reminded him kindly.
“Well, if I did nothing, I wouldn’t have had the chance to be.”
“You’ve always had a chance.” Sheng Min smiled. Then, as he picked up some mustard greens for Li Xuan, he heard him ask, “Are you heading out this afternoon?”
“Not today. I have a voice-over session tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll go over the script again.”
“I’ll try to come home early.”
“Finish your work first. No rush. It’s not like I have nothing to do.”
Li Xuan ate quickly, finishing what was on his plate. He got up to pour himself a glass of water, then suddenly noticed something. Pausing for a moment, he asked, “Where did that silver phoenix by the TV stand come from? …It wasn’t there last time I came, was it?”
Following his gaze, Sheng Min glanced over. His tone was neutral. “Oh, that? How did you just notice it now?”
“It was right behind you just now—who would have seen it otherwise?” Li Xuan said matter-of-factly. “Did your crew force it on you as a souvenir, or did someone give it to you?”
“Why couldn’t I have bought it myself?”
“You don’t even like these kinds of things,” Li Xuan said with certainty.
Sheng Min smiled, took another sip of soup, and picked up some shredded bamboo shoots before answering, “President Zhang sent it over.” He was afraid Li Xuan wouldn’t remember the name, so he added, “Zhang Zhihua’s cousin.”
“Why would she give you that…?” Li Xuan frowned, then suddenly stopped himself. “Because of the contract renewal? Your contract expires in January, right?”
Sheng Min instinctively raised his eyes, pressed his lips together slightly, and didn’t deny it. Li Xuan studied his expression—it was calm, making it hard to read his emotions. After a moment, he said, “A phoenix, sure, but not every tree is a parasol tree. That’s for you to decide, not her. … What do you want to do?”
The large silver phoenix gleamed under the light—beautiful, yet out of place.
“I don’t know.” Sheng Min bit the tip of his chopsticks lightly before setting them down, pressing his lips together. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Li Xuan secretly didn’t want him to renew the contract. Just from looking at Zhang Zhihua, he didn’t think it was a very reliable company. What was the point of showing goodwill now? Back then, when Sheng Min was in such a bad state, Wang Shuying was one issue, but the company wasn’t innocent either.
“I signed my first contract before I was even fifteen—eight years. … Running my own studio is too much work, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Switching to another company could be better or worse—it’s hard to say. President Zhang has been good to me in some ways. But sometimes, I wonder… maybe I don’t like being an actor anymore.”
His voice carried a trace of melancholy as he gestured toward a stack of scripts on the coffee table. “There are over ten scripts that have come in over the past few weeks. I’ve gone through them several times, but none of them really speak to me… It’s not just that the scripts are bad. You know, I’ve done too many random roles before. If I take on similar characters now, it’d just be repetitive. But if I’m not an actor… What else can I do? I really don’t know.…”
He smiled a little awkwardly. “I’m just not someone who plans things much. When I was a kid, I actually really liked acting.”
Li Xuan looked at him, thoughts swirling in his mind, but his face remained unreadable. He set down his cup, walked over, and gently held Sheng Min’s shoulders. “You’re not someone without a plan—you just consider everyone else first. It’s okay. If there aren’t any good scripts, take a break. You’re still doing voice acting this month, right? There’s no rush to take on a new project right away. As for whether to renew your contract, I won’t interfere with your work decisions… But if you decide to terminate it and run into any trouble, remember to tell me.”
“What trouble could there be?” Sheng Min glanced at the ornate phoenix out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked up at Li Xuan, his expression was relaxed, and he simply smiled. “Renewing or not renewing a contract at the end of its term is normal.”
Li Xuan didn’t comment on that. They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds before Sheng Min reached out to rub the crease between Li Xuan’s brows, chuckling. “Why are you frowning? This is just how things are.”
“Whatever you choose, as long as it’s what you want.” Li Xuan took his hand, looking into his eyes. “Just promise me—if anything happens, tell me.”
“Why so serious?” Sheng Min pulled his hand away and lightly brushed his fingertips over Li Xuan’s cheek, lifting the corner of his lips into a barely visible smile. His tone was light. “Alright, I got it.”
