PHWM Chapter 29

The butler and the manager were both mentally and physically shaken, standing frozen in place.

 

Their expressions were stunned, their gazes complicated.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

The bodyguard captain, utterly baffled, looked around: “Why did Mr. Liang suddenly—”

 

The butler quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. “…Mr. Duan.”

 

Duan Ming: “Ah.”

 

The butler glanced in the direction Liang Xiao had left, carefully choosing his words: “This matter…”

 

After witnessing the scene that morning, Duan Ming was actually the most shaken of the three.

 

After all, even now, the manager still clung to a sliver of hope, believing that his artist and President Huo were merely close friends.

 

That things hadn’t progressed to the unspoken but universally understood stage everyone feared.

 

For an actor, once they got entangled in something like this, no matter how talented or hardworking they were, the rumors would inevitably tarnish their reputation.

 

Over the years, others might not know, but Duan Ming had seen firsthand how hard Liang Xiao worked.

 

Finally, there was some hope on the horizon.

 

Duan Ming couldn’t bear to see it ruined.

 

The butler understood too. He had initially hoped that things would naturally progress over time, that one day Mr. Huo would officially give Mr. Liang a rightful title, clear and aboveboard, leaving no room for misunderstandings.

 

But then, this morning, he had opened the door to see pillows scattered everywhere, blankets in disarray, Mr. Huo sitting on the bed looking disheveled—while Mr. Liang, seemingly unaware of his innocence being compromised, slept soundly with his head resting on President Huo’s lap.

 

Despite the shock, the butler had to admit to himself that he felt a pang of guilt.

 

So, during Huo Lan’s lunch break, he deliberately dragged the bodyguard captain along, intending to have Duan Ming confirm just how far things had progressed between Mr. Huo and Mr. Liang last night.

 

…

 

Unexpectedly.

 

The butler’s feelings were complicated: “You see—”

 

“…I understand now.”

 

Duan Ming took a deep breath and spoke with a tone of weary resignation: “He… isn’t in good health and can’t handle too much.”

 

The butler nodded repeatedly: “Mr. Huo would never.”

 

Duan Ming sighed: “Especially when the weather is bad… it gets worse…”

 

The butler had heard Huo Lan mention this before: “Mr. Huo specifically made a note of it.”

 

Duan Ming, however, was deeply troubled: “He stays up late playing games and refuses to sleep. I’ve caught him several times…”

 

The butler pulled out his pocket notebook and quickly jotted it down, planning to report it to Huo Lan later.

 

Initially, he had thought he might have to argue to protect the “cabbage,” but now he realized it was the cabbage that had uprooted itself, bouncing happily all the way onto someone else’s lap.

 

Duan Ming’s emotions were even more tangled than the butler’s. He closed his eyes and said, “He’s not actually bold. He just talks big. In reality…”

 

Duan Ming trailed off, taking a deep breath and rubbing his forehead.

 

…In reality, he’s even bolder than his words.

 

He left President Huo in the bedroom, ate his snacks, turned off his lights, messed up his clothes—

 

And even had the audacity to rest his head on President Huo’s prized lap.

 

Duan Ming had confiscated plenty of novels from Liang Xiao before and wasn’t oblivious to the deeper implications of such surface-level interactions.

 

He couldn’t believe it, but looking at Liang Xiao’s state, he was certain there was no lie involved.

 

Perhaps this was the mysterious, terrifying, and irresistible natural attraction between a highly compatible Alpha and Omega.

 

“Don’t worry.” The butler noticed his unease and quickly reassured him. “The entire Huo family and Xingguan will remain silent. Not a word will leak.”

 

Duan Ming finally breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

 

The butler added, “As for Mr. Liang…”

 

Duan Ming let out a long sigh, completely surrendering as he officially joined the butler and bodyguard captain’s camp: “I’ll handle it.”

 

“…” Liang Xiao looked incredulous. “Handle what?”

 

Duan Ming packed up all his belongings and extended the suitcase handle. “Xiao Gong and I will be downstairs. If you need anything, just call us.”

 

Liang Xiao, still dazed, took the suitcase. “Will you come upstairs?”

 

“No,” Duan Ming replied. “The elevator doesn’t go up. You’ll have to come down yourself.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

What was supposed to be a one-time stay in the presidential suite for convenience during the temporary marking had somehow turned into a nightly arrangement.

 

Feeling conflicted, Liang Xiao was practically shoved out of the standard room along with his luggage. “Brother Duan, you’ve misunderstood…”

 

Duan Ming stopped him with one leg in the doorway. “Misunderstood what?”

 

Liang Xiao couldn’t even bring himself to say those four words. Clinging to the doorframe, he hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain.

 

Last night, caught up in the emotional whirlwind, Liang Xiao had lost his composure, and the situation had spiraled out of control. If he wanted to explain things clearly to Duan Ming, he needed a convincing reason to justify why President Huo had stayed in the master bedroom.

 

Yet, Huo Lan’s childhood was something that absolutely couldn’t be revealed to more people.

 

While pondering how to save his manager from further complications, Liang Xiao suddenly heard Duan Ming let out a long sigh.

 

Startled, Liang Xiao froze for a moment before Duan Ming placed both hands on his shoulders. “Brother Duan?”

 

“It’s been five years.” Duan Ming looked a bit melancholic. “You don’t need to hide it from me.”

 

“…” Liang Xiao’s good intentions felt utterly wasted. “Brother Duan, you don’t believe me either?”

 

“I believe you,” Duan Ming nodded. “Aside from leaving President Huo behind, eating his snacks, turning off his lights, messing up his clothes, and sleeping on his lap, you didn’t do anything else.”

 

Liang Xiao was moved. “Exactly.”

 

Duan Ming: “…”

 

Duan Ming didn’t believe a word of it. He grabbed the suitcase, dragged Liang Xiao out the door, and shoved him into the elevator.

 

 

—

 

The afternoon shoot wasn’t packed, mainly making up for yesterday’s scenes, leaving some free time afterward.

 

Director Song, using the script as scratch paper, calculated the schedule three times over and found that progress was still lagging. Furious, he stormed off to argue with Jiang Pingchao.

 

The screenwriter, unburdened without the director around, wandered leisurely around the set and happened to spot Liang Xiao. “Come here.”

 

Liang Xiao snapped out of his thoughts and stopped in his tracks. “Teacher Pei?”

 

When Duan Ming had packed him and his luggage off earlier, Huo Lan had gone to meet with the production investors and wasn’t in the room.

 

Though Duan Ming hadn’t been ruthless enough to shove him into the master bedroom, knowing President Huo as well as he did, Liang Xiao figured that when Huo Lan returned and found someone suddenly occupying the side bedroom, he’d likely be startled all over again.

 

Suppressing those thoughts, Liang Xiao refocused on work. “Are we reshooting a scene?”

 

“Adding a few.” The screenwriter pulled out a script Liang Xiao hadn’t seen before, flipping through a few pages. “Have you ever ridden a horse? Later—”

 

Liang Xiao nodded.

 

The screenwriter was halfway through saying, “Later, find someone to teach you,” when he paused, surprised.

 

Omega actors often faced physical limitations, and those who could perform action scenes were rare. Most horseback scenes required a Beta body double with a similar build.

 

Liang Xiao’s physique didn’t even seem great for an Omega, and word had it he’d been sick recently, so much so that playing the injured Yun Lian required little makeup.

 

“The stunt rider for Rippling Waves was me.”

 

Liang Xiao could tell what the screenwriter was thinking and smiled faintly. “Does the production need a double?”

 

The screenwriter snapped out of his surprise, growing more impressed. He patted Liang Xiao on the shoulder. “No need for a double. You’re almost wrapped up—consider this a parting gift.”

 

Liang Xiao was intrigued and followed him to the edge of the set.

 

Su Man had just finished filming an action scene. Looking valiant and spirited, she stepped off the stirrups and greeted him with a smile.

 

“With Jiang Pingchao here, Director Song will probably be tied up for at least two hours.”

 

The screenwriter handed Liang Xiao a script. “Familiarize yourself with this. You’re planning to open a Weibo account, right? Use it as your first post.”

 

Liang Xiao paused, taking the script and flipping through it carefully.

 

In the show, Yun Lian was a character who wandered the world with an ambiguous identity, exuding an air of nobility that could only come from a prestigious upbringing. He was unhurried and composed, rarely engaging in strenuous activity. His most dynamic scenes involved casual strolls.

 

Of course, from an omniscient perspective, Yun Lian had undertaken many tasks that required considerable effort and even personal risk. However, for the sake of character consistency, these scenes were subtly downplayed in the narrative.

 

The script handed to Liang Xiao was a deleted scene where Yun Lian, at Jing Ming’s request, rushed to aid the protagonist.

 

In the final cut, the protagonist Jing Zhe was trapped in the enemy camp, his life hanging by a thread. With no other options, Jing Ming sought Yun Lian’s help.

 

The camera transitioned from Jing Zhe’s torture to Yun Lian already arriving at the enemy’s military base.

 

The city was under martial law, and calling for a car would have aroused suspicion. The script did not elaborate on how Yun Lian traveled the nearly hundred-mile journey alone.

 

After reading the script, Liang Xiao hesitated before closing it. “Will Director Song agree to include this in the final cut?”

 

“Definitely not,” the screenwriter replied, well aware of Director Song’s tendencies after working with him for so long. “I just want to shoot it for fun.”

 

Liang Xiao: “…”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh, nodding as he handed the script back. “Got it.”

 

The screenwriter accepted it. “Need a stunt coordinator?”

 

The scene wasn’t particularly demanding, so Liang Xiao shook his head and smiled. “Since it’s almost a wrap, let me give you a parting gift instead.”

 

By the time Huo Lan arrived at the edge of the set with the investors, the private deal had just been finalized.

 

The crew swiftly changed the set. The assistant director kept a lookout, while the D-unit director rolled a piece of paper into a makeshift megaphone to signal the cameraman to start filming.

 

The sky darkened, and a storm loomed on the horizon.

 

The streets were desolate, with every household’s doors and windows tightly shut, casting an eerie stillness.

 

A few patrolling puppet soldiers, having looted their fill, cursed as they exited a shop, arms laden with stolen goods.

 

Suddenly, the sound of horse hooves echoed from around the corner.

 

“Who goes there?!” The leader of the puppet soldiers immediately raised his gun and shouted, “Dismount! Prepare for inspection—”

 

Yun Lian wore a light blue long robe, holding the reins with one hand while casually flicking his whip in the other. Without even looking, the whip lashed through the air, striking the rifle in the puppet soldier’s hand.

 

The soldier, startled and furious, hurriedly let go.

 

The rifle clattered to the ground, but none of the soldiers dared to pick it up. Furious, the leader shouted for his men to open fire. Just as the command left his mouth, Yun Lian lightly squeezed his legs against the horse’s flank.

 

The snow-white horse let out a piercing neigh, rearing onto its hind legs.

 

The long shot didn’t pause, swiftly pulling back. The secondary camera stayed fixed at the corner of the street, following the galloping figure of horse and rider as they sped away.

 

Gunfire erupted in the chaos.

 

Yun Lian only chuckled, glancing briefly at the bullets flying wildly off course. Without so much as flinching, he casually pulled out a silver coin and tossed it into the air.

 

“I’m in a hurry,” Yun Lian called out, his voice crisp and clear, carrying the lilting cadence of a Jiangnan accent. The whip cracked sharply, and the horse’s hooves thundered on. “This is for you.”

 

The puppet soldiers were dumbfounded, staring at the silver coin rolling across the ground. Greed flickered in their eyes, but before they could act, the figure of the horse and rider had already vanished at the end of the street.

 

…

 

Liang Xiao rode the horse at full gallop until he was out of the camera’s range. Slightly out of breath, he raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

 

The white horse, exhilarated from the run, trotted around in small circles as Liang Xiao loosened the reins, patting its neck to calm it. It was then that he noticed Huo Lan standing at the edge of the set.

 

“Beautiful!” One of the investors couldn’t help but praise. “Is he one of Xingguan’s artists?”

 

Huo Lan lifted his gaze, his eyes landing on Liang Xiao.

 

Liang Xiao was also looking over, gently pulling on the reins to slow the horse as their eyes met.

 

The exertion had taken its toll. Liang Xiao’s chest rose and fell slightly, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his forehead, making his bright eyes appear even clearer.

 

“He will be,” Huo Lan replied after a brief pause. “Very soon.”

 

“Can we get him on a reality show?” The investor, oblivious to any subtext, grew excited. “We’ve got a program that suits him perfectly—it’ll include promotional tie-ins for endorsements.”

 

Huo Lan withdrew his gaze.

 

With the upcoming release of the Year-End, Liang Xiao was bound to make a name for himself.

 

A well-chosen variety show appearance could solidify his rising popularity and help plan his future career in film and television.

 

This wasn’t their first collaboration, and Huo Lan was familiar with the investor’s reality shows. Knowing the terms were favorable, he considered briefly before replying, “He can—”

 

Just as he was about to agree, Liang Xiao, who had been riding leisurely past, overheard the conversation. Realizing that Huo Lan was about to agree without negotiating the appearance fee, he panicked and nudged the horse’s flank to hurry over.

 

“…” Huo Lan felt a headache coming on. He took a deep breath, swallowing his frustration, and gave Liang Xiao a sidelong glance. “Fine, but the payment must be settled in advance.”

 

 

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