The very Mr. Liang who was supposedly in urgent need of a tailored suit was currently suffering on set, painfully removing his costume.
After spending the entire morning suspended on wires, he still had several dialogue-heavy scenes to shoot in the afternoon. His elaborate costume was cumbersome to put on and take off, requiring at least an hour to change. With such large-scale group scenes, the entire crew couldn’t afford to wait for just one person.
Liang Xiao decided to power through without changing until the last scene was completed. Only then did he remove the wide-sleeved silver satin robe.
The harness had left several wounds that had bled slightly but remained untreated and had already dried.
Without making a fuss, Liang Xiao let Duan Ming drag him into the small bathroom in the resting area.
“Don’t move,” Duan Ming said with a furrowed brow as he carefully peeled away fabric stuck to Liang Xiao’s wounds bit by bit. “Hold on, bear with it—”
Unable to hold back his frustration, Duan Ming paused and looked up: “Can you cooperate a little?”
Liang Xiao took shallow breaths through clenched teeth: “How should I cooperate?”
“Any way you like,” Duan Ming replied, eyeing Liang Xiao’s tightly crossed arms over his chest. “Say something that makes me seem less like I’m trying to take advantage of you.”
After hesitating for a moment, Liang Xiao lowered his arms: “Brother Duan… be gentle.”
Duan Ming: “…”
Liang Xiao added weakly: “QA—”
Duan Ming pressed his forehead briefly before deciding not to waste any more time. He grabbed Liang Xiao’s shirt and yanked it down forcefully.
Liang Xiao’s vision went black. Unable to even cry out properly, he was left completely speechless from the pain.
Peeling it off slowly would have been even more torturous; better to endure short-term agony than prolonged suffering. Without softening his approach, Duan Ming picked up a cotton swab soaked in iodine and pressed it firmly onto the wound: “Still alive?”
“Both alive and dead.”
Slumped on the sofa, Liang Xiao murmured weakly: “Existing in two states simultaneously… only collapsing into one when observed…”
“What nonsense is that?” Duan Ming asked, baffled. “Who said that?”
“Schrödinger,” Liang Xiao replied faintly.
Duan Ming didn’t recognize the name and didn’t bother asking further. He finished treating Liang Xiao’s wounds and applied several bandages.
This wasn’t a new issue for Liang Xiao—he’d always downplay minor injuries and make light of discomfort. But when things became serious enough to cause him real pain, he’d stabilize his breathing and act completely normal without telling anyone about it, insisting he was fine.
Every time Duan Ming saw Liang Xiao being quiet, he’d feel nervous. Seeing him now grimacing and full of energy actually reassured him somewhat: “Alright, get dressed.”
Liang Xiao quickly threw on his clothes: “Are we heading back?”
“I’ll go check; we probably can.”
Duan Ming glanced at the time: “When we get back, let President Huo know—and ask h
im to help you be careful while bathing.”
Caught off guard by this comment while packing up his things, Liang Xiao flushed instantly: “…”
Duan Ming: “Did you cross the line again?”
Liang Xiao stubbornly replied: “No.”
Duan Ming eyed him suspiciously.
Having personally unbuttoned President Huo’s shirt before, Liang Xiao reflected on his actions and firmly believed that sharing a bath was now just a tiny, insignificant step away.
Composing himself, Liang Xiao tried to make his tone sound casual and natural: “Got it… I’ll talk to President Huo about it tonight.”
Duan Ming reminded him: “Your neck is red.”
Liang Xiao, stubborn as Schrödinger’s cat, refused to acknowledge it. Straightening his shoulders and keeping his gaze steady, he wrapped himself in his jacket and walked out with deliberate composure.
—
When Liang Xiao returned to the hotel, it wasn’t yet time for the flower-and-leaf meeting specified in their agreement.
The entire suite was enveloped in President Huo’s work atmosphere. Staff moved quietly, saying nothing as they tidied up the room with careful precision.
Not wanting to disturb Huo Lan, Liang Xiao blended into the subdued environment and quietly entered the guest room. He lay back on the bed.
After a full day of intense scenes, saying he wasn’t tired would be a lie.
Liang Xiao felt sore and achy all over. As soon as he lay down, he didn’t want to move anymore. He held up his script and flipped through two pages before his arm gave out. He let the script fall onto his face without bothering to catch it.
Yawning under the weight of the script, Liang Xiao muttered sleepily.
“You’re already this exhausted.”
Duan Ming frowned as he walked over, pulled back the blanket, and tucked it around Liang Xiao: “The intensity should be enough by now… Do you still want to schedule recovery training?”
Liang Xiao mumbled indistinctly: “It’s different.”
Filming was filming; training was training. Hanging on wires drained stamina and strained his back but didn’t train much else.
Director Jin’s standards for his martial arts scenes were based on historical dramas. Compared to the graceful and ethereal movements required in fantasy wuxia films, these demanded far more strength and explosiveness—areas where Liang Xiao was weaker.
“Later in production, I’ll have to wear strips of cloth.”
Half-asleep, Liang Xiao murmured: “With Director Jin’s temperament, I’ll probably have to train until I can at least show visible muscle definition…”
Duan Ming understood this well but couldn’t help sympathizing with him. Sighing in resignation, he relented: “Alright.”
Xingguan provided comprehensive resources for its artists, including specialized training teams for such needs. There was no need to spend extra money elsewhere.
Duan Ming pulled up some information and skimmed through it: “What should we schedule? Cardiopulmonary training, balance improvement, stamina enhancement, muscle sculpting…”
Liang Xiao helped brainstorm: “Core strength.”
Duan Ming ticked off the options: “Should we add injury prevention and relaxation stretching?”
Liang Xiao nodded. Watching Duan Ming quickly swipe past one particular page of training options, curiosity sparked within him: “What’s that?”
Duan Ming pushed his head away: “You don’t need it.”
“Not necessarily,” Liang Xiao argued. The more Duan Ming tried to hide it from him, the more determined he became to see it. Leaning forward with faux seriousness, he added: “Actors dedicate themselves to the camera—sometimes even unexpected areas might need attention…”
Duan Ming sighed and switched back to read aloud: “Beginner-level glute sculpting: achieve a peach-shaped booty.”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Duan Ming, with good intentions and fearing Liang Xiao might actually take the suggestion seriously, decided that if Liang Xiao didn’t value himself, there was nothing more to be done: “Beginner squats, basic leg exercises, glute and leg stretches… do you need them?”
Liang Xiao, utterly humiliated and furious, exclaimed: “No!”
Duan Ming teased: “Actors dedicate themselves to the camera…”
Liang Xiao wanted to leap up and attack his manager, but his waist was too sore. After struggling for a while, he ended up completely tangled in the blanket.
Unable to watch any longer, Duan Ming helped untangle him: “Just rest. I’ll schedule it for you.”
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head out now.”
Seeing how exhausted Liang Xiao truly was, Duan Ming decided to ease up on the teasing. He tidied up Liang Xiao’s belongings and reassured him: “Rest easy. If anything comes up with the crew, I’ll let you know.”
Liang Xiao managed a weak forward bend: “Brother Duan, you and Xiao Gong should get some rest too—”
Duan Ming pushed him back onto the bed: “You rest. Don’t worry about us.”
As he glanced at the script beside Liang Xiao, a thought occurred to him. He pulled out a set of highlighters and handed them over.
Liang Xiao blinked in confusion: “Do you want me to draw a cat on President Huo’s face?”
“…” Duan Ming sighed: “I want you to highlight your lines for memorization.”
As filming progressed, scenes would often be shot out of order. Each scene required additional markings for plot anchors. The further along they got in production, the more explanations and notes the script would accumulate.
Given how Liang Xiao was memorizing things now, Duan Ming genuinely worried he might become the first actor to die young from over-memorizing a script.
Knowing Liang Xiao probably wouldn’t bother moving much, Duan Ming put the highlighters away neatly: “There are several colors. Pick whichever you like.”
Liang Xiao nodded with slight regret.
“There’s also a steam eye mask,” Duan Ming said as he searched through some items. “It heats up—wear it if your eyes feel strained.”
Liang Xiao’s imagination ran wild: “If President Huo wore it, wouldn’t he constantly emit steam…?”
Hot meets cold; water vapor condenses.
He’d become a walking cloud.
Duan Ming stared at him for a long moment before taking a deep breath and pressing his forehead.
Unable to control him anymore, Duan Ming said: “If you’re really thinking about President Huo so much, stop lying here and go knock on his door.”
Liang Xiao had considered it but figured it was still too early. President Huo was likely in full work mode right now: “If I do that, President Huo will probably pin me down on the sofa and personally spank me…”
Duan Ming was stunned: “Then why aren’t you going already?”
Liang Xiao: “…”
Tempted by the idea, Liang Xiao seriously considered it for a long moment before sitting up on the edge of the bed.
Duan Ming, ever eager to stir things up further, opened the door for him: “Going or not?”
Liang Xiao sighed in defeat and lay back down: “Forget it.”
Duan Ming asked curiously: “Why not?”
Liang Xiao replied solemnly: “It’s broad daylight… inappropriate.”
Rolling around on the bed a few times, Liang Xiao eventually grabbed a highlighter and marked a few lines in his script.
As for how President Huo might react… Liang Xiao wasn’t entirely sure.
But if he really did get pinned down on the sofa and spanked, there was a 90% chance he wouldn’t be able to memorize tomorrow’s script afterward.
Unable to focus properly, Liang Xiao turned his frustration toward his manager: “Brother Duan, you can’t keep thinking about these things.”
“…” Duan Ming felt utterly wronged: “Am I the one thinking about them?”
Liang Xiao composed himself, picked up his phone, and shared a playlist with Duan Ming.
Duan Ming stared blankly at the playlist cover titled “Buddhist Chants: Sublime Melodies of the Buddhist Heart”: “…”
Feeling resigned, Duan Ming turned on the bedside work lamp, placed the script flat on Liang Xiao’s head, and walked out of the guest room without another word.
