APCF – Chapter 135 Dream Fulfilled

With the conclusion of Shen Xing and Jiang Yuan’s scenes, Liu Ziyu joined the crew.

She played the woman who deceived Shen Xing emotionally and financially. The role wasn’t large and would wrap up in less than a week.

Given her long-standing “infamous popularity” approach, everyone assumed Liu Ziyu’s acting would be mediocre, but surprisingly, she performed quite well in her scenes with others. Perhaps out of respect for Qi Xingchen, she didn’t throw any tantrums on set. She tolerated what she could and wrapped up her scenes in just four days.

As a gesture of thanks, Qi Xingchen treated her to a meal. At the table, Liu Ziyu couldn’t help but sigh, “Back on that season of Let’s Budget Travel, there were six of us guests. You and Tao Tao had the least popularity. And now? You’re practically a household name, and Tao Tao’s in jail. Life really is unpredictable.”

“That’s why every choice matters,” Qi Xingchen raised his glass. “A single wrong step can lead to vastly different outcomes.”

After Liu Ziyu’s departure, the You and Me crew moved to the countryside to film Shen Xing’s teenage years.

The primary scenes for this period were set in the acrobat troupe. An Ran rented the local community theater and gave it a simple makeover. With some old props bought from the elderly locals, the setting took on a convincing 1970s vibe.

On the first day of shooting, as soon as Qi Xingchen walked on set, he heard Bo Ye constantly asking: “Has the camera crane been checked?”

“Did the wire rig go through testing?”

“Are the silk straps safe enough… They don’t seem very sturdy to me?”

“Xiao Bo, I knew you’d be worried about this,” Director Qian said with a near tearful look, “so I specially ordered custom high-tech silk blends. Strong enough to hoist a car without snapping.”

Bo Ye gave him a skeptical look and tugged on the silk himself. Finding it quite strong, he finally quieted down for a while.

Though Jiang Yuan’s scenes were done, he didn’t leave—he decided to stay and accompany Qi Xingchen.

Having trained in acrobatics for over ten years, no move was too difficult for Qi Xingchen. After a quick warm-up, he didn’t even use the crane or the wire rig. He simply hooked his hands and feet onto the silk and climbed effortlessly into the air.

Bo Ye: “……”

Looks like all that crane and rig testing really was unnecessary.

This scene portrayed the young Shen Xing performing an aerial silk act and was also one of the most visually stunning scenes in the entire film. To match the role, Qi Xingchen had grown his hair a bit longer. The dark strands accentuated his crystal-clear complexion. Dressed in a flowing white silk robe and wide-legged pants, he truly looked like a celestial being descending from the heavens.

The equipment team was ready. The slate clapped. Bo Ye stood behind Director Qian, watching the monitor with him. On screen, Qi Xingchen was hooked onto the left side of the silk, using his core to make the long fabric sway gracefully side to side.

The more it swayed, the wider the arc. He smiled faintly, letting his robes flutter in the wind as he turned slightly to glance at the camera.

His delicate, untainted face carried a look of innocent bewilderment. The screenwriter’s eyes suddenly turned red. “I’ve dreamed of Shen Xing countless times… and this is exactly how he looked in those dreams.”

Director Qian paused. “My dreams of Shen Xing looked just like this, too.”

Thanks to Qi Xingchen, Shen Xing would now have a face in their dreams from here on.

This was the happiest period of Shen Xing’s life. After every performance, he would hand most of the tips to the troupe leader, keep a little for himself, and hitch a ride to the market. He bought rouge for his mother and candied treats for his younger sister.

When he had more money, he’d buy some pastries for his fellow apprentices. But oddly, they didn’t seem to like them anymore—even though they used to love eating them.

One evening, he accidentally left something in the training hall. When he returned to get it, he overheard his senior brothers talking—and suddenly understood why they had been distancing themselves.

He flung the door open, stiffened his neck, and yelled, “I didn’t do it!” Then he stormed out, ran through the alleys to the beach, and cried all night by the sea.

That crying scene was one of the emotional climaxes of the film—because from that day on, Shen Xing’s soul was no longer pure.

To do it justice, Qi Xingchen spent a full hour preparing himself emotionally. The result was exceptional: the gradual breakdown he portrayed was nuanced and powerful, with a lingering emotional impact.

That night, Bo Ye spent the entire evening whispering to him in a low voice, finally coaxing him to sleep just before dawn.

It wasn’t just Qi Xingchen who felt affected—Director Qian and the screenwriter were both in rough shape. After all, they had created the character of Shen Xing. In some ways, they understood his despair and helplessness even better than Qi Xingchen did.

That depth of understanding had its advantages—Director Qian knew exactly how to visually convey Shen Xing’s emotions.

But it also had a downside. For a while, the entire set was engulfed in a somewhat oppressive mood.

Still, it wasn’t all gloom. In September, while Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye were having dinner, they received a call from An Ran.

An Ran’s voice was bright and brimming with joy: “Xingxing, thanks to President Qi’s coordination, You and Me is confirmed for a New Year’s Day release!”

“Really?” Qi Xingchen double-checked with her, then quickly relayed the news to Bo Ye.

Bo Ye asked, “What about the Film Bureau? Any word from them?”

“President Qi is in active communication,” An Ran replied. “From what they said, You and Me has a solid message—it promotes traditional culture and doesn’t cross any red lines. Once we submit the final cut, we can request an expedited review. It should pass quickly.”

That was the best-case scenario. Qi Xingchen and Bo Ye looked at each other and shared a happy kiss.

A loud “smooch” came through the phone, making An Ran scratch her head in frustration, though she said nothing. She was used to this—after so much time being bombarded with public displays of affection, she had learned to accept it with stoic indifference.

She said flatly, “One more thing: the Huajing Awards are about to begin. With our progress, we should make the deadline. Do you want to participate?”

The Huajing Awards were one of the two most prestigious accolades in Chinese cinema. The terms “Best Actor” and “Best Actress” often referred specifically to the winners of this award.

Qi Xingchen wasn’t particularly interested in winning a Huajing himself. But Director Qian had long felt underappreciated. If the film could make it to the festival—even without winning—just receiving a couple of nominations would greatly enhance his reputation.

Qi Xingchen asked, “Has the awards ceremony date been finalized yet?”

“Tentatively scheduled between late January and early February.”

The timing was good. He and Bo Ye probably hadn’t left yet. Qi Xingchen thought for a moment. “Alright, sign us up. Once the footage is edited, send it over as soon as possible.”

“OK.” An Ran hung up the phone.

With the schedule set and high chances of passing the review, the last bit of hesitation faded. The core production team of You and Me threw themselves wholeheartedly into the final stages of the project.

After falling into depravity with Jiang Yuan, Shen Xing once tried to quit drugs and save himself. But the allure of narcotics isn’t something that sheer willpower can resist. It didn’t take long before he relapsed while hanging out with Jiang Yuan again.

Those who relapse often fall deeper into addiction—ordinary doses no longer satisfy them. That night, Shen Xing was lying on the sofa watching TV when Jiang Yuan came back, sneaking in and locking the door tightly.

“Why are you locking the door?” Shen Xing complained, waving a fan. “It’s hot.”

“I got my hands on some good stuff,” Jiang Yuan pulled out a small packet of powder from his chest. “Rumored to be imported, high concentration.”

Shen Xing raised an eyebrow. “How high can it be?”

“You’ll know once you try.”

And try they did. They drew the curtains and slipped into the bedroom with the stuff. The moment they inhaled, they went completely mad—as if their souls had flown into another world, experiencing an unspeakable, bone-chilling journey.

They sang and danced as if in a nightclub. When they got tired of singing and dancing, they had sex. And when even that wasn’t enough to prolong the pleasure, they took out the little packet and inhaled again…

At the height of their frenzy, Shen Xing looked at the moon. “Jiang Yuan, did you know? I can perform the ‘Flying Immortal.’”

“Haha, Flying Immortal? Aren’t we flying right now!”

Shen Xing wanted to say, “It’s different,” but he only opened his mouth and didn’t speak. He closed his eyes and reached out, as if grasping the silk ribbon he was most familiar with.

Just like that, they plunged into chaos for three days. On the afternoon of the third day, Shen Xing couldn’t hold on and needed to sleep. Jiang Yuan had one last release on top of him before quieting down as well.

The next day, they were woken by the clanging sound of gongs downstairs. Shen Xing nudged Jiang Yuan.

What he pushed down was a cold, lifeless corpse.

He was so terrified he fainted.

When he woke up again, he was at the police station—the neighbors had reported it. He was sent to a rehab center for mandatory drug detox and was found to have once helped Jiang Yuan distribute drugs to a friend. He was convicted of drug trafficking.

Since the quantity was relatively small, he was sentenced to thirteen years. Due to his acrobatic skills and active participation in prison cultural and recreational activities, his sentence was reduced to ten years.

On the day of his release, he held the last of his belongings and wandered around the city.

He discovered the nightclubs were gone. The apartment building he had shared with Jiang Yuan was gone. This place had become so unfamiliar—it had no place for him anymore.

So, he took his bundle and returned to his hometown.

The final scene of You and Me was Shen Xing’s return to the acrobatics troupe. Since it was filmed in the countryside, it was scheduled after the teenage period scenes.

At the end of September, the temperature difference was harsh. Qi Xingchen finished putting on the makeup for middle-aged Shen Xing. Director Qian solemnly asked, “Are you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Good luck, Shen Xing.”

Qi Xingchen nodded and picked up the worn-out bundle.

“Final scene of You and Me, one take, action!”

Shen Xing had imagined many times what it would be like to return to the acrobatics troupe. Maybe the troupe leader was now old and feeble, and his fellow apprentices were too weak to even build a human pyramid. Or maybe the entire group had changed, and the kids practicing in the back courtyard were still teenagers.

But he had never imagined the place would be completely empty.

He pushed open the moss-covered door and walked inside, calling out, “Big Brother? Xiao Zhuzi? Xiao Ba? Master?”

Unfortunately, no one answered. Only echoes and choking dust replied.

He finally realized—they were all gone. He closed his mouth and checked every room one by one. The scenes of practice and playful laughter from the past were still vivid, but now, it was nothing but an empty shell of what once was.

How similar this was to his own life. Looking back, he had been glorious, fallen, happy, and despairing. He had loved men and women. He had loved. But in the end, the only thing left beside him was the coarse cloth bundle his parents gave him when they sent him to the troupe.

The camera froze on the stage. Shen Xing grasped the silk cloth and climbed to the top with practiced movements—then smiled and let go.

We come into this world bare. We leave it the same way.

He is you, he is me. But hopefully, he is neither you nor me.

The story ended there, but everyone’s eyes remained fixed on Qi Xingchen. No one called “cut,” no one replayed the footage. Until the soft sobbing of a female staff member broke the silence, Director Qian took a deep breath. “Xiao Qi, it’s done. Come down.”

It wasn’t that Qi Xingchen didn’t want to come down—it was that he was still immersed in Shen Xing’s emotions, drained to the point of having no strength. In the end, Bo Ye had to carry him down.

“There, baby,” Bo Ye rubbed the red marks on his hands. “You did great. You really nailed it. Don’t be sad, okay?”

Qi Xingchen responded faintly, “Mm. I’m fine. Just need a moment. Don’t worry.”

How could Bo Ye not worry? Ignoring the people around them, he pulled Qi Xingchen into his arms, gently patting his back over and over.

This move seemed to work wonders. Before long, Qi Xingchen had mostly recovered. Director Qian, who had been forced to watch this public display of affection for ten minutes, finally cleared his throat awkwardly, “Ahem… Sorry to interrupt.”

“Yes, Director,” Qi Xingchen, face flushed, slipped out of Bo Ye’s arms.

“Xiao Qi, your B-set scenes are done. You can rest for now. I’ll stay to shoot a few empty shots. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go back to A-set to reshoot a few scenes. I estimate two days to finish, then we’ll start post-production. We’re tight on time, so marketing should start simultaneously.”

“I understand,” Qi Xingchen nodded. “I’ve prepared for that too. Don’t worry about the marketing part—I’ll have a team handle it. You just focus on the post-production.”

Director Qian glanced at Qi Xingchen without any expression.

Seeing that he didn’t speak, Qi Xingchen assumed he was unhappy with the arrangements and was about to ask when—

Director Qian took a deep breath and suddenly bowed deeply!

“…What are you doing?!” Qi Xingchen panicked. “Get up, quickly!”

“I don’t mean anything else, I just want to thank you.”

Qi Xingchen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You already thanked me when the project was first established! Don’t be so formal with me, get up already.”

“That time I was thanking you for investing in the film. This time…” Director Qian’s voice trembled, “this time I want to thank you for giving Shen Xing a soul.”

Qi Xingchen didn’t think he deserved such praise. He tried to reason with him gently and finally managed to persuade him to stand up. But before he could even leave the set, the screenwriter came running over and hugged him, crying. What should’ve been a simple end-of-filming celebration turned into a full-blown sob-fest.

If Bo Ye hadn’t dragged the screenwriter away, Qi Xingchen suspected he might’ve drowned in tears.

The filming of You and I had been so intense that everyone was utterly exhausted. After returning to the hotel, Qi Xingchen relaxed in a nice hot bath. When he came out, he saw Bo Ye sitting there again, scribbling in his notebook.

He’d been doing this a lot lately. Qi Xingchen wasn’t one to pry into others’ privacy, so he never asked.

Smelling the scent of the body wash, Bo Ye looked up and opened his arms. “Come here, let me hold you.”

Qi Xingchen obediently sat down in his embrace.

Bo Ye sniffed around his neck. “You used my body wash?”

Qi Xingchen: “…”

He got caught red-handed the very first time he did it!

“If you like the scent, go ahead and use it.”

Qi Xingchen wrapped his arms around Bo Ye’s waist. He didn’t just like the scent—he liked everything related to Bo Ye.

“Oh, right,” Qi Xingchen tightened his hold, “I’m planning to hand the publicity work over to Chen Nuoya, but we’ll still be the main ones doing the promotion. How should we plan it?”

“Up to you,” Bo Ye replied. “I’ve cleared all my other work to fully support you.”

Counting from the start of production to the post-release tour, Bo Ye had cleared nearly half a year just to accompany him. Qi Xingchen’s heart felt warm. He tilted his head up and gave Bo Ye a peck.

But Bo Ye wasn’t someone who let others take advantage so easily—he immediately kissed back.

The two of them teased each other with kisses for a while before Qi Xingchen suddenly had a thought. “Brother Ye, since we’ve got some free time, how about we do some fan service?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind?”

“A livestream. If I don’t go live soon, they’ll reclaim my streaming channel.”

Bo Ye naturally agreed and even insisted his little boyfriend change into a plain, unflattering outfit.

Setting up the chairs, mounting the phone, sending out the livestream notification—everything went smoothly. Once the stream started, the fans—dubbed “Night Sky” and “Starlight”—poured in like a tidal wave.

After all, it was their first official livestream together. Qi Xingchen was a little stiff. After greeting everyone properly, Bo Ye saw that his little boyfriend looked lost and took the initiative to start answering fan questions:

“Yes, we’re in a hotel together.”

“How long since our last stream… probably the fourth day of the Lunar New Year? That’s about seven or eight months ago.”

“Weibo? I’m too lazy to post. Plus, we’ve been busy filming and haven’t had time to mess with our phones.”

“Someone’s asking if there’s a kiss scene?” Bo Ye raised his brows. “If there isn’t, can’t I just ask the director to add one?”

Hearing that, Qi Xingchen’s face turned red with embarrassment. He shot Bo Ye a glare and realized—he absolutely could not let this guy keep talking.

More questions came flooding in:

[What was it like working together for the first time? Did you have good chemistry?]

Qi Xingchen quickly answered, “We worked well together.”

Bo Ye added, “Very well. He often compliments my acting.”

[What did you do in your downtime during filming?]

Qi Xingchen: “You and I had a tight shooting schedule. There was barely any free time.”

Bo Ye: “Just read scripts and rehearse lines together. At night, we played a couple of rounds of Honor of Kings. I used my alt account to carry him.”

Qi Xingchen: “……”

He’d never been into gaming before, but after spending so much time with Bo Ye, he noticed Bo Ye played occasionally. So he downloaded the game to try it out—and of course got caught.

[LOL! By the way, how did you two interact on set? Did you try to avoid suspicion?]

Qi Xingchen: “We focused mainly on work.”

Bo Ye: “Didn’t avoid anything. No need to. We just did what we had to, and over time, everyone got used to it.”

Qi Xingchen: “……”

He took a deep breath and subtly nudged Bo Ye’s leg under the table with his toes.

Sensing his lover’s silent plea, Bo Ye raised an eyebrow and finally behaved himself.

Of course, fans were completely unaware of their little signals, and the comment section continued to refresh at lightning speed.

[When is You and I expected to be released?]

[Will you collaborate again after this movie?]

Qi Xingchen answered, “You and I will probably come out around New Year’s. We’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news. As for future collaborations…”

He didn’t know how to answer.

The future was uncertain.

“There is one.”

At that moment, Bo Ye suddenly spoke up. “We’re about to record a song together.”

…A song?

Qi Xingchen turned to Bo Ye, looking utterly confused.

Bo Ye chuckled at his boyfriend’s adorable expression and scratched his chin. “I wrote a song for You and I. Would you like to sing it with me?”

Qi Xingchen’s chest swelled with emotion, and he couldn’t hear anything else. All that remained in his ears was the thump-thump of his own heartbeat.

The idol he’d admired for eight years was inviting him to sing together.

What a blessing—to have a dream come true.

_{2 More chapters and this novel will be finished. What should be my next project?}