HEIFEIGU -Chapter 136

Fan Qingshan arrived at the hospital, still wearing the demeanor of a charming playboy, joking and chatting with everyone.

He complained about his favorite restaurant closing, about his private chef at home not showing up, and about wanting to cook hometown dishes himself—resulting in this huge accident.

Truly a life of being served; no hard work necessary.

There was not a hint of grief on his face.

Even the assistant who had been tailing him for a long time noticed nothing unusual.

All news in Zhucheng had been sealed off; it was normal that Fan Qingshan knew nothing.

But once he returned home and was alone, dark, inexplicable emotions rolled in his eyes.

He pressed hard on the heavily bandaged wounds on his fingers.

Blood quickly welled up again; only sharp pain could bring him some relief.

Exhausted, Fan Qingshan slumped into a chair, eyes closed, no tears, just a faint trace of moisture at the corners.

This entire scene was shot in a single afternoon, with Xie Jixing watching closely.

Now that his own acting had reached a competent level, he could fully appreciate how skilled Qian Shuyun was.

Though everyone said his previous performance in the scene where Zhang Xianhai bids farewell to his master and senior was impressive, Xie Jixing knew it had been a spontaneous burst of inspiration.

He might never replicate that performance exactly.

Qian Shuyun, however, had honed this scene to perfection, with solid foundational skills. Every frame was flawless yet deeply moving.

Xie Jixing sat between Jiang Yueli on his left and Meng Zezhou on his right, all three grinning and wincing in awe.

Meng Meng, trembling, whispered, “What’s my role here?”

“Interrogating and executing him?”

“Me?”

Thinking about acting opposite Qian Shuyun later, Meng Zezhou’s scalp tingled.

“I feel like I can’t dominate his aura at all!”

“What do I do? What do I do?” Meng Zezhou, looking for the child, said, “Acting opposite him is so stressful!”

Jiang Yueli truly admired Fan Qingyan; though her performance was outstanding, she was more accustomed to TV drama acting, with more overt emotions, and there was still a noticeable gap compared to Qian Shuyun.

“During A Scroll of a Long Song, didn’t you already feel he was strong?” Jiang Yueli whispered to Xie Jixing.

Xie Jixing nodded.

Looking back, he still found that Qian Shuyun’s performance amazing.

“TV dramas were just a comeback trial. Here, on the big screen, is Qian Shuyun’s true domain.”

Jiang Yueli’s words were not exaggeration.

Soon, Qian Shuyun showed Xie Jixing what stable high-quality acting really meant.

He was like a precise human perception recorder.

Previously, in Yin Wenshan’s illusion, Qian Shuyun had experienced being punished.

Such intensely painful memories are usually something people want to forget quickly, but he remembered everything, and now reproduced it accurately in front of the camera.

The pain of whips on skin. The sensation of bones being crushed piece by piece by an iron rod.

His acting was so realistic that Meng Zezhou couldn’t move freely, racking up five or six takes.

Poor Meng Meng would occasionally be dazed, wondering if the tools in his hands really hit Qian Shuyun.

How could his brother look so convincingly in pain?

After filming a punishment scene, he was more exhausted than Qian Shuyun.

And as soon as each scene ended, Qian Shuyun would come to Xie Jixing acting pitiful, with a face bruised and discolored by special effects makeup, asking for goji berry water or ginger soup, complaining that his wrists hurt from being tied, asking Xie Jixing to feed him.

His pitiful face worked every time.

Now, clinging and whining, he said, “Meng Zezhou’s movements are really clumsy.”

Qian Shuyun rolled up his sleeve, showing a bruise the size of a fingernail on his elbow, likely from bumping during pulling.

“See? It’s bruised.”

You~ see~? You~ see~?

Meng Zezhou quietly rolled his eyes, feeling like he had become part of their little game.

Qian Shuyun’s earlier scenes had gone smoothly—textbook-level acting that could be included in film academy courses.

Even Yin Wenshan felt confident and stopped monitoring him.

In the final scene, when Fan Qingshan’s ghost met Zhang Xianhai, everyone worried Xie Jixing couldn’t handle Qian Shuyun’s acting—but unexpectedly, it was Qian Shuyun who faltered.

What would a Taoist do when encountering a ghost?

Of course: if the ghost obeys, fine; if not, beat it until it does.

This was engraved into Xie Jixing’s instincts.

So when Zhang Xianhai saw Fan Qingshan’s ghost, he immediately became wary.

Those familiar eyes, which Qian Shuyun kissed every day, now seemed completely strange, filled with detachment and vigilance.

At that instant, Qian Shuyun’s heart ached painfully.

He rarely broke character.

Staring at those eyes, he even forgot his lines.

Xie Jixing noticed immediately.

The vigilance in his eyes vanished, replaced by concern.

“Boss Qian?”

Qian Shuyun didn’t call cut. The cameras were still rolling, so Xie Jixing cautiously whispered.

“Cut.” The single word brought Qian Shuyun back, giving himself an NG take.

It was lunchtime, so he gave everyone an extra hour break and got into the nanny car with Xie Jixing.

Today, Aunt Wang had prepared Cantonese claypot rice with Chinese sausage, stir-fried choy sum, steamed pork belly with preserved vegetables, steamed spare ribs in black bean sauce, and a rich pigeon soup.

The RV was filled with a strong aroma of food.

Normally, Qian Shuyun would have eagerly taken charge.

The dishes would be laid out, the soup served to cool, and he would make sure to arrange the food for Xie Jixing and encourage him to eat.

He’d also chatter nonstop, trying to make up for all the things he hadn’t said in the morning, cramming it all into this lunch.

Busy to the point of chaos.

Now, he was still busy with the food, but quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Xie Jixing had sensed something off earlier, and the moment the car door closed, he asked.

Qian Shuyun remained silent.

He found it hard to explain why he had lost his composure.

It was because his boyfriend had looked at him with a sudden mix of caution and unfamiliarity while acting, and that had made him upset.

It sounded pathetic.

Xie Jixing poked the runny egg on the claypot rice and glanced at him.

“Don’t want to talk?”

He looked serious.

“Feeling unwell? Or is it because the previous scene was too intense and it upset you?” Xie Jixing frowned, losing his appetite.

Qian Shuyun shook his head silently, his ears turning slightly red.

Xie Jixing was suspicious.

This didn’t look like being upset.

He silently picked up a piece of rib, scooped it with a spoon, and fed it to Qian Shuyun. “Want a rib? This piece has your favorite soft bone.”

Such treats were rare.

Qian Shuyun immediately felt appeased and opened his mouth to bite.

But the rib floated away again. “You have to say it first, or no eating.”

Xie Jixing squinted at him, the little red mole showing a hint of irritation.

“It’s nothing,” Qian Shuyun rubbed his nose, “I just can’t stand it when you look at me with that expression.”

“So it makes me a little upset inside.”

Huh?

What was that?

A question mark slowly appeared above Xie Jixing’s head.

Then he seemed to understand something and burst out laughing.

“You’re laughing at me,” the movie king complained.

“I’m acting,” Xie Jixing couldn’t help teasing, “you’re being so childish.”

“Even acting is not allowed,” Qian Shuyun pouted more.

“You’re an actor king, you know.” Xie Jixing looked incredulous.

“Even actor king is not allowed!” Qian Shuyun completely threw a tantrum. “No matter what you’re doing, if you look at me like that, I feel bad.”

Xie Jixing’s eyes widened. He had never seen this side of Qian Shuyun before.

In front of him, Qian Shuyun always seemed calm, gentle, and tolerant.

Even when he acted a bit abstract, it was mostly to cheer him up.

This childish, unreasonable side of him… was actually kind of cute.

Xie Jixing picked up the rib and stuffed it into Qian Shuyun’s mouth.

“Crazy.”

Qian Shuyun chewed and the corners of his mouth lifted.

He even tried to negotiate for more benefits.

“Once filming wraps, can I move into your room?”

Xie Jixing raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“What else?” Qian Shuyun lowered his eyes and pouted over the claypot rice. “To date, of course.”

“You said no dating before filming, but after wrap, it should be okay, right?”

What kind of twisted logic was that?

“So we can’t date unless I move into your room?”

“Not exactly,” Qian Shuyun scooped a spoon of his favorite pork belly for Xie Jixing. “You can move into my room too.”

Xie Jixing was about to retort when Qian Shuyun leaned closer and whispered in his ear:

“Let’s finish what we didn’t finish in the car last time, okay?”

Last time? In the car? What thing?

Xie Jixing tried to recall.

Immediately regretted it—he shouldn’t have tried.

Nothing unfinished in the car was ever good.

His ears began to burn as he lowered his head and chewed, pretending not to hear.

But Qian Shuyun could tell from his reaction that he understood what was being hinted at.

It seemed this attempt wouldn’t succeed either.

No telling when it would.

Qian Shuyun sighed and started eating again.

The car fell into a rare silence, with only the sounds of cutlery clinking and chewing.

Once the warmth in his ears subsided a little, Xie Jixing sneaked a glance at Qian Shuyun.

He meticulously picked the Sichuan peppercorns from the pork belly, dipped them in the sauce, and silently placed them in Xie Jixing’s bowl.

Then he skimmed the layer of oil off the pigeon soup, picked out the ginger slices, and placed them in front of Xie Jixing.

He had never mentioned his dislike for certain ingredients or floating oil, and sometimes Xie Jixing was too lazy to bother, eating it anyway.

Yet Qian Shuyun noticed everything and remembered.

“Ahem,” Xie Jixing coughed lightly, ears burning again. “I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

“After filming wraps, you can move over…”

His voice gradually softened.

“Let’s try to finish what we didn’t last time…”