“I didn’t,” Ji Dongyang said flatly.

Didn’t what? Didn’t fall in love? Or didn’t hook up?

Yang Xun was still holding the high heel in his hand like it was some kind of evidence. “Sergio Rossi’s latest collection—That pair costs at least eight thousand yuan. Mind explaining why there’s a woman’s shoe in your apartment?”

Ji Dongyang’s patience wore thin. He tore off his sleep mask and walked out of the bedroom.

Yang Xun followed, frowning. A wild thought suddenly struck him. “Wait—don’t tell me you got too lonely and called someone over for a quick one?”

Ji Dongyang turned around, his expression even more annoyed. “It’s Zhou Yining’s.”

Yang Xun’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You hooked up with that little hellcat next door?!”

Ji Dongyang: “……”

Next door, Zhou Yining was quietly eating when she suddenly let out a fierce sneeze. She wiped her mouth and nose with a tissue, clearly still not over her cold.

Meanwhile, Ji Dongyang was trying to stay calm despite being rudely awakened. He took a few steps, sat down on the couch, and after a brief pause, explained, “She twisted her ankle last night. I had some medicated wine here and let her use it. The shoe probably broke, so she tossed it in the trash.”

Yang Xun breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted the heel for a closer look and muttered, “Damn, her feet are tiny.”

With that, he tossed the shoe back in the bin.

Ji Dongyang glanced over. They were small.

That reminded him—“Little hellcat?”

Yang Xun smirked. “You didn’t hear? Before she signed with a management agency, Qin Sen pulled some strings and got Director Shi to assign her a manager. Shi took one look and said, ‘That little hellcat from your building?’ Word is she looks all sweet and innocent, but she’s vicious as hell. Holds a grudge like no other. People who know her all call her that. So trust me, keep your distance—avoid scandals at all costs.”

He clicked his tongue. “Didn’t believe it at first. But after that video? She’s got bite.”

Little hellcat, huh? It fit her pretty well.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Ji Dongyang’s lips.

Yang Xun pointed at the coffee table. “Breakfast. Eat before it gets cold.”

Ji Dongyang leaned forward, shoulders hunched, legs spread, as he opened the takeout containers and grabbed his chopsticks. His gaze shifted to the script on the table. “This— from Director Wei?”

Yang Xun nodded, sitting down beside him. “First draft. It’ll change a bit, but go through it.”

“Mm.”

They chatted for a while. Ji Dongyang finished eating, and Yang Xun headed out.

Ji Dongyang crossed his legs and slouched lazily on the sofa, flipping through the script.

Meanwhile, Zhou Yining had just finished her bath. She sat on her couch, staring at her still-swollen ankle. She glanced at the ointment in her hand and frowned.

 No way! This works better than Ji Dongyang’s medicated wine.

Should I go borrow it again?

Once the idea took root, she acted without hesitation.

She slipped on her slippers, walked out, and rang the doorbell next door.

A moment later, the door swung open.

Ji Dongyang stood there in a black knit sweater and gray lounge pants—much more casual than yesterday’s suit. Leaning against the doorframe, he squinted at the girl in a white bathrobe and asked, “What is it?”

Zhou Yining pointed at her foot. “Your medicated wine. Lend it to me again.”

He glanced down, then turned inside. “Wait here.”

It was chilly outside. Zhou Yining shivered and sneezed again. She glanced at the open door and stepped right in.

By the time Ji Dongyang returned with the wine, she was already lounging on his sofa, bathrobe hitched up to reveal her slim, pale calves. The loose neckline drooped, and that hint of cleavage wasn’t subtle.

He stood there staring for a few seconds, then pursed his lips and walked back into the bedroom.

When he returned, he tossed a black hoodie onto her lap. “Put this on.”

Zhou Yining looked up, then down at herself. “Such a prude,” she muttered, but obediently pulled it over her head.

The hoodie was big, swallowing her petite frame even with the bathrobe underneath. She looked smaller somehow. Delicate. Like a porcelain doll.

Ji Dongyang stared a bit longer, then handed over the bottle. “Here. Go home and use it.”

Kicking her out already?

Zhou Yining wasn’t having it. She didn’t take the bottle. Instead, she slipped her foot out of her slipper and lifted her leg, planting her bare foot right in front of his knee.

“You do it. Like last night. It worked faster.”

She didn’t have the patience to rub it in herself for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Ji Dongyang looked down at her foot—pale, smooth, with arched toes curling ever so slightly.

Then he looked up at her. She was watching him, head tilted.

Those black eyes—deeper than midnight.

Just as she started to pull back, thinking he’d refuse, Ji Dongyang grabbed her ankle, lifted her leg, and sat down beside her. In one fluid motion, her foot landed on his thigh.

Zhou Yining grinned in triumph, grabbing two throw pillows to prop herself up, reclining comfortably.

Ji Dongyang gave her a deep look. She sure knows how to enjoy herself.

He poured some wine into his hand.

As soon as the pungent scent hit her nose, Zhou Yining winced. “Ugh, it stinks.”

“You’re welcome to leave.”

He nudged her foot away and made a move to put the bottle back.

Zhou Yining quickly placed her foot back in his lap. “Doesn’t stink! Not at all!”

She wanted to heal up fast—get back to driving, strutting in heels, filming her next scenes. If she messed up again, Director Xu would rip her apart.

Ji Dongyang shot her a glance, poured more wine, and began rubbing it into her ankle.

His touch was a bit too rough.

She gritted her teeth. “Could you be a little gentler? Or did you forget how you bruised my waist last time?”

He snorted lightly through his nose but didn’t reply—just eased up a little.

After about fifteen minutes, he let go of her leg and stood up, looking down at her from above.

“You can go now.”

Zhou Yining pouted as she stood, then looked up at him with a teasing glint in her eyes.

“What, trying to kick me out so fast? You’re scared?”

Ji Dongyang arched a brow. “Scared of what?”

He leaned down—just enough for their faces to draw close, breath brushing breath, heat hanging in the air between them.

Zhou Yining smiled slyly. “A man and a woman… alone…”

Ji Dongyang gave a cold chuckle. He shoved her back and grabbed her by the collar.

Zhou Yining stumbled, hopping after him. “Ji Dongyang, you maniac! One more step and I’ll suplex you!”

Before she could act, he opened the door and pushed her out.

“Asshole!” she shouted at his door.

Storming back into her apartment, she suddenly realized she was still wearing his hoodie.

She yanked it off and tossed it onto the sofa, curling up into a ball with her knees hugged to her chest.

Her phone rang.

She groped behind her and answered. “What?”

“I’ve called three times. What were you doing?”

Zhou Yining glanced at the hoodie. “I stepped out for a bit. What’s up?”

“I’m flying to City B tomorrow. I’m free tonight. Dinner?”

She thought for a moment. “Alright.”

The next morning, she ran into Ji Dongyang on set.

He gave her a cold glance and walked right past.

Zhou Yining snorted and sauntered into the makeup room.

They only had one short scene together that day—just a few lines. No physical contact. She flubbed two takes, but Director Xu let it slide.

Her work for the morning wrapped quickly. The next scene wasn’t until four in the afternoon. By the time she finished, removed her makeup, and changed, it was nearly six.

As she reached the street corner to hail a ride, a black Cayenne pulled up.

Meanwhile, Ji Dongyang had just wrapped for the day. He changed out of costume and headed toward Yang Xun’s car.

Yang Xun glanced at him. “How’d it go?”

Ji Dongyang adjusted the seat and leaned back, stretching his long legs. “Smooth. Right on schedule.”

“Good. Let’s hope there are no more delays.”

They were currently in talks for a new film—Director Wei’s. First draft already in hand. If everything aligned, this role could snag Ji Dongyang another Best Actor award. If they secured it, Yang Xun planned to block off his schedule for the first half of next year.

Ji Dongyang was on the same page.

If all went well, ‘The Taiping Dynasty’ would wrap in two months.

The new movie was slated to start filming at the end of January—perfect timing.

They pulled up at South Garden. Ji Dongyang put on a baseball cap and mask before stepping out.

Tonight was a casual dinner with Director Wei and screenwriter Liu—no script talk, just catching up. Director Wei had helmed the film that won Ji Dongyang his first Best Actor award, so they met up from time to time.

But when they entered the private room, another familiar face was there—film star Li Zheng.

Yang Xun’s brows twitched as he shot a glance at Ji Dongyang.

Ji Dongyang, ever composed, simply smiled. “Director Wei. It’s been a while.”

Yang Xun felt played, but quickly masked his reaction and stepped forward with a polite grin.

After dinner, Li Zheng’s manager, Yu Na, made a suggestion: “Why don’t we go sing karaoke? I’ve already booked a room.”

Ji Dongyang smiled politely. “I’ve got an early shoot tomorrow. You all go ahead.”

As they exited, Yang Xun nudged Ji Dongyang and nodded toward the side.

Ji Dongyang followed his gaze.

Zhou Yining stood with her back to them, wearing stilettos. In front of her was a slick, well-dressed man. Whatever he said made her laugh, and then he ruffled her hair.

Ji Dongyang turned away, expression blank.

Didn’t she twist her ankle?

So why the hell is she wearing high heels?