Zhou Yining left Ji Dongyang’s lounge, swiping one of his eye masks on her way out. During a standby break, she settled into a chair, mimicking his habit by slipping on the eye mask to rest. Suddenly, someone tugged it off from behind. Blinking, she found Jing Xin grinning at her.

Jing Xin dangled the eye mask teasingly. “This is Dong-ge’s, isn’t it?”

Zhou Yining leaned back lazily. “Mhm.”

Their scenes rarely overlapped, and Jing Xin’s role tapered off later in the production. She sat beside Zhou Yining. “Seems like you and Dong-ge have thawed lately. Half the crew’s his fans—you’re practically the resident anti-fan.”

Zhou Yining’s gaze drifted to Ji Dongyang, deep in conversation with Director Xu. That man’s expression was perpetually tranquil; smiles were rare treasures. She stared unabashedly, a sudden curve lifting her lips. “We’ve thawed, alright. Still can’t stand that ice-cold act of his, though.”

“That’s the ‘forbidden-fruit heartthrob’ vibe! Haven’t you seen his films? That uniformed look? Devastating— Legions of girls swoon!” A nearby actress in palace-maid costume chimed in, eyes sparkling—another member of “Ji Dongyang’s harem.”

‘Forbidden fruit?’ Zhou Yining’s eyes flicked back to Ji Dongyang. “Who knew? Every man has his moments of madness.” A man like him… it was hard to picture him ‘burning’.

The harder it was to imagine, the more Zhou Yining’s fingers itched to try. “I must be insane”, she thought. Ever since that ankle sprain, her perception of Ji Dongyang had shifted. The colder he was, the fiercer her impulse grew.

Days later, Zhou Yining flew to Shanghai with Wan Wei for a magazine shoot.

On the plane, Wan Wei remarked, “You’re from Shanghai, right? If you want to visit home, you’ve got three free hours tomorrow afternoon.”

Zhou Yining watched clouds drift past the window, lashes lowering. “No need.”

She hadn’t told anyone about this trip home. Nor did she plan to set foot in that house. The thought alone repelled her.

Wan Wei had heard fragments about her family. Reclining her seat, she let the subject drop.

Zhou Yining had done professional artistic photoshoots before, so this magazine debut held no intimidation. Her figure was flawless, skin luminous, eyes—innocent yet hypnotic—held a mesmerizing allure in every subtle shift. Even the photographer couldn’t resist praising her to Wan Wei: “Your new signing’s exceptional. Honestly, with her here, Lu Ling almost faded into the background.”

Wan Wei observed Zhou Yining resting on a chair: legs crossed, calves slender and sculpted, high-heeled shoes dangling precariously from her toes. Propping her chin, she stared into space, lost in thought.

“True beauty lies in the bones, not the skin.” Zhou Yining possessed a unique aura—not stunning at first glance, yet unforgettable. “She’ll blaze bright”, Wan Wei thought. “I don’t misjudge talent.”

That evening, during dinner, Lu Ling was recognized by fans while heading to the restroom. One male fan grew particularly frenzied, trapping her near the entrance.

Wan Wei and the assistant rushed to intervene, leaving Zhou Yining alone in the private room. The door hadn’t fully latched.

Shen Yanjun passed by, did a double-take at the glimpse through the gap, then pushed the door open. The girl lounging with a wine glass, lazy as a cat—who else could it be? He smiled, rapped on the doorframe, and entered.

Zhou Yining looked up, unsurprised. “Fancy meeting a familiar face here.”

Shen Yanjun approached. “Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

Setting down her glass, she stated bluntly, “Didn’t want to tell anyone.”

Her frankness sometimes grated on him. The corner of his mouth twitched faintly as he sat beside her. Zhou Yining shooed him. “You should go. I’m here for work. My agent will be back soon—it’ll be awkward if she sees you.”

Shen Yanjun didn’t budge. “Awkward how?”

Before she could reply, the door swung open. Wan Wei ushered Lu Ling and the assistant in, freezing at the sight of the unfamiliar, impeccably suited man. They’d have thought they’d entered the wrong room if not for Zhou Yining’s presence.

Wan Wei recovered first, her gaze darting between Shen Yanjun and Zhou Yining.

Zhou Yining stood, gesturing at him. “My friend. Ran into him by chance.”

Shen Yanjun also rose, extending a hand to Wan Wei. “Shen Yanjun. Zhou Yining’s fiancé.”

Zhou Yining gaped at him. Even Wan Wei’s eyes widened.

Shen Yanjun chuckled smoothly. “”Ex”-Ex-fiancé.” He adjusted seamlessly. “I’ve got another engagement to attend. Won’t intrude further.”

After he left, Wan Wei turned to Zhou Yining. “”Ex”-Ex-fiancé? Seriously?”

Zhou Yining cursed Shen Yanjun internally. “We agreed to revert to our original relationship!” “Yes. Arranged by our parents. It’s over now.”

Wan Wei studied her for several seconds before finally looking away. “Since it’s over, keep your distance. If you’re going to generate scandalous buzz, make it with someone like Ji Dongyang. At least that’s impactful.”

Zhou Yining: “…”

“Aming and Yang Xun guard him like national treasures. When would I ever get the chance?”

Back at the hotel that night, Shen Yanjun called asking when she’d return. Exhausted, Zhou Yining collapsed onto the bed. “Tomorrow afternoon. Don’t tell my dad I was here. I’m not going home anytime soon.”

She raised her hand, studying the faint scar from the cat scratch. “Fluffy…” The name surfaced whenever she saw it.

She was only sixteen then. She’d adored Fluffy. Then suddenly, he vanished from her life. She could never forgive Zhou Jiahui. She couldn’t even trust Zhou Lihui anymore. So when her mother suggested studying abroad, she agreed without hesitation.

Shen Yanjun paused. “Free for lunch tomorrow?”

Zhou Yining considered it. “Next time.”

Hanging up, she checked the time—only 9 PM.

After a shower and removing her makeup, she lay back in bed before 10 PM. Scrolling through her phone, she impulsively pulled up Ji Dongyang’s Weibo. His updates were sparse; the latest was a repost from early month promoting “Redemption”’s premiere, buried under tens of thousands of comments. She tapped in.

“I could stare at Dong-ge in uniform forever! The ultimate forbidden-fruit heartthrob—no one compares!

“Is no one worried Dong-ge’s too ‘forbidden’ to ever find a wifey??”

“I am the wifey. Fight me!”

“When will Dong-ge update? Not until” Tang

Taiping Dynasty “wraps filming?
…

Zhou Yining scrolled for half an hour before returning to his homepage. She opened those stills: Ji Dongyang in a police uniform, features sharp and heroic, gaze resolute—a true soldier. Another in camouflage, prone in the mud, eyes fixed intently on the horizon.

This man was like quicksand. The more she focused on him, the deeper she sank.

“What if one day I can’t pull myself out?”

She pulled up another of his films, watching until the early hours before sleep claimed her.

“”

The next evening, Zhou Yining returned home. After a bath, she grabbed her script and headed next door. She jabbed the doorbell repeatedly. No answer. Pouting, she turned to leave—

A cold voice cut through the air behind her. “What are you doing on my doorstep dressed like that —again?”

Zhou Yining whirled around, delighted. Ji Dongyang frowned at her, Yang Xun at his side eyeing her with outright suspicion.

“Such a mood-killer”, she thought.

Hugging her script, she ducked her head and brushed past him. “It’s freezing out here. I’m heading back.”

Ji Dongyang’s gaze snagged on the script in her hands, his expression softening fractionally. Behind him, Zhou Yining had already darted inside and shut her door.

Yang Xun pointed at her door. “She shows up at your place dressed like that, and you still claim nothing’s going on?”

Ji Dongyang entered, keying in his code. “Nothing is going on.”

Yang Xun scowled. “Even if you’re oblivious, that little she-devil’s trying to seduce you! What woman wanders over to a man’s house at night in a bathrobe with her legs bare?”

Ji Dongyang tossed his coat onto the sofa, amused. “Zhou Yining seducing me? You’re overthinking it.”

Massively overthinking it. Anyone entertaining that notion was delusional.

He turned to Yang Xun. “You dislike Zhou Yining that much?”

Yang Xun waved a hand. “Not dislike. Just wary of her using you for hype. Same agency or not, we avoid that. You’re past needing publicity stunts.”

Ji Dongyang’s image was long solidified in the public eye: low-key, dedicated to his craft. Yet ever since that explosive news about his parents years ago, paparazzi still tailed him, hungry for another scoop.

The lower-key the star, the bigger the potential scandal.

Recent examples flashed through Yang Xun’s mind: the renowned host Du Han exposed for cheating; the singer Gao Wenyi caught sleeping with fans… All meticulously managed images, all shattered eventually. The last thing Yang Xun wanted was headlines screaming “Ji Dongyang Slept with Actress” or “Ji Dongyang Hookup with Co-star.”

Ji Dongyang offered no comment on Yang Xun’s concerns, simply heading to his room for loungewear before disappearing into the shower.

Back on her sofa, Zhou Yining smoothed her damp hair. Okay, maybe there’d been some ulterior motive, but she genuinely needed to rehearse with Ji Dongyang. She couldn’t afford another scolding from Director Xu tomorrow. The scene involved crying—a monumental challenge. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d shed tears. “One take. Please let it be one take.” What if she kept N.G.ing?

Late into the quiet night, Zhou Yining guessed Yang Xun had left. Script in hand, bathrobe-clad, she pressed Ji Dongyang’s doorbell again.

This time, he opened it swiftly. His eyes swept over her bare legs below the robe. Without a word, he moved to shut the door.

Zhou Yining jammed her hand against the frame. “If you shut it, you’ll crush my fingers! I just need to rehearse! Unless you want me N.G.ing all day tomorrow and delaying the shoot again?”

Ji Dongyang’s eyes dropped to her hand, then to the script. He’d been reviewing his lines moments ago.

Zhou Yining took three quick steps forward, one foot already crossing the threshold. Ji Dongyang’s arm shot out, barring her way. He jerked his chin at her robe. “Change clothes first.”

Zhou Yining ducked, trying to slip under his arm!

He yanked her back by the collar.

“Pull any harder and I’ll flash you!” she yelped.

Ji Dongyang’s gaze dipped, then instantly snapped away. His face tightened as he released her, turning back inside.

Zhou Yining guessed he was fetching clothes again. “What is his problem with women?”

Sure enough, Ji Dongyang returned, thrusting a sweater at her. He said nothing.

Zhou Yining pulled it on obediently, tilting her head up. “Rehearsal time?”

Ji Dongyang scrutinized her for several seconds. Zhou Yining had already made herself at home on his sofa, flipping open her script.

After a pause, he walked over and picked up his own.

Zhou Yining stared down at the pages. “Tomorrow’s the crying scene. What if I can’t cry?”

Ji Dongyang snorted. “Want me to pinch you again?”

Zhou Yining: “…”

“That’s not what I meant!” That method was idiotic. She refused a repeat! Besides, they weren’t even close initially in tomorrow’s scene.

He glanced at her. “Crying scenes… I can’t help you there. I can only analyze the script, the character’s psyche. If you can embody the role, that’s best.”

Zhou Yining pouted, tapping the script. “Fine. Analyze away. Then we’ll practice.”

Ji Dongyang dissected the scene with more intensity than Director Xu. Zhou Yining listened intently. When he finished, she asked, “Wanna run it?”

Ji Dongyang stood. “Too late. We’ll try it on set tomorrow.”

Deflated, Zhou Yining slumped to her feet. “…Okay.”

Back home, she peeled off his sweater and hung it in her closet. It joined his previous hoodie. A smile touched her lips. “At this rate, I’ll empty his wardrobe.”

… This end of part 1
Start of Part 2

The next day, the pivotal scene arrived.

Consort Ning, after her first kill, is witnessed by Consort Ru’s maid. Consort Ru, long harboring resentment, exposes her crime to the Emperor during a lakeside stroll in the Imperial Garden. Consort Ning vehemently denies it, accusing Consort Ru: “You pushed me into the lake last time! Your cat scratched me! And now you frame me for murder?”

Director Xu briefed the actors, singling out his usual suspect: “Zhou Yining, remember—this emotion builds gradually. The monologue is long. Don’t shed tears until the final two lines.”

Zhou Yining nodded. “Got it.”

Heaven help me. Please let the tears come.

Director Xu, recalling the lake scene, eyed her skeptically. “Can you cry?”

Zhou Yining: “…I’ll try!”

The outcome was predictable.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” Director Xu bellowed. “Zhou Yining, are you even female?! Can you not cry?!”

Zhou Yining blinked hard. “Useless!” She lowered her head. “Director Xu, give me a moment to get into it.”

Director Xu fumed. “Ten-minute break!”

Dejected, Zhou Yining shuffled past Ji Dongyang, shooting him a helpless look before scurrying off.

Ji Dongyang: “…”

Zhou Yining sought out Zhou Wei. “Wei-jie, how do you make yourself cry?”

Zhou Wei, mid-touch-up, glanced over. “When do I start? I’d think of my saddest memories. The tears would come… but the downside was forgetting lines, losing the character. Later? More experience, better acting—I learned to become the character. Cry as* her.”

Zhou Yining: “So… fully immerse myself?”

Easier said than done.

Zhou Wei smiled. “If all else fails, use your pain. Just remember—you’re Consort Ning while crying.”

“Saddest memories…”

She had plenty. She just refused to revisit them.

Rolling again.

The set held its breath.

After Consort Ru delivered her lines, Consort Ning slowly surveyed the scene. Her face hardened as she met Consort Ru’s gaze. “Sister,” she stated coldly, “last time you pushed me into the lake. I lay feverish for days. Your cat scarred my hand. I bore it all without complaint. Why must you target me now? Murder…?”

She turned to the Emperor, gliding closer. “Your Majesty, since childhood, I couldn’t bear to tread on an ant. How could I take a life…?”

Zhou Yining forced herself to dig—to unearth the most vulnerable, buried shard of herself. Fluffy being discarded…*
Her eyes began to glisten.

Ji Dongyang felt a flicker of surprise. “So she can cry.”

He watched her eyes redden, tears welling, glistening. Then, like a dam breaking, they spilled over—one after another, tracing glistening paths down her porcelain cheeks.

Behind the monitor, Director Xu first beamed, then frowned. “Too many tears.”

Zhou Yining’s thoughts spiraled further away: “Five years ago, stranded penniless on foreign streets, nearly killed that night…” Terror seized her. Her hand found Ji Dongyang’s.

Unexpectedly, his hand was warm.

Her tears fell faster. She forgot her lines.

“Cut! Cut! Cut! Zhou Yining, you—!” Director Xu roared.

The assistant director tugged his sleeve, eyes fixed on the monitor. “Director… something’s off with that girl.”

Now that he mentioned it…

At “Cut!”, everyone snapped out of character—except Zhou Yining. Clutching Ji Dongyang’s hand, she began to sob quietly.

Ji Dongyang froze. “Zhou Yining?” he called, frowning.

Lost in her private storm, she seemed deaf to the world. Her grip on his hand tightened, desperate, as if clinging to her only anchor.

Ji Dongyang looked down. Her eyes were bloodshot, lashes wet. She looked like a grievously wronged child, crying with heartbreaking restraint. Before this moment, he’d never imagined the proud peacock Zhou Yining could shatter like this.

His lips pressed into a tight line. Finally, he lifted his hand and stiffly patted her head.

Instantly, the girl flung herself into his arms, burying her face against his chest. “Waaah—!” A raw, unrestrained wail tore from her.

Ji Dongyang’s hand hung mid-air, frozen in that awkward gesture. Utterly flustered, he stared down at the girl in his arms, voice lowered to a rasp. “Hey. Zhou Yining. What’s wrong?”

All eyes locked onto them. Whispers erupted—

“What happened to Zhou Yining? This isn’t her at all—she’s always so lively!”

“She’s crying like… her heart’s broken. Never seen Dong-ge so lost!

“Dumped, maybe?”

“Crying in Dong-ge’s arms? I’d volunteer for that too…”

Director Xu approached, observing Zhou Yining weeping inconsolably against Ji Dongyang. His anger evaporated. “Zhou Yining,” he called.

No response.

Ji Dongyang’s hand settled heavily on her shoulder. He met Director Xu’s eyes. “I’ll take her to the lounge.”

He tried speaking to her again. Still lost. Sighing, he half-guided, half-carried her away.

Ah Ming, stunned on the sidelines, only snapped back to reality as they moved off, scrambling after them.

Director Xu rubbed his temples. His assistant director grimaced. “What now? This scene’s shot for today. Crying that hard? Makeup won’t cover those swollen eyes.”

Speculations swirled as every gaze followed Ji Dongyang and Zhou Yining’s retreating figures.

Blinded by tears, Zhou Yining stumbled along, trusting only his guidance.

At the lounge entrance, Ji Dongyang hooked an arm around her waist and practically lifted her inside. Zhou Yining clung to his costume.

Shut away from prying eyes, Ji Dongyang tried peeling Zhou Yining off. She seemed glued to him, though her sobs had softened to kitten-like whimpers.

His Costume front was soaked. Helpless, he ruffled her damp hair. “Made of water, are you? Crying this much.”

Ah Ming, arriving at the door, nearly choked. Was that… gentle tone… from Dong-ge?!

Most men dreaded female tears. Ah Ming was no exception. He lingered outside, useless if he entered.

They stood locked in that embrace for over ten minutes. Finally, Zhou Yining nuzzled against Ji Dongyang’s chest, hiccuping softly. Memory flooded back—

How could I lose control like that?!

It felt like years of pent-up tears had gushed out.

Ji Dongyang tilted his head down. “Back with us?” he murmured.

The girl buried against him nodded faintly, a small sniffle escaping. “Mhm…”

Ji Dongyang exhaled softly, his voice gentling. “Then let go.”

“…Too humiliating…”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “So you do get shy?”

Zhou Yining deliberately smeared mucus onto his costume before lifting her tear-swollen face.

Ji Dongyang frowned.

It’s a rental. Dry-cleaning nightmare.

But meeting her red-rimmed, watery eyes, he swallowed the words, looking away.

The production coordinator appeared at the doorway, surveying the scene before entering. Her gaze fell on the damp patch staining Ji Dongyang’s chest, then Zhou Yining’s puffy eyes. “Miss Zhou, are you… Alright now?”

Zhou Yining had never cried publicly before. Well, except for that man five years ago. Mortification burned through her.

How do I face the crew after this? My image is rubble…

She bit her lip, forcing a wobbly smile. “Fine. My apologies. I… overdid the crying.”

‘Overdid’ was an understatement.

The coordinator smiled diplomatically. “We’ve rescheduled this scene for tomorrow. Miss Zhou, you may rest now.”

Zhou Yining blinked, hiccuped, then asked anxiously, “Director Xu won’t cut it, will he?”

The coordinator’s smile held. “No. But your current state…” She gestured vaguely. “Tomorrow, please be ready.”

“Of course,” Zhou Yining mumbled, head bowed. “I’ll adjust.”

The coordinator nodded. “Good.” She turned to Ji Dongyang, pointing at his costume. “Dong-ge, please change quickly. You’re needed on set soon.”

Ji Dongyang gave Zhou Yining a final glance and left.

Feeling utterly disgraced, Zhou Yining fled the set, locked herself in her apartment, ordered takeout, took another bath, and slept.

Waking, the clock read 12:30 AM.

She threw off the covers, padding barefoot across the floor.

Pausing before her wine cabinet, she pulled down a bottle of red, cradling it as she sank onto the carpet. A second later, she stood, bottle in hand, and walked to the door.

…

The doorbell rang incessantly. Ji Dongyang’s jaw clenched. He threw off the covers and stormed out of bed.

He yanked the door open, fury rising—

Outside, Zhou Yining stood hugging a wine bottle. His sleep mask was shoved up his forehead, revealing eyes sharp with annoyance beneath furrowed brows.

“Oh.” She’d woken him.