Zhou Yining still remembered that night in Hengdian all too clearly—how Ji Dongyang had woken up like a ticking time bomb, cold and foul-tempered. So when she knocked on his door again tonight, she braced herself for another round of harsh words.

But she wasn’t afraid. And she wasn’t angry.

She just didn’t want to be alone.

Ji Dongyang’s lips pressed into a tight line. He raised his hand, fingers raking through his dark hair, tugging roughly at the ends. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, then twice—as if holding back the irritation threatening to surface.

He remembered how she’d cried today—eyes swollen, voice trembling, utterly broken. Even now, the faint fragility still lingered in her gaze.

And truth be told, he wasn’t sure—if he did end up yelling at her, would he have the patience to make it right again?

Zhou Yining watched as the storm in his eyes gradually faded into calm. She clutched the bottle of wine in her arms and smiled at him.

“Will you drink with me?”

She wore only a white bathrobe, cinched tight around her slim waist. There was something both bold and restrained in her stance. If not for the pleading softness in her eyes, Ji Dongyang might’ve thought she’d come in the dead of night to seduce him with that wine bottle in hand.

He pulled off his sleep mask and leaned aside, leaving a gap in the doorway.

Zhou Yining’s smile bloomed like a firework. She brushed past him with a faint floral scent trailing in her wake. Ji Dongyang frowned slightly, shut the door, and turned to watch her delicate silhouette glide across the room.

“You got any glasses?” she asked over her shoulder.

He tossed the sleep mask onto the couch, hair mussed from the motion. His voice was low and raspy with sleep. “Yeah. Wait here.”

But she didn’t wait. She padded along behind him, bottle still hugged to her chest. He glanced back at her, irritation flickering beneath his calm. With a sigh, he quickened his pace into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and handed her a tall crystal wine glass.

“Aren’t you drinking?” she asked.

“No,” he replied curtly.

She ducked her head, a hint of disappointment flashing across her face. “Okay then.”

She had always seemed so independent, sharp, and even. But tonight, she was more like a girl barely in her twenties, soft edges showing.

Forget it. Why bother bickering with a kid?

Ji Dongyang grabbed another glass.

The change in her was instant. Zhou Yining’s smile lit up like a child handed candy.

Back in the living room, he sprawled out on the sofa, legs apart, head tilted back, eyes closed. Zhou Yining settled cross-legged on the carpet, dark liquid gurgling as she poured. Then she paused, glanced up at him.

“Aren’t you going to lend me some clothes?”

He opened his eyes with a long exhale and went to fetch one. When he returned, he tossed it to her without a word.

Zhou Yining happily slipped it on, handed him a glass. Ji Dongyang accepted it without expression, barely tasting the wine as he sipped.

When he looked down, she’d already tipped back her entire glass in one go.

So much for savoring. This was top-shelf red wine—she drank it like beer.

Neither of them said a word.

But Zhou Yining could feel him behind her, his presence chasing away the restlessness gnawing at her chest. She shouldn’t have reopened old wounds. People like her—too proud, too afraid to show weakness—paid the price for self-pity.

Half the bottle gone, she turned to find Ji Dongyang with his sleep mask back on, wine glass perfectly balanced in one hand, lips pressed together, looking as if he hadn’t taken another sip.

She chuckled to herself. Seriously? I’m pouring my heart out to this wine, and he’s catching up on sleep?

Grinning, she scooted over and sat at his feet, plucking the glass from his hand.

His fingers tightened around it.

She tried prying them off one by one, whispering, “Fine, if you’re not drinking, I will.”

He didn’t move.

“Don’t get drunk in my place,” he warned, voice husky, his words trailing into a teasing hook.

She drained the glass anyway.

Then, suddenly, she sprang up and tugged off his sleep mask, peering down at him.

The living room lights flared too bright—Ji Dongyang squinted against it, brows drawn tight. Honestly, he wanted to kick her out. They’d shot night scenes two days ago, filmed all day today, and had another early call tomorrow. By all rights, he should’ve thrown her out already.

His eyes slid to the wine bottle.

She drank that much already?

“I won’t get drunk,” she said, laughing. “I’ve got a great tolerance.”

He checked his watch. 1:30 a.m.

“You should go,” he said flatly. “It’s late.”

Zhou Yining flopped onto the couch beside him. Her cheeks were flushed now, her eyes glassy. “You can sleep. I won’t bother you.”

Yeah right. With her here? Like sleep would come easily.

His patience had all but worn thin. He glared at her coldly. “Go home.”

Still unwilling to challenge him tonight, she lowered her head. “Let me finish the wine, and I’ll go.”

She poured the last of it into two glasses.

Lifted one, sipping slowly.

Then Ji Dongyang reached over and grabbed the other.

She turned—just in time to hear him down it in one go, the sound of his gulp loud in the silence.

She blinked. Didn’t he say he wasn’t drinking?

A smile tugged at her lips.

A few minutes later, she finally finished her glass, stalling until the very last drop.

Ji Dongyang stood.

The light fell behind him, casting him in shadow—tall, lean, unyielding. His meaning was clear.

Time to leave.

Zhou Yining rose reluctantly. “I really can’t stay the night? I’ll take the couch.”

He frowned. “You’re a woman. It’s the middle of the night. You think it’s appropriate to stay over at a man’s place? Do I need to remind you—you’ve got filming tomorrow.”

The mention of the set made her wilt. “Ugh. I don’t even want to go back after what happened… It was humiliating.”

That hit a nerve.

Ji Dongyang grabbed her by the arm and practically dragged her to the door, throwing her out with zero hesitation.

Cold-blooded jerk. No wonder his ex dumped him.

On second thought—thank the heavens she did.

Zhou Yining scoffed at his door, stormed into her unit, and hung up the borrowed clothes.

That made three.

At this rate, I’ll clean out his wardrobe.

Whether it was the wine or Ji Dongyang’s presence, she couldn’t tell—but she fell asleep quickly that night.

The next morning, her alarm ripped her out of sleep.

And with it, the memory of her meltdown slammed into her.

She groaned, clutching her head.

“Aaaaaaagh! I’m dead! Dead!”

Then her phone rang.

Wan Wei.

Her stomach dropped.

She answered.

Wan Wei’s voice was as cold as ice. “Yesterday, you clung to Ji Dongyang like your life depended on it, sobbing like a child. Last time it was ‘can’t cry,’ and you had someone pinch you to force tears. This time it’s a whole tsunami. Zhou Yining, I’ve never seen an actress like you.”

Zhou Yining: “…”

God, take me now.

Wan Wei chuckled. “Check the headlines yet? You’re front-page entertainment news. Netizens are saying your acting sucks, but your ability to grab attention is world-class.”

Zhou Yining bit her lip so hard she nearly cursed aloud.

Wan Wei ended with a sharp: “I’ll see you on set,” and hung up.

Panicked, Zhou Yining opened her phone—and there it was.

“Rookie Actress Zhou Yining Breaks Down on Set, Refuses to Let Go of Ji Dongyang”

Every photo showed her clinging to him like a lifeline, face buried in his chest.

Her ears turned red just looking at them.

Was I like that yesterday? Jesus. Kill me now.

She had no idea who leaked them—some journalist? A fan?

The set wasn’t closed. Other dramas were filming nearby. Leaked behind-the-scenes shots were common.

She found the original post on Weibo.

“Unbelievable. I’ve never seen an actress cry this badly on set—like a total fool. And she clung to Dong-ge the whole time. Honestly, after this, I’m worried about The Taiping Dynasty‘s broadcast quality.”

Below, commenters were demanding to know who the actress was.

Someone posted a behind-the-scenes still, clearly identifying Zhou Yining.

The hate poured in.

“No acting skills? Get out of the industry.”

And worse.

Her official account was getting swamped with nasty comments and DMs. But she wasn’t the fragile type.

After taking a long breath, she tossed her phone aside, got up, dressed, and washed up.

Outside her apartment, she ran into Ji Dongyang—head bowed, phone to his ear.

“Yeah, I saw it. Something happened yesterday,” he said.

Zhou Yining closed her door and stood behind him, catching the tail end of the call before he hung up.

Inside the elevator, she stared at the floor for a moment, then asked quietly, “Were you that annoyed yesterday?”

Ji Dongyang understood instantly.

Eyes straight ahead, he replied, “Not really.”

“Then… do you think I’m a terrible actress?”

He didn’t answer right away.

That wasn’t a question he could answer with his standards. She was a rookie with no formal training. He’d worked with countless actors over the years—fresh grads, veterans, all kinds.

And to be fair, she wasn’t worse than most newcomers. She had her way of expressing emotion. Her style stood out.

Not a weakness. Not exactly a strength either.

“You should know the answer to that better than I do,” he said at last.

The elevator reached the parking lot. He stepped out first.

But Zhou Yining followed, grabbing his sleeve and looking up at him with quiet determination.

“I want to hear it from you.”