The door clicked open. Zhou Yining’s lips curled in triumph. “A Ming wasn’t lying.”

The room was dark, curtains half-drawn, shadows pooling in the silence. The only sign of habitation was the blast of warm air from the heating.

She shut the door and crept inside, quiet as a cat. If Ji Dongyang asked how she got in, what would she even say?

She stood in the living room, scanning. The bedroom door was open, but no Ji Dongyang. She walked to the sofa, placed the takeout on the coffee table, and was about to turn when a glimpse from the corner of her eye froze her in place.

She slowly turned and looked down.

A tall man lay sprawled across the pristine white sofa.

The sofa was long enough to accommodate his over-six-foot frame without cramping. One hand was draped over his eyes, blocking the light. His nose was sharp, his thin lips pale, and a shadow of stubble dusted his jaw.

Zhou Yining was instantly reminded of a film she’d seen of him a few days ago, from a couple of years back. In it, he’d sported a full beard—mature, with a touch of world-weariness. There had even been an intimate scene with the female lead. Watching it had made her cheeks flush, her heart pound, and imagine herself right in the middle of the fantasy.

Ji Dongyang had been in the entertainment industry for 18 years. The roles he’d played were too numerous to count. Having reached his current status, it was inevitable that gossip, kiss scenes, and the like were part of the package.

Zhou Yining was clear-headed about that.

She bent down, about to call out to him, when the man on the sofa spoke, his voice hoarse. “A Ming? I told you not to come.”

Zhou Yining rolled her eyes internally. So he *was* awake! Then why hadn’t he answered the door? Definitely on purpose!

Her phone chose that moment to ring. Flustered, she dug it out of her pocket. The man on the sofa moved his hand, slowly opening his eyes.

A Ming’s anxious voice came through the speaker; he was probably driving. “Miss Zhou, how is Dong-ge?”

Zhou Yining looked down. Ji Dongyang was frowning at her, exhaustion etched on his features, illness plain on his face.

She stared right back, replying flatly, “Not great. Half-dead.”

Aming panicked. “Ah! Is it his stomach again? Can you watch him for me? I’ll be right there.”

Afraid he’d truly worry, she quickly called out, “Hey, don’t panic. He’s okay, he’s awake. Drive safely.”

Aming breathed a sigh of relief. “I know. Gotta go.”

Aming’s concern wasn’t unfounded. Ji Dongyang had debuted at 15. In his first three years, he didn’t get many roles. After 18, he shot up to over six feet. Combined with his good looks, the roles gradually increased. In his early years, he mostly did period dramas. Sometimes he’d be sequestered on set in Hengdian or other places for months. Conditions back then were harsher, and catering was not as good. He wasn’t famous then, still young, treatment poor. He’d even gnawed on cold steamed buns and rice.

After 20, he got a new agent. That agent treated artists like cattle, accepting every offer, rushing between events, and filming nonstop. Often, there was no time to eat. Years of this ruined his stomach.

Ji Dongyang only signed with Yang Xun after he turned 25. A Ming had been with him for eight years. It wasn’t unheard of for Ji Dongyang to collapse from a stomach hemorrhage in his apartment. That’s why Zhou Yining’s words had spooked him.

Dong-ge was someone! An award-winning actor!

Tens of millions of Weibo followers, an idol to countless fans, and an indispensable presence in the film industry.

A Ming was genuinely worried.

Ji Dongyang tilted his head against the cushion, his voice raspy. “How did you get in?”

Zhou Yining hadn’t expected to be caught red-handed. She rolled her eyes, lying through her teeth. “Climbed the balcony. Came over from my place.”

No way was she admitting she had the password. Given Ji Dongyang’s temperament, he’d change it immediately.

*What was she? …A superhero?* Ji Dongyang clearly didn’t believe her, but he didn’t have the energy to argue. His hand covered his eyes again. “Go home.”

Of course, Zhou Yining wasn’t leaving. She reached out to pull him up, startled by the heat of his skin. After a moment’s pause, she swatted his hand away and pressed her palm to his forehead. A few seconds later, he smacked her hand aside, his voice gravelly. “Stop messing around.”

Zhou Yining frowned, looking at Ji Dongyang’s tightly closed eyes. “Do you know you have a fever?”

He batted her hand away, impatient. “I know. I took medicine. Stop nagging!”

Zhou Yining: “…What medicine did you take?”

Ji Dongyang didn’t answer, eyes shut as if he’d fallen asleep again.

Zhou Yining’s delicate brows furrowed. She looked around, spotting the medicine she’d forced on him last night on the coffee table. It looked like he’d taken it twice.

The problem was, none of that medicine was for reducing fever. She called A Ming and told him to buy the right medication.

Hanging up, Zhou Yining threw a helpless glance at Ji Dongyang. She bent down, moving his hand. “Get up and eat first. You can sleep after.”

Ji Dongyang pushed her hand away forcefully. “How annoying. Stop bothering me!”

His temper was even worse when he was sick. Did he really think he was an emperor?

Zhou Yining sat on the carpet, laid out the takeout, then turned back to pull at him again, smiling sweetly. “Your Majesty, your meal is served.”

Ji Dongyang: “…”

“Your Majesty, if you don’t get up and eat, your humble consort will have to serve you in bed.”

Ji Dongyang’s eyes snapped open, icy cold as they landed on her. Zhou Yining beamed back, handing him chopsticks. “Ji Dongyang, eat.”

Ji Dongyang was silent for a few seconds. He pressed a hand to his forehead, pushed himself up, feet touched the floor. His spine curved, elbows on his knees, face buried in his palms as if steadying himself. Zhou Yining watched him quietly, her voice soft. “Are you feeling that bad?”

The next moment, Ji Dongyang lifted his head, took the chopsticks from her, and began eating in silence.

Zhou Yining stared at him for a few seconds before starting her own meal.

Ji Dongyang had eaten dumplings in the morning. Combined with the fever, his appetite was poor. He didn’t eat much before putting down his bowl and chopsticks.

He lay back on the sofa, hand over his eyes again.

Zhou Yining turned to glare at him. This man!

On the bright side, at least he wasn’t kicking her out anymore.

After Zhou Yining finished eating, A Ming rushed over. He stared at Ji Dongyang on the sofa, not daring to breathe too loudly. Seeing Zhou Yining clearing the table, he whispered, “Dong-ge ate?”

Zhou Yining nodded. More or less. Though not much, she understood—no one had an appetite with a fever.

Making him some congee tonight would probably be better.

She took the bag from A Ming, rummaged through it, and found the thermometer. A Ming saw her hand reaching for Ji Dongyang’s clothes and quickly snatched the thermometer back. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. I’m Dong-ge’s assistant. Taking care of him is my job.”

Zhou Yining gave him a look. It was just taking his temperature. Was he afraid she’d eat Ji Dongyang alive?

Ji Dongyang kept his hand over his eyes, only shifting slightly, letting them do as they pleased.

A few minutes later, Zhou Yining looked at the thermometer. 40°C!

No wonder he was so miserable.

Zhou Yining had never taken care of a sick person before. She watched as A Ming, a grown man, administered a cool compress to Ji Dongyang. She wanted to help, but A Ming wouldn’t let her. He was now deeply regretting giving the little she-devil the password. He had a feeling that if Dong-ge found out, he’d be furious.

He must have been out of his mind to give her Dong-ge’s password. Especially a female artist who had their eyes on him.

If Brother Yang found out, no question about it, he’d be skinned alive.

A Ming wanted to move Ji Dongyang to the bedroom, but seeing him sleep so soundly, he didn’t dare disturb him. Waking him would only cause chaos.

Zhou Yining cupped her chin, looking at A Ming. “Does Ji Dongyang get sick often?”

A Ming shot her a displeased glare. “How could that be? Making Dong-ge sound like some sickly kitten. Dong-ge is very healthy. It’s just his stomach—it needs careful nurturing. But his work doesn’t always allow it. Sometimes filming drags on; there’s no helping it. Dong-ge is extremely dedicated; he’d never allow himself to delay the crew’s progress. These past few nights, he’s been pulling all-nighters. It’s not like you don’t know. Lots of people on set have caught colds lately; viruses everywhere. Dong-ge even did an underwater scene. Lasting this long is pretty good already.”

Men were all the same—they hated people implying they were weak. A Ming was fiercely protective, launching into a long defense.

Finally, he said, “You’ve seen Dong-ge’s movies, right? That physique is the real deal. The abs are real, the Adonis belt is real. Otherwise, why would so many directors want him? It’s not just his acting. Audiences like tough guys these days, and Dong-ge fits the bill. Even when he’s crazy busy, he makes time to work out. Watches his diet too. So he’s actually very healthy.”

She knew! It wasn’t like she hadn’t hugged him before. The man was solid, all lean muscle.

Zhou Yining couldn’t help but laugh. “A Ming, you sound like a salesman, you know that?”

A Ming: “…”

A Ming wanted to clamp a hand over his mouth.

The two chatted in hushed tones. Zhou Yining managed to wheedle out of A Ming what foods Ji Dongyang liked. His preferences were so… ordinary. Fried eggs.

But she couldn’t even make something that simple.

A Ming, like a fussy mother hen, tidied up Ji Dongyang’s place and checked the medicine cabinet, discovering the stomach medicine was out.

That wouldn’t do.

He checked the time and looked at Zhou Yining, who had been camped out there all afternoon. “Miss Zhou, you should go back and rest, too. Thanks for your help today.”

Zhou Yining could read between the lines. She smoothed her long hair, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, looking up at him with a smile. “Are you going out? Then go. I’ll stay here with Ji Dongyang. What if something happens?”

A Ming looked troubled, hesitating. “Miss Zhou, could you… Maybe forget Dong-ge’s password?”

Zhou Yining smiled and shook her head. “Can’t. I have a great memory.”

A Ming frowned, hardly daring to imagine it—a dark and stormy night, the little she-devil breaking into Dong-ge’s place.

No. Once Dong-ge woke up, he’d have to confess immediately and beg for leniency.

Seeing A Ming’s dilemma, Zhou Yining reluctantly stood up. “Fine, I’ll head back then.”

A Ming immediately brightened. “Okay.”

Zhou Yining stayed at her place for over ten minutes before walking back to the neighboring door, keying in the password, and entering once more.

Ji Dongyang was still asleep, hand still over his eyes. Zhou Yining looked around, finding an eye mask in a corner of the sofa. It was a bit dirty—no wonder he wasn’t using it.

She walked into the bedroom. It was even darker, the curtains not even drawn.

She went to the window and *whooshed* them open. Turning, she looked at the large two-meter bed with its dark sheets, the comforter messy. She walked over, kneeling on the bed to search for his eye mask. Lifting a pillow, she found it.

Back in the living room, she pulled his hand away. The next moment, it was back over his eyes. She pulled it away again; it returned.

Back and forth several times. Was this never-ending?!

She simply pinned his hand down, swiftly tossing the eye mask over his eyes. He immediately stilled.

“What a weird quirk! Can’t sleep without it?” she muttered under her breath.

She slightly lifted his head, pulled the strap around, adjusted the position, and finally got the eye mask on properly. With it on, he seemed to fall into a deeper sleep.

*Such a strange man.*

Zhou Yining sat on the floor in front of the sofa, elbows propped on the cushions, chin in her hands, gazing at Ji Dongyang.

She’d recently watched all his films, scoured the news about him, forums, fan sites… She’d practically dug up every piece of news about him from the past few years. She’d even infiltrated fan groups, watching fans gush over his photos.

She’d once commented, “Is Ji Dongyang really that great?”

The fans immediately jumped in: “Of course!”

She’d added, “He has a terrible temper.”

In the end, she got kicked out of the group.

Really, she was just stating facts.

Ji Dongyang’s temper *was* bad!

Her phone, on silent, suddenly lit up. Zhou Yining looked at the caller ID and frowned. She was about to hang up, but decided to step onto the balcony to answer.

“Dad.”

Zhou Lihui sounded like he was sighing. “Yining, how long has it been since you called your dad?”

Zhou Yining looked down at her toes. How long? Months.

She asked tonelessly, “What is it?”

Zhou Lihui’s voice held displeasure. “Can’t I just check in on you? I told you before not to enter this industry, but you insisted. Fine, I didn’t stop you. Do what makes you happy. I offered to help, but you refused. In the end, you still relied on the Qin family.”

Zhou Yining smiled self-deprecatingly. “Dad, you better not help me. What if Princess Jiahui thinks I’m doing too well and decides she wants to enter the entertainment industry too, tomorrow? Then you’ll really have a headache.”

Silence on the other end for a few seconds, followed by audible breathing—a telltale sign Zhou Lihui was angry. He was holding back. Zhou Yining waited a while, but no outburst came. She found it rather boring. “I have to go, Dad. Goodbye.”

Hanging up, Zhou Yining looked out at the sunset, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Returning to the sofa, she studied Ji Dongyang. He’d shifted position, one leg bent, lounging casually against the cushions.

Zhou Jiahui adored Ji Dongyang. Back in middle school, she’d bought tons of his posters, plastering them all over the house. Zhou Yining’s relationship with Zhou Jiahui was terrible. Anything she liked, anything she had, Zhou Jiahui had to have too. Not one thing less.

As for Zhou Yining, she never cared for anything Zhou Jiahui liked. She opposed her in everything. Even those Ji Dongyang posters had seemed particularly grating. After Zhou Jiahui threw out Mao Qiu, Zhou Yining had torn down every single one of Zhou Jiahui’s Ji Dongyang posters.

She never paid attention to any of Ji Dongyang’s work. Many classmates were his fans, discussing his TV shows and movies during breaks. She never participated.

She admitted she had a problem. Anything Zhou Jiahui liked, she instinctively disliked.

She was leaning over the sofa when Ji Dongyang suddenly stirred. Zhou Yining thought he was waking up. Just as she was about to look up, a weight settled on her head.

His hand had landed right on top of her head.

Perhaps finding it soft, his fingers gently stroked a few times, like petting a small animal.

Zhou Yining, already feeling low, was unexpectedly moved. Her heart trembled faintly.

The tenderness shown by someone usually so cold was especially touching.

Zhou Yining reached up to touch his hand, lifting her head to look at him.

His hand slid naturally to her shoulder. Zhou Yining stared at him intently for a moment before suddenly standing up. She looked down at him for a bit, then clambered onto the sofa, burrowing into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms and legs around him! Inhaling his clean, masculine scent, she sighed contentedly.

Curled up against him, she started calculating how long he’d been asleep.

Over five hours, right?

Even longer than she could sleep.

But he was sick, so it didn’t count.

Ji Dongyang woke up a little after six. He blinked. When had he put on the eye mask? No memory of it. He was about to get up when he felt something odd—something soft and clinging wrapped around him.

The faint, sweet fragrance of a woman gradually registered. He frowned, pulling off the eye mask. Looking down, he saw Zhou Yining sleeping soundly in his arms. A quick glance confirmed her arms were around his waist, one leg tangled with his, clinging to him like a koala.

“…”

Ji Dongyang was stunned for a good while. Probably something he’d never forget for the rest of his life—waking up with a woman in his arms.

He shifted, calling out with restraint, “Zhou Yining.”

No response. She was dead asleep.

He patted her cheek and called again.

Zhou Yining slowly opened her eyes, looking at him blearily. Their faces were inches apart, his warm breath fanning her face. He was frowning at her, his voice low. “Get up.”

She blinked, gradually waking up.

Staring into his deep, dark eyes, she suddenly felt parched. First, she licked her lips. The next second, she lunged forward and kissed him.

Ji Dongyang froze. The next instant, he bolted upright. Zhou Yining, caught off guard, was flung to the edge of the sofa by the sudden movement. She yelped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ji Dongyang reacted, reaching out swiftly to catch her, but he was a second too late.

Thump

Zhou Yining landed on the floor, rear-first.

—