Chapter 30
Ming Huai was a man of his word; for instance, as long as Ji Tingqian remained at the Ji family home, he would not return. Occasionally, doubt would creep into Ming Huai’s mind—perhaps he should go back, now that Dong Ruman had relented—but the very next moment, reason would pull him back.
Yes, Dong Ruman had relented, but that didn’t mean she had fully accepted it.
How could she possibly accept something she had resisted for so long? Even if Dong Ruman said nothing aloud, her heart would surely be aching.
Ming Huai still remembered the look of disappointment in Dong Ruman and Ji Kun’s eyes when their relationship with Ji Tingqian was first discovered by the family, as well as their harsh scolding. Ji Kun, being short-tempered, had struck Ji Tingqian repeatedly with a stick, while Dong Ruman, already in poor health at the time, was so enraged by the incident that she ended up hospitalized.
Ji Tingqian’s parents had always treated him so kindly; he ought to be more sensible, Ming Huai often reminded himself. One shouldn’t be too selfish.
Ming Huai hoped that one day, Mr. and Mrs. Ji would fully accept his relationship with Ji Tingqian, but for now, it was better not to return just yet.
A few days later, upon learning that Ji Tingqian had gone abroad to film a commercial, and after confirming the news with Ji Peihan, Ming Huai decided to visit the Ji family home.
The elderly couple were overjoyed to see Ming Huai return, especially Dong Ruman, who personally prepared a table full of his favorite dishes that evening. Her eyes brimmed with hopeful anticipation, constantly worrying whether he would like the food.
Under such an earnest gaze, Ming Huai couldn’t help but feel helpless. “Mom,” he said gently, “please stop watching me eat like that. You and Dad should have more too.”
With that, Ming Huai used his chopsticks to serve Dong Ruman some of her favorite dishes.
Dong Ruman’s eyes crinkled into crescents as she smiled. “There, there,” she chided playfully, “it’s just that I haven’t cooked in so long; I was worried you wouldn’t be used to it.”
Ming Huai had no intention of staying the night; Dudu was waiting for him at home, and if he didn’t return soon, the boy would surely start looking for him.
Before leaving, Dong Ruman handed the protective amulet to Ming Huai, saying, “I got this from the temple for you. Since you and your siblings are always traveling far and wide, I can never quite rest easy. Carrying this will at least give me some peace of mind.”
Ming Huai clenched the amulet tightly in his palm. Gazing at the gentle curves of the woman’s brows and eyes before him, a heavy ache settled in his chest. He lowered his head like a child caught doing something wrong and murmured softly, “Mom, I’ll be joining a new film crew next month.”
“Is that so…” Dong Ruman sighed. “Does that mean you won’t be coming home for a long time again?”
“I’ll be with my brother,” Ming Huai added.
Dong Ruman froze for a moment, then quickly regained her composure. She awkwardly averted her gaze and said, “It’s fine, it’s all fine.”
Ming Huai’s eyes shimmered with emotion. Soon, a quiet determination took root within them. His voice trembled, laced with guilt, “Mom, I love my brother. I love him deeply—so deeply that I cannot live without him.” After a pause, he added softly, “I’m sorry.”
Dong Ruman’s lips quivered as she once again sidestepped the issue. “Take good care of yourself on set. If anything comes up, turn to your brother or call me. Don’t let yourself suffer in silence.”
Dong Ruman could allow them to meet; she could stop hiding Ming Huai’s existence from those around Ji Tingqian. Yet she still couldn’t cross that invisible barrier in her heart. They could be brothers! Brothers could support and care for each other—why did they have to be lovers?!
“Alright,” Ming Huai replied.
Dong Ruman turned slightly, lifting her hand to wipe the corner of her eye, and said, “Bring Dudu with you next time. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him; I really miss him.”
Ming Huai’s body stiffened slightly. “Okay,” he said.
By the time he returned home, it was already nine-thirty. Dudu would be asleep by now. Ming Huai went to the room to check on his son before finally heading back to his own.
Ming Huai lay back in the bathtub, gazing upward. The essential oils did nothing to soothe his exhausted mind; every time he returned home, it felt like waging a grueling battle.
Sometimes he wondered if Ji Tingqian had once felt this same ache. Back when Ji Tingqian was there, no storm ever reached him. It was only now, in a sudden flash of clarity, that Ming Huai realized how quickly time had passed—unnoticed, he had grown into an adult.
Ming Huai casually towel-dried his dripping hair, then sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through his phone. As always, he opened Ji Tingqian’s message thread. Still no reply—not that he had ever really expected one.
Slender fingers tapped the screen a few times, sending over a simple “Good night.”
Ming Huai didn’t expect a reply; he set his phone aside and went to dry his hair. He didn’t notice that, in the instant he turned away, the phone screen lit up briefly before quickly falling silent again.
The truth was, no matter how much Ji Tingqian tried to avoid Ming Huai, it was impossible. Before filming officially began, they were required to shoot a simple set of promotional photos. Fu Hairong insisted that both of them must appear in the same frame. Known for his meticulous nature, he allowed no exceptions; both had to be present on set. There would be no later editing to photoshop them into the same image.
When Ming Huai heard this news, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud right then and there. Glancing again at Ji Tingqian’s reply on WeChat, his mood soared.
The filming was scheduled for late July. On that day, Yu Fanglan did not accompany them; she only asked Tang Lili to keep an eye on Ming Huai. She still remembered the incident involving Ming Huai and Xu Zhuoyan in Japan last time. The consequence of that event was that whenever she wasn’t by Ming Huai’s side, she constantly worried he might stir up some kind of trouble again.
Having worked under Yu Fanglan for several years, Tang Lili had become quite competent in handling matters, though the young girl tended to talk a bit too much. “Oh, Brother Ming Huai, do you think after the official announcement, Brother Ji’s fans will start arguing with ours again?”
“They will,” Ming Huai answered without hesitation.
Thinking about this, he recalled “The Farmhouse Courtyard.” Director Gao had skillfully tapped into everyone’s curiosity; until now, not even a whisper of behind-the-scenes footage from the final episode had leaked out. Everything remained tightly sealed. Beneath related discussion threads, fans of both Ji Tingqian and Ming Huai were especially vocal, though none of the noise amounted to anything positive.
Earlier, out of sheer curiosity, Ming Huai had casually clicked on a thread with numerous replies, only to find himself plunged into a battlefield. Fans from both sides were at it again, locked in fierce arguments. Yet, there was one point on which both camps seemed to agree: their respective idols must be feeling incredibly awkward together. The reason no behind-the-scenes footage had been released yet was likely because the production team was frantically trying to edit the clips into something entertaining.
“The Farmhouse Courtyard” resumed its second half in mid-August, airing weekly on both television and online platforms simultaneously. While part of Ming Huai wanted to secretly rejoice, another part of him felt a throbbing headache coming on.
Upon arriving at the studio, he found that Ji Tingqian had just arrived as well. What a coincidence. Xu Hanchao wasn’t accompanying Ji Tingqian this time; he was flanked only by two assistants.
Ji Tingqian spotted Ming Huai, but evidently, he had no intention of initiating a greeting.
Ming Huai was different; upon seeing the person, his gaze went straight to meet theirs, a brilliant smile lighting up his face like an enthusiastic junior. “Brother Ji, long time no see! Good afternoon!”
His voice was so loud that Ji Tingqian couldn’t ignore it. He nodded slightly and replied in a detached tone, “Good afternoon.”
In high spirits, Ming Huai glanced at him, then pulled out his phone to scroll through their WeChat history, paying no heed to the people bustling around them. “Brother Ji, look at me…”
“Ming Huai.” Ji Tingqian cut him off, his voice low and heavy, barely concealing the storm within.
But Ming Huai was the type who loved to poke the tiger’s whiskers. “What’s wrong, Brother Ji? I’m just genuinely confused.”
The two assistants standing nearby were completely baffled, exchanging bewildered glances as neither had any idea what was going on.
Ji Tingqian looked at Ming Huai, whose eyes sparkled with teasing amusement, and felt an unprecedented headache coming on. He regretted it deeply; he shouldn’t have softened his heart back then and replied to that message in the first place.
“Wait here for me,” Ji Tingqian said before turning and walking away.
“I’m going to talk to Brother Ji about something,” Ming Huai said, then strode off to follow him.
The two reached a quiet corner. Ji Tingqian looked at Ming Huai with helpless resignation, his gaze resembling that of an adult watching a misbehaving child. Ming Huai found this expression immensely satisfying; the resentment he’d harbored for days began to dissipate.
“Ji Tingqian,” Ming Huai said, skillfully seizing the opportunity, “weren’t you planning to ignore me?”
“I never said I was planning to ignore you,” Ji Tingqian replied, reasoning with him.
Ming Huai reasoned with Ji Tingqian as well, scrolling up through their chat history to make his point with evidence: “You said we could be friends, yet you never reply to my messages.”
Ji Tingqian truly had no argument in this matter, nor could he bring himself to say anything harsh, so he fell silent.
Ming Huai continued on his own train of thought: “Well, not all of them went unanswered; look, you replied to this one.” Suddenly, Ming Huai’s expression turned exceedingly serious. He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Everything I told you that day was the truth. If you intend to reject me, then be absolute about it. Don’t leave me any hope, or I will inevitably read too much into it.”
A ripple finally stirred in Ji Tingqian’s usually indifferent eyes. He had never encountered such a situation before and could find no suitable way to resolve it—or perhaps, simply because the other party was Ming Huai, the problem had become uniquely棘手.
Setting everything else aside, Ming Huai was someone who had shared an intimate moment with him, and most importantly, Ji Tingqian harbored not a shred of ill will toward Ming Huai.
He heard Ming Huai say, “Doing this makes me unable to stop wondering… wondering if you might like me, even just a little bit.”
“Ming Huai…” Ji Tingqian felt a headache coming on. Suddenly, the set of photos he had seen last time flashed through his mind. Ming Huai shouldn’t be so rash about matters of the heart. “Some things shouldn’t be said by me, but what Dudu needs is his other mother.”
“He doesn’t have a mother,” Ming Huai replied, assuming Ji Tingqian had heard something from others, and proceeded to explain.
“Fine, even if you and Dudu’s mother won’t get back together,” Ji Tingqian searched for the right words, “but I’ve only known you for a few months; you shouldn’t be so impulsive.”
“Why wouldn’t I get back together with his mother?” Ming Huai blurted out.
Ji Tingqian stood with one hand in his pocket, his gaze deep and unreadable as he looked at him.
“That’s not what I meant…” Ming Huai, finding himself unable to defend against the misunderstanding, simply gave up. “Ji Tingqian, don’t avoid me; it’s useless. We’ll be on the same set for a long time, and this feeling of liking you isn’t something I can just change.”
Looking at Ming Huai’s stubborn expression, Ji Tingqian found himself unable to utter a single harsh word. He furrowed his brow and looked away, convinced he must have been possessed by some strange spell.