Chapter 33
They say that once one is well-fed and warm, lustful thoughts inevitably arise. Since Ji Tingqian hadn’t asked Ming Huai to return to his room, Ming Huai made no move to leave on his own. After tidying up the takeout containers on the table, he settled down beside Ji Tingqian, casting frequent, lingering glances at the man next to him.
Under such an intense gaze, how could Ji Tingqian possibly focus on the script? He set it aside, looked up, and said, “The filming kickoff ceremony is tomorrow morning. It’s getting late; you should go back and get some sleep.”
Ming Huai gazed at Ji Tingqian, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes sparkling with fragmented light. “I’m not sleepy.”
Ji Tingqian swept his gaze up and down Ming Huai, then stood up with an indifferent expression. “I’m tired,” he said flatly.
Before the other man could turn away, Ming Huai grabbed the hem of Ji Tingqian’s shirt, his fingers clutching tightly as if afraid of being shaken off. “I’m not tired,” he asked softly. “Can I stay?”
The answer went without saying; there was no way Ji Tingqian would let Ming Huai remain. Thus, Ming Huai could only return to his own room, belly full and heart heavy with reluctance.
After returning from Ji Tingqian’s room, Ming Huai found himself unable to focus on the script or read even a few lines of his book. Besides, having slept so long in the afternoon and eaten so much at dinner, there was no way he could possibly go to bed at this hour.
Bored out of his mind, Ming Huai simply picked up his phone and scrolled through Weibo. First, he switched to his alternate account and liked every single one of Ji Tingqian’s posts. Then, he saved several photos of Ji Tingqian; even with the real person right beside him, one could never have too many pictures.
After switching to his main account, Ming Huai realized he hadn’t posted on Weibo for quite some time. He thought about it; apart from filming “Jiangshan Ling,” he hadn’t had any other activities recently. Ming Huai wasn’t fond of taking selfies, so there were no photos stored on his phone either. The task of posting regularly was truly a headache, especially since Ming Huai disliked anyone else touching his Weibo account.
Just as Ming Huai was lost in thought, a notification popped up in his message box. He clicked on it to find that the official Weibo account of “Jiangshan Ling” had tagged him.
It was Fu Hairong’s habit when filming a movie to release the cast list only on the eve of the kickoff ceremony. Although this practice seemed somewhat peculiar, it invariably managed to generate an extraordinary level of attention.
The official Weibo account for “Jiangshan Ling” had been launched long ago, exposing the project to the public for quite some time. Anyone familiar with the industry knew Fu Hairong’s stature, so before the official cast announcement, various parties made numerous speculations, leading to several heated disputes.
First, the list of leading actors was revealed.
Movie Jiangshan Ling V: #MovieJiangshanLing# Pointing our swords toward the horizon, who else but us—Murong Ling @JiTingqian; Qianshan Yu @MingHuai; Qi Xiuer @BaiYing. We look forward to meeting you.
The Weibo post came as a complete shock. Bai Ying’s side was fine; they had already hinted at it to fans when things were confirmed, so this merely solidified existing speculation. However, neither Ji Tingqian nor Ming Huai had leaked even a whisper to their fans beforehand. One can only imagine the reaction once the news broke.
Back in May, the two had already landed on the trending search list due to “The Farmhouse Courtyard,” sparking a fierce battle between their respective fanbases. Fortunately, since there was no further contact between them afterward, the infighting gradually subsided.
Yet, something felt off—no matter how you looked at it, it just didn’t sit right. Bai Ying’s fans were orderly in offering their congratulations. Initially, Ji Tingqian’s and Ming Huai’s fans behaved similarly, setting aside conflict to repost and praise their own idols first. But not long after everyone completed these expected gestures, the comment section turned into a bloodbath.
“Sorry, but I don’t think your Ming Huai is suited for the big screen.”
“How ridiculous. Maybe your idol was the one begging our Ming Huai to join, hehehe.”
“Tsk, such a massive production, and that person has only starred in a few TV dramas? And how many movies? One really wonders what they relied on to get in.”
“Let’s not even mention anything else. Given how close Ji is with Director Fu, who exactly got in through the back door isn’t so certain [smile].”
“The commenter above, stop stirring up trouble [smile]. Everyone should have a clear AC count of their own worth.”
“Who started the trouble? Isn’t it always your family that picks the fight first? Showing such poor manners, aren’t you afraid of embarrassing your ‘Best Actor Ji’? [Facepalm]”
“Did our dear Ming Huai offend you or steal your precious ‘Best Actor Ji’ from you? Why do you keep hounding him every single day? Isn’t it disgusting? [Shrug][/Shrug]”
“Oh please, don’t even drag our Qianqian into this. Everyone knows exactly how a certain someone clawed their way to the top. [Vomit]”
“Come on, let us educate you about the time your so-called ‘Best Actor’ threw a diva fit.”
..
Ming Huai reflected on whether he had truly done something to cause such misunderstandings; otherwise, why would fans consistently perceive their relationship as utterly terrible?
Ming Huai pressed his lips together and reposted the Weibo post. After a moment’s thought, he initially tagged Ji Tingqian, but then felt that was too obvious. Instead, he tagged Bai Ying, someone he wasn’t particularly close with.
Just minutes after Ming Huai shared the post, their names instantly surged onto the trending search list. There were individual tags for each of them, combined tags for both, and further down, topics linking Bai Ying and Ji Tingqian.
Bai Ying debuted alongside Ji Tingqian. Last year, she won a modest Best Actress award, and her career has flourished in recent years with considerable popularity. She had previously collaborated with Ji Tingqian, sparking one or two minor rumors between them. However, since Ji Tingqian possessed virtually no scandals and his romantic history remained completely blank, none of these incidents ever escalated. Everyone treated them as mere jokes, though privately, many fans enthusiastically supported pairing them together.
Not long after, Ji Tingqian and Bai Ying also reposted the Weibo post, tagging the individuals mentioned within it.
Before going to sleep, Ming Huai wondered why he and Ji Tingqian didn’t have any shipping fans. After all, he was the legitimate partner.
The next day, the film held its kickoff ceremony. With Fu Hairong’s prestige commanding respect, and given that the movie’s backers were the Ji and Xu families, the media present asked questions with considerable caution. Nearly all inquiries focused on the film itself; only a few touched upon the actors’ private lives, and none crossed the line.
“The General’s Order” officially commenced filming on August 8th, and over the following two days, the cast members gradually joined the production.
On the fifth day of filming, Ming Huai finally understood how Fu Hairong had earned his reputation in the industry. When not working, he was all warmth and affability; but once on set, his stern expression could scare anyone to death. In just a few days, everyone except Ji Tingqian had already been reprimanded by Fu Hairong.
After the sixth take was rejected, Ming Huai suddenly felt deeply envious of those working with Team B. But there was no escape—nearly all the key scenes were directed by Fu Hairong himself. Then again, upon second thought, Ming Huai figured that such strictness might actually be beneficial; perhaps by the time this film wrapped, he would have improved considerably.
This scene featured Ming Huai and Ji Tingqian as the leads. It depicted Murong Ling, persecuted and fleeing for his life, encountering the young general Qianshan Yu. Their first meeting took place beside a lake surrounded by towering mountains. Murong Ling was in a pitiable state—covered in blood and utterly exhausted from prolonged escape. This location happened to be where Qianshan Yu’s master cultivated his skills, and Murong Ling’s abrupt intrusion nearly cost him his life at Qianshan Yu’s hands.
Everything went smoothly until the final moment when Ming Huai thrust his sword toward Ji Tingqian. His gaze, however, felt off. It should have been fierce and ruthless, his movement merciless—but instead, somehow, Ming Huai’s performance carried an unexpected tenderness.
Once again, without missing a beat, Fu Hairong stared at the two of them for a couple of seconds before pulling Ming Huai aside. “Ming Huai, bring me the script; I’ll walk you through your scenes.”
Although it wasn’t as hot in the mountains, the sun still hung high overhead. They’d been filming this scene for over two hours now, and with it nearly five o’clock, descending the mountain after dark would prove difficult. Ming Huai dared not delay any longer; he quickly fetched the script from Tang Lili.
Fu Hairong took the script and glanced at it, his expression improving significantly. He cast an appreciative look at Ming Huai and said with a smile, “Not bad. You’ve been quite diligent.”
He quickly flipped to the scenes scheduled for filming today, but a hint of doubt arose in his mind as he read. Pointing at the script, he remarked, “Ming Huai, take a look at your own annotations here. It seems you understand this part quite well.”
A hint of embarrassment crossed Ming Huai’s face. He couldn’t exactly admit that he simply couldn’t muster such a ruthless expression when facing Ji Tingqian. Since this was hardly something he could share with others, he forced a smile and said instead, “Director Fu, let me think it over a bit more…”
Before Ming Huai could finish his sentence, a firm voice cut in. “Director Fu, could you film someone else’s scenes first? I’d like to rehearse with Ming Huai for a moment.”
Ming Huai turned around to see Ji Tingqian, dressed in costume, standing tall and graceful beneath a large tree. Even though his clothes were tattered and his makeup smudged, the aura surrounding him remained impossible to ignore. His eyes held a steady, reassuring light. Ming Huai nodded and repeated the same request to Fu Hairong.
Fu Hairong considered this acceptable and adjusted the shooting schedule accordingly.
At this moment, only Ming Huai and Ji Tingqian remained here.
Ji Tingqian took a few steps closer to Ming Huai and asked, “Have you found the issue?”
Having said that, he lowered his gaze to the script in Ming Huai’s hands and asked, “May I take a look?”
Ming Huai handed over the script. After a quick scan, Ji Tingqian looked up, his eyes reflecting a hint of certainty. At this point, he was speaking entirely from the perspective of a senior, aiming to pinpoint Ming Huai’s problem. He echoed the same words Fu Hairong had used: “Your understanding is excellent, so what exactly feels off?”
This involves the other party,” Ming Huai stated plainly. “I like you too much; I simply can’t muster that kind of look when facing your face.
Ming Huai’s expression was open and his words direct, making no attempt to conceal his affection for Ji Tingqian. It was a display of pure, ardent passion. Ji Tingqian had never anticipated such a reason, yet he did not doubt for a moment that Ming Huai was speaking anything but the truth.
“Ming Huai, we are filming a scene. I am me, and Murong Ling is Murong Ling,” Ji Tingqian said, tapping the script. “The one you love is me, not Murong Ling. There is no romance between Qianshan Yu and Murong Ling.”
As if waking from a dream, Ming Huai realized his mistake. Indeed, whenever he encountered Ji Tingqian, he was prone to committing such elementary errors.
The subsequent filming proceeded much more smoothly, with all tasks completed before six o’clock.
Ming Huai had spent the entire afternoon shooting in such a heavy costume that he was drenched in sweat, his whole body feeling sticky and uncomfortable. All he wanted now was to rush back to the hotel for a shower.
“Ming Huai-ge,” Tang Lili called out, handing him a bottle of ice-cold water and a pack of wet wipes, “There’s still a group dinner later.”
Ming Huai wiped the sweat from his face, feeling somewhat refreshed. Group dinners were so commonplace that he didn’t give it much thought; he simply nodded and said, “Alright.”
The dinner was set at a restaurant near the hotel. After returning to shower, Ming Huai headed over. As he stepped out, he ran into Ji Tingqian, so the two made their way to the restaurant together.
They arrived just past seven o’clock. Since tonight’s gathering included only actors and a few directors, Yu Bin dropped them off and promptly left the restaurant.
The waitstaff displayed remarkable professionalism—perhaps accustomed to seeing celebrities frequently. From the entrance to the private room, not a single overly intense or uncomfortable gaze followed them. One young woman opened the door with a gentle smile. “Please, come in.”
After thanking her, Ming Huai and Ji Tingqian stepped inside. Before even catching sight of anyone, they were met with a lively cacophony—men’s voices, women’s laughter, rough tones, playful coos—all blending together. Yet something about it all felt slightly off to Ming Huai.
After he walked around the carved screen and saw the scene inside, he finally realized what was wrong. Lin Zhimeng should have arrived in the afternoon; she was standing there, offering a toast to a man seated at the table. That man was someone both Ming Huai and Ji Tingqian knew—Xu Zhuoyan.