SM Chapter 20
by VolareYè Lái waited for the throbbing in his chest to subside before getting up, steadying himself by holding onto the edge of the desk.
The floor of the study was too messy. Yè Lái bent down to tidy up the things on the floor, putting the books and discs back on the bookshelf, stacking the documents together and placing them back on the desk. In the end, there was only a poster and a marriage certificate left.
Yè Lái opened the poster. He hadn’t expected the person in the poster to be him. It was a solo still from when he was filming “Raw Extraction.” During the middle of the shoot, they needed to slightly adjust the look. Sheng Mingqian had requirements for the length of his hair, asking the makeup artist to cut it a little shorter so it just covered his eyelashes, enough to slightly hide the melancholy in his eyes without making him look tootuí fèi – dispirited.
Yè Lái didn’t know why Sheng Mingqian kept this poster of him. After looking at it for a few moments, he folded it up and casually placed it on the bookshelf, then put the marriage certificate and the prenuptial agreement back in the drawer.
Only after the study was tidy did Yè Lái go out. The door to the adjacent bedroom was tightly closed, and there were slow, shuffling footsteps inside.
Yè Lái stood at the door, pursed his lips, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door: “Mingqian, are you okay in there by yourself?”
After waiting for a while without a response, Yè Lái gave a bitter smile and went downstairs to the screening room.
He didn’t turn on the sound system. The big screen silently played the events of that night. Even though the two of them were doing the most intimate things, Yè Lái felt ice-cold all over as he watched. Even without sound or subtitles, Yè Lái could accurately discern what he had said at that time.
The video was very long, spanning the entire night. As Yè Lái watched, he curled up and lay on the sofa, closing his eyes.
Memories came surging in. It was a flawed beginning, and Yè Lái had chosen the most wretched decision at the time. During the half-year of filming in the crew, he had approached and tasted everything he had once fantasized about. And that most wretched fruit was, for him, the most tempting, full of juicy flavors, with a bright red skin. Knowing it was poisonous, he still wanted to eat it, wanting to know just how delicious it was.
His final rationality was completely shattered when Sheng Mingqian asked him to state his demands. The longing hidden in his heart instantly swelled to its greatest extent, like a balloon about to burst. Any more, and he wouldn’t be able to stand properly in front of Sheng Mingqian.
Yè Lái knew that even if he were given the choice again, he would still make the same decision.
It was just that the ending seemed to have been predetermined long ago: once the time was up, there would be nothing left.
By the time Sheng Mingqian felt his way along the wall and entered the screening room, Yè Lái was already asleep, hugging his knees. The image on the giant projector screen had long been frozen completely, the two gray figures in the frame asleep, embracing each other in the most intimate pose, until dawn when it would become another scene of cruel confrontation.
Sheng Mingqian’s eyes were unwrapped three days later. He could see a little now. The doctor instructed him to continue taking the medicine, prescribed new eye drops, and reminded him that he couldn’t drive for the time being, and that he should wear sunglasses when going out. He had recovered for the most part.
After confirming that Sheng Mingqian could take care of himself, Yè Lái left. During those few nights at the villa, Yè Lái hadn’t slept well in the second-floor guest room, getting up before dawn every morning. Sheng Mingqian’s room door was still tightly closed. Yè Lái left a note for him on the dining table and drove away.
Back at his downtown apartment, he drank two cans of ice-cold beer and then went back to sleep.
Sheng Mingqian returned to the film Set. The last explosion scene was reshot, and Yè Lái kept chatting with Zuo Qi, who shared the progress of the explosion scene shooting with him in real-time.
“The crew has replaced two more explosion calculation engineers.”
“Now it’s a demonstration; we’ll be officially shooting in a bit.”
“Director Sheng is wearing sunglasses and looks even more serious. No one dares to approach him. The actors don’t even dare to breathe loudly, and even the most boisterous assistant director is speaking softly.”
“Director Sheng’s complexion is terrible. Luckily, he’s wearing sunglasses. His eyes could kill.”
“Oh my god, it’s finally finished. This time, everything went smoothly, no one was injured, it’s a wrap, it’s a wrap.”
Yè Lái breathed a sigh of relief and replied, “Congratulations, congratulations, let’s have dinner together when you’re free.”
Zuo Qi called directly: “Yè Lái, when are you free? I’ve been trying to find you these past few days, but you keep saying you’re busy. What have you been busy with lately?”
Yè Lái couldn’t say that he had been taking care of Sheng Mingqian during this time, so he picked out non-essential matters, saying that he had an advertisement to shoot and a TV series about to start filming. In the end, he arranged to have dinner with Zuo Qi over the weekend.
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A week passed, and the scratches on his neck had healed. Using the ointment Zhang Yihao gave him, not a single trace was left. The skincare product commercial was successfully shot.
On Thursday at ten o’clock in the evening, Yè Lái, carrying a bag, drove to the suburbs. As before, he parked the car next to the dirt path at the entrance of the village, put on a mask and hat, and walked along the bumpy dirt road with his backpack.
His feet felt like they were treading on wind. Even with the best mental preparation, Yè Lái’s mind went blank when he reached that large iron gate, as if someone had punched him. He shivered before taking out the copper wire and opening the iron lock.
This was a secluded courtyard, with no other residents nearby. Not far behind the house was a low-lying hillside, and a few hundred meters beyond the hillside was the area where the villagers lived. It was too easy to hide someone in such a secluded place.
Even wearing a mask, Yè Lái’s scalp tingled from the pungent smell of garbage in the courtyard. The sharp edges of black broken tiles in the corner reflected a faint, cold light under the moonlight. Half of the weeds at the base of the wall had been cut, and the sprouting weeds piled in the courtyard had long been wilted by the sun. Stepping on them felt as soft as a trap, and the rustling sound scraped in his ears like a sharp blade.
Yè Lái walked quickly from the courtyard gate to the main door, then skillfully used the copper wire to open the inner door.
Although the area on the first floor was large, it was decorated very compactly. A wall in the middle divided it, with the living room, kitchen, and bedroom on the left, filled with old mahogany furniture.
Compared to the courtyard, the inside of the house was unusually tidy and clean.
Yè Lái turned on the flashlight and swept it around the living room, first going upstairs to take a look. Every room was empty, with nothing but some miscellaneous items. After coming downstairs, he circled the living room again, finally going to the wall, walking to the other side of the living room, and pushing open that hidden small door.
When he opened the door, his fingernails scratched against the sheet metal door. The sound sent goosebumps all over Yè Lái’s body. The iron smell that followed made Yè Lái want to vomit. Enduring the discomfort in his stomach, he steadied the flashlight and pushed the door open, walking inside.
Having found nothing and taken no useful photos, Yè Lái drove home after twelve o’clock. Just as he drove into the city, the fuel gauge warned that he was out of gas, so he turned around and went to the gas station.
Leaning against the car door, he took out a cigarette. Just as he put it in his mouth, he was scolded by the gas station staff, who told him that smoking was not allowed at the gas station. Yè Lái held the cigarette in his mouth without lighting it. His consciousness hadn’t returned yet; he had almost forgotten that he was at a gas station.
It was already past one o’clock when he got home. As soon as Yè Lái came out of the elevator with his bag, he saw Sheng Mingqian, wearing sunglasses, standing at his door. Sheng Mingqian was also smoking a cigarette, with three burnt-out cigarette butts at his feet, looking like he had been waiting for him for a long time.
Yè Lái didn’t react for a moment, not knowing why Sheng Mingqian would come over. They hadn’t been in contact since he left the villa that morning. He had become accustomed to this distant yet close way of getting along over the past few years.
This was the first time Sheng Mingqian had come to find him.
Yè Lái couldn’t guess the expression behind the sunglasses. He moved his stiff legs and walked to the door: “Mingqian, why are you here?”
Sheng Mingqian lowered his chin, looking down at the bag in Yè Lái’s hand: “It’s so late. Where did you go?”
Yè Lái came closer and smelled the alcohol on Sheng Mingqian. He frowned: “You drank? The doctor said you can’t drink yet.”
“I’m fine now.”
As Sheng Mingqian spoke, he took off the sunglasses from his eyes, which were a little red.
Yè Lái took off his hat and mask, lifted the bag on his shoulder, took out the key, opened the door, and stepped aside: “Come in.”
Yè Lái followed Sheng Mingqian into the door. As soon as he closed the door, Sheng Mingqian pinned him against the door panel. The smell of alcohol poured into his body through his nose and throat, and Yè Lái felt like he was drunk too.
Sheng Mingqian’s kiss was urgent and fierce, like a plunder and an outpouring of emotion. He only released him when Yè Lái could barely breathe.
Yè Lái gasped: “Mingqian, tonight was the film wrap party, right?”
Sheng Mingqian’s eyes were even redder than before, as if there were two fires burning in them. The hand gripping Yè Lái’s back slid down, and the cold, slight movement made Yè Lái’s scalp tingle. The bag he had been holding slipped from his palm.
“Where were you just now?”
Sheng Mingqian whispered against Yè Lái’s lips, his tone laced with poison. Yè Lái knew that Sheng Mingqian had drunk too much.
The bitterness of nicotine and the faint scent of alcohol in the air blended together, diluting the lingering iron smell in Yè Lái’s nose.
“I went to see a friend.” Yè Lái closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His mind suddenly became clear.
“What friend?”
“A friend from a long time ago.”
Yè Lái’s gaze shifted downwards. Because the grip on his waist was too tight, the muscles in Sheng Mingqian’s arms were tense and strong.
“Why did you come to me?”
As Yè Lái spoke, Sheng Mingqian suddenly turned him around, Yè Lái’s chest pressed against the door panel, Sheng Mingqian leaning against his back, his right hand pulling out Yè Lái’s shirt from his waist, fingers reaching inside his clothes to pinch his butt, fingertips pressing hard.
Yè Lái was in no mood. He pushed against the door and turned over, moving his body, but still couldn’t escape the oppressive shadow above his head: “Mingqian, I’m very tired now. I don’t want to do it.”
This was the first time Sheng Mingqian had come to find him, and it was also the first time Yè Lái had refused Sheng Mingqian.
A mocking voice came from above: “Aren’t you usually quite addicted? That night, you were sleeping in the screening room, watching that night’s video…”
“Mingqian…”
Yè Lái raised his voice to interrupt Sheng Mingqian, rearranging his shirt and pants. Two drops of sweat trickled down from his temples, crawling along his cheeks to his neck, itchy and unbearable.
He raised his hand to scratch his face, but remembered Zhang Yihao’s words: he was an actor, and couldn’t leave scars on his face. He had to care about his appearance.
Pushing Sheng Mingqian away, Yè Lái picked up the bag from the floor and returned to the bedroom. He could hear the sound of the lighter’s gears turning and the flame igniting in the living room.
Yè Lái came out of the bedroom, also taking out a cigarette from his pocket and putting it in his mouth. He walked to the door, and the cigarette met Sheng Mingqian’s already lit cigarette. He took a hard puff, and at the moment the cigarette paper ignited, he could hear the sizzling sound of sparks colliding.
Yè Lái put one hand in his pocket, striking the same pose as Sheng Mingqian, leaning against the wall.
“Mingqian, once the five years are up, I won’t bother you anymore. Give me that role, please.”
“Give me a reason why you want that role so badly.”
Yè Lái’s shoulder touched Sheng Mingqian’s arm. He squinted and took a hard puff, then exhaled. He took his hand out of his pocket and grabbed at the gray smoke. A gust of wind blew through, and the smoke scattered.
Yè Lái said, “It started from the camera, so let it end from the camera too.”