Be Passionately In Love

Bohui Cinema was located in the heart of the city, where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold. Tens of thousands of people streamed in and out daily, and amidst this endless flow, Xu Zhi and Cai Yingying unexpectedly ran into Zhai Xiao and his girlfriend. His girlfriend sported voluminous curls that seemed mature for their age, wore a tight miniskirt, and had long legs with a slender waist—this Chai Jingjing was even prettier than in photos.

Chai Jingjing held two buckets of popcorn, took the movie tickets from Zhai Xiao’s hand, and the two exchanged a smile before heading through the ticket checkpoint. Zhai Xiao was indeed handsome—otherwise, Cai Yingying wouldn’t have been so hung up on him. That’s why the coffin lid on exes must be nailed shut tight. Leave even the slightest gap for them to breathe, and they’ll come roaring back.

Something that had finally been laid to rest was now being dug up and chewed over again. At this moment, Cai Yingying’s heart was in turmoil. Gritting her teeth as she watched the retreating figures of the handsome guy and the beauty, she said to Xu Zhi, “Xu Zhi, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to retake the exams and get into Qing University.”

After scanning their tickets and entering, Xu Zhi also held two buckets of popcorn, though they were nearly empty by now. Glancing at the pair, she asked, “They applied to Qing University?”

“Qing University’s architecture department. Chai Jingjing didn’t know, but I heard he got in through a special admission. She’s also from an ethnic minority, so she got some score reduction or bonus points or something.”

“It couldn’t have added much,” Xu Zhi said, momentarily stunned. People like Chen Luzhou were probably rare. She then asked, “But you want to study architecture? Qing University’s cutoff isn’t low. I heard there’s an education reform next year, and the Self-selected module might be scrapped. The total score will still be 750, but I estimate Qing University’s minimum would be at least 620. The architecture department’s cutoff would probably be even higher.”

Cai Yingying asked, “What does that mean?”

The VIP screening room was on the third floor. Following the staff’s directions, they made their way up while Xu Zhi explained, “Right now, we still have four subjects, right? That means you can only lose a maximum of 130 points—so about 30 points per subject on average. Language, math, and English are manageable, but do you know what scoring 270 in science means?”

“That’s like getting 90 in physics, chemistry, and biology? Holy shit, is that even humanly possible?” Cai Yingying was instantly awestruck, her admiration for Xu Zhi skyrocketing. “Damn, Boss Zhi, you’re amazing. You scored 273 in science.”

Xu Zhi’s weak spot had actually been the Self-selected module, which was practically free points. Most top scorers aiming for 700+ would max out the 60 points in that section, but she only got 56. Otherwise, her 742 would’ve secured her a spot in A University’s architecture department without the current anxiety of possibly being reassigned.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that neither realized how far the screening room was—they still had to take the elevator. Hearing Cai Yingying’s words, Xu Zhi shook her head. She used to think she was impressive, but then she realized there’s always someone better. She was sure Chen Luzhou’s science score was higher than hers—with his total, he probably scored around 280. “Anyway, that’s the gist of it. I fully support you aiming for Qing University.”

“Ah, forget it. Even if I started retaking exams from elementary school, I’d never hit those scores. Fine, Zhai Xiao’s still impressive—dating and acing exams like that.” Cai Yingying deflated instantly. Just then, they entered the screening room, and she glanced around. “No one else here? But this isn’t the private screening room I imagined. I thought it’d be a personal booth.”Xu Zhi also glanced around, taking in the surroundings. It was similar to the theater downstairs, only smaller and more refined, accommodating no more than twenty people. There were couple seats as well as single seats. A faint, silent beam of white light emanated from the projector behind them, as if everything had been set up long ago.

Their seats were right in the center—the best viewing area. Whenever Xu Zhi bought movie tickets on Meituan, the system automatically recommended the best available seats in the remaining vacancies. For empty screenings, these two seats were always the ones left.

“I feel like someone booked the whole place,” Cai Yingying said as she sat down, eyeing the luxurious decor of the theater—space-age seats and the hot coffee by her side—immediately sensing something amiss. Her restless gaze darted around, searching for clues. “Am I really this lucky? Did I hit the jackpot?”

Xu Zhi checked the time. The movie was about to start, yet the theater remained empty. She asked blankly, “Did Old Cai buy some luxury package again? Remember that sofa your dad bought—didn’t it come with a high-end spa session?”

“Don’t even mention that ‘high-end spa,’” Cai Yingying said with a grimace as the theater lights dimmed and the screen illuminated their faces with previews for other films. “I was too embarrassed to tell you—it was just a blind massage. But honestly, it was pretty comfortable. Old Cai went once and immediately signed up for a membership. That’s how businesses trap you—one thing leads to another. Besides, nothing in this world is free.” She pulled out her phone again, wary. “What if they make us pay after the movie?”

As soon as she finished speaking, the familiar, iconic opening theme of the movie— deng deng deng —began to play. Xu Zhi sighed and lazily turned her gaze to the screen. “Whatever, we’re already here. Just consider it my birthday treat.”

Xu Zhi was a typical Chinese person, embodying the peaceful, laid-back traditions of her culture—phrases like "We’re already here," "It’s the New Year," "They’re already dead," "They’re just a kid," and "It’s my birthday today."

But mostly, she really wanted to see this movie. It was an American film about a boy abandoned by his parents and sent to an orphanage due to a facial deformity. He was the most obedient child in the orphanage, yet no family wanted to adopt him because of his appearance. The orphanage director adored him and pitied him deeply, but whenever prospective parents came to inquire about adoption, his file was always left for last. Eventually, a bachelor offered to adopt him—only to reveal that every gift from fate comes with a hidden price...

The film was steeped in the darker, uglier aspects of human nature. The director, Carl Tu, was known for fearlessly tackling controversial social issues, and his works always polarized audiences, sparking heated debates. As a result, screenings were scarce in China. In the entire city of Qingyi, only one or two theaters showed it, and even then, only during near-empty midnight slots. But Xu Zhi loved this director. She felt Carl Tu was full of challenges to human nature—a man who must have lived many stories.So when she found out that the movie tickets Cai Yingying gave her were for this particular film, it was quite a pleasant surprise. She didn’t even stop to wonder why it was such a coincidence, only thinking that the fortune teller she visited at the start of the year while mountain climbing hadn’t been wrong—her luck this year really was good.

“Which is more surprising—Old Xu’s laptop this morning or this movie?” Cai Yingying asked her.

Xu Zhi rarely smiled, but now a faint one appeared as the screen’s light reflected in her eyes, making them shimmer like water. “He bought that laptop ages ago, hiding it here and there. I already had an idea about it. But this? I never expected it. Kartu ranks just below Old Xu in my heart. I thought I wouldn’t get a chance to watch this film at all this year—his movies get banned so easily.”

Cai Yingying frowned. “Something feels off to me.”

Xu Zhi popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth like a pacifier. “Relax. If we end up having to pay later, I’ll cover it, okay? Consider it my birthday treat.”

Cai Yingying muttered, “Your money isn’t free either. It’s not like it just falls from the sky. And with Old Xu losing so much to scammers lately—ugh, he’s such a penny-pincher. I hope he doesn’t do anything drastic.”

“So stop talking and focus on the movie. I need to go back and keep him company afterward,” Xu Zhi said, refocusing.

It wasn’t until halfway through the film that Cai Yingying realized they weren’t the only ones in the high-end VIP theater. A lone figure sat in the very last row. She had no idea when this person had arrived—they definitely hadn’t been there when they first came in. The lights had been on then, and a living person that big would’ve been impossible to miss. They must’ve slipped in after the movie started.

Because the silhouette looked like an exceptionally handsome guy, Cai Yingying couldn’t help glancing back a few times. But the distance was too far, she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and the flickering screen cast the figure in shifting shadows. He was dressed in sleek, plain black, with a black baseball cap pulled so low it was hard to tell if he could even see the screen. Only the sharp, clean line of his jaw was faintly visible. The lower half of his body was blocked by the seats in front, leaving only a glimpse of broad shoulders and the cold, detached half of his face under the cap.

Cai Yingying only vaguely made out his outline and didn’t dwell on it, but she still warned Xu Zhi cautiously, “I’m going to the bathroom. There’s a guy sitting behind us—keep an eye out.”

Xu Zhi, fully engrossed in the film, didn’t turn around, merely humming in acknowledgment. But Cai Yingying’s words had briefly pulled her out of the moment, and for half a minute, she couldn’t sink back into the story. On impulse, she glanced back.

The movie’s setting was an orphanage, shot with a voyeuristic, dimly lit style, so the entire theater was plunged into darkness.

The tall, lean figure blended into the shadows, solitary and still, as if he had merged completely with the theater’s gloom.

Xu Zhi turned her attention back to the screen, letting herself get lost in the film again.

Onscreen, another child was being adopted by a couple. The little boy watched their retreating figures with disappointment as the headmaster comforted him—"Miracles happen every day, and perhaps one day it will land right on your head. The premise is, you must always be prepared, don't lose heart. Every apple pie has its reason for being born."

The scene shifts, and the dean says to the vice dean—

"Although every apple pie has its reason for being born, my dear old friend, you still have to allow that some people just don’t like apple pie."

A prospective adoptive parent flips through documents and remarks bluntly—

"At our core, we are all savage animals. The people we see are merely those with leashes tied to them, tamed. This condition is called civilization and education. Not innate human goodness."

"Being ugly isn’t a crime. Likewise, hating ugly people isn’t a crime either."

A little boy meets a bachelor. The bachelor, having just returned from an obligatory social gathering, lies drunk and disheveled on a park bench, snoring loudly, with bird droppings on his face. The boy wipes it off for him with a tissue—

"Seems like ugly people don’t have it good when they’re young, and adulthood doesn’t seem much better either."

Scene after scene unfolds, the plot building toward its climax—the little boy falls in love, and the picture quality brightens slightly—

"I want to make love to her. I can wear a helmet."

Flickering light and shadows sway in the screening room, like rippling tides, carrying spring waters and starry rivers to sweep ambiguously over their deliberately composed faces, as if the moon were secretly blinking.

"Chen Luzhou." Xu Zhi didn’t turn her head, her eyes still fixed unwaveringly on the movie screen as she called out calmly.

"Hm." He responded, his voice low and lazy.

"Come here."

There was no movement behind her for a moment. Xu Zhi never once turned to look at him, her focus entirely on the film. After a while, she heard someone stand up behind her, footsteps dragging and unhurried as they descended step by step from the aisle beside her.

As soon as he sat down, Xu Zhi caught the familiar, faint scent of sage shower gel—unsurprisingly. She didn’t speak again or acknowledge him. Then her phone buzzed—a message from Cai Yingying:

Piece of Cake: I’m stepping out for a bit. I’ll come find you later.

Xu Zhi: Where to?

Piece of Cake: It’s nothing. Keep watching the movie. I’m meeting a friend.

Xu Zhi locked her phone and tossed it into her bag, ignoring him and making no further effort to talk. But his presence was too overwhelming. Even sitting there quietly, it was hard to overlook him. Perhaps he was deliberately trying to minimize it—after sitting down, he didn’t move at all, one arm draped across his chest, the other propped on his elbow, shielding his nose as he watched the movie expressionlessly and intently. But it had little effect.

He answered a phone call, his voice hushed, coldly uttering two "hm"s before hanging up—likely without even hearing what the other person said.

Xu Zhi leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, lazily avoiding his gaze. "Would you agree to anything someone said if they called you right now?"

With that, she pulled out her phone and dialed. Chen Luzhou’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He picked up. Xu Zhi held her phone to her ear, her gaze somewhat challenging as she looked at him. "Chen Luzhou, you’re a dog."

He laughed, his eyes unusually clear and soft as they rested on her, as though he’d accept anything she said. "Hm, I am."

Like spring rain nurturing the earth, silent and gentle, emotions melted into his gaze."Boring." Xu Zhi hung up the phone, having somewhat guessed what was going on with the movie, but unaware of how much he had done behind the scenes. Her mind could only make wild guesses.

Men hate being called boring by women. Chen Luzhou shot her a glance without changing his expression, lazily spinning his phone in his hand. His youthful, clean brows furrowed slightly as he put on a sincere act of self-reflection before asking with feigned seriousness, "Then what would make it interesting for you?"

Xu Zhi didn’t answer. The movie was probably nearing its end, and she had missed most of the plot. Now completely lost, she could only stubbornly keep watching.

Chen Luzhou was rarely called boring, especially by Xu Zhi. A hint of defiance stirred in him—youthful pride still ran high. Leaning back in his chair, he lazily retorted with disdain, "If that’s how you judge what’s interesting, you’re pretty boring yourself."

"Fine, we’re both boring," Xu Zhi said, too tired to keep arguing. She stood up. "Two boring people watching a boring movie together—how utterly boring. I’m going home."

Chen Luzhou stretched his long legs out lazily, blocking her path. When she turned to leave the other way, he grabbed her wrist. Careful not to hurt her, his grip was firm but controlled—something she had already experienced back in Linshi.

His palm pressed warmly against her skin, and Xu Zhi felt that spot gradually tingle and burn. She couldn’t tell if the heat came from him or herself. Or maybe both. He didn’t speak, just looked up at her like a stray puppy, his eyes full of apology while his lips remained tightly sealed in cool indifference.

Chen Luzhou had taken off his cap earlier, hanging it on the back of the chair. Only now did Xu Zhi notice he had gotten a haircut. The strands at his forehead were trimmed into a short, neat layer, hugging his scalp closely, making his forehead appear fuller and cleaner, his entire demeanor sharper. His features looked more defined and handsome than usual.

From the first day she met him, Xu Zhi had thought he was too clever. She liked interacting with smart people but would never date someone too sharp—it was exhausting. Yet Chen Luzhou was different. He was witty and humorous, intelligent yet straightforward, sometimes just a big kid at heart. But in the end, he was still a smart person, burdened with the same flaw—thinking himself far more important than he was.

The movie played on, though no one was watching anymore. No matter how turbulent the atmosphere between them grew, the plot continued tirelessly, as if the world would keep turning no matter who was missing from it.

Chen Luzhou hadn’t intended to take the conversation too far, nor to bring their relationship to a definitive end. Some words, once spoken, couldn’t be taken back. But if they parted ways like this tonight, it might truly be over.

He stood up, leaning against the back of the seat in front of Xu Zhi. Unable to hold back, he asked with a tone and expression that seemed sincere but carried an undeniable edge, "Then what counts as interesting? Is dating interesting?"

Xu Zhi thought he was really being a jerk. The words slipped out before she could stop them: "You think everyone wants to date you?"

The moment she said it, a wave of heat surged in her chest, her breaths turning shallow. But who wasn’t feeling the heat? Chen Luzhou was burning up too—his heart racing faster than ever, though his fury was the cause.Chen Luzhou only let go when he was sure she wouldn’t leave, tucking his hands into his pockets as he leaned back. His neck tilted slightly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he slowly mulled it over. His eyelids drooped lazily as he glanced at her, straightforwardly saying, “Hmm, dating is boring, but kissing is exciting, is that it?”

“Chen Luzhou, you can’t handle this.”

“Oh? Who’s the one who can’t handle it?” He chuckled instead. “Wasn’t it you who blocked me on WeChat? Did I say anything?”

“Hold on a sec.” Xu Zhi suddenly fixed her gaze intently on the movie playing behind them.

Chen Luzhou didn’t even need to turn around to know what was happening—the wet, smacking sounds of a passionate kiss were already echoing suggestively throughout the theater.

“...”

“Done watching?” His tone was resigned and lazy.

Xu Zhi had already sat back down, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Every time I watch his films, I can never find the uncut versions. They’re all censored. A lot of film bloggers say the best parts of Kartu’s movies get edited out.”

Chen Luzhou, mid-argument, swallowed his anger, the frustration stuck in his throat. He turned his face away, gulping, feeling like he might actually develop some kind of illness from this in the future. Annoyed beyond words, he sat down as well, grabbing the baseball cap hanging on the back of his chair and mercilessly plopping it onto her head, completely blocking her view.

Xu Zhi didn’t react, only adjusting the cap properly. When she looked up again, the scene had already cut away, reverting to the dull, murky film quality. Pointing at the screen, she joked, “I can answer your earlier question now. Dating is boring, kissing is boring, dating and kissing is boring—but kissing without dating is super exciting. Look at them, so exciting.”

Chen Luzhou: “...”

Xu Zhi had discussed this matter with Cai Yingying before, and they both agreed that Chen Luzhou had feelings for her. Later, Cai Yingying had subtly probed Zhu Yangqi about it. Zhu Yangqi said Chen Luzhou had many reservations, and Xu Zhi roughly understood why. It still boiled down to that one thing—Chen Luzhou took himself too seriously. Did he think that if he left, she wouldn’t find someone better? Or was he afraid she’d cling to him? But she never even mentioned wanting a relationship.

Xu Zhi had always been the type to forge ahead, clearing obstacles as they came. Overthinking things only led to mental exhaustion, draining both herself and others. It was better to tackle problems as they arose.

The biggest regret in life was living in fear of the future—a lesson Lin Qiudie had left her in the years after her passing.

The movie frames flickered on, and Xu Zhi knew it was nearing its end. She watched as the screen froze on Kartu’s signature line, the closing phrase that appeared in every one of his films.

"You will thank every past version of yourself, and regret every version that failed to seize the present."

Kartu was still Kartu, but no matter how good the movie was, it couldn’t compare to the quiet allure of the person sitting beside her. Her thoughts wandered freely as she spoke, “Chen Luzhou, my dad got scammed out of 80,000 yuan the other day. We’ve already filed a police report, but they told us the money’s basically gone for good. My dad’s full of regret—I’d told him to upgrade his computer and phone, but he refused. Now he’s lost both the money and the things he could’ve had. A total loss.”

She continued, “Some things just aren’t worth overthinking. That’s why I said you can’t handle playing this game.”

The end credits were about to roll. In the final seconds before the theater lights came on, Xu Zhi leaned in naturally.

Chen Luzhou’s head was slightly lowered, his gaze dark and indifferent, devoid of any emotion as he watched her. Outside the screening room, faint rustling sounds grew louder—the staff would soon come in to clean. They didn’t have much time left. He tried several times to speak, swallowing his words each time. His eyes were faintly red. Twice, he looked away, pausing for a long moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing restlessly. Between them hung an unspoken tension, fierce yet laced with an ambiguous entanglement. Finally, he turned back, staring down at Xu Zhi, who was tilting her face up toward him from her seat, and gritted out—

“You want to play with me? Fine. Just don’t cry when it’s over.”

Xu Zhi abruptly lifted her head, pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips. “I’ll happily send you off at the airport.”

Author’s Note:

At our core, we are all savage creatures. The people we see are merely bound by ropes, tamed—this state is called civilization and refinement, not innate human goodness. —Schopenhauer

The biggest regret in life is living in fear of the future. —Internet.

The movie is entirely fictional. Kartu is also made up.

———

Finally got to this part! I’ve been stuck on writer’s block for a while. The upcoming plot is pretty intense, and the pacing might speed up significantly. I thought long and hard about how to handle this kiss, so I’ll brace for impact—every comment on this chapter gets a red envelope as thanks for your patience.