Chapter Eighty-Two
Ji Qinghe had a habit when speaking—he would emphasize certain words.
It wasn’t obvious during normal conversations, but once emotions were involved, it became easy to notice which words he enunciated clearly and which he cut off abruptly.
When they couldn’t communicate face-to-face, Shen Qianzhan often relied on detecting his emphasis to gauge his mood.
A rising tone meant satisfaction, while a subdued tone indicated displeasure.
Clearly, Ji Qinghe was in a good mood now—perfect for pressing the advantage and pushing forward.
She found a support to prop up her phone, pretending not to know. “What consequences?”
Ji Qinghe didn’t take the bait.
Some words were meant to be veiled in ambiguity; being too blunt and explicit was neither sophisticated nor romantic.
“My eyes miss you,” Shen Qianzhan leaned closer to the screen, smiling brightly at him. “They haven’t seen you for almost twenty hours.”
“My nose misses you too.”
“Without your scent, it feels like something’s missing.”
“My mouth is doing fine, though. It tasted tripe, goose intestines, bamboo shoots, beef tripe, beef, rice cakes, potatoes, winter melon, and chestnuts tonight, so it’s too busy to miss you for now.”
Ji Qinghe interrupted her, “You had hotpot tonight?”
Shen Qianzhan pursed her lips and hummed in agreement. “Don’t want to hear the rest? There are plenty of other parts that miss you too.”
Knowing she was doing it on purpose, Ji Qinghe still took the bait like a fish unwilling to let go once it bit. “No need to list them all. Even if I gave you ten minutes, you probably couldn’t finish.” He paused, then added, “Is there any inch of your skin that doesn’t miss me?”
Shen Qianzhan burst into laughter. “Well, there are a few. Want to hear?”
Ji Qinghe glanced at her, the corners of his lips curling unconsciously. “Tell me which parts, and I’ll make sure to give them extra attention tomorrow night. To ensure unity of governance and territorial integrity.”
Shen Qianzhan choked.
The risqué remarks she was about to make were completely blocked by his words.
She snorted softly, taking the hair tie from her lips.
Then, gathering her hair, which was loosely draped over her shoulders, into a ponytail, she deftly secured it with the hair tie. “When you’re done later, send me your flight details. If I have time tomorrow, I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
Ji Qinghe neither agreed nor disagreed. His gaze lingered on Shen Qianzhan’s rosy lips, which held a few stray strands of hair. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and he suddenly felt a bit uneasy.
He subtly shifted his gaze away, changing the subject. “Has Song Yan joined the crew?”
Seeing his interest, Shen Qianzhan proactively reported, “Yes, she checked into the hotel tonight with her manager and assistant. I asked Su Zan to schedule her scenes for tomorrow afternoon. If your flight isn’t delayed, you’ll be just in time for her first scene.”
Ji Qinghe hummed softly, not particularly interested.
What could be seen on set were all fragmented scenes. Since the crew had to pay rent for filming locations, they usually concentrated all the scenes required for that setting during the rental period, rarely filming in chronological order.
One moment, it might be an emotionally intense physical confrontation, and the next, it could be the awkward and distant first meeting at the beginning of the story.
Recalling the script, he asked, “Does tomorrow’s scene require the black enamel-carved antique clock with the Eight Immortals of Penglai presenting treasures?”
“Yes,” Shen Qianzhan replied, flipping through the script beside her and holding it up for him to see. “And it needs to be dismantled.”She sighed softly, maintaining a posture that looked good even with a frown, and said, "I'm under so much pressure. What if I break it while taking it apart? Wouldn't I have to come see you with my head in my hands?"
"Not that serious." Ji Qinghe thought for a moment and said, "If you break it, just have your household register ready."
Shen Qianzhan didn’t catch on: "Household register?" Like a slaughter manual?
"Hmm." Ji Qinghe switched hands, and after the screen briefly shook, he chuckled and said, "If it breaks, we’ll get married. I won’t accept any other compensation besides you."
Shen Qianzhan’s heart tightened, as if scalded by something spicy, instantly burning with heat.
Her breathing grew slightly rapid, and for a moment, she couldn’t utter a word.
Logically, Shen Qianzhan believed he was just casually joking.
But emotionally, the topic of marriage was too serious. Even if he had said it offhandedly, Shen Qianzhan found it difficult to respond. In fact, a small corner of her heart faintly felt that Ji Qinghe wasn’t joking with her.
If she dared to agree, it wasn’t impossible that Ji Qinghe might deliberately break the clock...
Her hesitation made Ji Qinghe understand her thoughts, and he teased, "Is it that hard to answer?"
"Not exactly." Shen Qianzhan frowned, looking serious. "I’m analyzing whether this counts as a proposal. If it does, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage. If it doesn’t, I’m still at a disadvantage."
Ji Qinghe raised an eyebrow. "What disadvantage?"
Shen Qianzhan replied, "Kidney deficiency."
Ji Qinghe was taken aback, initially unable to grasp how her logic worked.
The first disadvantage could be understood as the proposal being too casual—no diamond ring, no sense of ceremony, not even a proper proposal attitude, lacking sincerity.
But where did the kidney deficiency come from?
Just as he was about to ask, hurried footsteps sounded outside the door.
Ming Jue knocked lightly on the door of the restroom and softly reminded, "Mr. Ji, the meeting is about to start. You need to take your seat soon."
Ji Qinghe glanced at his watch and replied, "Understood."
Shen Qianzhan had only heard someone speaking earlier but hadn’t caught the conversation. Seeing him look down at his watch, she realized his break was over.
"You should go attend to your work."
Ji Qinghe nodded. After standing up, he didn’t hang up the video immediately. As he walked, he said, "Rest early after you’re done. No need to wait for me."
Shen Qianzhan hadn’t planned to wait anyway, but telling the truth would be too hurtful, so she kindly chose to hide it. "Okay."
After speaking, she felt it was too cold and cleared her throat, adding, "You too, rest early."
Ji Qinghe smiled faintly.
He paused by the door.
On the other side, business moguls in suits were chatting in small groups as they returned to their seats.
Holding his phone, he said his final words to Shen Qianzhan before ending the call: "Do you know what we’re like right now? Like kids who’ve just gotten used to being in a relationship and are learning how to love."
After hanging up, Shen Qianzhan stared blankly at the WeChat chat window for a while.
Surprisingly, she found herself agreeing with Ji Qinghe’s final summary.
Even though the two of them shared a deep connection and fit together seamlessly in their intimate relationship, when it came to their romantic relationship, whether due to lack of experience or still being in the adjustment phase, it always felt like something was missing.
Could this be the legendary "the wife is not as good as the concubine, the concubine is not as good as the secret lover, and the secret lover is not as good as the unattainable"?
Surely she wasn’t that low!
—
Thanks to Ji Qinghe’s words, Shen Qianzhan had an especially difficult time falling asleep tonight.She tossed and turned in bed, back and forth, watching time slip through her fingers bit by bit, yet she remained completely sleepless, full of energy.
The clock had passed midnight.
Outside the window, the wind rose, rustling the leaves on the branches.
Shen Qianzhan raised a hand to cover her eyes, wrapped herself in the blanket, and rolled another half-turn toward the edge of the bed.
She muddled through until two o’clock, unable to bear the torment of insomnia any longer. Clutching her phone, she sat up and called Ji Qinghe.
Just as the call went through, she noticed the time and immediately hung up, switching to a text message instead.
"I thought about it tonight, and I think I might not be suited for a relationship."
She paused, sent the message, and continued typing a new one: "I can’t be like those young girls, looking at you with stars in my eyes, showering you with boundless affection."
"Nor can I act cute every three sentences, calling you 'darling husband' or 'sweetie pig.' The best term of endearment I can muster with all my effort is 'dog man.'"
"We haven’t even been together for a week. I have no experience, and I don’t know if our way of interacting is normal."
For instance, when Ji Qinghe was away on business, she didn’t feel anything resembling disappointment, nor did she worry about him being too busy for her.
Or take the idea of keeping each other updated on schedules in a relationship—she didn’t even have the concept of reporting her whereabouts.
And as for relationship taboos like "intimacy should only happen after at least six months of dating" or "give him countless chances, but girls should never take the initiative or flirt," she had broken every single one of them even before they started dating...
Shen Qianzhan wasn’t sure how she had spiraled from his words to this current situation, but after browsing through various "Relationship Guides" and "Dating Manuals" tonight, she suddenly realized that her relationship with Ji Qinghe was hanging by a thread. Every step felt like walking on thin ice, and the slightest misstep could plunge her into a freezing river, chilling her to the bone.
—
Ji Qinghe had just gotten off the plane.
The airport at night was cold and desolate, the wind biting, the lights dim. Everything seemed shrouded in a haze, and all he could see was the bleakness of the late hour.
He stepped out of the cabin, turning on his phone as he walked.
The moment his phone regained signal, it briefly connected to a call from Shen Qianzhan.
Before he could answer, the call ended, and the screen went dark again.
Ji Qinghe quickened his pace, soon stepping onto the escalator and heading toward the underground parking lot.
The next moment, a WeChat notification sounded.
Vibrations followed one after another.
Ji Qinghe frowned, unlocking his screen as he asked Ming Jue, who stood behind him, "Did you tell her I’d be back in the early morning?"
Ming Jue let out a confused "ah," momentarily bewildered. "I haven’t been in touch with Producer Shen."
Ji Qinghe lowered his gaze to check WeChat.
The first sentence that caught his eye was—"I thought about it tonight, and I think I might not be suited for a relationship."
His heart sank, plummeting into a bottomless abyss without making a sound.
Ming Jue was still waiting for his next instruction. When he looked up, he saw Ji Qinghe’s face darken, like a storm cloud brewing with thunder and lightning.
He immediately fell silent, quietly and unobtrusively taking a step back.
Though he didn’t know what had happened, he had a feeling… Producer Shen might not have an easy night ahead.
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