She scrambled to get up, but the beanbag sofa offered no leverage. For a moment, Hu Xiu's hand pressed against Diao Zhiyu's chest, and the sensation of his heartbeat against her palm seemed to freeze time.
This feeling had nothing to do with him being Qin Xiaoyi. Those cliché intimate moments between men and women in films and TV shows had always felt artificial before, but now, feeling the heartbeat of a boy she liked—the rhythm traveling from her palm straight to her own heart—left her dazed. It was completely different from past relationships; her heart raced wildly, and his breath washed over her directly.
Whether it was the novelty of testing boundaries or the security of being supported by him, it made her want to sink into the moment.
In the end, Diao Zhiyu lifted her like a dumbbell in a bench press. She was hoisted into the air, her arms spread like wings, the loose sweater letting in a gust of wind that chilled her and made her sneeze again. Her hair cascaded over Diao Zhiyu's face, blotting out his vision in a dark mess until, with a final release of effort, he dropped her back into his arms as he sat up.
Hu Xiu felt every muscle in his body tense, sensed the warmth radiating from his chest, and heard the strained sound in his throat.
The entire sequence took less than a minute. When they finally saw each other clearly, she was straddling his waist, held firmly in his embrace. He stared into her eyes, piercing straight into her heart with a faint, teasing smile.
It seemed she sensed something else too. Blushing crimson, she sprang away from him: "How long have you been sleeping here?"
"Not long—just since you all came in."
Hu Xiu was still mentally replaying what she'd said earlier when Zhao Xiaorou, laughing hysterically and filming with her phone from behind, chimed in: "Diao Zhiyu, you've been hiding here without a word, waiting for this moment, right? You and Hu Xiu—first a princess carry, now this 'Guanyin sitting on a lotus' pose? You're a pro—secretly loving it, aren't you?"
Hu Xiu had already stood up and retreated to the innermost part of the storeroom. But she heard Diao Zhiyu's calm reply: "I came straight from my night shift. The establishing shot was set up outside—didn't you see it?"
"Damn, the tripod was tucked inside the counter? Sneak filming?"
"Establishing shot, no audio. It's been set since 4 a.m.—Li Ai gave me the key."
Zhao Xiaorou's voice turned shrill: "Li Ai! How many people did you give keys to!"
"Just you three, I promise."
Hu Xiu didn't catch any of this. Hiding inside, she frantically plugged in the hairdryer, fumbling several times before getting it right. The outlet was too low and the cord too short, forcing her to squat while drying her hair. The roaring noise echoed in her skull, resonating through her head, and her hair, lacking conditioner, tangled into a dry mess that seemed worse than not washing it at all.
As her hair knotted on top of her head, Hu Xiu's fingers combed through it repeatedly, tugging and pulling, her bangs still obscuring her vision, fueling her irritation. What absurd nonsense was all this?
Then panic set in. That past which had once left her paralyzed in nightmares was returning—
After her breakup, moving to the suburbs felt like recovering from a serious illness. She spent most of her time in a daze, dreaming she was walking in a rainy night wearing a thin sweater, her body icy cold as she searched for her ex-fiancé. When she found him, she'd grip him tightly, her skin bearing a zipper that she'd pull down to reveal her heart, crimson and bloody, pulsating.She begged the other person to look at her—"I'm different from my mother, I'm not as cheap as you think"—but they would only give a light laugh before turning away, always ending with the same line: "Let's just call it quits."
As time passed, the face in her dreams faded. She could no longer recall her fiancé's features, growing increasingly insecure. She searched for life in the wilderness, for familiar silhouettes in crowds.
Even someone with a similar hairstyle or clothing would do—just look at my heart, it's about to stop. One glance would be enough.
That nightmare persisted for so long it became part of her. The belongings discarded in the rain-soaked night, her helpless mother, the fiancé who suddenly revealed a mocking smile, herself exiled beside the garbage—along with her trampled dignity—none of it faded with time. Whenever she encountered something she wanted to cherish, it would abruptly resurface and clog her heart, sealing her in place until she couldn't move.
She had finally forgotten it completely after meeting Qin Xiaoyi on Snowpiercer, but now the thought suddenly emerged, freezing her in place.
If Diao Zhiyu saw her this nervous, he'd probably think she was a ridiculous audience member—someone who'd watched a few performances and was desperately trying to maintain an image... as worthless as dust.
"Where did Hu Xiu go?" It was Li Ai.
"I'll go find her..." Zhao Xiaorou's high heels had just taken a step when she seemed to be stopped. Footsteps approached from behind then retreated, returning moments later as a hand reached over her head and gently touched Hu Xiu's hair. The hand held a bottle: "If you keep blowing air in one spot, your hair will get burnt—don't be so violent with yourself."
It was the scent of coconut oil. Diao Zhiyu's hand covered Hu Xiu's head, slowly working through her strands with his fingers: "This is only edible coconut oil, but at least it won't make your hair dry and frizzy. The only downside is... you might find coconut shreds falling from your head later."
After a two-second pause, Diao Zhiyu sighed: "Stop squatting, sit. You don't need to be so tense all the time—I'm not going to eat you."
She was sitting on... Diao Zhiyu's lap.
Her neck and shoulders remained stiff as Diao Zhiyu gently took the hairdryer from Hu Xiu's hand. His fingers glided softly through her scalp, patiently encountering tangles—one hand undoing knots while the other protected the roots—like a professional stylist.
He guessed the question in her mind: "Are you thinking again that I'm promiscuous and experienced? Come on, when you do your own styling backstage for performances, these issues are completely normal."
"I've even used dish soap to wash my hair before. I had long hair back then, and it turned into a complete mess."
He'd actually had long hair. "What did you do after that?"
"Tied it up at the back—made it look like I had lots of hair volume."
"And... how did you do the curls on Snowpiercer?"
"Curling iron, of course. I know more about these girly things than you do."
Hu Xiu listened with growing interest. Surprisingly, Zhao Xiaorou didn't interrupt. Hu Xiu leaned quietly against the wall while Diao Zhiyu dried her hair. The coconut oil wasn't heavily applied, but its rich aroma made her slightly hungry.
Hu Xiu didn't know how to describe that feeling—whether it was nervousness or her wildly beating heart—but she would never mistake it. Whether he approached from behind or flashed past in the distance ahead, she always knew it was Diao Zhiyu. That subtle sensation in her heart was like being illuminated by a spotlight in a one-act play—it only appeared when he drew near.Hu Xiu's fear hadn't yet subsided, and she had no clue where to begin such a story. No one would want to hear about someone else's experience of being abandoned.
The power had just been restored. Before Hu Xiu could express her thanks, Diao Zhiyu placed the hairdryer on the shelf and turned to leave. "I really can't stand the smell of coconut. Sorry, I need to go wash my hands."
The push-and-pull had come far too abruptly...
Physical contact was devilish. As Hu Xiu stepped out, Diao Zhiyu was skillfully changing the camera battery, swapping memory cards, and importing footage.
Adobe Premiere's left panel was filled with clips. The cursor moved, audio tracks were swiftly muted, and he sat by the bed, meticulously reviewing the footage.
Indeed, there was no trace of Hu Xiu or Zhao Xiaorou in the frames—even the moment they pushed the door open had been edited out. He sped up the clips, letting identical scenes flow across different timelines, leaving only the shifting play of light and shadow.
As for the café conversations, the various speculations about him, and Zhao Xiaorou's suggestion to "plan carefully"—none of it held his interest.
Li Ai leaned on his crutches nearby, his gray hoodie and jeans giving him a youthful appearance. The two men by the floor-to-ceiling window were deeply engrossed in discussing ideas, which moved Hu Xiu somewhat.
Zhao Xiaorou sat beside Hu Xiu and sighed softly. "It feels so much like the romantic lives of the four of us. There's always someone who appears in your life, someone you genuinely adore, yet the timing is just slightly off, and you can't quite figure out how to reach their heart.
Have you watched Suzhou River? To love recklessly and passionately, indifferent to worldly views—how many are blessed with such a gift? He and I probably just aren't meant to be."
She was talking about Li Ai. Meanwhile, Hu Xiu fixed her gaze on Diao Zhiyu by the window. His chair swiveled, his eyes inadvertently brushing over her before lightly shifting away. Hu Xiu opened her laptop to check emails and began working on a translation document, multitasking yet constantly feeling opportunities slip away.
Suddenly, her phone rang—an urgent plea from her senior colleague for remote support in a translation conference.
"Xiao Hu, I'm back in Yangzhou and really can't make it back in time. I'll send you the meeting link."
After hanging up, Li Ai checked his watch. "Take the seat by the window—the signal's better there. We haven't paid the broadband bill upstairs recently, so you'll have to make do in the shop."
A "closed" sign hung at the entrance, and soon the café was filled only with the sound of Hu Xiu's translating voice.
Amidst her chaotic thoughts, the sudden need to focus made Hu Xiu momentarily grateful.
The translation content wasn't difficult for her, nor was it heavily related to medicine. Hospital administrators and an American professor were merely discussing recent talent exchange programs within the institution.
Amid the light conversation, Hu Xiu overheard that Pei Zhen would be going to Boston for a three-month exchange in January. In the senior leader's words, he was the most outstanding talent they'd seen in a decade.
Behind her, Diao Zhiyu wasn't wearing headphones, just resting his chin on his hand as he moved the mouse. Hu Xiu's English narration was lulling Zhao Xiaorou to sleep, but he remained motionless, staring at the screen as if lost in thought.
Off-camera, both Diao Zhiyu and she were busy with their own work, seemingly without any intersection, yet always inadvertently aware of each other.
During the meal break, Zhao Xiaorou created a four-person group chat. The first message was a video of Hu Xiu stumbling and falling onto Diao Zhiyu. Hu Xiu's face flushed crimson. "Zhao Xiaorou, delete that!"
"What are you afraid of? It's just friends accidentally bumping into each other. Want it deleted? Sounds like you've got a guilty conscience."Glancing at Diao Zhiyu, his superior profile showed no expression as he slowly met her gaze. He smiled slightly, his narrow double eyelids annoyingly noticeable: "So, guilty conscience?"
"Letting someone with poor romantic luck like Hu Xiu practice with friends isn’t a bad thing either." These words actually came from Li Ai’s mouth.
"Don’t think you’re off the hook either. What’s going on with your leg lately?"
"Nothing much, just aches on rainy days. I need something to lean on when standing."
"If anything’s really going on, you should tell us. Don’t bear it alone. If it’s about money, I have some—don’t hesitate to ask."
Li Ai only smiled in response, insisting there was nothing wrong.
Bored, Hu Xiu scrolled through her friend circle and came across a post: a photo of herself translating by the window, framed differently each time, all captioned "I-s."
But when she refreshed and scrolled again, it had disappeared. Hu Xiu looked up at Diao Zhiyu, who had finished eating and was now browsing a collection of plays on the bookshelf, acting as if nothing had happened.
Once again, she had to pretend not to notice. So hard to figure out.
The group dispersed around midnight. Throughout the day, no one had mentioned Ning Zechen. Diao Zhiyu carried the cake Li Ai had given him, along with his camera and laptop, firmly refusing Hu Xiu’s help.
The scent of coconut still lingered in her hair. Remembering Diao Zhiyu disliked the smell, Hu Xiu moved slightly away, but within a few steps, he closed the distance again—quite clingy.
"Starting next month, I’ll be playing Feng Youjin."
"Huh?"
"A new actor has taken over Qin Xiaoyi’s role—you’ve seen him. I’ve switched to playing Feng Youjin and Li Rong. I won’t be performing as Qin Xiaoyi anymore."
"Why?"
"No particular reason. I requested the change."
"Your portrayal of Qin Xiaoyi was really good. I originally went to see the play because of Qin Xiaoyi."
Diao Zhiyu fell silent, walking quietly beside her, lost in thought. Hu Xiu wondered which part of what she said was wrong. Did he think she only liked him because of Qin Xiaoyi?
After two minutes, Diao Zhiyu spoke calmly, more seriously than before: "Do you like me only because you think I am Qin Xiaoyi?"
Hu Xiu stopped walking, not understanding what he meant.
"To be honest, I don’t really want to play Qin Xiaoyi anymore. Roles like that—I can just be myself.
I’ve found a way to get used to it now. I don’t have to act much; I can just be myself.
Over time, it’s easy to get stuck in a comfort zone, with little room for growth. Occasionally playing Li Rong or Feng Youjin feels different from who I really am."
Hu Xiu laughed. "I thought you became like this because you played Qin Xiaoyi too much. I didn’t realize it was just you being yourself."
"Mutual influence, I suppose. But I actually want to try other things, like theater—the pure kind.
Being an NPC in small theaters is different in motivation. Though I love this profession, compared to real acting, it feels too commercial and... a bit vulgar. If I keep performing like this long-term, I’ll stagnate."
He exuded an unfamiliar aura. Hu Xiu tried to detect a kindred spirit in the darkness but hesitated to agree too quickly.
Every time she thought she understood Diao Zhiyu a little more, he revealed new facets of his personality she had never encountered before. They shimmered like spots of light before her eyes until her vision gradually adjusted.
This unfamiliarity frightened her. She feared she couldn’t handle it, worried that saying too much would expose her ignorance, or...When conversations fail to connect, distance grows between people. And this fear indeed hadn't dissipated—merely uttering the name "Feng Youjin" felt like being pushed away by the other person. She might never again see that aloof yet passionate Qin Xiaoyi, and it seemed she wasn't prepared for that either.
November 17th, with three days left, her schedule was completely packed with work. She no longer had time for one final glimpse of Qin Xiaoyi.
She only murmured: "I've always been greedy wanting to watch Qin Xiaoyi—perhaps I've been confining you to a fixed framework too. That does sound somewhat regrettable."
"No worries, occasionally playing a role doesn't matter. Just wanted to inform you that the subsequent fixed schedule has changed."
"I've been resting frequently lately and will often go to REGARD. It's not like we only need to meet on Snowpiercer."
Hu Xiu remained dazed. After a long silence, the other person's footsteps suddenly halted.
"Hey..."
"Hmm?"
"There's something I've never understood—want to ask you. How come you dared to provoke me in the drama, but now you don't?"
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