Chapter 25 – Want or Not

He immediately regretted his question.

Jiang Ruo was about to change the subject when he lifted his head and met a gaze that seemed to scrutinize him.

Looking down at the person on the bed, Xi Yufeng said, “Why? Do you want to run?”

Jiang Ruo wasn’t sure if his thoughts had been exposed, but he sensed an undercurrent of danger in those words.

There was also a warning, reminding him that the last amendment to their agreement had already tested his limits, and his indulgence wasn’t boundless.

Pulling his hand back, Jiang Ruo looked down. “Where could I possibly go?”

This submission was undeniably pleasing, and Xi Yufeng’s expression softened slightly. As he turned around, he said calmly, “Today is your birthday.”

Jiang Ruo heard the unspoken message — don’t ruin the mood.

Given their relationship, some things were better left unsaid; clarity would spoil the mystique.

That night, they finally made love.

Jiang Ruo kept his promise, enduring Xi Yufeng’s almost cathartic desire in a position that felt restrained.

It was like a fierce storm, leaving no room for breath amidst its onslaught.

Afterward, Xi Yufeng lit a cigarette, smoking slowly, mostly letting it burn between his fingers.

When Jiang Ruo tried to turn on the light, Xi Yufeng stopped him.

Bathed in the faint glow of streetlights through the window, Jiang Ruo saw a pair of cold, lonely eyes, as if the passionate man from before was not the same person.

Feeling cold, Jiang Ruo rolled over, wrapping himself tighter in the blankets, pretending not to smell the smoke or hear the deliberate steadiness of Xi Yufeng’s breathing.

In the morning, Xiao Shen knocked on Jiang Ruo’s door.

“Happy Birthday, Teacher Jiang!” He began with a smile. “I wanted to wish you at the right time, but I thought you and President Xi would be out and wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

Jiang Ruo laughed. “No worries, my phone automatically goes on silent after midnight. You couldn’t have bothered me.”

Alongside breakfast, Xiao Shen brought a cake, about six inches in size.

“Whipped cream and seasonal fruits, I brought it right after it was made. This size should be perfect for two people.”

Xiao Shen was always meticulous, and Jiang Ruo sincerely thanked her.

Before leaving, Xiao Shen smiled professionally. “I hope you both have a wonderful day.”

The sincerity in her smile made Jiang Ruo feel inexplicably guilty, thinking that next time he’d find an opportunity to tell Xiao Shen that he and Xi Yufeng weren’t in the serious relationship she assumed.

Xi Yufeng only took a couple of bites of the cake, while the rest ended up in Jiang Ruo’s stomach.

Before lunchtime, Jiang Ruo went downstairs to heat up the barbecue from the night before, sharing half with Xiao Shen and taking the other half back to his room.

Perhaps because it was his birthday, Xi Yufeng didn’t show much displeasure at the lingering scent of cumin and spicy oil that filled the room, asking only, “You’re not counting calories today?”

With his mouth full of food, Jiang Ruo replied, “Out of three hundred and sixty-five days a year, only today can I blatantly ignore them.”

Xi Yufeng chuckled.

When Xi Yufeng left later that afternoon, Jiang Ruo accompanied him downstairs.

Before getting into the car, Xi Yufeng checked Jiang Ruo’s knees and other severely injured areas; the bruises were fading, and they would likely return to normal within a couple of days.

Then his gaze moved downward. Since there was no need to go out today, Jiang Ruo wore loose beach pants and flip-flops. Regardless of how subtle and delicate the chain was, it was still conspicuous.

Jiang Ruo looked down. “Wearing something so exquisite should warrant a matching suit.”

Xi Yufeng said, “No need, just like this is fine.”

Jiang Ruo was unusually quiet today. When Xi Yufeng got into the car, he leaned over to the window. “Thank you, President Xi, for finding the time to offer warmth amidst your busy schedule. I had a great birthday.”

It sounded like standard formal gratitude, making Xi Yufeng frown. “Speak normally.”

Jiang Ruo burst out laughing. “Anyway, I’m happy. President Xi is welcome to visit again.”

As the car turned away, in a corner where no one was watching, Jiang Ruo leaned half his body into the vehicle, attempting to give a farewell kiss.

Xi Yufeng turned his face away.

Jiang Ruo blinked. “I brushed my teeth, shouldn’t there be no barbecue taste?”

Xi Yufeng said, “Next month, ‘When Orioles Take Flight’ will air.”

Meaning, behave yourself and don’t cause trouble in public.

However, Jiang Ruo didn’t agree with this logic. “That’s all the more reason to take advantage before fame hits and do it more often.”

Saying this, Jiang Ruo grabbed Xi Yufeng’s collar and kissed his tightly pursed lips.

Passion ignited instantly. After kissing, Jiang Ruo pulled back, but Xi Yufeng circled his neck and drew him closer.

His voice slightly hoarse, “You won’t keep me?”

Jiang Ruo paused, then laughed. “Then stay. Wait until I finish filming, then leave?”

Xi Yufeng stared at him for a moment, seemingly trying to gauge the sincerity behind his words. And Jiang Ruo had learned to hide his emotions; there was nothing to read in his curved eyes.

The moment passed quickly. Xi Yufeng released his arm, straightened his collar, and said, “Go back, and film well.”

Jiang Ruo was obedient, dedicating the following month to his acting.

After giving his all in the scene where the second lead died in the rain, Jiang Ruo noticed a marked improvement in everyone’s attitude toward him on set.

Before, they would merely exchange greetings when they met; now, occasionally someone would ask if he wanted to order breakfast together or share a table for a stir-fry.

Jiang Ruo agreed.

Soon, everyone discovered that this “resource star” was actually very easy to get along with. He never flaunted his background, and he was particularly down-to-earth, wearing T-shirts and shorts most of the time except for his costumes. On hot days, he’d call for a truckload of watermelons to be delivered, wash them under the sun, slice them, and distribute them to everyone.

He acted as a guide, leading everyone to eat affordable, hearty home-style dishes nearby. When asked why he knew the area so well, Jiang Ruo didn’t hide anything. “I used to be an extra, I’ve squatted everywhere around here. How could I not know it well?”

Under Jiang Ruo’s organization, a fixed group formed within the crew. Every day after filming, they would gather in the lounge, light a few mosquito coils, play two rounds of mahjong, the purpose not to win money but to chat and amuse themselves, relaxing.

Within a week, even the director and screenwriter joined in. With no space left on the card tables, they simply set them outside, under a lamp, bantering in the gentle summer breeze, quite comfortable.

On this day, after work, the lead actor, Chen Muxin, approached with a case of beer.

Jiang Ruo’s interaction with this popular young star was limited to scenes they shared and the time when Jiang Ruo couldn’t stand up after falling and Chen Muxin helped him. Therefore, Jiang Ruo was uncertain about the intention behind this gesture.

Everyone else in the room also watched him, making Chen Muxin look awkward as he put down the beer and scratched his head. “Do you have an empty seat? I also want to learn how to play cards.”

A new face at the “gambling den.” As the organizer, Jiang Ruo personally welcomed him.

Initially assuming Chen Muxin was being modest when he said he didn’t know how to play, once seated, he picked up a card and asked Jiang Ruo where it should go, making it impossible for Jiang Ruo to play properly. He called for the screenwriter to take his place, focusing solely on teaching Chen Muxin from behind.

At this table, the other two were the director and the female lead, Wei Chulin. Seeing that Chen Muxin genuinely didn’t know how to play, the director laughed. “Not long ago, I spoke to your father on the phone. He told me not to corrupt you. I agreed, and now we’re playing cards together. Tell me, how am I supposed to explain this to your family?”

Chen Muxin’s parents were actors and had worked closely with the director on multiple occasions, a fact known to everyone in the industry.

“This doesn’t count as going bad,” Chen Muxin usually addressed the director as “Uncle,” indicating a good relationship. “If my dad asks, say it’s for the sake of integrating into the group. After all, compared to going bad, they’re more worried about me not fitting in.”

Due to his acting lineage, with guaranteed popularity and acting skills, Chen Muxin naturally held a higher status among the cast than other actors. Previously, Jiang Ruo had perceived him as an experienced child actor who didn’t talk to others, spending his time either filming or holed up in the lounge, fitting perfectly into his upright character trope.

Hearing this comparison between “going bad” and “fitting in,” Jiang Ruo couldn’t help but laugh.

Chen Muxin turned to look at him, his expression rare and somewhat flustered. “Brother Jiang, you’re laughing at me too.”

Chen Muxin, although a veteran actor, was actually a year younger than Jiang Ruo. Recalling the shock he felt the first time Chen Muxin started calling him “Brother,” Jiang Ruo nudged his shoulder, making him turn back. “Study hard, don’t embarrass me, and I won’t laugh at you.”

Chen Muxin murmured an affirmative response, turning back to continue staring intently at the cards in his hands, as if pondering what the pattern represented and where they should be placed.

For a considerable period afterward, Chen Muxin attended every session.

Sometimes Jiang Ruo played with him, but most of the time, he could only sit beside him and “command the battle.”

One day, sitting at the same table as them, the female lead Wei Chulin suddenly remarked, “Xiao Chen, I see you memorize lines swiftly, but how come you still haven’t fully grasped the rules of mahjong?”

The comment was directed at Chen Muxin, but Jiang Ruo was startled.

Later, even when Chen Muxin explained that mahjong was different from memorizing lines and that he wasn’t skilled at these types of card games, Jiang Ruo no longer sat beside him. Instead, he roamed around, joining whichever table needed players.

There were times when he couldn’t avoid it, like today. As soon as Jiang Ruo sat down, Chen Muxin dragged a chair over, saying he had lost everything yesterday and wanted to learn from his experience.

He even handed Jiang Ruo a bottle of cold drink, the kind Jiang Ruo often consumed, a brand and flavor that even Xiao Shen hadn’t noticed.

Jiang Ruo didn’t accept the drink. Just as he was about to make an excuse to leave, he suddenly heard Wei Chulin laugh from across the table. “Who you learn from makes no difference. Xiao Jiang lost to me yesterday.”

Taking advantage of Chen Muxin’s confusion, Jiang Ruo gratefully pushed him toward Wei Chulin. “Yes, learning from Sister Wei is the same.”

Chen Muxin sat down, his gaze still on Jiang Ruo. “But — ”

Wei Chulin interrupted promptly. “Speaking of which, Xiao Jiang, did you learn your gambling skills from the bunch of young masters at Jin Garden?”

Jiang Ruo froze.

Fiddling with a card in her hand, Wei Chulin tilted her head and winked at him. “I’ve heard that President Xi often brings you there.”

The gathering dispersed late into the night.

Jiang Ruo deliberately lingered behind, waiting until everyone was gone before knocking on Wei Chulin’s nanny van parked beside the shooting location.

Wei Chulin was removing her makeup inside. Without waiting for Jiang Ruo to explain his purpose, she spoke. “If you’re here to scold me, then you can slow down and leave. I won’t see you off.”

Jiang Ruo said, “I came to thank you — ”

“That’s unnecessary,” Wei Chulin said. “Chen Muxin is too naive. He doesn’t involve himself in the industry’s dirty affairs and never thinks ill of anyone. I just couldn’t tolerate your behavior of having your cake and eating it too.”

Her words left Jiang Ruo feeling ashamed, but explanations were still necessary. “I initially didn’t know he felt… And I didn’t intend to…”

“Better not.”

Putting down the wet wipe in her hand, Wei Chulin shifted her gaze from the mirror to Jiang Ruo, a dismissive expression suggesting, “I really don’t understand what he sees in you.”

“I hope you know that you and he aren’t the same type. Even if you decide to reform after you’ve had enough, you’ll never be worthy of him.”

Later, Jiang Ruo learned from Lin Xiao that Wei Chulin was Chen Muxin’s cousin. Both families were low-key and hadn’t publicized this connection, so fans and onlookers were generally unaware.

Half a month after Jiang Ruo’s filming concluded, on his way back, he dug out from his bag the wrap party gift Chen Muxin had forcefully given him — a dancing figurine — and pondered how to deal with it.

However, he didn’t have much time to think. Old Liu drove him back to the city and stopped near a building he had entered before. After waiting for about five minutes, the left rear door opened, and a suited Xi Yufeng climbed in.

After a month apart, he was the same as ever. Getting into the car, he loosened his tie, let out a heavy sigh, and closed his eyes, hiding the exhaustion.

Unable to resist, Jiang Ruo reached out and gently placed his hand on Xi Yufeng’s eyelid. “Sleep a little more. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”

Arriving at the spacious apartment, Xi Yufeng regained his composure and asked Jiang Ruo if his filming had been smooth.

“Aren’t you sending me WeChat messages every day?” Jiang Ruo couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “I knew you weren’t reading them.”

Taking the cup of water Jiang Ruo offered, Xi Yufeng said, “I did read them.”

“So why didn’t you reply?”

“No time.”

“Didn’t know who was absent for three days straight.”

Xi Yufeng chuckled. “If it weren’t for those three days off, I wouldn’t have been so busy.”

Jiang Ruo pursed his lips, immediately losing his temper.

After dinner, Jiang Ruo pushed Xi Yufeng’s shoulders, urging him to rest. However, Xi Yufeng turned around and caught his wrist, leading him into the room on the east side.

In memory, this was originally a guest room, fully equipped with a wardrobe and bed. But in the months since, it had undergone a drastic transformation. All the furniture and appliances had been removed, and the European vintage wallpaper was nowhere to be seen. In its place was a shiny mirror and a row of wooden handrails against the wall.

The floor had also been replaced, slightly yielding underfoot, made of plastic material to prevent slipping and reduce shock, commonly found in dance studios.

Lost in thought, Jiang Ruo watched as Xi Yufeng led him to the center of the room. “This is already the largest room. Although it’s still a bit small for a dance studio.”

Hearing the word “small,” Jiang Ruo finally reacted, shaking his head slowly.

The dance studios he spent his childhood in were only half the size of this one. Later, entering the dance academy, he had to make reservations in advance, fighting tooth and nail for the chance to secure a dance studio.

And it was only the right to use it during a certain time slot; the studio didn’t belong to him.

The room he was in now was created for him, existed for him. He could dance freely here, not worrying about competition or the lights turning off when time was up.

Looking around, the mirror reflected a face of stunned bewilderment.

Only now did Jiang Ruo truly grasp the reality — Xi Yufeng had gifted him a dance studio, fulfilling a wish he had cherished for over a dozen birthdays.

At night, after dancing in the new studio, Jiang Ruo, holding his only audience, kissed passionately, lost in the fervor.

Exhausted, he rested his head on Xi Yufeng’s shoulder, hearing Xi Yufeng ask if he was satisfied with this belated birthday present. Jiang Ruo froze, taking a moment to respond. “That anklet…”

Xi Yufeng’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Who said you could only receive one birthday gift?”

“How did you know I wanted a dance studio?”

“Guess.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Having not danced so freely for too long, Jiang Ruo was flushed with excitement. His words, akin to a child throwing a tantrum, took on a peculiar charm in Xi Yufeng’s eyes.

He raised his hand, touching the corner of Jiang Ruo’s eye, his fingertips brushing over fluttering eyelashes.

“It’s shining,” Xi Yufeng said.

Jiang Ruo didn’t understand. “What’s shining?”

“The same as when you watched someone else dance last time. There’s a light in your eyes.”

From dusk till dawn, they lost count of how many times they made love — in bed, by the window, beside the swimming pool, even in the dance studio.

In the end, Jiang Ruo felt a sense of near-drowning, his body sinking continuously, only to be scooped up by a pair of hands just before hitting the bottom, then thrown onto clouds above.

Fortunately, his senses hadn’t completely shut down. In a daze, he heard Xi Yufeng ask, “Want or not?”

Want or not?

Jiang Ruo believed that if he said yes, Xi Yufeng would grant it.

It seemed that as long as he was obedient and listened, he could obtain anything he desired.

In the first early hours after leaving the crew, on the brink of sleep, Jiang Ruo recalled Wei Chulin’s words about “reforming.”

At the time, he was too embarrassed to think about it. Now, reflecting, he realized the analogy was inappropriate.

Reforming stemmed from involuntary descent, from being mired in mud yet longing for freedom.

But he, knowing the road ahead was fraught with peril, still plunged forward, aware of the futility yet allowing himself to get drunk, believing that if he closed his eyes, tomorrow wouldn’t come.

In his dreams, Jiang Ruo saw himself walking towards a cliff, curious about how deep it was below, but then he heard the sound of the rocks beneath his feet loosening.