TSBDRA 35: Can We Talk?

After laying down for quite a while, Xu Xishuang flipped his phone screen-down onto the blanket, rubbed his sore lower back, and pushed himself up with his arms.

His heartbeat had returned to normal. He picked up his phone again and typed out a message in the chat box, sending it to Yan Yushan.

Xu Xishuang: “Why didn’t you go to that variety show recording?”

He was sure Yan Yushan would know exactly which show he meant.

Yan Yushan: “It wasn’t anything important. Liang Feng was just promoting his new song. The rest of the band went, and I was just there to fill in the numbers.”

Xu Xishuang started to type, “Don’t skip work just because of me,” but the words got stuck in the message box. He chuckled at his own overthinking, paused for a second, then held down the delete key and wiped the message clean.

Perhaps worried that Xu Xishuang would read too much into it, Yan Yushan quickly followed up with a few more explanations.

Yan Yushan: “It was just a rehearsal, not the official shoot.”

Yan Yushan: “I really don’t have any work right now. Bitter Summer is still under review. My agent is handling things at the studio. There haven’t been any scripts that interest me lately, so I’m treating this time as a sort of vacation.”

Upstairs in the studio, Yan Yushan put down the paintbrush in his right hand and deleted the words “You’re more important than work” from the message box.

It was too abrupt.

A moment later, he received Xu Xishuang’s reply.

Xu Xishuang: “Is there more to the Tang Min situation?”

Although the original novel never revealed who Tang Min’s sponsor was—seemingly just an unimportant figure, especially since that person had more than one “kept” artist—Xu Xishuang had stirred up such a public storm against Tang Min, yet not even one trending post had been removed.

Xu Xishuang knew this was thanks to Yan Yushan’s help, but the whole thing had gone a little too smoothly. He had prepared countermeasures for all sorts of pushback, yet none came. Something didn’t feel right.

Yan Yushan replied: “It’s not that complicated, it just involves a dinner party.”

A few seconds later, a compressed file from Yan Yushan appeared in Xu Xishuang’s chat.

As the file downloaded, Xu Xishuang thought, If it really were just a simple dinner, it wouldn’t need a whole zip file.

When he opened it, even with his sharp reading comprehension and excellent memory, it still took him nearly half an hour to get through all the contents.

After finishing the revolting read, Xu Xishuang pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath.

The people at that party included major directors and wealthy tycoons. Just one name from that list could shake the entire industry. The people they brought along to “have fun” were top-tier celebrities. If this ever came to light…

Xu Xishuang felt a rare twinge of regret—maybe he had been too impulsive.

Even though the original novel didn’t delve into Tang Min’s backer, and Yan Yushan had casually booted Tang Min out of the entertainment industry later on, that didn’t mean Xu Xishuang could arrogantly assume it would be easy to alter the plot.

His situation after entering the book was completely different. Back in the real world, he could afford to act recklessly because his family would clean up after him but now, he had no background and no connections. If these people wanted to take him out, it would be too easy.

If it weren’t for Yan Yushan…

Feeling conflicted, Xu Xishuang deleted the file.

But still, he thought, the number of plot points he could actually change wasn’t much. The novel barely mentioned his pregnancy arc, and most of the later story revolved around the sweet domestic life of Yan Yushan and Chi Siyuan. No matter what, he had to gamble on this.

This quiet resolution to the issue—this illusion of peace—was all part of the real-life fairy tale Yan Yushan had built for him. Even with Yan Yushan’s vast resources, it must have taken a lot of effort.

Xu Xishuang chalked up Yan Yushan’s protection to the fact that he was carrying his child, but no matter the reason, he had benefited from it. So he earnestly thanked Yan Yushan again.

Xu Xishuang: “Thank you.”

Yan Yushan’s reply, as always: “Don’t mention it.”

After ending the conversation, Xu Xishuang stood by the bed for a while, then walked to the water dispenser and poured himself a cup of warm water, sipping slowly.

His phone buzzed. Thinking it was another message from Yan Yushan, he glanced at the screen—only to frown slightly when he saw the name of the contact.

Shoving away that flicker of discomfort, he opened Chi Siyuan’s messages.

Chi Siyuan: “Senior, are you okay?”

Chi Siyuan: “Ahhh, I know you told me not to contact you again, but I swear I’m over it now! Really!”

Chi Siyuan: “Can I talk to you as a friend?”

Chi Siyuan: “(Puppy eyes JPG)”

Xu Xishuang slowly replied: “I’m fine.”

Chi Siyuan: “That’s great! Senior, if you’re free right now, can we video call on WeChat? I just want to see that you’re okay.”

Chi Siyuan: “Back when I was in the same boy group as Tang Min, he used to say a lot of really degrading stuff, but our manager told us not to speak up… I heard the people behind Tang Min are powerful. Senior, are you really alright?”

The last two messages were voice recordings. Just from the tone of Chi Siyuan’s voice, Xu Xishuang could picture his anxious, puppy-like expression.

He chuckled. It suddenly didn’t seem strange at all that Yan Yushan might fall for someone like Chi Siyuan—someone so earnest and straightforward. After all, even he couldn’t resist that kind of concern.

Xu Xishuang touched the screen and accepted the video call.

“Senior!” Chi Siyuan beamed. “Are you at home right now?”

His hair was still damp, like he had just come out of the shower. He was lying face down on the bed, cheek smushed against the camera, eyes darting around as he curiously examined the room behind Xu Xishuang.

Xu Xishuang hesitated. Every time he talked to Chi Siyuan, he felt like he was choking on guilt. And now, staying in Yan Yushan’s house, receiving his care and help, that feeling intensified so much that it turned his stomach.

Trying to suppress his discomfort, Xu Xishuang quietly replied, “I’m staying at a friend’s place… for now.”

“Oh, okay,” Chi Siyuan didn’t seem to notice the vagueness. Still cheerful, he continued, “Senior, I just joined a new production! It’s only been a few days. My manager won’t let me share too much, but it’s a historical drama!”

Xu Xishuang gave a faint smile. “Mm, congrats.”

Chi Siyuan giggled. “Hehe, senior, let me tell you—”

Xu Xishuang leaned against the door, listening to Chi Siyuan babble happily about life on set. He held his glass of water, occasionally taking a sip of the now lukewarm liquid, slightly zoning out.

Just on the other side of the door, Yan Yushan stood silently, holding a bowl of snow fungus soup made by Xiao Wang, listening to Chi Siyuan’s voice and Xu Xishuang’s occasional soft responses.

He should’ve listened to the contractor and made this door soundproof.

Yan Yushan thought, back when Xu Xishuang said he wouldn’t contact Chi Siyuan again, he should’ve stepped in and urged him to delete the contact entirely.

Even if they reconnected later, it would’ve been better than him now—standing outside his own guest room, listening to the two chatting so happily, and not even daring to knock or walk away.

“…Still a long way to go before filming wraps,” Chi Siyuan sighed. “Oh? Senior, my manager’s calling me over—she wants me and the others to film a video clarifying that we have no connection to Tang Min and didn’t know about his behavior.”

Chi Siyuan sounded reluctant. “Bye for now, senior. Who knows when we’ll talk again.”

The video ended. Both men on either side of the door snapped out of their thoughts.

Xu Xishuang pushed himself off the doorframe and rubbed his shoulder blade, sore from leaning. He picked up another incoming call. “Hello, Zhao-jie.”

Yan Yushan took a step back, looked down at the now-cold soup in his hands, didn’t knock, and went downstairs to ask Xiao Wang to reheat it.

Inside the room, Zhao’s voice sounded weak through the phone, “Xishuang… next time you’re planning something big, can you let me know ahead of time? Give me a little mental preparation, okay?”

Xu Xishuang felt a little guilty, but he knew if he had told her beforehand, she would’ve tried to stop him. He walked over to the table, set down his cup, and promised, “Okay, next time, for sure.”

Though in truth, there wouldn’t be a next time. As of now, he had already altered all the plot points he could.

“You had Yan Yushan helping you this time, but don’t be so impulsive again,” Zhao-jie advised seriously. Then she suddenly changed the subject, “Xishuang, just be straight with me—how close are you and Yan Yushan, really? Could we maybe ride his coattails a little? Like, go on shows with him, attend events?”

“…Probably not.”

“Alright then,” Zhao-jie hadn’t been expecting much anyway. She knew what kind of background—and temper—Yan Yushan had. “The main reason I called is because there’s a new script offer. I’ll send it to you, take a look and let me know.”

Xu Xishuang nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Zhao-jie.”

While he browsed through the script, downstairs, Xiao Wang was reboiling the snow fungus soup. Yan Yushan stepped out the side door into the small garden.

He stood there for a while, then pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Mm,” Yan Yushan’s voice was low. “Sorry to trouble you, Director Xie.”

The man on the other end replied quickly, “No trouble at all.”

After hanging up, Director Xie got up from his seat. He didn’t know why Yan Yushan had made such a strange request, but since he was the biggest investor in the show, even if he asked them to stop filming entirely, they would have to comply.

Not knowing who had offended Yan Yushan, Director Xie sighed, opened the production team’s group chat, and sent out a message.

Chi Siyuan, just back from filming the clarification video, looked completely confused as he handed over his phone, watching as Director Xie—who had been so kind earlier—suddenly turned stern.

With a straight face, Director Xie announced that from now on, filming would be fully closed off. Other than necessary communication, no one was allowed to use their phones for entertainment. Everyone was to focus on refining their acting.

The historical drama he was directing was a major annual production, already confirmed for satellite TV broadcast—maybe even CCTV. Once it aired, all the actors with screen time would benefit from the exposure. So no matter how unhappy they were, for the sake of their careers, they had no choice but to hand over their phones without complaint.

Xu Xishuang had no idea that for the next few months, Chi Siyuan would lose his chance to chat with him. He had just finished reading through the script Zhao-jie had sent and found it very interesting. So he took his phone and headed downstairs to find Yan Yushan.

As the elevator reached the first floor, Yan Yushan had just returned through the side door. When he saw Xu Xishuang walking toward him, a strange, guilty feeling crept up on him—like he’d just been caught red-handed doing something sneaky.

“I want to take this role,” Xu Xishuang said, pointing to his phone screen. “Can we talk about it?”