Chapter 13: Setbacks

They were so close that if Zhou Mang wished, he could once again receive a kiss from Chi Xing.

It felt like a long struggle—though in reality, it was only a few seconds. He slowly, very slowly, let go of her hand, sat upright, and continued eating the matcha-flavored ice cream cone. The late autumn night was chilly; his chest and stomach gradually cooled, an uncomfortable sensation settling in.

“…” Chi Xing’s voice was gentle, almost coquettish. “Coward.”

Maple leaves drifted down slowly. Zhou Mang said, “I am your bodyguard.”

Chi Xing replied, “What kind of strict professional ethics does a bodyguard have? Not allowed to kiss the employer… no, the person you serve? Then you’re disqualified—you’ve already kissed me.” She laughed after saying that.

Zhou Mang responded, “Any private relationship beyond work should not develop.”

Chi Xing said, “What a coincidence—I love developing relationships that shouldn’t exist.”

Zhou Mang’s heart jolted; he turned to look at her. She stared at the falling red leaves, her sharp nose tinged by the orange-red glow of the streetlamp.

“Has Chang Xiaoyan told you anything?” Chi Xing leaned back on the bench, more relaxed and poised than Zhou Mang, always graceful in her comings and goings.

“To be aware of paparazzi when outside,” Zhou Mang said. “Besides protecting you from harm, don’t let any negative news about you be captured.”

Chi Xing asked, “What negative news do I have? Being too close with my bodyguard?”

Zhou Mang noticed a slight displeasure in her tone, and that she made no effort to hide it.

“Life is hard for you,” Chi Xing said. “But I understand now.”

Zhou Mang asked, “Understand what?”

Chi Xing finished the ice cream cone in a few bites, stood up, and smiled at him. “Let’s go, bodyguard.”

On the way back, Chi Xing closed her eyes to rest and didn’t say another word to Zhou Mang.

Usually, He Yue accompanied Chi Xing at her home at night.

After washing up across the hall, Zhou Mang saw He Nian watching TV in the living room—a historical drama starring Chi Xing and Zhang Min.

They played the heroine’s brother and sister-in-law. The husband was wrongfully imprisoned, the wife knelt for a long time outside the courthouse, holding up a petition. The snow was thick; the young girl leaned on her sister-in-law, nearly fainting from the cold. Chi Xing was almost without makeup, her lips pale, but her eyes and brows clear as ink.

When the red door opened, she suddenly roused herself and loudly declared, “I have a grievance to present!”

He Nian watched half an episode and noticed Zhou Mang leaning by the window, sneaking a look.

“Is she really from your hometown?”

“Mm,” Zhou Mang replied.

He Nian said, “The lines are original sound, right? No accent at all, so proper.”

Suddenly, Zhou Mang recalled He Nian praising Chi Xing’s beauty. “He Yue said you have quite a collection of her photos?”

“Yeah.”

Zhou Mang leaned on the sofa back: “Didn’t expect that. Are you a fan?”

He Nian laughed, “Of course, but I can’t let you know. We’re working, right? There has to be some boundaries.”

Zhou Mang fell silent.

They watched three episodes in one sitting. After the third episode, Zhang Min was released from prison. Chi Xing, who had been holding up her spirit, collapsed upon seeing her husband and burst into tears.

He Nian remarked, “How can someone cry so beautifully?”

Zhou Mang said, “…shut up.”

He Nian refused to shut up, knowing Zhou Mang was easygoing. “She’s had a hard time, no parents, all alone here. I can’t imagine if I faced that… at least I have a sister…”

Zhou Mang’s eyes widened. “What?”

He Nian said, “I mean Chi Xing, she’s an orphan.”

Zhou Mang asked, “Who said that?”

He Nian replied, “She said it in an interview. I don’t remember the details, but her parents were gone by the time she was in college, and she lived with relatives…”

He stopped speaking when he saw Zhou Mang's face clouded with confusion and shock.

—“I’m not lying for the first time.”

Suddenly, Chi Xing’s expression from that night at the Guangcai Theater flashed through Zhou Mang’s mind.

Since that night, Chi Xing stopped teasing Zhou Mang.

They continued to interact as usual; the cautious Chang Xiaoyan and the gossipy He Yue didn’t notice the subtle rift forming between them.

Only Zhou Mang knew that Chi Xing no longer looked at him with those same eyes.

He didn’t have to strain to remember her gaze—the way it fell on him through the crowd, as if deliberately sharing a secret only they knew, sometimes accompanied by a sly smile, a fleeting glance at the corner of her eye. It was a hook, a meteor, leaving an indelible trace.

But now, it was gone.

No more secret signals, no sudden turns of the head.

The filming of “Brilliant, Sweet You” began, a contemporary idol drama that didn’t require enduring long hours on location at the studio. On the way home, Chi Xing opened the start-of-filming red envelope containing a thousand yuan.

“My first red envelope when entering the industry was two hundred yuan. Guess what kind of envelope it was?”

He Nian and He Yue couldn’t guess. Chi Xing laughed, “I played a corpse! That day, I filmed a scene where I was killed. After shooting, the fake blood on my face wasn’t washed off yet, and the assistant director gave me a red envelope, saying every actor who plays a corpse should get one.”

He Yue understood, “Good luck money.”

Chi Xing said, “Yeah, it’s a tradition. There was a time I only got small roles, often extras, and I kept telling Lin Shuchuan to let me play a corpse so I could earn a bit more. Even better if I could be the name on a tombstone—just provide a photo, and there’s a red envelope for that too.”

She laughed like sharing a funny story.

Zhou Mang watched her through the rearview mirror. In the past, when Chi Xing shared amusing stories from the back seat, she would always look up and exchange a glance with him through the mirror.

But today, she didn’t.

And afterward, never again.

Zhou Mang increasingly followed Chi Xing’s figure with his eyes. As a bodyguard, he had every right to do so openly.

Yet, each glance brought a growing heaviness to his heart, swelling until it consumed every hollow within.

The weather grew colder.

The script reading sessions for “The Great Earthquake” were held multiple times. “Brilliant, Sweet You” was on a tight schedule to fit Yuan Qiushi’s availability. Chi Xing rushed back and forth, snatching every minute to rest.

She always dozed off in the car, then upon arriving at the theater or filming site, she would bounce in place for two minutes to warm up and energize herself before starting work.

She had to play a strong career woman for half the day, then a single mother with no job for the other half, her emotions fluctuating wildly.

Unable to smoke, Chi Xing agreed with Maizi’s words: creating art requires constant stimulation for the mind.

She carried two dumbbells and a resistance band in her bag, lifting weights while reading scripts during breaks or pulling the band while playing games with earbuds.

“Ah, so twisted…” Several actors on set started playing “Phantom Night Sonata” with her; even Yan Yan downloaded the game to join. Zhou Mang often heard Chi Xing muttering, “But it’s still not enough.”

Yan Yan wasn’t interested in the game but found the charming male voices entertaining. “How twisted do you want it to be?”

“Best if Jiang Guangtao does the dubbing,” Chi Xing put down the dumbbells and showed Yan Yan clips of her favorite voice actor.

Their rare intimacy often coincided with someone holding a phone or camera nearby. The crew’s documentary director longed to capture moments of discord between them but never succeeded.

Exercise boosted her dopamine; Chi Xing remained full of energy.

Yet Yuan Qiushi worried about her.

He pulled Chi Xing aside, asking if the hectic schedule was too much.

Chi Xing smiled reassuringly, “A bit busy, but bearable. Opportunities come and go.”

Yuan Qiushi picked a tiny fallen leaf from her hair. “How’s it going with ‘The Great Earthquake’?”

Chi Xing smiled again, “Going well.”

Yuan Qiushi looked at her quietly.

“You can tell me anything,” he said gently. “Even if I can’t help, I can lend you an ear.”

Chi Xing was slightly startled.

If it were any other man, she wouldn’t be moved. But she had always admired Yuan Qiushi’s appearance and liked his voice. Together, they formed her ideal man, speaking such words to her.

Unable to resist, Chi Xing asked, “Can I call you when I’m tired?”

Yuan Qiushi gently took her phone, “Give it to me.”

Chi Xing asked, “Why?”

He quit the game, “Set me as your emergency contact…”

He stopped.

“…I thought Chang Xiaoyan was your emergency contact,” Yuan Qiushi smiled, “Why is it Zhou Mang?”

He looked her in the eyes. “I changed it.”

Chi Xing retrieved her phone. “No need. I’ve memorized your number.”

Yuan Qiushi squinted slightly. Chi Xing was sly, but adorably so, stirring a desire to challenge her.

“Who changed it?” he asked boldly. “You? Chang Xiaoyan? Or… Zhou Mang?”

Chi Xing didn’t answer, only smiled.

The assistant director called Yuan Qiushi from the side, and Chi Xing took the chance to push him away.

In the corner on the other side, Yan Yan had just finished a call with Chen Luoyang.

She quickly dialed her agent. “Have you heard of ‘The Great Earthquake’?”

The agent was eating and mumbled, “Yeah, Jiang Lu is producing the new film. It’s well guarded; no one knows the screenwriter or lead actor.”

Yan Yan asked, “Jiang Lu producing? Who’s directing?”

The agent laughed, “Ah…”

Yan Yan sneered, “If Jiang Lu’s producing, then the director must be Pei Yuan.”

The agent said, “Yan Yan, Mr. Chen has no ties with Pei Yuan now. You don’t have to…”

He rambled, but Yan Yan didn’t listen. She tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered, “Do you know anyone around Pei Yuan?”

That night, they left the set at nine. Fortunately, today’s location was close to Guangcai Theater. Maizi had been friendly lately, arranging private coaching sessions for Chi Xing, always accommodating her schedule.

“Chi Xing, you have drive, but…” Maizi frowned slightly, exhaling smoke, “People must know their limits. You can’t have everything.”

They sat alone on the empty theater stage. Zhou Mang, still fulfilling his duty, stood below, secretly eavesdropping.

Chi Xing stopped flipping through the script, a sudden unease passing through her.

“There are few secrets in this industry, especially between productions. If someone asks, flaws are easy to find,” Maizi said. “But Pei Yuan and Chen Luoyang don’t like gossip, and hardly anyone near them talks nonsense.”

A chill ran down Chi Xing’s spine. “Teacher…”

“Coincidentally, the writer of ‘Brilliant, Sweet You’ is my student,” Maizi said.

Chi Xing’s shoulders slumped.

“Why? I don’t understand. You’re no fool—you know about the relationship between Pei Yuan and Chen Luoyang,” Maizi smiled. “Ambition that big isn’t always a good thing.”

“…I signed a twenty-year contract with Fengchuan,” Chi Xing said. “It’s a gamble.”

Even Maizi was shocked by the number. “Twenty years? How’s the revenue split?”

After Chi Xing explained in detail, Maizi laughed, “You only get forty percent? Who funds your entire marketing team?”

Chi Xing, “Me.”

Maizi burst into loud laughter. “Damn. Lin Shuchuan is impressive, truly impressive.”

He stubbed out his cigarette. “But you should already have the strength to leave Fengchuan—in terms of money and fame.”

Maizi overestimated her. Chi Xing shook her head.

She only rose to fame in the past two years because of her role in “Family Affairs,” where she played an arrogant and detestable character. Since then, Lin Shuchuan mostly offered her similar roles. If not for Chang Xiaoyan’s efforts to open the film market for her, she would have become typecast as a villainous supporting actress.

That was never what Chi Xing wanted.

But Lin Shuchuan insisted on controlling her that way.

“About 1.2 million a year?” Maizi asked.

Chi Xing nodded.

Maizi said, “No, Fengchuan’s contract… is still harsh.”

Chi Xing smiled slightly. “Actually, it’s a lot compared to ordinary people.”

“Are you ordinary?” Maizi laughed. “What does your family do? Do you have a house or business in Beijing?”

“No,” Chi Xing was reluctant to say more. “My family’s from a rural county.”

Maizi didn’t push further. Zhou Mang listened carefully, puzzled. Why would someone earning 1.2 million a year rent such a small place? She could afford better, yet even Chang Xiaoyan didn’t know where she spent her money.

Maizi added, “I understand your urgency, but it’s really hard to keep secrets. And compared to Pei Yuan, Chen Luoyang is the hardest to deal with…”

Before he finished, the theater door suddenly opened.

Pei Yuan strode in, carrying the chill of late autumn. She stood straight beneath the stage, spinning a car key between her fingers, her expression cold and numb.

“You accepted Chen Luoyang’s offer?” she asked Chi Xing.