Song Shi'an looked down at the bottle of water Liu Bin had pressed into his hand, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, and turned to head back.
Back at the hotel that evening, he showered, sprawled on the bed, and pulled out his phone to open the dorm group chat.
The group still had the name Jiang Ye had given it, "Jingchen F4." The latest messages were from yesterday: Jiang Ye had posted a photo of the cafeteria's new spicy stir-fry pot, Chi Xun had replied, "That line will be the death of me," and Pei Zhiyan, as always, had said nothing.
Song Shi'an took a photo of the hotel ceiling and sent it to the group with a two-word caption: "Still alive."
Jiang Ye replied instantly: "Holy shit! Shi'an, you finally showed up! We thought the production crew had kidnapped you!"
Chi Xun popped up right after him: "How's filming going? Has the director yelled at you?"
"Pretty good. No yelling so far."
Jiang Ye sent a thumbs-up, then another message: "We were just talking about you. There's this hilarious post on the campus wall. Let me send it to you."
A screenshot came flying over immediately.
Song Shi'an tapped it open. It was the latest hot post on Jingchen University's campus wall, titled, "Does anyone remember that mysterious guy in the energy storage department last semester whose long hair covered his face? Is he the same person as that hot guy in a mask lately?"
Someone had posted a comparison image underneath.
On the left was the original owner's old long-haired look, his bangs covering most of his face. In a dingy gray hoodie, he looked like a gloomy mushroom.
On the right was a secretly taken side-profile photo of Song Shi'an in the cafeteria after his haircut. His mask covered his chin, his cap brim sat low over his forehead, and only his brow ridge and the bridge of his nose showed.
With the two photos side by side, the comments had already built a tower over two hundred floors high.
"That's the same person? I declare this the most outrageous transformation I've seen all year."
"Wait, was his face sealed away by his hair before? Can a haircut really make that much difference?"
"I saw him take off his mask in Cafeteria Six before. I'm telling you, the photo on the right doesn't capture even a tenth of how good-looking he is in person."
"Could it be that he's already gone off to act? A relative of mine works at the film studios. Apparently he's playing a eunuch."
The replies beneath that comment all lined up neatly with the same words: "A eunuch? What a criminal waste!"
Song Shi'an set his phone facedown on the bed and closed his eyes.
It's over. My campus alt probably won't hold out much longer.
He rolled over, picked up his phone again, and replied in the group: "So now the whole university knows I went off to play a eunuch?"
Jiang Ye replied instantly: "Yep."
Chi Xun added: "And the whole university thinks casting you as a eunuch is a criminal waste."
Jiang Ye twisted the knife: "I agree."
Expressionless, Song Shi'an typed three words: "Because I want."
The weather was absurdly nice on the day Song Shi'an wrapped filming.
Bright sunshine, not a cloud for miles. Perfect weather for filming a death scene.
He sat in the makeup room and let the makeup artist slather fake blood over his face. By the third layer, he finally couldn't help himself.
"What's this fake blood made of?"
"Food coloring and syrup." Without looking up, the makeup artist added another stroke at the corner of his mouth.
Song Shi'an licked the corner of his mouth, and his expression instantly turned strange.
Beneath the sweetness was an indescribable industrial flavor, like bubble gum melted down and diluted with water, with a little cough-syrup aftertaste mixed in.
He smacked his lips and asked earnestly, "Did your production team buy this on sale?"
The makeup artist's hand paused. He gave him a look that said, "You guessed it," then his shoulders shook twice, and he couldn't hold back a laugh.
When Song Shi'an finished his makeup and entered Studio Two, Xu Yanzhi was already inside.
Today, he wore a black dragon robe with gold embroidery at the cuffs. Standing in the shadows, he looked cold and somber.
Song Shi'an walked over and stopped beside him. Xu Yanzhi's gaze lingered on the "bloodstains" on his face for two seconds.
"Why does your fake blood smell like fruit candy?"
"It is fruit candy flavored," Song Shi'an lowered his voice. "It tastes even more disastrous. Like expired cough syrup mixed with dish soap."
The corner of Xu Yanzhi's mouth twitched. He turned his head aside and took several seconds to bring his expression back under control.
"Are you sure you want to tell me this right before we film a death scene?"
"I'm stating facts," Song Shi'an said with perfect confidence. "When you stab me later, whatever you do, don't make me open my mouth. I'm afraid I won't be able to hold it in."
Xu Yanzhi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Director Zheng's shout came from behind the monitor, and Song Shi'an walked to his mark and knelt.
The flagstone floor looked hard, but it was actually foam board laid by the props team and coated in gray paint. Kneeling on it didn't hurt his knees.
He adjusted his position, laid the horsetail whisk on the ground beside him, let his hands hang at his sides, and lowered his head, allowing his shoulders to sink slightly.
The clapperboard snapped shut.
Xu Yanzhi stood in front of him with a prop saber. Its blade was rubber coated in silver paint, but the way Xu Yanzhi held it really did look good. His fingers were long and slender, his knuckles well-defined, and the veins rose slightly as he gripped the hilt.
"Meng Zhen, from the moment you betrayed me, you deserved to die."
Song Shi'an lifted his eyes. Slowly, he raised his head, his gaze traveling up from the saber's tip, passing over Xu Yanzhi's taut arm before finally settling on the face slightly twisted with anger.
The muscles at the corners of his mouth tugged into a smile. Then he licked the fake blood at the corner of his mouth.
He really hadn't done it on purpose. A drop of syrup had run down the corner of his mouth, and he had instinctively licked it. It was purely a physical reflex.
When he tasted that cloying industrial-saccharin flavor, he even cursed inwardly at how stingy the props team was.
But on camera, that gesture looked utterly unhinged.
A man kneeling on the ground, blood at his lips, moments from death, had actually taken his time licking his own blood, then smiled even more deeply.
The madness and mockery held deep in his eyes surged up together, mingling with the smile at his lips and sending a chill down the spine.
Xu Yanzhi froze for a moment. His saber hand paused briefly before he quickly recovered, but the camera caught that instant of hesitation. It was precisely the effect the director wanted: Qin Yan had been stunned by Meng Zhen's madness.
Song Shi'an regretted licking it immediately. This syrup really tasted fucking awful.
But he still had to keep acting. He forced down the urge to gag, pitching his voice very low, with a hint of rasp.
"Qin Yan, never trust anyone again."
With the last word, he closed his eyes, his body slowly toppling sideways to the ground.
Next time I take a costume drama, I have to check the fake blood brand with the props team beforehand. This stuff tastes worse than the cafeteria's pot-washing water.
The set stayed silent for several seconds.
Then Director Zheng's voice exploded: "Cut!" He stood up from behind the monitor and came over with his insulated mug. He checked the playback, then looked at Song Shi'an, who was still lying on the ground, and fell silent for a moment.
"That reaction just now, licking the blood-did you improvise that?"
Song Shi'an sat up, the fake blood smeared all over his face. "I didn't add it. The syrup ran down, and I couldn't help myself."
Director Zheng looked down at him. Steam curled up from his mug, obscuring his expression.
Then he turned and roared at the props team: "Next time you buy fake blood, don't get that cheap stuff!"
The entire set erupted in laughter.