When Lu Lianning woke up, the first thing he noticed was the smell of food. He groggily opened his eyes and reached for his phone on the pillow next to him. The battery was down to just 3%, and the time read 11:10 AM.
He tossed the phone aside and threw on a random pair of pajamas. As he washed up, he heard the sound of the door opening in the living room.
Chen Miao was cooking. He stood there, looking rather unwell, dressed in Lu Lianning’s clothes that didn’t fit him properly. The sleeves were too long, and the hem dragged on the floor.
This was the scene Gu Chen walked into: Chen Miao, in oversized pajama pants, stirring something in a pot that filled the living room with a delicious aroma. Meanwhile, Lu Lianning emerged from the bedroom, his hair still damp, looking like he’d just showered after waking up.
Holding a folder, Gu Chen glanced at Lu Lianning and walked over. “This is a surprise.”
Lu Lianning looked up. It wasn’t typical for Gu Chen to comment like that, and his curiosity was piqued.
“What is it? Why so mysterious?” Lu Lianning took the tightly sealed folder.
Gu Chen peeked at Chen Miao, who was cooking in the kitchen, then turned his attention back to Lu Lianning. “Ren Qi’s fellow senior, Yu Ren, is working on his next film.”
Although both Yu Ren and Ren Qi were directors, Yu Ren was very different. He was a highly individualistic and self-centered person, coming from a privileged background with a keen aesthetic sense for film. Unlike Ren Qi, who sometimes cast investor-backed actors to make money, Yu Ren was more detached from the mundane world.
For Yu Ren, filmmaking was purely a form of artistic expression. He often chose scripts so niche that they alienated mainstream audiences. Sometimes, fewer than ten people would be in the cinema during his movies because his visuals were chaotic, and the dialogue obscure. But he once took bold creative liberties to adapt a mystery thriller, which ended up surpassing the commercial films of that period by a long shot and brought home several awards.
Ren Qi once remarked that Yu Ren could afford to be so pure and free-spirited because his family background gave him the confidence to do so.
Box office results didn’t matter to Yu Ren; his only concern was making the films he wanted, presenting his unique vision, and enjoying the process. Financial loss wasn’t an issue. If there were no investors, he’d fund projects himself. After all, he had more money than he could spend—he had said so himself.
In an interview three years ago, Ren Qi had shaken his head with a smile and admitted that while Yu Ren could do as he pleased, he himself couldn’t. He still had to make a living.
For someone like Yu Ren, selecting actors had nothing to do with financial backing; his casting choices were purely unadulterated.
Lu Lianning opened the sealed folder to find a script inside. Skimming through it, he quickly noticed that it was incomplete.
But even at a glance, he could tell the content was incomprehensible. He looked at Gu Chen and said, “This is an art film.”
Gu Chen’s expression changed as he took the script back and flipped through it. The protagonist was a painter, drifting without a home.
“It definitely is.” Gu Chen placed the script aside. “I didn’t get the initial news; it was Ren Qi who contacted me and asked me to pass it on to you.”
Ren Qi was a difficult person to deal with. He had never shown a friendly face on set.
Lu Lianning folded his hands over his knees, about to speak, when he suddenly noticed Gu Chen’s expression change inexplicably, becoming somewhat unpleasant.
Following Gu Chen’s gaze, he saw Chen Miao carrying out a dish of braised fish.
Chen Miao was wearing Lu Lianning’s clothes with the collar slightly open, revealing the unmistakable bite marks on his skin.
Even as dense as Chen Miao could be, he couldn’t ignore such a look. He glanced over and greeted, “Mr. Gu.”
Gu Chen could barely contain himself, the words seeming to squeeze out through clenched teeth. “I told you to take care of him, and you really went all out, didn’t you? Even served him in bed?”
Lu Lianning frowned and turned to look at Chen Miao, clearly displeased with how carelessly he had left his collar wide open. “Who told you to wear my clothes?”
Chen Miao explained, “My clothes were soaked in the rain yesterday. I washed them this morning, but they’re still wet.”
Lu Lianning pressed, “Can’t you wear them properly? Why are you dressed like this? Button up the last button!”
Chen Miao lowered his head. “Okay.” He started buttoning up while standing by the dining table.
The aroma of food filled the living room, and the two of them bore clear traces of the passion they had just indulged in, making no effort to hide it and completely ignoring Gu Chen.
Gu Chen was so furious he almost blacked out. He never imagined that someone as seemingly honest and dull as Chen Miao could end up in Lu Lianning’s bed.
Moreover, Chen Miao wasn’t anything like Lu Lianning’s usual lovers. He was as ordinary as they come, but here he was, cooking in Lu Lianning’s home, wearing his clothes.
Everything seemed so natural and familiar.
He realized he had underestimated Chen Miao.
Chen Miao had only been around Lu Lianning for just over a year.
They had lunch at Lu Lianning’s place, with Chen Miao preparing an extra dish.
That morning, a cleaning lady had come by, tidying the living room and restocking the fridge with fresh ingredients.
As Gu Chen looked around, he noticed many things missing—those expensive ornaments that used to be there were all gone.
Though he didn’t dwell on it, his gaze toward Chen Miao grew increasingly strange.
After lunch, Chen Miao took yesterday’s cake from the fridge and cut a slice. Lu Lianning tasted a bite and immediately complained, “This is sickly sweet. Where did you buy this cheap cream from? Chen Miao, can’t you get me something better?” He plucked a small plastic prince figurine from the cake, muttering, “The paint won’t rub off on this thing, will it?”
Chen Miao kept his head down, eating his slice. He thought it tasted delicious, but he knew Lu Lianning was far pickier than ordinary people. Chen Miao kept eating in silence, his mind wandering.
Lu Lianning wasn’t fit to be a little prince or princess; he was more like the beautiful but fussy Evil Queen from Snow White.
