The film “Shattered Window,” directed by Yu Ren, was a large-scale production that naturally differed from Ren Qi’s rushed commercial adaptation “Floating Jade.”
Yu Ren was far less tactful than Ren Qi. When Ren Qi thought Lu Lianning’s performance was lacking, he would usually offer indirect criticism so Lu Lianning wouldn’t get too angry. But Yu Ren was different—his voice wasn’t loud, but his words were sharp and relentless.
The character Lu Lianning portrayed in “Shattered Window” was vastly different from his own persona, and just crafting the character’s image was a significant challenge. To achieve the gaunt, pale look required for the role, Lu Lianning often woke up hungry in the middle of the night, and during the day, he struggled to focus and fully immerse himself in the part.
After the fifth take of a scene that day, Yu Ren publicly criticized Lu Lianning’s performance as worthless. Wearing a paint-splattered white shirt that reeked, Lu Lianning finally snapped and argued with Yu Ren. The youngest son of the Yu family, known for his passion for the arts, clashed head-on with the son of the Lu family. With Ren Qi absent, no one dared to intervene.
In his anger, Lu Lianning threatened to quit the film, tossing his script at Yu Ren’s feet and telling him to find someone else.
Yu Ren was so furious that his hand shook as he held his cigarette. He shouted at the staff trying to step in, “If he doesn’t want to act, tell him to scram!”
Chen Miao returned just in time from buying things, only to find a furious Lu Lianning. Without a word, Lu Lianning took the car keys from Chen Miao and drove off alone.
Chen Miao found him an hour and a half later in the innermost room of Lu Lianning’s home.
Lu Lianning was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, leaning against the sofa. In front of him, a huge screen was playing a movie.
An empty wine bottle lay by his feet, and in his hand was another bottle, already half-empty.
The room reeked of alcohol. As Chen Miao approached, he noticed it was almost entirely dark, save for the faint glow of a large screen covering most of the wall. The sound was turned down low.
At that moment, Lu Lianning appeared fragile yet beautiful. His head rested against the back of the sofa, and his hair—grown out for the role—fell across half of his pale face. Even with his hollowed cheeks, the sharp curve of his jawline remained unchanged.
Suddenly, Lu Lianning asked, “Was my acting really that bad?”
Chen Miao’s eyes drifted back to the screen, where one of Lu Lianning’s earlier films was playing. He had a minor supporting role with only a few lines, but at the time, some viewers had commented that he made the lead actor look like a passerby.
Chen Miao was at a loss for how to handle this side of Lu Lianning. He had always been cold, strong, and assertive—never someone who sought comfort.
He fell silent for a moment, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. It was as if the silence itself admitted that, yes, Lu Lianning’s acting was terrible.
Just as Lu Lianning was on the verge of losing it, Chen Miao suddenly thought of something to say.
“You’re really handsome,” Chen Miao commented sincerely. He couldn’t come up with any more elaborate words to emphasize Lu Lianning’s looks, so he settled for this.
Ironically, Yu Ren’s first criticism earlier that day had been that, aside from his looks, Lu Lianning’s acting was as bad as “a rotten shrimp in a ditch.”
Lu Lianning took a deep breath, then suddenly grabbed Chen Miao, pulling him down onto the floor and pressing him beneath his body.
Chen Miao struggled to push him away. “Don’t… They’re still calling you. Everyone’s waiting.” The main actor storming off had nearly driven the director to smash the camera in frustration; the set was in complete disarray.
But Lu Lianning didn’t care anymore. He pinned Chen Miao’s flailing leg with his own and began tugging at his clothes. “Who cares about them! If you can’t say something useful with that mouth up top, then you’d better make good use of the one down below.” With that, he yanked at Chen Miao’s pants.
The scent of sweet oranges slowly mingled with the alcohol, drifting through the room.
–
In the end, it was Gu Chen and Ren Qi who stepped in to resolve the conflict. The dispute dragged on for a week, but that weekend, Lu Lianning and Yu Ren sat down together at a dinner table, each looking worse than the other.
Still, the fact that they showed up meant neither of them really wanted to sever ties.
After all, it had been Yu Ren who personally selected Lu Lianning for the role in the first place. Despite claiming that Lu Lianning had nothing to offer beyond his looks, it was precisely those looks that had drawn him in. The character Yu Ren envisioned was a painter—sickly, melancholic, yet breathtakingly beautiful. Someone who could captivate others, drawing them in like moths to a flame. Even if they eventually left, their initial passion would always be sparked by that beauty.
Yu Ren had asked for Ren Qi’s opinion about Lu Lianning before casting him, and Ren Qi had simply said three words: “He can act.”
For Yu Ren, that was enough.
But who could have predicted that the young master of the Lu family would have such a terrible temper? The scene in question was performed according to Lu Lianning’s own interpretation, one that Yu Ren had disapproved of from the start. After three or four retakes, Lu Lianning stubbornly stuck to his approach.
“Bad-tempered and stubborn, both on and off screen,” was Yu Ren’s assessment.
The dinner itself was tasteless, but Lu Lianning returned to the set the next day. While there was no further argument about that particular scene, it wasn’t exactly resolved either—they just set it aside and moved on to shoot other parts.
Chen Miao drove him to the set. After dropping him off, he parked in the underground garage.
Around noon, Lu Lianning asked him to get some coffee.
The weather was overcast but not raining yet. Chen Miao hurried his pace since he didn’t have an umbrella.
On his way back, he unexpectedly ran into Xiao Ming at the studio. Xiao Ming was dressed in an ancient costume with a cinched waist, looking every bit the part of a young nobleman from an aristocratic family.
Chen Miao noticed Xiao Ming seemed like he wanted to say something but was holding back. So, he took a coffee cup from the bag and offered it to Xiao Ming, saying he wanted to treat him as a way of saying thank you.
Xiao Ming gave Chen Miao a complicated look. He had heard some rumors but hadn’t fully believed them until now.
They sat down in a small cafe. Xiao Ming found the coffee too bitter and ordered juice instead.
Chen Miao asked for a glass of plain water and thanked Xiao Ming, who only understood what he meant after hearing it twice.
Chen Miao was thanking him for the advice he’d given in the past. However, when Xiao Ming thought back, he realized it hadn’t been advice at all—just some drunken rambling.
Xiao Ming hadn’t expected Chen Miao to be so tenacious, managing to climb into Lu Lianning’s bed with that face and as a Beta.
Xiao Ming’s expression became unreadable. He half-heartedly mumbled, “You’re welcome,” looking somewhat absent-minded.
Then, he heard Chen Miao murmuring something in a voice so low it was like a mosquito’s hum.
Chen Miao’s eyes were nervously fixed on him.
Xiao Ming snapped back to attention and asked, “What did you say? Speak up, I didn’t hear you.”
Chen Miao’s voice grew only slightly louder, but this time, Xiao Ming caught the words.
He asked, “Why hasn’t he paid me yet?”
It was like a jolt of lightning struck Xiao Ming. He stared in shock at Chen Miao’s earnest yet indifferent face, one that seemed completely devoid of desire.
In disbelief, Xiao Ming asked, “Are you asking why Lu Lianning hasn’t paid you after sleeping with you?” He had to say it aloud, needing to confirm he hadn’t misunderstood.
Chen Miao glanced around, looking a bit embarrassed, and then nodded. “Yeah, I remember he gave you…”
“Hahahaha…” Xiao Ming was shaken on the inside, though his smile remained fixed. Naturally, Lu Lianning wasn’t someone who would ever be short on money or skip paying after sleeping with someone. Anyone who had been with him knew he was always generous; gifting houses and cars was nothing out of the ordinary for him.
So why hadn’t he given Chen Miao anything? What exactly did he plan to give him?
