That night, Chen Miao couldn’t figure out why Lu Lianning was so at odds with him, but he wasn’t surprised. Lu Lianning had always been like this—he’d get moody for no reason, then get over it just as suddenly.
As Chen Miao handed him a towel through the bathroom door, Lu Lianning pulled him inside.
He’d get over it soon.
Lately, Lu Lianning had lost a lot of weight, especially during the final stretch of filming. The rapid weight loss had weakened his immune system, and as summer turned to early autumn, he caught a cold for the first time in years.
His cheeks had become noticeably hollow. As Chen Miao mixed medicine in a cup, Lu Lianning sniffed it, wrinkling his nose before pushing it away. Chen Miao pushed it back toward him. “Drink it. It’ll help. You’ll feel worse if you don’t.”
The sides of Lu Lianning’s tall nose were rubbed red from tissues, and his nasal voice lacked its usual bite. “It smells awful. And you told me yesterday it would be sweet. Why did you lie to me?”
Chen Miao replied, “I didn’t lie. There’s a bit of sweetness to it. Try it again if you don’t believe me.”
“What do you think I am, a three-year-old!?” Lu Lianning’s head ached and the bitterness in his mouth only made him more irritable.
Yu Ren, sitting nearby with the assistant director, let out an ambiguous chuckle from his throat as he watched the scene unfold.
The assistant director noticed Yu Ren’s expression and couldn’t hide his distaste. “This young master from the Lu family has quite the temper. What’s he showing off for? Does he think he’s the only one with an assistant?”
Yu Ren raised an eyebrow, surprised by his obliviousness. “He’s not showing off his assistant. Isn’t he showing off the fact that he’s loved by someone?”
The assistant director had a look of disbelief. “You’re saying he and his assistant have that kind of relationship!?”
Yu Ren looked resigned. “It’s been almost half a year, and you still haven’t noticed?”
The assistant director took another glance at the unremarkable assistant who was always by Lu Lianning’s side. Often keeping his head down and almost invisible, he followed Lu Lianning everywhere like his shadow. The assistant director had previously thought little of the assistant’s fawning behavior, but after what Yu Ren said, he reconsidered.
Suddenly, everything seemed different.
The final scene of Shattered Window was filmed in the early winter of that year.
In the last shot, Lu Lianning curled up as if inside the warm womb of his imagined mother, surrounded by a sea of golden sunflowers—symbols of both hope and happiness. It felt like both a rebirth and a withering, as the dying yellows faded from the frame.
From a distance, Chen Miao watched as Lu Lianning stood up. His white shirt was wrinkled, and when he glanced toward the camera, there was desolation and sorrow in his eyes. It seemed as if what dripped from his body wasn’t just paint, but scars woven from blood.
This scene had been a point of heated disagreement with Yu Ren, but in the end, it was Yu Ren who relented. He had remarked, “Lu Lianning has become the painter himself—how he plays the role should be his decision.”
On the day Lu Lianning finished his final scene, he spent the entire afternoon sitting in the dressing room, speaking to no one. When Chen Miao entered, he touched Lu Lianning’s icy hands and noticed he was still in his dust-and-paint-stained costume.
He had grown so thin that his eyes were sunken, giving his sharp features an even starker appearance.
Chen Miao couldn’t help but think that Yu Ren was far more cruel than Ren Qi ever was.
Though Lu Lianning wasn’t the easiest person, he was undeniably dedicated to acting. During the filming of “Floating Jade,” even in freezing temperatures, he wore thin costumes without a single complaint. No matter what the director demanded, he kept his cool and never lost his temper.
His dispute with Yu Ren had only been over a difference in artistic interpretation.
By the time filming wrapped, even Yu Ren had little to critique. He spent the entire afternoon reviewing the final scene, discussing it with the crew over and over.
As Chen Miao watched Lu Lianning sit silently in the dressing room, he suddenly remembered the pot at home—the one he used to make soup for him. It was probably gathering dust by now. Maybe he could bring it out tomorrow.
That night, Lu Lianning skipped the wrap party.
They were halfway home when Lu Lianning’s phone rang. In the close confines of the car, Chen Miao could clearly hear the enthusiastic voice on the other end calling, “Ah Ning!”
So Lu Lianning asked Chen Miao to turn the car around and head back into the bustling night.
Chen Miao knew Lu Lianning was exhausted. Filming Shattered Window had undoubtedly been a challenge for him; getting into character was difficult, and coming out of it was even harder.
What stood out was Lu Lianning’s unusual calmness. His face was blank, with no impatience or emotion visible.
Chen Miao suddenly asked, “Are we going home?”
Lu Lianning paused for a couple of seconds, as if processing the question, before answering, “No, I’m not going home. A friend just got back, so I’m going to meet him.”
What kind of friend was important enough for him to skip the wrap party?
The car stopped at a hidden door that appeared almost rundown, with rust that seemed deliberate. As Chen Miao reached out to push the door, Lu Lianning grabbed his wrist and said, “This isn’t the entrance.”
They circled around the front yard and descended two levels into the basement before finally reaching their destination.
Lu Lianning handed Chen Miao a mask and put one on himself before pulling him inside.
It was Chen Miao’s first time in such a place. While some of the guests wore masks and dressed elegantly, there were also Omegas barely clothed, looking innocently pretty with fluffy bunny ears and small tails. Their bodies were tightly encased in latex outfits that covered only the most sensitive areas.
Lu Lianning dragged Chen Miao deeper into the venue, heading toward a private room on the second-floor viewing platform. The people inside seemed pleasantly surprised and excited when they saw him.
“Well, this is a rare treat! Young Master Lu himself has graced us!”
“What did you expect! He’s a big star now; you think you can see him whenever you want!?” Liu Kai laughed, pulling out a chair for Lu Lianning. His eyes briefly shifted to Chen Miao behind him, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it. “Our Young Master Lu brought a companion today? Qi Zhen even prepared a special gift for you to unwind after wrapping up the shoot.”
Lu Lianning showed no interest in introducing Chen Miao. He simply sat in the chair Liu Kai had pulled out, leaving Chen Miao to stand behind him.
Ignoring Liu Kai’s comment, Lu Lianning asked, “Where’s Qi Zhen? He’s already diving back into his old ways after just getting back?”
“Of course! Do you even know what Qi Zhen charges for a public appearance these days?” Liu Kai gestured a number to Lu Lianning.
Lu Lianning cursed under his breath, “Fuck.”
The group erupted in laughter. Lu Lianning took a sip from the drink placed in front of him but was interrupted by a sudden uproar from the crowd below.
The basement was lit as brightly as day. On a two-meter-high platform in the center, an Alpha in leather boots and a loose black shirt held a chain. At the other end of the chain was an Omega, crawling on all fours, being led onto the stage.
Chen Miao’s eyes lingered on the scene. Everything he had seen and heard tonight felt surreal and incomprehensible.
He didn’t know what “public discipline” meant, nor did he understand why an Omega—who was soft, precious, and deserving of care—was being made to perform like a puppy on stage and whipped with a lash.
Chen Miao was completely absorbed in the scene when he suddenly felt a sharp pinch on his thigh.
“Stop staring!” Lu Lianning warned fiercely.
Chen Miao quickly lowered his head, mumbling an “Oh,” as if embarrassed.
Qi Zhen performed only a brief opening act before stepping down. He seemed very popular here. As he left the stage, the audience roared, with confetti and party poppers filling the air. The atmosphere was electric.
Wearing a mask that covered half of his face, Qi Zhen entered the private room, immediately took it off, and threw himself next to Lu Lianning, his eyes crinkling with a smile. “Ah Ning, it’s been too long!”
That was the first time Chen Miao saw Qi Zhen, who would later become the greatest source of malice driving a wedge between him and Lu Lianning.
They eventually changed venues since Lu Lianning disliked the place. They ended up at a nearby bar.
The lighting inside was dim and suggestive. After a few drinks, the patrons were holding Omegas in their arms, some with two at a time.
Chen Miao sat stiffly, trying to convince himself that he was an emotionless object.
In the early hours of the morning, Qi Zhen returned from the dance floor while laughing, his clothes half-torn. He noticed that Lu Lianning seemed drunk, slowly leaning into the arms of an unremarkable young man beside him.
The young man adjusted Lu Lianning’s position so that he could rest more comfortably on his lap.
Then, he placed his hand over Lu Lianning’s closed eyes.
A red light with a hint of ambiguity swept across his hand.
It turned out that he was shielding Lu Lianning from the light.
Qi Zhen’s laughter faded as he watched. Later, when people wondered why Lu Lianning would stay entangled for so many years with someone as unremarkable and inconspicuous as Chen Miao, Qi Zhen wasn’t surprised at all.
A man like Lu Lianning was bound to fall into the hands of someone like Chen Miao, who cared for him with meticulous attention to every detail, even down to each strand of his hair.
It made perfect sense.
