Rong Jin was true to his word. He held Chi Feiran’s ankle and gently bit his way up his calf. At first, Chi Feiran laughed and teased Rong Jin, saying, “Are you a puppy?”
Rong Jin didn’t respond and continued his actions. Before long, Chi Feiran was moaning from the bites.
The extreme tenderness combined with an irresistible aggression magnified every bit of pleasure infinitely. Yet, this person’s thoughtfulness was perfectly measured. When it was all over, Chi Feiran only felt a sense of mental relaxation and physical ease.
All the tension and fatigue that had accumulated from the first day of shooting, which Chi Feiran himself hadn’t even noticed, dissipated in the ecstasy.
The young prince was in high spirits, immediately teasing the producer. He mischievously pinched Rong Jin’s chin and deliberately said in a soft voice, “A magic elixir indeed.”
Rong Jin: “…”
Rong Jin told himself that there was still filming tomorrow, and the tasks were getting more intense. He couldn’t let Chi Feiran’s teasing break his composure. Why are humans human? Because…
As Rong Jin began to mentally coach himself from various philosophical and scientific perspectives, Chi Feiran leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose.
The main light in the room was already off, leaving only the dim glow of a night light. The face in front of him wasn’t clear in the low light, but the contours were already etched in his heart. The faint light in Chi Feiran’s eyes looked like a silent invitation.
Rong Jin: “…”
He felt that this moment was the ultimate test of his humanity…
Swiftly, Rong Jin wrapped Chi Feiran in a blanket and pressed his head against his chest to avoid seeing more that could lead to a breakdown of his self-control. “Go to sleep! We have work tomorrow!”
Chi Feiran rested his forehead against Rong Jin’s chest and laughed, seemingly in high spirits.
Rong Jin felt a mix of wanting to laugh with him and feeling that Chi Feiran was his ultimate challenge. So, he raised his hand and, through the blanket, smacked Chi Feiran’s butt. “Sleep.”
Chi Feiran finally settled down and obediently said, “Good night.”
It was as if the person who had been causing a ruckus earlier was not him at all.
Rong Jin felt a sense of relief, but also an inexplicable loss. After all, choosing to be human means losing something.
As Rong Jin contemplated the complexities of human nature versus animal instincts, Chi Feiran snuggled closer, nuzzling his face against Rong Jin’s neck like a small, dependent animal.
Rong Jin’s heart softened completely, and he pulled Chi Feiran closer into his embrace.
They had a peaceful night.
As expected, the filming tasks became increasingly demanding. The days of getting a scene right in one take were becoming rare. Scenes often had to be shot repeatedly.
This was the true test for an actor. Delivering a stunning performance once was not impressive; maintaining that performance consistently was the real challenge.
The difficulty increased with the non-linear shooting schedule. The emotional disparity between scenes was no longer the biggest problem. The real issue was that in the morning, an actor might need to stay in a very repressed state, but by the afternoon, they would need to be lively and cheerful again. This was still manageable. However, some pivotal scenes might be shot over several days. Emotional inertia is real, and switching states immediately after finishing a scene isn’t easy.
Despite his thorough preparation for the role, Chi Feiran, being a newcomer, found the difference between practicing alone and actual filming to be immense.
When practicing alone, he could control the pace and rhythm. But in the film crew, everything had to follow the schedule and the director’s requirements. Chi Feiran himself was the least important factor.
Even though he could easily influence the crew’s schedule by simply asking, Chi Feiran couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not only did he dislike using his background to affect others, but more importantly, if he asked others to adjust for him instead of keeping up with the crew himself, it would feel like admitting defeat.
He didn’t just want to win; he wanted to win beautifully.
Once, Chi Feiran fell asleep while memorizing his lines in his room. Rong Jin carried him back to bed, and he woke up halfway, asking softly without opening his eyes, “Is it too greedy to want everything?”
Rong Jin kissed his forehead. “That’s called ambition, not greed.”
Chi Feiran smiled with his eyes closed. Right, striving towards goals should be called “ambition,” while doing nothing but daydreaming was “greed.”
The filming of “The Taste Pavilion” continued. Zheng Lin chose two nights with full moons to simulate the Mid-Autumn Festival. For these two scenes, the props team even prepared a lot of blooming Osmanthus flowers.
Night shoots were very exhausting because they often lasted all night. This not only caused fatigue but also disrupted sleep patterns. Although healthy sleep schedules were already rare in the entertainment industry, there was still a difference between voluntarily and involuntarily staying up late.
As one of the few stars with a healthy routine, Chi Feiran had Chen Mengyang prepare a large pot of coffee before the shoot, drinking a cup before getting on set.
These two days’ scenes were all turning points: the shift in the relationship between Ji Yunsheng and his senior brothers in the pavilion and the first encounter between the male and female leads. This was not only a turning point in their relationship but also a point where the characters’ fates changed.
Yes, the female lead. Although it was mainly a men’s story, there was still a female lead, Bai Fengxian.
Ji Yunsheng, the little junior, even played a role in bringing them together.
Under the full moon, Ji Yunsheng was happy, thinking that he could go home openly during the Mid-Autumn Festival. He couldn’t help but chatter about Bai Fengxian performing at the Ji family’s restaurant on the Mid-Autumn night.
A beautiful woman singing a moon-themed song on the Mid-Autumn Festival was a perfect match! Just thinking about it was delightful!
But no matter how much Ji Yunsheng described it excitedly, no one responded.
Ji Yunsheng was puzzled. Ying Duyuan wasn’t there, so why was there no reaction?
As he couldn’t figure it out, someone quietly said, “I miss my mother…”
Ji Yunsheng, the youngest among them, thought it was odd for a grown man to suddenly say something like this.
He had a teasing comment ready, but then he saw that the senior brother next to him had red eyes.
Ji Yunsheng was startled and looked around, noticing that many others seemed on the verge of tears.
Ji Yunsheng suddenly remembered the saying, “The lonelier the holiday, the more one misses home.” Mid-Autumn should be a time for reunion.
But most of the senior brothers in The Taste Pavilion were…
Some had been sent to apprentice by their families, which was practically like being sold. This was the better scenario because at least there was still a hope for reunion. Others didn’t even have that hope.
Ying Duyuan’s family was no more.
The world was harsh, and many had such misfortunes, but when it happened close by, it tugged at the heartstrings even more.
Ji Yunsheng, soft-hearted, looked at the desolate or sad faces of his senior brothers in the back kitchen. Overcome with emotion, he blurted out, “On the fifteenth, I’ll host! I’ll take you all to the show!”
Everyone looked at him. After saying it, Ji Yunsheng regretted it a bit. By doing this, he feared he’d become the laughingstock in others’ eyes…
But he couldn’t take it back for the sake of his pride.
Young Master Ji was a bit awkward, unwilling to admit he had a soft heart. He spoke toughly, “I just, just want to broaden your horizons, nothing else…”
Saying this, Ji Yunsheng felt particularly foolish, and in a fit of anger, he snapped, “Come if you want to!” Then he ran off.
His face couldn’t hide his thoughts; whatever he felt was plainly visible. The others weren’t foolish and could easily see what he truly intended.
Before filming this scene, Director Zheng described to Chi Feiran that Ji Yunsheng in this scene needed to be both transparent and foolish. This foolishness wasn’t true stupidity but a shyness in expressing feelings, somewhat like being tsundere, but not entirely.
Ji Yunsheng had a unique kindness and softness hidden beneath his young master’s temper. Everything needed to be just right, showing only a little, not too much, just a hint.
Complex roles increased the difficulty of acting but also made the process itself more attractive.
Chi Feiran watched the replay of his performance on the monitor. Over time, he had honed not only his acting skills but also his insight.
While analysis from school teachers and Rong Jin taught him a lot, learning from a director who meticulously dissected the entire character offered an astounding amount of new knowledge.
The information from the director wasn’t just about how to play a character but involved a comprehensive understanding of the entire film’s pacing.
So, Chi Feiran often followed Director Zheng around, listening to her guidance not only during his scenes but also “auditing” when he wasn’t shooting.
Director Zheng once saw Chi Feiran listening intently and joked, “What, planning a career change?”
Chi Feiran shook his head and earnestly replied, “I just want to learn more.”
Zheng smiled and cautioned, “Be careful not to bite off more than you can chew.”
Being eager to learn was good, but knowing where to focus was crucial.
Chi Feiran wasn’t someone who ignored advice. He knew his primary task was to act well, so he focused, using the new knowledge from Zheng to experience his character more deeply.
However, Rong Jin had a slightly different view from Zheng, saying, “It’s good to see and think more.”
Chi Feiran felt both had valid points, but he needed to prioritize acting as Ji Yunsheng well.
As the plot deepened, this detailed experience turned from joy at merging with the character to an indescribable sense of oppression.
Ji Yunsheng, nervously inviting Ying Duyuan for the first time, clumsily tried to comfort him when he was silent.
The night wind blew gently, the air fragrant with osmanthus. When Ying Duyuan finally responded, just as Ji Yunsheng was about to run out of words and closed his eyes in frustration, he said, “Alright, I’ll go too.”
Ji Yunsheng was delighted at that moment, smiling broadly.
But after the shoot, Chi Feiran, stepping out of the role, knew clearly that this moment of happiness would become the cornerstone of future pain.
The first Mid-Autumn Festival at the Taste Pavilion didn’t open for business. Ji Yunsheng invited his master and senior brothers to the Ji family restaurant to listen to Bai Fengxian’s performance of “Flying to the Moon.”
A beauty from the moon met a mortal chef.
In the play, when Ji Yunsheng saw the silent exchange between Bai Fengxian and Ying Duyuan, he secretly stopped the troupe master looking for someone. Playing the young master, he couldn’t help but smile, thinking he was bringing two lovers together.
There was love indeed, but some love in this world could be fatal.
In chaotic times, being beautiful wasn’t a blessing. If one was originally unfortunate and beautiful, it only compounded the suffering.
Bai Fengxian was the most popular Kunqu actress then, seen as a product of women’s liberation. In those years, women weren’t allowed to perform on stage with men.
Later, when Kunqu actresses returned, some said that while their appearance and demeanor were beautiful, their voices weren’t as powerful as male actors. As they aged, they lost their elegance, adding to their difficulties.
The world was run by men, even among the lower classes, and women had to compete hard to even come close.
Bai Fengxian broke this barrier. Both on and off stage, she was praised as a beauty, likened to the moon goddess Chang’e. Her performances were impeccable, earning her the title “Boss Bai” from theater lovers.
Despite being the peak of Kunqu actresses, in such times, she couldn’t escape being seen as a “plaything.”
The more famous and beautiful she was, the more sought after she became.
Ji Yunsheng, the young master of the Ji family restaurant, was already impressive compared to his senior brothers at the Taste Pavilion. Even in the provincial capital, he was well-known. Yet, against those competing for Bai Fengxian, he was just a speck of dust.
Ying Duyuan was even less, so it was wrong from the start.
The fates of everyone in the Taste Pavilion were gradually entangled, whether inevitably or not, everything seemed to go awry from here.
So every time Ji Yunsheng recalled that Mid-Autumn night, he wondered if everything that followed was because he made a mistake.
His master died, his parents were gone, the Ji family restaurant collapsed, leaving only two land deeds, the Taste Pavilion disbanded, and his senior brother’s hand was crippled.
Was it more painful to have once had and then lost bit by bit, or to never have had at all?
As filming continued, the character’s emotions inevitably affected the actor, even influencing the crew’s atmosphere.
Chi Feiran thought he managed his emotions well, as Rong Jin had once told him, everything was written by a scriptwriter, all fake.
But one night, waking up crying from a dream, he realized that sometimes, even knowing it’s fake, he couldn’t control his emotions.
Especially when constantly convincing himself he was the character and the character was him, the impact became unavoidable.
Moreover, unlike purely fictional stories, integrating real historical backgrounds made the fake emotions more poignant.
Rong Jin held him, comforting, “Hush, don’t cry, it’s all fake.”
The familiar voice and embrace soothed him, making the dream’s pain seem distant and unreal.
Chi Feiran, tears still wet on his cheeks, looked at Rong Jin, who gently wiped them away.
Their eyes met, Rong Jin’s warm and serene amber eyes bringing a sigh from the heart.
Chi Feiran leaned closer, feeling the world’s magic. During his first film, this man led him into acting, teaching him to express the unreal.
Now, Rong Jin became his reality.
Their lips met, from gentle rubbing to slightly biting, as if confirming the reality of the person before him.
Chi Feiran pushed Rong Jin onto the bed, continuing the increasingly wild kiss with heavy breathing.
Since the filming workload increased, Chi Feiran had somewhat neglected Rong Jin. Rong Jin, understanding, hoped he could rest well, so it had been a while since they had such passion.
Chi Feiran’s eyelashes, still moist, trembled slightly, but his words were bold, “I’ll handle it myself.”
