Ye Zhou closed his eyes, wanting to say something, but his lips moved slightly yet nothing came out.
He wasn’t ruled by his emotions. Although he was tempted to reveal everything to Jiang Tingyuan the moment he heard his confession, his rationality ultimately prevailed over this impulse.
The secret was too important to him; furthermore, even if he wanted to disclose it, how and where would he begin? Would he believe him?
Would he think it was a joke, or worse… consider him a monster?
Perhaps someday in the future, his love for Jiang Tingyuan would supersede his fear of this world. On a bright, sunny morning, he would plant a tender kiss on his lips and naturally unveil the twists and turns of their story.
But not now.
Ye Zhou buried his head in Jiang Tingyuan’s embrace, feeling like an ostrich. The confidence he exuded on set dissipated when confronted with matters of the heart.
Jiang Tingyuan could sense that Ye Zhou wanted to say something but remained silent. He wasn’t upset. Despite Ye Zhou’s silence, he knew it was his own inability to provide a sense of security that made him hesitant.
He gently patted Ye Zhou’s back, full of comfort. They had a long future ahead, and he would accompany Ye Zhou slowly, treating him better and better until the day he let down all his guards.
This process might be lengthy, but no matter how long it took, Jiang Tingyuan could wait.
If Ye Zhou wished to keep this secret forever, then so be it. Let the secret fade with time; there was no need to uncover everything.
The two embraced silently for a long while until Ye Zhou’s empty stomach, having endured a night and morning without food, emitted a soft gurgling sound.
Slightly embarrassed, Ye Zhou hastily disengaged from Mr. Jiang’s embrace. “What would you like to eat? I’ll cook today!”
Jiang Tingyuan wasn’t particular about his diet. He had always maintained a bland diet, so he was never fussy about food. Nevertheless, he listed a few dish names after some thought.
Upon hearing them, the warmth that hadn’t faded from Ye Zhou’s ears flared up again. The reason was simple; almost every dish Jiang Tingyuan mentioned was his favorite.
But his shyness dissipated quickly. “No, the doctor advised that we should eat light for the next week,” he firmly refused.
“How about stir-fried noodles? I think we still have a pack of dragon beard noodles1Dragon beard noodles (龙须面) – Dragon beard noodles are a variety of noodle from Shandong province in China. They derive their name from their long, thin appearance, said to resemble the beard of a Chinese dragon. They are traditionally eaten during the Longtaitou Festival, which occurs on the second day of the second month of the Chinese calendar. at home. Do you want some?” Ye Zhou mumbled as he strode into the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge for ingredients.
Due to his work, Ye Zhou’s previous life was tightly scheduled, so whenever he had the chance to visit the supermarket, he would stock up on groceries and fill the fridge.
This habit didn’t change even after he transmigrated. Previously, when Ye Zhou lived with Mr. Jiang, their busy schedules and Mr. Jiang’s aversion to outsiders meant that although the chef delivered meals three times a day, there might be times when they craved snacks. So Ye Zhou preferred keeping the fridge well-stocked, which provided him with a sense of security.
In contrast to a few months ago, Jiang Tingyuan’s fridge could only be described as pitiful. Aside from a couple rows of eggs, a few bottles of milk, and a large bundle of lush vegetables, it was practically empty.
“Tsk.” Ye Zhou frowned and turned to Mr. Jiang. “Won’t you be hungry in the evening?”
Jiang Tingyuan, leaning against a nearby cabinet, replied unconvincingly, “Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you stock up on food?”
Jiang Tingyuan glanced at him and suddenly smiled. “Because no one took me grocery shopping after you left.”
Ye Zhou: “…”
Alright, that excuse was logical and quite splendid, utterly convincing.
After rummaging through the fridge for a while, Ye Zhou finally found an unopened pack of dragon beard noodles he had bought before in the fresh-keeping section.
Such noodles seemed out of place in Mr. Jiang’s expensive fridge, but Ye Zhou had impulsively tossed them into his cart, craving them at the time. Unexpectedly, he hadn’t eaten them, but they came in handy now.
With noodles secured and the unprocessed vegetable remains on the cutting board, Ye Zhou swiftly chopped them, preserving their final dignity as vegetables.
While Ye Zhou was busy with this, Jiang Tingyuan stood at the kitchen entrance, watching him intently, observing every move, every change in expression. These normally mundane activities suddenly became captivating to Jiang Tingyuan.
Ye Zhou sautéed tomatoes and eggs for the broth. As the water boiled, he opened the noodle package and prepared to cook them. Just as he picked up the noodles, he felt a tightness around his waist, followed by a warm embrace from behind.
Ye Zhou’s hand trembled, nearly dropping the noodles. Before he could speak, Jiang Tingyuan spoke first, his voice muffled from burying his face in Ye Zhou’s shoulder.
“This time, could you…” Jiang Tingyuan spoke slowly, each word scorching. “Don’t leave.2This part in the raw is not a question, so instead of using “Not leave” so complete the sentence “Could you not leave?”, I used “Don’t leave.””
The heat that had finally dissipated from Ye Zhou’s face reignited instantly.
“Jiang-ge, please let go first. I need to cook the noodles,” Ye Zhou said softly, his face flushed, unable to move freely in Jiang Tingyuan’s embrace.
Unexpectedly, the usually serious and rational Mr. Jiang didn’t release him. Instead, he nuzzled Ye Zhou’s neck like a small animal.
Despite Ye Zhou’s attempts to push him away, Mr. Jiang remained firmly attached, unwilling to speak or let go, simply holding him.
After several failed efforts to break free, Ye Zhou surrendered. “Alright, alright, you can keep hugging me.”
Maintaining this pose, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, the boiling water in the pot making soft bubbling sounds, and the aroma of the previously sautéed eggs lingered in the air.
Everything was so perfect, it felt almost surreal.
It was just an ordinary morning, yet Jiang Tingyuan wished time could freeze at this very moment—not moving forward, not falling back, just pausing at this very moment.
Just perfect.
After that chaotic day, their relationship seemed to have undergone a subtle change, as if an invisible barrier between them had shattered.
Although Ye Zhou ultimately didn’t move back in, he would occasionally take Jiang Tingyuan grocery shopping, striving to fill that grand double-door refrigerator.
Though they sometimes still stood at the supermarket entrance, frustrated at not getting a shopping cart, a shared glance would instantly send smiles dancing across their faces.
If Ye Zhou had to describe their relationship, he felt they had bypassed the dating phase, skipping the exploratory and understanding stages. A tacit understanding existed between them, where a mere glance conveyed profound understanding.
Rather than lovers, Ye Zhou and Mr. Jiang were perhaps more like… an old married couple who had been together for ages.
“Director Ye? Director Ye!”
The assistant director’s voice successfully pulled Ye Zhou back to reality. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to regain focus.
“Break time is almost over. Shall we continue?” The assistant director fanned Ye Zhou with a hand fan.
Summer was approaching, and temperatures were rising. At home, it was bearable with air conditioning and watermelon to cool down. Although it was hot outside, the heat was manageable as long as one stayed indoors.
But the film set was different. Although the filming studio had air conditioning, the vast space meant that even with several units running day and night, it was hardly cool.
Outdoor shoots were even worse. Forget air conditioning, having a sunshade was already a luxury.
Ye Zhou sympathized with his crew and actors. Most outdoor scenes for “Thriller Circus” were filmed in the relatively cooler months of April and May to avoid the scorching summer heat.
Now, nearing the end of filming, the remaining scenes were those postponed due to incomplete set construction, left for last.
Every second in this sweltering heat was torturous, understandably prompting the assistant director’s impatience.
Ye Zhou tipped his hat and nodded. “Sure, check if everyone’s ready. We’ll start once they are.”
The assistant director acknowledged and announced through a megaphone. After confirming all departments were in position, filming resumed.
On the monitor, the sickly man portrayed by Zhu Ning and the last two companions who had narrowly escaped death were running swiftly, as a giant lizard, ten times the size of an ordinary one, steadily closed in from behind. The two companions in front exchanged a glance, understanding each other’s intent, and slowed down.
Closer and closer it came.
One companion grabbed Zhu Ning’s hand. Just as Zhu Ning thought the companion meant to help him and was about to express gratitude, excruciating pain nearly made him pass out.
A sharp steel needle pierced through his palm, skewering a bloody chunk of meat, gruesomely linking Zhu Ning’s hand to it.
Zhu Ning recognized that meat. It was the reward the trainer had given the lizard after its performance earlier that morning.
The companions’ intentions were laid bare. The sickly man Zhu Ning played tried to pull the needle from his hand, but the agony from his own flesh made him nearly faint, causing his steps to falter.
The companions achieved their goal, sprinting madly ahead, soon hearing the sickly man’s anguished wails and chilling refusals from behind.
Having abandoned the sickly man, they dared not look back. They kept running forward, the once pitifully small circus now seemed like a vast maze, as if they could never reach the end.
The two took refuge in an abandoned circus tent. They were exhausted, but they did not dare pant heavily, covering their mouths to avoid attracting the ferocious beasts outside with noise.
With each escape, their numbers dwindled. This time, the sickly man had delayed the giant lizard, but what about next time? Who would be the bait then?
The two who had resolved to abandon the sickly man and formed a temporary alliance were now, in a moment of relative safety, already impatiently guarding against each other.
No one wanted to be the sacrifice. If the other died, their own chances of survival increased.
Under the camera, both harbored ulterior motives. They hid in the tent while contemplating how to use the other as a sacrifice to ensure their own survival.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of beastly eyes watched intently from outside the thin tent fabric.
“Cut! That’s a wrap for this scene!”
As Ye Zhou called out, the deliberately hushed atmosphere on set erupted into bustling activity once more.
Ye Zhou was reviewing the footage when his phone vibrated with a text message. He pulled it out to find:
“Desserts and herbal tea are at the door.”
“I’m here too. [smiley face]”
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