Chapter 13 (1/2)
Part 1: The Smooth Talker and The Looming Shadow
Word by word, his tone was even and calm, like the steady swing of a grandfather clock’s pendulum. And then, when it struck the hour—dong—Mu Wan’s heart gave a violent flutter.
The night was utterly silent. From the kitten room around the corner, a soft meow broke the quiet.
Mu Wan’s red lips parted slightly. Beside her, the man stood up. She looked up, tilting her head. Her eyes shimmered with a watery glow, reflecting only Liu Qianxiu’s silhouette.
“You’re awake,” Liu Qianxiu said, looking down at her.
His throat moved slightly. Her heartbeat hadn’t even steadied yet, but Mu Wan smiled—a satisfied, adorable smile, like a child who had secretly stolen a piece of candy and gotten away with it.
She stood up as well. Her red dress cascaded down her legs as she stepped forward, showing off two pale, slender calves. “Let me go see if Ertong has opened his eyes,” she said, heading toward the kitten room.
Watching her leave, Liu Qianxiu’s gaze dropped to the Tao Te Ching she had left behind on the low table.
Ertong’s eyes were open too. They were a pale gold, just like Datou’s and Zhongfen’s. The other two kittens’ eyes were fully open now. Ertong and Zhongfen had round eyes, but Datou’s were droopy. As a tiny, fluffy little heap, he looked perpetually mildly depressed while begging for milk, which was tragically adorable.
With Ertong’s eyes finally open, Mu Wan prepared to leave.
She stood in the entryway, bracing her hand against the cool wall as she slipped off his oversized slippers. The narrow arch of her foot flexed slightly, stark white and striking against the hem of her red dress.
Mu Wan stepped into her high heels. The heel struck the floor with a sharp clack.
Then, the man’s voice followed, and the sound of her heels stopped.
“How are you getting home?”
The corner of his eye swept, faintly and deliberately, over the legs exposed beneath her red dress. The grandfather clock showed it was already nine-thirty. Liu Qianxiu’s expression remained perfectly calm.
“A cab,” Mu Wan answered. She pulled out her phone to check the time. The screen illuminated her face, highlighting a look of slight distress. “It’s going to be hard to get one now.”
Before she could finish her sentence, a tall shadow stepped forward, enveloping her. Mu Wan looked up. The phone screen now illuminated his face, too. He had changed his shoes.
“I’ll drive you,” he said.
“He drove me home last night.”
Mu Wan found a spot to sit in the shade of the studio lot’s wall. She opened her prop paper fan and started fanning herself. She wore a historical costume with massive, flowing sleeves, yet the waist was cinched tight, and the collar layered thickly, trapping every ounce of heat.
The temperature was a sweltering thirty-five degrees Celsius. Mu Wan was sweating profusely. She had just finished an action scene, and the assistant director wouldn’t let her take off the costume until the director reviewed the footage; otherwise, they’d have to reshoot.
“Holy crap, you’re amazing, Mu Wan! So, how was it? How are Daoist Liu’s bedroom skills—” Lin Wei’s voice was practically vibrating with excitement through the phone.
“Nothing happened,” Mu Wan interrupted, snapping her fan shut. She used her sleeve to wipe her sweat, savoring the memory of last night. The corners of her lips curled up as she kicked a small pebble. “He just drove me home.”
“He drove you all the way home, and you didn’t invite him up to sit for a bit?” Lin Wei asked, barely containing her excitement.
“Nope,” Mu Wan said casually. “He needs to rest at ten. So after he dropped me off, I just let him leave.”
Lin Wei: “…”
She was genuinely flying solo by her own sheer willpower.
But Lin Wei understood her. She was different from Mu Wan. Mu Wan prioritized spiritual and emotional connection. Physical intimacy would only happen naturally once that emotional foundation was solid.
“So, did anything else happen?” Lin Wei pivoted. “I mean, did you figure out if Daoist Liu likes you or not?”
The paper fan rustled her bangs, bringing a brief breeze that scattered some of the stifling heat. Mu Wan thought of Liu Qianxiu’s face in the lamplight.
“Yesterday, I asked him if he liked living alone. He asked me why I was asking. I said, ‘Because you’ve always been alone.’”
Right at the crucial part, Mu Wan paused, seemingly amused. Lin Wei was dying of impatience. “Well? What did he say?!”
“Oh.” Mu Wan snapped back to reality, the tips of her ears growing hot. “He said, ‘Now, in this moment, there are two people.’”
Hearing the answer, and pairing it with the image of Liu Qianxiu’s aloof, otherworldly face in her mind, Lin Wei broke out in goosebumps.
“Mu Wan, come back! We’re reshooting!” the assistant director yelled in the distance.
“Coming!” Mu Wan stood up and dusted off her skirt. She said to Lin Wei, “I don’t know exactly what he meant, but I just realized I like him even more. Anyway, I have to go film.”
She hung up.
Lin Wei was left completely stunned by that final verbal bomb. She could perfectly picture the scene: a single lonely lamp, a man and a woman. The man, transcendent and aloof; the woman, enchanting and soft.
One immortal, one enchantress. And no matter how powerful the enchantress, how could she possibly escape the palm of an immortal? In the end, Mu Wan—the one who had fallen first—was absolutely going to be played by Daoist Liu.
Now, in this moment, there are two people.
Lin Wei clicked her tongue. This Daoist is something else. He acts all ascetic and untouchable, but when it comes to smooth talk, he’s a master. It’s too much for the heart.
Now this is what a truly ascetic man looks like.
After reshooting her scene, Mu Wan got a brief break. She took her paper fan and headed to the resting area. The crew’s resting area was a large open space filled with supporting actors and extras. The assistant director shouted scene numbers, and makeup artists called for actors. It was chaotic and loud.
It was past two in the afternoon. Mu Wan had one last scene to shoot. She should be done by four. She found a quiet corner, sat down with her elbows on her knees, and pulled out her phone.
She hadn’t contacted Liu Qianxiu since leaving his apartment last night. Over the past few days, she had only ever texted him after her shifts to ask what time he got off work, just so she could go pick him up.
On set, Mu Wan rarely played on her phone. She used to play Plants vs Zombies when she was bored, but after spending money to beat every level, she lost interest. Her phone had very few apps. She opened her contacts and found Liu Qianxiu’s profile.
She had saved his name as: Daoist Liu.
Liu Qianxiu’s impression was so profound that even his phone number felt like it carried an otherworldly, faintly aloof aura.
But Mu Wan liked it. She liked everything about him, even a string of digits.
She was smiling to herself when Gao Mei approached, completely unnoticed. It wasn’t until Mu Wan felt a massive presence blocking out her sunlight that she turned to see Gao Mei’s plump figure and her signature squinting smile.
“Dating someone?” Gao Mei asked, her face full of gossip.
Mu Wan locked her phone. The screen went dark, reflecting her still-smiling face. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, her small face fully exposed, giving her a mix of glamour and heroic spirit.
Putting the phone away, she said, “Not yet.”
“Oh? What does that mean?” Gao Mei’s pitch went up an octave, her small eyes straining to open wider. “In the ambiguous stage?”
With Gao Mei blocking the sun, Mu Wan felt the heat again. She opened her fan, cooling her flushed cheeks, and admitted frankly, “Yeah.”
“No wonder you’ve been going to see the cats every day! You were going to see your crush!” Gao Mei realized it, tapping Mu Wan lightly with her script.
Gao Mei’s script created a nice breeze as it passed. Mu Wan laughed, looking at the cover. “You got cast in this drama too?”
The cover read Red Embroidery. Clearly, Gao Mei was going to be in the same crew. That was good news; at least they wouldn’t be bored while waiting for their scenes.
“Yep, filming starts on the 30th. Today’s Friday, so that’s next Monday,” Gao Mei calculated. “Looks like you and your crush are going to be in a long-distance relationship.”
Red Embroidery was a Republican-era medical drama. Many scenes would be filmed at Wen City’s First Hospital. Wen City was an old town, and the First Hospital was a perfectly preserved Republican-era building.
Li Nan hadn’t given her the exact start date yet, but once filming began, actors had to be on standby at the set. Mu Wan’s fan paused. The heat suddenly seemed to steam right into her face.
She started fanning herself again, calculating in her mind. Wen City wasn’t far, but if they shot night scenes, she definitely couldn’t commute back. She didn’t want to be away from Liu Qianxiu. But her role was small; she should be done in a week…
“By the way, do you know who the female lead of Red Embroidery is? The top billing. They just announced it today. She shares your surname,” Gao Mei mentioned casually.
The restless heat in Mu Wan’s chest instantly cooled. In her mind, she heard Aunt Wu’s words: Mu Qing brought her boyfriend home. He’s the heir to the Shen family.
She turned to look at Gao Mei. “What’s her name?”
“Mu Qing.”
Mu Wan’s lips pressed into a thin line.
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