Chapter 44
“Good evening, Ye Yuyuan.”
Fang Huai leaned on the riverside railing, the evening breeze teasing at his hair. His voice was clean and crisp, carrying a trace of subtle laughter—so faint even he didn’t realize it was there.
His voice was already pleasant to begin with, but when he unknowingly let his warmth and affection slip through, it became so mesmerizing it was almost unreal.
Hundreds of kilometers away, a man stood by a floor-to-ceiling window. His fingers tightened around his phone, his breath momentarily stalling.
A brief pause.
Then, a deep, rich voice, tinged with the faint crackle of phone static, rumbled softly in response—
“Good evening.”
Technically, it wasn’t even nighttime yet.
But the late-summer cicadas had begun to sing, and the fishermen returning home rowed their boats while humming songs, painting the entire evening in soft, gentle hues.
Neither of them were particularly talkative. After that simple exchange, they fell into a comfortable silence—but it wasn’t awkward at all.
Fang Huai felt calm and content.
He liked Ye Yuyuan very much—liked spending time with him. To him, Ye Yuyuan was a dear friend. He wanted to share something interesting with him, but these past few days, he had been cooped up indoors, composing and working. He couldn’t think of anything fun to talk about, which frustrated him slightly.
Luckily, Ye Yuyuan never rushed him. Even if they sat in silence, neither of them felt uneasy.
But on the other end of the call—things were completely different.
Beyond the towering window, the city’s lights were flickering to life one by one.
Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together slightly, his dark eyes lowered—as if he were… nervous.
Not that he showed it on his face. His voice remained calm, almost indifferent.
“You plan to…” Ye Yuyuan paused for a moment, then asked casually, his voice low and unhurried, “When are you coming back?”
The film’s opening ceremony had already been nearly two weeks ago.
Fang Huai wasn’t an actor, nor was he a crew member. The facilities there weren’t particularly great, and the food and lodging conditions were mediocre at best.
He should’ve returned to Nan City long ago.
Excuses and justifications were always plentiful—enough to bury one’s true thoughts beneath a façade of legitimacy.
But no matter what he said, it all felt like a feeble attempt to cover up the truth.
And the truth was simple—He wanted to see him.
Dusk settled quietly in Ye Yuyuan’s dark eyes. He remained silent, his thin lips pressing together as if suddenly unable to speak.
He had always been rigid and serious, disciplined to an extreme. Forget lying—even in business, he never spoke in half-truths. He had never learned the meaning of “deception,” yet now, he was about to deceive the most important person in his life.
He couldn’t say it.
Fang Huai listened quietly, but all he heard was the sound of breathing. He hesitated.
“Hmm?”
“…Nothing.” The man lowered his gaze, his voice indifferent.
Fang Huai sensed he had something to say. After a brief moment of thought, he considerately chose not to press further. Instead, he finally remembered a few interesting things and began sharing them with Ye Yuyuan.
Ye Yuyuan listened—calm and attentive.
The call wasn’t long. Even as they exchanged goodbyes and hung up, the words he wanted to say had lingered on his lips for so long—yet never made it out.
Setting down his phone, a flash of frustration flickered in Ye Yuyuan’s eyes.
Fang Huai, of course, had no idea.
After hanging up, he still felt in a great mood.
Ye Yuyuan didn’t talk much, but Fang Huai enjoyed the way he felt when they were together. He mentally counted the days—his fieldwork for the “Frost” theme song was nearly finished, and in two days, he would return to Nan City for the next stage of composing and recording.
And once he was back—he’d get to see Ye Yuyuan again.
Fang Huai had never had close friends before, so he wasn’t sure how others felt about friendships. He didn’t constantly think about Ye Yuyuan when they were apart, but when they were together, it was incredibly enjoyable—enough to make him look forward to their next meeting.
The young man tilted his head slightly, gazing at the clouds tinged in gold and crimson. A small sparrow landed on his shoulder, pecking at its wings.
His light-colored eyes shimmered in the fading light.
Even he didn’t realize that his lips had curved into a subtle smile.
But the camera captured everything.
The assistant director’s heart pounded with excitement, yet his hands remained steady—because the camera was a director’s second pair of eyes. And sometimes, those eyes were even sharper than real ones.
Every subtle expression and detail on the young man’s face had been recorded. The assistant director wasn’t even thinking about whether it was appropriate or intrusive—he didn’t have time to consider such things.
The pursuit of beauty was instinctual.
Especially for those who worked with art every single day.
Even later that night, as he rewatched the footage, the assistant director’s heart still thrummed with excitement.
Fang Huai wasn’t lacking in talent. He just needed the right moment. If approached correctly, he could absolutely do this…
Just then, the door swung open.
Lin Shengyun, having finished a long day of filming, stepped inside, looking slightly fatigued. He grabbed a can of beer, sat down on the couch, and asked—
“How’s the casting coming along?”
The assistant director reported the situation in full detail. They had seen a few more actors today, but still, no luck.
Forget about passing Lin Shengyun’s standard—none of them had even made it past him.
“Besides that…” The assistant director hesitated for a moment before saying, “I ran into Fang Huai this afternoon. I think—”
The old director squinted at him, a knowing look flashing in his eyes. After a pause, he said slowly—
“I know what you’re thinking.”
He was the director of Frost. From the moment the script was just a rough draft, he had known it, studied it, understood it better than anyone else. He had already noticed—from the first moment he saw Fang Huai—that his looks, even his personality, were a perfect match for the character Lin Shuheng.
But he had never brought it up.
“Fang Huai is very reserved—he holds everything in.” Lin Shengyun made a “withheld” gesture with his hand and continued, “Musicians tend to have this problem. They don’t show emotion in front of the camera, let alone drive the audience’s emotions.”
“He can be a singer, sure. But as an actor? The kid’s still lacking.” The old director chuckled.
“But his presence on camera isn’t bad, is it?” the assistant director countered.
Not showing emotion on camera and having good camera presence were two completely different things. Fang Huai had an incredible camera presence. It was as if the camera adored him.
Even Visual China magazine—notorious for its unfiltered, unedited photos—had captured him looking absolutely stunning.
That red carpet photo had caused an uproar when it was released. This magazine was infamous for making fresh-faced starlets look middle-aged and tough, charismatic actors look like gangsters.
But even under their lens, Fang Huai looked breathtaking. His features glowed, sharp yet soft in all the right places.
It should have been a huge sensation—but at the time, Fang Huai was everywhere. Between winning Stellar Light, his red carpet performance, and his unwavering devotion to his fans, that photo was quickly overshadowed.
Still, his camera presence was undeniable.
“Director Lin, take a look at this video.”
The assistant director had asked Fang Huai beforehand—he didn’t mind being secretly filmed and had given permission to keep the video.
After rewatching it over and over, the assistant director had become even more certain.
Fang Huai was perfect for Lin Shuheng.
As Lin Shengyun watched, his expression slowly shifted. He wanted to say something—but after the video ended, he fell silent instead.
“…Well?”
Lin Shengyun: “…” Damn. That stung.
“It’s… decent.” He forced out.
“Then—”
“No.” Lin Shengyun waved him off. “Even if we agree, even if Fang Huai naively says yes without knowing the full situation, his manager is too sharp. They won’t let him take it.”
At that, both men fell into silence.
They both knew.
They knew why this role had been so difficult to cast.
And they had a good guess as to why the original actor, Xu Shu, had suddenly disappeared.
Because—The role of Lin Shuheng was a death trap.
The role itself was brilliantly written—whoever played it well was guaranteed to skyrocket to fame, with a high chance of even bagging an international award nomination.
But…
*
Meanwhile, at a casino in Macau.
Xu Shu, the original actor cast as Lin Shuheng, held a cigarette between his lips as he distractedly tossed a pair of dice.
A man beside him chuckled and asked, “Hasn’t Frost already started filming? Brother Xu, why are you still hanging around here?”
Xu Shu let out a mocking laugh.
“Ha… that role, huh…”
“Oh? Brother Xu, are you looking down on Frost? And Director Lin?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Even an Oscar regular like Lin Shengyun doesn’t impress you? Damn.”
Xu Shu waved his hand dismissively.
Xu Shu wasn’t exactly A-list material. His career was lukewarm at best, and the only thing he had going for him was his acting skills.
Lin Shengyun was notoriously picky. That old man had his nose in the air when it came to casting. Why would he ever consider Xu Shu—unless something was off?
It was obvious. They simply couldn’t find anyone else.
All the top-tier actors—those with both popularity and acting chops—wanted nothing to do with this role.
Even Xu Shu himself—if he wasn’t forced to pivot his career, he wouldn’t have touched it either.
Anyone with industry knowledge who had seen the full script knew—The role of Lin Shuheng was a damn death trap.
So, when another film, Chronicles of Spring and Autumn, offered him a role, and the shooting schedule clashed with Frost’s second half, Xu Shu ditched the production without hesitation.
Screw the Oscars. Screw acting alongside an award-winning veteran.
Not worth it.
Maybe it was a little unprofessional, but hey—everyone looks out for themselves.
“What’s gonna happen to the role now? The Frost team must be losing their minds,” someone nearby commented.
A moment later, another person added, “Could it be Fang Huai? I saw that military uniform video of his—he looked damn good. He really had the right vibe. Maybe he put on the costume because he’s taking the role?”
“Possible. Singers-turned-actors are pretty common these days.”
Xu Shu was annoyed at the mention of Fang Huai. As someone who had been praised his whole career, he hated hearing people hype someone else up.
But then, a thought crossed his mind—and suddenly, he felt much better.
“Hah.” He sneered. “Just picking up the trash I threw away.”
Frost’s Lin Shuheng wasn’t just some role anyone could take on.
Fang Huai wanted a slice of this cake? Did he even know what he was getting himself into?
Xu Shu was willing to bet money—if Fang Huai took this role, he would regret it.
Besides, Chronicles of Spring and Autumn was a much smarter choice.
A summer blockbuster where he played one of two male leads—meaning tons of screentime, buzz, and public interest.
Compared to Frost—a film with thematic depth meant for award circuits—Chronicles of Spring and Autumn was far more commercial.
Honestly? Audiences weren’t into films like Frost anymore.
And when the time came, Chronicles of Spring and Autumn might just crush Frost at the box office.
The more Xu Shu thought about it, the happier he became.
Grinning, he grabbed his drink and returned to his game.
*
That Night.
Fang Huai and his team did a final check on everything. Tomorrow, they would wrap up the last few tasks, and the day after, they would head back to Nan City. Of course, their work was far from over—if anything, they still had several tough battles ahead.
But Fang Huai’s part was almost done.
His job was composing the melody. Now that both the lyrics and music were finalized, the next steps—arranging, selecting a singer, recording, and post-production—would take place back in Nan City. Whether Frost would end up using Fang Huai’s own vocals was still uncertain.
No one had expected the farewell to come so soon.
Fang Huai wasn’t the social type, yet people found it impossible not to like him. He had a certain quality—something hard to put into words, but being around him just felt pure and effortless.
He wasn’t one of those people who seemed warm and easygoing on the surface but were calculating underneath. Nor was he the loud, over-the-top type who masked rudeness with the excuse of being “straightforward.”
Fang Huai spoke simply and directly, but never thoughtlessly. When he talked to someone, his light amber eyes would stay focused on them, never distracted. He was warm but always maintained the right amount of distance.
And, well—just in their team and the film crew alone, more than a few girls had a crush on him.
It wasn’t the kind of admiration fans had for celebrities. It was actual romantic feelings. Because even without the halo of being a “star,” Fang Huai was still handsome and incredibly likable.
“Do you… um, wanna go get barbecue later?”
Xiao Liu, the young woman who helped with lyrics, approached with her face flushed, stammering through the question.
She had a small, careful crush on Fang Huai—the kind where she never dared to say anything. As the only girl on the team, Fang Huai would occasionally help carry her things or unscrew bottle caps for her, and every time, her face would turn red.
Everyone else knew what was going on but chose to play dumb.
Except Fang Huai.
Fang Huai was completely oblivious.
The thought of romance had never even crossed his mind. He’d heard of it, sure, but never really understood it.
He actually thought Xiao Liu didn’t like him.
After all, she was usually chatty, but the moment she saw him, she would go silent. So he tried his best to stay out of her way.
“I’ll go.” Fang Huai nodded. Then, he smiled and added, “Oh, right. We’re wrapping up tomorrow.”
Tomorrow would likely be his last day working with them.
Xiao Liu’s expression dimmed for a moment.
Fang Huai wasn’t used to interacting with girls. Seeing her look upset, he panicked a little and awkwardly tried to comfort her, “After we wrap, I probably won’t be working with you guys anymore.”
The implication: Just hang in there a little longer. Soon, I won’t be around to bother you anymore.
Xiao Liu: “…???”
Damn. A brick wall of a man.
She had just been a little sad before. But now? Now she felt like crying.
*
That night, the group went out for street-side barbecue.
The area had been cleared for filming recently, so most of the people around were familiar faces. Fang Huai didn’t have to worry about getting secretly photographed.
They ate, took pictures together, drank, and chatted. Even though they hadn’t spent a long time together, everyone felt reluctant to say goodbye.
Well—except for Old Li.
After embarrassing himself last time, he had stopped showing up altogether.
After dinner, they walked back to their lodgings. At the entrance, they said their goodbyes before heading to their respective rooms.
Fang Huai hadn’t had anything to drink. He wasn’t drunk. It was just late, and his head felt a little fuzzy.
Sitting down, he accidentally pressed something on his phone.
The screen lit up, and before he could react—It automatically dialed the most recent contact.
Outside, the moonlight was soft.
After a moment, a low voice broke the silence in the empty room.
“Fang Huai?”
Fang Huai paused, slightly stunned. He hadn’t fully registered what was happening and instinctively nodded. “Mm, I’m here.”
“Just got back?” The quiet man on the other end heard the sound of a door locking and frowned slightly. “Working this late?”
Fang Huai’s thoughts were scattered. He gazed at the stars in the sky and mumbled, “Mm… yeah.”
“Did you have dinner?”
The voice on the other end asked again.
Fang Huai was about to say he had eaten—and eaten well, at that. But before he could respond, he heard Ye Yuyuan give a soft cough. His usually deep voice sounded a little tense, a little awkward.
“I… bought you some food.”
After a brief pause, Ye Yuyuan quickly added, “If you’re not hungry, just throw it away.”
In reality, he had made it himself.
Ye Yuyuan had been practicing for quite a while. After hanging up the phone earlier, he had really wanted to see Fang Huai. So, instead, he went home, cooked something, and had it sent to the Frost production team. Based on his calculations, it should have arrived by now.
Fang Huai was momentarily dazed.
The words he had intended to say stopped at the tip of his tongue. Instead, they changed into, “Thanks. I’m actually really hungry.”
As he spoke, his gaze landed on the brilliant stars outside the window.
He lowered his eyes, and without even realizing it, a soft smile crept onto his lips.
