APR 40

“Right?”

Zhong Su held the bag and looked at Chen Huan: “I suppose even if I asked what you’re planning to do with all these pet fish, you wouldn’t answer, would you?”

“At least you still have some self-awareness.” Chen Huan took a drag of his cigarette and tilted his head toward the car: “Get in. We have one last place to go today.”

At this point, Zhong Su, who was already on this pirate ship, could only double down. He climbed into the car holding the bag of fish.

The car headed toward the suburbs, driving deeper into increasingly remote areas. The trees lining the road grew from sparse to dense, and the distant sound of rushing water gradually became audible.

“Is this… a reservoir?” Zhong Su spotted the floodgate releasing water in the distance.

Torrents of water cascaded down from the gate with overwhelming force, crashing against the dam base below and sending white sprays flying into the air.

Just as Zhong Su leaned toward the window to get a clearer view of their position, Chen Huan suddenly slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched against the dam surface as the car came to an abrupt halt at the edge.

The sudden inertia threw Zhong Su forward, and the “water balloon” in his arms flew out, nearly rolling under the seat.

“Hey!” Zhong Su quickly reached out and hooked the plastic bag’s handle. Before he could recover, Chen Huan reached across his chest and took the bag.

Chen Huan got out of the car, carrying the bag of fish, and walked to the railing at the edge of the dam.

Zhong Su followed him and watched as he untied the plastic bag. A strange thought suddenly crossed his mind, and he said with a peculiar expression, “Hey, you’re not planning to dump these fish into the reservoir, are you? These delicate pet fish would die instantly in there.”

Chen Huan ignored him completely. His slender fingers easily untied the slipknot. The water in the bag sloshed, and the fish, as if sensing imminent danger, frantically thrashed their tails and bumped against the thin, resilient bag.

“Chen Huan, even if you’re in a bad mood, there’s no need to waste them like this…” Zhong Su tried to stop him, but Chen Huan suddenly grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the railing.

The iron railing emitted a dull thud. Half of Zhong Su’s body hung over the railing, suspended above the dizzying, turbulent waters below.

Zhong Su grunted in pain, “Ugh!”

“So much nonsense.”

Chen Huan’s thumb pressed firmly against Zhong Su’s carotid artery, as if seizing the lifeline of his prey. A cold smile curled at the corner of his lips: “From last night until now, you’ve been lighting cigarettes and tending to fish… acting all innocent and harmless. Is this how you tricked Su Er into trusting you back then?”

Zhong Su fought back his vertigo from the height and forced out through gritted teeth, “Who’s acting… What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“I never liked that fish that blew in during the typhoon.” Chen Huan’s voice mingled with the sound of the water. “After what happened to him, I wanted to throw that fish away countless times, but it was ultimately something he left behind.”

Chen Huan tilted the bag downward. The fish inside desperately swam upward but helplessly fell into the rushing currents.

His movements were deliberate, but his voice was chillingly cold: “Su Er, he always lived earnestly and tenaciously. But he never understood that there will always be people like that foolish fish, using clumsy excuses or petty tricks to deliberately get close, trying to take something from him.”

“Whether it’s fish or people, it’s the same. I despise you and that foolish fish, but I still let you off, as long as you behave, I don’t mind leaving him a memento.”

Zhong Su watched the fragile guppy fall onto the water’s surface, instantly battered and swallowed by the violent currents, its brilliant scales reflecting fragmented glimmers amidst the churning waves.

He suddenly understood: “You thought… I was flaunting my relationship with Xiao Zhong Ge?”

He hadn’t expected Chen Huan to care so much about that retort he’d made at the shooting rang, “You know nothing about Zhong Su”—to specifically come here for this.

“Aren’t you? Constantly throwing around the title of ‘lover,’ demanding the bracelet from me, even touching his fish, quite reckless, aren’t you.”

Chen Huan lowered his gaze, eyelids trembling slightly as he leaned down to stroke Zhong Su’s eyelids, dangerous and eerie, as if he might gouge them out the next moment. “Whatever you had with Su Er, I don’t really care. It’s all in the past.”

“But—”

“So, if you’re trying to get close to me through Su Er, keep your petty schemes to yourself. Don’t mention him again, and don’t pretend you understand him. You’re nothing.”

Chen Huan was declaring: It was up to him to define what mattered to the departed Zhong Su—be it fish, people, anything, and it wasn’t the place of some so-called “lover” to interfere.

If Zhong Su continued to casually assume the identity of “the deceased Zhong Su’s lover” and cross boundaries, Chen Huan could dispose of both the fish and him at any time.

Staring at the man before him, Zhong Su clearly realized, Chen Huan not only wanted to dump those fish into the water but wanted to throw him in as well.

After leaving Zhong Su behind, Chen Huan drove off.

Watching the departing car, Zhong Su uncomfortably touched the corner of his eye, finally accepting reality: retrieving the ashes from Chen Huan’s hands in the short term was impossible.

He licked his gums; the abrasion he’d accidentally caused that morning had split open again, the metallic sweetness of blood spreading in his mouth.

This unlucky year—nothing seemed to go right.

It seemed he would have to stay in Hong Kong a while longer, waiting to see if an opportunity would arise.

Unfortunately, while Zhong Su’s plan was sound, by the time “Voyage on Righteous Seas” began filming, he still hadn’t gotten another chance to reclaim the Bone Chain.

Fortunately, Zhong Su wasn’t entirely unprepared. While waiting for an opportunity, he had forced himself to practice the script’s lines and scenes a few times in front of the mirror. Though not masterful in acting, he could still put on a decent performance.

Xiao Lao Dao had volunteered early on, after Zhong Su signed the contract, thumping his chest and declaring that during the filming of “Voyage on Righteous Seas,” he would act as his good brother’s driver and assistant, handling transportation and errands, ensuring Zhong Su arrived on set punctually every day.

Of course, this wasn’t just out of brotherly loyalty, it was also because the intimidating authority of elder Jiang Xun was too overwhelming for him.

He didn’t dare let anything go wrong again, becoming even more invested in the filming than Zhong Su himself.

Before dawn had fully broken, a full three hours before the scheduled start time, Xiao Lao Dao anxiously drove to Zhong Su’s apartment building, calling to plead with the groggy, irritable Zhong Su to wash up and come out.

Zhong Su rubbed his temples and wearily slumped into the passenger seat, complaining irritably, “Xiao Lao Dao, do I have to wake up this early every day from now on?”

“Here, take this, freshly made soy milk and youtiao straight from the wok. I specifically asked the granny selling them to fry the youtiao fresh for you.”

Xiao Lao Dao was too flustered to pay attention to Zhong Su’s grumbling. He hurriedly shoved the scalding-hot breakfast into Zhong Su’s hands while urgently starting the car: “It’s our first day on set today. We need to arrive early to get accustomed to the environment. Acting isn’t physically exhausting, but it drains you mentally. Have a bite on the way to settle your stomach, once we get busy, you won’t have another chance to eat.”

“You’ve already witnessed how sharp-tongued my uncle can be. His biggest pet peeves are disobedient actors and people showing up late, in that order.”

Seeing that Xiao Lao Dao hadn’t registered his complaint, Zhong Su shook his head and decided not to repeat himself.

He opened the paper bag and bit into the crispy-yet-fluffy youtiao. The milky fragrance of the dough bloomed between his teeth with each chew.

Xiao Lao Dao’s somewhat worn Mazda slowly navigated the bustling narrow streets before finally reaching the filming location.

To pursue authenticity, Jiang Xun had decided to shoot the first scene on location, choosing the lively, humble Temple Front Street as the setting.

When Xiao Lao Dao and Zhong Su arrived, the crew was busy cordoning off a section of the street with barrier tapes and notice boards.

Curious onlookers gathered at the periphery, speculating about which movie was being filmed there, and hoping to catch a glimpse of a star or two up close.

The chubby Xiao Lao Dao bustled among the crew members, asking questions left and right, before jogging back to Zhong Su with sweat beading on his forehead.

“My uncle is directing the scene and prop setup, no time for me. He wants you to get your makeup done and wait for filming to start.” Panting heavily, his plump cheeks trembling with each breath, he pointed toward a white trailer. “That’s the mobile makeup van. Head straight there.”

“I—I won’t accompany you. It’s sweltering out here. I need to rest in the car with AC. Just call if you need anything.”

After delivering the instructions, Xiao Lao Dao couldn’t bear another second outdoors and scurried back to his car for some cool air.