APR 46

Zhong Su’s expression shifted slightly, his eyebrow lifting. He didn’t know who the producer of this film was, but when it came to investors, he did happen to know one.

As he shifted his gaze toward the entrance, a thought crossed his mind: “It couldn’t be Chen Huan, could it?”

The so-called “premonition” is something that can be frighteningly accurate when least expected.

Everyone on set watched as a group, several producers surrounding Chen Huan, walked in.

For a film, the most important thing is money. Only when the funds are in place can the visuals be executed properly.

The producer holds the purse strings, while the investor is the most crucial source of that money.

Zhong Su happened to meet Chen Huan’s gaze. Chen Huan’s deep, dark eyes were like whirlpools, devouring everything. He clearly saw Zhong Su but acted as if he didn’t recognize him, shifting his gaze away after a moment.

For no apparent reason, Zhong Su felt that gaze made him somewhat uneasy, but Chen Huan seemed to have come only to inspect the film’s shooting progress.

As soon as Jiang Xun saw Chen Huan arriving for the inspection, he immediately slapped away Xiao Lao Dao’s hand, which was covering his mouth: “You unlucky brat, let go! The big boss is here, and you’re still causing trouble! Go on, get out of the way!”

He obsequiously approached, offering Chen Huan a seat next to the director’s chair, and said, “Mr. Chen, you’ve come at just the right time. The shooting is progressing very smoothly, we’ve already completed one-tenth of the script. We’ll definitely finish on schedule.”

Chen Huan’s expression remained indifferent. He flipped open the progress report handed to him by the producers, skimmed through it briefly, and listened as they chattered about the on-site situation.

The report contained nothing more than daily affairs: confirming there were no safety incidents, noting which scenes had been filmed, followed by a series of signatures.

He finished flipping through it in no time, looked up, and asked, “Are you about to film the scene where the police officer meets the informant?”

Before Jiang Xun could even wonder how Chen Huan knew the script in such detail, he hurriedly replied, “Yes, this is the first scene of the day. We were just about to start shooting.”

Chen Huan said nothing more. He closed the report, set it aside carelessly, and settled in as if waiting for a good show to begin.

With the top investor waiting, all the crew members sprang into action. Soon, Camera 1 was mounted on its designated track, while the cameramen for positions 2 and 3 held their cameras, holding their breath in anticipation.

At Jiang Xun’s command of “Action!”

The lights inside the warehouse went out completely. In the sunless environment, only one or two cold-toned fill lights, deliberately controlled by the lighting crew, remained.

Steel materials and wires scattered on the floor were as chaotic as spiderwebs. Stagnant pools of murky, filthy water had accumulated in damp corners.

A light gray car drove into the warehouse and stopped in the center of the empty space. Immediately, Lu Yizhou, with his mixed-race features, opened the car door and stepped out. His sleeves were rolled halfway up, revealing pale skin and smooth muscle lines, both sharp and captivating. A tactical holster with a gun indicated his identity as a police officer.

He scanned the surroundings as if searching for something when suddenly, a sound like someone kicking an empty can echoed in his ears.

A crisp clang—tap!

Lu Yizhou swiftly drew his gun, aiming at the corner where the sound had come from, and warned, “Who’s there? Come out!”

“Why are you so late?” Zhong Su stepped out from the shadows, the light falling on him, illuminating his sharp, handsome features—like a freshly honed blade.

Lu Yizhou finally relaxed his expression, lowering the gun barrel, and said warmly, “Lin, you startled me. I thought some little mouse had scurried in.”

On the video monitor screen, Lu Yizhou and Zhong Su were performing according to the script.

Meanwhile, Chen Huan rested his chin on his hand, watching Zhong Su’s every move on the screen. He observed Zhong Su delivering his lines, mouth opening and closing, then lighting a cigarette, the red mole on his wrist glaringly conspicuous.

Chen Huan’s eyes darkened slightly, like a big cat that had discovered something intriguing, his index finger tapping restlessly at the corner of his lips.

Beside him, Jiang Xun’s furrowed brows visibly relaxed. Once the two actors finished delivering the final lines as scripted, he stood up excitedly, raising the megaphone and shouting, “Cut—! Yizhou, Zhong Su, you both performed well. Take a break, and let’s keep this momentum for the next scene!”

Zhong Su gestured expressionlessly to Jiang Xun, indicating he had heard him.

Then, Jiang Xun sat back in his chair and began flattering Chen Huan again. He hadn’t forgotten that his own satisfaction wasn’t enough—he still had to gauge the boss’s mood. “Mr. Chen, Zhong Su performed excellently. It’s all thanks to you that I was able to sign the contract with him.”

He rambled on, “I’ve always said he’s perfect for the role of ‘Lin Wenhan’—it’s as if he were the character himself. Although his acting skills are still a bit raw and he struggles with conveying nuanced emotional layers, he learns incredibly fast. I only need to demonstrate a scene once or twice…”

Chen Huan lit a cigarette, his expression as if he hadn’t been listening to Jiang Xun at all. He exhaled a puff of smoke, glanced at the wall clock, and said, “Director Jiang, the actors have been on break for fifteen minutes. Shouldn’t we start filming the next scene?”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Jiang Xun choked back his words, not daring to say more, and shifted his focus to filming as they began the second scene.

Chen Huan watched for as long as the filming lasted.

Finally, after wrapping up the day’s scenes, Zhong Su wanted to talk to Chen Huan but noticed he had already stood up and was about to leave.

Zhong Su didn’t bother drinking the water Xiao Lao Dao offered him, nor did he pay attention to Lu Yizhou, who tried to speak to him. Instead, he hurried after Chen Huan.

Xiao Lao Dao looked bewildered, his hand still holding out the water cup in mid-air. “You worked hard… Oh, Zhong Su, aren’t you going to drink some water? Where are you off to in such a hurry? The restroom?”

Lu Yizhou approached with a smile. “Zhong, I apologize for my earlier offense…”

Before either could finish speaking, they could only see Zhong Su’s hurried retreating figure.

Chen Huan had already reached the door, where several producers crowded around him, eagerly trying to persuade him to stay. “Mr. Chen, it’s rare for you to visit. We can’t let you leave in such a hurry. There’s a nice teahouse nearby—let’s sit down, have some tea, and discuss the next phase of the film.”

Jiang Xun couldn’t get a word in, nervously rubbing his hands together. He, too, wanted to know Chen Huan’s plans for the film’s future investment. After all, given the current filming progress of Sailing the Righteous Sea, they would soon reach the scenes requiring significant funding.

He had already asked Fang Jiashu to calculate the budget in advance. To achieve or even exceed the expected filming results, the current investment would need to be doubled.

“The film looks promising and well-made. I’ll skip the tea, but I hope this movie doesn’t end up costing me money,” Chen Huan’s gaze swept over them, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Regardless, I’ll rely on all of you to ensure the final product’s quality. Don’t let such a promising project turn into a pile of garbage.”

The producers and Jiang Xun quickly agreed. As seasoned veterans, they naturally understood the underlying meaning in Chen Huan’s words: the investor was willing to spend money, but the film absolutely could not fail.

Although Chen Huan rarely involved himself in frontline matters, they knew the rule that when money was invested, the work had to be done properly. Moreover, rumors had long circulated in the industry that “Mr. Chen has connections with the underworld and can navigate both sides.”

Coincidentally, as Zhong Su caught up, he saw Chen Huan heading toward the black luxury car parked in the factory’s open space, with the driver already waiting by the door. Zhong Su stepped forward, blocking Chen Huan’s path, and met his deep, unfathomable dark eyes directly. His expression, however, remained quite relaxed as he said, “Chen Huan, can we talk for a moment?”

Zhong Su’s bold move to approach the major investor for a conversation was so startling that, aside from Jiang Xun, everyone around them momentarily wore expressions of shock.

What was this newcomer thinking? How rude, and he even addressed Mr. Chen by his full name? Wasn’t he afraid of offending the investor and being replaced on the spot?

They were all unfamiliar with Zhong Su, an unknown newcomer actor, only aware that he was a promising talent Jiang Xun had insisted on signing.

As everyone exchanged bewildered glances, Chen Huan lowered his gaze to look at Zhong Su, a faint, peculiar emotion in his eyes—something between curiosity and cold scrutiny. “I’m very busy and have no interest in chatting with you right now.”

With that, he stepped past Zhong Su.

Logically, after being rejected so bluntly, one should give up. But Zhong Su persisted and followed him.

Zhong Su quickly moved to Chen Huan’s side and continued, “I’ve adapted well on set. I’m doing easy work now and earning a decent salary, all thanks to you. Even if you’re busy, you still have to eat, right? Let me treat you to a meal. Will you do me the honor?”

His gratitude was feigned; his real intention was to find an excuse to talk to Chen Huan.

Zhong Su added, “Besides, I realize there’s a deep misunderstanding between us. After what happened at the reservoir, I’ve thought it over carefully. You had every right to be angry with me. If I were in your shoes and someone I didn’t know suddenly asked for a friend’s keepsake, I’d be angry too.”

“But I wanted the bracelet because I hoped Xiao Zhong Ge could rest in peace, not to flaunt some special relationship with him, as you assumed.”

His voice grew softer as he spoke. “In the end, turning his ashes into a bracelet and wearing it isn’t something a normal friend would do.”

“If you let go and give me the Bone Chain, I promise you’ll never see me again.”

“Not normal”—the phrase exploded like a massive bomb in the silence, leaving behind devastation and ruins in its wake.

Chen Huan was uncharacteristically stunned for a moment. He halted his steps, then turned his face slightly to look at him, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Friends? Not normal?”

His pitch-black pupils seemed to shimmer with a bloody hue, locking onto the young man before him. “You’re mistaken. From the very beginning, nothing was right. I never saw Su Er as a friend. He was mine. Even in death, he had to stay by my side.”

Zhong Su’s eyelids twitched. His intuition told him this topic was dangerous, as if some dissonance he had vaguely sensed but subconsciously avoided was about to be torn open and laid bare before his eyes.

Zhong Su asked, “What do you mean by that?”

A shallow smile lingered on Chen Huan’s lips as he pressed a hand on Zhong Su’s shoulder, leaning in to whisper something low into his ear:

“Like him? When I licked him down there, I was already thinking about how to make him addicted to me.”

What?

“……”

Zhong Su heard the words clearly, and his mind exploded with a buzzing sound. A flush crept up to the tips of his ears, the pale lobes turning so red they seemed about to bleed.

Seeing the look of disbelief on his face, Chen Huan scoffed and walked past him toward the car.

The driver respectfully pulled open the car door, waiting for him to get in.

Just as Chen Huan reached out to grasp the door handle, as if remembering something, he half-turned back, resting his arm on the car frame, and said to Zhong Su, “Also, if you want to talk to me, don’t speak to me as ‘Su Er’s lover’ anymore. I’ve barely managed to restrain myself from dealing with you all this time. But I suppose that identity of yours won’t last much longer anyway.”

His phone began to vibrate.

Completely unconcerned, Chen Huan answered the call while still facing Zhong Su. “Da Xiong, have you found the information I need? Send it to the office. I’m on my way back to the company now,” he said as he got into the car.

Zhong Su watched Chen Huan’s car drive away, frantically rubbing his ears. A tingling, prickling sensation spread from his ears all the way to his heart.

His mind was in complete chaos. Did Chen Huan, that lunatic, really say he “liked him”?

Just imagining Chen Huan treating him like a woman, or himself pinning the other down and tenderly caressing him, made goosebumps rise on his arms.

This kind of relationship was far too excessive, far beyond the bond he had defined for the two of them.

“What kind of mess is this?” Zhong Su muttered under his breath, yet a faint sense of relief unexpectedly washed over him.

He was now completely at ease with the fact that Chen Huan hadn’t recognized him. Otherwise, given that man’s obsessive nature of wanting whatever he desired, coupled with seven whole years of fixation… once he believed the absurd notion of reincarnation through another’s body, Zhong Su feared he might never easily leave Yan Gang.

The thought sent a chill down his spine. Zhong Su immediately dismissed the idea of trying to mend his relationship with Chen Huan. Rather than persuading him to let go of his obsession with someone who was no longer here and hand over the Bone Chain, it would be far more practical to wait for a moment when he was not fully conscious and simply snatch the Bone Chain back from his wrist.