Chapter 68

Life Is Full of Subtle Traps

Zhi Yu Biao’s new job was the same one Fang Qingxian used to have as “007” at the Secret Cinema’s Casino Royale theme on Mengzi Road. The immersive theater was modeled after the wildly popular one in London, staged in a warehouse-like two-story building. It combined a four-hour immersive theater experience with a movie screening. However, after being adapted for local audiences, many players complained that the large crowds and limited time left much to be desired. When Zhi Yu Biao auditioned, they removed the movie portion and changed the ending to a mission-based format, with most NPCs replaced by local actors.

Apparently, Fang Qingxian’s departure was primarily due to... his lack of English skills.

Zhi Yu Biao, with his dance background, carried 30 Ace of Spades cards in his pocket, distributing them before blending into the crowd as one of the performers in a musical number with a Black female actress, tap-dancing. He even went through a week of intensive training for it. In total, they hadn’t seen each other for about ten days. To watch Zhi Yu Biao tap-dance, Hu Xiu invited Zhao Xiaorou to join her for the 007 experience. Zhao Xiaorou showed up in full glam with Ma Liang but immediately got separated and ended up sticking with Hu Xiu as they ascended the escalator.

Amid the smoky, atmospheric scenes, they got lost, peeking into every small performance space with musical numbers, but they didn’t manage to spot Zhi Yu Biao in his sequined tuxedo handing out Ace cards. Eventually, the thin air got to them, and they sat at a casino table playing Texas Hold’em for an hour.

Every time Hu Xiu received a task card, it would activate her inner mission mode. Spotting the MI6 agent or someone carrying a gold-flower accessory became her sole focus. She completely forgot about watching Zhi Yu Biao dance, instead running around completing tasks.

The golden-haired NPC she needed was surrounded by layers of players, but Hu Xiu used her crisp British accent to coax the NPC out—proving just how important it is to master a foreign language.

When the four of them finally reconvened, they were all a bit dazed. Zhi Yu Biao’s legs were cramping from dancing, and he never once saw his girlfriend during the event. Hu Xiu was squished in the massive crowd of 500 players, which seemed to have cured her rib cartilage problem. Zhao Xiaorou, who hadn’t purchased the ¥3,000 VIP ticket for the casino area, had gambled away all her money and couldn’t afford the ¥6,000 ticket needed for the finale in the VIP room. Ma Liang couldn’t understand what was fun about it all—the girls were dolled up like they’d fallen into a parallel universe spider’s web, and none of them paid him any attention.

Leaning against a flowerbed outside Jiuguang Department Store, watching a saxophone performance across the street, the four of them sipped hot milk tea and watched the passing crowd.

Having removed his stage makeup, Zhi Yu Biao pulled out a wet wipe from his pocket to clean his face. Even the simple act of wiping his face drew the attention of some passing young women.

Zhao Xiaorou said, “If 007 controlled the player numbers, I’d consider coming again. Playing Texas Hold’em with dozens of people—I haven’t felt this kind of competitive exhaustion in a long time.”

Zhi Yu Biao shoved a mouthful of taro balls into his mouth. “This 4,000-square-meter venue is designed to be one big party. How can it feel lively if there aren’t enough people?”

“Did you run out of Aces quickly?”

“It wasn’t too bad at first, but during the busier sessions, they went fast.”

“People came back to see you again?”

“This place doesn’t focus on individual actors; it’s about the overall atmosphere. That’s why I like it—there’s not so much emphasis on player-actor interactions. Leading players around is exhausting.”

“Just say you’re afraid Hu Xiu will check up on you.”

Hu Xiu didn’t respond, instead thinking about the escape rooms and immersive theaters she used to visit with Li Ai. They felt emptier without him.

Then again, it wouldn’t be convenient for Li Ai to hobble up and down stairs on crutches, so it made sense that he wasn’t there.

Zhao Xiaorou flicked the ash off her cigarette. Dressed as Snow White but exuding the aura of the Evil Queen, she held an apple with a bite taken out of it, as if she were about to offer it to someone else.

Ma Liang thoughtfully took the empty milk tea cup from her and threw it away. Zhao Xiaorou quickly lit her second and third cigarettes. Hu Xiu frowned. “This is right next to Jing’an Temple. If you want to burn incense, just go there. Don’t burn yourself here...”

Zhao Xiaorou didn’t reply. Instead, she mulled over the 007 plot and suddenly remembered something. “Zhi Yu Biao, is that movie of yours all done? Any follow-up plans? Shouldn’t a big star like you do some promotion? What about the confidentiality agreement? When will I get a chance for a private screening?”

“Just a little indie film. It’s for film festivals,” Zhi Yu Biao said with a smile. “It won’t get a public release—it probably wouldn’t pass censorship anyway.”

Both Zhao Xiaorou and Hu Xiu were stunned. “What?”

“There’s a lot of bloody and violent content, plus some adult-only scenes.”

“Who?”

“Me...”

“What?” Zhao Xiaorou glanced at Hu Xiu. “What’s going on? There’s a sex scene, and you didn’t tell us?”

“It was a fight scene, jumping off a bridge—what you mentioned earlier... had some of that too. But it wasn’t as sleazy. The whole story has a grayish tone, and the narrative is very fragmented—it’ll all depend on how they edit it.”

Diao Zhiyu blushed slightly. “The footage from the monitor at the time was actually quite... beautiful.”

Hu Xiu jumped up in surprise. “Diao Zhiyu, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you already knew... In a love story where the couple can’t be together, there’s bound to be some adult content...”

Diao Zhiyu seemed to be teasing Hu Xiu deliberately. He sat with his legs crossed, looking serious. “It’s just acting. Nothing real happens. Ning Zechen and Lin Qiumei have physical contact too!”

Though she felt her heart clench jealously, Hu Xiu kept her expression steady, quietly sipping through her straw. In the lamplight, the rain-soaked air and their intertwined gazes felt like a damp truce.

This silence forced Diao Zhiyu to stand up, his dark eyes growing more uneasy. “I really thought you wouldn’t mind these things. The female lead is like an older sister—a well-known actress who treats me nicely. There’s absolutely nothing between us.”

Hu Xiu still said nothing, watching Diao Zhiyu pace around her, clearly lost.

Zhao Xiaorou finished her last cigarette, her smile so wide it lifted her eyebrows. “I guess this is what they mean when they say actors experience different lives.”

On the way home, Hu Xiu didn’t say a word, her heart feeling sour—like someone had knocked over a jar of vinegar.

Diao Zhiyu followed behind, waiting for her to scold him. He looked completely helpless, as if he’d done something wrong.

When they got inside, he said, “You seem upset that I came back. I’ll just go home now. We have to be up at 4 tomorrow for rehearsal anyway—it might disturb your sleep.”

She grabbed Diao Zhiyu’s hand, acting casual. “It’s nothing. Don’t you know me well enough by now?”

Even after they went into their room, she wasn’t friendly with him. She took her time getting ready for bed, then sat down at the table in her nightgown to read some translated materials, even reading out loud.

Diao Zhiyu, who had also showered, was sitting next to her in Muji pajamas. His eyes were all over the place. “I really didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d make things up in your head. Zhao Xiaorou asked about it earlier, but I figured you’d find out eventually when the movie comes out, so I told her.”

“Tell me what’s in the script already,” she demanded.

“It’s confidential...”

“Well then, describe that beautiful scene you mentioned before. Do it like you’re acting it out again.”

Diao Zhiyu’s eyes grew more frantic. “No way...”

“What are you scared of?” Hu Xiu suddenly felt confident in her acting skills too. “What kind of setting did you have? Where was the camera positioned?”

“Don’t joke around...”

“I’m not joking around...” Hu Xiu wore a loose black T-shirt that exposed her collarbones above and left her legs bare below. Her waist was slender beneath the baggy fabric, and her skin glistened with orchid-scented lotion. She draped her leg over Diao Zhiyu’s thigh, icy-cold ankle brushing against his fingers. “Come here...”

Diao Zhiyu’s eyes turned cold as he quickly got into character. It was indeed different from Qin Xiao—he felt like a predator zeroing in on its prey. As he leaned closer with a menacing expression, she could feel herself growing hot all over.

He led her to the bed, his fingers sliding up from her knees. There was an imperceptible hint of cruelty hidden in those jet-black eyes—somewhat frightening.

He moved close to sniff at her scent, his nose hovering mere millimeters from her skin. His hand reached under her T-shirt, wrapping around her waist and stroking upward along the curve of her body, his movements fierce.

She recalled the indie films from the 90s—with their distinctive color palettes, fragmented editing, and rock-n-roll atmospheres. The air emanating from the screen was one of unreachable arrogance.

But the sensation Diao Zhiyu evoked was different again, marked by his unique presence.

For instance, when passion began to surge, he would suddenly reach into his hair, then draw circles on his palm before holding it out to her. After a moment of hesitation, he’d smile and bring his finger to trace circles on her chest instead. His touch was light—not seductive, just a gesture conveying his intentions.

His slight head shake seemed like he was holding something back. His expression wasn’t serious; it was the bashfulness, confusion, and... cuteness unique to young boys.

This acting really got to her.

When he hugged her tightly, his collarbone pressed against her chest. She heard Diao Zhiyu whisper mischievously into her ear, “Let’s stop here—the rest gets pretty explicit. I’ll just skip ahead to what happens off-stage.”

With those words, he guided her hand toward his chest. Hu Xiu felt flustered but pushed him away again, pursing her lips as she said, “We’ve done enough for one scene. You should sleep now—I need to prepare for the next meeting.”

She’d never seen Diao Zhiyu so shocked before. He sat on the bed looking like he’d seen a ghost. “Huh? That’s it?”

He even pointed between his legs.

“I’m serious—we have to prep for the conference. James Bond has wasted half the day already, and we’re panicking now. Don’t come any closer—I just want to know how far we went in that act.”

After opening the window for ten minutes of ventilation, Diao Zhiyu knelt on the sofa with his head sticking out. “You didn’t give me your contact info,” he grumbled. “Even when you saw me through this window, you wouldn’t come down. Then you sent Pei Zhen my way while I was wavering, making me anxious. Now you’re backing out at the last minute! And here I was trying to teach you something—you’re the real master.”

“What should I say...” Hu Xiu’s keyboard clicked away. “Just go to sleep already. I think we’ll be up until three tonight.”

Once Diao Zhiyu was sound asleep in his bed, she quietly searched the web for actor gossip. She found a story about a famous Hong Kong movie star who fell for another actor during filming. After being rejected, he changed his sexual orientation and stopped dating women. A once-cute couple from their early days had split when the male actor started making gay films. The female lead still visited him on set every day. When the film won awards, people mistook them for real lovers due to their convincing performance. The former sweethearts quietly went their separate ways, but no one knew why. Rumors circulated endlessly about the complicated relationships between these actors...

Staring at Diao Zhiyu’s peaceful face, just imagining him kissing or embracing someone else made her shake her head hard. This boy who struggled to get out of character after confessing love to Lin Qiumei on screen—how could he handle physical contact with others now? Could those memories be easily erased?

Even she herself had grown more dependent on Diao Zhiyu over time... built up gradually through each meeting, each kiss...

The air conditioning blew a sparse chill through the night, causing her to shiver. It had been a long time since she last dated. This moment served as a reminder: being in a relationship was never the ultimate cure for pain.

When she had a crush, seeing Qin Xiaoyi unable to let go of a past character was agonizing. Being in a relationship with Diao Zhiyu, who, as an actor, would inevitably be swept into emotional turbulence with others, wasn’t any easier.

Actors lived multiple lives—outwardly appealing, inwardly complex. Their lives were inherently more extravagant than most. Even a young man like Diao Zhiyu, if he were to leave her, would still have countless opportunities to experience all the splendors life could offer.

In the past, she might have felt inferior. But now, looking at her reflection in the mirror, the waves of emotion had receded, leaving behind glistening seashells—the treasures this relationship had bestowed upon her. She gathered these shells, and even if she were to leave, her pockets would be full, her journey worthwhile.

Encountering such a boy in her life might count as a stroke of luck. She crawled into bed, slipping her icy hands onto his chest, and was promptly pulled into his arms as he sleepily embraced her, without a hint of complaint. If it had been her ex, he would have pushed her away and snapped at her.

Sourness welled up within her—live in the moment, she thought.

Zhao Xiaorou was also awake. During her live stream earlier, Ma Liang had accidentally appeared on camera. A screenshot of this was sent to the gossip group, where it was revealed that she had a new boyfriend. Zhao Xiaorou, true to form, had never experienced a “dry spell.”

That wasn’t what upset her. The real issue was a particular comment: 

“She seems to have always liked the coffee shop owner on Yuyuan Road. The Christmas display there was extravagant. 

I thought she was the boss’s wife. I even heard they co-own the shop. If she has a new boyfriend now, does that mean she was just keeping the boss as a backup all along?” 

Crushing an empty cigarette pack and throwing it into the trash can, she missed several times, bending down to pick it up repeatedly. Finally, she kicked the trash can over in frustration.

Ma Liang appeared behind her. She quickly closed the page and rummaged through the drawer for a fresh pack of cigarettes. From behind, Ma Liang hugged her. “My dear, what’s wrong? Not happy?” 

“Nothing...” 

“Diao Zhiyu’s reaction earlier today... I could barely keep from laughing. Back when I was crashing on his couch, his phone was always on silent. He’d get tons of texts from girls—it was like a big fish pond. Later, he started turning off his phone at night, only replying to everyone before bed.” 

“Oh?” 

“Especially some rich ladies. They loved messaging him late at night, posting selfies pretending they weren’t married, even though their posts were only visible to the cast of Snowpiercer. 

Don’t ask how I know. I have all these women on WeChat. I couldn’t see Diao Zhiyu’s posts, but I saw theirs.” 

This was a lot of information. Zhao Xiaorou asked simply, “How did you add those women on WeChat?” 

“I may not be rich, but I’ve always liked working out. At the gym, I’d help people with their equipment, and that’s how I got to know them. 

They often got together to talk about Snowpiercer. They didn’t play any other murder-mystery games, just kept replaying Snowpiercer. There’s one red-haired lady who’s played it almost thirty times. 

Apparently, she’s obsessed with the suit. Anytime Qin Xiaoyi wears it, she’ll send tips. 

But Xiaorou, don’t be jealous. I don’t like any of these women. You can check my phone. My heart belongs only to you.” 

“I know…” Zhao Xiaorou thought to herself, Probably because they find you too ordinary. Lighting a cigarette, she sat at her desk, waiting for Li Ai’s email. 

At 9:00 PM, Li Ai always sent a business email, detailing the handover of work. Most of the workload had shifted back to her, and reviewing these emails for traces of sentiment or human warmth had become her nightly ritual. 

Tonight’s email contained nothing but spreadsheets. Feeling bored, Zhao Xiaorou started crunching numbers with her calculator. 

Behind her, Ma Liang spoke again: “Xiaorou, that male assistant of yours—it’s not a good look for him to be coming over so often.” 

He was referring to the assistant who had been with her for five years, a young man who handled driving and errands without complaint, highly dedicated. Zhao Xiaorou didn’t turn around. “What about him?” 

“A male assistant ironing your clothes every day, even handling your lingerie—it’s not really appropriate, is it? 

Besides, I’m very diligent too. I can do all of that. You should find an opportunity to let him go.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“He came by around 9:00 PM tonight. I told him not to come at night anymore and to leave quickly after delivering things during the day. After all, this is your private residence, and honestly, that scar on his face is pretty intimidating…” 

With a loud clink, Zhao Xiaorou slammed her lighter onto the desk. “You may be my boyfriend, but you’re not my boss. Do you know how long he’s been with me? 

He’s been to prison, and no one would hire him when he got out. I’m his only employer. He’s never made a single mistake at work. Even if everyone else around me betrayed me, he never would. 

When I was getting a divorce, he tirelessly gathered evidence for me, traveling between cities without a word of complaint. And now you’re telling him not to come around? Who do you think you are? 

Let me make this clear, Ma Liang. You can sleep on the couch or the bed, but you leave the people around me alone.” 

Her hands trembled with anger. Ma Liang walked over and tried to soothe her, laughing. “My love, I was just asking. Why are you so upset? I was only worried he might have ulterior motives. Every boyfriend gets jealous. Now that you’ve explained, I understand. Calm down…” 

He seemed completely unaware that Zhao Xiaorou’s patience had worn thin. 

Zhao Xiaorou pushed him away. “Go take a shower. I’ve got work to do.” 

She no longer had the energy to maintain a façade of gentleness and charm for Ma Liang. If, in the past, she’d managed to stay soft and sensual with her exes, she was now all fury at home, ready to erupt at any moment. If Ma Liang ever aired her dirty laundry in the gossip group, she’d be truly done for. 

After finishing Li Ai’s email and transferring funds, she grew more irritable. She sent a message to Hu Xiu: “Let’s grab dinner tomorrow after your shift. I’ve got some gossip.” 

The next day, Hu Xiu wasn’t at the main office but had gone to Yangpu for translation work. Following the dean and vice dean, she spent the entire day delivering reports. They discussed nationwide insurance reimbursement expansion, local specialty programs, precision treatment for impoverished counties, and designated departmental aid. By the end of the day, she had a clear understanding of her upcoming workload. 

The next six months would inevitably involve writing reports and extensive business trips. 

Administrative work and translation pulled her in opposite directions. Although the content occasionally overlapped, it had at least given her a rough grasp of medical concepts. 

Most of the time, it was like a fog—being outside the profession, she couldn’t learn it, so she wouldn’t remember it, and she’d forget cleanly. 

The only thing she remembered was Dr. Jin’s statement: “Infertility isn’t a rare condition. If you plan to have children, make arrangements early.” Basic ethical knowledge, rooted in humanity, could stick in the mind. 

On the subway, she was so sleepy she swayed, nearly dozing off while leaning against the seat. Diao Zhiyu messaged her: 

“Sold out this weekend, so I probably can’t meet up. How about we meet on a weekday at your place?” 

“Anything works...” 

“A film director introduced me to a web series team. They want me to audition next week for a romantic drama. I probably won’t get it, but I wanted to let you know.” 

“That’s fine. Do you think I’m such a petty person?” After sending this, her heart jumped to her throat—what you fear comes true. 

“I can still read you, even though your acting skills are improving to the point where I find it harder to tell.” 

“Don’t worry, at worst I’ll make you act out all your scenes with the female lead with me.” 

Getting off at her station, her temples throbbed. “If you really become a big star, I might even brag about it.” 

At that thought, she chuckled to herself. Her dad would definitely rush over and tell her to break up, to avoid being taken advantage of by a man in the entertainment industry. 

Exiting at Gate 5, she bought some cheese tarts at Lilian Bakery. Ever since Zhao Xiaorou’s fallout with Li Ai, she’d barely touched desserts; from what Hu Xiu knew, hunger made Zhao Xiaorou sharp-tongued. 

With a sigh, she thought, single or in a relationship, gaining or losing—love never goes smoothly. 

At the hospital entrance, someone bumped into her, nearly knocking over her box of tarts. When she looked up again, a familiar figure entered her view, and their gazes locked. 

No one wants to run into a former crush when their feelings are already on shaky ground. 

Even if the scene, with diluted moonlight and dirty yellow lamplight, seemed like it was setting up for a brilliant plot twist, she still felt it was inappropriate. 

Moreover, the way the other person looked at her was overly intense, as if months of pent-up longing had gathered into a doubled weight of affection. Life is full of silent traps. 

Pei Zhen.