Yan Man turned her head.

The man was sitting not far away on the couch, arms crossed, his gaze dark and unreadable.

If everyone’s heads had a weather gauge, it wouldn’t be hard to tell that the storm cloud hovering over Ye Lin, the top-tier celebrity, was a cumulonimbus.

Shao Wei trembled, on the verge of tears: “Is my acting really that bad?”

Yan Man replied honestly: “A little bit.”

“…”

“Anyway, you can’t compare with him.”

“…”

“Don’t worry about him; this can all be adjusted,” Yan Man quickly redirected Shao Wei’s attention. “This is a pre-recorded shoot. We can film a scene many times. He and the director will guide you—it’ll be fine.”

“I know the theory,” Shao Wei covered his mouth, “but I’m still so scared….”

Yan Man: “...”

Shao Wei: “You don’t understand how terrifying his look was just now when I glanced over. It’s different from now—he’s restraining himself now, but just then it was like—”

“Alright,” Yan Man patted his shoulder in comfort, “don’t cry. Just do your best in the next scenes.”

These two pats felt like pumping air into a bicycle tire…

Feeling this, Shao Wei wanted to cry even more.

But that wasn’t the end—the teacher actually… looked at him again…

This time, the gaze…

Sensing Shao Wei shaking even more violently, Yan Man: “...”

She decisively stepped between Ye Lin and Shao Wei: “Stop looking at him. You know he’s always like that. Why keep looking? Just ignore him.”

Shao Wei: “I can’t ignore him…”

Can you ignore the presence of a top-tier star just like that?!

Finally, after finishing the first scene, the director addressed some issues and asked Ye Lin, who was sitting nearby: “Teacher Ye, do you have any thoughts?”

Ye Lin lowered his eyes to the script, then lifted them to look at the director. His expression was calm but dark, and he said nothing.

One glance spoke volumes.

Though Shao Wei didn’t get into character this time, occasional encouragement was necessary.

Yan Man suggested: “Could you give him some encouragement?”

Ye Lin lowered his eyes, deep in thought. Just when everyone, including Bi Tan, thought that since Ye Lin usually treated Shao Wei well, he would definitely give some encouragement—

The man calmly replied: “Why should I encourage him?”

Yan Man: “...”

Although he knew his performance wasn’t good, after finishing today’s scenes, Shao Wei still cautiously and tearfully approached:

“Teacher, you used to encourage me before. You’ve changed.”

“Mm.”

Shao Wei: “...”???

Early the next morning, Yan Man received a message from Shao Wei: “Teacher Manman, I need to reshoot a previous scene this morning. I’ll only be gone for half a day. I’ll be back for the afternoon scenes!”

Sure enough, problems arose after he left.

After finishing her solo scenes in the morning, Yan Man learned that during the reshoot, the crew’s motorcycle hadn’t undergone proper safety checks, causing Shao Wei to fall off and break a bone, leading to hospitalization.

“Ah?” Yan Man was shocked. “Is it serious? Should we go see him?”

“Not too serious, fortunately his face wasn’t injured, but he needs to rest,” the director said. “We didn’t tell you this morning because we were worried about affecting your performance.”

“What should we do? The male lead definitely needs to be replaced now.”

“It’s fine as long as he’s okay. If we have time to replace him, it won’t be a problem. But with only three days left, who can we choose?”

In these three days, not only does the new actor need to step in, but the male lead also needs to review the entire script.

Yan Man looked at Ye Lin, who was sitting nearby.

The man sat up.

She decided to ask for his opinion: “Do you think…”

Ye Lin lowered his eyes, waiting for her to finish.

Yan Man: “Li Haoge?”

“...”

“Seems inappropriate,” Yan Man dismissed the idea. “What about Jiang Hongyang?”

Ye Lin: “No schedule availability.”

“Yi Qun?”

“Age inappropriate.”

“Gu Peng?”

“Inappropriate.”

“Then there’s no one else to choose from,” she thought it wasn’t impossible. “Then I might as well act with thin air?”

At least she wouldn’t have to work on chemistry with another co-star.

After a long silence, Ye Lin patiently said: “Am I dead?”

Not expecting this response, Yan Man paused.

“...Huh?”

Ye Lin: “Am I dead in your eyes?”

“.........”

“No, mainly because their fan numbers are similar. If I pair with you, people might say…” Yan Man explained, “I didn’t think of you…”

“Then think now.”

“You’re really unreasonable,” she said.

“...”

After much thought, realizing there was indeed no better choice than him, Yan Man said: “Alright, then when can you start shooting?”

“Now.”

He stood up: “Wait for me to get ready.”

“...”

She stood there for a while, browsing through the script. Before she realized it, the man had already changed clothes and walked out.

A hanger is truly a hanger.

Others wearing the same clothes would only look good, but on him, they exuded an elegant nobility.

The white silk robe with cloud patterns, gold-trimmed edges, every detail perfectly tailored, accentuated his indifferent yet exquisite handsome face. A jade pendant hung from his waistband, his fingers distinct and slender, resembling a transcendent immortal or a carefree swordsman.

No wonder they always called him a god.

Clothes that others couldn’t pull off, he casually tied on, as if tailor-made for him.

Yan Man waved the script: “Have you read it?”

“I’ve read it.”

After briefly going over the scenes, filming began.

“Teacher Ye is acting?” The director visibly relaxed. “Great, great. Then this drama is secure.”

The male lead role was difficult. Even if Shao Wei performed at his best, he would still appear somewhat immature.

Ye Lin, with experience in period dramas, was much more proficient while filming. For example, the actions of lifting his robe and sitting down naturally carried an air of elegance.

Before filming the next scene, Yan Man asked him: “Have you ever done wirework?”

He nodded, adding after a moment: “It’s common in filming.”

She was curious: “Is it fun?”

“...”

“It’s usually just okay.”

She made a sound of acknowledgment, then suddenly forgot that anything this man did would seem uninteresting to him.

After changing into a new outfit, she heard the commotion outside as she stepped out—it seemed like they were about to start filming.

The female lead hadn’t arrived yet.

Yan Man hurriedly lifted her skirt and ran towards the set.

The bells on her ankles jingled with each step, drawing everyone’s attention.

As their gazes shifted, Ye Lin turned his head to look.

A red gauze dress draped over her fair shoulders and neck. A braid was tucked behind her ear, and an ornate hibiscus flower was painted diagonally from her jawline upwards. Her forehead ornament swayed, and a red floral sticker adorned her brow.

With every step she took, the hem of her dress fluttered vividly and vibrantly.

Red is a challenging color, but she wore it exceptionally well. Though countless actresses had donned red wedding dresses, none had stunned quite like she did at this moment.

The atmosphere on set seemed to freeze for a moment.

Ye Lin’s gaze lingered.

Seeing the crew frozen in place, Yan Man paused, then asked: “Are we not filming?”

“Oh, yes... we’ll start filming right away,” the wire technician hurriedly approached to secure her. “Alright, ready.”

Yan Man tugged slightly, still feeling a bit afraid since she hadn’t done wirework before: “Is it safe?”

The technician’s ears reddened slightly: “Y-Yes, it’s safe.”

Filming didn’t start immediately; the director first adjusted the wires a few times to help her get used to them.

The challenge of filming fantasy dramas lies here—though the costumes are beautiful, the scenes involving flying gracefully through the air aren’t easy to shoot. Actors need to overcome their fear of heights to complete fight scenes and landings.

After several tests, the director increased the height. Yan Man gripped the wire tightly, exhaling softly.

Ye Lin: “Afraid of heights?”

“A little,” she admitted.

From the side, the director called over the walkie-talkie: “Alright, let’s try this scene.”

The man turned to look at her, palm up: “I’ll catch you.”

“Of course, you have to catch me,” Yan Man exclaimed, horrified. “If you don’t, I’ll fall and die!”

“…”

This scene involved the female lead falling from mid-air, only to be caught by the male lead.

The difficulty lay in the acting.

If it were a roller coaster, screaming or closing your eyes to escape would be fine; but since it was filming, she needed to appear calm, relaxed, and as if she had no adverse reactions.

The wire slowly descended, then suddenly dropped. Yan Man’s eyes snapped open, and instinctively, she clung to the neck of the person beside her.

“Director!!!”

Terrified, she trembled in Ye Lin’s arms, not even realizing when she had fallen, her hands gripping him tightly.

The director laughed from behind the monitor: “That was to scare you. You won’t find it scary next time—it’s to help you relax.”

Ye Lin looked down.

She was genuinely frightened, not expecting the ground to be so close below her toes. Her back shivered, and her arms around his neck were icy cold.

Usually fearless, she now resembled a little lamb.

Realizing something was off, Yan Man slowly raised her head.

“You’re laughing at me?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, “...No.”

Yan Man playfully smacked him with her elbow, then cautiously stepped back onto the ground.

But the director was right—after this experience, subsequent descents felt trivial.

They smoothly finished this scene and pressed on, filming continuously until late into the night.

She called Simon, who was waiting: “You guys go back and rest. We’ll probably be filming for a while longer. I’ll take Ye Lin’s car back, and I also need to stop by his room.”

Simon’s voice grew wary: “What are you going to his room for?!”

Yan Man: “To see the cats.”

“…Oh.”

“By the way,” Yan Man added, “Remember to tell the director’s team. If I switch to Ye Lin, their side has 80 million fans, and our side has 100 million.”

“For fairness in voting, my final count should be multiplied by 0.8 to avoid disputes.”

“Got it.”

After Simon and Zhou Xuan left, with no one waiting, Yan Man felt much more relaxed.

Some issues couldn’t be discussed with Shao Wei, but they could be with him.

Yan Man pointed to the last scene: “I feel like something’s missing from this dialogue.”

“Mm,” Ye Lin smoothly responded, pinpointing the issue. “There’s no memorable line.”

Suddenly enlightened, she snapped her fingers: “That’s it!”

The plot and atmosphere had been built up, but the dialogue felt too light, making the final confession line less impactful.

Ye Lin: “I have an idea—you can try revising it.”

She leaned closer: “What?”

…

The title of top-tier acting wasn’t given for nothing. After revising the dialogue with Ye Lin, the entire segment felt right.

Their efficiency was high, shooting until nearly one o’clock in the morning and completing all scenes, giving the post-production team ample time.

On the way back, she mused: “I wonder if Glutinous Paper has gone to sleep yet.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Ye Lin took out his phone. “There’s surveillance in the room.”

She watched the screen for a while; the two cats were playing happily. The surveillance was very clear, and there was even a chat button below.

Yan Man blinked and looked up: “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Then why did she come over? Watching the surveillance would have sufficed.

Ye Lin swiped open his room door and glanced back at her: “So you’re leaving?”

“I’ve come this far.”

Uttering the four Chinese words that are irresistible, she joyfully pushed the door open and walked in.

…

After entering the room, Yan Man picked up a small toy and crouched to play with the cats. Ye Lin observed for a while, then took out his phone.

The social media feed refreshed automatically, popping up with a hospital update from Shao Wei.

Shao Wei: [So bored...]

After some thought, Ye Lin opened the chat window and called him.

At this moment, Shao Wei was lying flat on his bed, scrolling through Weibo on his phone. Upon seeing who was calling, he was so startled that he accidentally dropped the phone on his face.

He quickly sat up, wiped his hands respectfully, and answered: “Hello? Teacher Ye?”

“Mm,” Ye Lin said, “How’s your condition?”

Shao Wei stuttered: “I-I’m alright. Just can’t get out of bed recently. I can’t film that fantasy drama. If Manman wins first place, I won’t be able to attend the awards ceremony either…”

The more he spoke, the less confident he became. Thinking about how things related to Yan Man had gone, the teacher’s attitude, and then his own accident, which prevented further filming… If Yan Man won, he wouldn’t be able to attend the celebration either…

Would the teacher be angrier than before?

Shao Wei held his breath.

The man on the other end calmly replied: “Rest well.”

Then hung up.

Expectations unmet, Shao Wei, who didn’t hear any scolding: ?

Thinking the teacher had reverted to his previous demeanor: ??

Self-reproaching Shao Wei: ???

He didn’t understand…

The teacher’s mood changes were like the weather in June.

Putting away his phone, Ye Lin lowered his eyes and looked at the person in front of him.

Yan Man was examining the cat food he bought.

“I bought what you sent me, but why is mine blue and yours green?”

The man walked over.

Yan Man shook the pack of fish snacks: “You didn’t send me this one. Is it tasty? Should I buy a pack too?”

Ye Lin: “The blue one is—”

She turned around and looked up, just as he bent down to answer her first question.

The man pointed to a spot on the cat food, his sentence unfinished, frozen in place.

Their noses were extremely close, almost touching with the slightest movement.

With each breath, warmth emanated from her lips.

A loud bang came from the doorway—the two cats had played too wildly and closed the bedroom door.

……

……

Yan Man tilted her head and sneezed.

Ye Lin: “...”

“Your room is so cold,” she said.

The man was silent for a moment, then turned and walked to the wardrobe.

Inside, clothes were neatly arranged by season, just like him—always orderly within the plans and positions he set for himself.

Ye Lin took out a light-colored trench coat and handed it to her.

Unaware of how many fan photos this trench coat had appeared in, Yan Man accepted it and put it on, buttoning it up.

Wondering if it carried the scent of wood or cats from the wardrobe, she couldn’t resist and sniffed it.

Ye Lin: “What are you smelling?”

She hesitated, then summarized after a while: “The smell.”

“Did you smell it?”

“No.”

“…”

Thinking of something, he said, “You’d make a good cat.”

“Because I like to sniff things?” Glutinous Rice was rubbing against her feet affectionately. Yan Man said, “Look, cats like to cuddle. I don’t.”

In a flash, Ye Lin recalled a few months ago, during the Republican-era drama shoot.

She wasn’t much different from this cat, fond of sticking close to him and rubbing against him casually. Perhaps she didn’t realize it, but looking back now, her soft-spoken words with her eyes curved were quite like a kitten seeking attention.

Just as the man thought this, Yan Man stood up.

“I’m going back,” she said.

The memory was abruptly cut off. This moment wasn’t the same as before, and she wouldn’t cling to him affectionately anymore.

“…Alright.”

Yan Man stood up, remembering she hadn’t returned his coat yet.

She undid each button one by one, unaware that she had tied the belt herself. She extended her fingers and untied it.

The trench coat slid to her shoulders. Yan Man knelt on the sofa; she had worn shorts today, revealing her straight, fair legs. She lightly padded her feet on the carpet, accentuating her slender ankles.

She leaned down slightly, shaking off the coat. It slid down past her waist and legs, as if it couldn’t stay on.

Yan Man tossed it back to him. The loose shirt moved with her actions, creating subtle curves: “Here you go.”

The trench coat landed on him, carrying her faint scent of white tea.

The door slammed shut, its echo lingering.

The man reached out, pulling the coat off, lowering his head as he waited for some sounds to subside—but they didn’t.

As if suddenly reminded of something.

He turned and suddenly pulled out the watch that had been sitting unused in the drawer for so long.

Placing it on his wrist, the screen flickered lightly.

Heart rate: 145.