Embedded Files
Psst! We're moving!
Yan Man probably paused for three seconds, as if she were witnessing the heavens collapse and the earth crack on this simple phone screen.
...What on earth was Zhou Xuan sending her?
Thankfully, she was half-blind at the moment; otherwise, she could hardly imagine what kind of expression Ye Lin might have had on his face right now.
She had actually let the person involved read aloud to her—content filled with suggestive material about the two of them.
Seeing her silence, Ye Lin asked again in a low voice: “Do you still want me to continue?”
Meaning, did she want him to keep reading.
Yan Man abruptly flopped back onto the couch, covering her ears with her hands. “No, no, you do your own thing.”
Then she rolled over, burying her face into the couch.
Zhou Xuan... I’m coming for your head...
After lying on the edge of the couch for a while without falling asleep, she couldn’t help but feel curious again, muttering to herself: “Text? Manga? Webtoon? Or video?”
Ye Lin: “...”
“Video.”
She repeated in surprise: “How do they make videos? Are they that good?”
Ye Lin was silent for a moment before saying: “If you’re curious, you can open it and take a look yourself.”
“Forget it,” Yan Man said. “I can’t see clearly right now. I’ll check it later.”
She napped for a bit, then was called out to shoot a scene. Glancing at her phone to check the time, she realized her vision had recovered.
Yan Man sat down on the couch again, pondering complexly for a moment. In the end, her curiosity won out, and she opened the video.
Just as the page began loading, the man reading the script casually glanced over.
Yan Man: “Do you want to watch too?”
He hadn’t intended to, but since she brought it up, he slightly tilted his head.
Yan Man thought to herself that since it was fan-edited content, it was probably made from their footage. It wouldn’t be anything groundbreaking—lots of hype but little substance. She just wanted to know how such videos were put together.
But when she opened it, she discovered many empty shots—footage from other films or public resources. At the start, there were things she didn’t quite understand, like something resembling a choker, but with a lock hanging from it.
She looked at Ye Lin, and Ye Lin looked back at her.
With genuine curiosity and sincerity, she asked: “What is this?”
“I’m not sure,” the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve never bought one.”
Yan Man lost interest, turning her attention back to the screen.
“You’re clueless.”
“...”
Next came a flurry of empty shots. She was busy analyzing which ones were scenes she had filmed when her attention wavered slightly. Suddenly, clips of the two of them flashed by, followed by the sound of piano music.
Yan Man suspected she had missed a step somewhere, rubbing her chin. “Did you understand it? I didn’t.”
“…It’s just on the piano.”
“On the piano? What are they doing?”
As soon as she asked, realization dawned on her, and she exclaimed in shock: “You can even do that? They know so much!”
“...”
Looking at her earnest expression as she turned back to the screen, Ye Lin realized that she truly had no ulterior thoughts or hidden meanings. She was simply watching it like a TV drama, trying to figure out something she didn’t understand.
...Though it was true that she didn’t understand quite a lot.
Finally finishing the video, Yan Man admitted that it was somewhat stimulating.
Thinking back to the BE (bad ending) video she had clumsily edited herself, she sincerely lamented: “They really are professionals.”
She wholeheartedly remarked: “Their editing skills are impressive. They can create an entire...”—she replaced the word “car” with “story”—”just using a small amount of footage. Much better than what I could do.”
Ye Lin paused, catching some keywords: “You edited one? What did you edit?”
Realizing she had slipped up, Yan Man quickly stopped herself: “No, I haven’t edited anything. I meant it’s much better than anything I’ve seen before.”
Determined to steer the conversation away, Yan Man added: “They really know a lot about this kind of thing.”
“...”
Before they could talk further, the phone rang, rescuing her from the awkward situation.
She glanced down—it was Yan Zong.
“Hello?” She picked up nonchalantly. “Why are you calling me today?”
On the other end, Yan Zong vented furiously: “I’m so mad! The other night, I was a bit drunk, and I replied to those trolls on Weibo, accidentally outing your identity. Then I slept until noon and woke up this morning. When I checked my phone, I got such a shock!”
“I immediately went to ask Yan Yuan, thinking that after all this, Dad would definitely punish me, so I braced myself.”
“But! Guess what Yan Yuan told me!”
“They said mentally ill people aren’t held responsible for breaking the law! F*** their ancestors!”
Yan Man listened attentively, then gently responded:
“What they said makes sense.”
“...”
Yan Zong was about to launch into another tirade when the makeup room door was pushed open. A staff member informed the actors to prepare for the next scene.
Yan Zong, sharp as ever, asked: “Who are you with?”
After a brief pause, she answered: “A friend.”
At this point, her relationship with Ye Lin had grown closer, and they could genuinely call each other friends. After filming the variety show together for so long, she had gradually forgotten his mentor identity, and their interactions became more natural and relaxed.
Yan Zong: “Which friend?”
“The one you like,” she suddenly remembered. “What, do you want to chat?”
“Ye Lin? My idol? You two are sitting together?” Yan Zong immediately cleared his throat, modulating his voice. “Never mind, we’ll talk next time. My voice isn’t great after drinking heavily last night.”
“...”
Do you speak this formally when dating your girlfriend?
Upon realizing that Ye Lin was nearby and could potentially overhear their conversation, Yan Zong toned down his usual brashness. He made a few casual complaints before hanging up.
Yan Man had been about to turn on the speakerphone, but she hadn’t expected Yan Zong to be so conscious of his idol image. She had already extended her phone halfway toward Ye Lin before pulling it back.
Ye Lin: “What is it?”
She explained: “My brother is your fan.”
The man paused for a moment before saying: “Then we can meet sometime if there’s an opportunity.”
“Mm,” she nodded, answering decisively. “Next time you have an event, I’ll get him a ticket.”
“...”
Ye Lin parted his lips as if he wanted to say something more, but she pulled him out of the makeup room: “Hurry up, they’re calling us to shoot.”
The next two scenes were an indoor scene and a hug scene.
The indoor scene took place in a constructed bookstore set. The two sat across from each other, talking about many things from the past. As soon as the director called “cut,” the makeup artist rushed over with powder to touch up their makeup.
Yan Man tilted her head back to wait.
The waiting process was somewhat boring, so she casually picked up a book, opened it, and a bookmark fell out.
It was unclear who had read it before—it might have been brought directly from a bookstore by the crew.
Yan Man touched the page and read the words written on it:
“In biology, if you can still smell her natural scent without her wearing perfume, it means your genes have chosen her.”
Her reading habit was to unconsciously vocalize the words. By the time the makeup artist had finished and left, she was resting her chin on her hand, placing the book on the table in front of her.
After finishing, Yan Man grew curious. Remembering that she hadn’t applied any perfume today, she rolled up her sleeve and sniffed her wrist.
Ye Lin, having heard her earlier reading, couldn’t help but smile faintly at her actions.
“You’re choosing yourself?”
She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Just trying it out.”
He hummed. “So, did you smell anything?”
“No,” she said. “There’s no scent. Is this just random nonsense?”
“All right, all right,” the director called from outside. “Stop playing around and come shoot the scene. Exterior shot!”
Yan Man stood up and walked out, still holding her rolled-up script, flipping through the pages she had marked last night.
This was a mutual embrace scene. She was on the left, and Ye Lin was on the right. They needed to meet in the middle.
Yan Man pondered for a moment.
“The script says I’m supposed to run toward him. What if my head bumps into his collarbone?” She hesitantly turned to the director. “Would a concussion count as a work-related injury?”
The director thought for a moment: “Are you filming a romantic drama or running a 100-meter sprint?”
“...”
Behind her, Ye Lin seemed to chuckle softly. He then walked over to her side and whispered, “If you’re worried about bumping into me, I have a suggestion.”
He pointed to several fixed points, dividing the path she would run into three sections.
“You can start by walking briskly, then slow down to a jog here. When you’re close, slow down a bit more, and finally stop here.”
She let out a soft “Ah,” finding it reasonable. “That works. It has a sense of progression, and the rhythm feels good too.”
It also conveyed the feeling of unconsciously speeding up when seeing a lover, only to grow hesitant as you get closer.
“Mm,” he agreed. “Let’s shoot it this way.”
Yan Man added: “Should I tiptoe at the end? Would that look better?”
He thought about the visual for a moment and nodded. “Adding some motion makes the frame more layered.”
She nodded: “Remember to coordinate with me. You should lower your head at this point; otherwise, the height difference will make it look awkward.”
...
Soon, the shoot began.
The leaves above rustled in the wind. Ye Lin stood in place, and with the clapboard sound, he looked up ahead.
The winter breeze lifted her skirt like an accordion, creating folds like sheet music. She ran toward him against the wind, her hands brushing past his waist. She lightly tiptoed, resting her chin on the crook of his neck.
He leaned down. Though the falling leaves above appeared desolate, he caught the faint scent of an unnamed flower.
His fingers twitched slightly, as if recalling a sentence from the book earlier—
He raised his hand, his fingertips grazing her neck, brushing aside her hair.
Her skin was fully exposed now, carrying the subtle fragrance that lingered after warmth.
Beyond the camera’s view, he tilted his head, his nose faintly brushing against the delicate skin of her neck. At this moment, all five senses were closed off—
He smelled a very faint, natural scent, neither artificial nor overpowering. It was clear yet unique, like the clear water of a winter lake or diluted white tea, mingling with the warmth of her body, flooding into his nostrils.
What was that phrase again?
If you can smell her most natural scent, it means your genes have chosen her.
After the call of “cut,” Yan Man stepped out of Ye Lin’s embrace.
“What are you spacing out for?” She smoothed her hair. “We’re done for the day!”
With today’s shoot completed, they headed to the changing room to take off the costumes provided by the production team. The costume designer would send them to be dry-cleaned, as they might need to wear them again for reshoots.
After changing, Yan Man was left in a plain black base layer. The wind outside was strong, so she sat in a chair, waiting for Simon to bring her down jacket.
Unlocking her phone, she realized she was still on the video page from earlier and hadn’t exited.
Just as she was about to leave the page, she suddenly noticed that the editor of this fan video seemed somewhat familiar.
...Isn’t this my dad?
Where had she seen this username before?
The sense of familiarity was so strong that despite racking her brain, she couldn’t recall. Finally, she decided to click into the profile.
Sure enough, upon opening it, she discovered that she had actually bookmarked this account.
Skimming past the first post and scrolling down, after a few swipes, she finally remembered.
This was one of the anti-fans of the Yan-Ye ship. Previously, she had spitefully bookmarked five such accounts, but now only three remained.
One month ago:
My True Identity Is Your Dad : [Yan Man, beautiful; Ye Lin, handsome; Yan-Ye, trash even dogs wouldn’t ship!]
At this moment, Ye Lin also happened to walk out of the changing room.
Yan Man was leaning over the chair, browsing the profile.
From his angle, even sitting, she couldn’t stay still. While others leaned against the backrest, she knelt on the chair, arms propped on the backrest, leaning forward.
Ye Lin lifted his leg, intending to remind her to change her position because the chair might tip over.
But just as he approached, his peripheral vision caught some suspicious keywords. However, Yan Man quickly scrolled past them.
Recalling the earlier “Yan-Ye” reference, he asked in a low voice: “What are you looking at?”
Without thinking, Yan Man replied: “Our anti-ship CP fans...”
Halfway through her sentence, she suddenly remembered.
Wait—wasn’t this the person who edited that piano x dressing room x various ankle chain…video blogger?
A sharp jolt went through her nerves. She straightened up and quickly scrolled the screen upward.
Less than a month after posting “trash even dogs wouldn’t ship,” My True Identity Is Your Dad passionately produced a shocking smutty video at 3:30 AM, captioned with eight bold characters—
[Haha, I’ve come to pick up trash!]
...
……
……
Yan Man: “………………”
She took a deep breath, using ten seconds to accept this fact.
She tried her best to appear calm, not wanting to seem too inexperienced.
With feigned nonchalance, Yan Man handed her phone over and admitted: “Yes, it’s our CP fan.”
…………
But it was as though she had seen something even more unbelievable. She noticed Ye Lin’s eyelid quiver slightly.
He lowered his gaze: “So...you bookmarked our CP fan?”
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