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Psst! We're moving!
——I like you.
Before Yan Man could react, a sudden scream erupted from behind her.
The person sounded as if they had heard something earth-shattering, their cheeks quickly flushing red, and they covered their mouth, barely able to hold onto the tray in their hands.
Yan Man thought to herself, well, here we go—another CP fan.
A nearby waiter hurriedly stepped in to smooth things over: “This is your appetizer, we…”
Before he could finish, the waiter who had screamed earlier finally managed to suppress her instinctive reaction. Holding the tray, she bowed repeatedly: “Sorry! I disturbed you! My apologies!”
Despite her apology, her face still radiated with an excited happiness.
Yan Man: “….”
Waiter: “We’re very sorry; we’ll bring you a fresh serving later—”
“It’s fine, no need,” Yan Man grabbed a napkin and pointed at the server’s collar, “Just clean your clothes, some soup splashed on them.”
The server took the napkin, her expression indescribable—a mix of apology and satisfaction.
As she was being ushered away by her colleague, she didn’t forget to reassure Yan Man, turning back while walking: “I’m okay, really!!”
Yan Man: “….”
You do look pretty okay.
After resolving the little incident at the entrance, Yan Man turned around only to find everyone at the table staring at her.
Their expressions were varied.
Some looked surprised, others delighted, but most appeared to be enjoying the show.
Yan Man pulled out her chair and sat down: “Why are all of you looking at me?”
Someone teased: “Teacher Ye just confessed to you, aren’t you going to say something?”
Yan Man: “What am I supposed to say?”
It’s not like this is an award ceremony where I have to give a speech, right?
She blinked, tilted her head toward Ye Lin, and hesitantly said: “Th… thank you?”
The table erupted into laughter, the atmosphere instantly becoming lively. Someone even started clapping: “As expected, you can’t predict what our Teacher Manman will do with normal logic!”
Yan Man adjusted the utensils in her hand and confirmed: “Are you just trying to liven up the mood, or—”
Ye Lin: “I’m serious.”
Yan Man studied his expression for a moment, feeling that he did look quite serious.
She murmured: “When did this happen?”
“….”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Take this private matter offline!” The director beside them laughed so hard his eyes squinted. “If you keep talking about it, it’ll get too personal—I’d feel awkward hearing it!”
“That's right, it's not easy to have a killer dinner and feed me dog food!”
“Friends, this is TV drama coming to life! Our crew is basically a matchmaking temple!”
“Hey, Peng and Gu should also step up their game—one drama, two couples!”
The more Yan Man listened, the more confused she became, exclaiming: “We’re not even together, how are you all still shipping us like crazy?”
“Ah, aren’t we just CP fans?”
“Wait… does this mean, Teacher Ye confessed to you, and you’re still considering it?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Yan Man was bewildered. “Would you immediately agree if someone randomly confessed to you?”
“But this is Ye Lin we’re talking about!”
“What about Ye Lin? When I liked him, he rejected me. Now that he’s pursuing me, he has to follow my pace.”
The moment Yan Man finished speaking, the room fell silent. She witnessed the shocked widening of the male actor across from her, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could be so audacious.
But a few seconds later, she heard Ye Lin nodding and saying: “Alright.”
“It’s only fair,” he said.
At this point, someone started pounding the table. The young actors, one after another, were so excited it felt like they had regressed to primal behavior.
“This is so exciting, friends! Isn’t this better than a drama?”
“What do you mean, are you dissing my show?” Yan Man couldn’t let that slide. “Are you still an actor in Cherry Slush ? I’ll revoke your acting credentials right now, Director, listen—”
The male actor quickly begged for mercy: “No, no, no, I was wrong—”
Another round of laughter erupted. Everyone began teasing: “Everyone else is love-brained, but our little Manman is career-brained.”
The meal lasted over two hours before everyone finally got up to leave.
Outside, the wind was cold. Yan Man crossed her arms, preparing to send a message to Simon, when suddenly footsteps approached from behind.
She turned around to see Ye Lin.
He fiddled with the car keys in his hand, his Adam’s apple subtly bobbing. “I’ll drive you home.”
“You’re driving?”
“Mm.”
She thought about how easily this would end up on the headlines and said: “No need, my car’s already outside.”
“Let them drive your car back. I’ll take you,” he glanced at the strong wind outside. “Besides, we live together anyway.”
Yan Man watched as her car pulled up, thinking to herself that this man was truly difficult to deal with.
“If you’re chasing me, or if I’m chasing you—it’s my call,” she said.
“…”
“…Alright.”
“Mm, you head back early too,” she waved at him before turning around. “I’m off, bye.”
Soon, she hopped into her chauffeur-driven car. The man stood rooted in place as the wind blew for a while, then his phone vibrated.
It was a picture she sent.
It must have been taken after she got in the car, looking through the rear window and seeing him still standing there.
SoundSoundMan: [Image]
In the picture was his silhouette standing by the roadside. The car sped off, and his figure blurred into a small dot.
SoundSoundMan: [Go home soon.]
Staring at these two messages, he chuckled softly, replying: [Got it.]
________________________________________
The next day, upon arriving at the set, it was another full day of intense filming.
The weather was cold. During a break, a crew member handed her a cup of warm water to warm her hands. They were chatting with someone nearby: “I’ll buy a ticket for the evening and go home with you. I’ll return early tomorrow morning.”
“After all, during Da Han (Great Cold), doesn’t everyone eat their mom’s eight-treasure rice?”
Upon hearing the last sentence, Yan Man’s movement of taking the cup faltered, and hot water spilled out, splashing over half the cup onto her hand. Her skin quickly reddened.
She froze momentarily. The crew member beside her quickly apologized: “Sorry! Are you alright, Teacher Manman?!”
“I’m fine,” she pursed her lips. “I wasn’t careful.”
Yan Man wiped her hand and placed the cup on a nearby table.
The staff continued chatting with someone about the earlier topic. She avoided joining in and went to an empty area to wait for her next scene.
Yan Man tilted her head up, trying to distract herself, her thoughts drifting hazily.
It seemed like Da Han was approaching.
Indeed, it was so cold.
After another two hours of filming, she emerged from the scene, rubbing her cold arms and chest, patting her cheeks to wake herself up.
Cheer up.
She opened her phone to find a message from her best friend since high school.
Meng Xishuang: [Teacher Yan~ Help me choose which ones to include in the wedding photo outtakes.]
In the blink of an eye, some people were still diligently working hard, while others were about to become □□.
Scrolling up the chat, Meng Xishuang had sent her many pictures of random encounters with Yan Man’s billboards on the streets. Seventy percent of her check-ins came from these moments.
Even though they had both graduated from university, the two still kept in touch regularly.
Infected by the joy of marriage, Yan Man teased with a smile: [So soon?]
Meng Xishuang: [Yes, the wedding date is this week. I know you’re busy, so I didn’t tell you. Don’t feel obligated to come—I’ll send you a wedding favor. Just send me your address.]
Perhaps some friends truly understand and consider you.
Yan Man sent her address, and the two chatted for a while before she put her phone down, intending to rest.
But as she glanced at the table, she saw a row of milk teas.
It was common for small treats like these to appear on set. Sometimes they were brought by fans visiting, other times prepared by the actors themselves to reward the crew and win their favor.
During the Shabing drama, both Yan Man and Ye Lin’s fans had organized several such events.
But who prepared these today?
Generally, there would be labels on the cups. Yan Man picked one up, intending to check its origin.
What greeted her eyes were six big characters—
The Urban Traveler Yan Man.
…Who?
Yan Man stared at the cup in silence for a few seconds. After mentally ruling out the possibility of any actors in the crew sharing her name, she raised her head with a puzzled expression and asked a nearby staff member: “Who sent this?”
“Teacher Ye,” the staff member blinked. “He started handing them out earlier—there’s also some bread and other things. They’re all sent under your name to help you build rapport with the crew.”
“Ye Lin?”
As soon as she finished speaking, perhaps thinking she was calling him, the man emerged from the side, holding a loaf of bread he was in the process of labeling. “What is it?”
“…”
Yan Man was astonished: “Why are you here?”
“To see you.”
She thought for a moment, realizing her question had been rather redundant.
Rubbing her temples, she continued: “Actually, you don’t need to go through all this trouble. I never intended to use your feelings for me to make you do things for me…”
As she spoke, she felt her words weren’t quite conveying what she meant: “You understand what I’m trying to say, right? It’s just that I—”
“I know,” he finished sticking the label on. “You don’t want to take advantage of the fact that I’m pursuing you to make me do things for your convenience.”
Just as she was about to agree, she heard him add: “But I’m doing this voluntarily.”
He calmly stated: “I just wanted to see you.”
“…”
The nearby staff member struggled to suppress a rising smile, restraining themselves as they said: “Well then, the two teachers can talk. I’ll go distribute the items.”
Yan Man was left somewhat flustered by his straightforwardness. Mainly because no one had ever pursued her like this before. In the past, she usually politely declined, sincerely telling the person they weren’t her type—a final act of kindness from someone who valued appearance above all else.
But clearly, this approach wasn’t working. She needed to have a serious talk with him.
And so, Yan Man pondered over these thoughts until the afternoon shoot began. For now, she set them aside and immersed herself in her role.
The character she played, Lu Yingying, was a quintessential urban drifter who had just graduated from university and held various jobs but hadn’t found satisfaction in any of them, enduring much hardship.
Today’s scene was of her handing out flyers. The protagonist transitions from sadness to forced composure and finally to a breakdown, where all pent-up emotions explode. She sits by a flower bed, crying uncontrollably, yet still has to pick up her phone to reply to her mother’s message, pretending everything is fine.
Yan Man had never played such a role before. Fearing she might not do it justice, she even went out of her way to experience the jobs Lu Yingying did, hoping to make her performance more authentic.
The shoot went smoothly. From the initial attempt to pull herself together to the eventual helpless sobs, the camera pulled back to reveal a distant shot of the bustling city behind her—a place countless people dreamt of.
The stark contrast was both striking and cruel, further emphasizing her insignificance.
So absorbed was she in the role that she forgot about the steps beneath her feet, twisting her ankle and freezing in place.
Director: “Quick, quick, quick! Little Yan twisted her ankle! Hurry and call—”
“Wait!” Yan Man raised her hand. “If I act this scene again with a sprained ankle, wouldn’t it make the audience feel even more immersed?”
“…”
She wasn’t wrong. This scene was meant to depict the protagonist’s lowest point in life. Adding the element of injury would heighten the emotional impact and make the audience empathize even more.
In film and television, evoking strong empathy from the audience was one of the goals.
The director hesitated for a moment: “Are you sure? Are you okay?”
“It’s just a sprained ankle, nothing serious.” Yan Man gestured. “Let’s shoot another take. No need to touch up my makeup!”
Though she said “one take,” switching between different camera angles, she ended up filming three takes.
By the end, she could barely hold on. Hopping on one leg, her face involuntarily scrunched up slightly, sucking in cold air, with sweat dripping down her cheeks.
The director watched from behind the monitor: “This acting is incredible. Is she really in pain or just acting?”
Ye Lin tightened his grip on the now crumpled paper cup: “She’s really in pain.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Finally, Yan Man stopped and asked: “Director, how’s the effect of this scene?”
Not “Is it done?” but “How’s the effect?”
“It’s good,” the director quickly called for a stop, muttering under his breath: “If it’s not good, Teacher Ye might kill me.”
Upon hearing the director’s signal, everyone gathered around. Yan Man rolled up her pant leg to reveal her ankle, which had swollen into a small hill.
“Wait,” she sprayed some aerosol on it twice and stopped the staff members. “Let me first check if the footage looks good. If not, we’ll reshoot.”
Ye Lin put down the now-crumpled paper cup in his hand, took the medical kit from the crew, and strode forward.
Yan Man: “Don’t treat me yet. I need to see my footage—”
The next second, she was scooped up horizontally.
She was stunned, her mind going blank for three seconds before she began to struggle: “What are you—”
Ye Lin: “I’ve already seen it. The effect is good.”
Sure enough, the person in his arms settled down.
“Really?”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
She nodded, quiet for a few seconds, then remembered where she was.
“You should put me down,” she said. “What are you doing? Hurry up, I still have some dignity left!”
Ye Lin: “If I put you down, you’ll run to the monitor.”
“…”
Did he know her that well?
After a brief moment of thought, Yan Man said: “Alright, I won’t go then. How about you put me down, and I promise I won’t go.”
But it was already too late.
Soon, she was indeed put down—but placed on a nearby empty step.
Ye Lin held her calf to keep her from moving, opened the box, and took out a cream for sprains.
Yan Man kept squirming: “Give it to me; I’ll apply it myself.”
But the man wouldn’t let her. He simply lowered his head, applied the cream in a circle, and pressed gently on the swollen area.
Yan Man could practically feel the gossipy gazes of the distant staff members.
She tried to struggle but couldn’t break free. After a while, she could only pat his shoulder, exasperated: “Ye Lin!”
He finally looked up, his eyes dark like ink-stained pools, repressed and low, as if he were restraining something.
“What?”
His question was so direct that after a long pause, Yan Man decided to give up: “Fine, do whatever you want.”
It was her ankle that was sprained, so why did it feel like he was the victim?
Was he angry? What was he angry about?
Yan Man fished her phone out of her pocket, only to realize it was her character’s phone, completely empty except for one game: Happy Match-3.
Ye Lin was still “working,” seemingly massaging endlessly.
She could only open the game to pass the time.
Twenty minutes later, Ye Lin saw that the swelling had subsided significantly, and the knot in his chest gradually loosened.
Just as he was about to tell her that her health came first and acting could always be refined later, he looked up to hear her phone cheerfully announce in a loud voice:
“Unbelievable!”
Yan Man: “I’m so good.”
“…”
Sensing Ye Lin’s gaze, she looked up: “What? Are you not mad anymore?”
“…”
“My mistake,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you.”
Yan Man never expected those three words to come out of Ye Lin’s mouth one day.
She said: “That’s not what I meant. I was just trying to lighten the mood…”
“But next time, if something like this happens again, protecting your body should still be the priority.”
After listening for a while, Yan Man said: “I understand what you mean, but I know my limits. It’s just a sprained ankle; it’ll be fine in a couple of days. I once saw an interview with a male actor who had to perform a scene where he was being strangled. Since his acting skills weren’t enough to convincingly portray suffocation, they actually strangled him for real.”
“It’s all pretty normal. When technique falls short, you can only rely on raw emotion to make up for it.”
Ye Lin paused for a moment, recalling that he himself had similar experiences in the past.
But still, he said: “He is him, and you are you.”
Yan Man: “What, is my life more precious than his?”
“…”
She lowered her head without speaking, but her gaze wavered. Ye Lin continued: “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that I’m not always around, so next time, you’ll dare to do something reckless again, knowing full well that I can’t really do anything about it.”
Yan Man: “Don’t just twist my words like that—”
Ye Lin: “You’re right. I can’t do anything to you.”
He said, “But it hurts me to see you hurt.”
Her lips parted slightly, producing a faint, empty sound.
What was going on? After confessing, was he suddenly being so direct? And so intense?
Yan Man couldn’t help but suspect he was under some kind of spell: “What’s gotten into you today? Why are you suddenly saying such mushy things? You’ve left me completely defenseless.”
“When you like someone, this is how it feels.”
He said: “I like you, so this is how I am.”
“Later, when I was alone, I thought a lot. I wondered if the reason we missed our chance back then… was because of me. Because I kept too many things bottled up inside.” He continued, “So while I have the chance, I want to tell you everything.”
“I don’t want to be too late.”
He said: “I’m not a perfect person. I’m selfish, cold, and resistant to all forms of intimacy. I lock myself away in a room I think is safe, not wanting others to see my emotions, and not believing that I could ever fall in love with someone.”
Yan Man was momentarily stunned as she listened to him go on—
“But I’ll endure my imperfect soul and try my best to love you.”
“I’m already changing. This time… could you… take a good look at my sincerity?”
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