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Between their locked gazes, an indescribable aura of romantic tension began to spread.
Yan Man gazed at him.
Ye Lin had a striking pair of eyes—his outer corners slightly downturned, exuding a sense of aloofness and coolness. His double eyelids followed the curve of his upper eyelid closely, only subtly deepening near the ends, creating an effortlessly handsome look.
At this moment, those eyes were slightly narrowed, revealing prominent tear troughs. The outer corners seemed touched with a hint of her light lip gloss, leaving them with a moist, reddish hue.
Unexpectedly, he reached out and covered her eyes. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been roughened by use.
“…Don’t look at me.”
She tilted her head up to reach his palm, smiling.
“Because you look good.”
As Yan Man placed her hand on his shoulder, two cats dashed into the room. She grabbed a few wet wipes from the side, dried her hands, and balled them up. The cats had knocked over the humidifier, so she cleaned up the mess little by little before finally lying down.
She had just touched the humidifier, and Ye Lin promptly pulled out a tissue, carefully wiping away any traces for her.
Yan Man looked at his meticulous expression and couldn’t help but smile again, thinking back to earlier moments.
Under his watchful gaze, she tucked the corner of the blanket around herself, placing her fingers near her cheek. Unable to resist, she lightly curled her knuckles and sniffed.
Her wrist was immediately caught.
His voice was low: “Don’t smell.”
She couldn’t help but tease: “You have so many demands.”
“…”
Over the next week, their “cohabitation life” seemed to settle into a routine. Her scenes in City Traveler gradually increased, and she often returned home late. Lying in bed, she barely exchanged more than a few words with Ye Lin before falling asleep.
Then, she would wake up at six the next morning, repeating the cycle.
That day, she arrived at the set early, the first one there. Not long after, Teacher Xu Wenjing also arrived.
Teacher Xu Wenjing, who played Cen Zhi, one of the three female leads, was a highly respected actress in her forties. She had starred in many high-rating dramas and had won Best Actress two years ago.
Every time Yan Man spoke with such a heavyweight senior, she felt enlightened.
Today, they had a scene together. After rehearsing their lines twice, they began filming.
This was a one-take scene with a lot of dialogue. The two characters argued about housing issues. Yan Man filmed several takes, but unusually, she called for a stop herself.
It wasn’t because she performed poorly; rather, she felt that compared to Teacher Xu’s natural and masterful technique, her performance hadn’t fully come through.
For some reason, her character felt overshadowed.
“It’s okay, don’t rush,” the director consoled her. “This scene is a bit difficult to act—it’s normal.”
After discussing further with the director, they resumed filming. This time, her performance improved slightly, but even after the cut was called, she still felt dissatisfied.
The set fell into an uneasy tension. Yan Man drank most of a bottle of water, and amidst the director and Teacher Xu’s discussion, she suddenly realized the issue.
“I’ve found the reason,” Yan Man said. “I ate too much.”
“…”
Yan Man explained: “In this scene, Lu Yingying has endured three months of torment, juggling six jobs. She’s so busy she barely has time to eat and is taking antidepressants. Logically, she should be extremely frail.”
“But to ensure my lines were clear, I used a more precise method to express myself, which isn’t right. At this point, she should appear both frail and putting on a brave front. That deep-rooted frailty—I didn’t bring it out.”
The director nodded repeatedly: “Yes, exactly. So let’s adjust?”
However, this scene seemed like a small bottleneck. Even after identifying the problem, she filmed multiple takes over several days without resolving it.
Finding the problem felt like being handed a lock with an uncrackable code. To keep the production schedule, the director decided to skip this scene temporarily and move forward, planning to reshoot once she found her groove.
Watching other actors cry or laugh under the camera lens, portraying their characters’ lives, scenes that unfolded daily on set now weighed heavily on Yan Man, causing her no small amount of frustration.
But twenty minutes later, she worked hard to adjust her state, jotting down the problem she faced and potential solutions in her memo app.
Every actor had limitations in their craft. For instance, actors playing warrior monks might learn martial arts, while those portraying terminally ill patients might lose weight drastically to fit the role. In the end, she decided on a direction.
Over the next few days, she would immerse herself more deeply into the character of Lu Yingying.
There was a scene where Lu Yingying swallowed pills. She consulted the set doctor and received confirmation that consuming a few pills wouldn’t cause significant harm, though there might be some common side effects—or none at all.
During the shoot, instead of using sugar-coated substitutes, she actually swallowed the capsules and powdered medication. The bitterness of the powdered solution hit her taste buds the moment she swallowed, causing her to briefly furrow her brow before suppressing it. Her throat convulsed a few times before she reluctantly put down the glass of water.
The take was precise, and it passed in one go.
She also began controlling her diet. Although actresses already ate sparingly, halving her meals still produced noticeable results.
Five days later, the argument scene was reshot.
Before heading out in the morning, Yan Man stood by the chair, swaying slightly. Seeing Ye Lin glance over, she smiled and rubbed her temples: “Why do I feel dizzy lately? Could I be pregnant?”
The topic quickly veered off course, and Ye Lin set down his utensils.
“Whose?”
“Who else could it be?” she teased. “Could it be someone else’s?”
“…”
His brows furrowed slightly, recalling almost instantly: “We only did it a few days ago—”
“You remember so clearly?” Yan Man was surprised, interrupting impulsively. “When we weren’t doing anything, were you counting the days?”
She felt a twinge of guilt.
This week had indeed been incredibly busy with filming. She’d collapse into bed exhausted as soon as she got home, too tired to muster any energy.
Thinking about this, Yan Man steered the conversation back on track, noticing how serious he looked. She couldn’t help but say, “I’m just joking. Why are you so tense?”
She added, “You haven’t done anything. Where would I get pregnant?”
Ye Lin mulled over her words, arriving at a conclusion that wasn’t quite definitive.
He lowered his gaze. “So you’re blaming me?”
“Not at all,” she said. “How dare I boss you around?”
“…”
As they left, she swayed slightly again. The half egg yolk she had eaten for breakfast had made her choke mid-conversation.
Yan Man took out her phone and messaged Zhou Xuan: “Can you chill a cup of lukewarm water for me? I feel a bit nauseous.”
Fortunately, her week of effort hadn’t gone to waste. Halving her meals and aligning her routine with the character finally paid off on the day of the reshoot, yielding the best results.
Actors have an innate sense of their work.
The moment the director called “cut,” she realized this take had been exceptionally well-executed.
However, perhaps due to the intensity of the dialogue, she momentarily felt lightheaded. Her final action in the scene was crouching on the ground, curling into a ball. As she tried to stand, she lost her balance and stumbled, bumping into a nearby lampshade.
Next to the lampshade was a wooden board, which clattered loudly as it fell, startling Yan Man. She turned her head and was momentarily blinded by the light from the lampshade, making her feel even dizzier.
...
All the crew members gathered around her. Zhou Xuan quickly came over: “Are you okay?”
She wanted to speak but lacked the strength. After a while, she whispered: “Help me sit for a moment.”
Simon pushed over a wheelchair. Seeing her pale face and recalling how rosy her complexion had been just days ago, he panicked: “Where’s the doctor?! Is there a doctor here?!”
His alarmed shouting ended up landing her on an ambulance.
Despite Yan Man repeatedly insisting she didn’t need it, Simon ignored her weak protests, clenched his fists, and barked: “Hurry! We need to get her glucose IV immediately!”
Yan Man: “...”
I really want to jump out of this ambulance.
After finishing a bottle of glucose at the hospital and listening to the doctor’s advice, Yan Man received two chocolates.
She was still a bit dizzy and said to Zhou Xuan beside her: “I need to use the restroom. Is the wheelchair still here?”
“Simon took it away,” Zhou Xuan replied. “But your bed is mobile. Just lie down, and I’ll call the nurse to help push you there.”
Yan Man pictured the scene and felt reluctant: “Won’t that look scary?”
Zhou Xuan: “No one will see anyway.”
Zhou Xuan was right—the corridor was empty. Because the nearby hospital’s infusion area was overcrowded, they had paid extra to be in the inpatient ward.
—It should have been unseen by anyone.
But life occasionally throws in some colorful surprises. For instance, her overly dramatic manager informed Ye Lin while paying the fees, and Ye Lin arrived within ten minutes.
When she heard hurried footsteps and someone calling her name, Yan Man was still a bit disoriented, thinking it was a hallucination caused by her dizziness.
She tried to sit up, but the nurses were pushing the bed too quickly. All she could do was strain her neck and lift her head slightly, catching sight of the man stopping them in the middle of the hallway.
Yan Man blinked uncertainly.
Ye Lin reached out and grasped her hand—the one without the IV. Despite the cold weather, sweat dripped from his forehead, landing with a soft plop on the white sheets, splashing into blank ripples.
His heartbeat was fast. Though she wasn’t pressed against his chest, she could hear it so clearly.
Yan Man parted her lips, about to speak, when she heard him murmur: “Don’t be afraid.”
Strangely, she didn’t fully understand what he meant, but her heart melted like butter under the sun, with a few shards of ice still frozen within.
It ached softly, as if being tenderly squeezed by someone.
He murmured something—perhaps a promise—and said in a low voice: “I’m here with you. I’ll stay with you.”
Compelled by some inexplicable force, she reached out and wiped the sweat dripping from his temple.
But soon, her fingers were firmly clasped in his palm, as if he didn’t want to waste a single moment or lose any precious time.
He simply gazed at her, saying nothing.
Yan Man said: “I’m fine.”
But her voice was hoarse.
She swallowed and noticed his eyes were reddening.
After calming the turbulent emotions in her chest, Yan Man finally raised her head and couldn’t help but ask those around her:
“Is someone hiding something from me? Did I miss news about my impending death?”
“………………”
Yan Man hesitated: “Am I really dying?”
“No, no!” The nurse beside her exchanged glances and pulled out her medical chart. “It’s just regular hypoglycemia. Stabilize your meals, and the dizziness is a side effect of the medication. It’ll improve in a few days.”
Yan Man looked at Ye Lin again, brushing aside the damp strands of hair on his forehead: “Then why are you so frantic?”
Ye Lin finally stood up, but his grip on her hand remained firm. He asked the nurse: “Isn’t there surgery?”
“No… no!” Realizing how misleading the situation seemed, the nurse explained: “We’re moving the bed because her wheelchair was taken away. She wanted to use the restroom, but her friend couldn’t push her alone, so we helped.”
At this moment, Yan Man spoke up, asking him: “How did you get here? Who told you?”
“Simon,” he said. “He said there wasn’t enough time and told me to rush to the hospital.”
“…”
Yan Man lost all interest in using the restroom. She pulled out her phone and sent a voice message to Simon: “Where are you? Why did you tell Ye Lin my time was running out?”
Simon: “I’m on the fifth floor in the psychiatric department, just browsing.”
Three seconds later, another voice message arrived.
Simon: “Because if he came any later, you’d already be discharged!”
“…”
Yan Man took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling, then used her free hand to politely ask: [Still in the psychiatric department?]
Simon: [Yes.]
Yan Man: [Why don’t you stop browsing and check yourself in?]
Simon: ?
Immediately afterward, her manager sent a long string of voice messages: “I figured if you’re in the hospital, he has the right to know! If I didn’t report it, wouldn’t he blame me later? Plus, hospitals are perfect for fostering emotional connections. I told him to hurry over, let Zhou Xuan stop taking care of you, and give you two space. Like me—I totally understand. I left to give you both a chance to bond. Aren’t I thoughtful?”
Yan Man thought to herself, Yes, if you hadn’t taken the wheelchair, I wouldn’t be in this situation.
Ye Lin glanced around, not spotting any operating rooms, and finally sighed in relief: “So why the ambulance?”
Yan Man: “The crew always overreacts. I said I didn’t need it, but Simon said it was the fastest way. I didn’t have the energy to argue, so I let him handle it.”
The crew had indeed panicked, fearing they wouldn’t be able to explain if anything happened to her.
He exhaled deeply, his grip on her hand finally softening into a tender hold. In a low voice, he said: “That’s good, then.”
His tone carried overwhelming relief.
Though she didn’t know what he had assumed, Yan Man still comforted him: “I’m fine. I get annual check-ups.”
She pulled out some papers from beside her pillow: “They thoroughly checked my brain and heart earlier, and I also got a full-body exam. Look at the notes—they say I’m fine, just need more rest.”
She rubbed his earlobe and said, “Don’t worry.”
He wasn’t someone who overthinks things.
But when it came to her, he seemed to lose his composure. After receiving Simon’s call, which ended after a few brief words, he recalled her mentioning frequent dizziness and nausea recently. Looking further back, she had experienced dizziness a few times during the shoot of Ice Shave . She had mentioned her mother’s condition had a small chance of being hereditary. Though the probability was minuscule, he was instantly overwhelmed by suffocating anxiety. If it weren’t for the driver, he might not have been able to drive steadily.
In the short ten-minute car ride, he had already planned how to handle the situation if the worst had happened.
But thankfully, thankfully, she was fine.
Yan Man added: “If you’re still worried, we can do a more comprehensive check later. We’ll do it together.”
“Mm,” he nodded, holding her hand. “I’ll stay with you.”
She elaborated: “The dizziness-inducing medication was for the role. I didn’t feel much before, but I took it this time for realism. That scene is done now, so it should be fine by tomorrow.”
“Relax, I’m perfectly healthy.”
After completing a full-body check and confirming there were no issues, Yan Man finished her second bottle of glucose. They then headed back home.
Ye Lin was also somewhat overprotective. After the glucose, he even made her soup that night, watching her drink it.
Yan Man sniffed, feeling like a pregnant woman tonight—every little thing he insisted on helping her with.
Finally, sleeping didn’t require assistance. She went to bed early and slept soundly, waking up before her alarm even rang. She got up to use the restroom.
She shook her head to confirm.
The dizziness was gone, and she had mostly recovered.
When she returned to bed, the man seemed to be lightly asleep and woke up immediately.
“Did I disturb you?” she whispered. “Go back to sleep. My alarm hasn’t gone off yet.”
He hummed in response, but instead of continuing to sleep, he turned to ask: “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m fine,” she reassured him, blinking in the dim room to prove it. “I’m very energetic now.”
He chuckled softly, reaching out to caress her cheek. His fingertips traced her skin gently, lingering affectionately.
Her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see his gaze and expression—a Ye Lin she had never seen before. Freshly awake, he carried a hint of lazy fatigue, but his eyes sparkled with laughter and relief, like ripples on water, enveloping her in endless warmth.
She didn’t know if this was the gaze of a lover, but she thought, Oh no. In this moment, she suddenly understood why some emperors didn’t want to attend morning court.
The atmosphere was perfect, delicately tickling the edges of her heart like a feather.
As if timing it perfectly, he spoke just then: “How energetic?”
She turned to her side and extended her hand upward. Ye Lin supported it and placed it around his neck. With a slight effort, she leaned over him.
Her nose touched his, hearing the hum of the humidifier and the steady beat of his heart.
“I’m definitely not sleepy anymore,” she said, looking into his eyes with a playful smile. “Why don’t you test it?”
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