MTL - 86

“Hey, Tang Yu, look at this. You must be utterly, hopelessly in love with me.

I win.

—Little Tangxin’s Diary

The filming location for this scene was a beach. After Lu Zhixing called for a break, the cameraman went to grab a drink and rest, while Lu Chuning headed off to touch up her makeup. When Tang Dingding’s assistant saw Lu Zhixing approach, they quietly retreated.

From childhood onward, aside from the occasional scolding from Tang Yu, Tang Dingding had never been spoken to in such a tone in front of so many people. Though she knew it was part of the job and had mentally prepared herself for criticism, being cut over ten times and then coldly reprimanded by the director still left her feeling embarrassed and upset.

With limited experience, her acting was overshadowed, and the more takes she flubbed, the tenser she became, making it even harder to get into character.

Tang Dingding bit her lip, took a deep breath to steady herself, and then softly said, head bowed: “I’m not crying. It’d be too embarrassing to cry after performing so poorly.”

Though she desperately wanted to.

Lu Zhixing gazed down at her, his expression softening slightly. The girl’s eyes were bright and brimming with unshed tears. Another harsh word from him, and those tears would spill over. He had made actresses cry before, but he’d never felt this conflicted about it.

Tang Dingding was a newcomer, pampered and sheltered all her life, having never endured hardship. A well-bred young lady like her, dragged into acting by him and Tang Xin, seemed pitiful no matter how you looked at it. Helpless, he chuckled lightly: “My tone earlier was a bit harsh.”

Tang Dingding stared at him nervously, fearing he might apologize and make her seem overly sensitive. She whispered: “It’s fine. It’s my fault—I couldn’t get into character…”

But he didn’t apologize.

After all, there was nothing to apologize for. An apology here would have come off as insincere.

Lu Zhixing had known from the start that Tang Dingding wasn’t the spoiled, domineering type. Her personality was pure and endearing. If she were any other actress who entered the industry with backing, she’d likely throw tantrums at least occasionally. But Tang Dingding never did.

“The sun’s a bit strong. Come over here—I’ll explain the scene again.”

His tone softened as he turned and walked toward the shade of a sun umbrella.

Tang Dingding followed him. Once under the umbrella, Lu Zhixing slipped his hands into his pockets, paused, and pulled out two lollipops. He handed one to her and popped the other into his mouth.

Tang Dingding: “….”

She accepted it blankly, bewildered: “Director Lu, do you like candy?”

In her mind, boys generally didn’t enjoy sweets.

“Not bad,” Lu Zhixing replied lazily, sitting down. He explained with a small smile: “Little Jiaying gave them to me earlier. Said it was a bribe to make me go easy on her.”

Little Jiaying was a child actor in the crew, only five years old.

Tang Dingding stared at the lollipop in shock. At just five years old, Jiaying already knew how to bribe the director into being gentler… She couldn’t lose either!

The young girl looked up at him, her eyes shining: “So, what kind of candy do you like?”

Lu Zhixing: “….”

Was she trying to bribe him now?

Lu Zhixing laughed, leaning back against the chair and chuckling softly. Lazily, he named a few types of candy: “Alright, let’s talk about the scene.”

…

Jiaying had always been sharp. She’d gone around bribing the entire main creative team with imported lollipops. Tang Xin, sucking on her own lollipop, glanced over at Tang Dingding and thought that if Lu Zhixing hadn’t managed to console her, she’d go comfort her instead.

After all, Tang Dingding was going to be her future sister-in-law someday—and Little Fatty was pretty easy to cheer up.

Seeing the two of them discussing the scene from afar, she relaxed.

That night, Tang Xin was dragged by Tang Dingding to buy candy. They bought a lot, especially nougat. Back in her room, she lined up one piece of each flavor and waited for Tang Yu’s video call. When he connected, she gave him a live demonstration of tasting the candies.

Tang Yu lounged on the sofa, with Huar and Cotton sprawled across his lap. He absentmindedly scratched their bellies, completely unfazed by their attempts to nuzzle and paw at his arm. His full attention was glued to the phone screen.

On the video call, the little woman chewed on a piece of nougat, her dimple faintly visible on her right cheek. Smiling sweetly, she said: “The matcha flavor is the best. I’ll bring some back for you next time I see you.”

“No need. You eat it.”

“I’ll feed you. Want some?”

Over time, Tang Xin had grown bolder, teasing him without restraint or consideration of the setting. Sometimes, even when Tang Yu was in a meeting, she’d send suggestive messages on WeChat, often switching between playful and role-playing moods.

Tang Yu smirked, drawing out his words teasingly: “Oh? How exactly do you plan to feed me?”

Tang Xin winked flirtatiously, implying he knew exactly what she meant, then muttered: “Huar and Cotton are luckier than me.”

Even though it had only been a little over a week since they last saw each other, she missed him so much.

Without showing much emotion, Tang Yu lifted Huar and Cotton off his lap and placed them on the sofa. Raising an eyebrow, he said: “I’ve cleared space for you. When are you coming back to sit here?”

Tang Xin’s eyes lit up, delighted: “I’ll return as soon as the crew gets a break.”

“Forget it. I’ll visit you when I have time.”

The crew got at most one day off per month. Rather than waiting for her to return, it was better for him to go to her.

Tang Xin agreed readily and added: “But wait two weeks before coming. Lu Chuning is still with the crew right now.”

Ten days later, Lu Chuning finished her final scenes. Her last shoot was a night scene, wrapping up at midnight. Lu Zhixing treated everyone to late-night barbecue to celebrate her completion of filming.

The group enjoyed drinks and conversation over grilled skewers. Tang Xin stepped outside to take a call, and upon turning back, she spotted Lu Chuning.

Lu Chuning held a half-finished can of beer. Due to her character’s styling, her makeup was heavier than usual, and her slightly curled hair fluttered in the breeze, exuding an air of charm. Catching a glimpse of Tang Xin’s phone screen—the wallpaper displayed a man lounging on the couch with two cats on his lap—she remarked coolly: “In the end, you’re just lucky. Your timing was perfect.”

Tang Xin knew exactly what she meant. Smiling brightly, she responded: “That just means Tang Yu and I were destined. You broke up with him, and I happened to appear. Though there were some bumps along the way, we’re together now, and everything’s great. We’re happy every day.”

Lu Chuning fell silent, unable to refute her.

As Tang Xin passed by, Lu Chuning added: “That cat—he was a gift from me.”

Tang Xin inwardly cursed Lu Chuning. Guessing was one thing; having it confirmed was another. Even when she had no chance left, Lu Chuning still found ways to provoke her. Turning back, Tang Xin smiled sweetly: “I’ll transfer you the money for the cat.”

Lu Chuning: “….”

Soon after, Tang Xin sent Lu Chuning 8,000 yuan via Tang Dingding’s WeChat. Upon parting, she also gifted her several boxes of nougat, cheerfully stuffing them into her assistant’s arms: “If life feels bitter, eat more candy.”

This left Lu Chuning and her assistant fuming.

After Lu Chuning’s departure, the crew returned to its peaceful rhythm, and filming proceeded smoothly. Tang Yu visited the set roughly twice a month, and occasionally Tang Xin returned to Beijing, though she never stayed long—no more than two days at a time.

During those brief reunions, the couple behaved like any other pair separated temporarily. Most of their time was spent tangled up in bed. Sometimes Tang Xin teased him with words, but the outcome was always the same—she ended up sobbing and calling him “Daddy Tang.”

Time flew by, and summer arrived.

At the start of June, the day before the crew was set to relocate for filming, Huo Chendong paid a visit.

That evening, Tang Dingding treated him to dinner. On the way back, she stopped by a shop and bought several boxes of nougat, all plain-flavored. Huo Chendong teased her: “Eating so much candy—aren’t you afraid of cavities?”

Tang Dingding shook her head: “It’s for Director Lu.”

Huo Chendong was taken aback: “Why are you buying him candy?”

The young girl tilted her face up naturally: “He likes it. I’m bribing him to give me pointers and not be so harsh on set.”

At that moment, Huo Chendong remarked: “You’re the eldest daughter of the Tang family—you brought a hundred million yuan into this production.”

“You could throw tantrums on set if you wanted. Why would you need to bribe anyone?”

But the smile on her face was more enchanting than the moonlight, clearly showing how much she enjoyed it. For some inexplicable reason, Huo Chendong felt a strange sense of emptiness, as though something was slipping through his fingers.

Early July, after 100 days of filming, the movie wrapped up, once again trending on social media. At the same time, news of Huo Chendong’s breakup with his new girlfriend also made headlines. By the time Tang Xin saw it, she had grown used to such gossip. She tossed her phone aside and began packing to return to Beijing.

Tang Yu’s birthday was approaching—his 29th birthday.

She had been fretting over what gift to give him.

Before boarding the plane, she sent him a picture—a zodiac compatibility chart showing Scorpio women and Cancer men scoring a perfect 100 points. She quickly typed out a message:

Little Rich Girl: “Look, look, look! It says we’re the most compatible couple, with a compatibility score of 100!”

Little Rich Girl: “Last year, you rejected me, saying we weren’t suited for each other.”

Little Rich Girl: “Why didn’t I find this chart earlier? It would’ve been perfect for rubbing it in your face!”

At that moment, Tang Yu had just finished a meeting and was still seated in the conference room. Leaning back in his chair, he picked up his phone and opened the message. The last one included an emoji of a little girl turning her back to the camera. He smirked faintly and replied: “I’ll pick you up later. If you’re willing, hitting me now wouldn’t be too late either.”

Gao Heng had just collected the documents and happened to stand nearby when he accidentally caught sight of something about “hitting your face.” He gave President Tang a strange look.

Tang Yu put down his phone, stood up, and glanced at him: “If you have something to say, say it.”

“President Tang, haven’t you spoiled Miss Tang too much?”

“How so?”

“She actually said she wants to hit you!” Gao Heng sounded indignant.

Tang Yu looked at his assistant with an expression that was hard to read, hands tucked into his pockets, emotionlessly turning around: “It seems you still have too little work to do if you’re imagining these things. Stay late tonight to make up for it—I’m going to the airport to pick her up.”

Gao Heng: “….”

By six o’clock, Tang Yu left early, driving to the airport to pick her up. Their last meeting had been a week ago when Tang Yu flew from Guangzhou to stay overnight before returning early the next morning for another meeting.

This time, she wouldn’t need to travel back and forth to see him anymore.

Tang Xin was obviously thrilled. As soon as she got into the car, she threw herself into his arms and whispered softly: “I’m back.”

Tang Yu chuckled and hummed in response. He ruffled her hair and asked gently: “What do you feel like eating tonight?”

She kissed his chin, leaned back, and obediently fastened her seatbelt. “Your pan-seared steak.”

They arrived home after eight o’clock that evening. After Tang Xin took a shower and came out, Tang Yu had already prepared the steak and poured her half a glass of red wine. After finishing her drink, Tang Xin sighed, troubled: “The movie is done, but I haven’t decided which project to join yet.”

Several projects had invited her, but she hadn’t replied.

Tang Yu went to the study and returned with a document, placing it in front of her. On the first page was a doodle she had sketched on the coffee table in his office long ago. Flipping through, she found that he had meticulously replicated the patterns.

Her head shot up abruptly to look at him.

Tang Yu leaned back in his chair, casually explaining: “This topic has been approved. Scriptwriting will begin in August.” He leaned forward, refilled her glass with half a cup of wine, raised his own glass, and smiled at her: “Little Tangxin, want to come back?”

“Why?”

“In the past three months, I read quite a few of your books. Suddenly, I find them interesting. Trying something new might not be a bad idea.”

When Tang Xin moved in with him, she brought many books. He had cleared three shelves for her, and during his free time, he flipped through them.

After finishing his wine, Tang Yu undid another button of his shirt, stood up, and glanced at her. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Tang Xin sat alone in the dining room, staring at the document.

That ugly doodle she could barely remember—he had kept it and even planned to adapt it into a film.

The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, but there was no steam since Tang Yu always took cold showers in summer. When Tang Xin opened the door, he didn’t seem surprised. Turning his head, he looked at her deeply, his eyes burning with desire as he slowly adjusted the water temperature to her liking.

Steam began to rise, filling the bathroom with an ambiguous, dreamy atmosphere.

He extended his hand, his voice low and husky: “Come here.”

A hint of shyness lingered in her eyes as she walked over, lowering her head to rest against his chest. “I’m on my period.”

“Again early?” Tang Yu frowned. Her menstrual cycle was often irregular, indicating her health wasn’t great. He remembered a traditional Chinese medicine doctor recommended by someone named Zeng Wan. “I’ll take you to see a TCM doctor later.”

Tang Xin didn’t respond or look at his expression. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tiptoed and whispered seductively into his ear: “Want to try something else?”

Tang Yu’s heartbeat quickened. He instinctively knew her next words would be bold and provocative. Mimicking his way of teasing, she licked his ear, her breath warm and intoxicating: “I haven’t tried licking out garbled text on a phone, but… I think I’d be pretty flexible.”

“…”

Tang Yu swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked down at her, his eyes bloodshot.

Through the steam, the mirror only reflected blurry silhouettes. The man’s breathing grew heavy and uneven. After a long while, Tang Yu pulled her up, calmed himself, and deeply wiped the corner of her mouth. Her face turned beet red.

Tang Yu led her to the sink, poured her a glass of water, and squeezed toothpaste onto her brush. She pushed him out, closing the door to take her shower alone.

Later, lying in bed, Tang Xin nestled into his arms and asked how he felt. Tang Yu gazed down at her, his voice low: “I’ll repay you double next time.”

That single sentence left Tang Xin flushed and flustered.

Tang Yu leaned down to kiss her. In truth, being with her always felt better.

Tang Xin traced circles on his chest. “Will scriptwriting start in August? I want to participate.”

Tang Yu pressed her hand down. “Of course you’ll participate. You proposed the entire story outline—you’re the chief screenwriter.”

Tang Xin smiled but felt a twinge of dissatisfaction. She had fallen into his trap again. No matter how she twisted it, she was still tied to Time Light Entertainment.

They didn’t talk for long before she started feeling drowsy. Just as she was about to drift off, she suddenly remembered something. Lifting her head from his chest, she forced her eyes open and looked at him sleepily, asking: “For your birthday present… what do you want?”

Seeing that she was struggling to keep her eyes open yet still thought of this, Tang Yu silently chuckled. “Anything I want?”

Drowsily nodding, Tang Xin murmured: “Of course. I’ll fulfill all your wishes.”

With that, she succumbed to sleep, closing her eyes.

In the last fleeting moment of consciousness—

She heard his deep voice whispering in her ear: “I want to read your diary. I want to know your secrets—all of them.”