Jiang Yu came to visit the set not for work, but as a personal guest. Yu Shiqing didn’t mention it to Director Shi and continued shooting as usual. Ren Bai kept an eye on Yu’s phone, waiting for news from Jiang.
In the morning, a sudden heavy snowfall blocked traffic Jiang arrived near noon. The crew gasped, completely unprepared for his sudden appearance. Meng Chen handed out milk teas and desserts to everyone. Jiang Yu walked straight in, saying nothing. The deeper he went, the quieter it became the scene being filmed involved mostly Yu and Lin Anjin.
Moving closer, Jiang signaled “quiet” with his finger to a crew member who was about to greet him, then turned to watch Yu. It had only been two months, but Yu’s performance as a college student was lively his expressions and movements unusually animated. The difference struck Jiang; he leaned against a metal frame and smiled softly.
Soon, Lin Anjin in uniform walked into frame. Jiang’s smile faded as he stepped forward toward the monitor and Director Shi.
Shi looked surprised and said, “Jiang Yu, why didn’t you say you were coming?”
Jiang’s eyes moved from the monitor back to Yu. “I’m here to visit the set.”
“Visiting?” Shi paused, then laughed, “To see Yu, right? You came at the perfect time we’re about to take a break!” He gestured toward Yu and Lin, who were still rehearsing lines. Lin looked up first, then spotted Jiang. He gasped: “Jiang Yu?” Shi then called out, “Teacher Yu, someone’s here to see you!”
Yu turned and their eyes met. He smiled lightly: “You’re here.”
Lin froze. After two months shooting together, he realized Yu’s polite smile was often hollow. But this time, it reached his eyes. Jiang Yu, expressionless at first, softened and smiled too. Only for a moment, but the warmth lingered.
As Yu approached Shi Zhefing, Jiang said, “My next concert is nearby, so I came to watch and settle in.” Shi, caught off guard, asked the crew, “Any extra boxed lunches? Give one to Jiang Yu.”
Meng Chen thought: “What? Leftover boxed lunch for a guest?” Jiang accepted it quietly, then sat down with Yu. Lin, holding his script and lunch, felt out of place. The energy between Yu and Jiang left no room for a third. Ren and Meng found separate seats. Lin soon moved toward the rest area, unenthusiastic. Jiang noticed but looked away.
Yu offered Jiang his thermos: “Drink some hot water.”
Jiang asked: “Did anyone else drink from it?”
“Only me.” Yu, remembering Jiang’s habits, added: “There are single-use paper cups over there.” Jiang glanced at him and silently opened the cap. The tea inside was still steaming. He sipped and placed it down.
Watching him take off the scarf he’d been provided and set to place it by the table, Yu noticed and handed it back.
“What’s that for?” Jiang asked.
Yu: “Wear it.”
Jiang took it. The midday temperature had dropped just hours ago it was above freezing, now below. Outside the wind had cut cold. The scarf, still warm from Yu’s body, felt like heat against frost. Jiang gently wrapped it around himself, warming slightly.
“You getting sick in this cold Shi won’t forgive you,” Yu said lightly.
Yu smiled: “Don’t worry. I’m not that weak.”
They shared laughter and soon opened the actor’s meal a specially arranged balanced boxed lunch. Jiang mixed his food and casually asked:
“By the way, I saw Ren Bai’s video about celebrating birthdays on set. Do you all plan surprises?”
Yu replied: “I’m not sure.”
Jiang raised an eyebrow: “Last night?”
Yu: “No one told me before.”
Jiang: “So you weren’t involved?”
Yu: “No.”
He added: “If you’re curious, ask the director.”
Jiang drank from the thermos, showing no reaction. Yu asked softly: “How’s the concert prep going?”
“Rehearsal tomorrow, show the day after.”
“Time is tight.” Yu frowned. Jiang looked exhausted.
He asked: “Weren’t you supposed to rest today?”
Jiang looked away: “Only seven shows left. I know what I’m doing.”
“They asked about your feelings,” Yu said.
Jiang paused, then: “I’m a bit tired.”
Yu, surprised: Jiang never admitted fatigue even when markers hurt him, he pushed through. For him to say “tired” meant these past two months were truly hard.
“Want to go back?” Yu offered.
Jiang: “Not yet, I’m fine.” He held the thermos, then looked at Yu: “Is there coffee here?” He stopped himself.
Nearby Lin withdrew his gaze. He stared at his untouched meal, silent.
It was almost time to resume. Seeing Yu stand, Jiang asked: “When will you wrap?”
“At least until six,” Yu checked his watch. He thought of Jiang’s fatigue and offered: “If you leave now, I can take you back.”
Jiang touched the thermos and said: “Not yet.”
Yu reminded him: “It’ll get colder this afternoon.”
Jiang glanced back at his clothes he wore only crew-issued clothing. His own coat was elsewhere.
Yu escorted him to retrieve it, then returned. Lin, waiting by the set, saw them walk together and stiffened. Though they hadn’t spoken much, he realized they’d soon work together. And Jiang was Yu’s friend. He stepped forward: “Teacher Jiang.”
Jiang barely nodded: “Teacher Lin.” Lin avoided eye contact. He knew the coat seemed familiar, but couldn’t place it.
Yu nodded to Jiang and walked back to the almost-finished set. Jiang watched their retreating backs. Lin stayed still, sensing something unspoken between them.
This next scene was one of the ambiguous moments between Yu and Lin simple pistol-escape setup. During the take, camera zoomed in close on Yu and Lin’s faces they were a breath apart. Yu’s acting was perfect; his gaze at Lin conveyed innocent admiration. Lin held his breath, overwhelmed by their closeness. A gunshot snapped him back, and they quickly broke.
They rose, scene ended. Lin asked Yu: “That ground bit are you okay lying in the snow?”
Yu: “Fine.” His voice was calm, emotion drained.
Lin forced a smile: “After snow it gets colder remember to dress warmly tomorrow.”
Yu smiled: “You too.”
Behind the monitor, Jiang sat beside Shi and watched them laughing together. Shi asked: “They look good together, right?”
Jiang answered flatly: “Fit.”
Meng Chen heard and shivered. He quickly changed the subject: “Jiang Yu, when did you change clothes?” Ren glanced over: “Yu, is that the same coat you wore before?”
Yu said: “Yes, it’s mine.” Lin realized the coat looked familiar it was Yu’s.
Yu turned to Jiang: “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you rest?”
Jiang looked at him, dark eyes quiet: “I’m not tired.”
Yu noticed the shadow under his eyes and told the director: “Shi, I’ll take him to the hotel this afternoon and get back before dark.”
Shi smiled: “Even a workhorse can take a day off?” The remaining scenes were more Lin’s; Yu taking the afternoon off and returning in the evening was fine.
Meng asked in surprise: “A day off?”
Shi answered: “Yes, Yu has never taken leave before, and now for Jiang he did.”
Jiang’s eyes flickered to Yu, feeling a wave of unspoken emotion. Yu said: “Let’s go.”
Jiang nodded and stood. He looked once at the monitor, without emotion, and replied: “My car is outside, you don’t need to walk me.”
Yu began to speak, and Jiang added quietly: “Also, your coat.”
“Keep it,” Yu said, “I’ll walk you to the door.”
This time Jiang didn’t refuse.
Lin watched them leave together, shoulders brushing. He looked one last time at Jiang’s coat, lowered his gaze.
After Jiang arrived on set, he usually focused on work set aside time for this person. Now Yu could give care. But that warmth? It seemed limited. Xiangjo Yu is alpha; their friendship is destined. If this is how he treats a friend, how will he treat a lover?
