Rain clung to Lu Shicheng’s brows and lashes.

[Sorry, I’m late.]

Wen Tingli couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at her lips. “It’s fine, come sit, quick. Boss, we’re ready to order at this table now.”

Seeing that a large patch of his shoulder was soaked through, she handed him her own handkerchief to dry off the rain.

“You still haven’t told me—how did you get so soaked?”

[I was worried you might be hiding somewhere near the set to wait out the rain, so I got out of the car and went looking for you.]

Wen Tingli’s heart filled with warmth. She quickly picked up the teapot on the table and poured him a cup of hot tea.

“Drink something hot first, to warm yourself up. You’re never late—did something come up suddenly?”

[Mm, there was a bit of trouble, but it’s been taken care of.] Lu Shicheng drank his tea, unconcerned.

Wen Tingli held back from pressing further, just as Lu Shicheng never pried into her affairs either.

“I’m a very fair person, you know.” She raised her eyebrows. “Being late means a punishment—by my rules, that usually calls for a penalty drink on holidays or New Year’s, but since today’s neither, you’ll just have to suffer through a few extra dishes instead.”

Lu Shicheng smiled and nodded, taking the menu from her hand.

This meal was thoroughly satisfying. Both of them were famished, and between the two of them, they nearly polished off every dish they’d ordered.

When it came time to settle the bill, Wen Tingli once again rushed to pay first.

Lu Shicheng, seeing the prices were quite reasonable, didn’t bother finding some roundabout excuse to pay for her this time.

Still, he glanced worriedly at Wen Tingli’s wallet.

Wen Tingli laughed. “What are you looking at, I have money—don’t forget, I’m filming now, and Sister Huang’s paying me quite well for it!”

She made a playful gesture at Lu Shicheng, sweet as sugar.

The two of them walked out side by side. The rain had stopped at some point, and the air carried a damp, earthy scent.

Lu Shicheng thought for a moment.

[Do you really want to act in this film?]

“Of course.” Wen Tingli said, “Actually at first I wasn’t so keen on it—but Sister Huang came looking for me at school several times, saying I was perfect for the role. When I got the script I did hesitate a bit, since it’s about a schoolgirl who falls into prostitution, and you know how conservative and rigid social attitudes still are—I worried playing a role like that might bring some bad influence on myself, so I went to consult—”

Wen Tingli’s words cut off abruptly. The two of them had grown close enough now that things she’d once been careful not to mention slipped out naturally.

She’d nearly forgotten—she always pretended in front of others that she didn’t know Dean Deng.

She could tell Lu Shicheng any secret, except this one about Dean Deng—since behind Dean Deng stood people like Li Chengying too.

She’d promised the old lady that much, back at the start.

She quickly corrected herself: “I went to consult—my teachers at school. They all encouraged me to take the role, saying that this kind of story helps people remember just how tragic and helpless the situation of women at the bottom of society can be, that it carries real social significance.”

Lu Shicheng didn’t seem to notice anything odd about her sudden correction.

[Who else at your company wanted this role?] he continued the topic.

Something stirred in Wen Tingli’s heart—tonight, Lu Shicheng seemed unusually interested in her acting career.

“I’m not sure about that. Though Sister Huang did mention the company had once considered a more experienced actress for the role, but they kept looking and either the age wasn’t quite right or the aura wasn’t quite right, and since Sister Huang’s a total perfectionist about these things, the script just sat shelved for a while—until she happened to run into me again at my classmate’s house.”

This so-called classmate was, of course, none other than Qiao Xingchu’s younger sister, Qiao Baoxin.

Come to think of it, that was exactly where she’d formally gotten to know Huang Yuanshan too.

And her very first encounter with Lu Shicheng, in fact, had also been at the Qiao residence—that night, when she’d been backed into a corner step by step by the Qiao family, and in her desperation to escape that agonizing situation, she’d practically flown out the door and crashed straight into Lu Shicheng at the entrance.

That collision had been quite forceful.

Yet Lu Shicheng hadn’t held it against her in the slightest—instead, he’d picked up her fallen hairpin and handed it back to her.

He must have had unusually keen instincts—he’d probably sensed something was off with her emotional state right then and there. That silent understanding had left a deep impression on her heart.

“Anyway, Sister Huang says this role might as well have been tailor-made for me.” Wen Tingli brightened her smile again. “Not long after, we happily signed the contract.”

In her account, she’d skillfully avoided the words “Qiao family” entirely. This was a night that belonged to just the two of them—she didn’t want anything unpleasant, any troublesome people or affairs, to spoil the mood.

Lu Shicheng had no idea this was what she was thinking; he only sensed vaguely that she didn’t want to continue this particular topic, and after a moment’s thought, considerately changed the subject in line with her wishes.

He stopped to check the time on his watch.

Wen Tingli leaned her head over. “What time is it?”

Lu Shicheng lowered his wrist so she could see it more easily.

“Oh, it’s this late already, let’s hurry.”

The moment they reached the entrance of the Carlton Theatre, Wen Tingli buzzed about like a bee.

“Let’s get two bottles of soda before going in—oh, the roasted sweet potato vendor’s out, come on, let’s go take a look over there.”

Lu Shicheng had never known there was so much to prepare before going to see a movie, and followed along curiously as Wen Tingli darted this way and that. Though she asked about far more than she actually bought, by the time they’d made their round, his arms were still full of snacks.

Wen Tingli wanted to go check out the popcorn too, but Lu Shicheng finally had to stop her.

[We’ll be late.]

Heading in, Wen Tingli said sheepishly, “Actually, I’m not even buying that much—you know our classmate Yan Zhenzhen, right? Whenever we go to the movies together, she buys even more than this. Besides, what if you get thirsty during the film? Not so easy to step out and buy something then.”

Lu Shicheng nodded solemnly. Wen Tingli couldn’t help but laugh. The two of them had just found their seats when the film began.

This was, in fact, the first time the two of them had ever gone to the movies together. Amid her anticipation, Wen Tingli also felt an odd sort of restlessness. Looking around, the theater was nearly full—scanning the rows, only three seats remained empty, in the back row. The film was about to start, and there was no telling if those people would even show up.

Of course, deep down, Wen Tingli was hoping they wouldn’t. She turned to steal a glance at Lu Shicheng, who was intently reading the cast list on the opening credits.

The light played across his eyes, alternating bright and dim.

Perhaps sensing her gaze, Lu Shicheng didn’t look back at her, but instead took the soda bottle from her hand—she’d been struggling to twist it open for a while now—opened it for her, and handed it back.

Wen Tingli drank a few sips, a little shy, then turned to focus on the film. After a while, the film’s heroine became separated from her mother, and sobs began rippling through the audience. Wen Tingli couldn’t help but reach for her handkerchief to dab at the corner of her eye—in doing so, she accidentally knocked a bag of snacks off her lap and onto the floor beneath the seat. She hurriedly bent down to look for it, and Lu Shicheng, noticing, bent down to help her search too.

Wen Tingli looked up—and collided hard, right into Lu Shicheng’s face.

Lu Shicheng, without a sound, clapped a hand over the bridge of his nose.

Wen Tingli didn’t dare say a word either, only anxiously leaning in to check on him.

Lu Shicheng kept covering his nose and mouth, shaking his head silently with laughter, while tilting his face as far back as he could.

Wen Tingli wasn’t about to let it go—she could tell he’d just been genuinely hurt for a moment—and grabbed hold of his fingers, insisting on seeing for herself.

In an environment this dim, one’s courage should ordinarily shrink smaller—but in a setting like a movie theater, the darker it got, the bolder it somehow made people feel, especially young couples in love, whose faces tended to grow a bit thicker than usual. Wen Tingli was exactly like this now—she suspected it was because she was too worried to feel shy, not realizing it was actually the dim lighting around them that was emboldening her.

Lu Shicheng, unable to fend her off, finally let go of his hand and let her inspect him.

By the faint light spilling from the screen, Wen Tingli opened her eyes wide to look closely. His nose wasn’t bleeding, but his lower lip had a small scrape.

She hurriedly used her handkerchief to dab at it for him.

Lu Shicheng instinctively flinched back, then shook his head at her, indicating it didn’t hurt at all—but Wen Tingli insisted on holding his face steady, carefully dabbing at it.

As she dabbed, her movements gradually slowed—she could hear something pounding somewhere, a heartbeat, though she couldn’t tell if it was her own or Lu Shicheng’s, because the two of them were far too close now.

Wen Tingli mechanically kept repeating the same motion; his lips were beautifully shaped, gently pressed by her hand, half of his lip along with the wound covered by the handkerchief. When she released her hand again, the corner of his mouth peeked out from beneath the white cloth.

That barely-visible touch of red, against the striking lines of his face, held an especially captivating, soul-stirring appeal.

Her mind grew hazy—at first she’d genuinely only meant to check on his injury, but now the situation had taken on a life of its own, and she couldn’t quite pull back—she looked, in this moment, as if she were the one enticing him.

Perhaps Lu Shicheng wouldn’t think of it that way. But in an environment this intimate, at a distance this short, everything carried a thick undercurrent of intimacy.

But if she suddenly pulled her hand back now, it would only be admitting that her own heart was racing out of control. The film’s leads on screen—whatever they were doing, Wen Tingli had completely lost track of it now; her gaze kept circling back to Lu Shicheng’s lips. Gradually she felt his breath against the back of her hand growing hotter and hotter, as if it might scorch straight through to her heart—finally, she gathered her courage and looked up.

Lu Shicheng’s gaze wasn’t on her hand.

Nor was it on her face.

It was fixed, unwaveringly, on her lips.

Wen Tingli felt her ears burning, her heart pounding, and as she met his gaze, his eyes didn’t retreat in the slightest—if anything, his reason seemed to be rapidly slipping away, his eyes dark, as if some invisible whirlpool lurked within them, one that could pull a person’s very soul under.

Lu Shicheng like this was unusually beautiful, and unusually dangerous too. She had a feeling—that if she simply closed her eyes, or leaned in just a fraction more, something was bound to happen between them.

Should she follow her own desire and encourage him?

She didn’t want to pretend otherwise.

She made up her mind at once—her lashes trembled faintly, and she tilted her face toward him. This was, of course, far more restrained than simply closing her eyes outright, but it was still a kind of encouragement, because now all he had to do was lower his head to kiss her.

Sure enough, he caught hold of her wrist, pulling her handkerchief away from the corner of his mouth—his motion was gentle, yet without the slightest hesitation. Suddenly his breath brushed across the tip of her nose, and Wen Tingli felt as though she were a rose trembling wildly in the wind, and that breeze stirring her petals and leaves was Lu Shicheng himself.

He lowered his head and kissed her.

The sensation was like being struck by electricity. A current shot from her lips straight into the depths of her heart. His breath, his lips, the warmth of his skin—all of it a fatal kind of pull, one that left her utterly lost in it. A pity that he was just as inexperienced as she was—now and then their teeth would knock together, or the bridges of their noses would bump.

After kissing for a while, he couldn’t help but release her lips, resting his forehead against hers, gazing deep into her eyes, his own eyes dark and hazy.

Just then, a rustling sound came from behind them, someone approaching quietly toward the back row.

“Good thing it hasn’t been on long.”

“Shh, keep it down.”

It was the three people for the back row seats, finally arriving.

The two of them sprang apart in an instant. Wen Tingli’s face burned hot; Lu Shicheng was faring no better—out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand on the armrest clench and unclench a few times before finally going still, composed.

Wen Tingli kept breaking out in a sweat, her heart pounding wildly—the whole situation felt like being steamed in a bathhouse. Soon she discovered an even worse fact: the voices coming from the back row sounded distinctly familiar.

The three girls approaching were trying hard to keep their voices down, but she immediately recognized one as Yan Zhenzhen, and quickly picked out Zhao Qingluo’s and Gao Xiaowen’s voices as well.

Once the film mercifully ended, Wen Tingli whispered to Lu Shicheng, “Those are my classmates behind us—why don’t we head out that way instead.”

Lu Shicheng, ever quick-witted, didn’t turn to look back, and immediately pulled Wen Tingli toward the other exit—but just then, someone tapped Wen Tingli’s shoulder.

“Ha, I knew it was you in front!” It was Gao Xiaowen.

Zhao Qingluo and Yan Zhenzhen came giggling over too.

“What are you running for? Afraid we’ll eat you alive?”

Wen Tingli shot a quick glance at Lu Shicheng—she wasn’t sure if it was from the kiss, but his lip, which had only had a small scrape before, now looked noticeably more prominent.

She silently prayed her friends wouldn’t notice his lip. Lu Shicheng, probably sensing that trying too hard to hide it would only draw more attention, simply stopped walking with an air of composure, only turning his face slightly to the other side. Fortunately, Gao Xiaowen and the others were too polite to stare openly at Lu Shicheng’s face for long.

“We asked you to see a movie with us a few days ago and you said you had no time—how come you’re free today?” The three of them gave Wen Tingli knowing looks.

Wen Tingli gave Gao Xiaowen a resentful pinch, and ended up cracking a smile herself in the process.

The group left the theater, the streets just as lively at night as they were by day. The girls chattered away up ahead, while Lu Shicheng walked behind them with his hands in his pockets. Vendors lined the roadside calling out their wares; passing a rice-ball stall, Yan Zhenzhen suggested they each get a bowl. Gao Xiaowen and Zhao Qingluo, feeling a bit awkward, took the initiative to hold one of the bowls out to Lu Shicheng.

Lu Shicheng didn’t eat, but instinctively pulled out his wallet from his jacket to pay for it.

Later, when they went to buy oranges, Lu Shicheng paid for that too. At this point, even Gao Xiaowen, the biggest troublemaker of the three, felt too embarrassed to keep teasing. She blinked at Wen Tingli. “If it were my brother, he’d have found some way to chase us off ages ago for barging in on his date with his girlfriend like this.”

“That’s what you call respecting his girlfriend,” Zhao Qingluo said, then turned to Gao Xiaowen. “Oh right, didn’t you say earlier you had something to ask Wen Tingli?”

Gao Xiaowen, uncharacteristically, looked hesitant. “Huh? I forgot.”

Wen Tingli was just puzzled by this, when Zhao Qingluo asked her, “Your birthday’s coming up in a few days—will you have time to celebrate with us?”

Her voice wasn’t quiet at all. Lu Shicheng, who’d been standing off to the side looking at the street scene across the way, glanced over at Wen Tingli when he heard this.

“How do you all know my birthday’s coming up?”

“Didn’t you have Yan Zhenzhen pick up your diploma from school for you a few days back? Your birth date’s listed on it as the first day of the eighth lunar month—that’s next week!”

Wen Tingli smiled sweetly. “Let me think—we’ll definitely get together properly then.”

“That’s more like it! Gao Xiaowen kept insisting you definitely wouldn’t celebrate with us this time.”

“Okay, okay, enough with the twenty questions.” Gao Xiaowen tugged Yan Zhenzhen and Zhao Qingluo off to the side. “Keep standing in the middle of their date and even if Young Master Lu doesn’t say anything, Wen Tingli here’s going to blow her top at us.”

Wen Tingli made as if to grab at Gao Xiaowen’s mouth; the three of them ran off laughing before she could catch them.

Not until Lu Shicheng drove her all the way home and dropped her off downstairs did Wen Tingli stop cradling her own face in a daze. Even after the whole ride home in the night wind, the heat in her cheeks hadn’t faded one bit.

In that dark theater, she’d been the one to start it all—she’d been the one to drop something, she’d been the one to bump into his mouth, she’d been the one who’d insisted on wiping away the blood…

Blood—she suddenly came back to herself, as if waking from a dream.

“Does it still hurt?” The car wasn’t very well lit either; she couldn’t help but want to lean in for a closer look, but caught herself just in time.

Lu Shicheng shook his head, his eyes black as ink, simply gazing at her like that.

Wen Tingli forced herself to look composed as she reached for the door. “I’m off.”

Lu Shicheng suddenly reached out to stop her; Wen Tingli immediately held her breath.

[Your birthday’s next Sunday?]

Wen Tingli hummed a smiling assent. As a child, birthdays had always been what she looked forward to most, because her mother would always prepare a gift for her. Now, being asked about it so solemnly by Lu Shicheng, a warm feeling welled up in her chest.

Lu Shicheng smiled too.

[Good.]

Wen Tingli found she couldn’t bear the way he was looking at her—tonight, both she and Lu Shicheng seemed to be quietly giving off a dangerous sort of air.

That air had a way of pulling a person in, leaving her heart in complete disarray.

If she stayed in the car with him any longer, there was no telling what might happen. She pushed the door open, got out, ran a few steps—then suddenly turned back.

Lu Shicheng had just gotten out of the car too, standing there. These days, he always lingered to watch her go up into the building and turn on the light before leaving.

Seeing her, he watched, unblinking, as she ran back toward him.

“I just remembered—during dinner you asked so many questions about Beauty of the South—is there something wrong with this film? Or do you think a student like me shouldn’t be out there acting in films? Or, do you think this role I’m playing—”

Lu Shicheng was amused by her rapid-fire questions, and pulled out his notepad from his pocket to write a line, handing it to her.

[I have no opinion on it at all—this is something you want to do, and it should be entirely up to your own wishes. If you think it’s good, then it’s good.]

Wen Tingli felt as if her heart were steeped in rose petals. She gazed at these words, smiling the whole time.

“All right, then.” Satisfied, she crumpled the note in her hand and turned to leave—then suddenly turned back, and before he could react, rose up on her toes to steal a kiss on his cheek.

Back in her room a good while later, Wen Tingli was still lying face-down in her blanket, unmoving.

She’d been in too much of a fluster while kissing him to even notice his expression.

Had she caught his wound—definitely not, she’d kissed his cheek, nowhere near his lips.

The thought brought back the memory of the two of them kissing in the theater, and her cheeks felt as if they were about to catch fire.

Just then she heard a car outside, and looking out, caught the sight of Lu Shicheng’s car just pulling away—so he’d been sitting downstairs this whole time without leaving. Which meant it had taken him a good seven or eight minutes after she’d gone upstairs before he’d finally driven off.

What could Lu Shicheng have been thinking, sitting alone in the car all that time? Wen Tingli turned from the window back to her vanity, and caught sight of herself, startled for a moment—the person in the mirror had the corners of her mouth curved up, her eyes as bright as if scattered with starlight.

Steward Xu came into the study to deliver something, and at a glance saw Lu Shicheng sitting under the lamp, lost in thought.

Steward Xu carefully set the teacup down beside him.

This was already the second cup of tea he’d personally brewed tonight—the first one, Lu Shicheng had accidentally knocked over.

At the time, he’d been so surprised he couldn’t even speak—he’d never seen Lu Shicheng this distracted before.

And yet, though Lu Shicheng spent most of the time lost in thought, anyone could see his mood was extremely good—the light, buoyant kind of good, the openhearted kind of good, the kind that infected everyone around him too.

Young people, after all! Steward Xu couldn’t help but feel cheered up himself.

Only, he didn’t dare ask just what had happened to Lu Shicheng’s lip.

Lu Shicheng, distracted, absently lifted his teacup and took a sip, then suddenly winced as if stung, and set the cup back down.

Steward Xu couldn’t help but hiss in sympathy too—that wound must be hurting quite a bit.

Lu Shicheng, nevertheless, retained his air of composed elegance, and abruptly looked up at Steward Xu.

[What is it?]

Steward Xu didn’t dare say much, hurriedly placing a folder in front of Lu Shicheng. “Oh, this was sent over by Mr. Kuang’s people. The personnel files for the Beauty of the South cast and crew, as well as the full roster of all Golden Film Company actors—it’s all here. Mr. Kuang said Young Master Cheng needed it urgently.”

Lu Shicheng immediately took the folder and began flipping through it, page by page.