Thinking about it was one thing, but saying it out loud was absolutely impossible.

Though Shen Qianzhan often made mistakes due to beauty, she could always maintain overall control. Once she mentally accepted the setting that Ji Qinghe was her kept man, her anger naturally dissipated.

Little did she know, while she considered him her kept man, this kept man also regarded her as something in his pocket.

Both harbored their own calculations, each as bad as the other.

After the lunch break ended, Shen Qianzhan stayed with the crew until three o’clock.

Su Zan was the supervising producer of the “Time” crew. With him on site, there was nothing left for her to handle, except that Shen Qianzhan was worried about Ji Qinghe.

This wasn’t entirely due to personal feelings.

Professionally, Ji Qinghe was her financial backer, so Shen Qianzhan should serve him like an ancestor, being careful and attentive at every turn. Personally, their private relationship was nine parts shallow and one part deep, deserving extra attention and care.

Seeing him adapting well on set, surrounded by flowers and attention, Shen Qianzhan had nothing to worry about. Before leaving, she greeted Su Zan and led Qiao Xin back to the hotel first.

Shen Qianzhan hadn’t slept well last night. She barely held on until reaching the hotel, then collapsed into sleep the moment she returned to her room.

Qiao Xin had originally wanted to show her the list of names she’d compiled for review, but when she returned from changing clothes next door, she found Shen Qianzhan fast asleep.

She quietly adjusted the room temperature. Seeing it was still early, she grabbed a power bank and curled up in the suite’s outer living room to play games.

Halfway through, Lin Qiao came by to discuss the script.

Rather than discussing the script, she was more like seeking refuge from disaster. In the thirty-minute script meeting, Lin Qiao didn’t mention a single word related to the script, instead complaining entirely about how terrible and frightening Jiang Juanshan was, how he exploited workers’ blood and sweat.

Qiao Xin found it amusing but couldn’t undermine Jiang Juanshan, so she could only offer comfort.

Having watched “Time” develop from script outline to project launch and filming, she naturally knew how much pressure Jiang Juanshan and Lin Qiao had endured. Seeing Lin Qiao become serious as they talked, worried her psychological breaking point was truly approaching collapse, she quickly soothed: “Let’s keep our voices down, Sister Zhan just fell asleep.”

At the mention of Shen Qianzhan, Lin Qiao instinctively shuddered: “Sister Zhan just went to sleep?”

“Mm.” Qiao Xin poured her a glass of water: “From the moment the contract was signed, she hasn’t relaxed for this entire project. I watched her like a puzzle, piece by piece assembling ‘Time’ into a complete picture.”

“You know the workload of a producer.” Qiao Xin took a small sip of tea: “So many fragments suddenly placed before her – just organizing the original positions of the pieces took enormous time and effort. You and Teacher Jiang are like the prominent flags in the puzzle, accelerating Sister Zhan’s assembly speed. When she pressures Teacher Jiang, you naturally feel that pressure too.”

“In the past, as friends, I would definitely advise you to rest when you’re too tired. But ‘Time’ really can’t rest – every day represents massive investment, and with President Ji watching right there on set, any mistake leaves no room for recovery.”

Lin Qiao fell silent, holding her cup and sipping warm water in small mouthfuls. After a long while, she finally uttered a few words: “My brain juice is completely drained.”

Qiao Xin suppressed her laughter, patting her shoulder: “I can’t offer advice about the script. Whether you and Teacher Jiang disagree or can’t continue collaborating, resolve it yourselves before the final draft.”

Lin Qiao made a pitiful “oh” sound.

She dawdled around until Jiang Juanshan called, then reluctantly left the room with her computer, looking back three times with every step.

In the evening, as dusk just arrived, Su Zan called asking if they wanted to go out for dinner together.

Qiao Xin heard no movement from inside, guessing Shen Qianzhan was probably still asleep. Rubbing her aching neck, she replied: “Sister Zhan is still sleeping. Even if we wake her, she probably won’t want to go out.”

Su Zan’s end was silent for a few seconds. When someone spoke again, the person on the phone had changed to Ji Qinghe: “How long has she been sleeping?”

Qiao Xin looked at the time on her screen: “Three hours.”

The other end of the call went quiet, then said: “In twenty minutes, wake her up.”

Qiao Xin made an “oh” sound.

Though she didn’t understand the reason, she still followed Ji Qinghe’s instructions, waking Shen Qianzhan after twenty minutes.

Shen Qianzhan was particularly delicate when just waking up – either finding the air conditioning too cold or the air humidity too low.

Qiao Xin adjusted the room temperature twice before she grudgingly stopped finding fault.

Her body felt lazy and tired, with aching waist and legs, everything from toes to thighs sore and numb as if rolled over by boulders.

Qiao Xin, seeing she wasn’t in a good mood, tactfully avoided getting too close.

She ordered takeout in the outer room. When she brought the phone to Shen Qianzhan for food replenishment, the doorbell rang – someone was visiting.

Qiao Xin went to open the door.

There was some murmured conversation outside. When the door closed and someone entered again, it had become Ji Qinghe.

Shen Qianzhan initially didn’t notice, absorbed in looking at food options, picking and choosing. One second she put beef rolls with enoki mushrooms in her cart, the next she saw cheese fish balls and, comparing calorie charts, reluctantly chose between the two with great heartache.

Her shopping cart emptied and filled, filled and emptied repeatedly before she noticed the shadow cast over her head.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

Ji Qinghe reached up and took her phone, roughly scanning her takeout order – one spicy beef oil hot pot base, large beef rolls with enoki mushrooms, two portions of lamb rolls, one lettuce, one dried bamboo shoots, various mushroom fish balls, etc.

He smiled almost imperceptibly, his expression rather pleased at ruining her plans: “You won’t be eating these today.”

Looking down at her from above, as if considering where to start: “Should I carry you up, or will you get up yourself?”

Shen Qianzhan was somewhat confused: “Where’s Qiao Xin?”

“Gone back to her room to eat.” He glanced sideways, indicating the thermal container on the table: “Su Zan said you weren’t eating healthily on set, so I specially found a chef at the hotel to make you dinner.”

Seeing her expression seemed somewhat unwilling, Ji Qinghe listed dish names: “Beile roasted meat.”

“Braised bamboo shoots.”

“Lotus leaf chicken.”

Shen Qianzhan immediately surrendered: “Getting up, getting up, immediately getting up.”

Shen Qianzhan’s getting-up routine was quite simple – she had slept fully clothed, so getting up only required slipping on slippers.

She trotted to the bathroom to wash and brush her teeth. By the time she sat down, Ji Qinghe had opened the thermal container layer by layer, arranged everything, and prepared chopsticks, waiting for her to begin eating.

Shen Qianzhan wiped her damp fingers and had just picked up chopsticks to grab meat when Ji Qinghe’s brow furrowed slightly. He pulled out a tissue to wipe her hands: “How didn’t I know before that you had such childish temperament?”

Shen Qianzhan let him dry her hands, pursed her lips, and said: “There are countless things you don’t know about me. Even if I told you one thing per day, ten years wouldn’t be enough.”

Ji Qinghe looked up.

His eyes held fragmented laughter. Reflecting the ceiling lights, his pupils were like amber, crystal clear.

Shen Qianzhan used to think Ji Qinghe’s gold-rimmed glasses were the finishing touch, perfectly displaying this bastard’s refined scoundrel temperament. But now she found the glasses truly obstructive, hiding his gaze too well, like pearls covered in dust, emotions always separated by a layer.

She observed too intently for Ji Qinghe to ignore. He used his chopsticks to place bamboo shoot tips in her bowl, and when withdrawing his hand, lightly tapped the bowl rim, producing a crisp ding: “Eat first.”

Once Shen Qianzhan’s flirtatious thoughts arose, suggestive words came easily: “Eat first? Does President Ji mean there are other activities after eating?”

Ji Qinghe didn’t look at her, only tilting his head slightly, leaving a trace of peripheral vision: “What kind of activities do you want?”

Shen Qianzhan watched him hold his bowl to scoop soup – the broth was golden yellow, with oil rings layered upon rings, looking nutritious and nourishing. Her topic jumped as she first asked about the soup: “What soup is this?”

Ji Qinghe curved his lips slightly, the smile extremely faint, unclear who he was teasing: “Definitely not deer antler and cistanche soup.” He handed over the soup bowl, pushing it in front of her: “Based on actual needs, this soup nourishes yin and supplements kidneys.”

“And rehydrates.”

In just a few words, Shen Qianzhan inexplicably fell to the losing side, becoming the defeated party.

Her eyelashes lifted, abandoning proper chopstick holding. Her fingertip, through a layer of clothing, slowly moved from his chest to his abdomen, taking advantage of his hands being occupied and unable to resist, lawlessly poking his abs twice: “President Ji is not only hard here, but also has quite a sharp tongue.”

Her fingertip didn’t use force, her finger was soft, lightly scratching his sensitive spot. When she sensed his body’s instinctive subtle avoidance, finally identifying his sensitive point, her fingertip deliberately circled in place.

Ji Qinghe was ticklish.

This was something she discovered yesterday.

Her pleading for half the day wasn’t as effective as finding the right pressure point – quick and decisive. Even when Shen Qianzhan’s brain was completely blank, she still remembered he was especially ticklish around his waist and abdomen.

Indeed.

His wrist sank, soup splashing out.

The next second, he put down the soup spoon and firmly pressed her wrist against the table.

The ceiling light hanging directly above them flickered as a moth flew in, persistently batting its wings and crashing against the light bulb.

Shen Qianzhan’s heart suddenly developed a gap, with fine strings vibrating up and down, humming endlessly.

His gaze was heavy, not carrying the usual indulgence in his eyes. Instead, it was dark and profound, like a bottomless pit drawing in all light that entered his vision, until it ignited a cluster of desire.

“Put away your little schemes first.”

Ji Qinghe said: “If you get hungry in the second half of the night, what I’ll feed you won’t be these things.”

Shen Qianzhan blinked.

Blinked again.

After a long moment, as if finally finding her voice, she answered with stiff pronunciation: “There’s a meeting in the second half of the night.”

Ji Qinghe looked at her, slowly saying: “I’m not in a hurry. I have plenty of patience to wait for you to get hungry.”

Shen Qianzhan instantly fell silent.

She had raised the battle flag first, yet ended up utterly defeated.

Now she couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t flirt properly, and couldn’t gracefully step down either.

She suddenly became curious how Ai Yi had managed to retreat unscathed from so many years of romantic battlefields.

Meeting a tough opponent like Ji Qinghe would probably leave one full of bloody holes, right?

Her interest waned, and she lost the ambition to compete with him. She even began to suspect that “kept man” was all an illusion he used to coax her – Ji Qinghe hadn’t changed at all. Between them, it was still him easily controlling her while she remained like meat on a chopping board.

Her emotional change was too obvious. Ji Qinghe, who could always see through her thoughts, though not knowing where her dejection and disappointment came from, instinctively sensed that if not handled well now, it would certainly become more troublesome later.

Thinking this, Ji Qinghe’s grip on her wrist loosened, his tone softening: “What goes through your head all day?”

Shen Qianzhan retorted: “Pornographic waste and red banknotes.”

Quite honest.

Ji Qinghe didn’t immediately respond. He laughed briefly, saying: “I have both of those.”

He bent his finger, lightly tapping the table surface to attract her attention: “How about a long-term relationship? The kind that pays daily wages.”

His latter half was incredibly sincere and honest, but someone with a brain full of pixelated mosaics couldn’t think of anything good: “Year-round with no breaks – can you handle that?”