Entertainment Industry Limited Time Open - CHAPTER 4:
The afternoon sun slanted through the tall studio windows,
cutting through the haze of soft lights and white reflectors.
X-One was shooting an ad campaign for a major luxury brand.
The atmosphere was sharp and professional camera shutters clicking,
stylists flitting in and out, lights constantly being adjusted.
On a nearby chair, Jiang Linzhao let the hairstylist work on his curls,
half reclining, half gossiping as he sipped his water.
Do you think Xiaoyue will get to sit down today?
Shen Yiran followed his gaze toward the center of the set,
where Tong Liyue stood surrounded by assistants and photographers.
The youngest member had changed into a tailored designer suit,
perfectly cut to fit his lean frame. The soft sheen of the fabric caught every light,
accentuating his bright eyes and porcelain skin.
His hair was sleek and clean, his features delicate yet alive
like a prince from a fairytale stepped into a world of camera lenses and chaos.
The stylist couldn’t help but gush as she fixed the last detail.
This outfit was made for you, Liyue. You’ll steal the entire shot.
The director, watching from behind his monitor, nodded with approval.
Your expressions are always spot-on. The previous set was flawless.
We’d like to add a few solo shots later would that be alright?
Of course.
Tong Liyue’s voice was soft, even, professional.
His smile gentle and measured never faltered.
Ren Yuheng stood quietly by the lighting rig, watching him.
No matter how long the day dragged, Tong Liyue never complained,
never lost his composure. Even when he should’ve been exhausted,
he somehow still radiated calm.
Jiang Linzhao sighed. He’s been on his feet all day.
He barely slept last night. If he keeps pushing himself like this,
he’s going to collapse.
He turned toward Ren Yuheng, who was just passing by.
Heng-ge, maybe go rescue him? Let him rest a bit?
Ren Yuheng didn’t answer. His eyes stayed locked on Tong Liyue.
Under the spotlight, the younger man’s presence was magnetic
his every movement light and sure, drawing the camera toward him like gravity itself.
Even surrounded by others, he shone too brightly to be ignored.
He was born for this.
No need, Ren Yuheng finally said, his tone flat.
He knew Tong Liyue’s success wasn’t accidental.
It was earned through relentless effort. Interfering now would be an insult.
He would never take away the stage that Tong Liyue fought for.
But still…
His sharp eyes caught a tiny detail the slight tremor in Tong Liyue’s fingers,
the subtle tightening of his shoulders,
the brief flicker of fatigue behind that polished smile.
Tong Liyue would never admit he was tired.
When the director stepped away to check footage,
Ren Yuheng picked up a fresh bottle of water and walked toward him.
Without a word, he unscrewed the cap and held it out. Drink more.
Tong Liyue looked down at the bottle and smiled, lifting his own half-empty one.
Thank you, but I’ve already got this.
His tone was light, effortless, as if everything was under control.
Ren Yuheng didn’t move. His gaze lingered on Tong Liyue’s hand
specifically, the way his pinky trembled faintly against the bottle.
What’s wrong with your hand?
Tong Liyue blinked, then opened his palm with a small laugh. Just cold. It’ll pass.
He said it casually, like it was nothing. But Ren Yuheng could hear the
hollow note under that practiced calm.
The director’s voice cut through the air. Positions, everyone!
Lights flared again. The next set began.
Tong Liyue stepped into the glow, and for a moment,
everything felt too bright. His skin prickled with heat. His breath came uneven.
Every joint throbbed with an ache that dug deep beneath the surface.
His skull felt tight, wrapped in invisible pressure.
He straightened his back, trying to steady himself. The world tilted.
Then his knees buckled.
The floor rose up to meet him.
But before he fell, a pair of strong hands caught him.
Ren Yuheng’s voice came from close by, low and steady.
Tong Liyue looked up dazedly into his eyes dark, intense,
filled with something between anger and fear.
Thank you…
His whisper was barely audible.
Your hand’s burning. What’s wrong with you?
Nothing. Just lost balance.
He tried to smile, stepping back, but his lips had gone pale.
Ren Yuheng watched him walk away, unease coiling tight in his chest.
Moments later, the shoot resumed. Tong Liyue stood once again in the center,
smiling at the camera, every movement perfect,
every gesture graceful. The flashes lit up his face, turning him into pure light.
To everyone else, he looked fine. Radiant, even. But to Ren Yuheng, it was unbearable.
Because this wasn’t the first time.
Every time he tried to get close, Tong Liyue would meet him with that same easy,
polite distance. A soft smile. A calm voice. A barrier invisible but absolute.
Even his pain, even his exhaustion, was something he refused to share.
The more he smiled, the further away he felt.
And then
Tong Liyue’s body swayed again.
Before anyone could react, he crumpled forward.
Xiaoyue!
The shout tore through the studio. Everything froze.
Ren Yuheng moved before thought crossing the floor in seconds,
catching Tong Liyue before he hit the ground.
The boy’s skin was burning. His breath was shallow,
his fingers trembling against Ren Yuheng’s shirt.
He was burning up. Badly.
Get the car. Now.
Ren Yuheng’s voice was low, steady but his jaw was tight, his eyes dark.
The manager scrambled, calling for help. Ren Yuheng scooped
Tong Liyue up without hesitation, holding him close,
his body rigid with controlled panic.
He didn’t care who saw.
It didn’t matter.
Tong Liyue’s head lolled weakly against his shoulder, skin pale as paper.
His breaths came in short, uneven gasps.
Ren Yuheng’s heart clenched painfully.
You’re fine. I’m here.
His whisper trembled, gentler than he ever sounded before.
But Tong Liyue didn’t stir.
When the manager arrived with staff, Ren Yuheng hesitated before handing him over.
His arms stiffened, unwilling to let go.
The manager met his eyes. I’ll take care of him. Go keep the team steady.
Ren Yuheng’s fingers tightened once more, then slowly released.
He watched as Tong Liyue disappeared through the studio doors.
For a long moment, he couldn’t move.
Finally, he forced out the words. Go. I’ll handle things here.
His voice was rough and quiet.
When the manager left, the studio fell into uneasy silence. Everyone stood still, waiting.
We should continue.
Ren Yuheng’s tone was calm, almost cold. He turned back toward the lights, face unreadable.
But his mind was chaos.
Without Tong Liyue, the shoot fell apart. The balance was gone.
The others did their best, but everything felt hollow.
The director tried to adjust, but even he looked shaken.
At least Heng-ge’s calm, Jiang Linzhao whispered, still pale.
I thought he was going to explode earlier.
He’s the captain. He has to be calm.
But Qiao Zhiqing, standing in the shadows, saw the truth.
Ren Yuheng’s composure was cracking. Tiny mistakes
a wrong cue sheet, a missed lighting check, standing in the wrong position once.
Mistakes he never made.
He wasn’t seeing the set at all. He was somewhere else chasing the
image of someone pale and burning in his arms.
He just wanted to finish. To go see him.
Five hours later, when the group finally returned to their dorms,
they went straight to check on Tong Liyue. But his room was empty.
Where’s Xiaoyue?
The manager sighed. He moved to a guest room.
Said he didn’t want to spread his cold to you all.
He what?! Shen Yiran nearly shouted. He could barely stand!
He locked himself in before I could stop him, the manager admitted.
He said if you all get sick, the schedule will collapse. So he’s quarantining himself.
The room went quiet.
Ren Yuheng stood off to the side, arms crossed, expression dark.
He knew this pattern too well. Tong Liyue always looked easygoing always agreeable.
But when it came to work, to responsibility, he became stubborn beyond reason.
He’d rather collapse than inconvenience anyone.
That idiot.
Jiang Linzhao stomped toward the guest room door and knocked.
Xiaoyue! Open up! We’re worried!
Through the door came a faint, muffled voice. I’m fine. Just need sleep.
The gentleness of it made the others fall silent.
Ten minutes later, they gave up, heading to their rooms with
their phones in hand, still sending him worried texts.
When the dorm finally quieted, Ren Yuheng stood.
He walked to the guest room and stared at the closed door.
Then, without hesitation, he knocked twice.
Don’t come in… I’ll get you sick…
The voice inside was weak, nasal, breathy.
Ren Yuheng leaned lazily against the doorframe, his tone even.
Open the door. I can’t hear you.
A pause.
Maybe it was the fever dulling his instincts,
maybe the voice outside sounded too calm either way,
Tong Liyue turned the lock.
Before he could decide whether to open it fully, the handle twisted sharply from the outside.
The door swung open.
Ren Yuheng stepped in, tall and silent, and closed it behind him.
Tong Liyue blinked, heat rising to his cheeks. He was flushed all over,
skin glowing pink beneath the sweat that clung to his temples.
Strands of hair stuck to his forehead. His voice came out soft and hoarse.
Heng-ge… what are you doing…
Ren Yuheng didn’t answer. He moved closer, one hand steadying him by the shoulder,
the other guiding him back toward the bed.
Lie down.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin. His palm brushed against hot skin, and his frown deepened.
You’re burning up.
Tong Liyue tried to push him away, but his strength had long since vanished.
His hands, soft and weak, pressed uselessly against Ren Yuheng’s chest.
You can’t…
Ren Yuheng caught his wrist, holding it still. His voice dropped, quiet and firm.
What do you think I’m here for, when you’re this sick?
Tong Liyue blinked up at him, eyes glazed with fever, pupils glassy.
The sight hit something raw in Ren Yuheng’s chest
an ache that burned straight through his composure.
He looked fragile enough to break.
And still, that stubbornness lingered in his half-lidded gaze.
Ren Yuheng’s voice grew lower, rougher.
You locked everyone out, Tong Liyue…
His breath brushed warm against the feverish boy’s ear.
You’ve got some nerve.