Secret Incident (BL) - Chapter 11

As soon as she shut the door, Xu Xiao let out a deep sigh, shedding her usual composed and professional demeanor.

Pointing at Ji Fanyun, she said, “Kid, that’s not how you treat your face. Your hairstyle is a disaster. No wonder you kept wearing a hat every time we video-called these past few days. Doesn’t it bother you, being neither long nor short like that?”

Xu Xiao, nearing thirty, was unmarried and single. The way she managed Ji Fanyun made her seem more like his mother than his manager. While speaking, she bent down to tidy up the scattered shoes by the cabinet, only to notice a set of neatly arranged insulated lunch boxes on the shelf above—each one lined up with cartoon designs perfectly aligned.

She asked again, “What’s this? A fan gift? You do know you can’t eat food from strangers, right?”

Meanwhile, Ji Fanyun stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom, combing through his hair.

His shoulder-length hair had streaks of red dye, which weren’t noticeable when tied up but looked rather unkempt when left loose. His bangs were especially messy.

“This is Meng Lian’s hairstyle. You wouldn’t understand,” he replied.

That was the excuse he had been telling himself. But the more he looked in the mirror, the more dissatisfied he became. He quickly tied it back up and put his hat back on.

Xu Xiao’s room was next door. She had come to Port Peacestone with Ji Fanyun when he first arrived but had only stayed for half a day before rushing back. This time, she hadn’t brought much luggage. She didn’t even return to her own room but instead collapsed onto the couch in Ji Fanyun’s living area, remaining silent for a long time.

She seemed exhausted, half-sprawled across the sofa, watching as Ji Fanyun moved back and forth between his bedroom and the bathroom—taking off and putting on his hat repeatedly, then meticulously adjusting the placement of the insulated lunch boxes. Eventually, he sat down in front of Xu Xiao and asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”

Xu Xiao straightened up slightly and cautiously said, “After paying off the penalty for the cola commercial, we still have a little money left.”

“How much is ‘a little’?” Ji Fanyun asked.

“Not much,” Xu Xiao admitted. “But it’s over. The last four breach-of-contract penalties have been settled. Once you finish this drama, you won’t have to act anymore.”

Ji Fanyun nodded, then smiled and said, “Now you can finally relax and find someone to marry.”

“I’m being serious.”

Xu Xiao saw right through his dismissiveness and avoidance. Her tone grew firmer.

“We don’t have to act anymore. You can go abroad to study if you want. We have enough money.”

“Alright, alright.”

This had always been their most heated argument. If Ji Fanyun didn’t quickly agree, it would only escalate.

At the peak of his fame, he had taken on numerous commercial endorsements. His face was everywhere—on posters, billboards, and advertisements in every corner of the city. He was jokingly called a “walking money tree,” with different features of his face assigned to various brands—skincare, cosmetics, beauty products.

Then… then he quit.

And paid for it dearly.

Aside from his appearance, the most frequent compliments he received from the public were that he was “blessed by the heavens” and “born to be a star.”

But in truth, he was not a naturally gifted actor.

He had to strip away pieces of himself to become his roles. He had to rely on real, tangible experiences to convey emotions. The admiration he received was merely because Ji Fanyun was good at deception. He excelled at being dazzling.

Xu Xiao understood him.

She was probably the only person in the world who truly knew what Ji Fanyun was like in his most unguarded state.

On Ji Fanyun’s birthday, by the time evening arrived, the hotel’s front desk had already received several large boxes of letters—handwritten notes, greeting cards, and postcards from fans.

There were also gifts that required significant thought and financial effort: certificates of wildlife adoptions and library donations made in his name.

In the south, nightfall came late.

At around 7 p.m., as the sky darkened, faint lights began flickering above Port Peacestone.

By 8 p.m., a synchronized drone light show involving four hundred drones lit up the night sky, causing waves of excitement among the townspeople.

At that moment, Ji Fanyun was aboard a private yacht docked at the pier.

It was a crew gathering—and also his birthday.

He had joked with Director Hao Luo earlier, saying, “Our production team is more extravagant than I thought. I only said I’d treat everyone to a restaurant. If it’s something this expensive, I’m going to have to run away from the bill.”

That afternoon, Director Hao had left the set early to return to the hotel, take a shower, and discuss the script with Ji Fanyun and the assistant director. It wasn’t until dinner time, when hunger finally hit, that they realized they hadn’t arranged a proper gathering.

Xu Xiao had stayed behind to rest.

Ji Fanyun left with Director Hao and the others, only to arrive at the yacht and find themselves equally bewildered.

Director Hao, ever cautious, immediately questioned the production assistant who had led them here and made several phone calls to the producers.

By the time the drone light show illuminated the sky, forming a giant heart shape around the glowing words Ji Fanyun, Director Hao finally got an answer.

It was the sponsor’s request.

Ji Fanyun tilted his head back, staring at the dazzling display above.

Maybe he had plenty of reasons to be displeased.

But when he lowered his gaze again, he was still smiling as he said, “Well, since we’re getting a fancy dinner tonight, we’d better make the most of it.”

As he spoke, Ji Fanyun put on a bright, eager expression and began enjoying the meal.

No one else truly understood his emotions.

To the outside world, this extravagant drone light show and the lavish banquet on the luxury yacht could be attributed to either the generosity of the investors or a grand fan tribute.

Ji Fanyun had turned down the more overtly embarrassing birthday celebrations.

Holding a small plate of desserts, he slipped away.

Out on the deck for some fresh air, he noticed Director Hao Luo smoking nearby and went over to join him, looking up at the sky that flickered with a kaleidoscope of lights.

He barely touched the sweets.

At this moment, what he truly wanted was a simple bowl of porridge.

Especially after hearing Director Hao suddenly sigh with exasperation.

“This one meal probably costs as much as filming dozens of car crash scenes.”

Ji Fanyun let out a snicker. “Don’t compare it like that. If you do, I might end up messing up those scenes on purpose later.”

The script included a dramatic car crash and explosion scene.

For safety reasons, the crew had meticulously planned every detail before filming even began. The set was carefully designed in advance for aesthetic and technical precision. Each take would burn a hole through the budget.

Director Hao’s mind was already tallying up the cost of everything around them.

So was Ji Fanyun’s.

Neither of them returned to the banquet.

The desserts looked unappetizing.

Amidst swirls of smoke—both first-hand and second-hand—they resumed the unfinished script discussion from earlier at the hotel.

Hao Luo, despite his perpetually weary and cynical appearance, was not actually very old. Born into a family of filmmakers, he had access to excellent resources and a privileged background. Yet, despite growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth, despite having a head start in the industry, he had a deep fascination with stories about marginalized figures.

Both of his self-written and directed films were filled with absurdist imagination, infused with the raw anger and discontent often found in old-school realism.

Yet, in both commercial and artistic aspects, his style teetered awkwardly in between—not quite marketable, not quite poetic.

Unpopular.

Just like now.

Hao Luo was outright rejecting the character backstory Ji Fanyun had written for his role.

“There’s no need to justify why the villain became a villain. He did evil, and he should pay for it. That’s the story I want to tell—a tale of crime and consequence. I don’t care why he did it.”

“But the audience does.”

Ji Fanyun had sensed from his first read-through that this film was not going to be a crowd-pleaser—let alone how it would translate to the screen.

Not that he was trying to argue with the director.

He was still smiling, speaking in a casual, teasing tone, as if it were just a friendly debate.

“If Zhou Ziyin were the protagonist, then fine—justice prevailing, villains being punished, that works. But the hostage isn’t the protagonist. The entire film is from the kidnapper’s perspective. The ‘protagonist halo’ exists to guide the audience’s engagement, doesn’t it? Meng Lian enters the story as a kidnapper, and in the end, he dies. That leaves no catharsis for the audience, nor any lingering regret.”

Hao Luo shook his head, firm in his stance.

Ji Fanyun paused for a moment before adding, “My point is, I need to understand Meng Lian’s journey in order to connect with him. Maybe the audience does, too.”

Hao Luo countered, “You can empathize all you want. The audience doesn’t need to empathize with a villain.”

“Then Zhou Ziyin should be the protagonist instead of Meng Lian.” Ji Fanyun shrugged and laughed. “Forget it—Zhou Ziyin isn’t exactly a classic hero either.”

Hao Luo insisted that Ji Fanyun hadn’t fully grasped the script.

Ji Fanyun disagreed.

They debated back and forth for a while.

They had known each other for years.

Back in his childhood acting days, Ji Fanyun had worked on a film directed by Hao Luo’s mentor, crossing paths with Hao on set a few times. Their work had occasionally overlapped since then, but they were never close—just two people who could talk endlessly about movies and theater.

Ji Fanyun once described their dynamic as a plastic friendship across generations.

By the time Hao Luo finished his cigarette, he had flicked multiple cigarette butts onto the deck.

Getting up to borrow another, he was met with Ji Fanyun’s deadpan voice.

“Bring a broom while you’re at it. You have no manners.”

Once alone on the deck, Ji Fanyun idly kicked at the cigarette butts.

The laughter faded from his face.

His gaze drifted toward the pier.

The yacht was docked in the harbor, surrounded by towering shipping containers.

Under the vast, dazzling sky, Ji Fanyun’s silhouette on the deck was nothing more than a tiny shadow.

Just like the people on the pier, raising their phones to record and capture the spectacle above—just faceless, indistinct figures in the dark.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

But maybe, after looking for one particular figure so many times in the past few days, his eyes had grown accustomed to finding him.

At a single glance, Ji Fanyun spotted Liam Jun.

Unfortunately, the distance was too far.

Far beyond reach.

Hao Luo never came back.

Instead, the person responsible for tonight’s grand spectacle arrived.

Not a fan.

The wealthy investor behind the event.

Ji Fanyun smiled at him, raising his phone with a casual wave.

“I’m out of money,” he said, “so I can only transfer you the amount I originally budgeted for this dinner.”

Then, he gestured toward the blinding swarm of drones overhead.

“They’re giving me a headache. Can you turn them off?”

The man approached, clad in a crisp, perfectly tailored suit, smiling as he closed the distance between them.

Yet, before he could take another step—before he could even utter his prepared opening line—chaos erupted.

The sound of a fight.

Someone was thrown out of the lobby entrance.

Ji Fanyun turned in confusion—just in time to see Xu Xiao rushing out.

And Jiang Lai.

Jiang Lai had a man pinned down by the shoulder, shouting:

“Damn it, I just came here to find someone! Why the hell are you stopping me?!”

Ji Fanyun froze for a second, then instinctively turned his head—searching for Liam Jun.

Liam Jun was still there.