Secret Incident (BL) - Chapter 9

The sudden discovery of an unidentified corpse significantly heightened the local government’s concerns about potential safety hazards. After confirming the deceased’s identity through DNA analysis, the authorities quickly announced that the incident was an accident.

Following this, the entire town underwent a cleanup effort—sewers were cleared, manhole covers were repaired, and surveillance cameras were inspected. Even the quiet alleys and secluded corners were fitted with new security cameras.

Some residents made sarcastic remarks, suggesting that the government was simply trying to present the town as a safe and law-abiding place in front of the film crew. Though there were still murmurs doubting the official cause of death, the discussion never gained enough traction and eventually died down.

The day Pingning Harbor reopened for navigation happened to be Ji Fanyun’s birthday. With the harbor back in operation and no smoking restrictions in place, the town was filled with the deafening sound of firecrackers from early morning, making the atmosphere livelier than ever.

Woken by the noise, Ji Fanyun threw two pillows in frustration and lay there with his eyes shut, struggling for a while before finally getting out of bed.

One wall of his living room featured an old tear-off calendar, perfectly matching the vintage decor of the inn.

Barefoot, he walked across the floor and, as his first action of the day, casually tore off yesterday’s date.

“A new day. Auspicious for weaving a web.”

With that, he cleared his throat and stepped onto the balcony, only to be met with the thick, acrid scent of fireworks. He grabbed a pair of binoculars and scanned the surroundings, occasionally waving a hand in front of his nose to disperse the lingering smoke.

His room was the last one at the far end of the inn, and from the balcony, he had a clear view of both the new and old districts of town.

It was an intriguing sight. At the break of dawn, every household had placed small tables outside their doors, adorned with fruits, cookies, incense, and burning paper money. Firecrackers exploded as part of the ritual.

They were offering prayers to the Earth God, seeking peace and safety for their land. Ji Fanyun had witnessed this tradition once before when he first arrived.

Having spent most of his life in the city, he had rarely experienced such firecracker-laden mornings. That first time, he had been startled awake and responded by angrily pulling the curtains shut.

But now, standing on the spacious balcony with an unobstructed view, he found no sign of the person he was looking for. Strangely enough, it didn’t sour his mood. Instead, he was even tempted to theatrically proclaim, “Behold, my kingdom!” in a grand, declamatory tone.

This was Ji Fanyun’s seventeenth day in Pingning Harbor, and today, he turned twenty-two. Just like every year, he found himself struggling within the confines of his role, though this time, subtle yet undeniable changes had crept into his routine.

Perhaps it was the binoculars.

Perhaps it was his subconscious habit of checking the time.

Or maybe it was the five neatly stacked insulated lunch boxes on his shoe cabinet.

Every morning at exactly 8:00 AM, a lunch box was placed outside his door—always at a time when the rest of the film crew on his floor had already left.

Yet, Ji Fanyun had never once caught the person delivering it.

Starting at 7:54 AM, he would begin pacing back and forth in the entryway of his room.

His steps synchronized with the ticking of his watch, as if waiting for a bus that wasn’t particularly urgent—savoring the anticipation.

By 7:58 AM, he would shift to pressing himself against the door, his ear glued to the surface.

Then, at precisely 8:00 AM—sometimes with a delay of a few seconds—he would hear a light knock followed by two heavier ones.

Short, abrupt, and stopping just as suddenly.

This simple sound was enough to shatter Ji Fanyun’s carefully maintained composure. A smile would inevitably creep onto his lips, one he tried and failed to suppress.

A smile brimming with barely contained excitement.

After waiting a few seconds, he would finally open the door and bring in the sixth insulated lunch box.

Once back inside, he would nudge the door shut with his foot, already eager to remove the lid while grabbing utensils from the coffee table.

Today’s meal came with an extra serving of freshly sliced wax apples.

Ji Fanyun pushed the wax apples far away, refusing to touch them.

As he sipped his porridge, he responded to numerous birthday wishes—from past collaborators, long-lost classmates, and more. He even logged onto Weibo to repost a birthday video made by his fan club.

Inside this antiquated inn, with the air conditioner set at a comfortable 24°C, surrounded by an outpouring of well-wishes and a steaming breakfast, Ji Fanyun found himself momentarily lost in an illusion—an illusion of being enveloped in love.

Today, aside from the fruit, he finished every bite of his meal. After washing the lunch box, he picked up his script and stood against the wall.

The Bluetooth speaker in his bedroom played nothing but Teresa Teng songs—her voice serenading him with “Just Like Your Tenderness,” “Watching Snow in the Wind, Admiring Flowers in the Fog, Happiness Circling Around.”

These were songs Ji Fanyun had chosen as childhood memories for his upcoming role.

The film, The Caged Sparrow, had a title that practically revealed its plot. The story was simple—spanning only seven days in a movie lasting a little over a hundred minutes.

Ji Fanyun played Meng Lian, a character whose seven-day journey led him from a petty thug to a kidnapper, ending in his eventual capture. The script revolved around the events of those seven days, but to better grasp the role, Ji Fanyun had taken the liberty of fleshing out the brief mentions of his character’s childhood.

During the peak years of Pingning Harbor in the 1990s, Meng Lian had a father who was unable to take care of himself and a mother who had abandoned him. His father had once been a dockworker, a man of striking presence in his youth, while his mother had been a dazzling singer in a dance hall.

In the character backstory written by Ji Fanyun, there was a time in Meng Lian’s childhood when he rode on his father’s shoulders like a galloping horse, played hide-and-seek on large cargo ships, was held in his mother’s arms as they danced the tango backstage at the dance hall, and sang in a child’s voice, “Tian Mi Mi” and “Rose, Rose, I Love You.”

Such happiness.

On his birthday, he must have had a unique, lavish Happy Birthday song under the shimmering lights.

Ji Fanyun gripped his curled-up script, tapping it against the wall in rhythm with the music, replaying every one of Meng Lian’s birthdays in his mind.

At thirteen, he was free—climbing onto a high shipping container at the dock, gazing toward the coastline, waiting for his father to return.

At sixteen, he was rebellious—kicking over his father’s wheelchair and cursing him as useless.

At eighteen, he was fighting.

At twenty, he was selling counterfeit shoes.

At twenty-two…

Ji Fanyun lingered on this age for a long time before stopping his thoughts altogether.

Just then, he received a call from the director. The director wished him a happy birthday and mentioned that a dinner reservation had been made to celebrate the occasion. Ji Fanyun gladly accepted, then added, “Let’s use my birthday as an excuse for a gathering. I’ll cover the bill—let’s have a meal together and relax a bit before filming starts.”

Before the call ended, there was a knock at the door.

One light tap, followed by two heavier ones—a rhythm Ji Fanyun was all too familiar with. His breath hitched for a second, and he momentarily froze, listening to the director suggest he visit the set, even as he moved toward the door.

As he opened it, he saw Liam Jun.

Just as the call ended, Teresa Teng’s voice played softly in the background:

“…Hoping this life will remain within the colors of romance…”

He didn’t understand Cantonese, but he caught one phrase clearly—”Qing nan zi jin, xin li xi huan ni” (I can’t help but like you in my heart).”

Ji Fanyun felt as though he had to summon every ounce of his acting ability to maintain a calm, expressionless face as he asked, “What’s up?”

Liam Jun, ever composed and polite, showed no trace of a smile but wasn’t entirely cold either. He glanced into the room briefly before looking back at Ji Fanyun.

“The innkeeper said you booked his car to pick someone up at the station. He had something come up, and since I happen to be heading there too, do you want to go together?”

“Oh, I almost forgot about that. Sure,” Ji Fanyun glanced at his watch and said, “Let me change first.”

He turned and walked into the room, leaving the door open. But before he had taken a few steps, he heard Liam Jun’s voice from outside:

“I’ll wait in the car.”

Then Liam Jun closed the door.

Ji Fanyun stood still for a moment, an unexplainable feeling lingering in his chest.

That feeling stayed with him as he changed clothes. He put on a hat and mask, not dawdling any further.

He ran down the stairs but slowed to a casual pace upon reaching the first floor, greeting Sister Zhao at the front desk. Immediately, her loud voice boomed with a cheerful Happy Birthday!

The car was a van belonging to the inn, with its logo printed on the side. Ji Fanyun hesitated at the entrance before ultimately taking the passenger seat.

The moment he got in, Liam Jun asked, “It’s your birthday today?”

Ji Fanyun was momentarily taken aback. He turned to the car’s speaker and said, “Even Brother Jian listens to Teresa Teng? What an old-fashioned taste in music.”

After a pause, he turned back to Liam Jun and said, “What did you say? Oh, my birthday? Yeah, it’s my birthday. Didn’t you check online? My name has been trending on Weibo’s hot search since this morning.”

Liam Jun gave a slight nod, though it was unclear whether he was acknowledging the answer or silently confirming that he hadn’t actually looked it up. Either way, he made no effort to offer even a casual Happy Birthday.

Ji Fanyun had thought about this countless times, often getting distracted while reading scripts or watching movies—wondering why someone who wasn’t particularly close to him would make breakfast for him every day.

If the purpose was to build familiarity, wouldn’t they knock a few more times? Wouldn’t they wait at the door to say Good morning?

Good morning. Happy birthday.

The moment Ji Fanyun realized just how much he had been hoping to hear those words from Liam Jun, that inexplicable feeling in his chest deepened.

As the car started, Ji Fanyun pulled his mask down slightly, slipping into his usual bright and sociable demeanor. He turned to Liam Jun and asked with a teasing smile,

“Mr. Liam, how long do you plan to keep up this so-called ordinary job? Going to the market every day—who exactly are you looking for?”