After Breaking Up, I Married A Top Alpha Movie Star And Fell In Love - Chapter 14

Perhaps the timing of his topic was wrong, but Qiu Ye felt that Lu Mingchuan seemed a bit unhappy.

Lu Mingchuan’s jaw was tight, and the flickering neon lights played across his face. “Qiu Ye, we’ve been married for less than a month.”

“According to Hong Kong customs, it’s considered bad luck to take inventory of these things right now.”

Qiu Ye vaguely remembered hearing such a saying. He pressed his palms together and replied, “Then let’s talk about it later.”

Once they were divorced, there would naturally be lawyers and specialized personnel to handle that work. Regardless, he wouldn’t let Lu Mingchuan get the short end of the stick.

The plane landed in Tangcheng.

The cold air outside the cabin rushed toward them, a stark contrast to the warm, humid air of Hong Kong. This Republic-era film base had been completed two years ago; the streets and alleys were paved with weathered blue bricks, and rickshaws pulled by extras in old-style long gowns shuttled back and forth.

Qiu Ye had heard Xu Zilang mention this project. Back then, the eldest Xu brother had handled both the investment and construction, restoring the Republic-era style to the highest specifications.

“Brother Qiu, are you coming with me?” The assistant, Xiao Bei, exhaled clouds of white mist as he spoke.

Qiu Ye hadn’t expected Tangcheng to be this cold. He shrank into his long down jacket and nodded. He followed several staff members, his gaze drifting over the mottled facades of Western-style buildings.

A green-skinned train station set up nearby was where Lu Mingchuan was filming exterior scenes today. A large crowd had gathered. Nearby, an artificial snow machine sprayed chemical snow; Qiu Ye lowered his head to wipe his blurred glasses.

When he looked up, he saw Lu Mingchuan.

The Alpha wore a crisp, dark green wool military uniform. Golden tassels hung diagonally from his shoulder, a wide leather belt cinched his narrow waist, and polished black boots adorned his feet. His hair was slicked back entirely, revealing a sharp, stern facial contour. His brow carried a strange, lethal aura of command.

“Your movements could be a bit more relaxed, because he is…”

Lu Mingchuan tilted his head slightly to listen to the director, holding a dark green military cap in his hand. Looking at the transformed Lu Mingchuan, Qiu Ye felt as if a rift had opened in the space-time beneath his feet.

Sensing Qiu Ye’s gaze, the sternness on Lu Mingchuan’s face dissipated significantly, and he offered a small smile.

Qiu Ye averted his eyes abruptly, his heart feeling as though it were being stepped on by the tiny, delicate feet of ants. He never thought he had a preference for specific outfits, but at this moment, he couldn’t help but begin to doubt himself.

Was he actually a closeted uniform fetishist?

The intense filming session came to a temporary halt.

“Xiaochuan, long time no see.” A middle-aged woman with a scholarly air walked up with a smile and engaged Lu Mingchuan in warm conversation.

“Qiu Ye, this is Teacher Liang.”

“She was the screenwriter for my debut work, and she’s also the screenwriter for Deep Spring at Copper Sparrow.”

Liang Yongning’s current script had just been bought by Huanhe. She joked, “Secretary Qiu of Huanhe—how could I not know him?”

“Are you here on business?” Liang Yongning blinked; she remembered that Huanhe Media wasn’t among the investors.

Qiu Ye shook hands and explained it was a private trip.

After a brief chat, Lu Mingchuan resumed filming for the next round, popping ice cubes into his mouth. Even with the ice, every line of his dialogue remained clear and precise. His warm breath couldn’t turn into distracting white mist, making the footage on the monitor look exceptionally clean and sharp.

“Cut—”

Lu Mingchuan lowered his head to spit out the half-melted ice, the root of his tongue numb from the cold. Qiu Ye, seeing all of this, picked up the long down jacket nearby and draped it over Lu Mingchuan’s shoulders.

A nearly imperceptible curve appeared at the corner of Lu Mingchuan’s mouth.

Fine snow began to flutter down from the sky.

“It’s real snow!” Xiao Bei looked up, grinning foolishly.

The RV door clicked shut, sealing out the cold and the noise. On the table, an electric hotpot bubbled with a red oil broth, surrounded by various side dishes.

Lu Mingchuan hadn’t removed his makeup yet. He took off the heavy military jacket, leaving only a thin shirt. Qiu Ye’s gaze drifted over Lu Mingchuan’s upright torso; his pectoral muscles were snugly wrapped in the white shirt, showing only a faint outline.

“Tangcheng is really cold,” Qiu Ye initiated the conversation, reaching out to turn down the boiling pot.

Lu Mingchuan handed Qiu Ye a bowl of prepared sesame oil and garlic dip. “But that snow looks better than the artificial stuff.”

Qiu Ye thanked him and set his glasses aside. He picked up a slice of fresh beef, swirled it in the bubbling spicy oil for a few seconds, and put it in his mouth. Instantly, a domineering, intense spiciness rushed to his head.

Moments later, fine beads of sweat broke out on Qiu Ye’s forehead and the tip of his nose. He couldn’t help but gasp, his lips visibly reddening and his eyes glazing over with moisture from the spice.

“Sss… ha…”

Qiu Ye unconsciously stuck out a bit of his tongue, and a physiological wetness pooled in the corners of his eyes.

Lu Mingchuan’s gaze fell on his ruby-red lips and his neck, which rose and fell slightly with his breath. His eyes darkened. He slowly pushed the chilled plum syrup toward Qiu Ye, his Adam’s apple bobbing with difficulty. “The broth from this place is famous locally; it’s just a bit spicy.”

Qiu Ye took a large gulp of the plum syrup. The icy sweetness relieved the burning in his mouth, but it couldn’t stop the sweat on his forehead. Feeling a bit embarrassed, he pulled out a tissue to wipe the sweat, thinking he looked quite disheveled.

Lu Mingchuan turned the tomato broth side toward Qiu Ye and lowered his head to cook cuttlefish balls. “When I was chatting with Teacher Liang just now, she mentioned they might change the ending for this character.”

“We also mentioned Qin Yanting.”

Qiu Ye knew that name because of Lu Mingchuan. Since both had debuted in the same drama, the media loved to compare them. Privately, their fanbases fought like fire and water.

“Qin Yanting is on many variety shows, so his public image is good. But after two consecutive flops in lead roles, investors might not give him another chance.”

With his cheeks flushed and eyes misty, Qiu Ye blurted out impulsively, “Besides, he’s not as good-looking as you.”

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. He felt like a blindly protective, crazed fan, making grand declarations right in front of the person himself. The heat spread from his ears down to his neck.

After a few seconds of silence, Qiu Ye heard a very light chuckle from across the table. The laugh vibrated from Lu Mingchuan’s chest, carrying the pleasure of being flattered.

Lu Mingchuan leaned back into his chair, watching the shrinking Qiu Ye with amusement, and accepted the compliment graciously.

“It seems I fit your aesthetic perfectly.”

For the past few days, Lu Mingchuan had been filming with Team A, but today he transferred to Team B. It was then that Qiu Ye discovered Liu Mian was also in this crew, playing the third or fourth male lead.

Liu Mian, dressed in an ornate costume, felt a flash of panic when he saw Qiu Ye on set. Once he gathered that Qiu Ye had no connection to the film’s investors, his anxiety eased significantly. He was already angry that Ding Zhao had shoved him into such a minor role to brush him off. Qiu Ye’s presence was an unintentional reminder.

Liu Mian frowned. If only I could latch onto He Yuchen’s thigh like Qiu Ye did.

Qiu Ye was looking down, washing his hands. The wide mirror in the public restroom reflected Liu Mian’s figure.

Liu Mian crossed his arms, his expression unfriendly. “Secretary Qiu, long time no see.”

Qiu Ye turned off the faucet, pulled out a paper towel, and wiped his hands deliberately. He didn’t intend to respond and turned to leave.

Liu Mian stepped sideways to block his path, scanning him from head to toe. “Even if he wasn’t the illegitimate son of the Qiu family, do you really think I would marry a Beta?”

Qiu Ye’s movements stopped.

“He Yuchen told me that personally.”

Having heard the hurtful words a second time, the impact seemed to have weakened. He looked up, gazing calmly at Liu Mian’s provocative face.

A few seconds later, Qiu Ye suddenly let out a very soft laugh.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You think I’m here to assert my sovereignty, so you’re taking the initiative.” Qiu Ye spoke flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Isn’t that hilarious?”

Before Liu Mian could react, Qiu Ye stepped around the Omega and walked straight out of the restroom.

The light outside was dim. Qiu Ye didn’t stop, pulling his phone from his pocket as he walked. He quickly found He Yuchen’s number and chat interface. Without a hint of hesitation, his finger tapped the screen.

Add to Blocklist.

Qiu Ye put his phone back into the inner pocket of his down jacket and walked toward the noisy, bustling set.

Liu Mian spent the whole night thinking about it. Under the gambling table, He Yuchen hadn’t rejected his flirtations; they had danced together, and He had even given him a temporary mark. As long as he secured this Alpha, Huanhe’s resources would be within his reach. With beauty like his, why should he be stuck in a godforsaken film base playing a minor role?

Liu Mian’s acting was mediocre to begin with, and with his mind elsewhere, the director called “Cut” on him repeatedly. By the time they wrapped up, he was taking his temper out on his assistant.

In the pantry of the Huanhe CEO’s office, several colleagues were chatting while grinding coffee beans.

“Honestly, now that Secretary Qiu is gone, my heart feels empty. It’s worse than a breakup.” Xiao Zhao, an administrative assistant, sighed as she stirred her latte.

“I heard President He was going to promote Qiu Ye to General Assistant this time, and even a VP position would have been his eventually. Yet, Secretary Qiu chose to resign right at this moment.”

Another colleague chimed in, “Secretary Qiu’s looks, ability, character, and EQ—everything was top-notch. Crucially, he was incredibly loyal to President He, always stepping up when there was trouble.”

“Back when Secretary Qiu was here, when did President He ever have to worry about his schedule? But now…” She didn’t finish, just shook her head, the meaning clear.

“If you ask me, President He is only this angry because he can’t function without Secretary Qiu. All those years of history, gone just like that.”

The group was busy reminiscing, failing to notice a tall shadow looming behind them.

“I heard they broke up, and that’s why Secretary Qiu had to resign…”

“Do I pay you a salary so you can sit around and gossip?” He Yuchen’s icy voice cut in abruptly.

The group turned and finally saw He Yuchen. Their expressions looked as if they’d seen a ghost. President He stood at the door, his face so dark it looked like it might drip ink. There was no telling how long he had been listening.

“Are all the projects in your hands finished? Have the reports been uploaded?”

“It seems your workload is under-saturated, leaving you enough time to wag your tongues here.”

The crowd scattered like startled birds, pretending they had mountains of work to do. The pantry was left with only the faint humming of the coffee machine.

He Yuchen stood there expressionless, the image of Qiu Ye brewing coffee for him surfacing in his mind. He pulled out his phone, swiped the screen, and without thinking, entered a familiar string of digits.

“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is currently busy. Please try again later.”