After Reuniting, My Beautiful Ex-Lover Fishes for Me Every Day - Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Eros (God of Love)

Wei Changli heard the voice and unclenched his right hand—which he had balled into a fist at some unknown point—revealing a hidden, folded eyebrow razor.

The makeup artist suddenly raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t actually say much; I just touched his face with it in a visual blind spot,” Wei Changli said. “I figured he probably cherishes his face quite a bit.”

He placed the eyebrow razor back on the table, looking down with a teasing smile: “Though now, I’m not so sure.”

The makeup artist couldn’t help but laugh.

Technically, they were removing his makeup to redo it, but Wei Changli was born with the kind of face that left little room for “improvement.” The makeup artist decided to take a different path by shattering that refinement, using a wound spanning from the bridge of his nose to his cheek to increase the aesthetic impact of his face.

Wei Changli remembered that PREME’s centennial celebration featured a very classic “Eros” theme. Looking at his current reflection—which leaned toward a despondent, world-weary style—he hesitantly touched the blood scab and bruising at the corner of his mouth.

“This is the final chapter of ‘Eros,'” the makeup artist said, sensing the confusion in the young man’s eyes. “It’s called ‘Blood Kiss.'”

She used hairspray to adjust the arc of every strand of hair on Wei Changli’s forehead. This cool makeup artist’s gaze grew soft when looking at the young man, as if admiring one of her own works.

She explained: “A certain moment where even a kiss carries the fishy-sweet scent of blood is a point beyond the salvation of Eros; it is the end of the cooling of all surging and fiery love.”

After finishing his styling, Wei Changli was guided by staff into the studio for a light test. It was only then he realized that David’s decision to hand the “Blood Kiss” task to him was incredibly generous yet bold—this segment of the advertisement was a solo shot with a weak narrative, featuring mostly extreme close-ups of facial expressions. It demanded high levels of expressive tension and emotional resonance from the subject.

During his student days, Wei Changli studied the cinematic art direction of drama and literature, which leaned more toward theory; even in practice, he was more the one filming than the one being filmed. Thus, even though he could tell at a glance that the crew’s storyboard and lighting scheme were meticulously polished, his mind went blank the moment the cameraman hit the record button.

David personally stood in front of the monitor for a while before cutting the shoot without much expression.

The staff on-site held their breath. This eldest son of the family, who had arrived with great fanfare from the European headquarters, had fastidious taste. The current dailies clearly failed to meet his standards.

David’s fingers tapped lightly on the blue gemstone eye of the raptor atop his cane. He signaled for the other staff members to leave, appearing ready to have a private chat with Wei Changli.

Once everyone had mostly cleared out, David handed him a coffee his assistant had purchased.

Wei Changli took it and expressed his apologies.

David didn’t speak; he simply led him to the side of the monitor to let him watch the failed takes.

Wei Changli watched a few clips in a row, his brow furrowing—from his own aesthetic perspective, they were indeed missing quite a bit.

The visuals were carved to perfection, but the expression was empty.

David asked: “Do you see anything?”

Wei Changli was sincere and told the truth: “As an actor, I am not professional enough.”

David squinted his blue eyes at him, first nodding and then shaking his head: “In the lens, you are very beautiful… Nowadays, for the vast majority of advertisements, a beautiful image is enough.”

“But for this one, it is not enough,” the man paused to weigh his words, choosing a more solemn term. “It is not yet beautiful (aesthetic).”

David handed the PREME centennial commemorative perfume to Wei Changli and spoke: “It is called Eros. Many perfumes in the world are called Eros.”

Wei Changli took the bottle. The liquid was colorless, and the crystal glass bottle reflected fragmented bits of light, as exquisite as a work of art.

“But I feel,” David leaned on his silver cane, his voice softening, “that for every person, there is ultimately only one Eros that belongs to them.”

Those deep blue eyes appeared vast and boundless because they were so deep. He tilted his head slightly and said to the Wei Changli in front of him: “When I first saw you, I thought that in your heart, there was an Eros that belonged to you.”

…

From early morning to the afternoon, Wei Changli made continuous attempts under the running camera.

After his talk with David, it wasn’t that he felt nothing at all, but that feeling remained as blurred as the hem of a garment fluttering in the wind—hurriedly brushing against him and then vanishing, impossible to grasp.

David eventually called a temporary halt to the shoot for this group. Overly pressuring a newcomer would do no good for the quality of the footage, so he simply gave Wei Changli a break. This blonde, blue-eyed eldest son was clearly more emotionally stable when dealing with a “beauty”; he didn’t decide to replace Wei Changli, but only told him not to rush and to feel it with his heart.

Wei Changli didn’t let himself rest. He sat alone in the dim studio, cradling that bottle of “Eros,” staring at it in a daze.

Do you have that Eros belonging to yourself in your heart?

David’s awkward Mandarin accent echoed in Wei Changli’s mind as he quietly closed his eyes.

When he heard those words, there was a sound in his ears—like wind sweeping across a wilderness, vast and free.

But whether he opened or closed his eyes, he could only see one figure.

His wilderness seemed free, yet only one path was visible.

“Creak—”

The heavy sound of a door being pushed open rang out.

Lost in thought, Wei Changli didn’t pay it much mind.

“I thought you’d left. Turns out you’re hiding here. What’s the matter, can’t act it out? You aren’t secretly crying here, are you?”

The newcomer let out a cold sneer. Wei Changli snapped back to reality and saw Gu Hanxiao leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, looking at him with a contemptuous gaze.

This “little blonde” belonged to the standard “never-learns-his-lesson” type; he actually dared to come over and look for trouble. He had obviously heard that this group’s shoot wasn’t going well and had come specifically to find fault, his face full of the smugness of kicking a man while he’s down.

Wei Changli felt it was boring and treated him as if he were air.

Gu Hanxiao couldn’t stand being ignored the most. He continued to provoke: “And here I thought you were so capable, actually trying to block my path. Now it seems you’re not all that.”

He walked over, pointing a finger at the tip of Wei Changli’s nose, his tone turning cold and harsh: “You’ve offended me, which is the same as offending Wanyu. I heard them say your name is Wei Changli, right? Just you wait to be blacklisted.”

“Blacklisting” (being “put on ice”) was very intimidating to most un-debuted artists, but to Wei Changli, it was truly neither itchy nor painful… after all, he had already smashed the head of Wanyu’s boss.

Looking at the other’s appearance, Wei Changli could roughly guess how he had risen to his position. He just couldn’t be bothered to say it. Adopting an attitude of “out of sight, out of mind,” he stood up, preparing to walk out of the studio.

Gu Hanxiao relentlessly blocked his path. Wei Changli knit his brows with some impatience, truly not understanding how someone could be like chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe—impossible to shake off.

He spoke up and asked: “What do you want?”

Gu Hanxiao: “Give the lead position back to me.”

Wei Changli was moved to laughter by his “pure to the point of brain-dead” stupidity and childishness. He suddenly spoke: “Okay.”

Gu Hanxiao hadn’t expected him to agree so readily and was instead a bit stunned.

Wei Changli’s expression looked exceptionally serious and sincere: “But before that, can I make one small request?”

Gu Hanxiao was a bit skeptical but still tested: “What?”

Wei Changli lowered his head slightly to get closer to the boy, his voice even softening piteously:

“Could you please shake your brains until they’re evenly mixed before you talk to me?”

Gu Hanxiao: “…………”

Wei Changli gave a slight smile and took a step to the left to bypass him. Then, he pushed open the heavy studio doors. The moment the doors opened, he ran straight into a familiar face.

Wei Changli: “?”

Opposite him was a youth who had been standing outside the door secretly for who-knows-how-long, possessing a face one would never forget.

A baby face, peach-blossom eyes, and two bright red moles positioned under the outer corners of both eyes—he looked like he was smiling before he even spoke.

It was actually the kid from last time at the underground black internet cafe who had bought a pile of pirated snacks.

“No, no, sorry!”

The youth was still chewing on a chocolate bar. Upon being spotted, he looked flustered, like someone caught stealing snacks. He swallowed the chocolate in three gulps, apologizing while dry-heaving slightly: “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, shouldn’t have been a spectator! I’m leaving now! Eh? Wait, it’s you…”

The youth’s eyes suddenly erupted with two clusters of starlight: “That! Internet cafe bro!”

“.” Wei Changli blinked and didn’t speak.

The youth also seemed to feel that this title exposed the “less-than-savory” location of their meeting. His volume dropped, but his voice was still very lively: “What fate! My name is Zhai Wo, just call me Xiao Zhai.”

Zhai Wo. He was Zhai Wo?

Hearing the name, Wei Changli was slightly taken-back. He looked at the boy in front of him, who was half a head shorter than himself, and returned the greeting: “Hello, I am Wei Changli.”

Zhai Wo’s eyes brightened even more: “So it’s you! Then we really are destined. I often hear Sister Youzi mention you. Just now while I was stuck in traffic, I heard her say you were the one who filled in for me. Thank you, thank you, hard work!”

Before Wei Changli could reply, Gu Hanxiao’s voice cut in from behind: “You’re Hexing’s Zhai Wo?”

The gaze Gu Hanxiao used to look at Zhai Wo contained both scrutiny and wariness. He muttered “not all that” under his breath and tilted his chin to put on the airs of a senior: “You aren’t filming your ad and instead you’re here eavesdropping? Is this the work attitude of you Hexing artists?”

Zhai Wo looked Gu Hanxiao up and down, recognized his identity, and didn’t say anything for a moment.

He had actually been here for a while. He was filming the first set of advertisements next door, and since that side’s overall filming progress was relatively smooth, he had sneaked out during the halftime break to eat snacks. While wandering over here, he heard voices inside and stood outside for a bit.

The youth subconsciously felt a bit of aversion to this overbearing Gu Hanxiao, so he very familiarly grabbed Wei Changli, preparing to leave quickly.

Zhai Wo changed his address very quickly, calling him “Xiao Li-ge” (Brother Xiao Li) one after another: “I don’t know if you have time right now, but do you want to come watch me film the ad?”

Wei Changli silently withdrew his arm from the hold but didn’t refuse the suggestion.

He also wanted to see how Zhai Wo—this youth who looked more like a cheerful puppy—would handle an emotion with such a massive contrast as “Eros.”