Flirted Then Forgot Everything - Chapter 21.1

“Director Yang, our movie is—”

Jian Li trailed off. He knew that some award-winning films included “shameful” scenes—some even required the actors to go completely nude.

Seeing Jian Li’s overwhelming bashfulness, Yang Xu didn’t bother explaining. He simply winked and told him to go prepare with Yu Cheng.

Before they left, Yang Xu added, “Have you been doing the daily homework I assigned to you and Yu Cheng?”

“What homework?” Jian Li asked, having completely forgotten.

Yang Xu frowned, intentionally darkening his expression. “Three minutes of eye contact, ten minutes of hugging. What? You didn’t do it? Disobeying the director already?”

Yu Cheng, who had been nearby, walked over and grabbed Jian Li by the wrist.

“We’ll do it now.”

Jian Li was led away to Yu Cheng’s lounge. Along the way, he dodged every high shelf and prop stand he saw, terrified that something would suddenly come crashing down on him again.

Yu Cheng let Jian Li zig-zag along; he glanced at the surrounding prop racks but said nothing.

At this point, Jian Li was more than happy to stay close to Yu Cheng. He followed him into the lounge without a hint of resistance.

Zhou Qingbai wasn’t there, leaving only the two of them.

Since there were no staff members sent by Yang Xu to supervise this time, Jian Li thought they could just go through the motions. To his surprise, Yu Cheng took out his phone and started a countdown timer.

“From now on, I am Gao Mochen, and you are Li Xiaoli,” Yu Cheng said solemnly, his attitude purely professional.

Jian Li unconsciously mirrored his seriousness and nodded. He closed his eyes to focus for a moment; when he opened them again, he had already immersed himself in the character of Li Xiaoli.

He had never studied acting formally; his techniques were self-taught and raw. Rather than acting, it was more like self-hypnosis—making himself truly become Li Xiaoli in that moment.

This style of performance could be difficult for a co-star to match. Because it lacked technical artifice and was so natural, it was easy to transcend the script and portray things not written on the page, often catching other actors off guard.

Jian Li was lucky. His first acting experience was opposite Yu Cheng, who possessed such masterful technique that he could handle any unexpected situation.

Furthermore, Yang Xu was a director who granted a high degree of freedom. He enjoyed seeing actors improvise within a set boundary, unlike some directors who despised it.

Jian Li stared quietly into Yu Cheng’s eyes. He told himself that the person looking back at him wasn’t Yu Cheng, but Gao Mochen.

Gao Mochen came from an elite background; his life had always been smooth sailing. At twenty-eight, he lived a disciplined, predictable life—until Li Xiaoli became the unexpected variable.

At eighteen, Li Xiaoli had just started university. Despite being at an age as bright as the sun, he carried an air of decadent, wilting beauty.

This quality was impossible to hide. Li Xiaoli originally thought Gao Mochen liked the “pure student” version of him—the one in clean white shirts—but in reality, Gao Mochen had been drawn to that specific sense of decadence from the start.

He was like a rose hidden in a field of sunflowers; petals so red they were nearly black. Clearly out of place, yet blooming with a self-absorbed intensity, emitting a unique, intoxicating fragrance.

Unlike Gao Mochen’s upbringing, Li Xiaoli had lived a hard life since childhood. He was calculating, self-centered, and an opportunist.

Initially, his intentions in approaching Gao Mochen were indeed impure.

Believing Gao Mochen liked him “simple,” he played the part of the innocent, yet occasionally let his true nature slip to keep Gao Mochen guessing.

Gao Mochen saw right through the little tricks, but he indulged him, pampered him, and played along.

Jian Li kept the script in his mind. His light-colored eyes looked into Yu Cheng’s deep black pupils as if diving into an ocean. The water should have been cold, but where it touched his skin, it felt scalding.

The countdown on the phone had long since ended. No one noticed the notification sound.

The transition from eye contact to a hug was perfectly natural.

Jian Li rested his chin on Yu Cheng’s shoulder, his arms circling Yu Cheng’s waist. He felt the steady beat of Yu Cheng’s heart and the warmth of a palm against his back.

In such an embrace, he gradually grew drowsy and stifled a small yawn.

Yu Cheng noticed. “Sleepy?”

Jian Li nodded with half-closed eyes, then asked, “Are you asking Li Xiaoli, or are you asking Jian Li?”

Yu Cheng slowly patted Jian Li’s back without letting go.

“What do you think?”

Jian Li shook his head. He couldn’t tell. Subconsciously, however, he felt that Yu Cheng wouldn’t be this gentle with “Jian Li.”

This kind of tenderness belonged to Gao Mochen giving it to Li Xiaoli.

Yu Cheng didn’t offer an explanation. He continued to pat Jian Li’s back, letting the younger man stay nestled in his arms in a daze.

“Yang Xu was just teasing you earlier. This movie won’t go too far.”

In his groggy state, Jian Li realized Yu Cheng was trying to ease his pressure.

It worked; the heart that had been in his throat finally began to relax.

When the break ended, they returned to the set.

The set was quiet. Everyone who could be cleared out was gone, leaving only Yang Xu and a few essential cinematographers. The lack of people was startling.

Looking at the large, disheveled bed that had been prepared, the nervousness Jian Li had just suppressed surged back up.

He and Yu Cheng had changed into their costumes. They weren’t much different from their usual clothes, but the fabric was wrinkled and loose, and they were both barefoot.

Following Yang Xu’s instructions, Yu Cheng lay flat on the bed first.

“Jian Li, get on top of him.”

Jian Li stared at Yu Cheng on the bed, swallowed hard at the instruction, and cautiously climbed up. He tried his best to avoid Yu Cheng’s limbs, hovering over him while supporting his weight with his legs. He was wobbly and wasn’t actually touching Yu Cheng at all.

“Tsk.”

Yang Xu walked right over, placed his hands on Jian Li’s shoulders, and pressed him down.

He used considerable force; Jian Li landed firmly on Yu Cheng’s waist—a solid, intimate contact.

Jian Li’s cheeks instantly turned deep red, and even his ears looked like they were about to bleed.

Yang Xu grabbed a nearby camera and slowly zoomed in.

“Jian Li, be professional. Don’t let your face get that red.”

Jian Li nodded, trying to calm his racing heart, but the flush refused to fade.

He was so nervous and emotional that his eyes began to well up. Tears threatened to spill over.

I’m doomed!

Jian Li thought. The more he tried to stay calm, the more agitated he became. His old habit was acting up—his eyes felt sore, and he really wanted to cry.

Yu Cheng reached up and lightly touched the rim of Jian Li’s thin ear. His fingertips were warm, moving slowly along the edge.

“Don’t be nervous. Deep breaths.”

Jian Li obediently took several deep breaths. Although his cheeks and ears remained red, he managed to blink back the tears, though his eyes were still slightly bloodshot.

Yang Xu pushed the lens almost directly into Jian Li’s face. Looking through the viewfinder, he suddenly tapped his head as if struck by a new idea.

“Jian Li, forget about the blushing. Let your expression go cold, like Li Xiaoli usually is.”

Yu Cheng gently took hold of Jian Li’s fingers, his thumb brushing over Jian Li’s fingertips. It was a tiny gesture, but it anchored Jian Li.

He took another deep breath and, just as he had during the hugging practice, immersed himself into the role.

Beneath the countless schemes and calculations, Li Xiaoli did like Gao Mochen, so he was naturally willing to be intimate with him.

However, he was prideful and feared ruining the “cold and elegant” image he held in Gao Mochen’s mind, so his expression remained frosty.

Yet, no matter how cold his expression was, he couldn’t control the physiological flush on his cheeks.

Seated on Yu Cheng’s waist, Jian Li’s fingers intertwined with Yu Cheng’s with one hand, while his other hand pressed slowly against Yu Cheng’s chest.

The lights were dim. Except for the large bed, the surroundings were almost black, save for a bedside lamp casting a hazy yellow glow. The light fell across their faces, creating soft shadows.

Beneath his palm, Jian Li could feel the firm muscle of Yu Cheng’s chest. Yu Cheng had a perfectly toned physique; he felt incredible to the touch.

Jian Li got a bit distracted. To his knowledge, Yu Cheng had never filmed such an intimate scene with anyone; most of his movies dealt with heavy themes of national tragedy or family vendettas.

Noticing the lapse in focus, Yu Cheng tightened his grip on Jian Li’s fingers, a silent reminder.

Jian Li snapped back, lowered his body, and locked eyes with Yu Cheng.

With a cold, condescending gaze, he looked down at the suppressed man beneath him like a haughty prince. Yet this prince had skin so pale and flushed that it told everyone that despite his icy expression, he was soft everywhere else.

Yang Xu’s movements were so quiet that Jian Li eventually forgot he was there.

He truly sank into the scene, becoming Li Xiaoli, engaging in a contest with Gao Mochen on this bed. It was a battle of both psyche and body.

Jian Li scrutinized Yu Cheng nonchalantly. His fingertips slid from Yu Cheng’s chest to his chin, giving it a playful flick, as if considering where to take the first bite.

Yu Cheng caught Jian Li’s fingertips, his voice cold. “Played enough?”

Jian Li slowly looked up, meeting his gaze provocatively as he delivered his line: “Played enough? I haven’t even started yet. How could it be enough?”

With those words, he deftly unfastened the top button of Yu Cheng’s shirt.

This man, who always buttoned up to the very top, was being pinned to a bed while his “armor” was slowly peeled away.

By the time the buttons were halfway undone, Yu Cheng—who had been letting him have his way—suddenly reached out and turned off the only light source in the room.

The moment the lamp went out, a pre-set studio light flickered on, simulating a streetlamp from outside. It illuminated only Jian Li’s eyes.

His eyes widened slightly, his cold facade faltering under a wave of surprise and tension.

The next second, Yu Cheng flipped him over and pinned him down.

Their positions were reversed. Yu Cheng’s hands held Jian Li’s shoulders, rendering him immobile.

Jian Li lifted a leg, trying to kick him away, but Yu Cheng shifted his stance and simply pinned Jian Li’s legs down.

“My turn,” Yu Cheng said.

Even though it was just acting, and Jian Li knew exactly what Yu Cheng’s next moves would be, he was still nervous—uncontrollably nervous.

The character of Li Xiaoli stripped away from Jian Li. Right now, he was just Jian Li, trapped beneath Yu Cheng and at a loss for what to do.

Yu Cheng pulled the duvet over them, covering everything but their upper bodies.

In the next moment, Yu Cheng pulled Jian Li’s hands up and pinned them above his head.

Through Yang Xu’s lens, it looked as if a car had driven past outside; the light swept across Yu Cheng’s eyes, illuminating those dark pupils.

All his usual restraint and etiquette had vanished. In the darkness, those eyes were full of longing—and the object of that longing was right in his arms.

He had no reason not to devour him completely and claim him as his own.

Yu Cheng pulled the duvet higher, slowly covering both their heads.

Before they disappeared under the covers, the lens captured only their lips slowly meeting and their bodies locked in a tight embrace.

Once the duvet hid them completely, they huddled together underneath, rolling over a few times as their clothes were tossed out from beneath the fabric.

Finally, a slender, pale hand reached out from under the covers. As if unable to endure any more, it gripped the dark bedsheets tightly.

Soon, another larger hand emerged, capturing the first one. Fingers forced their way between the gaps in an undeniable grip, dragging the hand back under the covers.

The scene ended there. Jian Li and Yu Cheng remained under the duvet, huddled together. Because they had just rolled around, their clothes were a tangled mess.

Jian Li was waiting for Yang Xu to shout “Cut,” but nearly a minute passed without a sound from outside.

He didn’t dare move, fearing he would ruin the take and force a reshoot.

The air inside the duvet was thin; their breaths mingled, and every inhale was hot.

The longer they stayed, the more nervous Jian Li became. He shifted his limbs slightly, trying to put some distance between himself and Yu Cheng.

Yu Cheng suddenly whispered, “Don’t move.”

His thin lips were pressed right against Jian Li’s ear. The hot air rushed into Jian Li’s ear canal, making him instinctively shrink his neck. He desperately wanted to scratch the itch.

“What is it?” Yu Cheng asked again.

The waves of heat from his voice were relentless. Jian Li couldn’t take it anymore. He shifted his body, trying to find a different angle to lie at, keeping his voice a low whisper so as not to disturb Yang Xu outside.

“Stop talking. My ear is so itchy.”

Yu Cheng actually stopped talking. He simply kept Jian Li pinned so he couldn’t wiggle around, then helpfully used a finger to rub Jian Li’s earlobe.

Jian Li’s ears were burning hot. After Yu Cheng’s rubbing, the itch in his ear canal only intensified.

“Not there.”

“Then where?”

When Yu Cheng spoke, the heat from his breath puffed into Jian Li’s ear canal once more.

The itching was becoming unbearable. After being under the duvet for so long, it wasn’t just his ears—his whole body was heating up, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“Inside, inside the ear.”

Yu Cheng paused. Jian Li tried to turn away subtly, but unexpectedly, Yu Cheng’s finger slid along his earlobe and slowly probed into the opening of his ear.

The gesture was far too intimate. Combined with the fact that they were currently filming a bed scene, Jian Li’s mind immediately wandered into the gutter.

Yu Cheng gently rubbed the edge of the ear canal. His nails were trimmed clean and smooth, so it wasn’t uncomfortable. Though the itch was being soothed, Jian Li felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

As Yu Cheng withdrew his hand, Yang Xu’s voice finally rang out.

“Alright, cut!”

The moment the cut was called, Jian Li threw the duvet off. Underneath, both his and Yu Cheng’s clothes were perfectly intact; the clothes that had been tossed out earlier had been pre-staged.

Yu Cheng hadn’t lied—it was a “bed scene,” but it wasn’t excessive. There was no “crossing swords” like Yang Xu had joked about; they hadn’t even taken off their shirts.

The studio lights flared to full brightness. Jian Li was flushed a soft pink from head to toe, though he wasn’t aware of it. Yang Xu turned around with a mischievous grin, coughing twice before saying with mock seriousness:

“Alright, overtime is over. Everyone go back and rest. You two don’t have any scenes tomorrow, so take the day off. Starting the day after, we’re done with night shoots, so adjust your schedules. Don’t show up exhausted.”

Jian Li agreed repeatedly, jumping off the bed and running off so fast he didn’t even bother pulling his heels into his shoes.

Yu Manman was waiting outside. Usually, the set was cleared for scenes like this—even managers weren’t allowed inside to avoid distracting the actors. Seeing Jian Li bolt out, she thought something had gone wrong.

Jian Li waved her off, his cheeks still burning. “I’m fine. Let’s go back to the hotel. We have tomorrow off.”

Hearing about the day off, Yu Manman was excited, assuming Jian Li’s haste was simply due to his eagerness for the break.

Back at the hotel, Jian Li took a shower. When he came out, he couldn’t stop touching his ear. Even though Yu Cheng had only brushed against it lightly, the sensation seemed to linger, refusing to dissipate.

“Detection: Target Yu Cheng’s favorability has not changed,” the System said, dousing Jian Li with a bucket of cold water.

Jian Li: “…”

Yu Cheng’s favorability was proving incredibly difficult to raise. Earlier, a single kiss added 3 points, but now, after all that hugging and contact, there was no movement at all.

He had almost forgotten about the falling light fixture, but the System’s mention of favorability brought the memory rushing back. The hotel seemed safe enough, and Jian Li paced the room a few times without spotting any hazards.

“I won’t actually choke to death on my own spit while sleeping, will I?” Jian Li muttered as he crawled into bed. The System didn’t respond, appearing to have gone offline.

He scrolled through his phone and opened his chat with Yu Cheng. After a moment of hesitation, he sent a message.

Jian Li: “Are you back at the hotel?”

He didn’t think Yu Cheng would reply, but the response came quickly.

Yu Cheng: “Yes.”

Knowing Yu Cheng was in the room next door made Jian Li feel better; if anything happened, help was close by. But then he wondered, why had Yu Cheng moved to the room right next to his in the first place?