I Became Famous in the Entertainment Industry with High Martial Arts Skills - Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Holding His Hand

The living room lights were dim. Xie Ci stood outside the door, looking travel-worn, his snow-white cheeks flushed with a thin layer of pink from the vigorous exercise, his hurried breaths carrying puffs of warmth.

Ji Xiuheng stood inside the doorway. Seeing Xie Ci appear so suddenly, he could almost not control the urge to haul him inside and pull him into a tight embrace to fuss over him.

“I saw the message Zhou Mo sent. Are you sick? Where does it hurt?” Xie Ci’s eyes were tinged with worry. As he asked, he stepped inside, grabbing Ji Xiuheng’s arm and looking him up and down to check on him.

Just as the crew gathering in the private room was halfway through, Xie Ci had suddenly received a message from Zhou Mo. In an earnest and anxious tone, Zhou Mo asked if Xie Ci was home and begged him to check on Ji Xiuheng’s condition and bring some medicine to relieve stomach pain.

Xie Ci’s attention was instantly captured by the words “Ji Xiuheng” and “stomach pain.” He had left the gathering in a hurry and went to the pharmacy according to the medicine list Zhou Mo sent. Driving all the way back, the moment he reached the complex, he rushed to Ji Xiuheng’s home.

On the simple, plain-colored sisal foyer rug, the owner had hurriedly kicked off his shoes and placed them in the corner; they still carried a hint of the outdoor chill.

Ji Xiuheng sat on the sofa. The skin on his forearm that Xie Ci had touched felt faintly hot. His ink-black hair was slightly messy, which only emphasized the ascetic and restrained aura about him.

Xie Ci was like a busy little bee. The ears on his cat slippers trembled and shook with his every movement.

“This is the medicine Zhou Mo told me to give you.” Xie Ci placed a glass of warm water on the living room coffee table. Several tablets and capsules had been popped out and placed beside it.

Xie Ci remembered that when he shared the food photo with Ji Xiuheng earlier, the other might have already started feeling the stomach pain, yet he had held himself together to chat with him. For a moment, he felt quite guilty.

“Okay. Sorry for the trouble, Xiao Ci.” Ji Xiuheng’s gaze was soft. His voice when he said this was slightly raspy, sounding exceptionally lingering.

The water temperature in the cup was just right. Even the slightly bitter tablets—once the sugar coating melted—didn’t seem as hard to swallow as usual.

Mo Li stood outside the door of Ji Xiuheng’s home. After pacing around for several turns, he ultimately gave up on the idea of knocking. With a dejected face, he headed upstairs to his own home. His previous ambition to “cling to the thigh” of the Great Film Emperor Ji had long since been cast to the back of his mind.

Heaven as his witness, just looking at Xie Ci’s visible concern, he would only be a third wheel if he went in now. In that case, he wouldn’t go in to make himself a nuisance.

Mo Li walked with heavy steps to the elevator. After opening his door, he took out his phone and sent a message to Xie Ci: “There’s filming tomorrow, remember to come back early.”

As luck would have it, when he sent this message, Xie Ci happened to be in the kitchen getting warm water for Ji Xiuheng. The phone was on the living room table, and Ji Xiuheng, sitting on the sofa, saw it clearly.

The man looked at the message on the screen in silence, a flash of regret crossing his eyes. However, the moment he heard footsteps from the kitchen, he reverted to a weak appearance.

“Xiao Ci, thank you for tonight.” Ji Xiuheng’s voice was low. Perhaps because of the physical discomfort, his tone was very gentle, sounding like the bedside whisper of a lover.

The Ji Xiuheng of the past always gave off a sense of stability, as if the sky could fall and he wouldn’t blink. The first time Xie Ci saw him on the set of Deep Abyss, he felt Ji Xiuheng had the temperament of a refined gentleman, like a green pine in an ancient temple. Even if he occasionally played mischievous jokes, he was still that reliable and steady senior actor in his heart.

This was the first time he had seen Ji Xiuheng looking so fragile.

Perhaps physical pain reveals another side of a person; even Ji Xiuheng himself felt his current state was unfamiliar. Ever since his mother passed away and his father remarried, bringing home a younger brother less than a year younger than him, Ji Xiuheng had never gone back home. He had struggled in the industry alone for nearly ten years, enduring hardships and pain he couldn’t even count.

But when Xie Ci’s hand rested on his abdomen, the soft warmth instantly knocked open the defenses of his heart.

Ji Xiuheng lay half-reclined on the sofa, leaning against a black cat pillow and half-clutching a white cat pillow.

“Do you feel a bit better now?” Xie Ci had learned from Zhou Mo that Ji Xiuheng was suffering from a stomach ailment left over from his early years. It wasn’t serious, but it was very taxing.

As Xie Ci spoke, he placed his warmed hand on Ji Xiuheng’s abdomen. Through the loungewear, he performed a gentle circular massage, his movements exceptionally careful.

The sound of fabric rustling occurred. Xie Ci’s fair hand was completely covered by another hand with a slightly darker skin tone. A corner of the dark loungewear was lifted, and the heat from the two bodies connected directly without hindrance.

Feeling the warm skin beneath his palm, Xie Ci’s expression froze. Then, his head slowly drooped, hiding his slightly flushed cheeks. Even so, the massaging motion of his hand did not stop.

“It feels very good. It doesn’t hurt much anymore.” Ji Xiuheng’s entire attention was on Xie Ci. Seeing him hang his head, he immediately threw out “sugar-coated bullets” to prevent scaring the other away.

The vintage paper-shaded floor lamp in the corner of the living room was lit, its light soft like melted amber honey, slowly flowing across the entire room. In the interplay of light and shadow, everything became hazy.

They say one should look at beauties under a lamp. Under the dim yellow light in the corner, Xie Ci’s eyelashes cast long shadows like two small fans on his face. The fluffy grey lapel sweater further emphasized the lines of his neck. The warm light seeped into his collar through the gaps. In his lifted eyes, two pools of clear ripples appeared.

“I looked up the recipe for millet porridge on the way here. Lie down on the sofa, I’ll go make some for you,” Xie Ci said.

In the past, when he traveled the martial world, he had saved people when encountering injustice, so he knew a bit about medicine and healing. Remembering Zhou Mo said Ji Xiuheng had barely eaten anything tonight and only had a few drinks, he intended to cook a pot of millet porridge in the kitchen. It was simple and easy to digest, perfect for nursing Ji Xiuheng’s stomach right now.

The warmth on his abdomen suddenly departed. Ji Xiuheng’s eyes, which had been slightly narrowed in enjoyment, opened. He spoke with considerable reluctance: “I’ll go with you.”

Before Xie Ci could refuse, he stood up. His tall and upright figure completely overshadowed Xie Ci, blocking out the light from the corner.

Xie Ci’s hand, hanging at his side, was grabbed by him. He instinctively wanted to pull away, but seeing the usually powerful and steady man reveal a pleading, fragile expression, he couldn’t bear to shake him off. The two entered the kitchen together, hand in hand.

Xie Ci’s face was slightly flushed, his hand held firmly in the man’s palm. He thought to himself that perhaps sick people are more fragile and become more dependent on those taking care of them. Looking at Ji Xiuheng, whose lips were still somewhat pale, his heart softened, and his pinky lightly brushed against the man’s palm.

Sure enough, Ji Xiuheng’s expression—which had been somewhat gloomy because of Xie Ci’s instinctive pull instantly cleared up like the sun coming out after a rain, and his eyes brightened.

In the semi-open kitchen, Xie Ci lowered his head to carefully wash the golden millet grains. Ji Xiuheng followed him step by step, staying close by his side.

Xie Ci had found the stoneware casserole pot from the corner of a cabinet; the yellowish glaze was very simple. It now sat obediently on the stove flame, filled with the washed millet.

A “gurgling” sound bubbled up from the bottom of the pot, and the millet grains swirled inside. Xie Ci poured half a bowl of water along the edge of the pot; the boiling porridge quieted down again, rising with a gentle, sweet fragrance.

Xie Ci kept watch by the pot, and Ji Xiuheng stood right next to him. They were very close. Aside from the subtle sounds of the flame burning and the porridge simmering, only the heartbeats of the two remained in the kitchen.

Before long, a silk-like delicate “rice oil” simmered out on top of the originally clear rice water—a bright, thin film covering the thick millet porridge.

As soon as Xie Ci ladled the porridge into a bowl, Ji Xiuheng picked it up before him. “I’ll carry it. Be careful not to get burned.” He held the bowl far away from Xie Ci. After taking two spoons from the rack, he stepped out of the kitchen first.

Later, Ji Xiuheng returned to the kitchen and saw Xie Ci putting the lid back on the casserole. “Xiao Ci, won’t you eat with me?”

His eyes showed a hint of expectation. Xie Ci could do nothing against this look, so he ladled out another bowl and followed Ji Xiuheng out of the kitchen.

The hanging lamp in the dining area lit up, casting a shallow luster on the redwood-grain dining table. The last time they ate at this table, they were eating dishes Ji Xiuheng had made, sitting across from each other. But tonight, the table was a bit empty, with two bowls, two spoons, and two people sitting side-by-side.

Feeling the heat from Ji Xiuheng beside him, Xie Ci reassuringly took the hand of this fragile “patient.” “Brother Ji, sitting like this… isn’t it a bit too crowded?”

Ji Xiuheng seemed completely unaware, instead turning his hand over to grip Xie Ci’s. “Is it crowded?” As he spoke, a trace of pain and fragility appeared on his face again.

Seeing fresh cold sweat on his face, Xie Ci hurriedly reached his hand into Ji Xiuheng’s clothes. His palm applied a slight force, and a steady stream of heat unhurriedly permeated the tight muscles of the lower abdomen. His thumb slowly pushed along the meridians, the strength like a spring breeze brushing willow branches, clearing every vessel in the flesh inch by inch.

Ji Xiuheng only felt the last bit of dull pain in his abdomen vanish completely. Xie Ci’s hand on his lower abdomen was exceptionally warm and soft; even the pain on the side of his thigh that he had pinched himself to simulate distress dissipated quite a bit.

A thin layer of sweat appeared on Xie Ci’s forehead. He withdrew his hand and asked worriedly, “Does it still hurt now?”

Ji Xiuheng felt the obvious improvement in his body. A flash of surprise crossed his eyes, then he said with a light laugh, “It hurt a bit just now, but the moment your hand was placed there, it didn’t hurt at all.”

Xie Ci was now immune to Ji Xiuheng’s small actions tonight. Seeing that he had mostly recovered, he issued orders quite “firmly”: “The porridge is going to get cold, eat quickly.”

Seeing that he had teased the other a bit too much, Ji Xiuheng knew when to stop. He obediently drank the porridge. After Xie Ci finished his, Ji Xiuheng took the initiative to go to the kitchen to tidy up the dishes.

The wooden floor beneath their feet was waxed and very shiny. Xie Ci walked into the living room and saw Mo Li’s message. Seeing it was nearly 10:00 PM, he said to Ji Xiuheng, who was still busy in the kitchen, “Brother Ji, send me a message if you feel unwell later tonight. I’m heading back upstairs first.”

The man in the kitchen was still wearing an apron. Hearing this, he walked toward the bedroom while saying, “Xiao Ci, wait a moment.”

Not long after he said this, Ji Xiuheng came out holding a small box, a smile on his noble and upright face. “I originally planned to give this to you when I visited the set. Since it’s a coincidence tonight, you should take it home first.”

The small, square velvet box was handed to Xie Ci. “A little trinket the crew gave me during a previous shoot. Keep it to play with; you might be able to use it in your future acting.”

Xie Ci stood to the side, his eyelashes lowered, his gaze falling on the dark blue box. A hint of hesitation flashed in his eyes, and he didn’t immediately reach out to take it.

With a click, Ji Xiuheng saw Xie Ci’s hesitation and proactively opened the box, revealing an old copper bell tied with a faded red string inside. “This is a prop I wore back when I collaborated with Director Ming.”

Years ago, Ming Yang was an assistant director studying under He Pinzheng. She had collaborated with Ji Xiuheng on a movie where Ji Xiuheng played a desperate swordsman wandering the world, who often wore this old copper bell on his wrist.

“If you show it to Director Ming, she should recognize it.” Ji Xiuheng took a few steps toward Xie Ci, stood before him, took Xie Ci’s hand, and placed the box in his palm.

Seeing that it wasn’t a valuable item, curiosity finally appeared on Xie Ci’s face. He picked up the bell, placed it in his palm, and shook it gently.

Ding-ling-ling. The crisp ringing was the same as ever.

“It still rings.” A smile flashed in Xie Ci’s eyes. Ji Xiuheng fiddled with the bell, his fingertip inadvertently touching the other’s palm. The bell rang once more, and along with the words the owner hadn’t spoken, it echoed in the quiet living room.

“Thank you, Brother Ji.” Xie Ci lifted his eyes, his pupils reflecting Ji Xiuheng’s focused gaze. “I will keep it well.”

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