Perfect Divorce [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 47

The production crew’s sudden summons had been urgent. While Fu Sheng grumbled a bit, he was clearly in much higher spirits than the younger couple.

After hearing Ye Huai’s muttered complaint, Yuan Xingzhou instantly understood why Fu Sheng had arrived out of breath. The shock of the realization was so great that he barely spoke a word on the ride back, and he completely forgot to press Ye Huai for the name of his past crush.

That night, Ye Huai refused to let him stay up on set. Yuan Xingzhou didn’t push it; with his own filming start date looming, he needed to be in peak condition. After dropping Ye Huai off, he returned to the hotel to rest.

His flight was the following noon. Since his luggage was still at the hotel in the city, he had to set out early to check out before heading to the airport.

Though half their two-day visit had been wasted on travel and the other half on Ye Huai’s filming, Yuan Xingzhou felt no regret. On the contrary, he felt a sense of overflowing satisfaction and happiness.

The next morning, Ye Huai finished work just as Yuan was preparing to leave. Ye Huai’s mood plummeted visibly, leaving Yuan to play the role of the comforter.

“We can call, or video chat,” Yuan smiled. “Isn’t that how long-distance relationships work? We’ll be entering our respective productions at roughly the same time, so we can even take our breaks together.”

“When is ‘at that time’ exactly…?” Ye Huai paced the hotel lobby, looking morose. “Wrapping the shoot won’t happen until next year. If we don’t see each other for three or four months, will you even remember what I look like?”

“I’ll just ‘lick the screen’ (stare at your photos),” Yuan laughed. Seeing the staff members were at a distance, he couldn’t help but add, “You were abroad for years, and I never forgot you.”

Ye Huai let out a “tsk” and said solemnly, “That was then, this is now. People rarely cherish what they already have. Back then, you hadn’t ‘caught’ me yet, so of course you’d keep me in mind.”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

A taxi pulled up outside, honking to hurry them along.

“Video calls,” Ye Huai demanded, knowing they had no other choice. “At least one every day.”

“I might not see my phone right away, but I’ll always get back to you,” Yuan promised. “Now go get some rest. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Come here,” Ye Huai beckoned him with an arrogant tilt of his chin.

Yuan Xingzhou smiled and walked over obediently. Ye Huai grabbed his arm; despite being in public, his face reddened slightly as he pressed a soft kiss to Yuan’s lips.

“Stamped,” Ye Huai whispered against his mouth. “You aren’t allowed to let anyone else kiss you from now on.”

As actors, romantic scenes—including kisses—were inevitable, but Yuan didn’t want to spoil the moment. Besides, the mere thought of Ye Huai kissing someone else on camera made him feel a twinge of “distorted” jealousy… But jealousy aside, work was work. He wouldn’t be a stumbling block in the other’s career.

“No kiss scenes. Absolutely not.”

At the script reading for his new drama, the female lead’s manager was going through the script line by line. “Can this kiss scene be replaced? Or use a camera angle to suggest it? As long as the atmosphere is there, it’s fine.”

Yuan Xingzhou had just returned from visiting Ye Huai and was pulled into the table read that afternoon. The hotel was near his home, and the lead actress, Cheng Cheng, had already moved in. In a few days, the rest of the cast would arrive for the official start.

This period was for the “table read,” where anyone with concerns about the script had to speak up before it was finalized. Yuan had no issues with his own parts, but the female lead had many requirements. Since most were their shared scenes, his parts had to be changed accordingly.

After all the cuts, their physical contact was minimal.

Yuan found it ironic—Ye Huai would be relieved, but the drama might suffer. In a “Big Female Lead” drama, male characters were often functional. Yuan’s role was the typical “Idol” type: perfect image, cold personality. For such a character, expressing affection usually relied on “kabedon” or forced kisses.

Thinking of Ye Huai, Yuan realized his character actually shared many traits with him. Ye Huai’s occasional moments of dominance were truly captivating. If those high-hormone scenes were cut, the character risked losing its spark.

The screenwriter had already made numerous changes and was reluctant to cut more, but the lead actress was a top-tier A-lister with massive national recognition. After a long dispute, the scenes were removed.

“It’s not personal,” her manager approached Yuan after the meeting with a friendly smile. “Cheng Cheng’s family requested it, so we had to adjust. Actually, the reason Cheng Cheng agreed to work with you is because you’re married; we won’t have to deal with people trying to ship a real-life couple. Don’t take it to heart.”

Cheng Cheng was a staple of A-list TV dramas and a ratings guarantee. This was Yuan’s first lead role, so he remained humble. “Not at all. It’s an honor to work with Sister Cheng.”

“How many clothes did you bring?” the manager asked.

Yuan blinked, confused.

The manager looked even more surprised. “You didn’t prepare any? Our Cheng Cheng brought over two hundred outfits.”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

While Director Lin’s productions were never “ugly,” they weren’t high-end either. The wardrobe was usually basic due to a limited budget. Since Yuan was playing a “top-tier idol” whose earnings were measured in the hundreds of millions, it wouldn’t make sense for him to wear cheap clothes while the female lead was draped in designer brands.

Facing a crisis of style, Yuan turned to the only person he trusted: Ye Huai.

“I won’t buy a lot, just a few sets for the major scenes,” Yuan explained over a video call, showing Ye Huai the tagged script. “Can you give me some advice? My sense of style is terrible.”

“Who said your style is bad?” Ye Huai was lying lazily on his bed, his phone propped up on the nightstand. He looked at the camera. “Am I not good-looking?”

“…I wasn’t talking about you.” Yuan shook his head, laughing. “I’m being serious, help me out.”

Ye Huai’s eyes flickered with a mischievous thought. When Yuan raised an eyebrow in question, Ye Huai just gave a smug grin. “Our sizes are similar; just wear mine. Go to my room and try some on.”

Yuan hesitated. Even though they were dating, it felt a bit much.

“Just consider that portion of the salary I gave you as a wardrobe fund,” Ye Huai urged. “Go try them on. I want to see.”

Yuan decided he had a point. He carried his phone into Ye Huai’s room.

Ye Huai was slightly taller with broader shoulders, making his clothes one size larger than Yuan’s. However, the difference wasn’t huge. Where the clothes looked “cool and handsome” on Ye Huai, they looked slightly oversized and unexpectedly “sweet” on Yuan.

“That’s it then. I’ll have someone coordinate the outfits and send them to you,” Ye Huai said. “Turn around, let me see the front.”

Yuan complied.

“…So beautiful,” Ye Huai sighed, staring at the screen. “I want to kiss you. What should I do?”

“Then kiss me!” Yuan laughed. “Anywhere you want.”

Ye Huai glared at the screen, frustrated. “…Remember you said that.”

Ye Huai’s wardrobe was a game-changer. Yuan felt his entire “aura” shift.

In December, the new drama officially started. Ye Huai sent over several sets of clothes for the promotional photos—some fresh and clean, others mature and luxurious. The photos were a hit. When the production team released the official posters, the public erupted in discussion.

People were shocked by Yuan’s versatility. His airport photos usually made him look like the “boy next door,” but these posters screamed “Top Superstar.”

Of course, critics remained. Some doubted his acting; others noted that Cheng Cheng was two years older and that Yuan was famously married to a man, making a heterosexual “CP” feel forced. But many were excited for the “Older Sister/Younger Brother” dynamic.

Yuan scrolled through the comments, looking for constructive feedback, but the comment sections were quickly overrun by fandom wars. Cheng Cheng’s fans were busy promoting her beauty, while Yuan’s fans expressed their excitement for his first lead role.

Amidst the chaos, the “Real-life CP” fans were also active:

“Smallest Couple”: “Seriously, not lying, Huai-Zhou is super sweet!”

“Peach Pomelo”: “Every bit of ‘dog food’ (shipping content) they provide is 100% sugar.”

Someone even made a “glitch-hop” remix of Ye Huai’s interview where he listed the “most, most, most important point…”

Yuan was about to log out when he saw a familiar ID: Huai-Zhou Number One.

“Beautiful love, an angel on earth.”

Yuan finally couldn’t resist. He switched to his alt-account and sent a private message.

OCT1020: “…”

The reply was almost instant.

Huai-Zhou Number One: “???”

Yuan sent a “popcorn-eating” emoji.

Huai-Zhou Number One: “I’ve been found out?”

OCT1020: “Mm.”

Huai-Zhou Number One: “Let’s chat on WeChat then, lol.”

On WeChat, Wen Ting sent him a smirking emoji.

Wen Ting: “Ye Huai told you, didn’t he? When I showed him your Weibo that day, I knew he’d tell you sooner or later.”

Yuan’s face heated up, remembering how he’d rated himself as a “6/10” and admitted to a crush on his roommate.

“You’re too humble,” Wen Ting added. “Why a 6? You and Ye Huai are both solid 10s.”

“No, no,” Yuan hurried to reply. “Brother Huai is a 10. Compared to him, I’m far behind.”

Wen Ting laughed. “I haven’t congratulated you two yet.”

“Thank you.”

Wen Ting had never hidden being a “Shipper.” Yuan used to find it awkward, but now that he and Ye Huai were together, it felt more natural.

“OCT1020…” Wen Ting noted. “Your birthday is October 10th, and Ye Huai’s is November 20th. This ID is very ‘CP’ friendly. Planning to post an update on the story?”

“No,” Yuan said. “I’m afraid of being doxxed.”

“Brother Wen,” Yuan gathered his courage. “How did you… end up being a CP fan?”

“Me?” Wen Ting laughed. “That’s a long story. Let’s just say I had a feeling. Ye Huai kept such a close eye on you. When he first came back, he was angry but wouldn’t let anyone say a bad word about you. He even went undercover to fight your anti-fans.”

Yuan froze. He remembered the “Mukbang” hate-post that had been turned around by a single post from Ye Huai. The account “Huai-Zhou is Your Daddy” had become a legend on the forums.

“He took that account to play around, but he spent all his time defending you. He even placed bets. If he did that for a friend, it would be one thing, but you two… didn’t look like friends back then. And Ye Huai has never been possessive of anyone else.”

Wen Ting’s tone turned serious. “Xingzhou, I know you’re a good person, hardworking, and you’ve suffered a lot… Ye Huai looks like he’s had it easy, but he has his own sensitivities. Since you’re together now, don’t let go of him easily.”

Yuan was moved. Wen Ting sounded less like a manager and more like someone with a deeper insight. “I know. I’ll cherish him.”

“Good. He’ll treat you very well.”

Yuan sat staring at his phone, realizing how much he had to learn about Ye Huai—his family, his past, his dreams. But he wasn’t worried. He felt lucky enough as it was.

Suddenly, a notification popped up on Weibo from a small account he had followed for some reason.

kleijnth: “This production is insane. The female lead brought over 200 sets of private clothes. The male lead is even more wild—a single T-shirt worth $120,000… yes, USD. One T-shirt.”

Yuan went to the comments and found a fashion magazine editor who frequently mocked him.

Din: “Is the ‘Village Boy Blessed by Dirt’ finally rebranding? The clothes are nice, but are we sure he isn’t just secretly wearing his husband’s clothes while the man is away? [Popcorn emoji]”

Yuan felt choked by the “Village Boy” comment, but the replies left him stunned.

kleijnth [OP]: “Why are you using that disgusting nickname? Aren’t they a fake couple?”

Din: “Are you shipping Huai-Zhou? It’s delicious.”

Din: “It’s not fake.”