Stop Flirting, I Can't Take It - Chapter 2

The moment he touched the bed, Yan Qi almost did a backflip while still sitting.

Barely managing to suppress his instinctive reaction, Song Xueyan’s toes were already pressing close. Yan Qi shrank his feet in fright, only to be blocked by the bed frame. With nowhere left to retreat, he suddenly said something brainless: “Don’t step on my shoes!”

Song Xueyan glanced at the clean AJ sneakers on his feet and said, “I won’t step on you. Even if I suddenly had a seizure, I would compensate you tenfold.”

“Who cares?” Yan Qi grabbed the bed sheet, stiffened his neck, and declared his life’s motto: “A man’s shoes cannot be stepped on casually!”

Song Xueyan didn’t understand the logic. He rested his hand on Yan Qi’s shoulder and leaned in to ask: “Why?”

Yan Qi caught a scent of Song Xueyan. For someone so cold, he surprisingly smelled like deep wood and flowers, and… he felt like he had smelled this scent somewhere before?

He sniffed, but couldn’t come up with a certain answer. He only felt that Song Xueyan was a very strange person; a vague sense of familiarity seemed to permeate from him everywhere.

Watching Yan Qi’s shifting gaze, Song Xueyan applied a bit of pressure with his fingers, sliding from Yan Qi’s shoulder to the back of his neck.

This area was very sensitive. Yan Qi shuddered all over, instantly coming back to his senses. Catching a glimpse of the red light indicating the camera was recording in his peripheral vision, he didn’t have time to react before his nose was pressed against Song Xueyan’s.

The distance was too close!

Yan Qi’s breathing stopped abruptly, and he clenched the sheet, pulling it into wrinkles.

Song Xueyan’s fingertips wandered along the back of Yan Qi’s neck. As they passed his throat, Yan Qi’s Adam’s apple rolled, as if letting out a strained and subtle plea for mercy.

Song Xueyan was heartless. His fingertips continued downward, finally hooking onto the ring hanging on Yan Qi’s chest through the thin black short-sleeved shirt.

He lifted his eyelids, watching Yan Qi silently.

Yan Qi stared straight back at him, truly stunned.

Having never filmed a romance scene and never having been involved in a scandal, how could Song Xueyan be so proficient? Could the “talent points” of a genius performer be applied to this as well?

Fang Zhouji still dared to call Song Xueyan “pure”—this had to be the most tragic slandering of the word “pure” in history. As expected of a famous director; he praised people without looking at the facts, smooth and sophisticated as can be.

Fang Zhouji, unaware he was being mentally criticized, was staring intently at the lens.

The hem of Yan Qi’s black t-shirt was tucked into his wide-leg cargo shorts, just revealing a strip of pure black soft-leather belt. A silver branch pendant hung from the belt buckle, and at this moment, Song Xueyan had hooked it with his fingertip.

Yan Qi’s breathing quickened; in a daze, his senses seemed to merge with that little silver branch.

He didn’t know how Song Xueyan had managed to make his cheeks flush so naturally and quickly, rivaling the Zhuangyuan Hong peonies his grandmother grew in her courtyard.

But at such close range, it seemed Song Xueyan was truly stirred; his eyes were misty. With the slightest movement, the amorous spring in them seemed ready to splash all over Yan Qi’s face.

The increasingly close little red mole made Yan Qi, who was already panicked and at a loss, feel even more dizzy. He closed his eyes, losing his way and becoming a puppet under Song Xueyan’s command. Song Xueyan hooked the little branch, as if hooking his chin.

Fang Zhouji held his breath and moved the camera closer.

Song Xueyan glanced at Yan Qi’s ear tips, which were as red as marinated pork, and paused inexplicably. Having directed romance for half his life and watched countless people act out love, Fang Zhouji immediately caught this subtle reaction.

The moment he raised his hand to cover Yan Qi’s eyes, Song Xueyan was tingled to the tailbone by the chaotic fluttering of the other man’s eyelashes.

A few seconds later, a hesitant light kiss landed on the tip of Yan Qi’s upper lip.

When the scorching sun was overbearing, it was never polite, but this summer kiss was, on the contrary, exceptionally cautious.

A faint fragrance darted between their mouths and noses, like willow catkins drifting in spring, scratching at their breath until it felt dry and itchy. Yan Qi’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he opened his lips in a daze, but Song Xueyan pulled away at that very moment.

The soft candy that had reached his mouth suddenly sprouted legs and flew away. Yan Qi opened his eyes in a daze, only to find Song Xueyan looking down at him, yet the emotions in his eyes were so complex that Yan Qi couldn’t distinguish them.

For a pair of eyes as cold as dead wood to suddenly condense such intense emotion made Yan Qi curious, wanting to see more clearly. But by the time he bit his tongue with his canine teeth and cleared his mind, Song Xueyan had returned to being a stagnant pool of water.

“If you were left in the world for too long without giving a reaction, even an AI from the old era would be sharper than you.”

Song Xueyan’s face was expressionless, colder than a john who had just finished paying for his favors, and more indifferent than a scum-man who had sworn an oath while holding a ring.

Describing a person’s acting skills as an “AI” was already a massive insult, let alone an “AI from the old era!”

“You!” Yan Qi clenched his fists, his face flushed with anger, yet knowing his performance just now had indeed been terrible, he felt a momentary sense of hopelessness.

Those idiots online scolded him for having a “gold-plated ass,” but the verdict delivered by this ruthless man surnamed Song was like a steel whip, shattering those gold pieces into fragments how could they sell for a high price now?

With a mouth this bad, he’s an immortal? Better to just go ahead and fall into being a demon already!

Yan Qi’s family was happy and harmonious. He had a mature and elegant cousin, and a precocious, sensible younger brother. Caught in the middle, he was neither a filial, sensible older brother to the one, nor a gentle, doting older brother to the other; instead, he was the most domineering and spoiled one.

Being raised in a honey pot had made him arrogant and wild, following his own heart. He was used to collecting debts when owed and venting his anger when upset. This was the first time he had encountered a predicament where he had sparks he couldn’t vent and anger he couldn’t release.

“Eyebrows like a centipede, face like a monkey’s butt, ears painted with chicken blood, and eyeballs soaked in ink the current reaction is quite vivid. One level higher than an old-era AI; like a dull goose of the new era.” Song Xueyan expressed his encouragement in a flat tone. “Keep it up. Once you cultivate into a human, come back and try to make me smile.”

The “dull goose” widened his eyes, generously displaying an even more exquisite and vivid look of dullness, which earned him a few extra glances from Song Xueyan. However, these glances were light and fast. In a flash, he turned his gaze away, exposing his facial expressions to Fang Zhouji.

As a director, capturing expressions and demeanor was a master skill.

Fang Zhouji’s sharp eyes discovered that the corners of Song Xueyan’s mouth were slightly raised, revealing an almost imperceptible smile. This was a miracle of the ages. He clicked his tongue secretly, rubbing the tripod as if contemplating, his gaze already wandering between the two of them several times.

Song Xueyan straightened his cuffs and said to Fang Zhouji, “I think he”

“You don’t think!”

Yan Qi stood up, and out of retaliation, grabbed Song Xueyan’s waistband from behind, throwing him back onto the bed.

Song Xueyan was like the moon thrown into a lake swaying, spreading out, looking at the assailant with cold, shimmering eyes, his breath slightly rapid.

Yan Qi leaned against the foot of the bed, leaning down to press him into the mattress, a malicious thought of seeking revenge born from his shame and urgency.

“You didn’t say we could only try it once, did you, Teacher Song?”

Song Xueyan hadn’t eaten since last night, and now, being thrown unexpectedly, his stomach churned immediately.

The two locked eyes. Song Xueyan pursed his lips, clutching the sheet while pondering where to kick. Yan Qi narrowed his eyes, licking his canine teeth and wanting to bite someone to vent his frustration.

There were thousands of beauties in the entertainment industry, and Song Xueyan was a pure-bred “cold and aloof” type. He lived like a flower on a high peak—whoever dared to pick him would have their butt smashed into a flower. His temperament kept people thousands of miles away; when fans met him by chance, they had to pray to the heavens for forgiveness before daring to say hello.

However, temperament and character were about the inner essence; these days, people usually complimented a beauty’s face first.

Song Xueyan’s cold face owed much to those eyes: long and slender, the curves upward, the eyelashes long but not curled, appearing distinct and slightly bland, and his gaze was even more cold and detached.

But right now, Song Xueyan had rounded his eyes, pursed his lips, and frowned. Looking like this, he actually looked a bit like the cat Yan Qi had given his internet friend.

Yan Qi had an internet friend he had known for over ten years but had never met in person, with the screen name “Sui Qiong” (Age Poor). Having stayed in contact for so many years, they were arguably the most familiar strangers in the world.

Sui Qiong lived alone in Nandu. Yan Qi cared about him, so he carefully selected a beautiful ragdoll cat to send him as company.

The ragdoll took his surname “Yan,” with the formal name “Wangye” (Prince) and the nickname “Yeye.”

The cat was beautiful and cute, usually cold and noble, but its ability to act spoiled was top-notch. Yan Qi quite liked that; he saved many pictures and videos on his phone, treating it as if he were raising half a son in the cloud.

With this association, Yan Qi instantly felt that he had used too much force just now. Looking at Song Xueyan’s waist, which could be caught with one hand, he felt he was bullying the weak.

Regret and guilt welled up in his heart, and his Adam’s apple rolled. “Sor—” (Sorry).

“Blegh!”

Song Xueyan finally couldn’t hold it in. A dry retch arrived with a bang, like a clap of thunder, straight from outside the window into the room, leaving the whole room in silence.

Fang Zhouji’s throat tightened; the full belly of ink in his mind became the ink of a squid, dissipating without a trace. He could write a script with flair, but right now, he couldn’t squeeze out a single sentence, only clutching the camera and longing toward the bedside.

On the other side, they were locking eyes, silently confronting each other.

It was unclear how long it had been, but Yan Qi moved. He touched his upper lip, as if struck by lightning, his fingers shaking as if he had a severe cramp. “Am, am I that disgusting to you?!”

Song Xueyan propped himself up on the bed with his hands, his black hair brushing against Yan Qi’s chin. As if oblivious, he explained calmly: “I just felt like vomiting.”

“You just kissed me, and now you want to vomit? I, I!” Yan Qi supported himself with one hand on the bed, his right hand waving frantically in front of his chest, feeling as lost as a “new-era dull goose 2.0.”

In this scene, he felt like a young servant who had bathed and burned incense, wrapped in a brocade quilt, waiting bitterly for half the night for his master, only to have the master use a “shortened earth” technique to retreat to the door and shout: “What a slutty little rabbit! Take him away!”

Seeing Yan Qi’s look of enduring supreme humiliation, Song Xueyan’s hand gripping the sheet tightened slightly. He broke his usual habit and added, “I wasn’t disgusted by you; don’t overthink it.”

Fang Zhouji clicked his tongue: Hah, he even knows how to comfort people?

“Your acting skills were so clumsy that I didn’t even vomit,” Song Xueyan offered his goodwill, “So how could your person have such great power?”

Fang Zhouji was relieved: Good, he hasn’t changed.

“I! I just didn’t react in time! You stole my first kiss without giving a hint, and you won’t even allow me to be stunned for a few seconds?” Yan Qi’s beautiful double eyelids flashed with a sharp and fierce curve, his tone of rebuttal heavy and hurried. “During the previous auditions, you weren’t there, so you don’t know that Director Fang and Screenwriter He praised my spirit and talent at the time.”

Song Xueyan frowned slightly, as if uncomprehending, his tone sincere. “Sorry, I haven’t seen your talent yet, but your dullness is natural and simple; it has a lot of spirit. Also—”

Can’t let this mouth continue to “also” anymore!

Yan Qi couldn’t bear it anymore. He suddenly reached out and clamped Song Xueyan’s chin with the web of his thumb and forefinger, pressing his thumb against that tactless mouth. “Also what?”

He narrowed his eyes, his tone unkind. “Say one more word, dare you?”