Chapter 11: The Flavor That Makes Your Face Burn and Heart Race

“I’m not angry.”

Qin Lan forced a smile: “I haven’t congratulated you yet—on having such a beautiful, fair-skinned ex-girlfriend.”

She emphasized 【fair】 and 【ex-girlfriend】 with logical stress; Yu Yanli said nothing, only glanced at the full table of dishes and sighed.

“If you don’t want to pay, let me go back and get some cash—I didn’t bring any on me.”

Qin Lan, who had been holding her breath, couldn’t help laughing and rolled her eyes at him: “Relax, I’m not that petty.”

“Hmph, your credibility with me isn’t high right now.”

A few sentences diffused the earlier awkwardness, mostly because Qin Lan realized she was in the wrong.

You chased him for an opinion, got it, then got mad—how could that be right?

A little temper-flinging between romantic partners is fine, but she and Yu Yanli were barely acquaintances.

The girl was straightforward: she poured herself a large glass of beer and gulped it down in one go: “It’s my fault—I apologize.”

Upon hearing this, Yu Yanli regarded Qin Lan with new respect.

Women throwing tantrums at men were common; those who recognized their own fault and willingly apologized were rare—this girl was genuinely sincere.

Yu Yanli had a shoot in the afternoon and couldn’t drink, so he raised a cup of tea in lieu of alcohol.

Neither was petty by nature; the minor hiccup didn’t affect their relationship—the meal remained warm and harmonious.

After the meal, as Yu Yanli paid the bill, he noticed Qin Lan’s cheeks flushed faintly from the alcohol and felt uneasy.

“Let me walk you back.”

Qin Lan waved him off: “No need—I just blush when I drink, I’m not drunk.”

“It’s fine, I’m heading back to the set anyway.”

Yu Yanli and Qin Lan walked together back to her hotel—the “My Fair Princess 3” crew was massive, and her hotel was far superior to Yu Yanli’s lodging.

“Alright, go on back—I’m leaving.”

Near the hotel entrance, as Yu Yanli was about to wave goodbye, Qin Lan suddenly grabbed him and leaned into his arms, leaving him stunned.

Had the wind outside made the alcohol hit her? Why had she suddenly thrown herself at him?

“The crew’s coming—help me block them.”

Only then did Yu Yanli understand—she’d spotted crew members.

But why hide? They had nothing to hide—running into classmates or friends on the set was normal.

Unless they were enemies?

Yu Yanli quickly glanced—three women, two men; one or two looked vaguely familiar.

No time to think further—since Qin Lan asked, he couldn’t refuse.

Yu Yanli was tall and muscular; his loose historical costume made it easy—he turned slightly, pulling Qin Lan firmly into his arms, his wide sleeves shielding her face and body completely.

Passersby who saw them would assume a pair of actors were affectionately cuddling—common enough on the Hengdian set.

Yu Yanli lowered his head, feigning intimacy, but kept his eyes fixed on the group, ensuring Qin Lan wasn’t spotted.

But Qin Lan, in his arms, had stopped paying attention to them entirely.

It was June; Hengdian wasn’t scorching, but it wasn’t cool either. Before stepping out, Yu Yanli had removed his armor, leaving only a thin inner layer.

Thin fabric, Qin Lan pressed tightly against him—she could directly feel the hardness and slight elasticity of his chest, abdomen, and arms, warm to the touch.

Besides, his long-sleeved costume wasn’t breathable; after walking a while, he’d naturally sweated.

The sweat carried a faint trace of smoke—not pleasant, yet for some reason, Qin Lan didn’t mind; she even liked it a little.

Had her nose broken? Or her mind?

Qin Lan cursed herself inwardly, then suddenly felt his arms loosen—he stepped back two paces, releasing her from his embrace.

“They’re gone. They didn’t notice.”

Qin Lan glanced at the space where his arms had been, a faint sense of loss rising—she smoothed her hair and explained: “One of them was chasing me. I was afraid he’d see you and cause trouble.”

Just now someone tried to chase me; I was afraid he’d see you and cause trouble.

Yu Yanli understood—no wonder she’d hidden. This kind of situation easily led to misunderstandings.

Yan Li suddenly understood—no wonder Qin Lan was hiding; this situation was easy to misunderstand.

Qin Lan shook her head rapidly, fearing he’d misinterpret, and quickly clarified: “He chased me, I refused. If he saw us together, I feared he’d make a scene—everyone here is from the crew. I’m new. Better to avoid trouble.”

Qin Lan’s words were jumbled, but Yu Yanli understood—and instantly bristled: “What a scumbag—pursuing a girl who said no.”

Yu Yanli despised such people. Chasing someone wasn’t wrong, but it required mutual consent. If the girl refused, relentless pursuit was just pathetic.

“Need help? I can confront him—give him a warning.”

Yu Yanli rolled up his sleeves. He wasn’t one to meddle, but Qin Lan was his friend—he couldn’t let her be bullied.

Want me to help? If not, I’ll step in and warn him.

Qin Lan quickly stopped him. The guy was annoying, but he didn’t deserve that—he had some status. She’d just avoid him. No need dragging Yu Yanli in.

After several inquiries and confirming the matter wasn’t serious, Yu Yanli reluctantly dropped it—but insisted: “If anything happens, call me. I’ve got ways to handle him—without legal trouble or implicating you.”

Qin Lan’s heart warmed, but she gently urged him to leave, waving goodbye.

Watching Yu Yanli’s figure fade into the distance, Qin Lan, on impulse, lifted the arm that had pressed against him and sniffed it. When her mind caught up, her face burned crimson, her heart pounding.

“Pathetic—you’re such a love-struck fool.”

She slapped her cheeks, forcing herself to snap out of it. Only when the heat in her cheeks subsided did she step into the hotel.

But as she reached her room on the upper floor, her involuntarily smiling lips vanished.

Standing outside her door was a handsome, bald man—Huang Xiaoming, who played Xiao Jian in “My Fair Princess 3,” her persistent suitor.

Seeing Qin Lan, Huang Xiaoming flashed a bright smile, holding up a takeout box: “Huang Yi and the others organized a gathering and wanted to invite you, but you weren’t in your room—I brought you some food.”

In the past, Qin Lan, unwilling to burn bridges with colleagues, always found polite ways to decline Huang Xiaoming—and if she couldn’t refuse, she’d make up for it later.

Perhaps because of this hesitant, ambiguous attitude, Huang Xiaoming mistook her half-hearted gestures for mixed signals—and grew even more persistent.

Thinking of this, Qin Lan hardened her resolve, her expression cold, her tone firm: “No thanks. I’m not hungry. Please don’t bring me food again—it’ll cause misunderstandings.”

Without waiting for his reply, she opened the door and slipped inside, shutting him out.

Huang Xiaoming stood bewildered, unsure what had happened. He rubbed his forehead—then a sudden thought struck him.

Had someone said something about him to her? Was she jealous? Throwing a tantrum?

He began explaining loudly through the door; inside, Qin Lan had already stopped listening.

So, she couldn’t entirely be blamed for not being harsh enough.

He simply loved to imagine things, talk to himself, twist everything she said into his own narrative—with an unshakable confidence.

She put on her headphones, blocking out the noise, then picked up the mirror.

Her slender fingers traced her cheek; her beautiful eyes flickered, then she murmured softly:

So Huang Xiaoming explained loudly through the door, but Qin Lan inside no longer wanted to respond to him.

(End of Chapter)

He was simply prone to wild assumptions and talking to himself; no matter what Qin Lan said, he would twist it back, radiating an inexplicable confidence.

She put on her headphones, blocking out the external sounds, then thought for a moment and brought the mirror closer to examine herself.

Her slender fingers traced her cheek, Qin Lan’s beautiful eyes flickered, and finally she muttered softly.

“Not very fair…”

(End of Chapter)