Chapter 23: Don

"Ah ha."

Li Yuanba’s stunt double swung his hammer down from midair; the spear in Yan Li’s hand, already split in two, snapped cleanly, and the foam hammer smashed hard against his face, sending Yan Li sprawling to the ground.

"Good, cut! Makeup!"

The director called out, and the makeup artist on set immediately rushed over with a blood pack.

Yan Li picked one and bit it between his teeth; the rest were torn open by the makeup artist and smeared across his head.

Moments later, a large patch of blood stained Yan Li’s forehead; the makeup artist stepped away, and Yan Li, still biting the blood pack, gave a thumbs-up gesture.

The camera zoomed in for a close-up: Yan Li lay on his back, the broken half of his spear tossed beside him, spewing copious blood, his face twisted in agony, his body convulsing a few times before his head lolled to one side, motionless.

"Good, cut."

No sooner had the director called cut than Yan Li, moments ago a mortally wounded corpse, sprang up nimbly, took tissues from the makeup artist, and frantically wiped the blood from his head and face.

With this scene filmed, he had officially wrapped his role in "The Heroes of Sui and Tang"!

No flowers, no applause to see him off—a minor supporting role didn’t merit such fanfare.

An actor’s wrap party? Forget it. The crew was cutting costs everywhere; unless you were a top star, even the male and female leads didn’t get it—just a bouquet of flowers, a cake cut, and a few photos, and that was more than enough.

So Yan Li’s wrap was quiet: only a few familiar faces nodded and exchanged greetings; everyone else was busy with their own tasks.

Yan Li didn’t mind; he went to the production manager and asked for a "shock-recovery red envelope" for filming his death scene.

It was a set rule, likely originating from Hong Kong.

Actors portraying corpses, filming funeral portraits, or dying on-screen would usually ask the crew for a red envelope—small money, usually one or two yuan, purely for good luck.

Of course, this applied to actors with roles—at least those with lines and close-ups; extras depended entirely on whether the crew cared.

Yan Li himself had once played corpses as a background actor, but never received a red envelope.

So this was his first time receiving a [Shock-Recovery Red Envelope], and it felt meaningful—he planned to keep the envelope and the money as a memento.

After removing his makeup and changing clothes, Yan Li said goodbye to friends like Wang Xiu, Wang Decai, Nie Yuan, and Tong Lei, then paid his respects to the director and producer, and finally went to feed Ma Dui’s racehorse, Sai Long, a few carrots before leaving the set.

Back at the hotel, Yan Li packed his luggage and left his room.

Though he’d had a farewell meal, he was leaving tomorrow and still needed to inform Qin Lan.

Yan Li arrived at Qin Lan’s hotel, just as he called her, and saw Huang Xiaoming stepping out with a girl who looked like his assistant; his face immediately lit up, and he walked over to greet him.

"Buddy, no scene today?"

Seeing Yan Li, Huang Xiaoming was flooded with memories of that night—he felt worse than swallowing a dead fly.

But he was smooth-tongued and avoided conflict; besides, Yan Li had always greeted him with a smile, so he forced a half-smile.

"Yeah, you here to pick up Qin Lan?"

Yan Li nodded firmly, then started chatting: "Yeah, Qin Lan’s got light shooting these days—I’m taking her out. By the way, I haven’t been in Hengdian long—any good spots you’d recommend?"

"..."

Huang Xiaoming had zero interest in chatting, brushing him off: "I don’t go out much."

"That’s no good. As actors, we just sit in the hotel after shooting—it’s bad for body and mind. You’ve got to get out and have fun; it’s a way to relax. I’ll take Qin Lan out later, and I’ll recommend places to you."

Huang Xiaoming’s forced smile cracked: "...Thanks."

Yan Li’s smile remained bright: "No problem."

When Qin Lan came downstairs, she saw Huang Xiaoming’s back retreating even more hurriedly than that night—she was puzzled.

"What did you two talk about?"

"Nothing, just ran into him and chatted a bit."

Yan Li added: "This guy’s got a good temper—I like him."

Qin Lan had seen exactly how Yan Li interacted with Huang Xiaoming—she didn’t believe him for a second.

"I think you just like picking on him."

As they spoke, Qin Lan noticed Huang Xiaoming glancing back toward them; she instantly buried her face into Yan Li’s chest. Yan Li, practiced and smooth, wrapped his arms around her waist and returned her earlier jab.

"You didn’t let him off easy either."

Qin Lan ignored him, resting her head on his chest and whispering: "Has he gone?"

Yan Li watched Huang Xiaoming turn and quicken his pace, and he tightened his hold on Qin Lan with genuine sincerity.

"Not gone. He’s still watching."

Qin Lan didn’t believe him and tried to sneak a peek; Yan Li pressed his hand against the back of her head: "Don’t move. He’s still watching."

Seeing she still wanted to look, Yan Li leaned down and sealed his lips over hers, muffled: "Don’t rush. He’s leaving soon."

Qin Lan was caught off guard again, eyes wide, struggling slightly, then slowly yielding under Yan Li’s lead, responding clumsily but eagerly.

Minutes later, Yan Li reluctantly released her, pretending to look up.

"Hmm. He’s really gone now."

Qin Lan’s cheeks flushed crimson; after being freed, she took a few quick breaths, licked her slightly swollen lips, then punched Yan Li several times with her tiny fists.

"You’re shameless. Can’t you try a different trick?"

Yan Li feigned innocence: "I was helping you! Is helping others a crime?"

Qin Lan, furious, reached to pinch him; he caught her wrist, gripping it tightly.

"Let’s go. He might come back."

Without letting go of her hand, he pulled her along; Qin Lan gave a token struggle, then let herself be led.

A little later, without a word, she subtly changed their grip into interlocked fingers, her five slender digits clasping his hand firmly.

Instead of going to a restaurant, Yan Li bought food and drinks, and they headed to the shady little grove where they first met for a picnic.

Yan Li leaned against a tree, sipping a canned beer, listening as Qin Lan chattered on.

"Don’t pretend you don’t know me when you get back to Beijing. Call me at least every two days."

"Long-distance calls are expensive..."

Qin Lan’s eyebrows shot up, her voice sharp: "I’ll top up your phone."

"No need for that."

Sensing the lethal edge in her tone, Yan Li stopped joking—he couldn’t send texts, and internet access was still inconvenient; he could only call.

Qin Lan softened her tone: "If you don’t mind the trouble, you could write letters."

At this time, phone calls were expensive and mainly used for practical contact; text messages and the internet had just emerged and were not yet widespread, so many still communicated heartfelt feelings through letters—"pen pals" were far more common than "net pals."

"Fine."

Yan Li thought writing letters was great—not only cheap, but it helped him practice his handwriting, and the effect was powerful.

A letter filled line by line with careful strokes, brimming with warmth and care, moved far more deeply than a few minutes of phone call or fragmented text messages.

He’d learned this trick from his ex-girlfriend!

The intelligence system showed that every time she reread the love letters he’d written during his pursuit, her anger would ease by thirty percent, her heart softened by three-tenths.

Indeed, Qin Lan was equally susceptible; she no longer cared how often he called, and happily said she’d wait for his letters.

Back and forth, they chatted until sunset, the hour of Yan Li’s departure from Hengdian drawing ever closer.

Qin Lan’s face betrayed her reluctance; she took his large hand in hers, playing with his fingers, resting her head on his shoulder, speaking softly.

"When I’m done with my work, I’ll come to Beijing to find you."

"Okay."

(End of Chapter)