Chapter 94: Qin Lan

Late April and early May saw the SARS outbreak worsen, affecting the entire country.

Yu Yanli temporarily abandoned his idea of going out soon and settled down at home with Qin Lan, enjoying their private world.

Every day, he woke up, ate, slept after eating, then slept again!

Over time, perhaps due to adequate nutrition, Qin Lan gained several pounds and became radiant all over.

Although Yu Yanli exerted more effort, he was young, strong, and resilient, and spent each day inventing new ways to tease Qin Lan.

On the balcony, a washed bedsheet was always drying, sometimes mixed with sofa cushions, quilt covers, tablecloths, and mops…

…

“Mmm.”

Qin Lan lay limp on the sofa, breathing heavily, while Yu Yanli gently kissed the corners of her eyes and the lingering tears on her face.

This was a new discovery of Yu Yanli’s a few days ago: when he teased her too hard, Qin Lan cried not just in her eyes but all over her face, tears streaming continuously.

It was then that Yu Yanli realized Qin Lan looked especially beautiful when she cried.

Dong Xuan also cried—like a pitiful little wife—with great emotional pull; she often used this tactic on Yu Yanli, and even though he knew it was fake, he still struggled to resist.

Qin Lan cried even better than Dong Xuan—heartbreaking, delicate, with a sense of fragility that made one ache to comfort her.

Moreover, because she cried at unusual moments, it created a strong contrast and stimulation, leaving Yu Yanli both pained and desperate to crush her in his arms.

As a result, Yu Yanli sometimes deliberately held back, determined to make Qin Lan cry, then slowly soothe her.

At first, Qin Lan didn’t realize it; after being made to cry a few times, she understood he was doing it on purpose.

Though she would pinch or scratch him afterward, she still indulged his antics.

Whether she truly enjoyed it herself was known only to her and Yu Yanli, who had his own intelligence network.

After a while of doting, Qin Lan went to the bathroom to clean up; Yu Yanli wiped himself carelessly, threw on any clothes, and sat down to watch TV.

Today was the premiere of “Conquest” on Jinmen TV.

Qin Lan, who hadn’t watched “Conquest” in full, insisted on seeing the scene where Yu Yanli’s character Wu Tian got shot dead; in response, the petty Yu Yanli punished her thoroughly.

Soon after, Qin Lan returned, frowned, found an old, unworn shirt to cover the sofa, then snuggled into Yu Yanli’s arms, waiting for the news to end while chatting.

“I told my agent to turn down ‘Dragon Ticket.’”

“Why turn it down?”

Yu Yanli paused his play with Qin Lan’s small hand: “That company produced ‘Little Li Feidao’ and also funded ‘Golden Powder Family’—their production quality is decent.”

“Playing dumb, are you?”

Qin Lan gave him a amused look: “Don’t think I don’t know—you got upset the moment you heard Huang Xiaoming was playing the male lead in ‘Dragon Ticket.’ Your jealousy could’ve been used as dumpling dip.”

“Nonsense.”

Yu Yanli gave her an expression of disdain: “He’s just a former defeat. You should’ve taken the role—I’d visit the set and show off with you right in front of him. His expression would’ve been priceless.”

“How mean you are.”

Qin Lan couldn’t take it anymore: “He only chased me for a while, and I never paid him any attention. I turned down ‘Dragon Ticket’—we’ll have no further contact. Stop picking fights with him.”

Yu Yanli felt a pang of jealousy: “You’re defending him?”

“I don’t care about him—I’m looking out for you.”

Qin Lan kissed Yu Yanli to show her stance: “Huang Xiaoming is popular now. Don’t provoke him—you’ll just make yourself an enemy for no reason.”

Yu Yanli was considerably satisfied; his gaze softened as he looked at Qin Lan, and he returned the kiss.

With SARS raging outside and them confined at home, some psychological pressure was inevitable; behind their wild, reckless behavior these days lay a need for release.

Meanwhile, just as Qin Lan had hoped.

Under these circumstances, with only each other to rely on, spending every day together, their feelings deepened rapidly.

Yu Yanli never said it aloud, but inside, his feelings for Qin Lan had already changed.

If Huang Shengyi had any contact with her ex-boyfriend, he might feel annoyed, but he wouldn’t be truly angry—he’d simply let go cleanly.

But when Qin Lan was only asked to act alongside Huang Xiaoming, who had once pursued her, he started feeling jealous—even deliberately letting her know, testing her reaction.

“By the way, your agent didn’t say anything about you not taking roles?”

Yu Yanli suddenly remembered something and asked: Your agent had secured you a supporting female role in ‘Dragon Ticket’—not the lead, but still significant. You turned it down—surely your agent had thoughts.

“Of course she did—she scolded me.”

Qin Lan pouted slightly, then added proudly: “But now ‘My Fair Princess 3’ is about to air, and she’s counting on me becoming famous so she can get promoted and raise her salary. She has no other options.”

Yu Yanli shook his head: “I’ll take responsibility—I’ll give you a new drama, female lead.”

“Fine, I’ll wait.”

Qin Lan didn’t take it seriously; she knew little about “Conquest,” only that she’d done some behind-the-scenes work, held the title of producer, made some money, and done well enough.

To her, Yu Yanli’s greatest impression remained that young actor who once came to the Hengdian woods to recite lines with her.

“It’s starting, it’s starting.”

After chatting a while, the news ended. The commercials finished, and finally, the first episode of “Conquest” began.

The opening credits passed, and Qin Lan finally got to see the scene where Yu Yanli’s character Wu Tian was shot dead—bang, bang, bang.

“Satisfying!”

Qin Lan waved her tiny fists. She was constantly teased by Yu Yanli; her petty revenge was harmless, so she could only “avenge” herself through the drama.

Yu Yanli ignored her, watching his own “corpse” on screen, and suddenly thought of his other two dramas.

He’d heard from Cheng Lidong that “The Treasure Basin” was nearly finished and preparing to contact local channels.

But the earliest completed, “Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties,” had remained silent.

Logically, with so many stars and based on a famous storytelling classic, it should’ve sold easily—likely there were issues in post-production or elsewhere.

But for Yu Yanli, it was better if “Heroes of the Sui and Tang Dynasties” aired later.

He simply couldn’t imagine the expressions on his family and friends’ faces if they saw Yuwen Chengdu paired with Li Rongrong.

In fact, Yu Yanli had even harbored malicious hopes that the drama would never air, so his black history could stay buried in storage, gathering dust forever.

Yu Yanli had watched “Conquest” countless times, scattered over many viewings, and had long lost interest—but Qin Lan was thoroughly engrossed.

She’d seen a few clips before, but never the beginning, so the plot had felt confusing.

Now watching from the start, she realized the quality was indeed excellent—no wonder it had swept multiple cities and successfully reached national broadcast.

As she watched, she couldn’t help offering commentary.

One moment she complained Sun Honglei looked menacing, the next she criticized the police chief as even more terrifying; all the male actors, in her view, were demons and monsters.

But she praised the actresses—she thought Liu Weiwei had fair skin and grace, and Jiang Shan she lauded for her enduring charm and superb acting.

“Did you have scenes with Jiang Shan? What’s she like?”

As the only well-known artist in “Conquest,” Jiang Shan received Qin Lan’s gossip treatment.

Yu Yanli’s eyes flickered with something strange: “She’s fine—very considerate toward younger actors.”

“See?”

Qin Lan clapped her hands: “I thought Jiang Shan seemed kind and warm, like a caring older sister.”

Yu Yanli: “...”

(End of Chapter)