Chapter 20: No Escape

No wonder Zhong Jia had fainted.

Even A Cha, who was off-camera, felt a little dizzy from it all. The crews she’d worked on before either shied away from anything too explicit—just a quick peck, like a dragonfly skimming water—or had the male leads driving the bed scenes, with directors whose tastes were questionable at best. The final product always left you wanting to wring it out for any real juice.

This time, her mind was full of wow moments: two stunningly gorgeous actresses delivering emotions that felt utterly real. When the film hit theaters, some viewers might even wonder if they’d gone all the way for real.

Xie Yingnian went without saying—she was diving into steamy roles for the second time, and everyone knew she wasn’t straight. No one knew exactly where she fell on the zero-to-one scale in private, but from her younger lovers in the past to older ones now, she always gave off the vibe that she was made to take charge.

The bed creaked rhythmically as they kissed and shed their clothes. Xie Yingnian slipped her hand into Zhong Jia’s hair, now loose after her hair tie slipped free. She kissed her in a way that made the girl tilt her head back involuntarily, her body gradually going limp. Her head was cradled gently in a soft palm, easing onto the bed without bumping anything hard.

Paired with Ruan Ting’s character, Xie Yingnian’s tenderness was utterly convincing—but if it was just tenderness, it felt like something was missing.

What nearly made A Cha scream was that one part: Kong Can, kissed until her whole body went numb, like ants crawling up her spine. She couldn’t take it anymore and instinctively tried to pull away, only for Ruan Ting to grip her calf and tug her back down…

Zhong Jia dragged the sheets into wrinkled heaps, half her pillow sliding off the edge of the bed. Her calf was held firm, her legs parting slightly outward.

The camera caught a side close-up: Xie Yingnian’s long, toned hand with faint veins standing out, adding a possessive edge to the intimacy that left no room for escape. The moment she dipped her head was captured perfectly, her hand disappearing under the covers—a visual trick that invited all sorts of misunderstandings.

But that alone wasn’t enough to build the humid, lingering atmosphere. The interplay between the co-stars was key, and A Cha was discovering for the first time just how tantalizing her own artist’s aura could be.

Zhong Jia’s voice was a natural gift too—Jujiu always said it was a waste for her to top. Her expressions nailed it: the kind where you could tell she was holding back but failing miserably.

Her pale skin flushed vividly, her whole body burning up as if all her toughness had drained away with her moisture. Zhong Jia buried her face in Xie Yingnian’s shoulder and neck, panting softly. The camera followed tight as she bit her lip, her gaze unfocused and a little pitiful.

Thinking of how this same girl was a cool punk rocker on stage made the contrast hit hard, stirring up all sorts of wicked urges to tease her.

Intimate scenes like that were tough to shake off right away. When A Cha hurried over, the sight in the rundown room gave her a moment’s pause—the two of them somehow looked perfectly matched, on and off the bed.

Jujiu was on another level, texting that she wanted to bundle Zhong Jia up in the sheets, lock the door, and keep her captive in a dark little room. She didn’t believe Xie Yingnian could stay unmoved.

A Cha replied: Your CP brain is terrifying. Is it really okay to fantasize about the boss like that? Still, the idea of getting the famously desireless Teacher Xie to break her vows was pretty thrilling.

The old tube-shaped apartment block had its details down pat too. Red paint was sloppily scrawled across the glass window labeling it “Bathroom,” but inside was a modern restroom setup—perfect for exterior shots. Nong Siqing loved those lived-in touches.

The props team had even hung up sausages and cured meats, sourced right from Chongxiang.

Zhong Jia wandered a bit farther off and lit the cigarette she’d borrowed earlier. She hardly brought it to her lips, standing alone under the camphor tree as it burned between her fingers. She’d take a drag only when she remembered.

The sweat from filming had long dried. Her bangs scattered in the wind, stray locks fluttering around her ears, bringing back her usual carefree vibe.

She’d picked up smoking from Chen Kuang. The band wasn’t pristine even off the underground scene—networking was inevitable. Ju Zai’s health kept her out, Wa Si had her faith, so Chen Kuang handled most of it. She never pushed Zhong Jia, figuring she was the youngest.

Who knew the baby of the group would quietly pick up chugging bottles too—just so Chen Kuang wouldn’t feel so alone and helpless at those gatherings.

Age never held her back. Zhong Jia hated sheltering under anyone else’s umbrella. She’d always been fiercely competitive, studying even harder in school the more they called her deaf. She never bragged without results, but crushing the honor roll left her able-bodied classmates speechless.

She bounced back fast mentally, rarely needing smokes or booze to cope.

She stubbed out the remaining half cigarette and tossed it in the trash by the bin as she passed. Next to the restroom was a perforated iron staircase; she took it two steps at a time until she heard A Cha say, “Tiantian, you asked about Band-Aids earlier—where are you hurt?”

Zhong Jia didn’t turn back. She paused mid-stride on the stairs, then climbed the rest slowly, one by one. “Just give it to Jujiu.”

A Cha let out a drawn-out “oh.”

Zhong Jia felt guilty. The image of her gnawing at that neck flashed in her mind again. She squeezed her eyes shut, thinking she was going insane.

The break room was a chaotic mess. The coordinator was about to go looking when Zhong Jia walked right into her. “Something wrong?”

“Teacher Xie had personal business and rushed off. The schedule needs adjusting…”

Xie Yingnian had mentioned to Nong Siqing that she might need time off soon. It wasn’t a total surprise to Zhong Jia, just sudden. “Handle it however you see fit. I mentioned exams last week—nothing else on my plate otherwise.”

She stepped forward. A props crew member sat on the single sofa against the wall, and Xie Yingnian was long gone from the room.

A Cha hesitated. “What about the Band-Aid?”

The set medics were always on standby, and Jujiu surely had first-aid stuff. But Zhong Jia figured those two obvious, bloody bite marks deserved some acknowledgment.

“No chance to deliver it now. Forget it—I’ll just text her.” Zhong Jia took the Band-Aid from A Cha’s hand and examined it: Pikachu, still sparking away. She couldn’t help chuckling. “Isn’t this for kids?”

A Cha: “Shi Ge bought it. You’re not the only one—in his eyes, I’m a kid too. He even gets double portions of snacks.”

Zhong Jia’s eyelids drooped, her smile lingering on her lips as a pang of regret welled up. She imagined Xie Yingnian’s half-monkish face with this silly thing on it—probably hilarious. Too bad the timing sucked.

The break room staff trickled out one by one, A Cha included.

Shi Heng sent a voice message, checking in briefly and mentioning her upcoming return to Yanjing for exams. “A few are in-class tests—the prof wants you back for them. Take a few extra days off. You’re gunning for that national award—don’t burn out every night or you’ll go bald.”

Take extra days?

Zhong Jia shot back without thinking: “No need. I’ve been reviewing already, and it’s not that much rote stuff. Bro, don’t jinx me—I’ve got plenty of hair.”

“I’m just saying. You think I could really curse it off?” Shi Heng was packing at the hotel. No flights from Chongxiang—he’d take the high-speed rail to the provincial capital and transfer. “Stay put and take care of yourself. Need anything, ask A Cha. I know you’re thrifty, but some things you can’t skimp on. Your fans are blowing up fast—same-style posts are popping up, but the diggers unearthed a bunch of your street-market hauls, and the tabloids ran with it…”

He sighed. “Full of snarky digs, calling you fake.”

Online hate had gotten brutal these years—even civilians got dogpiled, let alone celebs.

He’d told her to shut off her DMs before, but Zhong Jia brushed it off. She was a black-and-white thinker anyway—living in a bubble of fan cheers might make her full of herself.

“Did the company drop cash again?” Zhong Jia tapped one open. The abuse was vicious but toothless. She really had lost her mom; her dad might as well be dead too. The next was some fan desperate to mother her, calling her baby.

It even used Qiao Yingqiu’s pic as the avatar. Zhong Jia stared in speechless disbelief. That pet name was straight-up eerie.

Her mom, back when she was alive, never cooed like that. Drunk, it’d be “brat” this and “brat” that, coming home from who-knows-where to smack her around. Zhong Jia still blamed her perky butt on those spankings.

Being tough as an artist cut out a lot of BS too. Shi Heng was blunt: “Nah, no water army. It’s pricey, and you’re not top billing—gotta go through channels.”

He had a company meeting coming up to hash out Zhong Jia’s artist plan, heavy on music but mindful of the immature domestic scene. Her film gig was the envy of others—quitting it would be a waste, so they’d keep options open.

“But fans and haters alike are free buzz. Beats being ignored.” Shi Heng tried to console her.

Zhong Jia kicked off her shoes and sprawled on the sofa. Her phone held study materials; she’d nap a bit then dive in.

Her socks mismatched on purpose: one with a gold ingot, the other “Get Rich.” She tucked her dangling hair behind her ear, revealing a cat claw earring on her lobe. Zhong Jia pondered. She didn’t care about the rumors, but dragging the team into overtime crises of conscience over half-baked gossip? Not cool.

“Bro, isn’t there a live sales stream the day after tomorrow? I can wrap up and chat a bit after. Sound good?”

The high-speed train hurtled toward the provincial capital. Xie Yingnian clutched her phone, eyes closed against the plush business-class seat. Her sleeping face was serene. Beside her, Jujiu slumbered deeply, even letting out faint snores.

The train car was nice and toasty with the heat cranked up. Xie Yingnian had removed her gray-and-white checkered scarf and draped it to one side. A bandage now covered the side of her neck, and the passing train staff had long since recognized her. They couldn’t help but stare for a moment at such an intimate spot.

This trip had been on the schedule all along. The only reason it felt so rushed was the sudden emergency.

It had come in the form of a terse WeChat message from her old friend Cui Ming: Lao Xie, Chang Xiaosui says your sister had another episode.

At the time, Xie Yingnian had been chatting with Nong Siqing. The director had asked her what she’d said to Zhong Jia on set—enough to make her think the girl couldn’t keep going.

Not much, really. Just… you planning to bite me a few more times?

Zhong Jia had latched on right away, like a cat that had been pushed too far. Xie Yingnian’s neck still stung a little. Should she praise the girl for being obedient, or call her out for being too obedient? Either way, it left her equal parts amused and exasperated.

Before boarding, she’d gotten an apology from this tailless cat: a Pikachu bandage with three words scrawled on it in her signature childish rounded handwriting—I’m sorry.

It was just a minor work injury, so Xie Yingnian hadn’t thought much of it. In her rush to get through the station, she’d fired back casually: Feeling guilty? When I get back, I’ll give your butt a few good spanks.

She’d even just asked Cui Ming: Are all the Gen Z kids this developed these days? Boobs, butt—the works. And she’s only twenty.

She’d completely forgotten that at eighteen, she’d already been quite the knockout herself.

The station was coming up soon. Xie Yingnian opened her eyes, showing no trace of the grogginess that usually came with waking. She lit up her screen to check Cui Ming’s reply, only to spot Zhong Jia’s meek response first:

Good.

Xie Yingnian: “…”

She suddenly wondered if she was failing in her role as the half-parent lurking in the shadows.

Couldn’t the girl have a little self-respect? Was that spot just something anyone could touch willy-nilly?