“How can you teach someone something like marrying and having children?”
Ying Yin immediately sensed trouble. While pushing Shang Shao away with all her strength, she tried to pull her lips free from his kiss. “Shang Shao… Mr. Shang, Mr. Shang! I still have to go shoot a scene… mmph…”
Shang Shao’s thumb and forefinger clamped firmly against her jaw and chin, his silk tie brushing across Ying Yin’s face with every movement he made.
“You’re calling me ‘Mr. Shang’? Why so distant?”
Ying Yin’s brows knitted tightly, her eyes filled with disbelief.
…He seemed to be abandoning all reason now.
Shang Shao lowered his head, pressing close to kiss the corner of her mouth again and again. Ying Yin couldn’t escape, and could only stammer between gasps. “Calm down a little… mmn…”
All those wretched sounds spilled from her throat and nose, trapped behind the seal of his kiss.
“Let’s go back – talk when we get back…” she said, trying to stay rational, even as she gradually felt her body slipping out of her control – tilting her neck back, letting him kiss her freely.
“I am calm,” Shang Shao murmured against the side of her neck, feeling her trembling beneath his lips.
“Don’t…” Ying Yin’s lips parted slightly, pressing the door panel as tightly shut as she could manage. Her palms slid helplessly downward, leaving sweat-damp prints on the dark solid wood.
Shang Shao paid no attention. His gaze fixed on her reddened, pleading eyes, while his hand slipped under the hem of her rose-red top.
His brows furrowed, plainly noticeable. “Why are you wearing so many layers?”
He was used to lifting her skirt and finding bare skin right away – slim, smooth, the curves of her waist and hips rising and falling like sand dunes, fitting perfectly into the palm of his hand. He loved gripping her waist, stroking it, then either sliding up to fondle or down to delve deeper – both smooth and natural. But Yin Xueqing was wearing too much: layer upon layer – thermal underwear, a rose-red knit, and a fluffy white rabbit-fur cardigan. Hard to say whether it was feminine or just gaudy. The costume was part of the character’s image, and the cameras would catch every detail, so Ying Yin always dressed meticulously from the inside out.
The one saving grace was that Yin Xueqing wore a skirt. A fall-winter plaid wool pencil skirt, knee-length, with small slits on both sides – not too tight, carrying a hint of intellectual elegance. Beneath it, black fleece-lined leggings, both snug and thick, a struggle to pull on or off – but they wrapped Ying Yin’s legs in a rounded, slender shape that was intensely alluring.
In the midst of this turmoil, Shang Shao did indeed calm down a little.
“Do you really have to go shoot?” he asked, his voice even and low.
His calmness made Ying Yin naively let her guard down.
She gave a soft “mmn” of agreement, quietly smoothing her skirt back down from where it had been bunched up around her waist. Her lips were swollen from his sucking, her lipstick smeared – the moment she opened the door and stepped out, everyone would know exactly what had just been done to her.
“Who are you shooting with?” Shang Shao asked, knowing full well. Jiang Te’s face flashed through his mind.
It had been dark by then, but he’d still clearly seen the bluntness, the probing, the hostility in the other man’s eyes. Like a wolf – but one that didn’t know its place.
“With the male lead.”
Ying Yin answered. Her lashes had barely lowered when his hand forced her face back up. He gripped her chin. “He looks like he knows how to kiss.”
“I don’t know…” Ying Yin swallowed.
She truly didn’t know – so why did she feel guilty?
That sliver of guilt couldn’t escape Shang Shao’s eyes. His gaze was meaningful and cold as he studied her, asking, “You really don’t know?” His lips brushed against her ear, his lowered voice feeding the words into her ear. “Does he kiss you better, or do I?”
The edges of her pupils dilated at his question.
Ying Yin shook her head violently, wave after wave of shame surging through her body. “I really don’t know – we haven’t shot it yet…”
“Then what have you shot? Junyi told me everything.”
Junyi was an idiot, and Ying Yin had never expected much from her anyway – so when Shang Shao bluffed, she believed him completely. Confessing honestly, “Some intimate scenes…”
“Some?” Shang Shao’s brow and eyelids lowered.
His Eastern-featured handsomeness – normally gentle and restrained – now turned entirely into an unfathomable depth.
His hand rubbed where it shouldn’t. “Here?”
Ying Yin stayed silent, her body burning hot. She could feel the sweat on her back, the thermal underwear clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
Not speaking meant admitting it.
Shang Shao took a long, suppressed deep breath. His hand, wrapped in the tie, moved downward, pressing with some force through her skirt.
“And here?”
Ying Yin panicked. “We’re not shooting porn!”
“Then tell me – how were the movements choreographed? So many times, each one different, right?”
Ying Yin found it hard to speak, flustered. “It was all taught by Lishan…”
She really was so innocent.
“You’re a Best Actress – you should have your own improvisations.”
Ying Yin swallowed, her heart in her throat, only able to shake her head.
“Fine,” Shang Shao conceded, no longer pressing her. His low, hoarse voice carried an air of grace. “I’ll book out the theater and watch.”
Ying Yin was thunderstruck.
“So,” Shang Shao tried to sum it up, “he touched you, groped you, and you” – he paused meaningfully – “are going to go die with the feel of his body still on yours?”
Ying Yin’s head snapped up. She met his dim, lusterless eyes and wanted to say something – but suddenly forgot.
That logic wasn’t right at all… yet she couldn’t argue back. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.
Shang Shao’s face was expressionless. In the dim, dusky room, his complexion was terrifyingly dark.
“Shang Shao…” Ying Yin tried calling his name.
“Today is New Year’s,” Shang Shao said abruptly, seemingly out of nowhere.
“Happy New Year,” Ying Yin said softly.
But Shang Shao ignored her, his tone flat. “You want me to lose you on New Year’s Day.”
Ying Yin’s heart tightened. “…I’m sorry.”
“Every New Year’s Eve from now on will be your death anniversary.”
“That’s not…”
Shang Shao’s gaze lingered strangely on her face, studying her over and over. “Every Spring Festival, while others gather with their families in joy, I’ll only remember that you were buried in ice and snow on this day.”
The tears Ying Yin had held back for so long finally spilled over. She had been holding them in, all for the sake of Yin Xueqing’s makeup.
“Do you truly believe that after you’re gone, I can still live a good life?” Shang Shao used the pad of his thumb to wipe the wet traces on her face. “You think that after you leave, I’ll be light and unburdened, grieve for a few months – a year at most – then move on, embrace a new life with joy, occasionally think of you and feel a little sorry about your illness, tend to my wife and children’s well-being, and tell them that Daddy once had a friend who passed away that way. Is that it? Do you really think that only your love counts as love, and mine doesn’t? That I don’t love you – or only love you a little – so you can leave whenever you want.”
Ying Yin was streaming with tears, able only to say weakly, “That’s not how it is…”
“Before you leave, have you ever thought for even one second: ‘After I’m gone, what if Shang Shao can’t take it? What will he do? How is he supposed to get through this life?'”
“I have thought about it.” Ying Yin hung her head, tears falling straight from her eyes to the floor. She nodded, quietly sniffing. “I’ve thought about it… I really have.”
The moment she finished that sentence, her waist was suddenly clamped tight by Shang Shao. He gave her no quarter, kissing her deep and thoroughly. The tears that slipped between their lips and teeth had already turned warm, dissolving bitterly on the tangled tips of their tongues.
As he kissed her, he lost control, losing his composure, and without a word, his hand slipped where it shouldn’t.
He seemed to have forgotten everything – forgotten that this was a film set, forgotten that a whole crew was waiting for her – only focused on kissing her, as if trying to forcibly trap her newly recovered life within that kiss.
Ying Yin’s breath caught. Her crimson eyes lifted to him in alarm.
Shang Shao was looking at her too.
He gazed at her without blinking, his face bearing down on her from above, completely expressionless – holding Ying Yin’s gaze until she forgot to breathe.
He wanted her.
Yet not really, because there wasn’t enough time. He stared at her, and in that locked gaze, his fingertip traced the seam of her lips, rubbing against the Cupid’s bow above. Ying Yin went limp, unable to stand, nearly sliding down the door panel.
Instead, she ended up sitting on his palm.
“Stand up straight.”
He didn’t support her, but the veins on the hand holding her stood out prominently. His black cashmere coat was impeccably dressed, graceful – so perfectly put together.
Ying Yin didn’t dare make a sound. She was already holding her breath with effort, but still she trembled.
Shang Shao’s lips pressed against her burning ear. “Did you miss me?”
Ying Yin couldn’t bring herself to say it, but her body said it for her. In truth, it had only been a little over a month, but somehow a soul that knew the taste of desire had taken residence within her.
Shang Shao’s breath was both icy and scorching. At her reaction, he let out a faint, almost imperceptible chuckle.
The sky had gone completely dark.
The crew waited around the set, getting no one back, yet no one dared to speak up -they all just crouched around smoking. Lishan sat with arms crossed in the director’s outdoor moon chair and coldly instructed Junyi, “Go get her. Ask what’s going on.”
Jiang Te sat in silence, poking at the fire pit. It was stuffed with firewood, glowing red-hot, sending up a trail of sparks with every movement of his hand.
Junyi acknowledged the order and took a shortcut through the dark to get there. She pushed the door – but it wouldn’t budge.
“Anyone there?” the young girl asked innocently.
Ying Yin’s eyes were flustered and dazed, her whole body taut with tension, her expression begging Shang Shao for mercy. Shang Shao’s raspy voice had lost its substance, reduced to just breath. “She’s asking you – not going to answer?”
Jun Yi grew alert. “Who is it? Who’s in there?”
Ying Yin could only force her voice tight. “It’s me… I’m not feeling well… just wait a bit longer. Five minutes.”
Shang Shao reminded her. “Five minutes won’t be enough.”
Junyi frowned, sensing something was very wrong. “You’re alone? You’re not thinking of…” Her voice dropped, afraid to say the ominous words out loud. “Don’t do anything stupid!”
“I won’t… mmph…” She was kissed by Shang Shao again.
A kiss at a time like this was naturally nothing like the innocent kind. Her tongue was drawn out past her lips, her beautiful mouth half-open, unable to swallow the saliva pooling there.
When she fell silent, Junyi panicked and pushed harder against the door. “Ying Yin! Open the door!”
Bam – the door, which had cracked open a sliver, was slammed firmly shut again.
Junyi’s head filled with question marks, her eyes filling with tears. From inside the door, she heard Ying Yin say helplessly, “I’m not alone… I… I…”
“She’s with me.” Shang Shao finally had the kindness to speak up.
Jun Yi froze for a second, then flushed bright red from head to toe.
From outside, a distant voice called out, “Is she in there?”
Why was it Jiang Te?
Junyi had just squatted down, her face burning, careful not to crouch too close for fear of hearing something she shouldn’t. The moment she saw Jiang Te, she shot back up again, her fingers fidgeting awkwardly along the seams of her pants. “She, she, she… she’s got an upset stomach!”
Jiang Te could tell she was lying. His steps kept drawing nearer, and even the night couldn’t dull his sharp eyes. “Did something happen to her again?”
Junyi was in over her head. She stepped forward proactively and grabbed Jiang Te by the arm. “You don’t get it – what do you know about girls’ stuff? Stay out of a beauty’s business. Did you even rinse your mouth? You’re supposed to rinse before a kissing scene! I’ll, I’ll get you some mouthwash…”
Jiang Te: “…”
“Your male lead is looking for you. Do you want to kiss him?” Shang Shao leaned down, almost restrainedly, to kiss her earlobe.
Amid his deadly, possessive questions, the sensation that had been building in her body finally reached its limit. A tiny, brief whimper escaped Ying Yin’s throat. She tried desperately to push Shang Shao away, her toes curling taut inside her high boots.
But the commotion stopped right there.
“Time to go shoot your scene,” he said, perfectly polite. Looking into Ying Yin’s eyes, he took his index and middle fingers – held together – and meticulously wiped them back and forth on the tie wrapped around his left hand, cleaning off the moisture.
Ying Yin’s eyes were wide open, her gaze so pure and bewildered, filled with nothing but disbelief.
But she was stubborn. Even though her legs were still weak, even though her nose tip was still fragilely red, she truly prepared to leave.
Shang Shao narrowed his eyes. In one sudden move, he trapped her back in his embrace. His left hand spread its five fingers, cupping the lower half of her face, and the tie – faintly smelling of saltwater – was pressed into her lips, muffling her startled cry.
He gazed at her deeply, his grip firm on her wrist. “You really can bear to leave?”
The next second, Ying Yin was flipped around and pinned against the door.
