The next morning, after much preparation, the new drama finally began filming in Paris.
As dawn just broke, Song Chan had to endure the soreness in her body and break free from her warm and comfortable bed.
Yesterday, she had truly angered Su Yicen. The pleasures that lasted until late into the night almost kept Song Chan from getting out of bed that morning.
Even more infuriating was that her body felt as weak as if it had been taken apart and reassembled, while that man, utterly unrestrained in his lust, remained full of vitality and high-spirited.
To finish the design drafts she hadn’t revised the night before and to stagger her arrival from Su Yicen’s, Song Chan deliberately showed up at the set half an hour later than him.
When she arrived, Su Yicen was rehearsing lines with Li Shuning. The set buzzed with noise as everyone hustled with their tasks—no one was idle.
Song Chan slipped quietly through the crowd and found an empty spot where she wouldn’t disturb anyone, then sat down silently.
Like a classic idol drama, the show opened with a pair of former lovers reuniting after years apart, their encounter happening at the height of their success.
Director Chen and the screenwriter stood beside the two leads, reviewing the script and explaining the shot effects they wanted to achieve.
Professional jargon filled her ears, and Song Chan only half-understood it. She hadn’t rested well the night before, and now, sitting quietly, fatigue slowly seeped into her entire body.
Before long, her half-closed eyelids struggled to stay open.
“Little Teacher Song?”
Director Chen’s voice jolted her awake. Song Chan snapped her eyes open, realizing she had dozed off right there on set.
She startled and leaned back, but the canvas chair’s backrest caught her—she was just scared.
“Yo~ Little Teacher Song, you okay?”
Director Chen hurriedly steadied her as Song Chan waved her hands in apology.
“Sorry, Director Chen. I’m fine, really…”
Director Chen asked, “Little Teacher Song, rough night? Or still adjusting to the time difference?”
His words triggered memories in Song Chan’s mind of the intimate entanglement with that man that had lasted nearly half the night.
Her face flushed bright red in an instant. She quickly handed over the revised design drafts clutched in her arms.
“R-Revising… the drafts…”
She had no idea if Director Chen bought her flimsy excuse, but Song Chan powered through it anyway.
Director Chen barely registered her explanation. He took the drawings, narrowed his eyes, and examined the revisions.
Song Chan’s professional expertise shone through once more. Blunt as he was, Director Chen never held back on praise.
Her changes perfectly captured the essence he aimed to convey.
He even clapped and praised outright, “As expected, pros handle pro work.”
“This tweak from Little Teacher Song nails the core I wanted to express!”
“It’s fantastic!”
With that, Director Chen passed the design drafts to his nearby assistant and told her to coordinate with the costume designer for production.
Once the assistant was off, he turned to Song Chan.
“Little Teacher Song, you burned the midnight oil on those revisions. Why not head back and rest?”
It was the first day of shooting—everyone was swamped, and she couldn’t just bail.
Song Chan politely turned down Director Chen’s offer and excused herself. She headed to the bathroom to splash water on her face and wake up her foggy brain.
The crew’s filming area was inside a Paris shopping center, cordoned off in a temporarily rented section.
In this unfamiliar territory, bathrooms weren’t easy to find—especially for a directionally challenged Song Chan.
After two wrong turns, she wandered quite far before spotting one.
At the public sink, Song Chan cranked the cold water all the way.
Icy streams poured out, the chill like freshly melted ice—enough to jolt anyone alert on contact.
Once her palms adjusted, she stared at her still-drowsy reflection in the mirror.
She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and splashed the handful of water mercilessly onto her face.
The bone-piercing cold chased away her drowsiness in a flash, rebooting her hazy mind into sharp focus.
She splashed two more handfuls, feeling the frigid water trail down her cheeks and drip into the sink.
Suddenly, a familiar male voice rang in her ear—cool, gentle, with a coaxing edge.
“If you’re tired, just go back and sleep.”
Song Chan knew instantly it was Su Yicen.
She turned and saw him there.
“I’m fine…”
No matter how tough she acted, the exhaustion laced her lazy voice.
Song Chan grumbled, “It’s all your fault…”
“Teacher Song.”
Su Yicen cut her off. He arched an eyebrow toward the door outside, his low voice laced with warning.
“There are crew members out there. You sure… you want to flirt with me here?”
Flirt? What flirt? She was just stating facts!
A slack thread in her heart snapped taut. Her fatigue vanished faster than from the cold water.
“Su Yicen! Can’t your brain think of anything else…?”
Her voice rose but faltered against his darkening, dangerous gaze, dropping until it was inaudible.
“No.”
Shameless as ever, he licked his lips. The seductive glint in his dark eyes fixed openly on her.
“Didn’t Teacher Song say she craved my body…?”
“Now that you’ve had it, you’re backing out?”
“Sigh—” Song Chan let out a long breath.
If time travel were real, she’d strangle her past self. She regretted ever blurting out that she craved Su Yicen’s body.
That ammo in his hands meant he could trot it out anytime, anywhere, without batting an eye—leaving her mortified.
Seeing her on the verge of snapping, Su Yicen backed off wisely.
A flush echoed from inside the bathroom stall. A foreign passerby emerged, cutting their chat short.
Su Yicen grabbed a tissue, dried his hands, then pulled another and offered it to Song Chan.
With a stranger nearby, he kept the distance she preferred.
“The first scene of the drama is up next. Hope you’ll stick around to watch.”
“Call it… a set visit.”
He didn’t wait for her answer—or in his mind, her silence meant yes.
With those testing words, Su Yicen turned and left the bathroom, his back receding into the distance.
By the time Song Chan returned, filming was underway.
Director Chen waved her over to sit behind the monitor.
“Little Teacher Song, first time on set?”
Song Chan nodded. Sure, she handled plenty of behind-the-scenes cover shoots at the company, but that was worlds apart from actual filming.
This was her first dive into the environment—and her first close-up look at Su Yicen shining in his element.
The monitor screen shifted as the cinematographer rode the track, the lens easing toward Su Yicen.
The slate clapped, and his casual gaze sharpened. He slipped seamlessly into character.
Song Chan stared blankly at the screen. For some reason, Su Yicen looked even more striking through the lens.
Flawless from every angle, no blind spots—drawing her in irresistibly.
Halfway through the take, Song Chan felt like she was seeing Su Yicen for the first time.
He might goof off around her, but every slate clap pulled him straight into the role.
She could tell his acting was top-tier—and that he genuinely loved his craft.
Watching him that day, she made a heartfelt wish.
May Su Yicen’s star path stay smooth and dazzling, lighting up the world and carving his own era.
—
Late into the night, moon clear, stars sparse.
After her video call with Lady Xu, Song Chan realized Su Yicen was in for another all-nighter.
They’d been in Paris nearly a month, and the local shoots were past halfway.
Lately, he’d filmed nothing but night scenes, stringing together several sleepless nights.
Worried about his health tanking from lack of rest, Song Chan had quietly greenlit that clingy guy’s free access to her room the past couple days.
Yet when he pulled all-nighters or wrapped too late, he’d skip her room to avoid waking her.
Across the hall, but it felt like ages since they’d met.
Night deepened. Song Chan eyed the silent door—she knew Su Yicen wouldn’t drop by tonight.
Shouldn’t that be good? No interruptions to her sleep.
She told herself that, but an empty ache still hovered in her chest.
Somehow, her feelings for him had grown so tangled.
She fretted over him, cared for him—her own moods swayed with his.
Patting her jumbled head, Song Chan meant to hit the hay.
But her hand betrayed her, snatching the phone to open her chat with “Peacock in Full Display.”
Their last messages sat untouched for three days.
Fingers hovered over the keyboard, but Song Chan held back.
As she went to close it, a new message pinged.
Peacock in Full Display: 【Chanchan, I’m feeling so awful.】
Song Chan blinked, baffled.
Song Chan: 【?】
Peacock in Full Display: 【Really awful. My body’s all wrong.】
Peacock in Full Display: 【Can you come keep me company?】
Without that last line, she might’ve bought it—but it reeked of ulterior motives.
Small wonder she doubted; the guy had zero credibility.
Still, worry nagged. She typed.
Song Chan: 【Where are you?】
He’d clearly been waiting—the “typing…” bubble lingered, then his reply zipped back.
Peacock in Full Display: 【The room across from yours.】
Peacock in Full Display: 【Password is our birthdays.】
That sealed it. Song Chan chucked her phone aside.
She hadn’t pegged him for pulling stunts like this to lure her over.
Su Yicen’s well-being? Not her problem.
Yet somehow, she’d wandered from bed to the door.
Worry won out. She’d check on him.
Fingers at the password pad, poised on the final digit.
One last self-pep talk before entering.
‘If Su Yicen was conning her, he’d regret it.’