"Be good, then give the baby."
Jiang Liuyue smiled as she placed her phone, still on the call, by the pillow, screen facing down.
She no longer cared about Li Feile’s state of mind.
Wrapping both arms around Song Hanzheng’s neck, her fingers threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck.
They rose and fell, sailing toward the most beautiful future.
In her mind, it was as if fireworks burst one after another—golden, silver, red lights blooming and falling in the darkness.
...
It turned out that a man before and after—
He was a completely different creature.
The old Song Hanzheng was proud and sharp-tongued. If you asked him if he liked you, he’d coldly say, “I don’t,” sounding truer than truth.
The new Song Hanzheng was clingy beyond belief, sticking to her everywhere, as if he wished he could grow onto her body.
Waking up after nine, Jiang Liuyue groggily rubbed her eyes, pulling the blanket up to her chin, cocooning herself like a silkworm.
Mumbling a refusal: “Mmm, I want to sleep more. Don’t want breakfast.”
Song Hanzheng stood by the bed, already dressed in his shirt and suit, his tie impeccably knotted, looking noble and restrained.
“Baby,” he said, “skipping breakfast will make your stomach hurt.”
Who was it that once said, “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that”? Now he said it so smoothly, so naturally.
“But I really don’t want to move.” Jiang Liuyue buried her face in the pillow, her voice muffled.
“Baby, I’ll carry you.” Song Hanzheng bent down and carefully scooped her out of the covers.
One hand supported her back, the other cradled her thighs, his movements steady.
Half-asleep, Jiang Liuyue found herself transferred from the bedroom to the dining room. By the time she realized it, she was already there.
On the table was the breakfast Song Hanzheng had just made the housekeeper prepare.
Steaming white porridge floated a layer of rice oil; crystal-clear shrimp siu mai lined the steamer basket neatly, their thin skins revealing the shrimp inside; and several small dishes sat around, tempting her appetite just by looking.
Song Hanzheng sat on a chair.
Jiang Liuyue, in her nightgown, sat on his lap.
Her nightgown was thin and sexy, its straps so delicate they seemed ready to slip off.
As she settled, the nightgown caught at one corner, the hem bunching around her waist into soft folds, revealing a stretch of pale thigh.
She rubbed against him coquettishly, like a sleepy cat finding a comfortable spot.
Then she glanced at him and muttered a single word: “Cold.”
Song Hanzheng’s throat tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.
His voice dropped low, laced with restrained patience: “Baby, don’t tease me.”
He paused, as if wrestling with himself, took a deep breath, then added,
“Eat first.”
Jiang Liuyue felt something beginning to stir, the change transmitted through the thin fabric between them.
She couldn’t help but laugh, the corners of her eyes curving into a mischievous arch: “Then I’ll eat you first, okay?”
The next second, she was lifted from the dining chair to the sofa.
The sensation of being airborne lasted only a moment before her back sank into the soft cushions.
Song Hanzheng tugged at his tie, loosening the dark fabric a few inches, leaving it askew on his shirt collar. He casually undid the top two buttons, exposing his collarbone and a hint of his chest.
His once perfectly fitted suit and shirt now looked disheveled and untidy.
Jiang Liuyue’s eyes widened.
She had only meant to tease him, never expecting this man to be so easily provoked—one little flirt and he broke his own rules.
She quickly kicked at his waist with her foot, but her ankle was caught in a warm, firm hand and held still.
She blinked seriously, trying to find an escape route.
“Baby, I was joking. I’m hungry. I want to eat the porridge first.”
Song Hanzheng leaned in, his handsome face drawing close.
His beautiful pupils reflected her guilty expression, his tone dangerous yet laced with intimacy.
Slowly, he spoke:
“Baby, I’m hungry too. I want to eat you first.”
...
Lin Yizhou arrived at the set of Falling Star early in the morning, a vague unease already stirring in his chest.
When he pushed open the studio door, the crew was setting up the scene, and the lighting technician was adjusting the equipment. Everything seemed normal.
Then a staff member handed him the latest script. That was when he realized something was terribly wrong.
He flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing with each turn.
His scenes had been swapped.
Yes, that was right.
His role—the male lead, once threaded through the entire story—had been drastically cut. Every intimate scene was crossed out in red ink.
In their place were cold, clinical “delete” notes.
The reworked plot had veered into bizarre territory.
His character had become a two-timing jerk, dating the female lead while falling for the second female lead, then ending up with neither—a scapegoat hated by everyone.
Meanwhile, the once-inconspicuous second male lead was gaining significance, threatening to overshadow him.
In Falling Star, the second male lead quietly pined for the heroine, loving her from afar without expecting anything in return. His character was gentle, reserved, and patient—exactly the type that female audiences adored.
Best of all, the second male lead had no intimate scenes with the heroine; their interactions were limited to a friends-and-maybe-something-more dynamic.
Clutching the new script, Lin Yizhou stormed off to find the director.
Director Daqing sighed heavily. “I’m really sorry, Yizhou, but this isn’t something I can change. The investor’s opinion... you know I don’t have the final say.”
