In this industry, as long as there’s a rumor, it’s like finding the source of a draft.

It doesn’t take long for a light breeze to turn into a strong gust, then into a full-blown hurricane. By the time it becomes common knowledge, the person at the eye of the storm is often still oblivious.

Ying Ming’s fleeting thought from a few days ago had somehow made it to the cover of a gossip magazine in just three days. But instead of Shi Yi, the headline scandal involved someone else—Wang Yiqi.

The magazine used a photo from the visit on set. It had been edited, made blurry on purpose, turning what was an ordinary moment into something more suggestive. Even though they’d been sitting far apart, the picture had been manipulated to make it look like they were sharing drinks at the same table. The article didn’t name names, but anyone with half a brain could tell who it was about.

Three days ago, the tabloids claimed Wang Yiqi ditched a model girlfriend for his “brother.” Now, they were saying he’d abandoned a past love in favor of a true one.

When Wang Yiqi saw the article, he called Ying Ming and laughed for a solid ten minutes.

“I’ve waited so long, and finally, it’s my turn to be part of one of these scandals!”

His voice was so loud over the phone that even Ying Ming’s assistant glanced over curiously. Standing in a corner of the set with a cigarette dangling from his lips, Ying Ming snorted in annoyance, dragged into the mess for no reason. “Only you would find this kind of nonsense amusing.”

“Come on, man! You know me. I’ve been through every kind of fling there is, and yet after hanging out with you for so long, not even a single slip-up happened between us. Either you’ve got issues, or I do! This headline makes things more realistic.”

“Realistic, my ass.”

Ying Ming had no patience for Wang Yiqi’s antics and hung up without another word.

Just then, Liu Li, who had just finished her makeup, happened to catch the scene. She smiled teasingly. “What’s that, a call from your good friend?”

There was a playful tone in her voice, but Ying Ming just shot her a glance and stayed silent.

To him, this whole thing was meaningless.

The tabloids had clearly run out of material again. At most, this would stir things up for a couple of days. He didn’t give it a second thought.

“But Ying Ming, I’m actually pretty curious. What kind of woman do you like?” Liu Li asked with a soft smile as she sat elegantly beside him, casually examining her nails. Her gaze swept toward him subtly, her poise as graceful as ever.

Ying Ming tilted his head, cigarette clenched between his teeth. “Didn’t you read the latest gossip? I like men.”

“Oh? Then what kind of men do you like?” Liu Li laughed at his teasing, her voice playful enough to draw a couple of curious glances from nearby crew members.

“What kind, huh…”

Repeating the question under his breath, Ying Ming raised an eyebrow and answered, “Someone like Shi Yi, I guess.”

As soon as he said it, he saw Liu Li’s smile falter just slightly. Before she could react, the director called him over to rehearse his scene. He snuffed out his cigarette and jogged off toward the set.

—

Film sets are inherently chaotic places.

The crew fluctuates constantly. Someone who’s there today might be gone tomorrow. People come and go, shifting roles and responsibilities without warning.

Which is why controlling information leaks is almost impossible.

No matter how many times the crew is reminded, photos still manage to slip out.

In this day and age, as long as you have money, there’s no piece of information you can’t buy. That’s the harsh reality.

After three straight days of being secretly photographed, Ying Ming was starting to lose his temper.

It had been a long time since he’d had reporters trailing him, digging for dirt. He’d gotten used to his relatively quiet life, and the sudden barrage of paparazzi attention was beginning to grate on his nerves.

It didn’t help that these past two days had him filming intense scenes with Liu Li.

According to the script, his character kidnaps Liu Li’s character, and after succumbing to lust, he ends up raping her.

If you asked Ying Ming, that scene was entirely unnecessary from a narrative standpoint.

Because the scene didn’t really contribute much to the story’s development or the character dynamics, his role as a minor antagonist wouldn’t last long before he was killed off, only slightly more significant than a background character with a couple of extra lines.

But the real purpose of this scene was to generate controversy and buzz, not to actually advance the plot.

Later, when speculation about his sexuality started swirling around, this scene somehow became even more “essential.”

Even though he’d brought it up with the director, hoping it could be cut or adjusted, the response remained unchanged. It had to stay, and not just that. It had to be even more intense than originally planned.

Ying Ming found it a bit ridiculous. No matter how explicit the scene ended up, if the content crossed a certain line, it would still end up censored during post-production.

But the director had been clear. If it had to be cut later, so be it, but they were still going to shoot it first.

Not only that, but they also invited media outlets to visit the set during the filming.

In other words, he would have to shoot the scene, raping Liu Li, under the watchful eyes of countless crew members, cameras, and reporters.

Some of the stunt coordinators he was friendly with teased him privately.
“Do you know how many people would kill for this kind of opportunity, man? This is a perk if you ask me!”

“Yeah, just make sure you don’t get, uh… excited during the scene, huh?”

“Or hey, how about we take you out to blow off some steam beforehand? Or… are you not worried because it’s the wrong gender?”

These kinds of jokes floated around the set for several days.

Ying Ming wasn’t the type to put on airs, and since he wasn’t some hotshot A-lister, the crew was pretty casual around him. No one minced their words, and the crude jokes were par for the course in this industry.

As the target of their teasing, Ying Ming could only remain silent and pretend not to hear a thing.

What surprised him was how calm Liu Li’s attitude was.

Sometimes, when she happened to catch snippets of those teasing remarks, she would even join in, saying, “Actually, I’m curious to know whether Ying Ming feels anything for me or not.”

It was impossible to tell whether she was being serious or joking.

Everyone else just took it as her messing around with Ying Ming like the rest of them, but Ying Ming found it a little unsettling.

When the actual filming day arrived, there were indeed plenty of media present.

For the production team, this was a good thing. After all, for any film, the real fear isn’t having too much buzz, but having none at all As long as it ties in with the marketing, they would milk the publicity for all it’s worth.

Ying Ming spent almost the entire morning smoking.

The director smiled and asked if he was nervous, but Ying Ming just smiled back.

In truth, he found the whole situation a bit absurd.

He understood the rules of the game, but that didn’t mean he liked them.

No actor can claim they don’t care about how their work is received by others, but this kind of attention felt laced with a bitter kind of irony.

When Liu Li walked out wearing a full-length slip dress, there was an audible stir among those nearby.

Ying Ming stood to the side watching and overheard one of the reporters muttering quietly, “Why is it that kidnappers in movies are always so obsessed with stripping their hostages? They don’t tie them up properly. They just take off their coats first.”

Hearing that, he smiled slightly.

He’d wondered about the same thing himself.

But when it came time to actually shoot the scene, Ying Ming stayed fully in character.

This kind of role didn’t require much skill anyway. The focus was really on Liu Li’s performance: her crying, screaming, and struggling. As long as the cinematographer captured the right angles, Ying Ming didn’t even need to do much physically.

A lot of times, those intense-looking shots on screen were really just the result of the camera shaking dramatically.

Actors usually don’t have that much to do.

But this time was clearly different.

By the second take, Ying Ming could already sense that Liu Li was intentionally rubbing against him now and then, though the thick fabric of his clothes dulled the sensation a bit.

He frowned slightly and instinctively kept some distance.

After all, most of their shots focused on their upper bodies, so there wasn’t much need for their lower halves to be that close.

Liu Li’s struggles were quite exaggerated, and her chest was almost completely exposed.

Because the scene had become too explicit, the director called for a retake. The reporters nearby, of course, didn’t miss the opportunity, switching off their flash and furiously snapping photos. Ying Ming frowned irritably and had just started to pull back when the director told him to get closer, cutting off his retreat.

During a brief break, Liu Li smiled at him and said, “Ying Ming, you don’t really like men, do you?”

Her clothes were half off, and there wasn’t much fabric left covering her legs either. She lay sprawled on the sofa, her posture brimming with seduction. Ying Ming glanced at her, leaned down, and replied, “The issue isn’t whether I like men or not. The issue is that you don’t interest me.”

Liu Li’s expression didn’t change a bit.

From the camera’s perspective, it looked like the two of them were having a lively conversation.

Add in some spontaneous dialogue about how they were hyping each other up to convey tension, and it would be easy to believe.

The more fiercely Liu Li struggled in scenes like this, the more it looked like she was making sacrifices for her art, earning her praise for being professional and dedicated. Ying Ming, who had barely moved, would still end up the subject of nasty tabloid headlines.

Overcome by passion and consumed by desire, it wasn’t hard to imagine what they would write.

A simple rape scene took more than twenty takes. Only after the reporters on the sidelines seemed satisfied did the director finally call out, “OK, we got it.”

Almost as soon as the director confirmed the take, Ying Ming stepped back. His eagerness to get away was obvious to anyone with eyes.

Liu Li slowly put her clothes back on, then sat up from the sofa. She gave the reporters a slightly embarrassed smile, didn’t even check the playback, and slipped straight back to the dressing room.

A reporter immediately approached Ying Ming and asked how he felt about filming the scene.

Ying Ming smiled. “It felt kind of like falling down a flight of stairs.”

“You mean it was exciting?”

“I mean Liu Li hits pretty hard.”

He dropped that line, waved to signal he wasn’t interested in discussing it further, and walked off.

After that, it was, predictably, the director’s turn to speak, a string of standard PR lines about how dedicated Ying Ming and Liu Li were, how the film had a massive budget, and how impressive the final product was bound to be.

After all, everyone had signed promotional contracts.

Helping with the film’s publicity was part of the job, and no one could complain about it.

From that day on, Ying Ming kept his distance from Liu Li as much as possible. He avoided her at meals and when leaving the set. Fortunately, they didn’t have many scenes together, so their interactions were limited anyway.

The news didn’t just make it into the papers, but also made it onto TV.

Several entertainment channels aired the story one after another. The coverage varied, but each outlet had its own take on the camera angles. Someone from the crew tried to drag Ying Ming over to watch it, but he didn’t even glance at the screen before heading back to his room.

It was because of this farcical bit of publicity that things escalated.

A couple of days later, the director informed Ying Ming that his role had been expanded.

Ying Ming immediately had a bad feeling, but before he could say anything, the assistant director explained, “They’ve added more romantic scenes between you and Liu Li.”

Then, as if that wasn’t clear enough, he added, “The investors specifically requested it. Ying Ming, you’re pretty lucky.”

Lucky? This was supposed to be lucky?

Ying Ming wanted to sneer, but on the surface, he just gave a faint tug at the corner of his mouth.