After the project for *The Little Prince* movie was officially announced, the buzz from the outside world was incredibly high, even overshadowing the previous *Clearing the Song Dynasty*. Baili Xiao had just signed his contract, and before anything substantial had begun, the internet was already filled with slogans like “Waiting for the styling photos” and “Waiting for my European Emperor’s stunning looks.”

Baili Xiao was someone who valued his reputation. Deep down, he cherished his fans greatly. However, this didn’t stop him from sometimes feeling that his fans were quite delusional. Not long ago, the company’s public relations department had gathered big data from Weibo to profile his fan demographic. They even thoughtfully generated a word cloud and sent it to him.

When Baili Xiao opened it, he saw that the three prominent tags—delusional, infatuated, and superstitious—blatantly occupied the largest spaces in the word cloud, making his head throb.

To comfort the frustrated Baili Xiao, the president had recently been visiting his new apartment every night. He would dim the lights, open a bottle of red wine, and read *The Little Prince* to him under the moonlight, helping him to better understand the material.

It sounded quite romantic.

In reality, it was anything but.

To help Baili Xiao grasp the abstract romanticism typically employed by French authors, Yu Jinghao deliberately used a low, magnetic voice to softly read aloud: “If a person has a special affection for a flower, and that flower is unique among the vast stars, then as long as he gazes at the myriad stars, he will feel content… However, if that flower is eaten by a sheep, in an instant, all the stars will fade away…”

“Stop.” Baili Xiao mercilessly interrupted the romantic atmosphere in the room. “I find this fairy tale quite offensive.”

“What’s wrong?” Yu Jinghao asked, puzzled. “Offensive? It’s a fairy tale, suitable for children.”

Baili Xiao shook his head, his expression not looking good. “Just because a flower is eaten by a sheep, all the stars fade away. Isn’t that absurd? The stars in the sky record and predict the fortunes and destinies of everything in the world, while a flower is just a flower. I think writing the story this way is disrespectful to the stars.”

“…” Yu Jinghao felt a wave of confusion wash over him. He tried to squeeze out a smile. “*The Little Prince* is a beautiful fairy tale with poetic language, and Western poetry often employs such exaggeration. But really, it’s just a metaphor, meant to create a certain atmosphere.”

“I know it’s a metaphor,” Baili Xiao said, slightly sullen. “I’ll do my best to perform well. But don’t read it anymore. Hearing such disrespect toward the stars makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“Okay…,” Yu Jinghao sighed helplessly, closing the book. Although he was interrupted, he still had to believe that Baili Xiao would be able to grasp the script well, even if he didn’t personally resonate with the fairy tale.

It was indeed enviable. The outside world guessed that this newly debuted artist must be working hard behind the scenes to shine in front of the camera. But Yu Jinghao knew that Baili Xiao had only read the script once and had never practiced his expressions and pronunciations in front of a mirror like other artists. It seemed that Baili Xiao’s daily life at home consisted of eating, sleeping, stargazing, playing with his cat, and daydreaming. The effort he put into appearing on camera was pitifully little compared to the majority of artists.

If he were a native of this world, Baili Xiao would definitely have been a genius since childhood, frustrating everyone around him.

At this moment, this very genius was lazily reclining on the carpet, one hand supporting his cheek while the other was petting his cat, Baili Xiao. His gaze, somewhat blank, drifted past Yu Jinghao to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him—through this spectacular wall of glass, the night sky was fully visible. Every night when Yu Jinghao came over, Baili Xiao usually lay like this on the floor, petting his cat and zoning out.

The youth, who always appeared cool and aloof to the outside world, exuded a lazy charm and a hint of solitude when in private. Every time Yu Jinghao saw this side of Baili Xiao, he felt a strong sense of detachment from the mundane world.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Are you happy?”

“Hm?” Baili Xiao paused his cat-petting, bringing his gaze back to Yu Jinghao, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… like, do your wishes come true, do you like your life and work, and do you feel happy every day?”

Baili Xiao paused for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. “I’m probably different from you. I’ve never had many wishes. I just do what I’m supposed to do, keep away from things I don’t like, and I don’t have that many emotions. I guess… I’ve always been quite calm.”

Yu Jinghao fell silent.

Seeing him not speak, Baili Xiao thought for a moment and added, “It’s always been like this, even in the previous world. I suppose it’s my own issue; my other kin don’t have my temperament.”

Yu Jinghao nodded and turned his head to look out at the lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. After a long pause, he said softly, “Actually, I’m the same.”

“Hm?” Baili Xiao couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t kid around, you’re always laughing and joking.”

Yu Jinghao turned back to look at him, his expression serious. “I’m not lying to you. I’ve been like you said since I was a child. I didn’t realize it when I was young, but as I grew up, I worried that I might have hidden depression. I even secretly went to see a doctor behind my parents’ backs. It wasn’t until later that I slowly accepted that I just have a hard time experiencing emotional highs and lows. It’s just that…” He paused here.

“What is it?” Baili Xiao pressed.

“It’s just that… about two months ago, my calm life was disrupted by an unexpected incident that arose from my curiosity. Taking care of and trying to please this unexpected occurrence has made my mood feel like a rollercoaster every day.” Yu Jinghao suddenly blinked mischievously at Baili Xiao. “You’re responsible for that unexpected incident.”

“……”

Baili Xiao stood up expressionlessly and stuffed the little black cat into Yu Jinghao’s arms. “If I had known you were acting coy again, I would have gone to bed earlier,” he said, turning toward the bedroom. His fair, clean feet silently padded across the long cotton carpet, leaving behind a tranquil and graceful silhouette in the quiet night.

Behind him, Yu Jinghao smiled softly, lifting the little black cat high and sighing to its confused eyes, “Ah, your owner really lacks romantic understanding.”

……

The next morning, the smart curtains slowly opened, and the sunlight streaming in woke the sleeping Baili Xiao. He blinked his eyes, and the bedroom was already filled with bright light.

Baili Xiao sat up, and on the bedside table was a glass of plain water. For the past few nights, it had been the same routine: Yu Jinghao would come to keep him company, read the script, and zone out until Baili Xiao fell asleep, then leave alone. One day during their conversation, Baili Xiao had casually complained about how Yu Jinghao would leave without a word, saying he could hardly remember if the previous night had been a dream. Ever since then, each morning when he woke up, there would be a glass of plain water prepared for him by Yu Jinghao on the bedside table.

He loved him, he knew it.

At one point, Baili Xiao had tried to deny this feeling, but eventually, he could no longer do so. He wasn’t sure how to view his relationship with Yu Jinghao, but one thing was clear: Yu Jinghao and the little black cat—one person and one cat—were the two most important beings in this unfamiliar world.

Baili Xiao sighed lightly, finished the glass of plain water, and headed to the bathroom for a shower.

Today was the day for the character photo shoot for *The Little Prince*. In this script, aside from him, most of the other roles only had a few scenes, making him the absolute lead. Therefore, the importance of his character photos was even higher than during his time on the set of *Chang An*.

Upon entering the photography studio, Baili Xiao noticed that the entire crew was already present, with only the director yet to arrive—they were just waiting for him. He politely greeted everyone and then quietly asked Mike, “Why did you inform me at this time?”

Mike smiled, “What are you worried about? You’re the lead, the biggest presence in this production aside from the director. Being polite is more than enough—are you the first to check out the crew setting up?”

That made sense. Baili Xiao nodded as his assistant rushed over, saying that the director had just arrived at the door. The director for this collaboration was named Wang Qi, a 45-year-old middle-aged woman who was said to be very friendly and open to communicating with actors. She was considered a second-tier director in the industry, having directed several commercially successful films in recent years.

As Baili Xiao was recalling the background information Mike had shared with him along the way, he suddenly heard a strong woman’s voice say, “Everyone is here so early.”

He looked up to see a slightly plump middle-aged woman in casual clothing striding confidently toward him. Despite her somewhat rounded figure, she appeared lively and had a bright smile.

Baili Xiao gently smiled back, took a couple of steps forward, and greeted her, “Director Wang, nice to meet you. I’m Baili Xiao.”

Wang Qi was considered a semi-official director of Huanyu, and although she didn’t have a contract with them, her collaborations had always been very close. Therefore, she didn’t stand on ceremony when she first met Baili Xiao. Instead, she happily patted his arm and said, “I know you, you’re a pretty good young man. Don’t be nervous. Today is just for fitting and taking pictures of the costumes. This script is from your company, so if the costumes aren’t suitable, we can adjust them. We’re doing a live-action adaptation of *The Little Prince*, so the costumes and accessories don’t have to strictly follow the fairy tale’s designs; otherwise, there will definitely be a gap in style.”

Baili Xiao nodded. “Got it. Thank you, Director.”

Seeing the slightly stiff posture of the artist, Mike couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. He knew that Baili Xiao disliked being touched by strangers. Now he was facing a director who was like a mother figure, making it hard to avoid any physical contact.

Watching Baili Xiao’s awkward expression, the unscrupulous agent felt quite pleased.

Fortunately, Wang Qi was not one to ramble. After giving a brief overview, she instructed the costume assistant to take Baili Xiao to try on the costumes. For *The Little Prince*, three sets of costumes had been prepared: the first was a loose white robe made of cotton and linen, worn by the Little Prince on his own planet at the beginning; the second was a brown deerskin coat worn during his journey to another planet; and the last was a night sky blue robe adorned with stars, worn when he returned to his home planet.

These three outfits were all simply designed but made from exquisite materials. The hairstylist tousled Baili Xiao’s hair slightly, and the makeup assistant applied a light base makeup for him. Then, Baili Xiao went to try on the first white robe.

In the original setting, the Little Prince was always barefoot on his own planet, but the robe covered his feet, only revealing them subtly when he moved. Baili Xiao thought there was nothing special about the outfit, and since the studio had laid down carpet, he decided to walk out barefoot after putting it on. He opened the door and stepped out, instantly catching the director’s attention as she stood nearby talking to Mike. Her eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands, saying, “Very good!”

All the previously busy staff members turned their attention to him. Just as the rumors described, Baili Xiao wore a calm expression on his face, not forcing a pose or trying too hard to maintain a serious demeanor—he simply appeared as he normally did. However, this casual demeanor matched the essence of the Little Prince perfectly.

It was said that the most successful portrayal of a character by an actor is not merely meeting the audience’s expectations but transforming their initial vague impressions into a clear understanding of what the character should embody upon the actor’s entrance.

And Baili Xiao achieved this.

His slightly tousled hair gave him an air of carelessness, while the pure white robe highlighted the innocence of the Little Prince, untouched by the complexities of the world. His serene face added a touch of solitude that was the perfect finishing touch for the character.

Baili Xiao walked up to the green screen, where three cameras were set up for wide shots and three for close-ups, ready for action. As previously discussed, he was to perform two actions: one was to kneel and gaze into the distance in a wide shot, and the other was to lean down and smell a rose in a close-up.

Wang Qi was originally going to walk over to remind him to convey a sense of ethereality and solitude in his distant gaze, without appearing too deliberately forlorn. After all, the Little Prince was not a melancholic character; he simply had never experienced intense joy. However, before she could reach Baili Xiao, she saw him already seated, casually folding his knee and gazing into the distance.

Wang Qi stood momentarily stunned as the flashlights began to pop on, and the photographer, clearly satisfied, snapped away rapidly. The young man in the center of the green screen looked completely relaxed and showed no signs of nervousness; he sat there quietly, gazing off into the distance, as if he were genuinely lost in thought.

Wang Qi turned back in surprise to Mike, who wore a proud expression, as if he wanted to hold up a sign saying, “Isn’t my artist amazing?” Wang Qi was genuinely astonished. She had heard of this young man’s talent and character, but seeing him in action was a revelation.

In fact, she had spoken to Luo Wei the night before, who had praised the newcomer with the words: “He understands immediately.”

However, she hadn’t expected that, perhaps due to the character’s alignment with his personal traits, Baili Xiao would embody the role so effortlessly that he wouldn’t need any direction at all.

The photographer approached her to show a few of the shots, each flawless and ready for post-production without any need for retouching. What she had initially imagined would be a challenging start to the day wrapped up in less than twenty minutes, almost before she had a chance to fully engage in her work.

Baili Xiao was then taken by the costume assistant to try on the second outfit. The brown deer-hide long robe fit him well, but the accompanying hat was somewhat problematic—not due to Baili Xiao himself, but because the pointed hat looked beautiful in a fairy tale, yet seemed out of place when worn by a real person. After several sets of photos, Wang Qi didn’t criticize Baili Xiao at all; instead, she suggested considering removing the hat, acknowledging that a live-action film would inevitably differ from the original story. Thus, Baili Xiao took off the hat and posed for a few more sets.

Mike turned around, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. “Mr. Wang, you and Xiao are bound to develop a good rapport through this film. There’s likely to be more collaboration in the future.”

—

The company had booked two working days for Baili Xiao’s photoshoot, but from the moment he arrived at the set until he finished chatting with Wang Qi and sent her off, less than a day had passed. As he politely saw Wang Qi off with Mike, he glanced down at his phone and realized it was only a bit past three in the afternoon.

Two WeChat notifications caught his attention. Assuming they were more of the usual daily jokes from Yu Jinghao, he opened the app, only to find that the messages were from Shen Yuan.

He and Shen Yuan had indeed added each other on WeChat when they first joined the crew of “Chang An,” but they hadn’t really communicated much since. Now that filming for “Chang An” hadn’t resumed, but there were rumors that Sen Mu was burning the midnight oil reading scripts and preparing for makeup tests, it seemed they would start filming again soon. Shen Yuan, being involved, should know the progress better than he did. So, why was she reaching out to him?

Baili Xiao opened the chat. Shen Yuan had sent two messages: one thirty minutes ago and another twenty-five minutes ago.

—“Xiao, do you have time to chat this afternoon? I haven’t had the chance to thank you properly for what happened last time. Sister Yuan would like to treat you to some afternoon tea.”

—“I heard from my assistant that you’re doing your photoshoot today, so let’s reschedule for another day. You focus on your work first.”

Baili Xiao hesitated. He remembered Mike once saying that many entertainers in this circle had a tendency to flirt and create a buzz, even when things were peaceful. They often used ambiguous gestures to stir up news and raise their profiles. However, Shen Yuan specifically emphasized afternoon tea instead of dinner, clearly being cautious about not getting caught by any paparazzi, which aligned with her reputation for being discreet and considerate.

Still, he planned to decline the invitation. He simply wasn’t comfortable spending time alone with someone he didn’t know well, and beyond their work-related discussions, he couldn’t think of much to talk about. He imagined their meeting: Shen Yuan would thank him profusely, and he would awkwardly reply with a “You’re welcome,” leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. That scenario felt particularly awkward to him.

Baili Xiao decided to call Shen Yuan after consulting with Mike.

The phone picked up quickly, and Shen Yuan’s voice came through, sounding warm and lively. “Xiao, are you done with your work?”

“Yes, I just finished,” Baili Xiao replied, lightly licking his lips. “Sister Yuan, you don’t need to worry about what happened last time. I just did what I was supposed to do.”

Shen Yuan chuckled on the other end. “Alright, I get it. Honestly, I suspected you might not be keen on going out. We’ve been in the same crew for a while, and while we haven’t talked much, I can tell you’re not one to socialize easily.”

Baili Xiao let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. While it might take time to build a network this way, at least you won’t get caught up in any drama. Relying on your own skills is a good thing,” Shen Yuan reassured him. After a brief pause, it sounded like an assistant called out to her. She stepped away for a moment, returning with a hint of apology in her voice. “I just got notified that I need to audition for a role. Let’s catch up later at the set, alright?”

“Sure,” Baili Xiao replied politely, ready to say goodbye. However, Shen Yuan casually asked, “By the way, do you know Bai Yiting?”

Baili Xiao paused for a moment before responding in a steady tone, “I’ve never met her. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing…” Shen Yuan seemed to be shuffling through some papers as she spoke, the rustling sound filling the line. “I have an audition for a drama, and originally, the role was supposed to go to me, but suddenly they said I have to audition alongside Bai Yiting. I know of her, but we haven’t really interacted, so I thought I’d ask you.”

Baili Xiao offered a few encouraging words, telling her not to worry about it, before hanging up and sinking into thought.

Bai Yiting—she was known as Deng Zirui’s girlfriend, someone who hadn’t been replaced despite their recent relationship.

Some people really couldn’t hold back, could they? Moving so quickly, were they already starting to make their moves?