This wasn’t Yun Pei’s first time in C City. The last time he had been here was with his mother, but he was too young then to remember much. It had been so long that he wasn’t sure if the city had changed.

What was clearest in his mind was his mother’s smile as she told him that she had always dreamed of living in a small town like this—where life was full of warmth and everyday charm.

On the way there, he stared out the car window, almost feeling the warmth of her arm around him as she spoke those words. Lost in his melancholic thoughts, he closed his eyes and stopped looking outside.

By the time he arrived on set, it was nearing noon. The car stopped outside, and as instructed, Yun Pei called the assistant. He stayed in the car, quietly waiting.

It didn’t take long—about ten minutes later, there was a tentative knock on the car window. He looked out and saw a young man, probably in his twenties.

Pressing the button, the car door slid open. The young man’s eyes lit up, but before he could greet Yun Pei, his gaze landed on the wheelchair, and he froze momentarily.

Yun Pei had long grown used to such reactions. He turned his head and told the driver not to follow him, then maneuvered his wheelchair down the ramp on his own.

The young man snapped out of it, realizing his rudeness, and quickly shifted his gaze to Yun Pei’s face, trying hard not to stare at his legs. “Hello, Mr. Si Yu. I’m the one who called you earlier. You can just call me Xiao Chen.”

“Hello.” Yun Pei didn’t say much, just nodding slightly.

Recognizing that Yun Pei was naturally quiet, Xiao Chen didn’t mind. He glanced again at the wheelchair but didn’t offer to push it, letting Yun Pei control it himself. Stepping forward, he led the way. “There’s still a scene being shot, so you might have to wait a bit, or would you prefer to grab some lunch first?”

It was a bit of an awkward time, not quite eleven, which was too early for lunch. But once filming started, given Director Li’s perfectionist tendencies, who knew how long they might be tied up.

“No need,” Yun Pei shook his head. After a pause, he added, “I had breakfast on the way, so I’m not hungry.”

Hearing this, Xiao Chen relaxed. He couldn’t help glancing at Yun Pei again and said, “Actually, I’m a bit of a fan of yours. I’ve been watching your videos for a while now. When the director was struggling to find the right hand double, I recommended you, hoping I didn’t cause any trouble.”

Yun Pei looked up at him upon hearing this, seeing the young man scratch the back of his head in embarrassment. He lowered his eyes and whispered a quiet “thank you,” feeling his ears warm slightly. He wasn’t very good at handling other people’s kindness.

Xiao Chen didn’t notice the change in Yun Pei’s demeanor. He just thought Yun Pei looked calm and steady despite his young age. Chatting casually, Xiao Chen continued, “Director Li is really strict when it comes to filming. He pays attention to every little detail, even when it comes to hand doubles. He’s rejected several artists already, and everyone on the team has been stressed out. I figured I’d give it a shot and show him your videos. I didn’t expect him to immediately agree and ask us to contact you.”

Xiao Chen wasn’t exaggerating. Director Li Lin was notoriously picky. His high standards meant that once he decided on something, everyone else had to work hard to make it happen. Xiao Chen had recommended Yun Pei’s videos out of sheer desperation, not expecting it to work. But it did.

Though the arrangement was still in the trial stage, Xiao Chen had seen the look in Director Li’s eyes—it seemed like things were pretty much settled.

As they entered the set, distant sounds of commotion could be heard, mostly from young women.

“There’s a fan meet happening today,” Xiao Chen explained when he noticed Yun Pei glance in that direction. “The crew is setting up some fan support stuff.”

Director Li wasn’t fond of such events but didn’t interfere as long as it didn’t disrupt filming. Yun Pei, however, wasn’t particularly interested. He gave it a brief glance, listened to the explanation, and said nothing more.

“Let me introduce you to Director Li,” Xiao Chen suggested, steering Yun Pei toward a different direction.

Yun Pei made no objections and quietly followed, controlling his wheelchair to keep half a step behind Xiao Chen.

Today’s scene was being shot at an old school building. Director Li preferred using real locations, and even indoor scenes were rarely filmed on built sets.

The art classroom being used for filming was on the second floor. Xiao Chen glanced at Yun Pei’s wheelchair when they reached the stairs.

“My wheelchair can go up stairs. Could you help steady the backrest?” Yun Pei pointed behind him before Xiao Chen could offer to help.

Xiao Chen, relieved that he hadn’t said anything offensive, smiled and moved to hold the wheelchair.

The old school’s staircase was fairly shallow, so getting up wasn’t too difficult.

Xiao Chen led Yun Pei to the art classroom, where a filming break was underway, and the crew was adjusting the camera angles. Director Li was talking to the assistant director.

Director Li appeared to be in his fifties, with gray hair at his temples and a stern, expressionless face. Even from the side, he looked like a serious person.

“Director Li,” Xiao Chen called out, gesturing toward Yun Pei. “Mr. Si Yu is here. I’ve brought him to meet you.”

At Xiao Chen’s words, Director Li’s first instinct was to look at Yun Pei’s hands on the wheelchair, scrutinizing every detail from his wrists to his fingertips.

Satisfied with what he saw, the frown on Director Li’s face relaxed slightly before he looked up at Yun Pei’s face. He stared at him for a few seconds before tossing out a flat, “Hello.”

Yun Pei calmly greeted him back, unbothered by the near-offensive scrutiny.

“We’ve got another scene to shoot after this. Xiao Chen, take Mr. Si Yu to rest for a bit,” the assistant director chimed in, much friendlier than Director Li, smiling as he called over an assistant to show Yun Pei to a waiting area.

The set was busy and chaotic, with actors—a middle-aged man and woman—prepping in front of the cameras. Yun Pei didn’t recognize them and wasn’t interested in the filming process, so he obediently followed Xiao Chen out.

Once they left, the assistant director glanced back at Director Li and teased, “Why were you staring at him for so long? It was kind of creepy.”

Rubbing his fingers together, Director Li replied nonchalantly, “It’s a shame he’s not an actor. His presence would have suited Bai You perfectly.”

The assistant director raised an eyebrow in surprise. “His vibe is too cold and reserved, don’t you think? Bai You, even though he’s weak and sickly, has a much brighter, purer energy. Didn’t you already decide Yun Yuexian was perfect for the role during the audition?”

Director Li didn’t respond. At the time, he had indeed thought Yun Yuexian was born for the role. But seeing Yun Pei just now had given him pause.

When faced with a real “patient,” any performance seemed artificial. That sense of fragility, of being on the verge of disappearing from the world, was something that couldn’t be fully acted.

Yun Yuexian was a talented actor, but he was still young. His understanding of the role was limited, focusing too much on Bai You’s purity and innocence while overlooking other aspects. The recent scenes hadn’t gone smoothly.

Until now, Director Li hadn’t been sure what was missing. Seeing Yun Pei today made him realize it—the performance lacked that thin, fleeting feeling of life slipping away.

Xiao Chen led Yun Pei to the far end of the corridor, to a classroom that had been set up as a temporary makeup and rest area for the actors.

There was no segregation by status—everyone with a scene that day shared the space. Director Li never paid attention to such hierarchies, and the actors who worked on his films understood that.

Before they reached the room, two people came out—one in front and one behind, the latter carrying several items, likely an assistant.

When Yun Pei saw the person walking in front, he stopped his wheelchair.

“Mr. Si Yu?” Xiao Chen didn’t understand why they had stopped and turned to look at Yun Pei.

Yun Yuexian wasn’t in the best mood. Over the past few days, Director Li had constantly found fault with his performance, sometimes dragging a single scene for half a day. It was frustrating.

He had known Director Li was strict and had prepared himself, but being publicly criticized still stung. As a result, he felt tense every time he came to set.

Taking the water cup handed to him by his assistant, he took a sip, trying to calm himself down. He planned to arrive early today, hoping that his diligence might make Director Li go easier on him.

But when he looked up, he saw Xiao Chen approaching with someone. Initially, Yun Yuexian didn’t pay much attention—until his eyes landed on the person beside Xiao Chen. He abruptly stopped walking.

“Teacher Yun, you’re heading to—”

“What are you doing here?!” Yun Yuexian couldn’t suppress his emotions upon seeing the person he disliked, his tone laced with surprise and irritation.

Yun Pei’s expression remained neutral, but Xiao Chen was confused as he glanced between the two. “Do you two know each other?”

Hearing someone else speak, Yun Yuexian finally realized there were others present. He pressed his lips together and forced a faint smile. “Sort of. What brings you here?”

It was clear to Xiao Chen that the two were acquainted, but since neither seemed willing to explain, he wisely chose not to pry further. “Mr. Si Yu is here as your hand double. I was just about to introduce him to you.”

Hearing this, Yun Yuexian’s gaze returned to Yun Pei, meeting those calm, unbothered eyes. Internally, Yun Yuexian scoffed.

He knew Yun Pei spent most of his time locked away in his room painting. For someone with a disability, that was pretty much all he could do. Yun Yuexian had never cared, but he was surprised that Yun Pei had managed to impress Director Li enough to be chosen.

“Uh, Teacher Yun?” Xiao Chen called tentatively, noticing Yun Yuexian staring without speaking.

“Sorry, I got lost in thought.” Yun Yuexian forced another smile, taking a step forward and extending his hand. “Thank you for helping out, Teacher Si Yu. Director Li can be quite demanding, so this might be tough for you.”

Yun Pei glanced at the hand extended toward him and, despite his own feelings, politely shook it, his fingers barely brushing the other’s. It wasn’t about anything else—just that annoying feeling of seeing Yun Yuexian uncomfortable brightened his mood.

The moment Yun Yuexian pulled his hand back, he shoved it into his coat pocket, rubbing the fingers that had been touched with distaste, though his expression remained pleasant and innocent. “Well, I’ll head to the set now.”

After nodding briefly to both of them, Yun Yuexian walked off, his smile fading as soon as he turned away, his expression darkening.

Watching him leave, Yun Pei’s eyes showed a rare glint of amusement.