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At an equestrian field in the suburbs, a specially designated area had been set up in advance. A small yurt-like tent stood on the grass, secured with solid wooden pillars. The cool breeze swept over the tent’s surface like flowing water, making a rhythmic drumming sound.
Zhou Qi opened an umbrella and said, “Bro, the director wants the scene to feel more authentic, so the horse they picked is a real wild one. Hold the reins tight.”
Pei Yu lowered his dark eyes and responded indifferently, “Mm.” He took the back support belt in his hands and fastened it around his waist with a crisp “click.”
In The Ballad of the Long Wind, the character Pei Yu played was a hostage prince, taken by an enemy nation as a child to be used as leverage against his homeland. When he returned as an adult, his brother saw him as a threat and sent him to guard the frontier.
Dressed in snug horsehide attire like an ordinary herdsman, with a fox-fur cloak that his subordinates insisted he wear, Pei Yu had an effortless blend of rugged heroism and refined nobility.
Many fans had followed the production from the city to the countryside, watching from a distance with long-lens cameras, but refrained from disturbing the shoot.
Zhou Qi hesitated, then decided it was necessary to remind him again. “Bro, the slope over there is steep, and the path is rough. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
Pei Yu paused as he tied his clothing, raising his puzzled gaze. “I know my limits.”
He patted Zhou Qi’s shoulder and, with a slightly lighter tone, added, “I’m already unwanted as it is. If something really happens—” He stopped mid-sentence, as if something had crossed his mind, then simply said, “I’m leaving.”
Zhou Qi opened his mouth in confusion, then blinked and glanced at the densely hidden cameras across the riverbank, mumbling, “Unwanted?”
At the same time, Zhu Xi had just finished touching up her makeup and was waiting to mount her horse.
Their upcoming scene was a duel in a hunting ground. Zhu Xi tested the bow and arrow, then casually asked Pei Yu as he walked to his mark, “WE magazine is interested in a dual photoshoot with us. What do you think?”
“It’s work. If it fits, I’ll accept,” Pei Yu replied with his usual detached tone.
“Mhm. If the post-production is fast enough, the drama should air by the end of the year. We’ll need your help with promotions,” Zhu Xi said absentmindedly, pulling back her bow but with a distracted expression. She then added, “As a work partner, I have a personal question—do you plan on making your relationship public anytime soon?”
Pei Yu’s bowstring was pulled to its maximum arc when he suddenly let go with a crisp snap. His gaze turned sharp and warning.
Zhu Xi was startled. Over the past two weeks, Pei Yu had become more and more immersed in his role, and his demeanor had grown colder, just like the character he played.
She stammered, “I—Don’t misunderstand! I just don’t want my months of effort to go to waste. If you are involved with someone, could you at least give me a heads-up?”
Pei Yu’s voice was calm but distant. “Zhu Xi, my contract with you ended two years ago.”
“I took this role not because of you.” His tone remained cold. “I cooperate because it’s my job, and I won’t make things difficult for you. But if I haven’t given my word, don’t assume I owe you anything.”
Zhu Xi bit her lip. Bound by her company contract, she was trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape. To her, Pei Yu was a lifeline, and she lowered her stance once again.
“A public relationship affects more than just me. I’m thinking about you too—”
Pei Yu understood her implication immediately. He stepped aside and said flatly, “Don’t get any ideas about me. You and your sister should keep your feet on the ground.”
Zhu Xi lowered her eyes in silence and took the prop bell handed to her by the crew. She fastened it around her ankle, and as it swayed, it made a crisp, delicate sound.
Ding-ling—
“Shu Yin, why are you staring at that wind chime?”
Liu Yiran scrolled through the homepage while glancing at Chen Shu Yin, who sat at her computer. The editing page on her screen hadn’t changed for ten minutes, and the wind chime in her hand made faint, ethereal sounds.
“Do you find it interesting? It looks like it’s made of gold-copper material, but it’s incredibly light. The sound is softer than a regular bell, and it has a traditional folk charm compared to the transparent wind chimes on the market.”
Chen Shu Yin sluggishly responded, “Oh… no reason. What kind of person would carry something like this?”
“Who did you see wearing it?”
“I saw it on Pei Yu’s costume before.”
Liu Yiran, always quick to act, pulled out her phone and searched for Pei Yu. Sure enough, in some leaked behind-the-scenes photos from a drama he shot three years ago with Zhu Xi, there was an image of him holding a wind chime.
“These are pretty common. Many artisans add jade ornaments to them now. Probably just a prop—it would be too noisy to wear all the time.”
Chen Shu Yin didn’t investigate further.
Liu Yiran suddenly gasped. “Wait—Pei Yu and Zhu Xi are trending?”
Chen Shu Yin had no interest in finding out. She leaned back in her chair but was quickly pulled forward by Liu Yiran, her face practically colliding with the phone screen. The video played automatically.
Soft music played in the background as the close-up shots showed the two actors in an intimate setting. A flood of excited comments filled the screen:
“That height difference is so attractive!”
“They look so good together! Perfect match!”
“Pei Yu looks cold, but his heart is obviously burning for her!”
Chen Shu Yin glanced at the CP (couple pairing) video and turned away, smoothing out the tiny wrinkle in her heart before it could deepen.
“Not interested. Not watching.”
Liu Yiran gave her a thumbs-up. “Actors spend so much time together—don’t they ever catch feelings? Even I’m getting a little emotional.”
“I don’t know. Never asked.”
“Be honest—aren’t you jealous?” Liu Yiran asked curiously.
Chen Shu Yin opened her mouth, then firmly declared, “Even if Pei Yu hugged and kissed another woman right in front of me, I wouldn’t blink.”
Liu Yiran smirked. “Oh, their script is about to hit the romance scenes. Want to visit the set?”
Chen Shu Yin clamped her hands over her ears and shouted, “NO!!”
At the equestrian field, twilight painted the sky in gold. The actors finished their target practice scenes and mounted their horses.
The scene involved a hunting contest where Zhu Xi’s horse would be sabotaged, causing her to fall. She would then accuse Pei Yu and attack his horse, leading to a fight and an eventual fall into a cave together.
Safety wires were set up for Zhu Xi’s fall, but Pei Yu’s horse stunt had no additional measures.
As the cameras rolled, Zhu Xi’s horse took the planned tumble. But when Pei Yu’s horse reared up in panic, chaos erupted.
The horse bucked wildly, throwing Pei Yu off balance. The crew scattered in fear.
“Director! Do something!” Zhou Qi screamed.
Before anyone could react, Pei Yu’s horse lost footing, sending him flying headfirst. His back slammed into a tree with a sickening thud.
Zhou Qi’s phone dropped as he scrambled forward. “Bro!”
Chen Shu Yin was mid-interview when she saw ten missed calls from Zhou Qi.
Her hands went ice cold. She called back. No answer.
A news banner caught someone’s eye: “Pei Yu falls from horse, unconscious.”
Her breath hitched.
The call finally connected. Her voice was tight: “Is he alive?”
“He’s in the ICU.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Send me the location.”
Within minutes, she was on the road.
As she ran through the hospital, her mind screamed—
Pei Yu, is staying alive so hard for you?!