Extra 1.2 – The Star Around The Sun

Yang Youming’s “Gradual Distance”

After the conversation he had with Xia Xingcheng, Yang Youming could sense that Xia Xingcheng was in a better state.

On the set that afternoon, Xia Xingcheng was undeniably Fang Jianyuan’s sweet and shy self again. Sweat soaked his hair and clothes as he sorted out the items in the dim first-floor storeroom. He stood on his tiptoes to place a bag of sugar on the topmost shelf, the hem of his shirt riding up with the stretch, revealing the slender waist underneath. The sweat on his supple, fair skin glistened in the light, highlighting distinct back dimples above his slightly loose waistband. 

Yang Youming walked over, took the bag of sugar from his hands, and placed it on the shelf from behind him. This close, he could smell Xia Xingcheng’s hair, the scent of sweat mixed with shampoo.  

Yang Youming delivered his lines and actions as needed. Xia Xingcheng’s eyes never moved away from him the entire time, but when Yang Youming looked his way, he immediately averted his gaze. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his temple all the way to his jaw, dripping onto his clothes and vanishing as it soaked into the fabric. 

In regards to acting, the better the actor you were playing against, the easier it would be to be taken into the scene. 

Xia Xingcheng’s performance was too raw, too natural, and there was a split second where his budding first love seemed to solidify into something palpable before Yang Youming’s eyes. In the dimly lit space of the crowded storeroom, Yang Youming somewhat understood why Yu Haiyang would fall for Fang Jianyuan.  

Having worked together up to this point, Xia Xingcheng had become someone familiar to Yang Youming.

But his familiarity was not the kind where they would chat and eat and drink together. It was the kind where he was more or less familiar with Xia Xingcheng as a person, with his personality and idiosyncrasies.

He knew that Xia Xingcheng was a cheerful and lively person, that he got along well with many people on and off the set. Like the middle-aged actress who played Fang Jianyuan’s mother, for one. Sometimes, Xia Xingcheng would jokingly call her “mom” when they wrapped up filming for the day. However, once he no longer had to interact with anyone, Xia Xingcheng would fall silent, his face tinged with loneliness. 

Yang Youming knew that he was influenced by Fang Jianyuan’s emotions. 

On top of that, Xia Xingcheng maintained a certain distance from him—this was most likely due to the fact that he had initially rejected Xia Xingcheng, so Xia Xingcheng was always polite and respectful whenever they ran into each other.

As such, on the day they shot the rooftop scene, Yang Youming struck up a conversation with Xia Xingcheng before filming, slightly closing that gap between them so that Xia Xingcheng’s mood would ease up a little during the shot.

Sure enough, Xia Xingcheng acted out the scene very well. He appeared to be in a good mood, and his smile looked particularly brilliant in the sunshine. 

Yang Youming picked up the hose and sprayed it above their heads. The blistering summer heat was instantly driven away by the water. He subconsciously held his breath as he looked up, taking in the sensation of the jet of water washing over his body while Xia Xingcheng, who was wrapped in his arms, bent over and lowered his head, burying his face into Yang Youming’s embrace, gasping heavily as he clung to Yang Youming’s shirt. 

When the hose was turned off, Yang Youming lowered his head, only to meet the sight of Xia Xingcheng looking up at him. His entire face was drenched and, perhaps because he had trouble breathing, his mouth was slightly open. His lips and nose were red, seeming a little woeful.

Not much went through Yang Youming’s mind as he raised a hand and wiped the water from Xia Xingcheng’s face. He then watched as Xia Xingcheng’s expression transformed—first stunned, then he closed his eyes the next second, eyelashes fluttering as he tipped his face up even higher. 

He quickly withdrew his hand and accepted the towel Li Yun had brought over, wrapping it around his body, yet the soft feel of Xingcheng’s lips as he’d brushed against them remained on his palm. 

From that moment on, Yang Youming could feel Xia Xingcheng’s eyes lingering on him. He deliberately avoided Xia Xingcheng’s gaze, as if nothing had happened. 

No one expected that Xia Xingcheng would fall ill after being drenched in cold water on a summer day.

Li Yun asked Yang Youming whether he planned on visiting Xia Xingcheng at the hospital. At Yang Youming’s slight hesitation, Li Yun said, “I’ll get someone to send some flowers over.”

Yang Youming remained silent for a long time before he looked up and said, “Get someone to buy them, I’ll go there myself.”

Xia Xingcheng happened to be sleeping when he entered the hospital ward. He thus padded over quietly, slowly walking to the head of the bed and placing the flowers on the bedside cabinet. 

Yang Youming stood there—so close to where Xia Xingcheng slept—with his head bowed, and found that Xia Xingcheng was cocooned in the blanket. His sleeping face was flushed crimson, and he was sweating despite the air conditioning.

Yang Youming didn’t rouse him. He turned and left the bedside, walking to the window. The brilliant afternoon sunlight shone through the windowpanes, casting a golden rectangle onto the floor. 

He glanced out the window before turning around and leaning against it, eyes trained on Xia Xingcheng on the bed. 

He didn’t actually know what he was looking at. His mind was quiet as he observed Xia Xingcheng with no thought nor purpose. He then saw Xia Xingcheng stir, his eyes slowly opening. 

Xia Xingcheng stayed still even after he fully awoke from his slumber, only staring at Yang Youming in disbelief. 

Yang Youming had to break their silence, speaking at last, “You’re up?”

Only then did Xia Xingcheng seem to have regained his senses. He propped himself up into a sitting position. Then, he mentioned how he was a big fan of Yang Youming and asked for his autograph, his eyes evading Yang Youming’s gaze the whole time.

Yang Youming naturally noticed. He thought that, like this, Xia Xingcheng was quite amusing. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and signed his name on Xia Xingcheng’s palm with the ward’s marker. 

Though Xia Xingcheng’s hands were pale, his fingers were slender, the joints prominent. His palm was sweat-soaked, and it seemed especially soft—perhaps due to the lack of menial labour—and he could barely feel a single callus. Above his palm was a thin wrist that jutted out from a loose sleeve; the blue-green veins on his wrist extended upwards, disappearing into his sleeve. 

Yang Youming folded Xia Xingcheng’s fingers back, capped the marker, placed it on the bed, then got up to leave.

Filming was actually a feat of psychological self-suggestion. Before every shoot, you had to convince yourself you were happy or sad. Otherwise, if you yourself didn’t believe it, how would you be able to convince the audience across the screen? 

But the most terrifying act is convincing yourself that you love him. You tell yourself over and over, make yourself believe, and as time passes, you’d no longer be able to separate what was real and what was just an act.

When Yang Youming had first received the script, he’d wondered why Yu Haiyang would prefer men and not women. But now he felt that it all made sense. After all, the young man Yu Haiyang had fallen for was such a beauty.

It became easier and easier for Yang Youming to get into character. 

A large part of the scenes they shot were set in the summer. It was sweltering inside the film studio, and their bodies were always clammy with sweat. He and Xia Xingcheng had intimate physical contact in many scenes. The two men, clad in thin shirts, were skin to skin, and all they touched was sweat. Yet, as he bowed his head and smelled the sweat on Xia Xingcheng’s body, he didn’t find it repulsive. On the contrary, when he was filming, the only thing his eyes registered was the expanse of glistening skin under all that sweat. It urged a man’s instincts to touch, to take a bite. 

Yet as filming progressed without a hitch, Xia Xingcheng’s anxiety was palpable.

Yang Youming could sense that Xia Xingcheng was in too deep. When they filmed, some of Xia Xingcheng’s minute gestures would drag on, and when the director called for a stop, he would keep embracing Yang Youming, or had his foot wound around him, reluctant to let go. 

Xia Xingcheng’s eyes constantly chased after him, yet he was also too timid to meet Yang Youming’s eyes.

This state of total immersion wasn’t something Yang Youming feared. When filming is over, when he leaves this setting, once he’s no longer by this person’s side, it would all slowly dissolve into nothing. 

But it was apparent that Xia Xingcheng couldn’t adapt to it, and that he had trouble controlling his emotions. In one of the more emotional scenes, he got too caught up in his own feelings and slapped Yang Youming’s face. 

This wasn’t written in the script. The slap came down so hard that Yang Youming’s ears instantly started ringing. He jerked his head back, anger surging in his chest, and without concealing even a bit of rage, he persevered to finish this scene. 

The staff on set were quiet for the most part. Yang Youming knew that they were stealing glances curiously, but he kept his emotions in check, knowing his position, and acted like nothing had happened. Lowering his head, he took the wet wipes Li Yun handed and pressed it to his face. 

His slapped cheek stung with pain. He suddenly found this slightly ridiculous—it felt absurd.

When he saw Xia Xingcheng heading his way, helpless panic visible across his entire face, Yang Youming promptly turned to avoid him. He didn’t want to satisfy the onlookers’ voyeuristic desires; he could let Xia Xingcheng’s slapping his face go, yet while he couldn’t completely contain his emotions, he didn’t reveal a shred of ire on his face.

After he left the set and returned to the hotel that day, Yang Youming lay in bed with a damp towel covering his face. The scene of Xia Xingcheng slapping him replaying in his mind over and over, and he couldn’t help but laugh incredulously, lifting a hand to cover his forehead. 

His phone, abandoned by his pillow, suddenly rang. He reached for it and saw an incoming call, the caller ID displaying the name of an acquaintance.

However grudging, Yang Youming still forged ahead and went out that night with half of his face swollen. He had to accept an awkward apology on top of that. 

That night, he met a modestly-dressed Xia Xingcheng.

The black casual suit highlighted his tall and lithe figure, his slender waist, and long, straight legs. 

Upon arriving, Xia Xingcheng first downed three cups of baijiu, then walked to Yang Youming’s side and gave him a toast. 

Yang Youming took Xia Xingcheng’s hand and said, “That’s not necessary.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to accept it, but he truly felt that it was unneeded. He understood why Xia Xingcheng had slapped him, and despite his anger, he had no intention to take it up with Xia Xingcheng. 

However, both Cai Meiting and Xia Xingcheng had clearly misinterpreted his intentions. 

Xia Xingcheng downed another two cups of baijiu as he apologised. When he got to his third cup, Yang Youming grabbed his hand and stopped him, a trace of displeasure on his face.  

Yang Youming was genuinely upset. He hated the way they set him up, pressuring him to accept Xia Xingcheng’s apology and if not, Xia Xingcheng would have to keep drinking.

He was about to tell Xia Xingcheng to sit back down when he noticed Xia Xingcheng’s eyes welling up with tears, ready to fall at any moment. Yang Youming immediately got to his feet, snatched the cup from Xia Xingcheng’s hands, and pushed him out of the room. He didn’t want Xia Xingcheng to cry here. It would only make the situation between them more awkward. 

They entered the adjoining room. He leaned against the back of a wooden chair, while Xia Xingcheng sat on the tea table, crying. He never thought that Xia Xingcheng would be this sad. Those tears gushed out of his eyes incessantly; he was unable to hold them back. Drop by drop, they plunged into his heart—scalding, searing. 

He told Xia Xingcheng that he wasn’t mad, but Xia Xingcheng refused to believe him. 

Xia Xingcheng was drunk. Under the influence of alcohol, he couldn’t tell the difference between the act and reality. Yang Youming walked up to him, raised a hand, and touched his head, saying, “Xingcheng, sober up.”

A movie was just that: a movie. When filming ended, you’d always have to return to reality. Immersing yourself in it forever without coming out wasn’t an option. What’s more, at the end of the film, the two of them couldn’t be together. If he couldn’t tell the difference, the pain would only get worse.

The more Yang Youming understood, the more he reminded himself that he needed to clear his mind. After all, it wasn’t just Xia Xingcheng who was immersed in his character. Now, as he watched Xia Xingcheng cry, a sliver of pain welled up from the bottom of his heart and occupied his chest. He knew that it was regret. 

He was different from Xia Xingcheng. Xia Xingcheng was muddled, he’d fallen headlong. Yang Youming, on the other hand, was completely sober as he slowly sank. 

He took out a tissue, cupped Xia Xingcheng’s jaw with one hand, and wiped away the tear stains on his face with his other hand. The tear streaks had long since dried, and the tissue couldn’t completely remove them, but he wiped at them patiently, attentively, slowly. 

There was nothing special about this face, Yang Youming thought, but Xia Xingcheng’s eyes were pure—the kind that looked at him with smoldering love and yearning. With the waft of alcohol assaulting his senses, every breath he took disoriented him. 

He had shot many scenes before, many of which were emotional. He threw his heart and soul into filming, and once it ended, he would quickly disengage. That twinge of longing would be tossed to the wind, and his racing heartbeat always belonged to his character, never reflecting his true feelings. 

Only this time, Yang Youming felt his heart throb. 

He rubbed Xia Xingcheng’s face, a little rough. Though his face was rubbed red, Xia Xingcheng fixed him with the same unknowingly affectionate gaze. Yang Youming lowered his head, crumpled the tissue, and tossed it in the rubbish bin before saying calmly, “We should go back.”

☆ ☆ ☆

Thank you to Aika and northwestflower for the kofis!

t/n – as always thank u to sofia for the editing help xoxo

⟵ Extra I Part 1 | TOC | Extra I Part 3 ⟶