Chapter 80: It's Nothing, Is This Really Worth Crying Over?

Shen Jixing gathered his long hair, which nearly touched the ground, into his arms, covering those pitiful little roses, and left the corner without looking back.

"Wow~"

The filming location was a snow-covered town. Mu Si pushed Bo Yu in his wheelchair to a window dusted with snow, giving them a perfect view of the interaction below.

"The young master is actually chasing after that little upstart," Mu Si remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Shen Jixing was taking the initiative to pursue someone. For Bo Yu, what a blow that must be—the person he had cultivated and yearned for, the one he considered his own, was now actively courting someone he didn't even deem worthy.

Mu Si gently placed a hand on Bo Yu's shoulder in a consoling gesture. "Sir, don't let this get to you."

Unexpectedly, Bo Yu didn't respond with a warning this time. He calmly brushed the hand from his shoulder, as if suddenly realizing something.

"You have someone you like, Mu Si."

Mu Si's fingers stiffened, and he slowly withdrew his hand. "No, I don't."

"You do," Bo Yu replied with certainty, his amber eyes reflecting the snow-dusted European town. "You can't hide anything from me."

Mu Si's lips parted as if to speak, but Bo Yu continued, "Is it Shen Jixing or Zhou Yili?"

Mu Si was stunned for three seconds. "Huh???"

"You're a good kid—straightforward by nature, kind at heart, someone who quietly and selflessly protects the one you care about," Bo Yu said, well-acquainted with his subordinate's temperament. "You want him to be free, to have what he wishes for."

Bo Yu no longer looked at Zhou Yili in the corner, instead driving his wheelchair away from the window. "But I don’t."

Mu Si watched his stubborn, unyielding figure. "Always thinking you know best," he muttered. "People are so blind to their own flaws, yet never hesitate to preach to others."

He turned his gaze to the snowflakes drifting outside.

Mu Si had a feeling: the gentleman's patience was nearly exhausted. He couldn't hold it in any longer.

And that meant, once he exposed himself, Zhou Yili—who was always with Shen Jixing—would know too.

"Why do I almost look forward to it?" Mu Si unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into his mouth, leaving the window without another glance.

"Let the fireworks begin."

...

Shen Jixing's next scene was an action sequence. There were plenty of fight scenes in the script, with grand, high-special-effects set pieces—just right for Zhou Yili's flamboyant, dramatic personality.

"That high?"

Zhou Yili glanced at the wirework rig, which was stretched almost across the mountaintop of the little town. "Can you handle it?"

Shen Jixing hadn’t expected the question. "Yes."

Only then did Zhou Yili remember—this man was a Grand Slam Best Actor, with countless wire-action scenes under his belt.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Zhou Yili said offhandedly. "Sorry. I’ve just never met anyone so delicate before."

Such sarcasm.

Shen Jixing was indeed afraid of many things.

"But not heights."

Freedom, to him, was the most romantic script he’d ever seen. Even in a square cage, there was always a stroke that symbolized hope.

So, he did not fear heights.

Even if imprisoned, he would break free.

The wires lifted him high into the air, his thin white robe billowing. A red silk sash trailed behind him like flame, and a silver longsword materialized in his hand, its brilliance dazzling in an instant.

It was Zhou Yili’s first time watching him act live.

He suddenly understood why Shen Jixing was an unrivaled star. When this man got serious, he was truly—

Magnetic. Stirring the blood.

"So this is the strength of the Western Theater champion? My god, our spellcasters look like chicks next to him."

"Unbelievable. There isn’t a more powerful spellcaster in the world."

The prop master on the ground was ready. The moment Shen Jixing unleashed his ultimate move, the entire snowy surface burst into a field of ice flowers.

A wintry world covered in roses—every frame was exquisite.

"But... is he bleeding?"

"I heard he was hunted down while crossing the border, but with his skills, he couldn’t have been hurt. Are there other wounds?"

Zhou Yili listened, frowning as last night’s words echoed in his mind.

"I’m injured."

He had assumed Shen Jixing just hurt his arm—such wounds meant nothing to people like them. Even Zhou Yili himself would shrug them off, let alone someone as elite and dangerous as Shen Jixing.

"No, he’s been wounded too many times. He wouldn’t care about something so minor..." Suddenly, it hit Zhou Yili. "He really is hurt."

And gravely so, if Shen Jixing would admit it.

This man was naturally aloof, always convincing with logic, and unyielding to all but the dead.

Why would he refuse a duel?

Zhou Yili instinctively took a step forward, but stopped himself, signaling to the referee.

The referee immediately announced, "Red side wins!"

Shen Jixing had already cornered his opponent; even without the announcement, he would have ended it.

Because he couldn’t hold on any longer.

The silver sword trembled in his hand, then fell from the sky.

He let go of his weapon.

Zhou Yili's expression grew grave as he watched Shen Jixing’s eyes close in exhaustion, blood droplets falling through the air.

Zhou Yili was not a professional actor, yet in this moment he felt tension, regret, and guilt.

And then—

The wire snapped with a resounding crack.

A collective scream erupted from the crowd—this was no stunt, the wire had truly broken.

Shen Jixing was still suspended midair, at least four or five meters from the ground.

Faster than anyone else, a figure in black dashed forward, catching the falling man and rolling them both into a nearby rose field—

"Careful!"

Zhou Yili, sensing danger, shielded Shen Jixing with his body, his back slamming hard against a jagged black stone.

He gritted his teeth, a muffled groan escaping as pain shot through his organs. "Damn... whose idea was it to leave rocks here?"

Shen Jixing's fall looked terrifying but caused little harm. Hearing the sound, he immediately raised his eyes. "Zhou..."

"Did you hurt anything in the fall?"

Zhou Yili lowered his head, gently lifting Shen Jixing’s face to check carefully for wounds.

This man was delicate and precious—a fall could be disastrous.

Thankfully, he made it in time.

Finding no visible injuries, Zhou Yili's fingers brushed softly over Shen Jixing's skin, only to notice his eyes seemed tinged red. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice a little tired.

Shen Jixing grasped his shoulder, pale lashes fluttering as the snow in his eyes melted to a clear, watery sheen.

"Don’t move, you’re hurt."

Thick, warm wetness seeped from Zhou Yili’s back to Shen Jixing’s fingertips.

Feeling the heat of blood, Shen Jixing’s fingers trembled.

"Oh, I’m the one who’s injured. That explains all the blood," Zhou Yili murmured, his long eyes drooping with exhaustion, his tone still lazy and casual, a faint smile on his lips.

He buried his head in the crook of Shen Jixing’s neck, fragrant and cool like jade.

"It’s nothing. Is this really worth crying over?"

He wondered how someone as icy as Shen Jixing could have so many tears—especially this time, tears shed for his sake.

Zhou Yili closed his eyes, chuckling softly. "Shen Jixing, do you really like me that much?"