The Byoukidere Is Her Sweetie-Chapter 282 - : The second male lead appears, laboratory superpower personnel gather together

“Yep.”

He walked onward, head lowered, his tall, slender back very straight.

That back…

Fang Lixiang ran over, bouncing with energy: “Xiao Yusheng?”

Xiao Yusheng looked up.

His eyes were clear, sharply defined in black and white, like stars, bright and cool, refracting light.

A true fan would recognize even the strands of hair on their idol; how could Fang Lixiang not recognize him? She jumped on the spot, her heart pounding, hands trembling, eyes sparkling: “Xiao Yusheng!!”

With that shout, the entire crew knew Xiao Yusheng had arrived, and even Su Chan, who was sparring with Zhou Xufang, got distracted.

“Can I take a break?”

Zhou Xufang nodded.

Su Chan put her wooden sword away properly and walked up to Xiao Yusheng: “What are you doing here?”

Her tone sounded quite familiar.

Xiao Yusheng was a man of few words and only replied with two: “Got business.”

He walked past her, heading straight for Jiang Zhi.

Fang Lixiang, as a dedicated fan, was always paying attention to her idol’s every move. The moment Su Chan approached the idol, for some reason, she felt agitated: “They actually know each other!”

“Yep.” Zhou Xufang pricked up her ears to listen; Xiao Yusheng was talking to Jiang Zhi about the movie theme song’s sample.

Fang Lixiang couldn’t contain her restless heart: “Yun Sheng isn’t involved with Su Chan in that way, is he?”

Zhou Xufang: “!”

“Xufang,” Fang Lixiang turned to her, “aren’t you and Yun Sheng old acquaintances?”

She nodded her head: “Old acquaintances.”

Fang Lixiang found it strange: “Why didn’t he greet you? He’s acting as if he doesn’t recognize you.” They had just met privately last time.

Zhou Xufang was also puzzled: “I don’t know either.”

Fang Lixiang speculated: “Our brother isn’t the type to act haughty; there must be some difficulty.”

“Right.”

Fang Lixiang was a considerate fan: “We should be understanding, not cause trouble for our idol.”

Zhou Xufang was also a considerate fan: “Right.”

Xiao Yusheng stayed on the film set for less than five minutes before leaving.

Five minutes later, a young girl extra ran in, yelling, “Sister.”

Fang Lixiang looked back, and so did Zhou Xufang; they were dressed identically, both as ‘Black-clothed Man’.

Fang Lixiang asked, “Are you talking to me?”

The little girl ran up to Zhou Xufang and handed her a sticky note: “A brother asked me to give this to you.”

Once the note was delivered, the little girl ran off again.

Zhou Xufang unfolded it, and on the paper were four hastily scrawled characters, as if left in a rush.

“Be careful of Su Chan.”

It was written by Xiao Yusheng.

The rest area was quite simple, a temporary container structure, not fully wired, devoid of hot water.

Su Chan poured two white pills into her hand and swallowed them with cold water.

Zheng Durong glanced at the pill bottle in her hand: “What’s this medicine? There isn’t even a name on it.”

She tightened the cap and put the bottle away in her bag: “Liver protection tablets, sent by a friend from abroad.” Just then, her phone rang in the bag, “I’ll take a call.”

She stood up and walked to the side to answer: “Hello, I am Su Chan.”

A man’s voice came through the phone: “Come pick me up,” a command.

She was slightly taken aback for a moment: “Where are you?”

The man’s voice was deep and languid, with a clear undercurrent of anger: “Imperial City,” he said, “just landed.”

The wind was particularly strong in Imperial City these days; the call was filled with the sound of wind.

Even through the phone, the dark and heavy atmosphere was palpable: “Those fools, they can’t even pick someone up properly.” Clearly, the man was not patient, “Hurry over.”

Su Chan asked him, “Are you at the airport?”

Unlike her usual glamorous and icy demeanor, her voice was much softer this time, her brows and eyes submissive, with a hint of tender warmth and seven parts respectful obedience.

“I don’t know,” the man’s tone was rebellious and full of belligerence, “Hurry up and come pick me up.”

Su Chan still didn’t know his exact location: “Are there any landmark buildings around?”

“I’ll turn on my location. Come here by yourself.”

The other side hung up the phone.

Su Chan glanced at the number, her eyes subtly curving as she reached for her clothes and walked behind the curtain: “I have something urgent to deal with, so I have to go first. Please ask Director Jiang for a leave on my behalf.”

Zheng Durong was in a difficult position: “Director Jiang’s crew doesn’t allow leaves unless there’s a force majeure.”

She changed out of her costume, and while walking and taking down her hair she said, “It’s a force majeure. If I don’t go, you won’t see me tomorrow.”

Zheng Durong thought she was joking.

“Please take care of this for me.” She removed the hairpin from her head, grabbed her bag, and left.

It was already past four o’clock, with only two more scenes until wrap-up.

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“Director Jiang,” Vice Director Zhao came over to say, “Su Chan took leave and left.”

Jiang Zhi sat at the take, his hair a messy swirl from the wind, looking unwell, and his face pale: “The reason for the leave.”

“She didn’t say.”

Su Chan was bold, abandoning the director’s project without even giving an explanation.

Jiang Zhi said nothing, pinched the bridge of his nose: “Have finance calculate the cost of work interruption, deduct it from Su Chan’s pay.” He stood up, “That’s a wrap.”

Vice Director Zhao understood and directed the camera crew to pack up the equipment.

“Zhou Xufang.” Jiang Zhi, with his hands tucked in the pockets of his horn-buttoned coat, called to her, “Come here, we’re going home.”

Zhou Xufang: “Oh.”

Many people glanced in her direction.

Not used to being the center of attention, she put on her hat: “Lixiang, see you later.” She kept her head down as she made her way toward Jiang Zhi.

Standing 300 meters outside of Imperial Airport, a man in a suit covered by a black coat was looking down with a cigarette in his hand.

Two other formally dressed men approached him and respectfully greeted, “Young Master Zhi.”

The man looked up.

A mischievously captivating face, mixed heritage, deep-set features, with eyes that were not entirely black but hinted at a profound blue.

His features leaned more towards an Eastern person’s, very refined.

“Miss Su asked for you to come over.”

He put out the cigarette, tossed it into a trash can: “Lead the way.”

Su Chan’s car was parked nearby, and seeing someone coming over, she opened the car door and got out: “Qing Hou.”

On Chinese Street of Pullman, everyone addressed him with Young Master Zhi.

Why Young Master Zhi?

His original name was Su Zhi, his father named Su Dingzhi, their names sharing a similar sound; thus Chinese Street had a Master Zhi and a Young Master Zhi.

He was dissatisfied and changed his name to Su Qinghou.

But everyone was still used to calling him Young Master Zhi, no big deal, once Old Master Zhi passed away, there would only be Young Master Zhi.

Su Qinghou got into the car.

Su Chan followed, removing her mask and hat.

He fished a box out of his coat pocket and tossed it to her: “For you.”

“What is it?”

He smiled, and even that smile, as entrancing as an alluring poppy, did not diminish his natural aggressiveness, he said: “A gift.”

Su Chan opened it.

Inside was a necklace, platinum, with a pure black diamond pendant.

“Do you like it?” He took off his coat, flinging it onto the seat, and loosened his tie.

Su Chan nodded, a faint joy in her eyes, but she didn’t show it, her face remained respectful: “I like it.”

“Good if you do.”

He held the delicate chain, put it around her neck, his hand encircling her nape, pushing her long hair aside to reveal her slender neck.

“I’ve been waiting for you for over forty minutes.”

Su Chan sat upright, motionless, her hands on her knees, clasping tightly: “There was a traffic jam on the way here.”

He laughed again: “I didn’t ask for an explanation.” His hand moved from the back of her neck to her throat, his fingers tightening, his voice light, languidly casual, “I’m just telling you, I’m angry.”

Su Chan’s palms began to sweat: “I’m sorry, Qing Hou.”

Su Qinghou gently stroked her head: “It’s alright.”

Her tightly held hands loosened.

He leaned back, reclined in the seat, and closed his eyes: “Did you spray perfume?”

“Yes.”

“It’s too strong.” He said, “Get off.”

What kind of person was Su Qinghou? An eight-character summary would suffice: capricious, rebellious, and fierce.

When he smiled, it wasn’t necessarily with happiness; when he was angry, he might still smile.