Let Me Be Spoiled - Chapter 46

Xie Yan knew Fu Qing must be really worried. Even that last sentence probably wasn’t a joke. He had really set out, but maybe halfway there, he realized it might cause trouble for Xie Yan, so he turned back and added that follow-up comment.

Variety shows are different from film sets. Film sets only shoot for a period of time, but variety shows are filmed nearly all day. Where Are We Going Today? takes place in the deep wilderness, surrounded by the production crew. If Fu Qing came, everyone would know and it would be extremely inconvenient.

Fu Qing probably realized this too, which is why he said it was a joke and decided not to come.

Xie Yan didn’t want Fu Qing to worry, especially since they wouldn’t see each other for five more days.

After thinking for a moment, he decided to take a photo of his injuries and send it to him.

Actually, Xie Yan wasn’t hurt too badly. The shallow scrapes on his arm had already stopped bleeding and were now just faint marks.

But when he lifted his shirt, his ribs and lower abdomen were covered in large bruises. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin and was shockingly vivid.

He touched them lightly—it still hurt a little.

He took a photo of the injury on his arm, then hesitated, wondering whether to include the ones on his torso. While he himself didn’t think much of it, they did look rather alarming.

He was doing this to reassure Fu Qing. He couldn’t make him feel even worse after seeing the photos.

After thinking it over, Xie Yan still decided to take the photos. After all, he had rolled down a slope several times and just showing the scrapes on his arm felt too fake and too perfunctory. Fu Qing had been in plenty of fights, he would know how to judge an injury and wouldn’t mistake it for something worse than it was.

With that in mind, Xie Yan lifted his shirt to reveal the bruised skin, but no matter what, he couldn’t get a good shot.

The tent was tiny—barely any space—so he had to curl up halfway, but that made his shirt fall back down and cover the bruises. He tried lying down instead. The shirt stayed up this time, but the lighting was terrible. He tried several angles, but every photo turned out too blurry.

He spent quite a while wrestling with it. Not only did the wound need to be visible, but the pose had to look decent too. That made things suddenly much harder, and he couldn’t get a single usable shot.

And for some reason, he always got nervous facing the phone’s front camera—something that never happened when he was in front of a film camera.

He didn’t really understand why, and didn’t bother trying to figure it out.

Because right now, he had something more important to do.

Xie Yan paused for a moment, still curled halfway with his back leaning against the pillow. He lifted the hem of his shirt and gently bit down on it, then tugged down the waistband of his pants slightly, revealing the skin on his chest, ribs, and lower abdomen. It was all covered in large, dark bruises.

The tent was silent, with only the light swaying from one side, casting messy, scattered beams.

Xie Yan tilted his head back slightly, his face flushing red all the way to his ears. He didn’t look directly at the camera and only glanced at his reflection from the corner of his eye. After finally finding a decent angle, his hand started trembling, making most of the shots come out blurry and indistinct.

He tried over and over, soaking the shirt hem with saliva in the process, and finally managed to take two barely acceptable photos. He sent them over to Fu Qing while still in that awkward pose.

Maybe because he was too focused, Xie Yan didn’t hear the footsteps outside the tent. The zipper wasn’t fully closed, someone opened it from the outside and peeked in.

It was Ruan Anning.

Xie Yan only realized then. His hand trembled, and the phone hit a bruised spot on his ribs. He just frowned slightly, and the two of them locked eyes for three seconds—still in complete silence.

Ruan Anning said, “…Sorry for interrupting.”

She quickly pulled her head back out.

Xie Yan cursed under his breath, “Fuck.”

He almost wanted to kill her to keep her quiet.

After three seconds of composure, he calmly let go of the shirt hem, took off that top, and grabbed a new one to put on.

With his eyes closed, he rubbed his face and said coolly, “Come in.”

Ruan Anning unzipped the tent, took off her shoes, and crawled in properly, pretending nothing had happened as she explained, “I just wanted to see if you were awake… I checked on you a few times this afternoon.”

She was small, with a short upper body, so she had to tilt her head up to look at Xie Yan.

This might have been the first time in her life she looked at him head-on.

When she was little, Ruan Anning had lived in the same orphanage as Xie Yan. Back then, she was still very young and everyone around her was afraid of Xie Yan. They said he would hit people when he was in a bad mood—and he was in a bad mood eight days out of ten. Ruan Anning was timid and terrified of being hit. She would rather give up her own food than get into a conflict with anyone. She always kept her distance from Xie Yan. If they crossed paths, she would hide to the side, never speaking to him.

Still, she was curious—what kind of person was this bad-tempered boy who hit people all the time and no one dared mess with?

Xie Yan has always stood out and has always been the best-looking among the crowd.

She was a little envious of someone like him, though she kept it to herself and never told anyone.

Ruan Anning looked at Xie Yan for a long moment before she quietly said, “Thank you.”

Xie Yan didn’t take it too seriously. He had a special kind of feeling toward Ruan Anning, and even after all these years, he hadn’t forgotten her.

Ruan Anning gave a small smile. “It’s for something from back then—something I owed you years ago but never got the chance to say.”

After that incident, Xie Yan had been sent to the hospital, and to avoid affecting the other children, Ruan Anning was urgently transferred to an orphanage in another city. Before she left, someone had asked if she wanted to go see Xie Yan—she didn’t.

Bringing it up again now, her voice was still a little rough. “I was just too scared. I was afraid someone would bring it up, so I pretended I didn’t know anything. I’m really sorry.”

Xie Yan lowered his eyes, but he answered seriously, “It’s okay. No one will ever know.”

Ruan Anning understood—those words were a promise, that he would never tell anyone what happened.

Hugging her knees, she spoke about the past. “Everyone was scared of you when we were kids. So was I. But… you were really a good guy, Xie Ge. You saved me again this time, too.”

Xie Yan hesitated for once, unsure whether he should ask what had happened.

After moving to the other orphanage, Ruan Anning had suddenly become much more assertive or at least she seemed that way.

She thought for a moment, then said, “Wang Zhongdao is disgusting. There are a lot of guys in this industry who get handsy, but it’s rare to see someone with guts like his. I think it’s because he knew no one would stop him. He figured I wouldn’t dare fight back. But he’s really powerful in the drama world. No one can do anything about him.”

She turned to Xie Yan and asked, “What made you want to get into this industry?”

Xie Yan didn’t question her words about “no one can do anything,” and just said, “I really like acting.”

Ruan Anning seemed surprised. “Really? I didn’t expect that. I became a host totally by accident. Once I was in, the pay was way beyond what I could’ve imagined back then and I just stuck with it.”

She paused for a moment, then smiled at Xie Yan, two small dimples appearing on her cheeks. “What I’m most grateful for is that you once stood up for me. You made me realize that there’s more than just enduring and there are other possibilities.”

Before Xie Yan could respond, Ruan Anning suddenly said, “But in the entertainment industry, I’m your senior! You’re only twenty and going down the breakout-idol route. It’s best not to date—being in a relationship can really slow down your popularity.”

Xie Yan replied coolly, “I’m not dating.”

Ruan Anning ignored his denial and kept teaching him the rules of stardom, speaking with absolute conviction. “Even if you are, even if you’re madly in love, head over heels, wanting to live and die together—don’t send any revealing photos. Things can go bad real quick after a breakup.”

Xie Yan frowned. “He’s not that kind of person.”

Ruan Anning immediately caught the slip. “Didn’t you say you’re not dating?”

Xie Yan thought, fine.

When it came to arguing, he was no match for a host.

Ruan Anning smiled, thinking to herself that anyone who could be liked by someone like Xie Yan must be a brave and kind person.

She hoped all of Xie Yan’s wishes would come true.

A soft voice came from outside—Xu Huayi asking, “Anning, is Xie Yan awake? The grilled fish is ready.”

Originally, the rule was that cooking pots and utensils would only be provided after the team captured their first piece of meat. But since Xie Yan got injured protecting Ruan Anning, the production team rewarded their group with a fishing net. Xu Huayi had used it countless times on the show and easily caught several fish.

Xie Yan casually grabbed a jacket and said, “Awake.”

He glanced at his phone. The pictures of the injury on his arm had been sent, but the last two—the first had a giant exclamation mark next to it, and the second was still loading.

The signal in the mountains was too weak.

This time, the filming location was three hundred kilometers from Ji’an, only a three- to four-hour drive. Fu Qing had made it halfway, pulled over by the roadside, and sent that “just joking” message to Xie Yan but he hadn’t turned back.

He stood on the side of the road, smoking through half a pack of cigarettes, when his phone finally buzzed a few times, and the photos came through.

They were photos of the wound on Xie Yan’s arm.

Xie Yan’s skin was very pale. The scar from the last cut was still clearly visible, and now there were several new ones.

He had written: [Don’t worry, Fu-ge. I’m not really hurt, and it doesn’t even hurt.]

Fu Qing couldn’t understand—why was his Xiao Xie always getting hurt?

What was it for this time? Something about catching a girl who’d fallen from a tree.

Sometimes, Fu Qing wished Xiao Xie’s heart was really as hard as he pretended—so he wouldn’t always get hurt because of other people.

Xie Yan’s heart was soft and his nature couldn’t be changed.

Fu Qing had seen the pictures in the news. Judging by the force of that fall, there was no way Xie Yan’s injuries were just that minor. He was waiting for more photos.

He thought idly, maybe the worse injuries were somewhere else, and Xie Yan was pretending it was nothing, deciding not to take more pictures.

What should he do?

He had to call Xie Yan out. How could a kid lie like that?

Fu Qing wasn’t calm now and was completely different from usual. The last time Xie Yan got hurt was also when Fu Qing realized he liked him. He had rushed over in the middle of the night that time. But this time, now that he was sure of his feelings, he couldn’t go and his temper was more explosive than ever.

He hadn’t been like this in years.

Mo Fu called. He had actually tried many times before, but Fu Qing hadn’t picked up.

This time, the call went through.

Mo Fu asked anxiously, “Zhou Zhen said you’re not home. Don’t tell me you actually went to find Xie Yan?”

Fu Qing remained silent.

So Mo Fu continued, “But Xie Yan didn’t come down from the mountain—that means he can’t be too badly hurt. There’s really no need to go. If you do, what’s Xie Yan supposed to do to host you? He’s still surrounded by the production team’s cameras—”

Fu Qing cut him off with a cigarette clenched between his teeth, voice slightly muffled, “I went. I’m halfway there. I’ve stopped now.”

Even though Mo Fu had guessed it, he still sucked in a breath. “You really lose it when it comes to Xie Yan.”

Trying to change the subject, Mo Fu quickly brought up something important. “Did Xu Xiaohong tell you about Xu San? He’s been staying over there for a while now, and hasn’t said a word to you. What’s that about?”

Fu Qing’s eyes dropped to the dim glow of his cigarette. “Doesn’t matter. I know what I need to do.”

Whether Xu Xiaohong was in on it with his brother or not, Fu Qing wasn’t surprised. After all, you never know what’s in someone’s heart. Even if he’d watched that kid grow up, he wouldn’t make any assumptions.

His phone buzzed again.

No one was around, so he switched to a speaker and opened WeChat.

Xie Yan had said, “That’s all of them. Maybe I’m just too pale, that’s why it looks worse than it is. Really, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

There were two new photos. Before they fully loaded, they were just blurry shadows on the screen.

After a two-second delay, they sharpened and finally appeared clearly before Fu Qing’s eyes.

Xie Yan was curled up, head tilted back, eyes lowered, as if too shy to look directly at the camera. His cheeks were rose-colored, teeth white, gently biting the hem of his shirt, exposing his pale, bruised skin to the lens.

The tent lighting was too dim, and the image quality was low, but Fu Qing could still make out every detail—every expression Xie Yan tried and failed to hide. 

He was innocent and embarrassed, but forced himself to do it. He took such a photo just so Fu Qing wouldn’t worry.

Xie Yan didn’t understand intimacy, but because he was too beautiful, and because of his rare compliance before the lens—those soft brows and eyes, unintentionally mixed with a trace of allure—

It felt like he could easily make someone want to love him, kiss him, have him.

Fu Qing hung up the call.

But not before saying something strange to Mo Fu on the other end.

“I’ve gone crazy.”

Then he sent a voice message. His voice was low.

“Take a few more for me. Please?”

The last message from the other side came late. Xie Yan had also sent a voice message.

He asked, “Fu Ge, are you home yet?”