Pretending to Be an Alpha in an All-Alpha Boy Band - Chapter 136
Chapter 136: Perfect
“A first kiss?”
Before Yuan Shiyuan could react, Ying Mingche had already spoken, his tone dripping with exaggerated drama. “That’s far too precious! You should withdraw from the audition immediately. A first kiss shouldn’t be given away so casually. For us Alphas, chastity is paramount. If you lose your first kiss, how will you ever face anyone again?”
Ying Mingxi chimed in with mock concern, “After all, it’s your first time. You lack experience. Any kissing scene you attempt will lack authenticity and be unwatchable.”
The Scepter Alphas took turns sniping at Su Luochen, their words dripping with condescension, subtly urging him to withdraw. Repeatedly undermined, Su Luochen seethed inwardly, but he dared not lash out with Yuan Shiyuan present.
They’re clearly targeting me on purpose!
Now, Su Luochen, the once-ferocious beast with sheathed claws, cast Yuan Shiyuan a cautious glance, his expression inexplicably aggrieved.
Like a large dog bullied by its peers, he silently pleaded for his master to intervene and set things right.
Yuan Shiyuan found the situation utterly bewildering.
As a member of Scepter, his loyalty naturally lay with his teammates. Besides, had Ying Mingche and Ying Mingxi’s words been truly excessive? Not really.
Su Luochen, on the other hand, was acting completely out of character—his behavior and speech utterly changed, as if he had become someone else entirely.
His unfamiliar demeanor made Yuan Shiyuan somewhat wary.
Fortunately, the staff arrived promptly. “Everyone, get ready! The auditions are about to begin!”
“Please come draw your audition numbers first.”
The audition venue buzzed with candidates. Staff had set up two lottery barrels: candidates would first draw their audition order, and then, when their turn came, draw their performance scene on the spot.
This random scene selection method severely tested actors’ improvisational skills and performance fundamentals.
Yuan Shiyuan sat with Chen Yin in front of the monitor. Chen Yin occasionally turned to ask for his thoughts.
“I saw you and your teammates perform live before,” Chen Yin remarked. “The chemistry between you all felt so natural and electric. What a pity there are only two male lead roles. Otherwise, I’d really want you to collect all the Alphas around you!”
Chen Yin had previously visited the company specifically to watch Yuan Shiyuan act out couple scenarios with each of his teammates in turn. Chen Yin vividly remembered how every Alpha, when paired with Yuan Shiyuan, radiated a strong CP vibe.
“Each of them looks like a perfect match for you,” he said, his regret growing with each passing thought. “Especially the way they look at you—it seems so genuine. Even their unconscious little gestures betray an intimacy that could only be forged over time…”
“If I didn’t know you were all Alphas, I’d swear their emotions were genuine.”
Yuan Shiyuan: “……”
Their relationship was indeed quite intimate—down to a negative distance, in fact.
Yuan Shiyuan pretended to be busy, lowering his head to take a sip of water.
Just as he set down his glass, he noticed a group of S-rank Alphas beside him casting subtle glances his way. He returned their gaze with an encouraging smile before turning back to continue his conversation with the director.
“Shiyuan, what do you think of this Alpha?”
“Good-looking face, but the body’s lacking. Not worthy of you.”
“Forget about this one. I saw some dirt on him earlier—his private life seems shady, too messy.”
“……”
Chen Yin placed great importance on his artists’ appearances. Even male artists with merely average looks—or even just slightly below average—were filtered out during the initial resume screening.
Thus, many of Chen Yin’s comments, given the context of selecting a male lead for Yuan Shiyuan’s film, took on an unsettlingly surreal quality.
It was as if he were arranging a concubine selection, busily expanding Yuan Shiyuan’s harem.
Whenever this happened, Yuan Shiyuan could only offer an awkward smile.
However, he also indirectly gleaned that Chen Yin’s selection criteria were exceptionally stringent, which inevitably made him worry about his own teammates.
Finally, it was Pei Yanbing’s turn.
As Pei Yanbing drew his lot, he suddenly glanced back at Yuan Shiyuan. In his usually cold, emotionless eyes, a rare flicker of emotion surfaced, as if silently reassuring Yuan Shiyuan.
Yuan Shiyuan couldn’t possibly act out scenes with each candidate individually. Instead, the candidates were required to perform without props or partners, imagining a person before them and giving their best performance.
“Oh?” Chen Yin remarked. “Your captain drew a scene from your school days.”
“Back when you two weren’t yet in a relationship, still caught in that awkward early-love dance. You were practicing piano in the school’s music room when he happened to pass by downstairs, glanced up, and saw you by the window.”
“Unbeknownst to you, he repeatedly paused below, gazing up at you.”
The music room?
Yuan Shiyuan froze, a sudden realization hitting him.
So many of their encounters, their deepening connections, their first temporary mark, their first time… all had happened in the music room.
Pei Yanbing stood before the monitor, the empty venue stretching around him, not the classroom set from the script excerpt. He walked forward with steady, measured steps, but at one point, his rhythm faltered, slowed, and then stopped completely.
The entire sequence unfolded in an instant. It was as if he had suddenly been drawn by a sound and swiftly identified its source.
Pei Yanbing remained rooted to the spot for a long moment, then turned his head, his gaze locking precisely onto Yuan Shiyuan’s location.
Caught off guard, Yuan Shiyuan met Pei Yanbing’s eyes, and then he saw Chen Yin’s delighted expression—a clear signal that Pei Yanbing had likely passed one of the trials.
Sure enough, Chen Yin leaned over to speak to the recording staff, then turned to Yuan Shiyuan with a serious look. “To be honest, I wasn’t initially optimistic about your captain.”
“He’s so reserved. But it’s precisely this restraint, his cold and aloof exterior, that makes his suppressed emotions seem all the more intense, creating a striking contrast.”
“And… was he just looking at you?” Chen Yin asked with a curious glint in his eyes. “That look… it was intense.”
Yuan Shiyuan smiled. “That’s just how our captain is. He seems quiet and taciturn, but his inner world is incredibly rich.”
When they first met, Yuan Shiyuan had also assumed Pei Yanbing was cold and aloof. But after spending time together, he realized that wasn’t the case.
Pei Yanbing simply struggled to express himself, always seeming a beat behind when he finally wanted to speak. So he had been slowly learning to communicate, though he still remained awkward at it.
Take that “Baby” he’d called him. Yuan Shiyuan couldn’t imagine how much mental preparation Pei Yanbing must have needed before finally daring to whisper it hoarsely in his ear.
Eventually, he grew more comfortable saying it, so much so that Yuan Shiyuan, who had initially been mortified, grew accustomed to it, even accepting it.
The next candidate was Xie Shengjin.
Chen Yin seemed particularly enthusiastic about Xie Shengjin. He leaned in to whisper to Yuan Shiyuan, “Xie Shengjin just wrapped up a major male lead role and was planning to take a break… but he suddenly contacted me, saying he wanted to explore new horizons and break out of his usual roles. You’ve heard of him, right? He only ever takes on absolutely top-billed male leads.”
“So I was quite surprised when he reached out to me this time,” Chen Yin said. “Collaborating with him would be a huge benefit for you. His acting skills are solid, and he could really guide you in all aspects…”
Yuan Shiyuan naturally knew of Xie Shengjin.
Since his debut, Xie Shengjin had never been in a bad film, earning a stellar reputation as the industry’s most dedicated and hardworking star. Yuan Shiyuan had also watched Xie Shengjin’s historical dramas and found his acting deeply moving.
“If Mr. Xie is willing to mentor me, I would be incredibly grateful,” Yuan Shiyuan replied.
“Why don’t you two try a scene together later?” Chen Yin suggested, ever the planner. “Even if you don’t end up collaborating, it would be a great learning opportunity.”
Yuan Shiyuan was definitely willing. He quickly glanced at Xie Shengjin, a mix of junior’s deference and hesitation in his eyes.
“Would it be too much of an imposition on Mr. Xie?”
“Nonsense. Just wait here.”
Seeing Xie Shengjin finish drawing his lot, Chen Yin asked, “Which scene did you get?”
“The one where the leads are on a date after they’ve just started dating, set on the campus,” Xie Shengjin replied, his gaze immediately shifting to Yuan Shiyuan before politely looking away. “Should I start now?”
“A dating scene? Perfect! Shiyuan and I were just discussing this scene earlier. Why don’t you two try running it together?” Chen Yin casually proposed. “Just a casual run-through to get a feel for it—no pressure.”
Xie Shengjin froze momentarily, almost instinctively agreeing. Fortunately, his rationality kicked in just in time.
He turned to Yuan Shiyuan with a smile. “Of course, I’m fine with it. Shiyuan, what do you think?”
Yuan Shiyuan rose, returning a polite smile. Instead of answering directly, he said politely, “Then I’ll rely on Brother Xie for guidance.”
This was a simple scene from a date, where the main characters had just confirmed their relationship. Both were immersed in a thrilling yet slightly surreal sense of happiness.
Yet, due to their youthful inexperience and the sudden shift in their relationship, even a simple glance carried an unspoken shyness.
“Shiyuan, this is a scene from the script…” Xie Shengjin held out the card, but Yuan Shiyuan shook his head with a smile. “Let’s read it together, Brother Xie.”
Yuan Shiyuan still remembered that this was Xie Shengjin’s audition. To perform at his best, Xie Shengjin needed to memorize all the lines and script details in the shortest possible time.
With his excellent memory and having already studied the script thoroughly, Yuan Shiyuan could almost instantly recall the exact page, line number, and dialogue.
Yuan Shiyuan didn’t actually need to read the script, but he still suggested reading it together.
The words on the card were small, making it difficult to grasp the key points and essence of the performance in such a short time. Fortunately, Xie Shengjin had extensive acting experience, and he understood the gist at first glance.
Driven by his meticulous and earnest attitude, he was about to review the card again when a gentle breeze wafted by. First came a faint, refreshing fragrance, followed by a few soft strands of pale pink hair brushing against his jawline and the corner of his lips, leaving a delicate, cool itch.
Xie Shengjin froze momentarily, glancing sideways at Yuan Shiyuan. Yuan Shiyuan’s head was slightly bowed, his profile sharply defined by the light.
“Shiyuan…” Xie Shengjin called out instinctively. Yuan Shiyuan responded with a soft “Mm-hmm,” lifting his lashes curiously. He saw the Alpha slowly extend his hand toward him…
The Alpha’s fingers froze in mid-air. Xie Shengjin pointed casually at Yuan Shiyuan’s hair, his tone perfectly natural. “Your hair’s a mess. Do you need a hair tie?”
For his role, Yuan Shiyuan had refrained from cutting his hair. The pale pink strands reached his shoulders, some cascading over his collarbones, accentuating his already exquisite features and blurring the lines between masculine and feminine.
The assistant immediately offered a hair tie, but before it could reach them, Bo Jin arrived, radiating a palpable aura of dark mood.
Bo Jin strode past Xie Shengjin with a dark expression, his gaze sweeping over him like a blade before withdrawing indifferently.
His actions, however, starkly contrasted his cold expression. He gently gathered Yuan Shiyuan’s hair and carefully tied it to one side with a silk scarf.
He smoothed the strands, letting the long, pink hair cascade softly down Yuan Shiyuan’s chest, a delicate silk scarf tied in a butterfly knot beneath his earlobe.
“Is it too tight?” Bo Jin murmured.
“No,” Yuan Shiyuan replied, seemingly accustomed to such care, accepting it with natural ease.
Before leaving, Bo Jin cast Xie Shengjin another meaningful glance. As another Alpha, Xie Shengjin naturally understood the source of Bo Jin’s guardedness and hostility.
But instead of confronting him, he responded with an impeccably polite smile, then took a step closer to Yuan Shiyuan under Bo Jin’s watchful gaze.
Leaning in slightly, Xie Shengjin whispered, “Shiyuan, shall we begin?”
He extended his hand, feigning mild exasperation. “The script says we’re supposed to hold hands…”
Yuan Shiyuan promptly extended his hand.
Nearby, Bo Jin froze, his footsteps halting abruptly, his eyes locked on the two hands about to clasp.
Xie Shengjin was deliberately provoking him.
He was issuing a blatant provocation.
The other S-rank Alphas surrounding the set locked their gazes fiercely ahead. Even the normally mild-tempered and gentle Ying Mingxi’s expression gradually darkened, his gaze burning with a murderous intent.
It was as if he wished he could tear Xie Shengjin limb from limb.
Yuan Shiyuan could clearly feel the scorching stares from all directions, his embarrassment so intense that even his fingertips burned.
Hand in hand, he and Xie Shengjin strolled casually, Yuan Shiyuan’s eyes lowered slightly. Xie Shengjin, however, kept stealing glances at him, only to quickly avert his gaze whenever Yuan Shiyuan caught him looking.
“Excellent,” Chen Yin nodded in satisfaction. “This raw, innocent awkwardness is exactly what we need.”
Both actors were in perfect form, capturing the awkwardness and shyness of a newly established relationship, where holding hands for the first time felt overwhelming, and direct eye contact was almost unbearable.
This was precisely the effect Chen Yin wanted.
Xie Shengjin’s exceptional acting skills allowed him to quickly slip into character, flawlessly capturing the elation and bashfulness of a secret crush finally realized. Yuan Shiyuan, however, was genuinely embarrassed. Having grown accustomed to being watched since childhood, he still felt self-conscious performing intimate scenes under the scrutiny of so many eyes.
No wonder Ying Mingxi had teased him earlier, saying he needed to get used to being watched… Although the scene then had been chaotic, filming intimate scenes with the cast later would only be more awkward.
Yuan Shiyuan had also seen some filming clips online. Many scenes that looked intimate in the final cut were actually devoid of any romantic atmosphere, relying entirely on the actors’ conviction.
Fortunately, despite his initial discomfort, Yuan Shiyuan’s adaptability and learning ability were strong. He suddenly turned sideways and wrapped his arms around Xie Shengjin’s waist.
Just as he was about to deliver his line, his gaze drifted past the Alpha’s shoulder and landed on a row of Alphas glaring daggers at him.
Their intense stares were impossible to ignore. Not only were the Scepter members watching him, but even the Necro members were fixed on him. Su Luochen clenched his fists, his eyes burning with fury.
Yuan Shiyuan froze.
The awkwardness washed over him again. He immediately buried his face in Xie Shengjin’s chest, his fingers gently gripping the fabric of his shoulder, only the tips of his reddened ears peeking out.
As he thought about the next line he had to say—that term of endearment—his fingers tightened slightly. Calling a familiar person by that name was one thing, but addressing a stranger that way, especially in front of so many people…
Though Yuan Shiyuan felt awkward, he forced himself to overcome it. He tilted his head back, slowly looped his arms around the Alpha’s neck, and looked up with a soft, innocent voice.
“Big Brother, what were you thinking about just now?”
Standing in the sunlight, Yuan Shiyuan’s pink hair glowed with a golden halo. A gentle breeze parted his bangs, blurring his features into a hazy yet clear portrait.
Xie Shengjin, a seasoned actor with numerous awards, found himself momentarily forgetting his lines as he stared at the magnified face so close to his own. Even his breathing slowed.
Everyone froze.
Behind the monitors, the staff exchanged knowing glances.
Who could resist Yuan Shiyuan’s face? Even we bystanders often get distracted by his looks, let alone Xie Shengjin, who’s staring at him up close!
Sensing the scene about to fall flat—the scene was diverging from the script—Yuan Shiyuan didn’t interrupt. Instead, with remarkable adaptability, he deliberately tugged downward on the Alpha’s arm, drawing him into a low bow.
He clung to the Alpha, frowning slightly in mock annoyance.
“Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”
His slightly petulant expression perfectly captured the mood of a couple in the honeymoon phase, even his coquettish tone was spot-on.
Xie Shengjin finally snapped out of his daze. On the monitor, the always composed and effortlessly poised actor had a faint, strange flush creeping up his ears.
After a beat, he tentatively wrapped an arm around Yuan Shiyuan’s waist, a restrained, gentlemanly touch. He then delivered a line that wasn’t in the script:
“I feel like I’m dreaming.”
“Dreaming?”
Xie Shengjin bent his head, gazing intently at his lover’s face, his eyes overflowing with tenderness.
His voice was earnest: “This is the kind of scene I’ve only ever dreamed of.”
“Great! Absolutely perfect!” Chen Yin couldn’t help but clap his hands.
Despite the unexpected turn and the ad-libbed dialogue, the improvisation had worked remarkably well. Even Xie Shengjin’s momentary distraction became a highlight, perfectly capturing the surreal feeling of finally realizing a years-long secret crush.
Xie Shengjin’s final line not only explained his absentmindedness but also revealed the depth of his feelings for the male lead. He had been secretly in love with his childhood friend for years. Now that they were finally dating, even a simple stroll together felt like a dream he had nurtured for years.
“Sorry, I spaced out there. Did I throw you off?” Xie Shengjin, who had worked in the industry for years, couldn’t believe he had made such a rookie mistake. He asked, “How do you feel?”
“Not at all,” Yuan Shiyuan smiled. “Thank you, Brother Xie. I feel great and I’ve learned a lot.”
Strictly speaking, this was Yuan Shiyuan’s first time truly “acting.”
The earlier rehearsals with his teammates were just that—rehearsals. Performing before a camera, however, was a completely different beast.
Yuan Shiyuan’s heart raced with nerves, but his overall performance went well, and he even caught a faint sense of what acting felt like.
“That’s good—” Xie Shengjin was about to step closer to Yuan Shiyuan when a shadow suddenly loomed over them.
The members of Scepter had, without anyone noticing, formed an impenetrable circle around Yuan Shiyuan, their gazes equally wary.
Yuan Shiyuan glanced at them curiously. “Why are you all looking like that?”
Chen Yin swept his gaze over them, raising an eyebrow. “You guys look like you’ve been cuckolded.”
The Scepter members twitched their lips into strained smiles. Yuan Shiyuan had not only hugged and cuddled with other Alphas, but had even called them “Big Brother.”
Right now, they really couldn’t muster a genuine smile.
Over at Necro’s side, Su Luochen was so furious his liver ached, but he had no right to be angry. He didn’t even have the right to approach, left seething helplessly in place.
“Director Chen, stop teasing us,” Yuan Shiyuan said helplessly, moving his arm. His fingertips accidentally brushed against Jiang Heng’s knuckles, and Jiang Heng reflexively gripped his hand.
It was a completely subconscious action, even surprising Yuan Shiyuan himself.
Xie Shengjin glanced thoughtfully at their intertwined hands. “Your bond is truly admirable.”
Letting go now would only seem suspicious.
Yuan Shiyuan smoothly took Pei Yanbing’s hand beside him and raised their clasped hands. “Exactly! We’ve always been close—not just teammates, but best friends too. Thick as thieves, brothers through and through.”
Xie Shengjin nodded with a smile. “I can tell. Your team has a great atmosphere.”
Chen Yin couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, no need to keep showing off. Let’s go back to our seats—it’s getting hot here, and I don’t want you getting sunburned.”
He couldn’t bear the thought of Yuan Shiyuan being exposed to the sun; as for the other Alphas, he couldn’t care less.
Back in their seats, Chen Yin immediately asked, “How was acting with Xie Shengjin?”
Yuan Shiyuan answered earnestly, “Mr. Xie is a great guy. Even with that little mishap earlier, I could tell his acting skills are exceptional. I learned a lot, like how to quickly immerse myself in a character’s emotions…”
“That’s not what I meant,” Chen Yin interrupted. “I meant, did you feel anything—any spark—when you were acting with him?”
“You know—that urge to get close to him, to play intimate scenes with him? You should understand what I mean.”
Yuan Shiyuan paused, thought for a moment, then shook his head frankly. “Not yet. Maybe it’s because we’re not that familiar. Our interactions still feel a bit awkward.”
“I don’t sense that spark either,” Chen Yin said. “When you’re with him, you’re certainly pleasing to the eye, but the subtle details reveal the limited depth of your intimacy. It lacks the natural closeness and reliance that you and your teammates display. Many of those nuances don’t even need to be acted out.”
“It seems all that private practice you’ve been doing has paid off.”
Natural closeness and reliance?
Yuan Shiyuan immediately reflected. Chen Yin might be referring to… despite his ability to portray intimacy—hugging, physical contact, even the later kissing scenes—he struggled to appear genuinely relaxed and natural.
Yuan Shiyuan disliked relying on others, preferring to handle things independently. He only relied on those he trusted implicitly, and building that trust required a long, gradual process—never something that could be achieved in a short time.
After watching several more candidates perform, Chen Yin said with certainty, “I think I have a pretty good idea now.”
“I’ll definitely prioritize your chemistry,” he continued. “I’ve noticed that when you’re with your teammates, you’re much more relaxed, your performance feels more natural and… effortless.” He added, “The two male supporting roles will definitely be chosen from your teammates. As for the other cannon fodder roles, they’re not as important.”
“Shiyuan, among your five teammates, who do you feel the most natural chemistry with? Which two do you prefer working with?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
Yuan Shiyuan didn’t even have time to rejoice at his teammates securing two roles before this question caught him completely off guard.
Five teammates, all Alphas… which two do I prefer?
Chen Yin probably wanted to use Yuan Shiyuan’s input to help cast the roles, aiming for better synergy between the actors and a more compelling on-screen dynamic.
But for Yuan Shiyuan, this was even more difficult than filming a sex scene.
Yuan Shiyuan pondered for a long time, his fingers unconsciously gripping the sofa armrest.
Chen Yin didn’t rush him, giving him ample time to grapple with the question.
After what felt like an eternity, Yuan Shiyuan finally sighed. “Director Chen, I’m not trying to brush you off, but… I genuinely can’t choose.”
“They’re all my best friends. I can’t possibly rank them,” he murmured, pausing briefly before adding quietly, “I like each of them very much.”
Chen Yin wasn’t surprised. “I didn’t realize you were such a peacemaker.”
He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll think it over more thoroughly when I get back. You don’t have to stress. There’s nothing wrong with liking them all—who says you can only like one person?”
He patted Yuan Shiyuan on the shoulder, his tone tinged with the wisdom of someone who’d been there. “You’re still so young and talented. Even if you’re a little greedy and like a few people, it’s perfectly alright.”
There were still many actors waiting to audition, but thankfully, the two male supporting roles had already been confirmed for Scepter. Yuan Shiyuan let out a sigh of relief, and the corners of his lips unconsciously curled upward.
He wouldn’t have to act intimate scenes with strangers.
During his scene with Xie Shengjin just now, Yuan Shiyuan had genuinely felt the man’s professionalism and been drawn into the performance. He’d managed to overcome some of the physical discomfort, but the lack of familiarity still felt like a barrier.
He worried he wouldn’t be able to pull off more intimate scenes properly.
With his familiar teammates, however, there would be no such concern. They’d done things a hundred times more intimate in private than anything required on screen, and were intimately familiar with each other’s bodies.
Filming with them allowed him to relax and truly be himself.
This unspoken understanding was something no stranger could ever provide.
Midway through the shoot, Yuan Shiyuan excused himself to use the restroom.
As he turned down a quiet side path, he heard the faint clack of a wheelchair ahead.
Following the sound, Yuan Shiyuan spotted a tall Alpha seated in a wheelchair, his fingers hovering in mid-air as if groping for something. His white cane lay abandoned in the nearby bushes, its shaft concealed by the foliage, almost impossible to spot at a glance.
The Alpha’s legs seemed perfectly functional; he was merely searching for his cane.
Perhaps due to his poor eyesight, the Alpha had stopped and was waiting for his assistant to help.
Yuan Shiyuan recognized him instantly: Dan Ying, captain of Necro.
Their encounters could be counted on one hand. From Nan Liujing, he had vaguely learned that Dan Ying suffered from a congenital weakness and poor vision, only able to make out rough outlines and colors. His frequent overseas trips were primarily for medical treatment.
Their entry into the entertainment industry stemmed solely from their passion.
Yuan Shiyuan was about to leave. They weren’t close, and he didn’t want to intrude.
But he noticed some props carelessly piled up in the nearby tactile paving area, blocking the center of the path. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and moved the props aside.
Only after confirming the tactile paving was clear and unobstructed did he turn to leave.
Yuan Shiyuan moved with quiet steps, deliberately keeping a respectful distance.
But as he passed Dan Ying, Dan Ying suddenly looked up, his gaze locking precisely onto him.
The Alpha sat with his hands clasped on his knees, his skin unnaturally pale, revealing a handsome and refined face. His nose was straight and prominent, his lips sharply defined, and his light gray eyes, veiled by a faint mist, reflected a vivid pink hue, lending him an air of inexplicable melancholy.
Abruptly, he smiled faintly.
“Long time no see,” he said.
Yuan Shiyuan paused, startled. “You know who I am?”
Dan Ying’s smile remained faint, but his voice was firm. “Yuan Shiyuan. It’s you.”
A faint pink shimmer reflected in his light gray eyes—the color of Yuan Shiyuan’s hair.
Yuan Shiyuan knew Dan Ying wasn’t completely blind, but rather could perceive vague shapes and colors. He never imagined Dan Ying could recognize him under these circumstances.
As he was puzzling over this, Dan Ying added, “I don’t actually know what you look like,” Dan Ying said. “But I remember your voice.”
This surprised Yuan Shiyuan even more. They had only met a few times, exchanged hardly a proper conversation, yet Dan Ying had memorized his voice?
In truth, they weren’t particularly close. Yuan Shiyuan changed the subject: “Where’s your assistant?”
“On their way. They went to fetch some documents for me,” Dan Ying replied calmly. “Is the audition over? Sorry I’m late.”
Dan Ying is auditioning?
Yuan Shiyuan gazed at those unfocused, ashen eyes. Dan Ying’s skin was deathly pale, almost vampiric in the sunlight, with faint, serpentine veins visible beneath—a stark contrast to Yuan Shiyuan’s healthy, naturally rosy complexion.
Instead of discouraging the Alpha, Yuan Shiyuan said, “It’s not over yet. You should still have time to catch up once your assistant arrives.”
“Do you want me to take you to the entrance? Or would you prefer to wait for your assistant here?”
“I’ll wait here. Thank you for your trouble,” Dan Ying replied.
“Alright, I’ll be going then.”
Yuan Shiyuan had no intention of lingering. They weren’t close, and there was no need for polite small talk.
He didn’t see the moment he turned to leave—when those gray, inorganic eyes suddenly sharpened, locking onto his receding pink-clad figure.
Abruptly, Dan Ying smiled.
Now I can see you.
“You’re even more… than I imagined.”
Struggling to find the right word, the Alpha watched the receding figure, a slight smile curling his lips, his voice tinged with obsession. “Perfect.”