Chapter 48

Whether to continue or not—this was a crucial question.

That area was too private; any moment could lead to disaster. Mu He couldn’t help but hesitate. Actually, she was just curious; she didn’t have to see it, right?

Mu Scaredy-Heart answered in her mind: “Right.”

Then, she wouldn’t look.

Mu He lifted her head, seeing his handsome face relaxed, a smile at the corner of his mouth, exuding leisure and ease. It was as if he expected her to be too timid to look. That provoked her fighting spirit—what was the big deal?

This was exercising her girlfriend’s rightful privilege. Besides, the pants were already off; not looking would be too much of a waste.

But his gaze was too distracting. Mu He had a sudden idea: she climbed up, took the thin jacket draped over the foot of the bed, and covered his face.

Everything was ready, just waiting for the signal.

Mu He carefully lay back down, slowly pulling down his waistband, her ears filled with the pounding of her heartbeat. She tried to breathe deeply.

Huo Siheng’s vision was restricted. The soft breaths fell slowly, his body tensed instantly like a drawn bow, his Adam’s apple moving, dark waves rolling in his eyes.

Summoning courage, Mu He used two fair fingers to gently pinch the edge of his underwear, pulling upward. A garden of spring bursts forth, overwhelming her. She let go quickly, blushing furiously.

What she had just seen—was it the tattoo, or…?

She vaguely remembered some contours and undulations.

So it really was…

Mu He’s scalp tingled; she wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. She tried to hide under the covers, but only got one foot in before he pulled her into the jacket, kissing her until she could hardly breathe.

This fire, sparked by her, was naturally hers to extinguish.

“Didn’t you say I didn’t have to take responsibility?”

Words unkept.

Huo Siheng lightly bit her collarbone, absentmindedly responding: “Hmm.”

Indeed, she didn’t have to take responsibility—because he would personally make up for it.

After a long, long time.

Mu He became a puddle of spring water, soft in his arms, her clear apricot eyes wide but unable to focus. Her mind was filled with the previous image—his hands, his passionate kiss…

She had only looked once, barely seeing anything, and now she had suffered a huge loss!

Her small scheme couldn’t escape Huo Siheng. His long fingers lightly pinched her cheek, generously offering: “Yangyang, to be fair, I don’t mind if you want to see it again.”

Mu He: “…No, I mind.”

Indeed, Feifei was right—men never tell the truth in bed.

She turned over, back to him, the jacket pinned beneath her. The fuzzy brim brushed her neck, stirred by the warmth he sent over, teasing her already unsettled heart.

Actually, she quite liked it.

Of course, this shameless thought must not be revealed to him.

After a while, Mu He turned again: “Xi Heng, when did you get your tattoo?”

“Eleven years ago.”

Mu He calculated—he was seventeen then. So he already had the tattoo when he stayed at her home? She hadn’t even noticed. Considering their relationship back then, it wasn’t possible to have noticed.

“Who did it for you?”

Such a private spot—wasn’t it all seen by someone else?

She couldn’t help feeling a pang of jealousy. Hopefully, it wasn’t a female tattoo artist, or he wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed tonight.

Huo Siheng smelled the sourness in the air, a faint smile at his lips, and said thoughtfully: “A male tattoo artist from Moscow, the best craftsman at the time.” After a brief pause: “He’s seventy now.”

Satisfied with the answer, Mu He withdrew her leg, which had been poised to kick him off the bed, accidentally brushing a sore spot, letting out a soft hiss.

Huo Siheng asked in a deep voice: “What’s wrong?”

Fearing she’d have to write a self-criticism again, Mu He said pitifully: “My knee hurts a little.”

Huo Siheng lifted the covers, sat up, lifted her skirt, and saw bruises on both knees, frowning. She hurried to explain: “I fell accidentally.”

He lightly held her right forearm, turning her to face him. Besides bruises, there were scrapes. Her fair skin made it look alarming: “Which scene did you shoot today?”

How did he always get straight to the point?

She dodged: “Just a fall shot.”

Weakly added: “The floor was too hard.”

Originally, Huo Siheng wasn’t sure, but her reaction gave the truth away. They had reshot a single scene many times. He sighed silently, didn’t say anything, went out to get the home first-aid kit, and picked a tube of ointment.

He softened it in his palm first. When applying, Mu He didn’t feel cold; the gentle rubbing was actually comfortable. She leaned on his shoulder, voluntarily admitting: “Next time, I’ll protect myself properly.”

No need for a self-criticism, then.

“Is that so?”

Huo Siheng replied nonchalantly: “You said the same thing last time.”

Mu He had completely forgotten, biting her lip guiltily.

“Any other injuries?”

“No.”

Huo Siheng put the ointment away, closed the kit, wiped his hands with a tissue, crumpled it, and threw it in the trash.

Mu He smiled, reaching to touch his hair: “All done, let’s sleep.”

She leaned over, gave a goodnight kiss, whispered sweet words, yawned: “So sleepy.”

Lights out. Okay, chapter over.

Mu He smugly prepared to sleep but heard a merciless voice in the dark: “Three minutes oral self-criticism.”

See? Self-criticism is always late, never absent.

Mu He followed suit, slowing her tone: “I am Mu Yangyang. Because I got a little hurt accidentally, I made my elegant, charming, suave, dignified, gentlemanly, gentle as jade, handsome and mischievous boyfriend worry. I sincerely offer the following self-criticism…”

Huo Siheng couldn’t detect any sincerity, sealing her mouth with his lips.

The moon quietly hid behind clouds.

Mu He’s subsequent scenes were tightly scheduled. She stayed at the crew’s lodging, only able to go home once a week. Huo Siheng had just taken over the Huo family business and was extremely busy. They were each occupied but stole moments to text and video chat daily.

Life on set was fulfilling. They hired three chefs; meals were never repeated. At mealtime, everyone sat around like family, chatting, laughing, without scheming or status competition. Everyone shared the same belief—giving their all to perform this drama well.

Mu He studied under Director Tang and senior actors, her acting improving steadily. Even her weaker lines became acceptable for live sound recording.

Her talent and diligence were noticed by all. Having such an outstanding young actor inherit the mantle promised a flourishing future. Selfless senior artists generously imparted knowledge.

As the saying goes, the master leads you to the door; practice depends on the individual.

Mu He didn’t just absorb knowledge—she synthesized it, reasoning from one instance to apply to others. Previously, she followed Director Tang’s instructions exactly; later, when facing doubts or inconsistencies, she learned to debate with him.

Director Tang, both exasperated and amused: “Are you the director, or am I?”

He picked up the megaphone: “Do it as she just said, one more time.”

Mu He made a victory sign behind him; Teacher Zhao nodded at her, Gao Yuan gave a thumbs-up.

Unknowingly, March ended. On the first day of April, spring in full bloom, Mu He’s character Bai Xiaoxiao faced a life-changing turning point. Bai’s father, refusing to cooperate with the enemy army, was tortured to death in prison. The innocent girl was forced to confront hatred, becoming the nightclub dancer “White Rose,” secretly gathering intelligence as an underground operative.

In the shot, Bai Xiaoxiao’s delicate features were like a painting. She descended the stairs in a red poofy dress, dancing lightly on stage with grace and elegance. A backward glance and a smile, full of charm, captured everyone’s attention.

Bai Xiaoxiao’s true growth began at this moment.

Mu He conveyed her transformation with a single glance.

“Cut! Passed!”

This was the first time Director Tang let her pass in a single take, finally breaking the record. Mu He spun around happily, her skirt blooming like a flower. Tan Mian recorded the beautiful moment on her phone, then cheerfully approached to hug her: “Yangyang, you’re amazing!”

Not far away, Ding Wu couldn’t help but smile.

The assistant behind them reminded: “Director Ding, it’s time to go to the airport.”

He had stayed too long in City A; there were many matters piled up in the South City, and he had to return to handle them.

Ding Wu looked for several more minutes before withdrawing his gaze: “Let’s go.”

Their figures disappeared around the corner. Madam Qin stepped out from behind a pillar. As expected, her daughter had been found by Ding Wu. Recently, she had been cautious, afraid Ding Wu would discover clues from her; paper can’t hide fire forever. But it seemed they had not recognized each other yet?

From her understanding of Ding Wu, he wouldn’t act without certainty, so he must be planning carefully before taking action?

Wasn’t he overthinking?

Everyone in the entertainment industry chased fame and profit; as long as they told Mu He she was the daughter of South City’s richest man, recognition shouldn’t be instant, right?

Ding Wu was not in a hurry to reclaim his daughter. This gave Madam Qin renewed hope—there was still time to repair the mother-daughter relationship. She knocked on Mu He’s dressing room door. Tan Mian answered: “Madam Qin?”

Madam Qin ignored the young assistant and walked straight in: “I need to talk to Mu He. Can you leave?”

Tan Mian didn’t move, glancing back at Mu He.

“I have nothing to discuss with you,” Mu He said, pointing to the door with a dismissal, “please leave.”

“Yangyang,” Madam Qin choked on her words, pleading, “can’t you treat me better? Even if I’ve done so many wrong things, I am still your mother…”

Tan Mian’s expression froze as if struck by lightning. She hadn’t misheard—Madam Qin was Yangyang’s… mother?

Biological?

At first glance, their eyes did resemble each other. But Yangyang had grown up in a single-parent family in the mountains—how could a wealthy mother suddenly appear out of nowhere?

Even though she was curious, personal privacy prevented Tan Mian from continuing to listen. She quietly closed the door and left.

Madam Qin began a tearful performance: “Yangyang, these past days I’ve thought a lot—self-blame, guilt, regret—there wasn’t a single day I wasn’t in pain. I truly realize my mistakes, I’m sorry. What must I do for you to forgive me?”

Recycling the same old lines, the address sounded grating. Mu He said coldly: “I can forgive you, but there’s a condition.”

Madam Qin’s tears stopped immediately, though her face still showed the crying act. Yet a smile appeared in her eyes: “You say it, whatever the condition, I will agree.”

Mu He spoke word by word, with force: “Never appear in front of me again.”

Madam Qin nearly fainted, leaning on a chair to sit down.

“Madam Qin,” Mu He’s voice was clear and light, “you already have the happy and fulfilling life you wished for. Why insist on correcting a ‘mistake’ like me?”

Wouldn’t it be fine to remain strangers for life?

“No,” Madam Qin shook her head frantically, “you are not a mistake!”

She finally uttered a truth: “The best thing I ever did in my life was giving birth to you!”

This was the source of Madam Qin’s confidence—without her, could Mu He have been born into the life of a rich young lady?

She might not have even had the right to exist in this world.

Mu He felt particularly ironic: “In these twenty-three years, did you ever think to come see me even once?”

“I-I of course did! But Mu Haoran, your uncle, he wouldn’t allow me to return. Because I foolishly gave you to someone else when you were born, he wanted to sever our sibling relationship. You can call him to ask if he ever said that…”

She wasn’t afraid to confront her brother, confident that given his temperament, he would never reveal the truth from back then.

A string of lies.

Mu He completely lost patience: “Please leave.”

Madam Qin opened her mouth, intending to say more, but forced herself to stop. Before leaving, she put on sunglasses from her bag to hide her red eyes, restored her elegant posture, and slowly exited the dressing room.

She had just left when Tan Mian returned. Seeing Mu He bent over her script, as if nothing had happened, she quietly asked: “Yangyang, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Just someone irrelevant.

Mu He truly wasn’t disturbed. The afternoon scenes were shot smoothly. After finishing work and dinner, with no night scenes, everyone gathered to play cards to pass the time. Mu He’s card skills were average, but luck was on her side, and she ended up winning a plate of sunflower seeds.

She distributed some to everyone, chatting while cracking seeds.

After nine o’clock, the gathering dispersed. Mu He returned to her dorm room, showered, lay on the bed, and lazily teased her boyfriend, too tired to type. She sent a voice message: “Darling, what are you doing?”

Mr. Xi: “Getting ready for a shower.”

She was about to say, “Then go ahead,” when another voice message arrived, deliberately flirtatious in tone: “Want to watch?”

Mu He, of course, replied: “Yes, yes, yes.”