Let Me Meet You chapter 40

Sunrise (Part 3)

The moment Sheng Min saw him, his brows furrowed slightly. Li Xuan recalled that his name was Wang Ran. He seemed a few years older than them, though likely not yet thirty. On the call sheet, Sheng Min had marked a small triangle by his name, indicating limited interaction was necessary. Naturally, Li Xuan didn’t greet him.  

They stood in silence for a while before Wang Ran broke it.  

“Sheng Min,” he said, his tone noticeably less friendly than during filming. “You’re just going to sit there and talk to me?”  

“Otherwise? Should I stand up and salute you?” Li Xuan raised an eyebrow.  

Caught off guard, Wang Ran frowned at him for a few seconds before suddenly laughing. His expression changed as quickly as in a Sichuan opera, and he pulled up a chair to sit down. “You’re different now. A few years ago, when you were just a supporting actor for me, you were so respectful. Now you’ve got quite the attitude. I heard you even scolded Zhang Zhihua in the dressing room last time, scared him out of his wits.”  

Li Xuan lowered his gaze, recalling the incident. The only thing that came to mind was the day he filmed the commercial ad. He doubted the makeup artist would spread gossip, so he mentally noted another point against Zhang Zhihua.  

“You’ve really changed since you got famous. Wangyang Willows has been such a hit; all your hard work paid off,” Wang Ran continued. His sharp features bore a striking resemblance to Sheng Min’s, though Wang Ran’s looked gloomier in contrast to Sheng Min’s bright, vivid appearance. Combined with his current demeanor, it created a jarring effect.  

“If you liked this script, you could’ve just said so earlier. It’s just another period drama. I don’t lack for roles. But waiting until I packed my things to join the production, only to have you step in—well, that’s just… Anyway, let’s not talk about it. It’s pointless. Still, congratulations, really.”

Not talking about it? You’ve been talking about nothing else, Li Xuan thought, his head aching. He just wanted to leave, but seeing Sheng Min purse his lips tightly, he forced himself to stay seated.  

“Let me ask you,” Li Xuan said, rubbing his temples, “does playing a supporting role mean I owe you for life? Like a job with tenure—thirty years of service and a pension at retirement? Even government workers can resign. What are you thinking? Or are you just so honored I supported you that you want to commemorate it forever? Maybe even mention it at my funeral? I wouldn’t mind, really. If you can’t think of anything else to say, feel free to improvise. It’s been years—I barely remember it.”

The outburst was entirely unlike Sheng Min’s usual demeanor. Wang Ran, visibly stunned, reflexively tried to respond, but Li Xuan cut him off.  

“One more thing,” Li Xuan added, pulling out his phone before Wang Ran could speak. “How about a call? Isn’t this your show?” He tapped on Wangyang Willows’s promotional page on the screen and smiled teasingly. “Let’s see if it responds.”  

Beside him, Sheng Min let out a soft laugh before quickly suppressing it, his shoulders lightly shaking.  

“Sheng Min, are you crazy?!” Wang Ran snapped, his face darkening.  

“No,” Li Xuan said, dropping his smile. “Be careful with your words. Making baseless claims could count as defamation. And since you’ve already admitted I’m quite popular, aren’t you worried my agency might send you a legal notice?”  

“You—”  

“Me, what? Don’t wave your finger at me either,” Li Xuan said, yawning as the sea breeze made him drowsy. He lazily waved Wang Ran away like shooing a fly. “Instead of digging up old drama, focus on your fans waiting for you to ‘give back.’ Think long-term. You can’t just dwell on things from years ago. Good luck.”  

Perhaps the tension between them was too palpable, as a staff member timidly approached to mediate. “Mr. Sheng, Mr. Wang, both of you please take a break inside. Once the sun’s out, we’ll continue filming.”

Wang Ran still glared at him, while Li Xuan sat with his legs crossed, sitting casually and with an expressionless face, indifferent to his gaze. Wang Ran’s face turned pale for a moment, his jawline twitching slightly, and though he opened his mouth several times, no words came out. After a long pause, he flicked his hand and turned to leave.

He walked quickly, unsure if it was out of frustration or an unconscious desire to vent, almost bumping into the staff member who stumbled.

“Are you okay?” Sheng Min asked quickly, reaching out to steady her.

“Thanks.” Fortunately, it was on sand, so she didn’t fall. The young woman nodded in gratitude, steadying herself, then cautiously asked Li Xuan, “Mr. Sheng, you…”

“I’m not going in,” Li Xuan said, “I’ll just stay here and enjoy the breeze.”

“Do you need another umbrella?”

“No need. You go ahead and do your work, don’t mind me.”

The staff member seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, bringing two glasses of juice and a few plates of snacks, then double-checking the upcoming filming schedule before leaving.

The clouds gradually drifted away, faintly revealing the sun’s outline. A seagull swiftly skimmed the horizon in the distance. Sheng Min bit the straw without speaking, and after a moment, Li Xuan nudged his knee lightly: “Are you happy now?”

“I wasn’t unhappy to begin with.” Sheng Min hadn’t swallowed the grapefruit juice yet, and his voice sounded thick.

“Uh-huh.” Li Xuan crossed his arms behind his head, relaxed, mimicking his tone, “I wasn’t unhappy to begin with.”

“Annoying.” There was a faint smile in Sheng Min’s eyes, barely visible.

Li Xuan curled his lips. “That guy’s the one who’s annoying. What was the point of him coming here to get scolded? Was he bored or something?”

Sheng Min sighed lightly. “He signed a bet contract with his agency. His recent shows haven’t done well, and he’s probably lost a lot of money. He must be frustrated.”

“So because of that, he just goes around biting people? Does he even have enough money left for rabies shots? Not likely,” Li Xuan said, his tone full of disdain.

Sheng Min thought to himself that Wang Ran didn’t come just to get scolded. He was probably just venting, though he didn’t realize the person he was trying to vent on was someone who could fight back.

However, Li Xuan wasn’t someone who liked to waste words. He was smart, somewhat arrogant, and had the kind of confidence unique to geniuses. He truly “didn’t see” people who weren’t important to him. In the time they had known each other, Sheng Min could remember only two people Li Xuan had clashed with—Zhang Zhihua and today’s encounter, both of which were related to him.

“You’re quiet again,” Li Xuan said, snapping his fingers in front of Sheng Min’s face.

“Why don’t you ask me?” Sheng Min gently kicked at the sand with his toes, speaking slowly. “Wang Ran said I stole his film role.”

“My neck isn’t empty, is it? You, like a quail, who could you possibly steal from?”

“What if….,” Sheng Min said, noticing Li Xuan squinting his eyes, pausing before adding, “I don’t mean that you don’t have a brain… but what if I did steal it.”

“You’d be better off not explaining.” Li Xuan laughed at him, not understanding why he was suddenly so concerned about this, still in that lazy tone. “If you stole it, then fine. What’s the big deal?”

A small sand pit had already formed by his feet. Sheng Min took another sip of juice, and when the sweet and sour liquid slid down his throat, he said, “But you don’t know anything, yet you’re scolding him for me.”

“He’s annoying,” Li Xuan said naturally. “What’s the problem? Is this all just to say that?”

Sheng Min didn’t answer, neither confirming nor denying. Li Xuan didn’t urge him further, waiting for a wave to pass by before Sheng Min finally spoke.

“I didn’t steal his role… ‘Wangyang Willows’ initially contacted Wang Ran. This project was with a new director and no IP, so the platform didn’t have high expectations. The rating was low, so he didn’t take it and chose another Korean remake instead. Later, ‘Wangyang Willows’ still couldn’t find a suitable actor. By the time I finished my last drama, the male lead still hadn’t been decided, and it had been delayed quite a bit.”

Sheng Min slightly bent forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his palm supporting his face. “The producer of ‘Wangyang Willows’ and I had worked together before. When I didn’t have much fame, she gave me some opportunities, and she’s been good to me. She knew I was available, so she asked me to step in, and I agreed. But Wang Ran took that role, and it got stopped before filming due to copyright issues. He wanted to come back and take it, but by then, I had already signed the contract and joined the set. So… Well, that’s how it went.”

Sheng Min finished explaining in a few words, then smiled lightly. “It’s pretty boring, right?” He didn’t look at Li Xuan’s reaction, his gaze somewhere else, his tone light. “Actually, it doesn’t matter… but I can’t let you fight for me for nothing.”

“It matters.” Li Xuan paused for a moment, shrugging. “And I don’t know nothing. I know you.”

Sheng Min’s back seemed to stiffen, and he turned his head to look at him.

“I didn’t steal anyone’s role,” he said, looking into Li Xuan’s eyes, shining with an indescribable pride and defiance. “I don’t need to.”

This was different from Sheng Min’s usual demeanor, yet somehow fitting. Li Xuan thought to himself that the quail metaphor was wrong; he was more like a crane. “I know that too.”

“You know everything.” Sheng Min mumbled softly.

“Of course.”

His tone was so self-assured that Sheng Min just said, “Oh,” and they both smiled.

As the director had predicted, within an hour, the lighting had noticeably improved. Li Xuan took this opportunity to take a call from Qi Boyuan, discussing whether they should add a player-to-player item trade feature.

“No, we’re not a monster-slaying game.” Li Xuan quickly made the decision. “Let’s focus on the basic features and update later if needed.”

Qi Boyuan didn’t take much convincing. After discussing a detail, they ended the call just before filming resumed.

“Everything okay?” Sheng Min asked, concerned that the call had been cut off abruptly for the filming.

“It’s nothing. Already sorted.” Li Xuan stood up. “I’m heading over first.”

The PD had already come over, and several artists had come out of the tent, some walking while others adjusted their makeup and hair. Sheng Min didn’t say anything more, but unconsciously stood up as well.

“Isn’t it less than fifty meters away? Are you going to send me off?” Li Xuan laughed at him.

Hearing this, Sheng Min also realized he had gotten a bit muddled, so he took a step back and sat down again, holding the cup. He had already drunk most of the grapefruit juice, and his lips seemed to have been lightly stained with a faint red hue.

Li Xuan was about to leave, but seeing this, for some reason, he suddenly felt a bit restless. He took a sip of his own untouched juice, but it was still too sweet. So, he ended up taking the sparkling water that Sheng Min had prepared for him.

“Tear the wrapper off,” Sheng Min reminded him.

He nodded without turning around, signaling that he had heard. However, after a few steps, he turned back.

“Don’t go stepping in the water again,” Li Xuan said, staring at Sheng Min’s still-damp pant legs.