Deep in the Act: Chapter 53

The door opened, and Zhang Zhun slipped in. Zhen Xin turned his back coldly, ignoring him.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Zhang Zhun was affected by his mood and also felt down: “You didn’t come.”

“Oh,” Zhen Xin leaned against the desk playing with his phone: “Tired.”

He was throwing a tantrum, over the thing on set with He Mingyuan. Zhang Zhun wanted to explain, but felt there was nothing to say: “I’ll take a shower,” the curtains were drawn, he took off his outer clothes, speaking somewhat distantly: “I’ll use the bathroom.”

Zhen Xin moved his chin, meaning go ahead. The atmosphere was very awkward. Zhang Zhun went into the bathroom, deliberately not closing the door. The splashing water was provocative. Underwear was tossed out piece by piece, landing on the sofa by the door.

The wide open door was an invitation. Zhen Xin didn’t take the bait, but couldn’t help looking toward the door. Under the warm light, honey colored flesh flickered now and then. He swallowed, feeling a tightness between his legs.

“Did you look at Weibo?” Zhang Zhun’s voice was amplified by the ceramic fixtures, then filtered by the water, tingling and numb.

Zhen Xin wanted not to respond, but couldn’t help making a sound: “Ah,” he irritably threw down his phone, grabbed the script on the desk, climbed onto the bed and leaned against the pillow: “Saying I was throwing my weight around, not letting you sit next to the reporter. Their imagination is too wild.”

Zhang Zhun came out wet, wrapped in a bath towel. He wanted to turn off the lights, thought about it, and directly slipped under the covers, leaning against Zhen Xin. For a long while, Zhen Xin made no movement. Zhang Zhun wasn’t used to his coldness, turned his head and gazed at him tenderly. Zhen Xin tensed up and pretended not to see. Zhang Zhun had no choice. One arm propped against the headboard, he flipped over and straddled him.

“What are you doing…” Zhen Xin said with a tone of disgust, slapping the script down. To keep the corners of his mouth from rising, he scrunched his brows hard, but his eyes glanced downward. Under the propped up blanket, Zhang Zhun grabbed the towel with one hand and ripped it off.

He was naked now, his other hand also propped on the headboard, looking down from above with a fierce momentum, carrying a swordlike aura. Zhen Xin instinctively shrank back: “That thing you… did you win some kind of swordsmanship championship?”

“National martial arts competition champion in southern fist, swordsmanship, and staff.” Zhang Zhun kissed him vividly and warmly, his momentum fierce. Zhen Xin had no choice but to wrap his arms around his waist, inching up along the twisting ribs. Zhang Zhun pressed his hand down, pushed against his chest and pinned him against the headboard, licked his blood engorged lips, showing an expression that was both teasing and reserved.

Zhen Xin felt he was going to do something, but couldn’t say what. He watched him press closer, nose tip, chin, chest only a thread apart, while his hips drew away, pulling out a strange curve.

Zhang Zhun grabbed the corner of the down comforter, flicked his wrist, and that huge spread out double blanket slid off the bed with a whoosh, landing lightly on the floor. Zhen Xin didn’t know why his face turned red, his heart thumping, with a kind of girlish demeanor. They were completely uncovered now, vividly and fragrantly overlapping each other.

Suddenly, Zhang Zhun moved, his waist like a wave, his lower abdomen rubbing past Zhen Xin’s crotch. Zhen Xin’s face instantly flushed red, looking at him in delighted surprise, watching him move again with such stunning spring beauty. That waist he wanted, like a stud dog, Zhang Zhun still remembered, moving more and more wantonly. Zhen Xin remembered what the staff had said about an “electric butt.” It really was like that. Compared to dancers who were flamboyantly showy, Zhang Zhun had his own restrained kind of charm.

Zhen Xin got excited, thrusting his lower body to pin the person down. Zhang Zhun wouldn’t have it, his lustful face pressing toward him, asking with some dignity: “You like it?”

Zhen Xin looked at him foolishly, nodding several times. Zhang Zhun kissed him again, as lingering as could be, his body flexing and rising over him like a dream that never ends: “Let me make you like it even more…” he murmured, then held Zhen Xin’s burning member, spread his legs and sat down.

He tried several times but couldn’t get it in. His pretty brows furrowed. Zhen Xin stared without blinking, tilting to pull open the bedside table drawer. Inside was a tube of lubricant. Zhang Zhun wrapped his arm around his shoulder to reach for it, and was embraced at his waist and back, kissed with a string of marks on his collarbone: “You don’t have to show skin tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow it’s just my scene with Qin Xun.” His lower body and both hands were greasy now. Zhang Zhun sat down, and sure enough, once it touched, his body opened up. Slowly he went halfway in. Zhen Xin held his thing and casually stroked it a couple of times. He suddenly felt a heat in his rear, his intestines spasming violently, he cried out a few times senselessly, and sat down all the way to the bottom.

After catching his breath, he wanted to move himself, but his insides were churning. He stubbornly swayed his waist a few times: “No good…” his lips trembled: “You do it…”

Zhen Xin had been waiting for these words. He got up and flipped him over, eyes red, putting his strength into it, thrusting hard and fierce. Zhang Zhun thoroughly enjoyed his savagery, indulging without restraint. This was completely different from being with a woman. He could cry out if he wanted, cry if he wanted.

Zhen Xin’s mind went blank, only hormones were screaming. The more he thrust his waist the more he pushed Zhang Zhun toward the edge of the bed. Zhang Zhun’s one leg had already slipped off the bed. He struggled to pull it up, but after a few thrusts it slipped down again. The jagged bone peaks of his pelvis protruded from under the skin, looking even more erotic than with his thighs fully spread.

“Slow down…” He was very embarrassed, like a fish gasping and flopping on a dry riverbed, with a kind of dying beauty.

Zhen Xin’s fingers traced those bones: “These…” he said in a trance: “Only I’ve seen.”

Zhang Zhun struggled to grip the edge of the bed to avoid falling off. But Zhen Xin grabbed his leg that was still on the bed, held his ankle and bent it, until thigh and calf pressed tightly together, his entire crotch exposed, like a trembling flower pistil.

“So good… really so good…” Zhen Xin tensed the muscles of his cheeks, groaning heavily and deeply, thrusting forward madly. Because they were covered in bodily fluids, the sound of their lower bodies colliding was unusually loud.

Zhang Zhun’s half body was already out, hanging precariously off the bed. His hand reached upward, trying to touch Zhen Xin’s arm, but he couldn’t hold on, writhing in vain, and was thrust right off. Whether it was the fear of falling or the pleasure from his prostate, even though Zhen Xin had pulled out of his body, he still cried out “ah ah” as he climaxed.

Zhen Xin sluggishly tried to catch him but missed, watching him fall onto the soft down comforter, his whole body flushed red, milky white fluid dripping all over his abdomen and thighs, his torso convulsing involuntarily, clearly still lost in it.

Zhen Xin sat on the edge of the bed watching obsessively, rapidly stroking himself. That final point came unbelievably fast, and with no warning he suddenly shot into his hand: “When you fell…” he said brokenly: “You squeezed me so tight!”

Zhang Zhun covered his face, closing his legs in a way that drew more attention to it: “Don’t you think…” he lowered his voice: “We’re a bit weird?”

“Weird how?” Zhen Xin crawled down on both hands, crawled onto him, and pressed against his mouth to listen.

“Not like other couples,” Zhang Zhun’s tone was meaningful: “We don’t eat together, don’t chat, don’t argue, only have sex…”

Zhen Xin was stunned for a moment, then laughed brightly: “Get up,” he smoothed Zhang Zhun’s hair: “Let’s go to the movies,” in a soft Taiwanese accent, he said: “Late night romance show!”

The next day was Zhen Xin’s scene with Wu Rong, with makeup effects, with physical conflict. Chen Zhengsen walked Zhen Xin through the blocking. By rights Wu Rong should have gone over, but he wasn’t willing, huddled with several staff members, chatting idly sentence by sentence. Little Wang asked him with particular admiration: “Teacher Wu, for fight scenes at this level, you don’t even take them seriously, right?”

“Oh my god,” Wu Rong laughed contemptuously: “This counts as a fight scene…”

Suddenly someone whispered over: “New leak, new leak!”

Little Wang and the others immediately gathered around. Wu Rong was a bit curious and went over to look too. A Miaopai video, buffering slowly with no wifi outdoors. He asked puzzled: “What is this?”

Everyone was excited and didn’t hold back much: “It’s the latest on the ‘Shadow Martial Group.'”

“Shadow Martial Group,” short for Film Emperor and Martial Arts Champion, a recently trending hot search topic, even Wu Rong knew about it.

The video finished buffering. The setting looked like a studio, the camera a bit shaky, clearly shot on a phone. Zhen Xin was chatting quite appropriately with several reporter looking people. Suddenly he saw something, hurried to walk forward, the camera followed. Zhang Zhun appeared, half leaning against the wall, as if he had tripped. Zhen Xin looked like he wanted to help him, but was pushed by him, slamming hard against the opposite wall.

The video cut off abruptly. The Weibo text read: Those saying the film emperor throws his weight around, open your dog eyes. Shot by on site staff. Your martial arts champion really “wins people over with virtue.” Even unrelated passersby can’t stand it anymore!

Posted just five minutes ago, reposts already over ten thousand. The staff were quiet for a moment, then started muttering: “Brother Zhun really went too far… If I were Teacher Zhen I wouldn’t get along with him either… My god! He even laid hands on him. During the bed scene filming they were all sticky sweet, I thought they two…”

Wu Rong felt uncomfortable, wanting to defend Zhang Zhun, but also feeling Zhen Xin was a bit pitiful. At this point the loudspeaker called: “Everyone in position, ready to shoot!”

Wu Rong shook out his outfit, leather jacket and camouflage pants, walked to the middle of the road. Extras were coming and going on both sides. Fifty meters away, at the end of the road, was Zhen Xin’s face with glasses on.

Zhang Zhun’s group was led by Zhou Zheng, no important plot, all Qin Xun’s reshoots. During a lighting adjustment break, Qin Xun came over with her thermos, rarely calling out: “Teacher Zhang.”

Honestly Zhang Zhun was a bit scared. They had no connection, had almost never spoken: “Sister Qin.”

“What sister,” Qin Xun slapped his shoulder unhappily, flicking her black and shiny wig: “We were supposed to have a bed scene,” she raised her brows, that beauty carrying a sense of pressure: “Too bad Chen Zhengsen changed the script.”

Good thing he changed it, Zhang Zhun thought. Qin Xun leaned in closer, seeming to want to say something, when Little Deng happened to come over: “Bro,” his face looked a bit bad: “Come over here.”

Zhang Zhun extricated himself from Qin Xun and followed him to a corner. Little Deng handed him his phone: “Take a look, it should be real.”

Weibo interface, the ID was “Biggest Mouth in the Industry,” a very famous entertainment gossip blogger. Zhang Zhun saw Zhen Xin’s name at a glance. It was talking about his previous thing with Feng Yunting: The news about Zhen Xin getting married is fake, no need for Big Mouth to tell you, any fool can see that. But Big Mouth has to tell you who started the rumor, third rate tabloid Sun Entertainment, the same old trick of unscrupulous media hyping for clicks…

“Oh,” Zhang Zhun indifferently handed the phone back to Little Deng. Little Deng didn’t take it: “Click to read the full text.”

At this point several staff members he usually had good relations with came over, holding an open magazine: “Teacher Zhang,” on the spread were seven or eight nearly nude men and women, coated in shiny body oil, posing in either athletic or provocative positions: “Give us your professional opinion, whose body is best,” they were quite embarrassed: “We’ve been arguing about this for ages!”

Zhang Zhun tilted his head to look. A spread of handsome guys, Asian and Western. Speaking of bodies, he pointed at one tall guy: “This one, the bulk has a kind of beauty…”

Before he finished speaking, several young guys laughed awkwardly: “No no no, Teacher Zhang…” they looked troubled: “We meant the women…”

Zhang Zhun realized, his face instantly flushing red: “Oh…” Only then did he look at the women, with a kind of ashamed panic, because the moment he saw the magazine, he had been completely drawn to the men.

It was originally a small matter, but Zhang Zhun took it to heart. Rather than embarrassment, it was more like panic. He felt it was the influence of those wild sexual encounters with Zhen Xin. Little Deng pushed the phone at him again. This time it was the full Weibo post. He was absentminded. The change in sexual preference was alarming. Until that number crashed into his eyes: 20 million.

He grabbed the phone close: Film Emperor Zhen’s peaceful breakup, do you believe it? Anyway, Big Mouth doesn’t believe it. According to a certain male best friend of Feng Yunting with the surname M, the breakup fee was 20 million, plus various performance opportunities. Who knows what dirt Sister Feng had on Brother Zhen, “Zhen Xin” hurts! OK, that’s all the related info on the “Shadow Martial Group.” Pass by, leave a tip!

Zhang Zhun’s hands shook, almost unable to hold the phone. Little Deng spoke gravely: “Bro, not tens or hundreds of thousands, he spent 20 million for you…”

Zhang Zhun didn’t let him finish, rushed out without even putting on his jacket, went downstairs and asked a production driver for a car, sped all the way to Group A’s filming location. Stopped by the roadside, from far away he saw a crowd gathered. He ducked under the isolation rope. Staff members were pulling people apart. In the gaps of flailing limbs, he saw Wu Rong’s face, blood under his nose, looking foul.

He couldn’t say what kind of force it was. He pushed through those people. Zhen Xin stood in the center of the crowd, looking at him in surprise, perfectly fine, not injured. Clearly Wu Rong had listened to him and held back. Zhang Zhun didn’t say a word, went straight up and shoved Zhen Xin. The surroundings went quiet, the atmosphere tense. Zhen Xin was a bit confused, glanced at Wu Rong behind Zhang Zhun, wanted to explain: “I didn’t…”

He didn’t mean to. The camera light came on, he and Wu Rong got in position. One take went smoothly, but Chen Zhengsen wasn’t satisfied with Wu Rong’s pulling punches, wanted a second take. Originally it was nothing, but in the physical entanglement, Wu Rong whispered: “Stay away from him!”

That line wasn’t in the script. In that instant, Zhen Xin couldn’t tell whether he was Wu Rong or Zou Yun. He struggled violently. Wu Rong hated provocation, so he provoked him: “Look what the hell you did to Zhun!”

It was for this sentence that he threw the punch, one fist injuring Wu Rong’s nose.

Zhen Xin staggered backward. Zhang Zhun was like a terrifying street youth, shoving him a second time. Zhen Xin felt wronged, even heartbroken, but Zhang Zhun was still aggressive, grabbing his collar and pulling him over: “20 million,” he looked into his eyes: “Is it true?”

Zhen Xin’s pupils suddenly dilated. Zhang Zhun immediately understood, shoved him away again, turned and walked off. Zhen Xin chased after him, reaching out to hug him. Completely out of martial arts reflex, Zhang Zhun grabbed his palm with one hand, applied force at the wrist, and Zhen Xin fell to the ground screaming.