(The Shoot and the Trap)
Xin Shibai walked beside him through the glass lobby, as efficient as ever. "The shoot is scheduled for an hour from now," he explained. "It'll take place on the thirteenth floor. Coincidentally, the director was an old classmate of mine. We'll communicate easily—you can relax, Young Master Hu."
"Call me Xiaoyu," Hu Xiaoyu said with a soft smile.
"… Alright," Xin replied. "Xiaoyu."
He flexed his fingers subtly, trying not to look as if he'd been struck by lightning. Those eyes—narrow, bright, edged with mischief—could make a man forget his own name.
If this fox isn't careful, the whole industry will fall for him, he thought.
Frankly, he didn't know what the boss was thinking. Letting this face appear on camera? The world didn't deserve that kind of temptation.
If it were him, he'd lock Hu Xiaoyu away somewhere, far from human sight.
Meanwhile, Director Zhong Yizheng was staring gloomily at a photo on his tablet.
He was set to film a commercial for a popular fruit drink. Three young actors were already cast—fresh, pretty, full of youthful energy. The fourth, however, had been added at the last minute: a mysterious "Hu Xiaoyu."
Normally, that wouldn't be an issue. As long as the check cleared, who cared who showed up?
But this picture…
It looked too perfect.
Experience had taught him that the more a headshot was airbrushed, the worse the real person looked in life.
If this newcomer dragged down the ad's visual tone, the blame would fall squarely on him.
As he was stewing over that thought, a bottle of water appeared in front of him.
"Brother Zhong," came a smooth voice. "You look stressed. Anything I can help with?"
The speaker was Yang Kai, one of the ad's actors.
A second-generation heir turned talent-show darling, his face was passable, his manners polished, his ambition obvious.
Zhong accepted the bottle but didn't drink. "No, I'm fine."
If he hadn't once seen Yang Kai tear into his assistant behind the scenes, he might've found him likable. Now, he simply tolerated him for work's sake.
Yang Kai's smile faltered for a beat before recovering. "I heard we're getting a new addition today—someone who just got added to the lineup. Who is he? Maybe we can break the ice in advance."
Translation: I need to know if he's better looking than me.
Zhong's lips curved slightly. "You'll know when he arrives."
Yang Kai wanted to press, but the studio door opened first.
A tall young man walked in—expression neutral, posture straight.
Early twenties, maybe twenty-six. Clean-cut. Could play a lawyer or a doctor easily.
Yang Kai exhaled in relief. Average enough.
But then the man turned toward the door, holding it open for someone else.
And the world seemed to pause.
The newcomer who stepped through didn't just enter the room—he changed it.
There was a kind of beauty that burned through thought, that stripped the air of sound and color.
Even Yang Kai forgot to breathe. When he finally did, envy hit hard. Recognition flickered, then irritation.
Those eyes—slender, gleaming like foxfire.
That sharp jaw, the kind of fragile perfection that made everything around it feel crude.
Zhong Yizheng's gloom vanished. Jackpot.
He'd seen more than his share of pretty faces. But this? This one could be counted on one hand.
And to think he'd doubted the photo. It hadn't even captured half the boy's real beauty.
Excitement surged. He could already picture the frame, the lighting—how the camera would love this face.
He clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone, introductions first, then makeup!"
As the actors exchanged greetings, Yang Kai's polite smile turned brittle.
Hu Xiaoyu's own expression stayed mild, but inside, he recognized the name immediately—and with it, the ugly memories it carried.
He wasn't the type to start trouble. But some people, some memories, had a stench that clung to them.
Human cruelty, he'd learned, could cut deeper than any beast's claw.
He reminded himself: Don't interfere unless you must. If he behaves, I won't hurt him.
The makeup artist finished faster than ever.
Not because she was lazy—but because there was almost nothing to improve. His skin was flawless, his bone structure balanced. Every brushstroke felt redundant.
"Perfect," she murmured, setting down her tools. "You're ready."
Hu Xiaoyu thanked her with a smile and asked where the restroom was before changing.
Across the studio, Xin Shibai was still talking to the director. Spotting Hu Xiaoyu heading out, he took a step to follow, but the boy waved him off with an easy grin. "It's fine. I can go alone."
He finished quickly, washed his hands, and was just reaching for the door when it swung open again.
Yang Kai stepped inside—and locked it behind him.
Hu Xiaoyu's gaze cooled. "What do you want?"
Yang Kai leaned against the door, arms folded, lips curling. "Just catching up. What's wrong? Don't want to talk? What should I call you now—Hu, or Cui? You changed your name after all. What is it—found yourself a rich 'godfather'?"
The sneer was deliberate. And the mention of "Cui" struck a deep, instinctive chord.
Yang Kai didn't know the truth—that Hu Xiaoyu had found not a sponsor, but a man far more dangerous and impossible to touch.
The faucet clicked on, water hissing into the sink.
Yang Kai's gaze ran over him, a predator's hunger mixed with bitter awe. "That makeup's too heavy. Not good for your skin. You can wash it off yourself… or I can help."
Washing off makeup wasn't his goal.
He wanted to remind Hu Xiaoyu what fear felt like.
Zhong Yizheng, the director, hated delays. Any scene disrupted, any actor with "problems," would see their footage cut—or be replaced.
And Yang Kai knew that, too.
He grinned, taking a step closer. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"
Hu Xiaoyu's eyes narrowed slightly.
He liked water—but not on him. Even now, the animal instinct remains. His gaze drifted to the running faucet.
"You like water so much?" he asked quietly. "Then let me wash you instead."
The soft tone made Yang Kai pause. A strange chill licked his spine. "What did you—"
He didn't finish.
The air trembled. The stream from the faucet twisted upward, hanging in midair—like invisible fingers shaping it into ribbons of light.
Yang Kai stumbled back. "What the fuck—"
Hu Xiaoyu smiled faintly, all calm elegance. "Humans started this. I'm only defending myself. That's fair, isn't it?"
A flick of his fingers—and the floating water lashed forward, curling around Yang Kai's wrist like liquid rope.
"Ah—!" The man's scream cut short. The more he struggled, the tighter it squeezed—cold, sharp, unyielding.
"I told myself not to get involved," Hu Xiaoyu said softly. "As long as you stayed quiet, I won't hurt you. But you're truly awful, aren't you?"
The words were gentle. The tone wasn't.
Yang Kai's knees hit the floor with a thud. The faucet clanged once, echoing his panic.
Hu Xiaoyu crouched, eyes gleaming like polished amber.
"Water cleans," he murmured. "But it can also drown."
He flicked his wrist. The stream splintered, collapsing into mist.
Yang Kai gasped, free again—his wrist marked red, but intact.
"That's enough," Hu Xiaoyu said, almost kindly. "Next time, remember—there are people you don't touch."
He shut off the faucet, dried his hands, and walked out.
When he rejoined the group, his fox eyes were bright again, lips curved in an easy smile.
Xin Shibai glanced up. "Everything alright?"
Hu Xiaoyu smiled. "All good."
Behind him, the running water finally stopped.