Chapter Two: The Boy's Blush

Back at the dorm, Chen Ling took a shower first—after all, he’d been playing basketball all afternoon and was drenched in sweat. He didn’t bother with any special outfit combinations when he changed; it was still a bit warm this time of year, so as long as his clothes were clean and tidy, that was enough. Washed-out blue jeans paired with a white shirt, hair a little long and almost brushing his eyes—just like that, he exuded the effortless charm of youth.

And since he was strikingly handsome, it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked for his contact by female classmates on campus. Dou Xiao had been right earlier: although there were no afternoon classes for the directing department, Chen Ling had other plans—he intended to sit in on another lecture.

Whether it was the class of '09 in directing or acting, there were plenty of good-looking people, but not many who would become famous in the years to come. It was the upperclassmen who included some future big stars: Dou Xiao and Jiao Junyan, sophomores in acting from the class of '08; Jing Tian, Zheng Shuang, Tan Songyun, juniors; and Zhai Tianlin, a senior. Some of them Chen Ling had met, some he often played basketball with—like Dou Xiao—while others he only knew by reputation.

After all, this was the Film Academy. Going out to film on set was commonplace; some students and teachers barely saw each other in a year, let alone a freshman who’d only been around for a month or two.

For instance, Yang Mi had already graduated. With the explosive popularity of "Chinese Paladin 3" this year, she was swamped with commercials and endorsements. It was nearly impossible to see her on campus.

In the less than two months since school started, Chen Ling’s favorite pastime was sneaking into classes—partly for the novelty, partly out of curiosity to see what the future stars were like at this stage. Most of them, it turned out, were still quite green.

Of course, his habit had caught the attention of his class advisor. Sitting in on classes was normal at Beiying, but doing it every single day was unusual.

Chen Ling justified it with the grand excuse: as a director, one ought to understand every aspect of filmmaking. Which, in fairness, wasn’t wrong—wandering into other fields was practically a tradition in the directing department.

Just look at some of the great directors who’d come out of Beiying: how many of them had actually graduated from the directing department? Most snatched the director’s chair from other majors. Zhang Yimou, for example, came from cinematography. And in the new generation, there was Guo Fan, who’d gotten into Beiying’s management graduate program from another school and then crossed over to become a director, making a sci-fi blockbuster like "The Wandering Earth." The truth was, the directing department at Beiying had never had it easy.

So when Chen Ling first started, his teachers would joke that he might one day steal roles from the acting students—after all, with his looks, he certainly had the potential.

Leaving his dorm, Chen Ling wove his way to a junior-level acting class—a large lecture today. He planned to sit in, but that wasn’t his real purpose. He was there for someone in particular.

That someone was Jing Tian, affectionately known as Sweetie Tian, the "Human Flower of Wealth and Grace." During military training at the start of the semester, Chen Ling had come across her by chance.

His heart had pounded uncontrollably at the sight.

He’d often seen photos of Sweetie Tian online and watched her on screen, but seeing her in person was on another level entirely. Not only was she beautiful, but she carried the aura of a future star.

Her beauty was legendary—standing side by side with "the celestial fairy herself," she was every bit her equal. Even now, while she still had the innocence of youth, that very freshness made her even more captivating.

After military training, Chen Ling happened to sit next to her during one of his class-hopping sessions, and they’d gotten acquainted. They exchanged contacts, and since then, whether by chance or design, he often ran into her. The two had become friendly.

Given his knowledge of history, Chen Ling guessed that Jing Tian’s new drama hadn’t started shooting yet, so there was a good chance she’d be at today’s class. It was worth a try.

Sure enough, as soon as he entered the classroom, he spotted Jing Tian and her roommate and best friend, Chai Biyun—another beauty—sitting in the back row by the window. There was still time before class started, and the seats nearby were empty. Chen Ling walked over and sat down unceremoniously.

“Sweetie, you’re looking even prettier after a few days,” he said. Complimenting a girl’s looks was rarely a mistake.

“And is Jing Tian the only one you see? I’m sitting right here and you don’t even say hello?” Chai Biyun teased, grinning. As Jing Tian’s best friend, she could see right through Chen Ling’s little schemes.

“You too, Biyun—you’re looking more beautiful than ever.”

“That’s perfunctory. And I’m your senior, not just ‘Biyun.’”

“All right, all right. We see each other all the time, after all. I even ran into you yesterday when I was sitting in on a class.” Unlike Jing Tian, Chai Biyun didn’t have as many roles, so she was often on campus, and Chen Ling ran into her frequently. In time, and with a bit of effort, they’d become friends—after all, you can’t afford to offend your crush’s best friend.

“You’re sitting in again? Won’t the teachers mind?” Jing Tian finally spoke to Chen Ling for the first time today.

“They won’t mind. They’re probably waiting for me to steal some of your acting department’s jobs, since it’s always the actors crossing over into directing and taking our roles. The directors have gotten quite opinionated about that in recent years.” Chen Ling propped his head on his right hand, gazing at the girl beside him.

Such a beautiful, innocent girl—how did she end up with that table tennis-playing jerk? It just went to show, beautiful girls often had questionable taste in men.

Then again, it might have something to do with her upbringing; her family had always protected her far too well.

Rumors about Jing Tian’s background had always swirled. Even after Chen Ling’s reincarnation, there was no definitive answer online, but everyone agreed it was deep. Wanda Pictures—a vast empire—lavished resources on her without a second thought for profit.

After getting to know her in this life, Chen Ling, though never prying, had picked up enough from their conversations to suspect that her background was indeed formidable.

He also realized that, outside the campus, he’d have no chance to approach Sweetie Tian as a peer. On set, it would be nearly impossible to get close to her.

“Why are you always staring at me?” Jing Tian asked, a little shy.

Her words snapped Chen Ling out of his thoughts. It was obvious to everyone that Chen Ling liked her. He’d asked for her contact at their first meeting, and every time he ran into her, he never hid his interest. Unless you were blind, you couldn’t miss it.

Of course, Jing Tian attracted admirers. By junior year, though, she’d spent much of the previous year away filming and rarely attended class, so her suitors hadn’t really made moves yet. It was still 2009—not as many tricks as there’d be a decade later.

Students in those days still cared about saving face and were a little shy. As for Chen Ling, with two lifetimes behind him and more than a few relationships, feigning innocence was a bit much.

With his mature mindset, his approach was always straightforward and open.

He wanted her to know he liked her, but without crossing boundaries, without interfering in her life or work, without clinging or pestering. It was this difference that Jing Tian didn’t mind—she even seemed to enjoy his company.

“You seem a little strange today,” Chen Ling said, returning from his reverie and gazing at her intently.

“Huh? How so?” Jing Tian asked, reaching for her mirror.

“Strangely beautiful.” Lines that would become cliché in years to come were still fresh and charming in 2009.

“Smooth talker,” Jing Tian murmured, lips pursed, cheeks tinged with red.

There’s a saying: nothing beats a blushing youth—or rather, a blushing young woman.

At that moment, Chen Ling couldn’t have agreed more.