Page 15 of This Time It's Real
Emily beams. “Mine.”
Ma sighs from beside me. “You’re going to pick something with a xiao xian rou as the lead, aren’t you?”
Xiao xian rouis one of those trendy terms I learned only after we moved back to Beijing. It literally means “little fresh meat,” which I realize sounds somewhat carnivorous, but it’s used to describe most attractive male celebrities in their teens or early twenties.
“What do you think?” Emily says, her smile widening. Then, seeing Ma’s expression of relative despair, she adds, “Don’t worry, Ma. You’ll get your pick next time.”
“When will it be my turn?” Ba grumbles, rubbing his eyes. “You know how I feel about those romance dramas; why do people keep crashing into each other? And why do the female leads keep telling themselves to jiayou? Nobody talks like that.”
“It was your turn last time,” I remind him. “Remember that torture scene with the blood and guts everywhere? Emily complained about not being able to fall asleep afterward?”
Ba blinks, then sinks back in his seat. “There was hardly any blood—”
Emily and I burst into loud protests at the same time.
“Oh my god, Ba, there wasso muchblood—”
“The floors were bright red—”
“You couldn’t even see the actor’s face—”
“My eyes were bleeding just watching it—”
“And everyonediedat the end.”
“Okay, okay,” Ba says hastily, exchanging a swift, amused look with Ma. “You girls choose.”
Emily lifts her chin and sniffs. “As we should.”
We have something of a system going, since all our tastes are so different: Ba loves those old war dramas where all anyone ever does is scream “traitor” at the top of their lungs and get hit by an unnecessary amount of bullets in slow motion; Ma prefers her business dramas, even though she spends half the time scoffing and yelling things like“That’s not how CMPs work!”at the screen; and Emily and I will watch pretty much any idol romance featuring a good-looking lead.
I have a theory that Ma secretly likes her idol romances as much as we do, though. I made everyone watchThe Untamedwhen it was my turn, and she seemed more invested in the characters than any of us.
Emily snatches the remote and starts streaming this cute campus romance drama. Ba’s eyes glaze over a little, and Ma grumbles something about how all the opening credits look the same these days, but I lean closer to the TV. This is exactly what I need right now: pure, joyful escapism.
We’re about two minutes into the first scene (which, predictably, involves the protagonist and love interest crashing into each other in the hallway and getting their phones mixed up) when I realize the male lead looks familiar.
Veryfamiliar.
He has the same sharp jaw, the same dark gaze and perfectly rumpled raven-black hair. The same elegant cheekbones and tall nose. And even though his character’s posture is different—for once, he’s not slouching or leaning on anything—his expression, the way he’s looking at the protagonist with that disarming mixture of exasperation and amusement, is all too familiar as well.
Caz Song.
I’m watching one of Caz Song’s dramas.
Well. So much for escapism.
I try to act normal about this revelation—I mean, far more surprising things have happened today—but I can’t describe how weird it feels to see one of your classmates flirting with some famous actress on the TV screen in your own living room. It somehow feels like an invasion of privacy, though I’m not sure if it’shisprivacy or mine. Maybe both.
“He’s hot,” Emily comments as the camera zooms in on Caz’s eyes, then on his full, naturally pouted lips.
I almost choke. “Don’t—don’t say things like that, Emily.”
“What? Heis.” Emily turns to Ma for support. “Isn’t he good-looking, Ma?”
Ma studies the screen carefully. “Mm. Better than most of the xiao xian rous I’ve seen.” Then, catching Ba’s eye across the couch, she adds with emphasis, “But obviously your father is the best-looking guy out there.”
“Of course I am,” Ba says.
