Cannon Fodder in an Era Drama — I Survive with Acting-Chapter 136: Acting Spoiled and Showing Weakness
He never complained or said he was tired, but she could see the pressure on his shoulders had never lifted.
He held himself to too high a standard, always shouldering every burden.
With him, you never had to worry about a thing. Whenever trouble arose, you could just hide behind him. It was incredibly reassuring.
That was the Fei Jin from the original story—always cleaning up Wen Xiuxiu’s messes, like an omnipotent savior.
But Song Qingya wasn’t Wen Xiuxiu.
She didn’t need a hero who was always perfect. She wanted a real person.
But that wasn’t what Song Qingya wanted for him.
She hoped he could relax a little, show his weakness from time to time, and be vulnerable with her.
She wasn’t asking him to become a different person, only that he didn’t always have to be hard as iron.
Looking at the tall man before her—who could now pout, play weak, and even use a few little tricks—Song Qingya held back a smile as her heart began to beat a little faster.
She raised a hand and, as if pacifying a big, sulking dog, stood on her tiptoes to ruffle his always-pristine short hair.
She admitted her mistake with sweet words, "Alright, alright, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have doubted Ajin. Our Ajin is the most dependable person there is. How could I let my imagination run wild and think you’d be anything but good to me?"
Her voice softened, taking on a wheedling tone.
With the original owner of this body, he would have been counting his blessings as long as she wasn’t causing trouble behind his back.
He never made demands or held her oversights against her.
But now things were different. He voiced his displeasure directly, demanded compensation, and took action to make her aware of his presence.
The man perked up the moment he heard that.
The corner of his mouth quirked up and his eyes brightened, but he didn’t let himself smile.
He snatched her hand in a swift, decisive motion.
"So, you’ve wronged me. How do you plan to make it up to me?"
His gaze was profound, and he stared at her as if he could see right through her.
Song Qingya’s face flushed.
She tried to pull her hand back, but he only held it tighter.
"But last time... we just..."
She stammered, trying to remind him that they had just spent the night together last weekend.
But he cut her off before she could finish.
"That was then, and this is now."
His tone was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling faintly.
She tried to feign composure, but her heart was racing uncontrollably.
She had completely forgotten her questions about Fei Jin. She could only glare at him, a mixture of indignation and shyness.
She wanted to call him a scoundrel, but swallowed the words at the tip of her tongue.
All she could do was glare at him, trying to convey her displeasure with her eyes, but her gaze was clearly tinged with avoidance and a hint of a guilty conscience.
"I’ll deal with you after I’ve washed my face."
Fei Jin smiled in satisfaction, the corners of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling.
He stood before the washstand, wringing out a towel as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.
He was usually so methodical, a man of discipline and rules who spoke little and never acted rashly.
But over the past few days, he had started trying a different approach.
He was aware of these subtle changes, and he knew they were working.
Things he would never have considered before—like giving her a flower or saying something that wasn’t entirely practical—he was now doing in secret.
Once you open a crack in the door, the wind will find its way in.
He knew he couldn’t take too large a step, but he wasn’t about to retreat.
He didn’t yet know the future saying: "Women don’t love a man who’s too serious."
But, relying on pure instinct, he was slowly starting to figure things out.
He knew Song Qingya wasn’t one for making a scene, but she also wasn’t the type to bottle up her emotions indefinitely.
When she came in with a cold expression, it didn’t necessarily mean she was truly angry, but there was always a reason.
He thought back on his old self. ’Too stuffy.’
When he saw her, the most he could manage was a simple, "Have you eaten?" He couldn’t squeeze out another word.
When she was sick, he would just hand her the medicine without a single word of comfort.
’He’d thought that was how you took care of someone.’
’Thinking back on it now, it really wasn’t enough.’
’I have to change.’
’I need to learn from the young people in the city—speak with more tact, act with more finesse.’
’It’s not about being fake; it’s about being thoughtful.’
Fei Jin’s gaze darkened, as if he were lost in memory, or perhaps making a resolution.
He stared into the mirror, his voice soft but resolute.
’Alright. Practice starts tonight.’
...
Over the next few days, Song Qingya felt that something was off about Fei Jin.
When she left in the morning, she found a fresh wildflower on the windowsill, its petals still beaded with dew.
It hadn’t been there yesterday, or the day before.
She asked the neighbors, but no one had left it.
That only left him.
When she returned, she found a small, silk-covered box on her nightstand. Inside was a pale blue butterfly hair clip.
The design wasn’t expensive, but it was elegant.
She wore it a few times, and on each occasion, his gaze would linger on her hair for a moment before he looked down to sip his tea, saying nothing.
What was even stranger was that while tidying her desk, she found a neatly folded piece of paper.
On it was Fei Jin’s handwriting, every stroke neat and forceful.
But the content was not something she could imagine him writing.
She was stunned for a long moment.
’Don’t tell me he’s been transmigrated into, too?’
The thought flashed through her mind, and she immediately found it absurd.
’Transmigration... As if such things could happen.’
The problem was, the man before her was truly no longer the Fei Jin she once knew.
Giving flowers and buying hair clips was one thing; you could chalk that up to him suddenly figuring things out.
But writing poetry?
And writing it well, at that?
That was completely beyond her perception of him.
No wonder she couldn’t believe it at first.
After all, Fei Jin was a man who had carried a gun onto the battlefield, who had fought and bled for his merits.
He had killed enemies, been wounded, and earned a Third-Class Merit.
Anyone in his unit who talked about him called him a fearsome character.
He spoke little, worked efficiently, and never dithered.
She had always assumed he was just slightly more literate than the other rough men in his unit, capable of reading documents and newspapers at most.
But her recent interactions with him proved that wasn’t the case at all.
He could casually recite lines from the *Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng* and even explain the classical allusions within it.
When she brought up passages from the *Treatise on Cold Pathogenic and Warm Pathogenic Diseases*, not only could he follow along, but he could also supplement with examples from *Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold*.
When she casually mentioned the line, "*Last night the west wind stripped the green trees bare,*" he actually finished the verse for her, his tone so natural it was as if he’d known it by heart for years.
Song Qingya couldn’t help but ask, "Did they teach you all this in school back then? Ajin, you didn’t memorize all this on your own, did you?"
Fei Jin shook his head.
"It was from when I was a child. My family was strict. If you couldn’t recite your texts, you’d get the paddle."
He spoke matter-of-factly, his voice low and showing no fluctuation in emotion.
He didn’t even mention his parents, only using the two words "my family."
When he said "my family," his tone was flat, as if he were discussing something trivial.
But Song Qingya could still detect a fleeting trace of loneliness in his voice.
It wasn’t something he revealed intentionally; it was more like a shadow at the bottom of a still pond, surfacing only in the quiet moments.
She didn’t press him.
He knew she wouldn’t.
She had always known her boundaries and understood the importance of giving him space.
She simply placed her hand over the back of his and gave it a gentle squeeze.
The gesture was light and brief, but it was enough to get the message across.
It was as if to say: ’I’m here.’
Fei Jin’s hand didn’t move, nor did he squeeze back, but it slowly relaxed beneath hers.
His thumb brushed lightly against her fingertips. He said nothing, but his shoulders drooped slightly, as if a small weight had been lifted.
