Fan Qing, master planner extraordinaire, recently encountered a minor, unexpected headache.
Not huge, but certainly not “small” by his standards.
Because Nie Luo invested in the movie, he ended up spending a lot more time on set.
Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem—but the issue was…
Their night life got drastically reduced.
Tap.
The pen in his hand spun a full 360 degrees before slapping onto the computer screen with a thud, and he collapsed onto the desk.
Fan Qing’s mood mirrored the pen’s trajectory.
…Tch.
Thinking about it, the day he lost because of Kong Ming felt all the more precious.
Might as well check up on Kong Ming recently.
Fan Qing’s expression was full of discontent and frustration.
Kong Ming’s life hadn’t been too pleasant.
After a certain incident got exposed, several of the brands he endorsed secretly investigated him—wanting to see if he had any improper dealings with company heads.
Most of them were clean, and Kong Ming certainly wasn’t doing anything illegal.
But here’s the problem: in this country, business meals are common, and Kong Ming wasn’t overly scrupulous. He attended normal social dinners.
And that got misinterpreted.
A subtle rumor began circulating, suggesting that Kong Ming was the type of celebrity who accepted dinners from bosses.
In just a week, his phone received numerous invitations with ulterior motives, driving him to smash two phones in frustration.
His agent and company apparently gave up on salvaging his image—no PR support came.
In a very short time, Kong Ming’s reputation and popularity plummeted. People couldn’t help but click their tongues in disbelief.
Fan Qing was baffled and shocked.
The company must be swimming in money.
After flipping through the information, Fan Qing suddenly remembered something he had completely forgotten.
He made a call, summoning Second Young Master Jin to cover for him.
Jin Yi was utterly confused.
He was still in the middle of his snow day party!
The snow Gundam he’d just built could easily crush everyone else’s pathetic creations—straight to the championship!
He was reluctant.
“First, how long do I have to cover for you? Can’t be too long—today’s my day off.”
This was a legal day off!
“Two hours should be enough.”
Fan Qing estimated.
But he raised an eyebrow. “What’s this? Do you have something important to do?”
“Of course! It’s a very, very important competition!”
Jin Yi circled around his masterpiece.
No, this was risky.
He waved to someone.
A bodyguard quickly stepped forward.
“I’m going out for a bit,” Jin Yi instructed, “keep an eye on my work. Don’t let anyone mess it up. If I win, you all get a bonus! Got it?”
The bodyguard looked at the snow Gundam and then at Jin Yi.
His expression was exactly the same—calm and unreadable.
He nodded habitually.
Rarely did Second Young Master Jin not get absorbed in partying and actually go participate in a competition.
Fan Qing had planned to let Jin Yi off easy, but he didn’t take long to show up anyway.
Since he was here… Fan Qing thought, might as well get going.
January was still cold; delicate snowflakes drifted through the empty streets.
Fan Qing wore a thick coat.
Come to think of it, his clothes were all bought by Nie Luo.
Although he suspected Nie Luo had been quietly adding to his wardrobe…
Hmm?
Fan Qing suddenly remembered something.
Speaking of clothes…
At the old street corner, a figure lurked, moving stealthily.
He looked around carefully.
Good, nobody was there!
He turned and picked up a black plastic bag, reluctance etched across his face.
The boy groaned miserably, hugging the plastic bag as if it contained his very soul.
“Damn it! Do I really have to deal with this like this?”
His prized creations—Big Alpha No.1, Little Sweet No.3…
Waaah! He couldn’t bear it!
Suddenly, a sharp whack landed on his backside.
“Ow!”
He jumped up, clutching the plastic bag.
“You still know how to feel pain? You little brat! Be honest—did you use my good fabrics to make your… ridiculous clothes again?”
A deep, commanding voice boomed behind him. The boy spun around.
Not his grandfather—who else?
Damn it!
Was his grandfather a tailor or a detective? He’d only just sneaked out—how had he been caught so fast?
The boy tried to feign innocence, holding the bag protectively.
“Grandpa, I just made a few pieces for myself! None of the old ones, and those weren’t bad clothes…”
Smack!
The old man wasn’t listening.
He waved the cane, chasing the boy while scolding him.
“Nonsense! You’ve worn the same few clothes every day and never bothered with new ones. You say these are for yourself? Fine—take them out, change into them right here in the street, and then I’ll let you go.”
What?
Change clothes… in the street?
Absolutely impossible!
The boy froze, deciding it was safer not to argue.
First—escape! Waaaaah, why was he so pitiful!
The grandfather and grandson dashed around the old street corner, weaving back and forth.
The boy’s energy couldn’t match the grandfather’s—two hours of daily park training had taken its toll. His steps slowed, the plastic bag sagging in his arms.
Suddenly, he stumbled.
Bang.
He fell flat on the ground.
The grandfather caught up, not with concern but with a smirk.
“See what happens when you sleep in until noon every day and stay at home fiddling with clothes? Look at you—this weak little body!”
The boy glared silently. Grandpa, fine, you won’t help—but why kick me when I’m down?
He glanced down at the bag.
No… his clothes!
The grandfather sneered behind him.
“I want to see if these clothes of yours are really those ridiculous things!”
No way! No wayyy!
The boy’s thoughts were interrupted by a cold, clear voice.
“Did you make these clothes?”
The boy scrambled up, stunned.
Big Alpha No.1!
The man in front of him held up a suit jacket—the very piece he had made.
“You actually made proper clothes? This suit… is actually quite good…”
The grandfather’s voice halted abruptly as he noticed the man holding a dress shirt.
A proper shirt—who would dare cut out fabric below the collar like that?
The old man’s blood pressure skyrocketed.
The boy’s despair deepened.
He couldn’t think of a more socially mortifying moment.
Might as well just… disappear.
“Your designs are really good,” said the man holding the shirt, voice bold like a clap of thunder.
Fan Qing genuinely meant it.
At least, whether he wore it or Nie Luo did, it would be a fantastic night.
Of course… he preferred Nie Luo wearing it.
After all, a real man doesn’t keep a mistress hidden, right?
Thinking of that, Fan Qing looked at the boy with interest.
“Other clothes—can I see them? Maybe we can sit somewhere and discuss prices. These were all made by you, right?”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
What? Someone actually appreciated his designs?
He hadn’t even replied before the grandfather stomped on his foot.
Pain shot through him—he didn’t make a sound.
The grandfather glanced at Fan Qing.
Fan Qing raised an eyebrow, perfectly at ease.
After a moment, the old man looked puzzled.
“You… haven’t I seen you before?”
The boy: huh?
Fan Qing, a little surprised, nodded.
“Good memory, sir. A few months ago I bought two proper suits from your shop.”
Back then, he had looked very different from now.
The old man actually remembered him.
“See? I remember everyone who’s bought clothes here,” the grandfather said cheerfully.
Then his face changed instantly.
“Now, don’t take offense… but why are you buying this stuff? These aren’t proper clothes—you’ve wasted some of my finest fabrics to make… these ridiculous things. You’re trained in real design, so why can’t you make proper clothes?”
As he scolded, his frustration with wasted talent grew.
The boy’s hope faltered.
Would this big guy run off too, scared by his grandfather?
He understood—it was “fetish wear.” Proper people, even if kinky, were restrained. They bought online secretly.
But online… was boring. No accurate measurements, no thoughtful design—just mass-produced, uninspired pieces. Totally unappealing.
Sigh. This big guy actually had taste.
His Big Alpha No.1 was really something… but with the grandfather’s words, the big guy might be too embarrassed to continue buying.
“No worries, I wasn’t planning to use them anywhere… ‘serious’ anyway.”
Fan Qing’s bold statement hit both grandfather and grandson like a lightning strike.
The old man’s fingers trembled; the young man’s eyes widened in awe.
Fan Qing gave a faint smile. He glanced at the boy and suddenly pulled out a business card.
“Your grandfather said you mostly design at home. Ever thought about having an agent? You just handle the designs, and I can take care of everything else.”
Many people can make clothes, but few are willing to make fetish wear. Even fewer have genuine design talent.
Fan Qing looked at the boy like he’d discovered a hidden treasure.
“Uh…?”
The boy froze.
Designing… and there could really be an agent for this? He had no idea this was even possible. Was this guy a con artist?
Smack!
A sudden pang hit the back of his head. Before he could react, his grandfather’s deep voice chimed in.
“He’d be more than happy. Why don’t you go to that café up front? They’ve got a private room—perfect for talking business.”
The old man shoved the card into the boy’s pocket as he scolded:
“Always complaining you can’t find the right job, and now it’s handed to you on a silver platter, and you don’t even take it? Don’t make me let you become one of those TV-obsessed shut-ins!”