Lu Xianqing hooked his lips into a cool smile. “You like my movies. Other people see their idol and ask for autographs or hugs. You see me and you hit me. I’m your idol, you like me very much—you really like me.”
Qin Sizheng was made guilty by his words. Lowering his head, he spotted his phone and suddenly recalled the content of those text messages. The more he thought about it, the more that person resembled the man beside him. On impulse, he snatched the notebook and pen from Jiang Xi’s hands and shoved them into Lu Xianqing’s arms. “C-could you give me an autograph? I’ll treasure it when I get home!”
“Treasure it how? Frame it and burn three sticks of incense every day?” Lu Xianqing scoffed, but still took the pen and smoothly signed his name. Just as he was about to hand it over, he saw Qin Sizheng’s expression and asked, “Want me to write something else too?”
Qin Sizheng considered it for a moment. “Could I trouble you to write another sentence for me?”
“Sure. What should I write?”
“Anything. Just write whatever you like.”
“Alright.” Lu Xianqing knew he was suspicious, using the autograph as a chance to look at his handwriting. Not that stupid. Back then, for the sake of a film, he had learned several styles of calligraphy—each one at his fingertips.
He started a new line and, above his signature, wrote: When the galaxy scatters, the qin waits as promised—for the best Qin Sizheng on stage. Tilting his head, he asked if that was enough.
Qin Sizheng froze. That was a line Hong Xuefeifei had once posted on Weibo—he actually knew it!
Lu Xianqing’s handwriting leaned toward the wild and unrestrained, completely different from the elegant, refined Slender Gold Script. It carried an outward pressure, every hook and stroke brimming with bold, aggressive dominance—utterly unlike the graceful poise of Slender Gold Script.
…It wasn’t him.
“Thank you, Fourth Brother.” He took it, feeling a flicker of guilt for having doubted Lu Xianqing.
The filming location was quite far from the airport. Lu Xianqing lay under a blanket as if asleep. Qin Sizheng was afraid of disturbing him, and no one else dared to speak either.
Qin Sizheng put on his headphones and found a boxing match video to watch. Now that he knew the pervert wasn’t Fourth Brother, he finally relaxed, watching with great interest the entire way—never even noticing that the man beside him had once lifted the blanket and turned his head to look at him for a long time.
—
Lu Xianqing’s status was too high. He Xing was worried that letting him leave directly through the airport would cause chaos, so arrangements had been made in advance to pick him up through another passage as soon as they landed.
Qin Sizheng was different. Earlier, Xu Zhao had leaked the flight information to Hong Xuefeifei, asking her to gather some reliable fans to pick him up and take photos to post on her fan site.
Hong Xuefeifei was almost beside herself with excitement. “I’m going! I’m off that day anyway—I guarantee I’ll photograph my baby beautifully beyond words!”
She selected some familiar “little qin strings” and rushed to Yue City Airport together, standing guard outside. Her heart was pounding—her bright, radiant boy!
In his previous life, Qin Sizheng had fans too, but boxing was nothing like the entertainment industry. The moment he walked out of the airport, he was stunned. Why were there so many people? Support signs held high, bouquets of flowers, and faces streaked with tears and smudged makeup.
“Welcome back!”
Qin Sizheng stood there, frightened by the spectacle. He took two awkward steps back and looked to Xu Zhao, who smiled and said, “They’re here to pick you up. They all really like you. Go say hello.”
He had said a simple wave would do, but Qin Sizheng removed his mask and bowed toward them: “Thank you.”
Several girls couldn’t hold back, collapsing to the ground in tears. The bright, glamorous woman at the front holding a camera was already crying uncontrollably—it was him! The boy from their memories.
She wiped her eyes, not letting herself cry too long, and kept her camera raised, capturing every second.
“Feifei姐,” one girl reminded her, holding out a box.
“Oh, almost forgot,” Hongxue Feifei said, taking the box and raising her voice: “These are letters from our fans and supporters.”
Xu Zhao signaled Jiang Xi to go get them, but a hand pressed on his wrist. The young man said, “I’ll get them.”
Hongxue Feifei watched the handsome boy walk toward her, his face overlapping with her memory of that distant, reserved youth who rarely smiled but was always kind.
Back then, she was just an intern, almost causing Qin Sizheng harm through a mistake, nearly bearing the blame herself. His assistant had berated her, threatening to call the authorities.
Qin Sizheng had stopped the assistant, pulling out a candy from his pocket and winking at her: “It’s okay, don’t worry. I know you’ll become an excellent doctor someday. If I ever get sick again, I’ll come to you.”
Now she had indeed become an excellent doctor, always watching over him—and he had finally returned.
Tears blurred Hongxue Feifei’s vision, almost obscuring the boy in front of her. Qin Sizheng paused for a moment, reaching out to wipe her tears. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m back.”
“Mm! Mm!” she nodded vigorously.
Qin Sizheng took the flowers and the full box of letters, waving to the young fans: “You’ve worked hard. Go home early and remember to check in.”
The girls were moved again, some even recording videos, which unsurprisingly went viral.
【Jingshi】retweeted the video: If Qin Sizheng had acting skills like these young fans, he wouldn’t have been mocked so much.
Just as Hongxue Feifei got home and was about to edit photos, she saw this post. Furious, she shared her own comment: Who acted? Do you even know what genuine emotion is? Doesn’t it feel pathetic to be moved like this by no one?
【Jingshi】: It’s just a matter of cutting an onion. Why hire someone? How much did you get paid? Must be Qin Sizheng’s official team, right?
【Hongxue Feifei】: I’m a fan—both a mom fan and a wife fan—not official staff. Family, thank you.
Lu Xianqing was on the same flight as Qin Sizheng. He didn’t need to interact with fans at the airport; He Xing came through another entrance to pick him up. An Ning exhaled heavily in the car: “I’m exhausted.”
Lu Xianqing looked pale, his lips dry and flushed. He Xing frowned: “Are you unwell? Your face is so red. Are you running a fever?”
“Mm.”
He Xing immediately told the driver: “Go to Dr. Zhao.”
The vehicle turned at the intersection. The car was fully stocked; He Xing poured him some warm water, handed him the medicine, and, frowning, scolded him: “I told you not to go on this variety show. You’re already weak, and now you’ve returned injured. How long will it take to get you well if I don’t let you rest? And yet you still went.”
Lu Xianqing swallowed the medicine, his throat sore.
He had already developed a fever on the plane. Yesterday’s bee venom hadn’t been fully treated, and today’s fall only made his head ache. The flight had left him dizzy and exhausted. An Ning had gotten him fever medicine, but it hadn’t helped.
“Rest for a bit. I’ll wake you when we reach Dr. Zhao,” He Xing said, seeing him so listless, swallowing the lecture she had been about to give.
Lu Xianqing closed his eyes and slept. He Xing beckoned to An Ning, who leaned forward and whispered: “He didn’t sleep much. During the day, he forced himself to function normally. That day, he almost tore Si Qianqiu apart.”
He Xing glanced at the man sleeping under the blanket, then quietly asked, “What about Qin Sizheng?”
An Ning thought for a moment: “He seems to have mixed feelings—resentment and attraction at the same time. He wants to hurt him, yet also care for him. His obsession seems stronger, though outwardly he shows nothing.”
He Xing nodded, recalling how Lu Xianqing had named Qin Sizheng “Yanyan” on the show. That cat was a secret only the three of them knew.
He had rescued the cat after filming “Lu Sheng”, during the worst period of his mental state. He had bandaged the cat and taken it home. He Xing had expected him to care for it, but he treated it with disgust, barely touching it. Yanyan’s meows were weak.
Yet at night, he would hold it, let it sleep on the bed, and feed it milk beside him.
He was like a man obsessed. During the day, he hated it; at night, he craved it.
He Xing had long wondered about Lu Xianqing’s condition, but Shen Qing could never penetrate his emotional walls. Despite years of counseling, only the outer gates of his “palace” were open.
Shen Qing could pull him out of a show, but could not reach Lu Xianqing himself. All efforts ended with a shake of the head.
The car slowly left the airport, heading toward Dr. Zhao.
Dr. Zhao Lù was the Lu family’s private doctor—specifically for Lu Xianqing. Usually idle, he maintained a courtyard full of roses and sunflowers, almost like a fairy tale castle.
Entering the yard gave He Xing a headache. She told An Ning to go inside and turn off the opera music. Then she went to wake Lu Xianqing herself.
Dr. Zhao Lù put down his rose tea and came running out, eyes lighting up at the sight of Lu Xianqing looking so listless. “Ah!”
“Can you not act like you just found a live corpse?” Lu Xianqing muttered, brushing his hand away. “I’m not dead; no need to support me.”
“Go wait in the clinic. I’ll change first,” Zhao Lù said, striding off. He Xing looked at his retreating back and felt a twinge of unease, whispering: “Where did Ye bring this unreliable Mongolian doctor from? So flashy and… unnecessary.”
Lu Xianqing replied, “She sponsored him in college. He’s a bit Mongolian in personality, but competent in medicine. She didn’t trust outsiders, so she kept him. If it weren’t for my dad thinking it wasn’t suitable, he might have been calling me ‘brother’ by now.”
He Xing waved it off: “Forget it.”
Zhao Lù quickly changed out of his medieval outfit into a white shirt, black pants, and a pristine white coat. He draped a stethoscope around his neck, put on his glasses, and assumed a serious tone: “Please, have a seat. What seems to be the problem?”
Lu Xianqing muttered, “…A fever doesn’t need all this fuss. Might as well set up a dissection table and cut me open.”
Zhao Lù maintained a grave expression. “Illness can be minor or severe. Even a fever can lead to pneumonia, meningitis, acute gastroenteritis, or neurological complications…”
“Stop!” He Xing felt her scalp tingle from his lecture. Pale-faced, she told him to focus on treating the fever instead of reciting a textbook.
Zhao Lù pushed up his glasses and first measured Lu Xianqing’s temperature, then asked in detail about his recent meals and activities to determine the cause. Seeing Lu Xianqing too lazy to answer, An Ning spoke for him. She added, “Oh, and he got stung by a bee yesterday. Will that be a problem?”
“Stung by a bee? How was it treated?” Zhao Lù snapped off his glasses, speaking at lightning speed. An Ning stuttered through the explanation.
“Step outside. I’ll take a look at the sting,” Zhao Lù ordered, ushering them out. Lu Xianqing lazily removed his shirt, turning his back to reveal a patchwork of scars. Zhao Lù gasped: “You weren’t just stung—you’ve got abrasions too. Did you fight someone?”
“No fight. Just apply some medicine,” Lu Xianqing said, pausing before adding, “Don’t tell He Xing. She’ll nag me to death. Headache enough already.”
Zhao Lù put on medical gloves and carefully treated the bee sting and abrasions. “Honestly, you should never come here again.”
Lu Xianqing smirked: “What, so we’ve been taking care of you for nothing?”
Zhao Lù rolled his eyes and scoffed. “It’s not like you paid. If Aunt Ye knew you got stung by a bee, she’d probably try to tear down the entire beehive in Wild Fox Village.”
“So, for the bees’ sake, better not tell her,” Lu Xianqing said, putting on his shirt. The bandage over his back made him slightly uncomfortable; he frowned and looked back at Zhao Lù. “If she finds out, I’ll tear down your clinic. Deal?”
“Threatening me with one hand, threatening me with the other! If you destroy my clinic, Aunt Ye destroys my bones. How do you want me to stew potatoes—or ribs? I’ll hang myself from my belt tomorrow!” Zhao Lù slammed his gloves on the table, snorting as he went to get the medicine.
Lu Xianqing tilted his head, smiling: “One belt isn’t enough. I can lend you one—hang me on the spot. If you do it well, I’ll tip you.”
Zhao Lù ignored him and called He Xing and An Ning back in, carefully explaining how to use the medicine and what dietary restrictions to follow. “Come back tomorrow to change the dressing! Whoever handled your wound before clearly had no skill—you’ve damaged the skin!”
He Xing glanced at Lu Xianqing in alarm, who calmly turned and left. An Ning whispered: “Qin Sizheng.”
He Xing drew a deep breath, forcing herself to remain calm as she caught up with the car, smiling: “Fourth Brother, feeling satisfied?”
“Not bad.”
She gave a tight-lipped smile. “Want to do it again?”
Lu Xianqing replied obediently: “Yes.”
He Xing couldn’t contain herself, twisting her chest violently and yelling at the driver: “Drive! Home!”
The driver looked bewildered. “Why yell at me? If you’ve got energy, yell at Fourth Brother. I’m just the driver—not your punching bag.”
He Xing wanted to yell too but restrained herself, waiting until they got home and the door was shut. “Fourth Brother, let’s make three rules. Your wandering habits have consequences—but now the variety show is over. You understand me, right?”
Lu Xianqing caught Yanyan and lazily said, “Hmm? What is it?”
“Your fascination with Qin Sizheng’s hands must end. All private messages, texts—everything stops.”
Lu Xianqing sat in the chair. An Ning placed a pillow behind him so he wouldn’t hurt his back. He handed the cat over: “Feed him.”
An Ning took the cat away, and He Xing continued: “Qin Sizheng’s reputation is terrible. His team doesn’t care anymore. Xu Zhao can only manage a few minor actors. Even big resources can’t be negotiated. I checked on that junior assistant—just graduated, looks clean, but who knows what’s underneath. Those photos I had officially blocked before were for you, but Qin Sizheng benefited the most. Black fans stirred another storm. His team is useless—only cutting short-term gains, caring about instant popularity. They don’t understand long-term commercial value.”
Lu Xianqing remained silent. He Xing pressed on: “People outside say you two are rivals. But who takes that seriously? To you, he’s just a minor annoyance. This variety show is the bottom line—you can’t have more contact with him. That’s it.”
She admitted her bias, but someone like Qin Sizheng had no professional sense. He’d provoke Lu Xianqing repeatedly, and half her time was spent dealing with baseless accusations. Who could enjoy that?
Lu Xianqing had earned his success through skill. A single bad performance ruined him physically. Qin Sizheng acting like a rival? Impossible. Why should he care?
He Xing had followed him for years. Seeing him deeply immersed in a role always stressed her out. She wanted him to take light, amusing shows to prevent obsession, but she couldn’t bear to see years of hard-earned reputation destroyed.
He Xing remained silent for a long moment, watching the dark shadow in his eyes. After thinking it over, she said, “Alright. You’re too tired. Rest tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll come get you and take you to Shen Qing to have him assess whether you’re fit to return to the crew.”
If he could safely join the crew, he would be safe—and she would be safe too.
She knew Lu Xianqing very well. He was practically two people: one during the day, one at night. Around her and outsiders, he was entirely different. So the outside world had long assumed he was a high, aloof type with a difficult personality who sometimes bullied others.
Sometimes she even suspected he had mild schizophrenia. Luckily, he only dropped the act around her and An Ning, revealing about thirty percent of his terrible temper. In front of others, he was always commanding and dominant. That was also why she dared to agree to him appearing on a variety show.
Suddenly, Lu Xianqing’s phone rang—it was Ming Fei: “What? You need me to personally beg you to show up? Do I have to kneel thrice and kowtow nine times for your birthday?”
He Xing coughed on the side, gesturing at the antipyretics on the table.
Lu Xianqing said, “You’re missing company for your birthday? Annoying. I’m not going.”
Ming Fei leaned back with one arm on the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, prepared for a long conversation: “I’m not lacking anyone, just missing you. Without you, this floor full of starlight is dim. No way I can shine without a big movie star like you. Just come, have a drink, then leave—won’t pester you.”
Lu Xianqing snorted. “I’m just a drinking companion? Get lost.”
Ming Fei smiled: “I’ve got something to tell you. Really, just come. Haven’t seen you in ages. A friend’s birthday—won’t you give face? I’ll send someone to pick you up. That’s it, hanging up.”
Lu Xianqing looked at his ended call, then turned innocently to He Xing. She ground her teeth: “No alcohol. An Ning is waiting in the garage. You must be back to rest in an hour!”
“Fine.” He suddenly remembered something: “…After filming this afternoon, I went to tap Qin Sizheng on the shoulder, and he threw me over his shoulder. Keep an eye online and handle any fallout.”
He Xing: ??
Lu Xianqing had already gone upstairs to change. He Xing instinctively yelled, “Don’t shower! You just put on medicine!” Then realization hit—Qin Sizheng had thrown him? His back already had bee stings, and now other injuries too?
Last time he got beaten, his brow was swollen for three days. Now an over-the-shoulder throw. She shouldn’t worry about Qin Sizheng’s safety—she should worry about this madman in her house.
“What have I done to deserve this?” He Xing muttered through gritted teeth, opening Weibo and contacting the team to monitor things, ready to respond at the first sign of trouble, minimizing the situation.
One violent ancestor unresolved, now another—sooner or later, someone’s going to get hurt in front of these two.
Xu Zhao sent Qin Sizheng home. At the door, he received a call and his expression changed, pale with concern. “Alright, I’ll come over and talk.” Hanging up, he gave Qin Sizheng a few instructions, then left, telling Jiang Xi to take care of him.
“You go on, I’ll be fine,” Qin Sizheng said.
Jiang Xi bent down to grab the suitcase, but Qin Sizheng was faster, taking it before following him inside. The moment he opened the door, he saw a man sitting cross-legged on the sofa, playing on his phone. Hearing them, he looked up: “Finally home? Been waiting a long time.”
It was You Si.
“When did you get here?” Qin Sizheng put down his things, smelling the hotpot aroma instantly giving him a sense of home and relief.
“Been here for over two hours. Didn’t you say you’d be home this afternoon? Nearly starved me.” You Si got up, shuffled over in slippers, and took a long look at him. “Thinner, darker… the variety show wore you out.”
Qin Sizheng smiled faintly: “It’s fine. Not too hard.”
Jiang Xi, noticing them chatting so casually, quickly said, “Go ahead and eat. I’m off. Xu Ge said rest at home for a few days. Don’t wander. Call me if you go out.”
Qin Sizheng looked back at him: “Eat first, then leave?”
“No, no. I’ll just grab something myself.” Jiang Xi waved him off, picking up his luggage, taking a taxi, and only once he was leaving the neighborhood did he take out his phone to send a message:
“Everything is under your control.”
Perhaps influenced by the original owner’s habits, Qin Sizheng was very fond of You Si. He loved hotpot. Every visit, he’d carry a huge bundle of ingredients, set up a pot, drop in the vegetables one by one, eat until drenched in sweat, then gulp down half a glass of cola.
“Feels good,” he said.
Qin Sizheng still wasn’t fully adapted to the entertainment industry. Someone like You Si, full of ordinary, down-to-earth energy, made him feel grounded. Though he habitually said “Old me, old me,” his personality was cheerful and straightforward.
“I feel like you’ve been different recently. Honestly, you should stop targeting her. Even if it blows up and she admits it, what then? You still can’t call her mom,” You Si said.
Qin Sizheng coughed violently. You Si poured him a glass of water: “Slow down. I’m not stealing your food. Drink.” After a pause, he added: “We grew up together. Whatever you do, I support you. Back then, you insisted on joining the entertainment industry, and I suspected it was because of her. But Sizheng, I don’t even know who my parents are. Don’t care. They didn’t raise me; I don’t raise them. So what?”
Qin Sizheng instinctively tried to recall in the original story who was whose mother but couldn’t remember, muttering curses at the author.
You Si saw his expression and thought he was upset, quickly changing the subject: “I’ve been designing something new. Just finished it the other day. When I get it ready, I’ll let you try. I tested it myself—it’s fantastic.”
Qin Sizheng knew exactly what “something” was and quickly shook his head, voice hoarse from coughing: “No, no, you play with it yourself. I’m practicing abstinence… yes, abstinence.”