“Mm, you could put it that way.” Yu Junqing thought for a moment. The description fit rather well—it was indeed a kind of duplicity. Unlike Rui Ge, whose demeanor was straightforward and decisive, truly reflecting his character.
His thoughts wandered unexpectedly. Yu Junqing pondered the timing—had Rui Ge made it home yet? If he missed this chance, who knew when there would be another opportunity to surprise him…
The small press conference hadn’t yet reached seven o’clock, and media who had caught wind of it were already arriving gradually. Yu Junqing and Wang Shilin stayed backstage, holding off their appearance—they were the main highlights of this event, after all, and wouldn’t step into view too early.
Director Wang, however, had greeted some familiar media in advance. Those reporters’ eyes lit up—they had come based on the director’s word and didn’t expect such a scoop. It was a real surprise!
The other media weren’t fools either. Seeing these familiar reporters moving, they realized their trip wasn’t in vain. They quickly contacted their offices and checked their equipment. The press conference was about to start.
This time, there was no host. Director Wang took the stage himself. Media who hadn’t been fully aware now realized something major was about to happen.
Wang opened with heartfelt words, recounting the films and TV shows he had directed over the years, then casually touched on some personal matters.
“You all know me as someone serious. Every time a new project starts, I practically live on set. Over the years, my career, though not at the pinnacle, has earned me several awards. But at my age, I feel my energy waning. I want to go home, spend time with my family.”
His words came from the heart. He even closed his eyes, recalling every film, every rare moment at home. Life, he realized, held two major challenges: career and family. It was difficult to balance both. Wang Jin had succeeded in his career, but his family had suffered.
He cast a quiet glance at the backstage area. A soft sigh escaped him. His son had grown so much, yet he realized he had scarcely spent time with him. Now, he was almost estranged. Shilin was a good child, never resenting that Wang Jin had prioritized his career over family. But he could see clearly that if not for the respect Shilin held for the “father” title, he wouldn’t be so obedient.
The room fell silent after Wang Jin’s words. Though many suspected some truth, no one expected him to speak so candidly at a small press event. From his tone, it sounded like he was ready to retire. Some long-time female collaborators began to sniffle. They had seen Wang Jin’s works rise on the big screen and were emotionally invested.
Backstage, Yu Junqing quietly glanced at Wang Shilin, surprised. Shilin, however, looked serious and nodded steadily. Yu Junqing, even as an outsider, almost felt tears rise—yet Shilin seemed genuinely pleased.
Shilin leaned close to Yu Junqing and whispered, “You probably don’t know… my old man worked himself too hard for years. His stomach problems were severe, but he refused to rest. I had to go abroad in frustration. Coming back now, it’s a pleasant surprise—he’s finally listening. Otherwise, his health would have been worse.”
A brief flash of anger crossed Shilin’s playful face. His father never agreed to proper rest or treatment, stubbornly pushing himself. If it were anyone else, Shilin would have forced him into care long ago.
Yu Junqing felt a mix of surprise and understanding. Of course, Shilin was Wang Jin’s son—his father’s position in his heart was undeniable. He also recalled Wang Jin’s cautious demeanor around Shilin, the deliberate differences from his usual self, and realized it was Wang Jin who hadn’t fully understood his own feelings.
“Does he know?” Yu Junqing asked, implying much. Shilin turned, noticing Yu Junqing’s knowing gaze, and ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“What do you mean, know what?” he asked skeptically.
Yu Junqing smiled. His skill in reading truth from expression was honed during deep acting training, rarely failing.
“Director Wang feels guilt toward you. It’s a hurdle he never overcame,” Yu Junqing said plainly. He was helping Shilin at Wang Jin’s request, but ultimately, his loyalty leaned toward Wang Jin.
“That stubborn old man… let him be foolish for a couple more years, otherwise he’d never let go,” Shilin huffed, a trace of helplessness in his eyes. He had devised a clever way to trick his father; until Wang Jin recovered, the old man deserved it—for working himself to exhaustion for years, ignoring his health.
Yu Junqing touched his nose. Shilin’s resentment ran deep, clearly. Wang Jin’s health was one matter; Shilin’s lingering unease was another important factor.
After some idle chatter, they missed Wang Jin’s subsequent explanations, but soon staff announced that Shilin would go ahead to the stage.
Yu Junqing waited quietly backstage. Once Shilin left, he was alone, and the emptiness pressed in.
From the stage, Shilin’s voice rang out, accompanied by his father’s. Yu Junqing could hear the flashes and the surge of excitement, as if the event might lift off entirely. He didn’t need to see the stage to sense the energy.
Director Wang, a master of pacing, formally announced that his final film would be co-directed with his son—a finale for him, a new beginning for the next generation. Despite the dizzying energy from the audience, he then revealed news about the upcoming project.
Yu Junqing, under staff guidance and wearing a pre-prepared mask, quietly moved to the stage’s edge, waiting for his cue.
“Director Wang, do you already have a preliminary framework for this joint project with your son?” A familiar reporter skillfully steered the topic toward Wang Jin’s intended direction.
A flicker of appreciation crossed Wang Jin’s eyes. He cleared his throat, but instead of answering, courteously handed the microphone to Shilin with a gesture.
Shilin anticipated his father’s move, smoothly taking the microphone. In that instant, countless cameras flashed, almost lighting the stage like day.
He gently pressed his right hand down. His presence, fully matching Wang Jin’s gravitas, commanded the room’s attention.
“This work, after careful consideration, will feature a highly capable actor. Let’s invite him on stage now.”
Yu Junqing appeared, wearing a light gray suit. Film roles had slimmed his figure slightly, giving his jawline sharper angles. He walked steadily forward, exuding a mysterious aura that held every eye. It was as if the heavens themselves spotlighted him. The audience’s gasps pleased both Wang Jin and Shilin immensely.
Especially Wang Jin, who felt proud seeing his chosen protégé shine publicly.
Yu Junqing stood confidently. Shilin, observing the media focusing on him, admired his father’s masterful pacing—something he felt he still needed to learn.
Yu Junqing, accustomed to attention, subtly shifted his posture to give each photographer a clear view.
Soon, questions began. “Is this actor officially confirmed for the lead role? No changes?”
“Yes. My father and I assessed his acting ability thoroughly before deciding. He is truly a talent to look forward to,” Shilin replied. His tone carried maturity with a hint of playfulness, matching his youthful appearance.
Yu Junqing noticed, impressed, that Shilin’s literacy and eloquence surpassed many, crafting nearly flawless responses at such a young age.
Questions continued, and Shilin handled them with ease. Wang Jin, standing nearby, felt proud, realizing he had underestimated his son. The boy had grown to surpass his father.
Shilin’s performance elevated the press conference, sparking curiosity about the upcoming film.
As the event neared its end, a reporter asked, “So the lead’s identity remains secret for now?” Everyone noted the mysterious man on stage drew constant attention, his aura captivating, like jade under a spotlight, elegant and restrained.
Yu Junqing’s fingers twitched slightly, a faint, unreadable curve on the half-hidden chin.
The question itself proved the strategy successful—anticipation and curiosity were now high. Wang Jin and Shilin exchanged a satisfied glance; the question came from a reputable journalist outside their planned circle, guaranteeing headlines the next day.
Wang Jin stepped forward, prepared.
“Yes, we are keeping the lead’s identity undisclosed. But you may speculate. As I said, this actor is highly capable—if you guess correctly…” He left a teasing pause.
From the crowd came a sharp, poisonous voice: “Who wants to guess? This must be one of those roles gotten through under-the-table deals. Hiding half his face must mean he’s ugly!” The tone soured the atmosphere.
Quick-thinking reporters moved closer, snapping photos.
That person didn’t hide his meaning. In their circles, everyone understood the backstage dealings. Unlike naïve reporters, he sought a scoop to profit.
A sharp-eyed colleague noticed the badge on his chest, realizing vaguely they’d seen it before.
“Isn’t that the guy notorious on Weibo?” whispered a nearby cameraman, suddenly remembering.
These reporters usually looked down on people exploiting social media for attention. They had done no real reporting, just spreading nonsense online. Even low-tier tabloids had some evidence, whereas this guy relied purely on his mouth.
One reporter quietly warned the cameraman, “Watch him—his face will probably get smacked in the pictures.” The cameraman nodded. Better to capture this reckless talker as a scoop.
Onstage, Wang Jin’s face darkened. Though his eyesight wasn’t great, Shilin saw instantly that the man was a sham, not a professional entertainment reporter. He whispered to his father, improving Wang Jin’s mood slightly.
Since Weibo became popular, there were always people seeking attention through malicious comments. Wang Jin had never seen him but wasn’t intimidated.
“Which company are you from? By your logic, are you hired based on looks? Sounds tough for your company,” Wang Jin said. The reporters laughed quietly.
“Dad! You can’t say that! Clearly, they’re not hired for looks. Otherwise, how could they even get a job?” Shilin quickly added, understanding his father’s point.
Yu Junqing watched from the stage as the man fled, Wang Jin and Shilin having closed the matter perfectly. It seemed all was well.
Yet Yu Junqing suddenly resented his own keen sight. Onstage, he had seen clearly how many people showed subtle doubt and agreement at the man’s words…
After the press conference, Yu Junqing didn’t call Xiao Yitong. He wandered alone into a dim corner.
He couldn’t explain why. Perhaps the reporters’ cruelty had pierced his heart. Perhaps seeing Wang Jin and Shilin’s enviable family bond stirred a strange ache. Leaning in shadow, his expression gradually fell into melancholy.
He didn’t know why, his heart torn by unspoken, mysterious emotions, leaving him breathless. A familiar warmth rose in his eyes; his nose tingled. Yu Junqing inhaled deeply, throat choking.
If only… someone, could give me a home…
His body trembled. Hot tears slid down slowly, pain suffocating him, memories flashing in rapid succession. Despair and darkness engulfed him, swallowing him whole.
Like a lost, homeless little beast, he crouched, sobbing, barely able to make a sound, unaware of where he was.
“Why are you here?” A familiar voice, almost impossible to believe, rang out. Yu Junqing jerked his head up, wiping his tears frantically, searching. A tall figure approached through the night, bathed in starlight. In that instant, Yu Junqing felt he couldn’t let go of this one light, by any means.
Bo Rui didn’t know his own emotions. He had intended to surprise Yu Junqing, secretly coming to pick him up.
But seeing him crying in such darkness, forlorn and lonely, pierced his heart. He didn’t know what had happened, but he vowed at that moment: never again would he let this person suffer so.
He wished Yu Junqing would remain that adorable, naive self, never crying like an abandoned child, scarred and longing, yet hesitant to approach.
“Come, let’s go home.” Bo Rui slowly crouched, hands opening slightly. His expression was serious and tender, eyes shimmering like the night sky, offering Yu Junqing a wholehearted embrace.
“Ho-home…?” Yu Junqing’s tear-streaked eyes looked up. His left hand stretched out toward the light, then pulled back.
“Ugh.” Bo Rui lifted him into his arms. This big treasure needed to be kept close, to spare him from crying in such a pitiful, heart-wrenching way again.