Qin Sizheng knew his acting skills were lacking, learning the lines by rote, so once Zhou Changjiang finished, he ducked behind the set to mentally prepare.
This was the most difficult scene for him—requiring restraint and explosive emotion, hard to balance.
Zhou Changjiang worried he might not manage it. The boy had almost no acting experience; he fit the role because it suited him perfectly, plus most scenes involved Lu Xianqing, so being guided by him worked.
This upcoming scene was all on Qin Sizheng. Everyone else was a supporting role. Zhou decided to give him extra preparation time. He called out to Lu Xianqing, who was heading to Group B, “Old Lu, are you familiar with him?”
Lu Xianqing replied casually, “Why?”
Zhou glanced behind the set, watching the boy with the script on his knees, expression shifting between anger, sorrow, and regret—a mix that was almost comical in its intensity.
“Forget it, I’ll just say it. I can see he’s a good kid. You bully him a bit, and he’s not upset. If it’s just fear of your authority, fine. He hasn’t clashed with anyone else on set, quite different from the rumors.”
Lu Xianqing raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean by fear of my authority? Where’s the authority?”
Zhou Changjiang blinked in disbelief. “You teach language now? Authority and ‘authority’—are they the same? Focus, I’m asking seriously!”
Lu Xianqing glanced at Qin Sizheng and said lightly, “It’s definitely different from the rumors.”
He even felt as if the soul inside that shell had changed—otherwise, how could the once cold and resentful boy be so sunny and proactive now?
He had asked He Xing to investigate but found no clue.
After a pause, Zhou lowered his voice. “Are you serious about him?”
Lu Xianqing: “Of course.”
Zhou, caught off guard by the honesty, froze, forgetting his prepared words. After a long silence, he awkwardly added, “You know how this industry is—small things get blown up. Fans may ship Qingshan and Sizheng, but that’s different from coming out. Your career could be affected.”
Lu Xianqing: “If I leave the industry, do you think I’ll starve?”
Zhou was silent—true, he wouldn’t starve. Everyone knew his parents’ status in Tianshan. Even if he went home to squander as a second-generation heir, he’d never run out.
“But what about Qin Sizheng? Can he handle all that?”
Lu Xianqing was momentarily speechless, staring at Qin Sizheng. “Then we’ll both go home and be second-generation heirs. If he wants to act, I’ll fund it. Money allows freedom, doesn’t it?”
Zhou Changjiang remained silent—this spoiled attitude from wealth was infuriating.
Lu Xianqing scoffed lightly, started walking, then turned back with a smile. “Hey, Director Zhou, one thing to discuss.”
Zhou had a bad premonition.
Lu Xianqing: “Give him a little wind in the right direction.”
Zhou: “What kind of wind?”
Lu Xianqing tilted his head toward Qin Sizheng. “When the time is right, I’ll terminate the contract with Ming Fei, start a studio, and sign him. He’s wrapping filming tonight—help me stir the east wind.”
Zhou couldn’t bear to look. “Just bullying him isn’t enough, you want to lure him to a studio? Don’t even think about any unspoken rules—I’m warning you, no coercion.”
Lu Xianqing: “How can I sign him without unspoken rules?”
Zhou ground his teeth, looking at the smugness on his face, wanting to throw the script at him. How could someone be this shameless?!
“Go to Group B to shoot now!”
Lu Xianqing: “Later. I want to watch his scene first.”
Zhou raised an eyebrow. “Watch what? Hurry up!”
Lu Xianqing sighed. “Fine.”
Zhou’s jaw tensed, teeth grinding. Watching him saunter while glancing back constantly, he snapped: “What are you doing?! Don’t act like a lovesick cowherd and weaver girl—go!!!”
Lu Xianqing let out a long sigh. “Since when did you start insulting people?”
Zhou Changjiang blinked in confusion. When had he insulted anyone?
An Ning, who understood Lu Xianqing better, explained before leaving, “He probably means… ‘cowherd.’”
Zhou Changjiang nearly choked on his own anger. Seeing Lu Xianqing heading toward Qin Sizheng again, he frowned. “Where are you going? Group B is that way!”
Lu Xianqing waved lazily over his shoulder. “Even the Cowherd gets one Qixi a year. I am not even asking you to build a magpie bridge. Why are you, Queen Mother of the West, so unreasonable?”
Zhou Changjiang pointed at himself. “I am unreasonable?”
An Ning bit back a laugh. Zhou Changjiang burst out, “The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl meet once a year. You see each other eight times a day. You think you are the Cowherd?”
Lu Xianqing turned around. “One day in heaven equals a year on earth. I see him eight times a year at most. Why not just draw me a Milky Way?”
Zhou Changjiang truly wished he could. “If I had that ability, I would draw one right now!”
Lu Xianqing slipped behind the set and pressed his hand lightly against the pale nape of Qin Sizheng’s neck, giving it a brief rub.
Qin Sizheng stiffened instantly. Turning around, he saw Lu Xianqing smiling. “Fourth Brother.”
“Nervous?”
Qin Sizheng nodded. “This scene is a big emotional explosion. I am afraid I will not perform well and hold everyone back.”
Lu Xianqing picked up a bottle of water, twisted it open, and closed the script in Qin Sizheng’s lap.
Qin Sizheng took a sip, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Lu Xianqing swallowed reflexively as well, then looked away.
“Want to hear a story?”
Qin Sizheng blinked. At a moment like this?
“You have met my mother,” Lu Xianqing began. “She likes to act spoiled. Even though beauty fades with time, she still looks like a little girl.”
Qin Sizheng lightly protested, “Auntie is not past her prime at all. She is still very beautiful and young. Do not say that. She would be upset.”
Lu Xianqing turned to look at him and suddenly smiled. “You should let her hear that. She would probably pluck the stars from the sky for you. If you call her ‘Mommy’ again, she might even hand over the family fortune.”
Qin Sizheng remembered blurting out “Mommy” that day and flushed faintly. “Please do not tease me.”
Lu Xianqing seized the chance to ruffle his hair. “The first film I ever made was Slaughter of Life—the one you like. The subject matter was bold. No one dared to shoot it at the time. I did not care about becoming famous. I just liked the script. My teacher, now the dean of Xingguang Academy, advised me not to do it. He said it would ruin my future.”
Qin Sizheng listened intently, not noticing Lu Xianqing’s hand sliding from his hair to his ear until it gave a light pinch. He forced himself not to dodge.
“Did I need a future built on pleasing the audience? I was young. I thought, if you like it, fine. If you do not, too bad. I will shoot it because I enjoy it.”
Qin Sizheng imagined Lu Xianqing at seventeen or eighteen—defiant, sharp-edged, dazzling with brilliance.
“Every character is a cluster of soul,” Lu Xianqing continued. “The actor gives it a body to inhabit, allowing it to live in this world and appear before the camera.”
“We are not manipulators. We lend them our bodies for a time and accompany them through their lives.”
He let the words settle.
After a moment, he gave a bitter smile. “My mental state is not very good. I have a hard time stepping out of roles. It usually takes me a year. Many haters say I am arrogant because of my talent. The truth is, I simply cannot film continuously.”
His eyes dimmed; his voice carried a restrained ache.
“When the soul of a character entangles with mine, I cannot escape without psychological intervention. Some gossip accounts were not completely wrong. I have been in therapy since my debut. Otherwise, I would have ended up in a psychiatric hospital long ago.”
The water bottle slipped from Qin Sizheng’s hand and rolled to the floor. “What?”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head, eyes closed, pain carefully suppressed in his tone. “Scary, right? That is why I cannot have too many close friends. He Xing worries that if people know, rumors will spread and cause trouble. So it is easier to keep my distance.”
Qin Sizheng felt as though countless fine needles were pricking his heart. He had always thought Lu Xianqing was invincible in this industry, capable of anything. He had never imagined such suffering buried inside him.
People believed he stood at the peak, surrounded by admiration and prosperity. In truth, he could not even allow himself close friendships.
They called him arrogant, never knowing it was a form of self-protection, or that he faced his illness again and again.
Lu Xianqing rolled up his sleeve, revealing a scar. “After Slaughter of Life, I tried to kill myself. Fortunately, He Xing was quick and got me to the hospital. Otherwise, you would not be seeing me now.”
The scar had faded, but Qin Sizheng felt as though his vision burned. He reached out and gently touched it.
Lu Xianqing smiled and pulled his sleeve down before he could look longer.
When Qin Sizheng lifted his head again, his eyes were red. “Why would you tell me this? Sister He Xing hid it for years. Are you not afraid I will tell someone?”
“I am not.”
“Why?”
Lu Xianqing touched his cheek. “Finish filming. I will tell you afterward.”
Qin Sizheng’s heart itched with urgency. He grabbed Lu Xianqing’s sleeve. “Tell me now. Otherwise I will not be able to calm down and act.”
Lu Xianqing tapped his head lightly. “Were all those words just wasted on you?”
Qin Sizheng blinked and slowly let go—only to grab him again, this time catching his fingers.
“Fourth Brother, can you promise me something?”
“No.”
Qin Sizheng pressed his lips together but spoke anyway. “Can you promise me that no matter what happens in the future, you will never hurt yourself again? Do not… attempt suicide. Live well. Please?”
Lu Xianqing had heard words like this many times before—from Shen Qing, from He Xing, and even from An Ning.
Seeing that Qin Sizheng grew anxious, clutching his hand tighter, he pressed, “Promise me, okay?”
Lu Xianqing looked into his eyes, brimming with expectation. He paused, then finally nodded. Qin Sizheng’s eyes lit up instantly, as if a window in his chest had been flung open and a gentle breeze was flowing through.
“Focus on your scene. You’ll be more natural even without me here. By the time you’re done, I should be back from Group B,” Lu Xianqing said, patting his head.
An Ning, waiting a short distance away, leaned over and whispered, “Why did you tell him all that? Aren’t you the type to keep your illness a secret? You never talk about your early career either.”
Lu Xianqing replied, “If he doesn’t feel concern, how could he willingly come into my arms?”
An Ning scowled. “So manipulative. You’re tricking my treasure.”
“Tricking? Am I lying? Want me to give you a review of my condition tonight?” Lu Xianqing said, walking away.
“No! Stop! That’ll ruin your health,” An Ning exclaimed.
Zhou Changjiang checked the time. “Go see how Qin Sizheng’s doing. If he’s ready, start shooting and cover the missing shots today.”
The assistant reported, “I just checked. He seems fine.”
“Alright, prep the set and clear the area.”
Qin Sizheng put down his script as the makeup artist gave a final check. Five minutes later, filming officially began.
Chujing came down the stairs, yawning and greeting the old lady. “Big beauty, you were practicing Tai Chi so early, I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
The old lady tapped his forehead with a ladle. “And you still complain! What time is it? The sun is already on your behind, and you’re still lying in bed!”
“Hey, hey, don’t hit! Big beauty, be gentle, graceful!” Chujing dodged, backing up two steps. Then he straightened and cleared his throat. “Good day, ma’am. Is this book yours?”
The old lady froze.
Chujing’s voice shifted to a refined, soft elegance. “I’ve been searching for this for a long time. May I borrow it for a few days? Here is my contact, or, I offer this cherished brooch in exchange. I’ll return it the day after tomorrow.”
Her eyes reddened. Chujing’s face overlapped with memories of a young man long gone. Time seemed to flow backward, bringing her to a hidden alley of a bustling past.
“My name is Chu Lejiang—the gentleman Lejiang, the one who wished for longevity.”
“I know you may have heard these words many times, but I want to tell you: I’ve met many girls, all talented. But only you made me wish to tie my life to yours. If you currently have no one you fancy, may I pursue you?”
The old lady turned away, wiping tears. She wanted to curse him like others might, but she never had this chance. He died in the bloom of youth.
He became a gentleman, but could not achieve endless life. Perhaps fate decreed she must remain alone.
Chu Lejiang died unexpectedly when she was four months pregnant. The night before, he had spoken of naming their child Chu Yunjun—“a promise, unwavering through time.”
He never saw the child born. Later, when Chujing was born, both his parents died in an accident. She raised Chujing alone, watching him grow. Seeing him resemble Chu Lejiang, she shared all her youth and promises with him.
Chujing would sometimes pretend to be his grandfather to coax her, occasionally to get out of trouble—always successfully.
The old lady scolded him, “Wash your hands and eat!”
Chujing laughed and went to wash. Returning, he saw her reaching for the pot. “Let me handle it. Sit down, Grandma. I’ll take care of you.”
She studied him for a moment. “Chujing, don’t you want to leave this place?”
Chujing froze. “Why now? What makes you think that?”
She sighed. “You can’t always stay here. I’m old, but you’re still young.”
He wiped her tears. “Grandma, you survived because they saved you, allowing Dad to be born. I’ve lived here my whole life. I consider Xihua Street home, flaws and all. I do not mind it.”
She fell silent. “But… regardless of whether Xiao Yu’s death was caused by Ding Chenhai, they have labeled you as an accomplice. What meaning is there in protecting them? Listen to me. Let’s leave.”
Chujing said firmly, “I will prove to them that Ding Chenhai did not kill Xiao Yu.”
Before she could reply, someone called from outside. “Chujing, are you home? Grandma, is Chujing here?”
Chujing opened the door. Sanyang stood there, looking grim.
“What’s the matter?” Chujing asked.
“Nothing,” Sanyang blurted, then quickly corrected, “Well… they found a clue about Xiao Yu’s murder and want you to check the back mountain.”
Chujing immediately prepared to leave. The old lady shouted after him, “Eat first!”
“I’ll eat later. I’ll be back soon,” he said, leaving without looking back. Neither he nor the old lady knew this would be the last time he would see the house again.
At the back mountain, aside from Uncle Jiu, Xiao Yu’s parents, and a few elder community members, several men in black stood, each holding a stun baton.
“What’s going on?” Chujing asked, turning. Sanyang, pale and trembling, could only shake his head and retreat.
“You must be Chujing. Quite handsome—no wonder Ding Chenhai liked you. Even someone twisted like him knows what love is,” said the leader with a light laugh.
Chujing immediately understood: these people had captured the residents of Xihua Street to force him to reveal Ding Chenhai’s whereabouts.
“Cut the small talk—release them. If anything happens, come at me. Ding Chenhai has nothing to do with them; don’t involve innocent people.”
“Straightforward. I want Ding Chenhai’s location. He sank my ship, destroyed over a hundred million in cargo, and killed more than a dozen of my men. I want his life.” The man leaned against the car, casually glancing at Chujing. “Tell me, where is he?”
Chujing sneered. “If you want him, call the police. That works best. But with your hundreds of millions, it’s probably not exactly legal business—you won’t dare report it, right?”
The man didn’t get angry, just grinning like a sly tiger. “Kid, I suggest you quit talking back. Ding Chenhai always keeps a third eye on people he deals with. You’d better be sensible—tell me where he is.”
Chujing replied, “I’m uneducated and unsavvy. Why don’t you teach me what it means to be sensible?”
The man’s patience ran out. He reached out. “Grab him.”
Chujing was ready, smoothly dodging and twisting one man’s arm behind him, punching him in the abdomen, then pushing him aside to block another attacker.
One against three, yet he didn’t lose ground.
The man signaled Uncle Jiu, who shouted, “Chujing!”
Momentarily distracted, Chujing was caught by two men, and a sudden jolt surged through his back. Pain lanced through him like electricity, his knees buckled, and he dropped to his knees.
A high-voltage stun baton struck his spine, blurring his vision.
“Well, kneeling already,” the man stepped forward, patting Chujing’s face with the baton, a hint of amusement in his voice. “You can really fight. If Ding Chenhai hadn’t taught you, I’d really want to test you.”
Chujing, restrained, struggled through the pain. “Release them.”
The man tilted his head. Chujing was dragged aside and tied to a pillar. The man strolled over. “Start talking. Where’s Ding Chenhai?”
“I’ll tell you if you release them first,” Chujing gasped, fighting for breath, still worried about the Xihua Street family, not wanting his and Ding Chenhai’s situation to endanger them.
The man smiled. “You’ve got loyalty. Fine, I’ll let them go.”
Chujing glanced back at Uncle Jiu and Sanyang, giving a strained smile. “Go—don’t worry. I can handle this.”
Sanyang wanted to say more, but Uncle Jiu dragged him away.
Chujing couldn’t see the man’s expression clearly, nor was he allowed a closer look. The stun baton pressed against his chin.
“Alright, start talking.”
Chujing whispered, “He… he’s in my heart.”
The man froze, then realized he had been fooled. He immediately switched on the baton. Chujing trembled violently under the shock, slumping unconscious when it was switched off.
“Let’s see how long he can last. Keep shocking him—until he talks.”
Sanyang covered his mouth, unable to watch Chujing being beaten while tied to the pillar. The muffled strikes, the agony, the stifled screams, and the electric jolts assaulted both his ears and conscience.
“Uncle Jiu, maybe we—”
“Shut up!” Uncle Jiu roared. “This has nothing to do with us. Whether Ding Chenhai comes back or not, we have no idea where Chujing is! Understand?”
Xiao Yu’s parents asked, “Do you know where Ding Chenhai is? Are you going to tip him off?”
Sanyang eventually relented. “I understand.”
“Cut!”
Zhou Changjiang called cut, but didn’t immediately speak. Everyone waited tensely, especially Qin Sizheng, whose heart felt like it might leap out of his chest, fearing Zhou would say his performance wasn’t ready.
“This shot is excellent. Makeup, touch up Chujing.”
Qin Sizheng exhaled in relief. The next shot involved him beaten and bruised; the makeup artist had hidden a small blood packet on his head, to drip during filming.
Co-actor Guo Jin, holding the stun baton, muttered, “What kind of twisted mind writes this? I hope I’m not assassinated when it’s released.”
Qin Sizheng lowered his head for the makeup touch-up. Since filming would continue right after, he didn’t bother untie himself.
Guo Jin leaned against a wall, still talking. “I can already picture the bloody scene. Your fans will tear me apart. Save me, Emotion Brother!”
He mimicked Chen Qiu, playfully teasing Qin as if he were the object of affection.
Qin Sizheng replied earnestly, “If there’s trouble, call the police. Don’t take justice into your own hands. Vigilante acts are illegal. Say no to criminal forces.”
Guo Jin pretended to jab him with the baton. “Want to see some pain?”
“For whom?” Qin Sizheng replied.
Guo Jin instinctively turned. “Fourth Brother.”
Lu Xianqing took the baton, approaching the boy tied to the pillar. Once the makeup artist and Guo Jin stepped aside, he lightly tapped Qin’s cheek, lowering his voice. “What now? I also want to give you a little taste.”
Qin Sizheng, still restrained, turned his head away and whispered, “Someone’s here… don’t play with this.”
Lu Xianqing lifted his chin—not to harm, but teasingly, already thinking about taking him home later. He was a self-proclaimed pervert, but not one to truly harm. This was just playful.
“Enough, I won’t tease you. I came over because Zhou Changjiang said things are going well. Shooting should wrap tonight. How will you leave?”
“Changfeng has arranged it.” Qin Sizheng replied.
Lu Xianqing frowned slightly but nodded, handing the baton back to Guo Jin, who accepted it as if receiving a trophy.
The scene proceeded smoothly. Chujing endured the torture, gritting his teeth and refusing to reveal Ding Chenhai’s whereabouts.
Though his vision blurred with blood, he glimpsed his parents, and a well-dressed, refined man who looked strikingly like him—probably his grandfather.
The last thing Chu Jing saw before he died was the sky. There was the faintest smile on his lips. “I really want to see what the world outside West Hua Street looks like.”
“Cut!”
“Congratulations to our Ah Jing! You’ve officially wrapped!”