Qin Sizheng wasn’t actually going to hang up. He busily made a simple dinner and told him about the day’s dance practice and the drunkard he’d encountered on the way back.
Lu Xianqing listened, occasionally smiling.
After some thought, Qin Sizheng selectively recounted the evening’s events—most of his schedule was transparent, and he might have his phone taken away again later.
Lu Xianqing said, “I know. I thought you wouldn’t tell me. Good, you’re being sensible.”
Qin Sizheng was surprised. “How did you know?”
Lu Xianqing leaned back in his chair. “You’ve been gaining fans through your martial skills lately. Smart move. Su Xian is in the hospital—so I had He Xing mention you to him. Otherwise, why do you think he asked you to fill in?”
Qin Sizheng had thought Xu Zhao was pulling strings to make money for him, but it was actually Lu Xianqing helping.
“Thanks, Fourth Brother.”
“Really want to thank me?” Lu Xianqing asked.
Qin Sizheng immediately said, “No, just a verbal thanks!”
Lu Xianqing sighed theatrically. “No sincerity.”
Qin Sizheng pursed his lips, knowing Lu Xianqing wasn’t really angry, just teasing. If he truly wanted to thank him, he’d wait until he returned—it was too embarrassing over the phone.
After dinner, they lingered chatting until it was time to shower. Lu Xianqing unusually didn’t make a lewd comment, which Qin Sizheng found slightly unfamiliar.
After his shower, Qin Sizheng put all the discordant toys in a box and sent a message to You Si to come pick them up the next day. Large dolls that wouldn’t fit were temporarily set aside.
You Si replied after a while: 【Oh? Dating Lu Xianqing now, so you don’t need the stuff? How is he, really good at it? They say he’s not—true? Who’s the one in your duo?】
Qin Sizheng asked, 【How did you know we’re together?】
You Si quickly answered, 【I guessed. You’re acting together, he treats you well, must like you. You two really are together?】
Qin Sizheng said, 【Stop guessing. Remember to pick up the stuff tomorrow, or I’ll hit you.】
You Si breathed a sigh of relief, almost spilling the secret.
Earlier, Lu Xianqing had asked him about Qin Sizheng, so he knew something was happening. Qin Sizheng had liked him for so long—if they were together, it was a good thing. Yet, he also worried that Lu Xianqing might be hard to control.
Qin Sizheng then messaged An Ying, updating her on his upcoming schedule, assuring her he’d practice his parts diligently.
An Ying immediately felt concerned, wanting to go confront Xu Zhao, but Qin Sizheng kept reassuring her.
Su Xian even called to thank him: “Thanks for covering for me. I’ll treat you to a meal.”
Qin Sizheng laughed: “I should be the one treating you.”
Su Xian winked: “No, your Fourth Brother treating you counts more.”
Qin Sizheng blushed slightly. Su Xian was a serious person, so in a low voice he asked, “Hey, when will you go public? I’ll need to call you Fourth Sister then.”
Qin Sizheng was startled. “…You, how did you—?”
Su Xian gestured a zipper over his mouth, smiling: “I won’t tell anyone. Don’t worry—he never has a conscience anyway. If he can care this much for one person, he’s got his mind made up.”
Qin Sizheng relaxed, speaking openly: “I’ll follow Fourth Brother’s lead. We’ll invite you to eat with us then.”
Su Xian liked his straightforwardness, said a few polite words, then hung up.
Qin Sizheng knew this was a path Lu Xianqing had paved for him and no longer dwelled on it. He slept well that night.
The variety show was being filmed in a tropical area, and once he arrived, he saw a familiar face—Xing Yue.
Xing Yue ran over and hugged him. “Little Kite.”
Qin Sizheng greeted everyone one by one. Xing Yue explained that this variety show was a true survival challenge, with incredibly harsh conditions. Su Xian had basically been “ruined” by it—it was a show no ordinary person could have imagined.
Towering trees were everywhere, and the air was hot and stifling.
There was no host—only a former field officer, Zhang Zheng.
“You’ll encounter many cute little creatures—snakes, spiders, and the like. Some snakes are as thick as an arm, and some ants are as big as soybeans.”
The description sent the guests screaming, with Xing Yue’s voice the loudest.
“I’ve left clues. You have to find the fragments yourselves, then assemble the puzzle to find the food. Fail, and you’ll have to eat snake meat. You have only one hour—begin!”
The guests groaned and complained to Qin Sizheng.
“I’m not going alone. Last time a bear scared me out of my wits. I don’t care—whether I eat anything or not, I’m going with you.”
“Exactly, don’t split up. This is scarier than an escape room. I’m afraid a snake will suddenly jump out and swallow me.”
Qin Sizheng walked at the front, using a branch to push aside vines. “I’ll go first. If there’s danger, I can react quickly. Be careful not to trip, and call out if anything happens.”
The guests felt reassured, even though he was only eighteen.
“Little Kite, can I call you that? I’m Zhou Xiao. I saw your previous variety show—you really smashed that glass with your bare hands?”
“Yes, and that wooden stick—I was stunned watching it.”
Before Qin Sizheng could reply, Xing Yue spoke for him: “Of course! Our Little Kite is amazing. He doesn’t use a stunt double on set; he does everything himself. Director Zhou even praised his fight scenes.”
Qin Sizheng smiled humbly. “Xing Yue is exaggerating.”
The group chatted as they followed him, quickly finding the first clue. Xing Yue held it and moved forward, but suddenly they felt lost, as if trapped in a maze.
“Little Kite, did we come through here already? I remember stepping on the grass when picking up that stone.”
Qin Sizheng had flattened the grass with his stick as a marker. Looking up, the sunlight filtered through the giant trees, making it difficult to judge direction by the sun.
Xing Yue trusted him and asked impulsively, “Kite, what should we do?”
Everyone waited for his decision. Qin Sizheng felt the weight of their trust and smiled to reassure them. “It’s okay. We’ll get out. Let’s go right, and I’ll mark the way.”
Qin Sizheng’s youthful face, especially when he smiled with his two dimples, made him instantly approachable.
Leading the guests forward, he suddenly heard a scream as sunlight fell through the canopy. He turned to see a snake hissing at Zhou Xiao.
“Little Kite, w-what do we do?” Zhou Xiao’s legs gave out, trembling with fear.
Xing Yue opened her mouth to speak, but Qin Sizheng quickly covered it. “Everyone stay still. Zhou Xiao, stay calm. Don’t be afraid. The snake probably isn’t venomous, but don’t provoke it.”
“I-I don’t want to anger it. Snake ancestor, please leave, I’m not tasty,” Zhou Xiao stammered.
This variety show didn’t have cameramen following them; cameras were hidden for authenticity. No one would come to help, so the responsibility fell entirely on Qin Sizheng.
He released Xing Yue, moving slowly toward the branch. The snake wasn’t large—only as thick as a finger—coiled on a branch, eyeing Zhou Xiao.
Zhou Xiao wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t, his gaze fixed on Qin Sizheng. The next second, Qin Sizheng reached out and grabbed the snake by its vulnerable point, flinging it against a tree until it went unconscious.
Zhou Xiao dropped to his knees. Qin Sizheng used his stick to push the snake aside and helped him up. “You weren’t bitten, right?”
Still trembling, Zhou Xiao whispered, “No, no… thank goodness you acted quickly. Is it dead?”
“No, just knocked out. Let’s move.”
The group exited the jungle and picked up the second puzzle piece at the clearing, only to have a wild man suddenly rush at them. Qin Sizheng instinctively pushed his companions aside and blocked with his arm, leaving a red mark.
“Little Kite!” Xing Yue screamed. The other guests were frozen with fear, sweating coldly.
“Go find something to defend yourselves! Don’t worry about me,” Qin Sizheng said.
The wild man relied purely on brute strength. Even with his skills, Qin Sizheng struggled, taking more than ten minutes to subdue him. The guests ran over with sticks, wildly striking.
“Stop! Stop! It’s me!”
The group froze as the “wild man” unzipped his costume, revealing a familiar face—Zhang Zheng, the one who had been hiding the puzzle.
“How… it’s you?”
Panting and exhilarated, Zhang Zheng shook his head. “Haven’t had such a good fight in ages. You’re skilled—trained?”
Qin Sizheng hurriedly replied, “Just practicing casually.”
Zhang Zheng didn’t buy it. “Casual practice? You knocked me down. Are you looking down on me?”
“And you even dared to hit Little Kite? Your hands are red from grabbing him! How will you make up for it?” Xing Yue hit him with her stick, discovering a hard object—the last puzzle piece.
“Found it! The last piece!”
Satisfied, Zhang Zheng didn’t make things difficult. “Since you found everything, tonight I’ll treat you to roast chicken.”
He had hunted a few wild chickens earlier, marinated them with natural jungle spices, and they were ready to roast.
The group built a fire, and Zhang Zheng placed the chickens on a spit. Xing Yue, inexplicably attracted to soldiers, sat beside him to hear stories about camp life.
Zhang Zheng declared solemnly, “Confidential.”
Qin Sizheng spoke little, resting his chin on his hand on the other side of the fire, watching the flickering flames and thinking of Lu Xianqing. He wondered if Lu Xianqing, now probably off set, would be thinking of him too.
Around the campfire, the others chatted and laughed, while Zhang Zheng had also prepared some fruit for them. After eating their fill, they returned to the base camp.
Qin Sizheng lay in the mostly open-air tree shelter, staring at the star-filled sky, missing his phone terribly, and missing Lu Xianqing within it.
After two days of filming, the others were a little reluctant to see him leave, with Zhou Xiao showing the strongest reaction. “What am I supposed to do if you leave? If there’s another snake, I’ll surely die.”
Qin Sizheng taught them some self-rescue techniques. Once they understood, he reassured them: “It’s not that scary. Just don’t panic when things happen.”
This shoot had been tougher than previous ones, yet he felt happy. Returning, he went straight to An Ying without even resting, rehearsing the dance several times with her.
As the rehearsal date approached, the new episode of the variety show featuring Qin Sizheng had aired. His feats—catching a snake with his bare hands and fighting Zhang Zheng for over ten minutes—shot the show to trending searches.
【Wow, Qin Sizheng… professional, right? Zhang Zheng is from the field forces, and he still got knocked down? Incredible!】
【What kind of younger brother did I just become a fan of? That move stunned me completely.】
【Husband!!!】
【I thought his glass-smashing stunt on that earlier show was fake, staged by the crew. But now he can fight a soldier for over ten minutes and win so gracefully? He used to be so fragile that moving a table could break him. So inspiring! I need to start working out too.】
【Working out won’t help. You might lift iron all your life and still can’t withstand one punch. Didn’t you forget what happened with the horse?】
【I knew he could fight, but not this much. Terrifying.】
【What kind of perfect little treasure is my baby? Always saving people—on variety shows, in airports, in the jungle… Forget “Little Kite,” call him “Little Spider.” Real-life Spider-Man deserves all the praise.】
【He even dares to grab snakes. I can’t even move when I see it—so fierce.】
Xu Zhao wasn’t surprised that Qin Sizheng had won over more fans. Last time he returned, he received a pile of gifts from fans at the airport and did an unboxing livestream. They were mostly handmade items, which he displayed neatly.
He had previously said not to give expensive things; those made with heart were enough.
He was learning the rules of the entertainment industry and understanding how to please fans. It was good, but why did he only become sensible when it was almost time to leave?
Xu Zhao stood and walked toward the executive office, determined to find a way to keep Qin Sizheng there.
On the day of rehearsal, Qin Sizheng went to the TV station with An Ying.
Traffic was heavy. When they arrived, many reporters were at the entrance, snapping photos and racing to get their news.
An Ying let out a snort of disdain, casting a cold glance.
Following her gaze, Qin Sizheng saw a poised and elegant woman stepping out of a car, walking up the stairs as if on a red carpet, pausing at the top for photos.
It was Wen Li.
“Rehearsal doesn’t require dressing like this. If you didn’t know, you’d think it’s a movie premiere,” An Ying mocked, adjusting her thin shawl.
Qin Sizheng felt an inexplicable familiarity toward Wen Li. From behind the car window, her gaze seemed both strange and recognizable.
“Let’s get out of the car and head in while she’s taking photos. I hate being surrounded like that, shoved microphones, and treated like a showpiece. I’m a dancer, not here to smile for them.”
Qin Sizheng laughed at her remark, opening the car door for her. They walked in side by side.
“Qin Sizheng! Qin Sizheng is here! Quick!” someone shouted. The press surged forward, scrambling for the best angles.
Qin Sizheng was immediately surrounded, while Wen Li’s side had no one left.
“Slow down… don’t fall.” Qin Sizheng instinctively steadied a girl in the front who was swaying from the push. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes!” she said, shoving a microphone into his hand and firing questions like bullets. “Rehearsal today? Can you give a sneak peek? Is it singing?”
Before he could respond, multiple microphones were pressed into his hands, and the barrage of questions made his temples throb.
“The performance details are under wraps for now.”
“Huh? A few days ago you saw me at the airport? I wore a mask and hat, thought I was hidden well. How did you recognize me? Amazing.”
“Yes. I played a role in Between Good and Evil. Director Zhou was responsible, and Teacher Lu was great, teaching me a lot. As for details, I can’t reveal them yet. You’ll see in the film.”
Qin Sizheng winked at them. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, but if I did, Director Zhou would kill me. You wouldn’t want that, right?”
Wen Li clenched her fists, her gaze cold and resentful as it fixed on Qin Sizheng amidst the crowd.
He was like a tiny flame, attracting all the moths around him. He must be proud, constantly invoking Zhou Changjiang to assert himself—she could not let him remain in this circle, or she might eventually fall victim to him.
Someone asked, “I heard you and Wen Li don’t get along. You apologized on Weibo before, and she accepted it. Are things better now? Will you collaborate for the Mid-Autumn Gala?”
“Not for this gala. Hopefully in the future,” Qin Sizheng returned the microphone with a polite smile. “We should go rehearse now. Thank you.”
The Mid-Autumn Gala, hosted by Jiang City, was grand and elaborate. Besides the performers, invitations were sent to select industry insiders.
Though makeup wasn’t required for rehearsal, outfits still needed changing. Staff led them to the dressing room, where they would wait for their turn on stage, explaining the schedule and flow.
Qin Sizheng was at the height of her popularity, and the TV station was treating her with utmost care—drinks ready, staff attending her every need.
The program was the second after opening, and Qin Sizheng and An Ying went to change outfits to prepare.
As she stepped out, she saw Wen Li sitting in the lounge, back turned. Only a faint, blurred image was visible in the mirror.
“Senior Wen.”
Wen Li turned, and her usually sharp, calculating gaze vanished in an instant. Her signature mix of a smiling face masking knives and silk-soft cunning couldn’t hold—she looked flustered as she demanded, “Why are you attending this gala?”
Qin Sizheng frowned slightly. “I came because I was invited. You really didn’t want to see me here?”
The rumors of their clash were already well-known in the industry. Previously, Wen Li had publicly criticized Lu Xianqing on Weibo, but it had actually been directed at Qin Sizheng. No one else knew, but she did—Qin Sizheng had spent these years turning the entertainment circle upside down, all in revenge against her.
He probably even entered the industry just to make her restless day and night. Qin Sizheng was like a ticking bomb, tied to her side, a constant warning that she could explode at any moment. She felt she was going insane.
Wen Li took a deep breath, suppressing anxiety and anger. In a low voice, she said, “What good does it do you to pressure me like this? Years have passed—what’s the point of pursuing it now? I know I wronged you, but what could I have done at the time? I was struggling alone—did you really want me to die?”
Qin Sizheng watched her silently, a subtle mix of irritation and disgust rising instinctively.
“Wind Kite, already changed your outfit?” An Ying opened the door, calm and leisurely, smiling at Wen Li, delighted to see her expression crumble in an instant.
“You! What are you doing here?” Wen Li was shocked and immediately looked at Qin Sizheng. “You did this on purpose!”
An Ying flicked her hair and snickered. “This is my lounge. If I’m not here, where else would I be? I should ask you—what are you doing in my lounge? Trying to steal something, or do you have some shameful secret? Back then…”
Wen Li reached to slap An Ying, but Qin Sizheng grabbed her hand with an icy gaze that made her recoil. She glared at the two, seething, then turned and left.
Qin Sizheng watched her retreating back, the few brief words echoing in his mind. You Zi had once said he entered the entertainment industry for someone, and now Wen Li said she felt pressured—after so many years, what’s the point in pursuing it?
He suddenly had a thought. An Ying saw him spacing out and patted his shoulder. “Wind Kite? Did she yell at you? Don’t take it to heart. We’ve been at each other for a long time anyway—later, I’ll help you get back at her.”
Qin Sizheng pursed his lips and, feigning casualness, asked, “You two are close?”
“Of course,” An Ying replied. “We went to the same university and even shared a dorm. After graduation, I joined a dance troupe, and she went into acting. Makes sense—her boyfriend was rich, with connections. Acting had a better future than dancing.”
Qin Sizheng was surprised—An Ying and Wen Li had been university classmates. She looked barely in her twenties.
“Really? I don’t look it?”
“You look young,” Qin Sizheng said.
An Ying patted his shoulder. “A sister loves to hear that. Say more, I’ll buy you candy later. Your mouth’s already sweetened with morning honey.”
Qin Sizheng, slightly flustered, steered the conversation back. “Was it Zhou Changjiang?”
“No, not Zhou Changjiang. I think her name was Han… Han Siming? Anyway, when she started college she was very poor. During that time, she flaunted designer bags and jewelry to show off. We all hated it. When she got bored, she moved out.”
“And after that?”
An Ying thought for a moment; it was long ago, and some details were fuzzy. “Later she filmed something that got popular—the Floating World Chronicles. Then she suddenly went on hiatus for over four months. Later, she filmed that love story, met Zhou Changjiang, and soon married. Why are you asking all of a sudden?”
“Just curious.” Qin Sizheng walked toward the stage with An Ying, casually glancing in Wen Li’s direction.
Several familiar faces were at the gala: Xu Jinhan and his son, He Du and his son, Liu Mianmian and her daughter, and even Shi Jianxu, though he was blocked from approaching to greet them. He waved, and Qin Sizheng had to manage the attention politely. Shi Jianxu, from afar, raised his right hand, making a heart gesture.
“…”
Xu Jinhan chuckled beside him. “You two seem close. Young friendships are simple—unlike us old bones. Making friends now is exhausting.”
An Ying placed her hands on her hips. “Hey, hey, don’t talk about age in front of me. I could be your aunt! Feeling insulted, huh?”
Qin Sizheng liked this relaxed atmosphere, standing quietly while they joked, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“Teacher Qin, Teacher An, please get ready. We’re about to start,” called a TV staff member. Qin Sizheng handed his phone to Shen Changfeng and went onstage with An Ying.
Wen Li watched from below, fingernails digging into her palms, the more it hurt, the more her anger festered.
That child had arrived at the wrong time. Constant filming had left her body in disarray, and by the time she realized it, the child was already over four months old.
Wen Li first wanted to terminate the pregnancy, but at the crowded hospital, she suddenly regretted it.
This child represented her step up into the Han family. With recognition, she could leave her past behind—she had to seize this opportunity.
Nervously, she approached Han Siming, told him she was pregnant, and asked what to do. Fortunately, he was supportive and told her to keep the child. She stayed in a suburban villa until the baby was born.
During that period, Wen Li was genuinely happy. The Han family wielded immense power in Jiangcheng. Marrying in meant she no longer had to struggle in the entertainment industry, climbing little by little while fearing others’ faces. This child was her bargaining chip.
When the child reached a full month, Wen Li approached Han Siming, expressing a desire to bring the baby to meet his parents. Han Siming evaded the topic, and that’s when she realized he already had a socially advantageous fiancée—an ideal match in a business alliance. She, in his eyes, was nothing.
Looking at her newborn with its wrinkled, smiling face, Wen Li saw a demon.
If Han Siming didn’t want her, naturally he wouldn’t accept the child. She couldn’t oppose the Han family; raising the child herself would be like holding a ticking bomb.
She pressed her hand against the child’s neck just as her manager arrived with deliveries, snatching the baby away in one swift motion.
“What are you doing?!”
Wen Li finally reacted, collapsing to the floor and covering her face with tears. “I regret it! I shouldn’t have kept him. Han Siming doesn’t want me, and he won’t acknowledge the child. If anyone finds out, I’m finished. You know how hard it is for me to keep this life—I can’t let anyone know I gave birth. Help me, please, help me.”
The manager, holding the baby, scolded her. “I told you being with a rich kid like Han Siming would bring no good! People like him will never be tamed for you. You thought you could be different, but look—here’s the bitter fruit in your hands. And you gave birth to the child!”
Wen Li grabbed the manager’s arm, pleading desperately. “Throw him away or find someone to take him. Don’t let anyone know I gave birth. Please, I beg you.”
The manager had no other choice. Under the cover of night, they left the child at an orphanage’s doorstep. When someone heard the crying and came out to take the baby inside, the manager departed.
Wen Li never imagined Qin Sizheng would enter the entertainment industry.
Although he never revealed his origins, she realized almost instantly—this was her son.
After years of maintaining her image in the industry, if this truth came out, everything she had painstakingly built would collapse. Zhou Changjiang might even divorce her.
Such a scenario could never be allowed.
Qin Sizheng and An Ying finished their performance, and the melodious music abruptly stopped. Applause erupted, snapping Wen Li’s attention back.
She grabbed her phone, sending a message: “Tell him that the photo wasn’t an audition—he did it for fan engagement!”
No reply came yet, when a young man walked past. Wen Li softly called out, “Xi Ling, you’re here too.”
Xi Ling had a brash personality and rarely bought into anyone’s words. Wen Li knew him well. With a silky, sly smile, she said, “Qin Sizheng is quite popular—even rehearsals had to pause for him. Is your song the next one? About to go on stage?”
At center stage, Qin Sizheng shone brilliantly, effortlessly drawing every eye in the room. His mere presence already outshone many.
Adding to that, his charming, sweet demeanor made him all the more endearing.
“小 Wind Kite, that move just now—amazing! It looked like you were hovering in the air! How did you train for that? Incredible.”
“Truly a flying kite? You can actually fly!”
“Did he really pause mid-air? I thought I was seeing things. That soft front flip—so beautiful! I almost questioned if your bones are even flexible.”
“Yes! The aerial front flip—divine!”
The crowd buzzed nonstop. Qin Sizheng wiped sweat from his forehead, exchanged a glance with An Ying, and finally relaxed.
An Ying said, “Of course our little Wind Kite is amazing! Not enough praise yet—come on, keep going. Google him live, give him all the compliments you can.”
Everyone laughed together.
Wen Li had been ignored for so long that she turned to watch other overlooked performers. They were still speaking during the second program, wasting others’ time, and must have been frustrated.
When she looked back, those people had swarmed over like flies.
The famously temperamental idol Xi Ling jumped on stage, coldly pushing someone aside.
Wen Li straightened, ready to watch the drama. Xi Ling hooked Qin Sizheng’s shoulder. “Next month, my concert—come sing with me.”
Wen Li froze.
Qin Sizheng froze too.
Xu Jinhan smiled, walking over to introduce him. “You don’t know him—this is our junior, Xi Ling. He has a terrible temper, don’t mind him.”
Xi Ling scowled. “Xu Senior, what are you doing? Didn’t we do a variety show together? Speak well for me—tell him to come to my concert and sing with me.”
Xu Jinhan smiled. “I won’t speak for you. Beg him yourself.”
Xi Ling leaned against Qin Sizheng’s shoulder. “They call you Little Wind Kite, right? I’ll call you brother, show respect. Big Brother Wind Kite, come to my concert.”
Qin Sizheng, not good at refusing, subtly avoided the touch. “Alright, I’ll come, but I don’t sing well. I’ll just be a fan.”
Xi Ling extended his hand. “Deal.”
Qin Sizheng glanced at it—such an old-fashioned way to make an agreement—and shook it. Xi Ling looked around at everyone. “Hey, you all are witnesses! If he doesn’t come, I’ll go on Weibo and roast him.”
Many in the crowd disliked Xi Ling, but he was just spoiled and they didn’t bother arguing. “Got it, annoying. Let’s rehearse.”