Shen Changfeng shot him a look. “Remember to swallow that line and keep it to yourself!”
Qin Sizheng replied vaguely, “Mm,” twice. Shen Changfeng pulled out the characteristic black spade card from the suit pocket. Yalusi’s cards, which included her design inspiration, made her work instantly recognizable and impossible to counterfeit.
He scanned it with his phone, confirmed it was genuine, and finally relaxed, putting the card back in the pocket.
“Who’s generous enough to send you a suit? Xu Zhao isn’t answering, and even if he did, he couldn’t pull this off. Could it be Fourth Brother?”
Qin Sizheng shook his head. If it were Lu Xianqing, he would have told him directly, probably even demanded a show while putting it on.
“Never mind guessing. The man at the door said you’d meet the sender when the time came. Probably a fan.”
On the night of the gala, Qin Sizheng and An Ying arrived together.
He opened the car door for her and offered his elbow for her to hold. The designer suit on him added an air of restraint, yet the faint arrogance of a young heir coming into his own.
They strode down the red carpet, signing autographs as people handed them pens, Qin Sizheng slightly bowing in thanks, posing for photos with An Ying.
“Please, over here, teachers,” the staff called.
He extended his hand to An Ying again and caught sight of Wen Li descending from another car. Her assistant held her dress; the white off-shoulder gown accentuated her perfect swan-like neck.
Wen Li, known for her grace and elegance, never misstepped in public.
Even though An Ying disliked her internally, she didn’t show it. Qin Sizheng only glanced briefly, not holding grudges—he hadn’t entered this world for revenge against Wen Li.
“Ahhhh! Is that Fourth Brother?chap”
“Fourth Brother’s here? I didn’t hear he was attending the gala today. How did he show up suddenly?”
“Jiangcheng TV really knows how to stage surprises. Didn’t see that coming!”
Halfway down the red carpet, the media attention shifted entirely to the man stepping out of the car. His black suit exuded restraint, sapphire cufflinks gleaming, right hand casually adjusting a button, his presence commanding.
The space in front of Wen Li felt empty. Staff handed her pens, but her gaze kept flicking toward Lu Xianqing. Furious, she threw the pen tray down after signing. She had never experienced such humiliation.
Qin Sizheng froze. Fourth Brother had returned? He hadn’t mentioned he’d be back for the gala; he was supposed to remain on set for two more months.
His mind raced, watching the stern, imposing man stride over, effortlessly signing autographs with fluid grace—stunning beyond belief.
“My heart’s about to leap out,” An Ying murmured.
Qin Sizheng realized suddenly, feeling his heartbeat thrum against his chest. Embarrassed, he blinked.
An Ying chuckled. “I’m teasing. I didn’t hear it, but your gaze locked straight—true enough. Let’s go backstage.”
He pulled his attention away from Lu Xianqing. They hadn’t made anything public yet; no one could see their connection.
Their segment was second, so they went backstage to prepare and change. The makeup room was large, divided in two; the left side belonged to An Ying.
Qin Sizheng eagerly pulled out his phone, messaging Lu Xianqing: 【Why are you here? Back for the gala? Performing?】
“Hey.”
He looked up and saw Lu Xianqing leaning against the door, arms crossed, smiling at him.
He dashed over, tripping slightly, and collided into Lu Xianqing’s chest. The older man leaned back instinctively, catching him by the waist and pulling him in. “Hey, careful there.”
“How did you come back?” Qin Sizheng asked, tilting his head up, a torrent of questions spilling out. “Why didn’t you tell me in advance? I could’ve picked you up. When did you arrive? Just now?”
Lu Xianqing pinched his earlobe, finally savoring the long-missed sensation, moving from the earlobe to the back of his neck, kneading gently. The gesture instantly silenced the teenager’s chatter.
“Just got here, finished filming and came back. Heading back early tomorrow—got scolded by Zhou Changjiang.” He leaned down, placing a quick kiss on Qin Sizheng’s lips. “Wanted to surprise you. Happy?”
Qin Sizheng nodded eagerly. Lu Xianqing, soothed by his obedient, earnest response, felt the exhaustion melt away—it had been worth it.
“Qin Laoshi, An Laoshi, we’re ready for makeup,” the makeup artist called from outside, knocking. Qin Sizheng reluctantly slipped from Lu Xianqing’s embrace and opened the door.
The makeup artist, startled to see Lu Xianqing, hurriedly greeted him.
“You two go ahead, I’ll watch from the side,” he said.
Under that intense gaze, the artist struggled but finished Qin Sizheng’s makeup. Since the performance was a traditional-style dance, the makeup had to be a bit heavier than usual.
“Qin Laoshi, how does it look?”
Qin Sizheng glanced at the mirror. Lu Xianqing, propping his chin with one hand on the chair back, observed for a moment and said, “Add a mole near the corner of your eye—red, like a teardrop of blood.”
The artist studied the placement in the mirror and gave a thumbs-up to Lu Xianqing. “Perfect.”
“Time’s almost up,” a staff member knocked again. “Are Qin Laoshi and An Laoshi ready? Hurry, please.”
“Almost done,” the artist replied.
After the mole was applied, Qin Sizheng went to change. Just as he closed the door, a hand pressed against it. “Need help getting dressed?”
Qin Sizheng hesitated; he wasn’t used to traditional dance costumes, but nodded. Once Lu Xianqing entered, he immediately regretted it—how was he supposed to undress in front of him?
“Why aren’t you taking off your clothes? How will you change?”
Blushing, Qin Sizheng loosened his tie. Lu Xianqing naturally took over, helping with the suit jacket, unbuttoning the shirt, handling the belt and pants.
“Whoa, what’s this?”
Qin Sizheng stiffened as a finger hooked a clip on his shirt. He instinctively stepped forward, pressing a hand against Lu Xianqing’s shoulder. “Fourth Brother—”
“You’re a naughty little thing,” Lu Xianqing whispered near his ear, making it tingle.
“It’s just a shirt clip, don’t pull it,” Qin Sizheng warned, wary of anyone entering. The makeup artist might return, and An Ying could peek from the other dressing area.
Lu Xianqing loosened his hand slightly, letting the elastic band snap lightly against Qin Sizheng’s thigh, eliciting a small frown.
“Fine, no pulling,” Lu Xianqing teased, helping him into the dance costume, looping the waist ties carefully around his slender waist.
Qin Sizheng exhaled in relief, whispering, “You’ve worn this before. Why pretend you’re curious? It’s not sexy. Your mind’s just dirty.”
Lu Xianqing grabbed his waist, pressing him close, smiling. “What did you just say?”
Startled, Qin Sizheng shook his head. “Nothing!”
Lu Xianqing cupped his chin, voice low and threatening: “Believe me, I could keep you from going on stage all night if I wanted.”
“Y-Yes! I believe!”
Tracing circles around his ear with his fingers, Lu Xianqing murmured, “Even if you believe, it’s useless. I’ve missed you so much, Yan Yan, it hurts every night. Can I kiss you first?”
“Not allowed! A kiss will give us away,” Qin Sizheng whispered back.
“I’ll show you a way no one will notice.” Lu Xianqing tilted his head, holding his chin, eyes burning. “Stick out your tongue.”
Confused, Qin Sizheng complied. Lu Xianqing adjusted his angle, and soon their tongues met, entwining like two young snakes.
“Qin Laoshi, are you ready? You’re going on soon.”
Flustered, Qin Sizheng grabbed Lu Xianqing’s hand, barely able to stand, swallowing hard. “Y-You… you can’t kiss like that.”
Lu Xianqing smoothed his collar. “Kiss like what? What’s wrong? Our little one enjoys it, right? Sounds so cute, very obedient.”
“This is too much,” Qin Sizheng muttered, stunned by the intensity of this kind of kiss, feeling embarrassed and almost helpless.
“You don’t like it?”
Qin Sizheng couldn’t say. It felt overwhelming, almost panicky, as if Lu Xianqing was the only lifeline in water, keeping him afloat. He was the source of his security, especially with the noise and voices outside. He wasn’t allowed to retreat.
His entire back was slick with nervous sweat. Lu Xianqing massaged his wrist gently. “Next time, I won’t. Don’t be mad. I missed you so much, forgive me once?”
Qin Sizheng felt the tingling warmth of Lu Xianqing’s thumb against his wrist bones and breathed out slowly. “I… like it.”
“Hmm?”
“Little Kite, are we ready?” An Ying called from outside.
Qin Sizheng quickly kissed Lu Xianqing’s lips. “Wait for me.”
Seeing his flushed cheeks, An Ying internally cursed Lu Xianqing, glaring hard into the dressing room.
The makeup artist noticed too. “Eh? Is someone still in the dressing room?”
Panicked, Qin Sizheng worried about anyone seeing Lu Xianqing.
An Ying said calmly, “No one. Shall we go on stage, Little Kite?”
“Mm! Let’s go.” Qin Sizheng went to the door, sneaking one last glance to confirm Lu Xianqing was really there, not just a figment of his longing.
An Ying didn’t look back. “Focus ahead. After the performance, you can look all you want. Two shameless people.”
Lu Xianqing didn’t move away, trusted enough; Qin Sizheng didn’t hide it, letting out a small laugh. “Happy, huh?”
An Ying reached over and rapped lightly on his head. “Pathetic. Just looking at him makes you this happy? I swear, you’re going to be completely wrapped around his finger, trapped in his palm forever.”
The host’s voice fell, and the stage lights cut out. Relying on their rehearsal memory, the two stepped onto the stage. A single spotlight hit Qin Sizheng squarely on the head.
Lu Xianqing returned to his seat, resting his head on the chair arm and leaning sideways to watch.
The boy moved with a soft, agile grace, blending strength with fluidity. Barefoot, the arch of his foot flexed beautifully, and under the cold stage lights, his skin seemed like polished porcelain, captivating.
Lu Xianqing’s fingers pressed to his lips as he unabashedly traced every detail—from the tips of the boy’s fingers down to the pointed toes—taking it all in.
Because of Lu Xianqing’s presence, most of the cameras, besides capturing the stage, frequently lingered on him. The cameramen, careful not to annoy him, adjusted angles hesitantly and switched briefly to Xu Jinhang, who was calm and gentle, unlikely to get upset.
But Lu Xianqing seemed oblivious to the cameras, focused entirely on the boy on stage.
The dance itself appeared tailor-made for Qin Sizheng. Every step and spin moved with the suppleness of a hidden ribbon, flowing and graceful.
Light caught his fingertips as if they glowed; the red costume accentuated his delicate, pale wrists. Before stepping on stage, a red ribbon covered his eyes, teasingly alluring. He knelt, hugging himself, then rose and ripped the ribbon away, revealing the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye, like a drop of blood.
A kneeling forward roll elicited a roar of applause from the audience.
Lu Xianqing sat quietly, absorbing every moment. Each move etched itself into his memory. The ribbon design was clever—he could have fun with it at home. He wondered if Qin Sizheng would be shy, if he’d even allow it.
Thinking of the ribbon over his eyes, Lu Xianqing arrogantly decided: he must let him—there would be no refusal. The lessons in the dressing room had whetted his appetite; he had restrained himself for the stage, but once home, there would be no leniency.
Previously obsessed with Qin Sizheng’s hands, now he noticed his feet were equally beautiful.
Pressing a fingertip to his lips, Lu Xianqing mused—every inch of him was a weapon.
On the way back, An Ning had been furious, gnashing her teeth, convinced that Qin Sizheng had already forgotten Lu Xianqing, maybe even gotten a new “little brother” in his absence, who would now fling himself into Lu Xianqing’s arms like a little angel.
So obedient.
Lu Xianqing chuckled softly. The cameras caught it, and that one gesture immediately shot to trending searches.
Fans went wild across social media, like someone had rattled a hamster cage.
[Ahhhh, sisters, look!!! Fourth Brother is smiling at Bao! So doting! What divine looks—I’m dying, save me! 😭]
[Fourth Brother must be filming, right? He never comes to these galas. How did he even get here? Who’s the director? 😱]
[That shot when he got out of the car—I can’t even, I died all night. That man is ridiculously handsome…even if not looking at me, my legs went weak.]
[His gaze at the camera…so intimidating. What kind of aura is that??]
[Wait, look at their sleeves—Fourth Brother and Bao’s cuff patterns! Looks like Yalusi’s work! Couple outfit??? 😱😱]
[No way! They must’ve used microscopes to see this! I need another look…OMG this detail!]
[Overbearing movie star and his little sweetheart… I can’t, sisters. That last edit—hurry, I need more!]
[Editing team, are you there??]
[That man! I just started fangirling over his power, now this dance…soft body, what’s happening?? My bold thought—if they…on a bed…ahh!]
[The teardrop mole is perfect! Makeup artist deserves a cartload of chicken legs! I want to kiss it off Bao, please, I’m desperate!]
[Random passerby: Qin Sizheng’s dance is amazing! Also in a suit, signing and bowing politely. Too well-mannered!]
[Links, links, links! My Bao can fight, dance, and even raise kids. Sisters, invest now!]
While fans fangirled, Hong Xue Feifei had already started editing photos. She had tickets to the event and snapped countless pictures from Qin Sizheng’s exit from the car to his performance, as allowed by staff. She posted the refined shots with the tag #QinSizhengAsPromisedTheStarsRemain#.
Fans shared them en masse. The dance was breathtaking, with An Ying’s choreography highlighting Qin Sizheng, holding the audience completely captivated.
For a moment, all top five trending spots were Qin Sizheng-related—fans shipping, mesmerized by his performance, completely taken.
After the dance, Qin Sizheng and An Ying bowed to the audience and exited. The host appeared, offering praise before transitioning to the next segment.
Qin Sizheng, shoes on, couldn’t resist peeking toward the audience. An Ying laughed, “Stop rushing, go remove your makeup first, then leave immediately after.”
“Can I?” Qin Sizheng had never attended such a gala, unsure if he had to stay the entire event.
An Ying reassured, “It’s fine. Unlike Mid-Autumn, there are no interviews. After performing, everyone leaves directly.”
Qin Sizheng hurried to the dressing room to change, still shy when putting on the shirt clip, as if the memory of someone’s fingers teasing him, pressing his ear, lingered—a playful hand that would release and snap back against his thigh.
Qin Sizheng pressed down his racing breath, quickly finished changing, and just as he was about to put on his suit jacket, Lu Xianqing arrived, knocking on the door with his fingers.
“Who’s there?”
“Me.”
Qin Sizheng opened the door and let him in. Lu Xianqing naturally took the jacket from him, guiding his arms through the sleeves, then picked up the tie and carefully fastened it for him.
“I can do it myself,” Qin Sizheng said, not used to someone else dressing him. It was fine when the crew helped, but this… being helped by Lu Xianqing left him unsure where to put his hands.
“Don’t move. I like taking care of you.” Lu Xianqing straightened his shirt collar, tied the tie with meticulous care, then flipped the collar and let his fingertips graze Qin Sizheng’s throat.
“You don’t like being taken care of by me?”
The words carried a subtle, intimate undertone. Qin Sizheng blushed, awkwardly pulling Lu Xianqing’s hand away, then quickly changed the subject. “Fourth Brother, did you watch me dance? How was it?”
Lu Xianqing nodded casually. “Not bad.”
“Just not bad?” Qin Sizheng’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Not bad” meant average—hardly a compliment. He had hoped for praise, now unsure if his performance had dragged An Ying down, worried she might be scolded.
Lu Xianqing lifted his chin with a finger and bent down to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’m teasing you. My little one was amazing. Check Weibo—now I have so many rivals.”
Qin Sizheng blinked in disbelief. Lu Xianqing’s fingertip brushed across his lips. “I really want to lock you up, keep those rivals from ever seeing you. You think that’s okay?”
Qin Sizheng’s lips tingled as Lu Xianqing tugged his tie toward himself, his voice low and coaxing. “Come to my place tonight, alright?”
Burying his head, Qin Sizheng nodded softly.
“You’re too obedient, Yanyan. I won’t be able to resist.” Lu Xianqing sighed, smoothing the tie one last time, holding his hand as they left the dressing room.
From the mirror, An Ying shot Lu Xianqing a sharp glance. “Try to avoid being seen, okay?”
Qin Sizheng’s face flushed at the teasing. Lu Xianqing, unfazed, responded, “Avoid being seen? You get first-hand info about us—it’s way better than the fans’ second-hand gossip.”
An Ying gaped. “How did you manage to get reincarnated as a person? Did the King of Hell oversleep and let you through?”
Qin Sizheng just stood to the side, smiling as the two bantered, knowing there was no malice. Lu Xianqing pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it on An Ying’s table. “Thanks for babysitting my little one.”
Qin Sizheng’s cheeks warmed. That term always made him feel as if he were being held close, kissed over and over, then called “my little one.” That possessive, belonging feeling made his heart warm, an oddly addictive sensation—so different from always being the protector.
An Ying didn’t hesitate, opening the box immediately. Inside lay a delicate brooch. “Whoa, how did you get this? I’ve wanted it forever, but the designer wouldn’t sell. I even tried begging on my knees.”
Lu Xianqing smiled. “I know you like it. Even the stars in the sky have to be yours.”
An Ying beamed, holding it close. “You… you really are impossible to hate or love. Fine, I’ll let it go this time.”
Shen Changfeng and An Ning walked in together, asking how the two planned to leave. Outside, a crowd had gathered, with fans who couldn’t get tickets waiting. One wrong move could clog traffic entirely.
An Ying said, “Follow my car. It’s easier than using yours. Have the assistants drive out first to draw attention, we’ll take a detour.”
Qin Sizheng glanced at Lu Xianqing, ready to follow his lead.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Lu Xianqing’s appearance had already boosted the TV ratings; the director wouldn’t dare ask for more. Performances usually ended like this—everyone left promptly, rarely staying the full duration.
Shen Changfeng walked last, looking thoroughly defeated. With Lu Xianqing’s temperament, Qin Sizheng likely wouldn’t get home tonight. He would have to switch Qin Sizheng’s clothes to pull off a covert exit—otherwise, gossip reporters waiting outside would misreport everything.
Being his assistant was truly a short-lived career.
“Si Zeng!”
Everyone froze as Shi Jianshu ran over excitedly, lifting his shirt. “Quick, touch me, touch me!”
Qin Sizheng: ?
Lu Xianqing: “Hiss.”
An Ying: “Wild.”
An Ning covered her face—this jealousy was about to get dangerous.
Shi Jianshu seemed oblivious, puffing out his chest. “I’ve been practicing at home for days. Check out my abs! I think I have them now, feel them.”
Qin Sizheng choked on the words, gently pulling his shirt down. “Your manager’s staring at you, don’t pull your shirt. Abs don’t appear that fast. Keep training, okay?”
Shi Jianshu’s face fell. “I thought I had them, but not yet…”
Qin Sizheng, temple throbbing, asked as gently as possible, “Are you going on stage now? Hurry and prepare. I’ll teach you abs next time.”
Shi Jianshu’s disappointment flipped to excitement. “Really? Okay! I’ll wait for you tomorrow. Come over, we’ll train together! It’s settled—I’ll have someone pick you up!”
Then he dashed off to get ready, giving Qin Sizheng no chance to refuse.
Lu Xianqing reached out, hooking Qin Sizheng’s wrist and giving a firm squeeze, smiling gently.
Qin Sizheng’s heart skipped—he recognized the expression: jealousy. He murmured, head tingling. “I… maybe can explain. Want me to plead my case?”
An Ying patted Qin Sizheng on the shoulder, walking ahead with a sarcastic grin. “Tell him whatever, believe it or not. Spoil him too much, and you’ll lose your position at home.”
Lu Xianqing released his grip, casually tossing out, “We’ll settle it at home.”
Qin Sizheng turned back, near tears, and saw Shi Jianshu still waving excitedly, reminding him he was about to go on stage and to watch the video when he got home.
He still had to watch the video?
By the time he got home, he might not even be alive.