Qin Sizheng had barely finished posting on Weibo when his phone exploded with calls.
He was probably one of the first artists bold enough to confront a management company head-on, clearly saying: I don’t care about my career; I will destroy you if you cross me.
Always in the spotlight, whatever he said was magnified. The post immediately hit trending, tagged as “explosive.”
In no time, curious onlookers, fans, haters, and casual internet scrollers were scrambling like wild creatures in a melon field.
Qin Sizheng emerged from his office with a cold face. Xu Zhilang yelled at him to pay the price, and he responded casually with a “whatever.” Already, people were imagining the events vividly.
His knuckles were red—obviously from striking someone.
Shengyu’s reputation in the industry was poor: official trolls, managed ratings, artists pushed along a black-and-red publicity line. With money, they would disregard all limits, ignoring their own artists’ well-being.
Xiao Qinxian had always been dissatisfied with them. From the hand-photo incident, they’d caused a stir, but the company did nothing. They collectively requested Shengyu to act, to protect their artists, but the company ignored them completely.
Now, Qin Sizheng’s Weibo post, a clear act of defiance, showed the depth of his grievance—he’d sacrificed his own career, suffering deeply. One could only imagine the rage and heartbreak, wishing to storm Shengyu and tear the boss apart.
As fate would have it, Shengyu quickly posted a clarification on Weibo, claiming Qin Sizheng wanted to terminate the contract, the company cared and tried to retain him, but the negotiations failed, escalating to physical confrontation.
Mr. Xu Zhilang had already gone to get his injuries assessed and reserved the right to pursue legal action, while also urging all artists to take this as a lesson—not to resort to violence and to abide by the law.
【This idiotic company has never cared about its artists. Signing with them is basically signing a slavery contract. If they had done even a little PR for our kid over the past few years, things wouldn’t have ended up like this today. Now that he’s become popular on his own, they’re so afraid of losing him that they’re trying to destroy him?】
【You issued that clarification Weibo so fast? When someone smeared my kid before, why didn’t you come out to clarify? Was it because you could profit from the heat?】
【Since you claim to care about him, let’s count how that care has shown: two years ago, during a performance, he fell from a two-meter stage, broke his wrist, and was in the hospital for a long time. Did you say anything? No—you suppressed the news, made him perform while injured, move tables and play games, and re-broke the wrist before it had healed. The haters called him weak—did you do PR then? Did you clarify?】
【During performances when the equipment broke and the in-ear monitors failed, did anyone care?】
【Let’s not even go far back. That hand photo was from an audition. My kid kept his promise and didn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t your company have done PR and suppressed the news? Things we fans do on our own—you can’t do the same?】
Xiao Qinxian listed Shengyu’s “ten sins,” accusing them of inaction.
Qin Sizheng wasn’t surprised to see Xiao Qinxian and the others speaking up for him. He had always known that his girls were passionate and sincere—they were his most steadfast support.
Ever since they had cried at the airport to welcome him back, he knew.
They might seem delicate, but when it came to protecting him, they would decisively take up arms.
He was moved, but it wasn’t convenient to express it publicly, so he pressed the gratitude back into his heart, planning to thank them properly later.
Shen Changfeng buried himself in planning with him. The marketing accounts had already begun steering the narrative, their articles emphasizing strong emotional tones. Combined with Xiao Qinxian’s concise and irrefutable points, the public sentiment gradually tilted in their favor.
Within the industry, Qin Sizheng’s reputation had reached a clear dividing line from before and after his “incident”—fans and haters polarized. While some voiced support, others took the chance to disparage.
【No way… really someone thinks Qin Sizheng’s wronged? His mouth is foul, emotional intelligence negative, zero professional ethics, acts terribly, mediocre at singing and dancing, just decent looks, and yet he’s survived in this industry? Isn’t that because the company promoted him? What’s with the black-and-red publicity? Which artist doesn’t have haters? Is he the only noble one?】
【Right? Even after his flop, who in the industry would dare collaborate with him without calculating the risk? Wen Li can’t even touch him, yet he disses her. Who wronged Wen Li?】
【She really got caught in the crossfire. At the Mid-Autumn Gala a few days ago, she appeared between Qin Sizheng and Lu Xianqing, didn’t get a single shot, miserable as hell, yet didn’t complain on Weibo. If it were Qin Sizheng, would he have screamed at the scene?】
【Wasn’t there a video before showing Qin Sizheng and their boss entering a hotel one after the other? Coming out, his face was red. Does anyone seriously think something happened? They’re adults. Entering a hotel doesn’t mean anything sexual.】
【If there’s no benefactor behind this, I’ll let you sit on my head.】
【And that “max combat power” persona—show some skill! If he can take a punch from a real fighter, I’ll call him my dad on the spot.】
The internet exploded. Shengyu’s PR team was in total chaos. Xu Zhilang cursed in the office, gasping in pain with every breath, pounding the desk.
Xu Zhiqi was in a state of panic. How had things gotten so out of hand? He knew Qin Sizheng could go wild, but not to this extent—destroying everything in a fish-and-net-break way.
Suddenly, fear hit him. If Xu Zhilang had really harmed Qin Sizheng at that moment, would he have beaten him to death?
Every media outlet was calling Xu Zhiqi. He couldn’t answer all of them, and dared not turn off the phone. With everything exposed, only one path remained.
“Mr. Xu, we still have his contract on hand. Don’t panic. Even if he wants a total showdown, the only one who would suffer is him. As long as the contract is with us, he can’t leave.”
“Damn you… hiss!” Xu Zhilang gasped in sudden pain.
Qin Sizheng was practically a monster. The strength he wielded was insane. If it weren’t for the medical assessment confirming no serious injuries, Xu Zhilang would have suspected his organs were shattered.
Qin Sizheng controlled the force and angle of each strike—painful, but not leaving lasting injury.
Xu Zhilang gritted his teeth. “Xu Zhiqi, you’re worthless. If you don’t handle Qin Sizheng properly, I won’t forgive you!”
Cold sweat immediately ran down Xu Zhiqi’s face. “I know, I know.”
He understood public sentiment better than anyone. Over the years, he had resources at hand. Now, he had to abandon Qin Sizheng to save himself. Even without him, he had two other newcomers on track—less profit, but survival.
If Xu Zhilang lashed out at him, he was done for.
Xu Zhiqi rushed to the PR department and handed over all recordings, videos, and photos he had.
Xu Zhilang’s voice still echoed in his head: “I want Qin Sizheng disgraced! Kneeling to beg me, begging for roles! I’ll destroy him at any cost! Make him regret it crying!”
The PR lead reached for the materials, but Xu Zhiqi suddenly grabbed his phone. “Wait, let me think. Really give these over?”
Qin Sizheng had been genuinely good to him. Whether it was the past reckless fury or his current diligence, he had trusted Xu Zhiqi. When signing the contract, he’d laid a trap, and Xu Zhiqi had blindly fallen for it.
Did he really want to destroy him now?
Xu Zhiqi hesitated. Once these materials were released, Qin Sizheng would be finished.
No matter how good the industry seemed, he couldn’t come back.
“Xu Zhiqi? What are you thinking? Are you giving this over or not?” the PR lead pressed, frowning. The office was chaotic, everyone busy and stressed to the max.
The person in charge was at his wit’s end with Xu Zhiqi. One of his artists had caused such a huge commotion, openly putting his career and the company on the line—this was practically unprecedented in the entertainment industry. How was he supposed to handle it?
Xu Zhiqi gritted his teeth. People look out for themselves, and the heavens and earth have no mercy for those who don’t—especially when Qin Sizheng had first abandoned him, secretly going behind his back despite promises. He had deceived him first!
Moreover, reaching this point was entirely Qin Sizheng’s doing—throwing the first punch and announcing his withdrawal from the industry. He had no right to blame anyone. If he had truly wanted to stay, he should have discussed it with him first. Clearly, in Qin Sizheng’s heart, he hadn’t been that important.
Xu Zhiqi finally let go and handed everything over to the PR lead.
Qin Sizheng had acted first, so no one could call him unjust.
Over on Qin Sizheng’s side, he was only planning with Shen Changfeng and felt uneasy, even preparing himself for the worst-case scenario: leaving the entertainment industry and going into boxing.
The two of them returned home from the company. His residence wasn’t a secret, and soon a crowd had gathered.
He had been exhausted from being wrangled by Lu Xianqing all night, barely sleeping, and now had no time to rest. He discussed the next steps with Shen Changfeng, preparing for whatever the company might do.
After all, Shengyu was a thoroughly corrupt company. Going up against it would hurt both sides.
Seeing his face, Shen Changfeng suggested he rest for a bit. “I’ll call you if anything comes up. There’s nothing we can do right now. Fortunately, the fans are on your side, the general public is leaning toward you, and the haters don’t matter. Whatever you do, they’ll find fault. Just wait and see what Shengyu does next.”
Qin Sizheng had no mind for rest. He now realized he might have overreacted by physically confronting Xu Zhilang.
But he truly couldn’t control himself. If it was only an insult, he could have walked away—but the person being insulted was Lu Xianqing.
“Changfeng, do you think I did the wrong thing?” Qin Sizheng leaned on the table, remorseful.
Shen Changfeng poured a cup of warm water and placed it in front of him. “You didn’t. Wasting energy on guilt is useless—better to figure out how to explain things to your ‘Fourth Brother.’ He’ll call once he finds out. You tried to hide it before, but now he knows everything.”
Qin Sizheng let out a tired sigh. “I didn’t want to affect him, that’s why I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to get dragged into the mess or be criticized for my actions.”
Shen Changfeng patted his head like coaxing a small dog. “The truth will come out eventually. Being honest gives leniency, young man.”
Qin Sizheng immediately sat up. Shen Changfeng continued: “Call him and apologize. Even if you have to shoulder it yourself, he should know. If something happens to him, you wouldn’t want to hear about it from someone else, right?”
Shen Changfeng handed him the phone, tapping the screen as a prompt.
Xiao Qinxian’s “ten sins” list had gone viral, with countless reposts—the first step to trending.
From top-tier figures in the industry—Ming Fei, Xu Jinhang, Su Xian, He Du, An Ying, Xi Ling…—to lower-tier acquaintances like Shi Jianshu, Liu Mianmian, Xing Yue, Chen Qiu, nearly half the industry had voiced support for Qin Sizheng.
Even someone like Zhou Changjiang, who normally avoided gossip, reposted the Weibo, noting that Qin Sizheng was a dedicated actor, never using doubles, performing his own stunts, and pushing through injuries without complaint.
All the people he had interacted with shared the post. Qin Sizheng felt tears prick his eyes, moved and anxious as he searched for Lu Xianqing’s name—but it wasn’t there.
Shen Changfeng slid the phone into his hand. “Call him. He’s waiting for you.”
Qin Sizheng hesitated, then went to his room and dialed.
The first call went unanswered.
The second call—still no answer.
The third call rang once, then was cut off.
Biting his lip, Qin Sizheng panicked. His heart tightened as thoughts ran wild. Did Lu Xianqing believe he had some connection to Xu Zhilang? That he had been “kept” by someone?
Did he think Qin Sizheng had caused trouble?
Did he not want him anymore?
He sent a cautious WeChat message, deleting several drafts over five minutes, before finally sending a simple: “Fourth Brother.”
No reply. After a full day of tension, the unflappable Qin Sizheng suddenly felt weak, panicked, wishing he could fly to him and ask if he no longer wanted him.
Afraid the answer would be yes, he didn’t dare.
Just then, the phone rang. Instinctively, he looked down—Shi Jianshu.
Using his messy, casual Mandarin, Shi Jianshu encouraged him: “Fourth! Don’t be afraid! I’ll stand with you! Don’t let that corrupt company win. Come to our company! The boss is really nice!”
Qin Sizheng barely responded, “Mm,” and hung up. He was anxiously waiting for Lu Xianqing’s reply.
Time dragged on, and his panic grew. Maybe Lu Xianqing really didn’t want him anymore.
He understood—no one wants someone they like to have been “kept” before. Self-preservation would be the safest response. If it were him…
He repeated the thought to himself several times: if it were him, he would never ignore a call.
Just then, Shengyu’s official trending post popped up, including several recordings with muffled voices—but Qin Sizheng’s voice was clear. The bright, youthful tone came through beautifully, even slightly distorted.
Shen Changfeng called him out and, seeing his dejected expression, didn’t even ask. He opened the trending post.
Qin Sizheng’s voice flowed gently through the phone:
“I’ve decided, starting today, to cherish life and stay away from Lu Xianqing! Lu Xianqing is nothing! I’m going to focus on my career and will never date again.”
There were still many images. Qin Sizheng clicked through them one by one and realized they were all the personal belongings of Lu Xianqing that the original owner had collected, along with a phone wallpaper—his own handwriting, photographed up close.
Jewelry once auctioned, suits once worn—everything pointed to it: he had been obsessively infatuated with Lu Xianqing for many years, yet later… had he stopped liking him?
Qin Sizheng jumped to his feet. This had to be Xu Zhiqi’s doing! No one else had access to his home besides Xu Zhiqi and Jiang Xi. Once Jiang Xi came, all the items had been packed away, leaving only Xu Zhiqi.
Why would he do this to him?
He had always believed that in the original story, Xu Zhiqi had buried him figuratively and trusted him deeply—but in reality, he had tied a rope to Qin Sizheng’s feet: the moment he tried to leave, he would be condemned to ruin.
Shen Changfeng cursed loudly, “Damn it, Xu Zhiqi! Useless when it counts, but meticulous with these sneaky schemes!”
Meanwhile, Xu Zhiqi waited for the PR department to finish. He frowned as he refreshed the page several times, finally seeing the recording—but why wasn’t it complete? Qin Sizheng’s private diss recordings of others were missing.
He went to the PR office. The staff smirked. “Still posting it?”
Xu Zhiqi frowned.
“Any recording posted now is a violation—accounts get banned. Only the one involving Lu Xianqing can go out. And those photos? You still don’t get it? Someone’s deliberately blocking you.”
Xu Zhiqi felt a twinge of regret but was now trapped.
He didn’t care about the recordings criticizing Wen Li or Si Qianqiu. The main problem was Lu Xianqing. He refused to believe Lu Xianqing’s fans would tolerate someone being such a devoted stalker.
Lu Xianqing himself probably wouldn’t tolerate it either. Unfortunately, he couldn’t post messages about the ruckus—otherwise Lu Xianqing would certainly be disgusted!
Nor would He Xing forgive him.
These revelations immediately stirred the public discourse to an unprecedented level. Servers were on the verge of collapse; even swiping cards took forever.
Comments flooded in:
“Qin Sizheng secretly liked Lu Xianqing all these years? No way! Weren’t they enemies back then? Now they have CPF and just forgot the past?”
“Wait, he said he wouldn’t date and would focus on work—does that mean he doesn’t like Fourth Brother anymore? Then the ‘Qingshan Yousi’ ship is fake?”
“My love came and went so fast… yesterday I was shipping ‘Qingshan Yousi,’ today you’re telling me it’s a BE? Are you human?”
“Ah, the secret crush trope! I love it. A minor celebrity with a bad rep secretly adores the high-cold, top-tier actor, keeps his feelings hidden, even frames himself as the enemy to avoid affecting him… what a perfect, tragic love story.”
“During the Mid-Autumn Gala they wore Yalusi designs, teased as couple outfits—are they actually together or not? Did Qin Sizheng see Fourth Brother in Yalusi and then get some for himself?”
“Look, that Yalusi outfit? Fourth Brother wore it the second time. The first time—see the picture? It’s the one Qin Sizheng had collected. Think the designer just lets anyone wear it?”
“Qin Sizheng is so creepy… if I were Fourth Brother, I’d be disgusted. Being secretly fantasized over for so long—who wouldn’t feel sick? Stop shipping ‘Qingshan Yousi.’”
The comments kept pouring in. Qin Sizheng’s unease grew uncontrollable. Had Lu Xianqing seen these? He had tried so hard not to involve him, but in the end… he had dragged him in.
Now everyone knew he had been obsessively infatuated with Lu Xianqing. Shen Changfeng considered calling He Xing to figure out a solution—but she should have called by now. Why hadn’t she?
Could it be…
Shen Changfeng looked at Qin Sizheng. Had Lu Xianqing believed the online rumors?
Qin Sizheng picked up his phone, carefully choosing his words, and posted on Weibo:
“Fourth Brother and I are only professional collaborators, not very close. I admired him from a fan’s perspective, but later realized my behavior was wrong. I’ve stopped and reflected. None of this has to do with Fourth Brother. Please do not disturb him. I apologize.”
He set the phone down, feeling a stone lodged in his chest, neither relief nor comfort.
Originally, he had planned to resolve everything on his own and then visit Lu Xianqing at work. Now, it seemed, he might never have the chance to see him again.
Qin Sizheng buried his head in his hands, his heart aching with every beat.
Shen Changfeng couldn’t stop him from posting; this was all they could do. If Lu Xianqing still targeted him… there would be no room for maneuver. In truth, it was already close to that.
At first, Shen Changfeng thought Qin Sizheng’s safety net was Lu Xianqing—that no matter how far he fell, Lu Xianqing’s arms would catch him. But now…
Shen Changfeng’s eyes widened abruptly. “Sizheng!”
Qin Sizheng lifted his head, eyes red as if he’d cry, but he forced himself to endure, his voice slightly nasal: “What?”
“Look!” Shen Changfeng thrust the phone in front of him.
Lu Xianqing had shared his Weibo post, adding only two words: Open the door.
Qin Sizheng froze for half a second, then rushed to the door and yanked it open. Standing there was Lu Xianqing, radiating cold intensity. He ignored everything else and threw himself into his arms.
Lu Xianqing’s body stiffened for a moment, his rising anger dissipating. He wrapped him up, patting his back.
“Alright, I’m back. Don’t be afraid.”
Qin Sizheng buried his face in his chest, his voice trembling with a nasal edge, “I thought… I thought you didn’t want me. Why didn’t you answer my calls? Don’t believe those things—I didn’t… I don’t have a benefactor.”
Hearing his anxious voice, Lu Xianqing’s chest tightened with pain. He held him by the waist and gestured with his hand toward the crowd gathering at the door.
Only then did Qin Sizheng realize that the media were still outside. He had forgotten they had never left his doorstep, and his recent Weibo denial of closeness to Lu Xianqing now seemed absurd.
“Fourth Brother, I—”
Lu Xianqing pressed him against his waist, kissed him on the lips, then turned toward the cameras and flashes. “Qingshan Yousi, officially sealed.”