To Lu Xianqing, Qin Sizheng was both an addiction and an excitant.
A single word, a subtle motion, could make him lose control. Just calling him “Gege” deepened the intensity; his gaze darkened, even making the camera tremble slightly.
“Yan Yan, I advise you not to tease me.”
Qin Sizheng had been frightened by the fan tonight, but hearing Lu Xianqing’s voice and seeing him in that moment erased all unease, leaving only calm.
He sat cross-legged, daringly glancing at him: “So what if I tease you?”
Lu Xianqing pointed at the chair, half-smiling: “Everything you do now, I remember. When I get back, you’ll pay. So behave.”
Qin Sizheng didn’t care about future consequences, boldly provoked him: “Gege, how are you going to punish me?”
He was still wearing the suit Ye Xu had gifted him—delicate yet restrained, looking like a naive young heir—yet his face carried a faint flush, lips red, a look that invited desire.
Innocence intertwined with wantonness. Qin Sizheng placed his hand on the suit buttons, kneeling on the bed, tracing the cold fabric delicately.
“They say fiddling with suit buttons is really seductive… is it?” He tilted his head, the phone propped on the nightstand capturing only below his neck.
He undid a button, redid it, twice, and heard Lu Xianqing’s breathing deepen.
“Qin Sizheng, keep this up and you’ll get a beating.”
Hearing that hoarse voice, like a desert traveler desperate for water, Qin Sizheng realized, after tonight’s chaos, that he simply wanted to be loved by Lu Xianqing.
The suit was tossed onto the bed, the crisp white shirt still pressed neatly under the shirt garter.
Lu Xianqing’s eyes fell on that hand—the very one that drove him mad day and night—hooking the black strap, pulling it as tight as it could go, then suddenly releasing it to snap heavily against his thigh. Smack! The sound was crisp and clear.
The boy’s brows knitted as he winced, his pale skin instantly blossoming red. Qin Sizheng, quick to imitate, hooked another strap, flicking it back, leaving intersecting red marks that added a touch of ruthless beauty.
“Gege, it hurts!”
Qin Sizheng had secretly watched a video from Qingshan You Si a few days ago: a brother-themed story where the younger brother harbored a long-time crush on the elder, schemed and even spiked himself so the elder would come to rescue him.
When the elder arrived, seeing him curled up and shivering, he thought the boy was sick. Lifting the covers, he found him dressed boldly, wrists cuffed with black lace, and red marks across his body—pitiful yet striking.
“Gege, it hurts…” he whimpered, eyes closed, soft breaths.
The elder couldn’t unlock the cuffs, called for help, and tried to get clothes on him. But the younger shifted his legs lightly, rattling the chains, testing the elder’s restraint.
“Gege, it really hurts…”
Even without sound in the video, the words made Qin Sizheng’s blood rush. He thought: it can’t always be me being hurt—I want to try “hurting” Lu Xianqing too.
“Gege won’t hurt me anymore,” he teased.
Lu Xianqing’s low, hoarse voice followed, “How do you want me to hurt you… a hug?”
Qin Sizheng’s chest warmed. Methodically, he removed the shirt garter and sock garters, slid off the black socks inch by inch to reveal pale ankles, then extended his toes toward him.
Lu Xianqing gripped the chair tightly, veins pronounced, his voice rough like sandpaper rubbing against a wound, “Yan Yan…”
Qin Sizheng leaned forward, grabbing his phone, expression shifting to sly: “Fourth Brother, I’m going to take a bath now. Good night… sweet dreams.”
Even Lu Xianqing was momentarily thrown by the turn, sitting dumbfounded for several seconds before realizing he’d been played.
He stared at the chat, gritting his teeth, “Qin Sizheng… getting clever, huh.”
Qin Sizheng returned the full-size doll to the cabinet, practiced some punches, then took a long, hot bath, staying in until the water cooled.
Not sleepy, he leaned against the bedhead scrolling through Weibo.
Clips of his performance at Xi Ling’s concert had already been posted in his supertopic; high-resolution photos were uploaded by Red Snow Feifei.
She was at the concert too?
Qin Sizheng liked the photos, then posted a post-bath selfie, hair still damp, water dripping. He dried his hair, idly scrolling the comments.
[@LuXianqing_RivalsComeOutFighting!]
[@Fourth Brother, your wife is teasing me! Wuwu, she’s teasing me!]
[Is this selfie just for us, or does the other Fourth Brother see it too?]
[I know, the other Fourth Brother wouldn’t see it anyway.]
Qin Sizheng blinked, realizing: right, he had gone public with Fourth Brother. This person was mine, openly.
He smiled, selecting a few replies:
[He hasn’t seen it, it’s just for you. My babies are too precious, Fourth Brother doesn’t deserve this.]
Lu Xianqing didn’t use Weibo. Other than that one public post and argument, he hadn’t been on. By now, he was probably asleep. Qin Sizheng hadn’t finished when a Weibo notification popped up:
Lu Xianqing reposted: I don’t deserve it.
[Uh-oh, that tone… Yan Yan is in danger.]
[Stop calling him Yan Yan! Calling him Yan Yan makes him more dangerous. My friend witnessed it on set—Fourth Brother scared Chen Qiu so much he didn’t dare call him Yan Yan anymore. Just call him Sizheng, haha.]
[Official content making us irrational? More, more, I want details… my friend is your friend!]
[Fourth Brother’s possessiveness is too strong! If I shout Yan Yan is my husband, will he be assassinated?]
[I told you not to call him Yan Yan, why are you still? You’re putting Yan Yan in danger!]
Qin Sizheng watched the flood of comments rise. Can I delete it in time? Pretend to be asleep? Tomorrow I’ll just say I was sleepy after posting.
He quickly closed Weibo, burrowed under the covers, but eventually gave in, sending Lu Xianqing a WeChat:
“Fourth Brother, I’m sorry.”
“I see you had fun. What are you sorry for?”
“I shouldn’t have teased you.”
“Heh.”
Not satisfied, Qin Sizheng added, “And I shouldn’t have replied to the fans that way.”
Lu Xianqing chuckled lightly. “Why not? Wasn’t I undeserving? Now I’m deserving?”
Qin Sizheng knew it was hopeless to coax him further. Firmly, he replied: “You can be mad at your own pace. I’m going to sleep. Good night.”
The next day.
Qin Sizheng slept until nine. Lu Xianqing sent a message saying he was up.
Half an hour later, another selfie arrived: Ding Chenhai, bloodied, standing beneath the eaves like a battle-hardened warrior, gazing silently ahead. Qin Sizheng’s heart skipped a beat.
He saved the image, rolled around in bed with his phone, tapping it repeatedly—zooming in and out, over and over.
Mine.
Lu Xianqing was mine.
The thought made him melt inside. Throwing the covers over himself, he read through yesterday’s chat several times before calming down, finally poking his phone to reply.
【I’m awake. Good morning.】
When Shen Changfeng arrived, Qin Sizheng was already making breakfast, humming a tune, looking unusually cheerful.
“So happy this early?” Shen Changfeng leaned against the sink and reminded him that the man from last night had already been detained. He added that Han Zhang had said he had overstepped last night and asked Qin Sizheng to convey his apologies.
Qin Sizheng’s hand froze mid-motion, and his expression instantly changed.
Shen Changfeng, sensing he didn’t want to dwell on it, quickly switched topics. “By the way, that magazine you shot with Shi Jianshu comes out today—limited to twenty thousand copies.”
Glancing at his watch, he added, “Two hours to go.”
Qin Sizheng’s worry surfaced. “Twenty thousand copies… will they all sell? How much would it cost me if I bought them myself? Would I go bankrupt?”
“Can you have a little ambition? Your fans are probably counting down the seconds. They care about snagging a copy—you’re worried it won’t sell. Show some respect for yourself, alright?”
For business, Qin Sizheng retweeted the post ten minutes before release, and Ksilo’s official account shared the cover electronically. Fans erupted, and some even started shipping him with Shi Jianshu.
At the moment of release, Qin Sizheng’s worries vanished. Before he even registered it, the magazine had sold out. The website displayed the bold words: Sold Out.
…All gone?
He exchanged a glance with Shen Changfeng, marveling. “Their reflexes are insane. How many years of being single does that take?”
Shen Changfeng said nothing.
While they were eating, Qin Sizheng’s phone rang. It was Xu Zhao.
Qin Sizheng frowned instinctively. Shen Changfeng picked it up. “Sizheng’s eating. What’s up?”
Xu Zhao gritted his teeth—he even dared speak like that to Shen Changfeng—but standing under the eaves left him no choice. He forced himself to sound polite. “I want to discuss Qin Sizheng’s contract.”
Shen Changfeng said, “Talk to He Xing. Call him for signing later.”
Xu Zhao hung up in frustration, muttering, “Cao,” then relayed the situation to Xu Zhiliang, who ground his teeth. “Call He Xing!”
Just the thought of her haughty demeanor made Xu Zhao’s teeth itch. “That woman… Mr. Xu, are you really trying to sell Qin Sizheng to Lu Xianqing?”
“Do you think I want to? I’d love to kill him myself, but I’m carrying billions in debt. Whatever I can sell, I sell! Keeping that lousy contract does nothing. Can the company’s artists even work right now?”
Xu Zhao was deflated. He called He Xing, greeting her politely, “Sister He.”
He Xing’s tone was indifferent: “Speak.”
Xu Zhao clenched his teeth, forcing a smile. “Mr. Xu wants to discuss Qin Sizheng’s contract. When are you and Fourth Brother available to come over and go over the details?”
He Xing’s reply was blunt: “One million. Hand over the money, hand over the person. No details to discuss. Neither Mr. Lu nor Mr. Qin have time.”
Xu Zhiliang exploded. “One million? Are you kidding me? Even begging would be more reasonable! I will never give up Qin Sizheng’s contract. Tell Lu Xianqing not to bully us!”
He Xing responded coolly, “Oh. Think it over. Call me when you’ve decided.”
Xu Zhiliang and Xu Zhao exchanged incredulous looks.
“What does that woman mean? Don’t want Qin Sizheng anymore? Is Lu Xianqing pissed at the price?” Xu Zhiliang scolded, wrist throbbing with pain.
Qin Sizheng had earned at least a hundred million before, and now they’d let him go for just one million? Lu Xianqing was essentially humiliating him, grinding him into the dirt!
If that was the case, it was a fight to the finish.
At that moment, Qin Sizheng’s phone lit up again. Assuming it was Xu Zhao, he ignored it. Shen Changfeng picked it up—and his face changed instantly.
“What is it?”
“Fourth Brother is hurt.”
Qin Sizheng’s face turned pale. He snatched the phone. An Ning sent a photo:
Lu Xianqing lay on a chair, pale as death, his white shirt soaked and torn, his right arm badly bruised with a long gash. Blood poured from the wound, nearly blinding Qin Sizheng, and his phone almost slipped from his hands.
“Changfeng! Go to the set! Right now!”
He dropped his chopsticks and rushed out, but Shen Changfeng grabbed him. “Don’t panic. I’ll book a flight immediately!”