The entire way there, Qin Sizheng remained quiet. Shen Changfeng occasionally glanced at him through the rearview mirror, seeing him staring out the window, lost in thought.
The driver asked, “Is he in a bad mood?”
Shen Changfeng brushed it off by saying he hadn’t slept well. Until things were clarified, the fewer people who knew about it, the better.
Back when he worked with Xu Jinhang, he had known a little about Lu Xianqing’s unstable mental state. He had been seeing a psychiatrist for a long time. But the recording yesterday contained things far more serious than Shen Changfeng had ever imagined.
Qin Sizheng gazed outside the window. When the car stopped at a red light, a man suddenly crossed the street. An oil tanker swerved too late and slammed into the guardrail, crumpling the thick metal.
Qin Sizheng’s pupils shrank sharply. Memories and pain from his previous life rushed back all at once, and his body trembled violently.
“Sizheng?”
Qin Sizheng stared out the window as blurred, distant scenes surfaced before his eyes.
Cars were trapped everywhere. The tanker driver was stuck in the seat, struggling in agony to unfasten his seatbelt.
The light turned green, but the crowd blocked the road and the vehicles couldn’t move. Horns blared desperately, trying to force people aside. The sharp, overlapping noises plunged the scene into chaos.
The smell of gasoline. Screams and crying mixing together.
Qin Sizheng felt as if his head were splitting apart. Lowering it, he wrapped his arms around himself, curling into a tight ball. It hurt—so much. His whole body seemed to be burning and tearing apart.
Flames scorched his eyes and ears, even rushing into his mouth, devouring him in an instant.
The heart‑rending screams surged back again, pounding against his skull.
“Sizheng, are you alright?” Shen Changfeng saw his face grow even paler and handed him a piece of chocolate. “Normally you’re not allowed to eat this, but today I’ll make an exception.”
Qin Sizheng took it, holding it in his hand without opening it.
He didn’t want to eat anything. His phone occasionally lit up, but he was too listless even to glance at it. When he got out of the car, he stumbled slightly.
Shen Changfeng’s worry deepened. “At this state, you shouldn’t go to class. The teacher will just scold you. Let me ask for a few days off so you can rest.”
“No!” Qin Sizheng gripped his wrist tightly. If he kept taking leave, Hexing would find out—and if she knew, Lu Xianqing would know too.
“I can handle it.”
He returned the chocolate to Shen Changfeng and stepped into the studio, forcing himself to focus. The acting teacher was strict; any small mistake could bring a scolding.
He had been afraid of this teacher before, but now he felt relieved—at least here, he could barely manage to divert a bit of his attention away from that matter.
Lu Xianqing would finish filming in about a week—what would happen afterward?
Should he break up with him? Lu Xianqing would never agree until he had “played enough,” and a man like him would never allow someone to leave first. But he couldn’t let himself remain with a predator either—he simply couldn’t get past it.
Qin Sizheng felt exhausted. His acting practice kept faltering; he couldn’t grasp his emotions.
At first, the teacher scolded him, but upon noticing his state, simply told him to go home and rest, emphasizing that acting required utmost respect and could not be treated half-heartedly.
Qin Sizheng didn’t argue and quietly nodded, leaving the studio.
He spent the next three days in quiet contemplation, trying to systematically sort through all the things he could remember. In the end, he couldn’t identify a single moment when Lu Xianqing had been sincere.
The more he reviewed, the more lies appeared—like a series of nested rings he lacked the ability to unravel.
He took out his phone and sent a message to An Ning, asking if Lu Xianqing was filming.
She replied that he was.
Qin Sizheng called her, hesitated, and lied: “I want to… give him a surprise, but I don’t have the key to his house. Do you?”
An Ning was silent for a moment, then laughed. “Fourth Brother’s place doesn’t have a key—fingerprint lock.”
Qin Sizheng felt deflated.
An Ning added, “Why don’t you check if your own hand can open it?”
He froze, not allowing himself to think further. Then she said, “Yan Yan hasn’t been fed today. If you go over, please feed him. Thanks, dear.”
Qin Sizheng paused, then quietly said, “Mm.” He carefully instructed her, “Keep this matter secret. Don’t tell him. Thank you, An Ning.”
An Ning agreed repeatedly. “No problem!”
Hanging up, Qin Sizheng declined Shen Changfeng’s offer to accompany him. Bundled up, he took a taxi to Lu Xianqing’s home.
Standing before the door, he inhaled deeply and pressed his hand to it. A faint electronic “ding” was followed by a click—the sound of unlocking.
Qin Sizheng’s eyes dropped slightly. He hadn’t placed his fingerprint—only from the time he’d been unconscious could it have been saved. Did Lu Xianqing input his handprint for him?
He forced himself not to dwell on it and pushed the door open.
“Yan Yan” immediately sensed the sound, leaping into his arms, warm and soft.
Qin Sizheng had the urge to toss it away, but restrained himself, carrying it to the floor-to-ceiling window. He poured a little cat food from the container onto the floor.
Unlike the first visit, “Yan Yan” showed no hostility. It affectionately licked his hand, prompting him to sharply pull it back and wipe the saliva onto his pants.
He stepped back. “Yan Yan” didn’t know anything and eagerly ate the food.
It had been over three months since anyone had lived here during the filming of Between Good and Evil, but the place was clearly maintained. Spotlessly clean, the windows gleamed, the furnishings were solid, full of Lu Xianqing’s signature style.
From the kitchen to the dining table, even the sofa Lu Xianqing had lain on, Qin Sizheng felt disgusted thinking of the meals he’d made, the drinks he’d shared, and the way Lu Xianqing had touched him on that very sofa.
He climbed upstairs and reached the study.
Books lined the shelves. He couldn’t imagine Lu Xianqing reading, so he sat in a chair. To his left was a frequently flipped copy of Confessions.
He picked it up.
The familiar lines struck his eyes. Qin Sizheng instantly closed the book, then opened it again after a moment. Page after page contained messages he had once received—confessions of desire.
Or, perhaps, transgressions.
He continued flipping and found a bookmark identical to the stationery he had received during the variety show recording—matching font, matching content, every detail exact.
He closed the book and picked up another notebook. A wave of nausea hit him. It was filled with detailed schematics—loops, cages, handcuffs… countless toys and instruments.
Qin Sizheng couldn’t bear it anymore. He ripped the notebook apart, sweeping everything off the desk.
He sat in the study in a daze for a long time before getting up and heading to Lu Xianqing’s bedroom.
At the door, his instincts told him to leave—he felt certain that what lay inside would be even more unbearable. His hand hovered over the doorknob, unmoving, as two voices clashed in his mind:
“Go in! After everything Lu Xianqing did to you, how can you still hold onto any illusions? Can you forgive him for such humiliation?”
“Lu Xianqing treated you well too—caring for you, protecting you. Can these things really erase all that?”
“This isn’t a small matter! He’s a pervert! He played with you! Have you forgotten the fear and disgust you felt when you got those messages? He knew you were scared yet enjoyed the process. Can you tolerate that?”
“He hasn’t sent messages since. His mental state isn’t right—he’s slowly healing, isn’t he? He even said you were his special cure.”
Qin Sizheng’s head throbbed from the arguments. He pushed the door open forcefully.
The bedroom was unlike the clean brightness of the rest of the house. Black curtains blocked all light. The bed was oddly placed, and a projector faced a blank wall.
Qin Sizheng sat in the chair and reached out to switch on the projector. A soft blue light spread across the wall.
The machine had a memory playback function; he didn’t even need to adjust it. Qin Sizheng imagined Lu Xianqing sitting here, one hand resting casually on the armrest, gazing lazily at the wall.
In the pitch-black room, the images slowly flowed.
Qin Sizheng saw himself, naked, held in Lu Xianqing’s arms. Long, clear fingers gripped certain points, a cool voice warning him, speaking in a way both poetic and terrifying about “removing thorns.”
He even personally placed two rings on Qin Sizheng’s wrists.
Lu Xianqing’s fingertips moved inside his mouth, reveling in his obedience while he was unconscious, unleashing his desires without restraint. The cool voice gradually grew hoarse, like a demon crawling up from the abyss.
Watching his unknowing, helpless self, Qin Sizheng’s fingers trembled violently on the armrest. He didn’t even notice the sharp pain in his nails until the footage ended.
Exhausted, he slumped back in the chair, feeling moisture on his face. Reaching up, he realized it was tears.
He slowly closed his eyes. The initial nausea faded, replaced by a heavy, suffocating emptiness, leaving him with a sense of void. The last trace of trust was shattered completely.
He wasn’t unwilling!
Once together, no matter what Lu Xianqing desired, he had pushed himself to comply—even when shy, unwilling, or hesitant—his hands, his mouth, whatever he didn’t want, he eventually gave in.
As long as Lu Xianqing asked.
He would do anything. Why?
Qin Sizheng desperately wanted to ask why he had treated him this way!
Couldn’t he… just… wait a little?
If that night Lu Xianqing hadn’t been drunk, he had even prepared drugs, intending for Qin Sizheng to take them unknowingly, letting them take effect, all while watching with satisfaction.
Lu Xianqing pressed his fingerprint on the lock and immediately sensed something amiss upon entering.
“Has someone been here?”
An Ning, keeping Qin Sizheng’s instructions in mind, feigned ignorance while holding the cat. “Auntie? She came to clean today.” Her gaze flicked upstairs despite her words.
Lu Xianqing clearly didn’t believe her. “The cleaning lady wouldn’t touch my stuff. What are you up to?”
An Ning held Yan Yan’s front paws in surrender. “I swear, it’s nothing to do with me. I really didn’t touch anything.”
Lu Xianqing waved her off lazily. “I’m going upstairs to shower.”
He had been running on fumes for days, compressing a week of filming into four days, catching only brief sleep on planes and in cars. He hadn’t told Qin Sizheng he was back—planning to give him a surprise.
Little friend would be so happy to see him back.
Hmm… Last Mid-Autumn Festival, Qin Sizheng had leapt into his arms in the makeup room in excitement. This time, maybe he’d have to hug and kiss him properly.
Even thinking about it made Lu Xianqing feel instantly energized, a smile spreading wider and wider—he couldn’t wait to see Qin Sizheng.
An Ning had been teasing him boldly in the car; now he finally looked like a normal person again—expressing emotions, tiredness, joy, anticipation for life.
Lu Xianqing thought: yes, this is my expectation.
Passing the study, his steps suddenly halted. He frowned at the open door; the books weren’t in their usual order.
Someone had been here!
Had a thief entered?
Lu Xianqing called out, “An Ning!”
She noticed the unusual tone and hurried over. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s been here, you…” Lu Xianqing pushed the door, but the rest of his sentence caught in his throat. He froze, unable to move.
Qin Sizheng’s eyes were red, evidence of crying. He stood before the chair Lu Xianqing usually sat in, one hand on the projector. The image on the wall was paused, but he knew what had been played.
The two of them faced each other, one inside, one outside—silent, the atmosphere instantly icy.
Qin Sizheng opened his mouth but no sound came out. He truly didn’t know what to say. Lu Xianqing stepped forward, and he instinctively stepped back.
An Ning finally approached, feigning surprise. “Sizheng, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me you came to prepare a surprise for Fourth Brother?”
Lu Xianqing said, “Out.”
An Ning froze briefly.
“Out. I need to speak with him.”
“Oh,” An Ning murmured, realizing she was just a tool. Before, when they hadn’t met, she was ‘An Ning.’ Now, seeing them together, she was just a third wheel.
After she left, Lu Xianqing looked at Qin Sizheng. “Yan Yan.”
“Don’t call me that!”
He clenched his fingers, then released them softly. “Fine.”
Qin Sizheng realized his reaction was too extreme and turned his head away. Lu Xianqing closed the door and stepped closer, bringing a faint, cool scent with him.
“So… can you give me a chance to explain?”
Lu Xianqing reached out. Qin Sizheng instinctively took a step back, avoiding contact. His eyes shone with obvious rejection and disgust, making Lu Xianqing’s heart tighten painfully.
“You’ve seen it.” This was a statement, not a question.
Qin Sizheng said nothing, unwilling even to glance at him.
Lu Xianqing nodded. “You know everything now.”
Qin Sizheng wanted to throw all the evidence in his face, to accuse him of why he had done this—but the words wouldn’t come. It was as if he was tearing apart those past beautiful moments himself.
He still couldn’t bear it.
Seeing the change in his eyes, Lu Xianqing said, “So you know everything. Yes, those messages were all from me. After you sent that hand photo, I had the post blocked. Only I could see it.
“I have a severe fetish for hands, so I sent those messages. The variety show wasn’t Hexing’s idea; I asked him to record it to get close to you.”
Hearing this from someone else’s mouth was different from hearing it from Lu Xianqing himself. Qin Sizheng still clung to a faint hope—that all of this was fake, that someone else had framed him.
But he had admitted it.
Qin Sizheng struggled to speak, his voice hoarse beyond recognition. “I… I tried to test you—on the car, I asked you to sign something for me.”
Back then, Lu Xianqing had written: “When the stars scatter, Qin Zeng as promised, to the best Qin Sizheng on stage.” In truth, he had been enjoying his clumsy test, playing with him as if he were a toy.
“Did you think I was foolish, ridiculous?”
“I never thought you were foolish. Ridiculous? No. I only ever thought you obedient, endearing. I liked it—I like you very much.” Lu Xianqing reached out again. This time, Qin Sizheng didn’t dodge in time, and his fingertips brushed the corner of his eye.
Qin Sizheng flung his hand open. Lu Xianqing frowned, but didn’t flinch; he accepted it quietly.
“You thought I was cute, so you tricked me into coming back… you were going to drug me?” Qin Sizheng’s words were painful, swallowing several times before finding his voice again. “I… I was foolish enough to drink in a stranger’s house. I brought it on myself… spared you even the effort of doing it.”
Lu Xianqing frowned sharply. “Yan Yan!”
Qin Sizheng hated that nickname now; what once felt sweet now tasted bitter. “I trusted you. I never imagined you would… treat me that way.”
Lu Xianqing slowly clenched his hands, listening to each accusation, unable to speak a single rebuttal. These were all facts.
By the end, his voice even carried a hint of tears. “Why?”
The sound twisted Lu Xianqing’s heart as if it were being squeezed; his throat felt lined with molten iron, burning with every swallow.
“Why did you bully me? I never refused you, even if… even if…” Qin Sizheng couldn’t continue. He pressed his hands tightly, lowering his head, staring at his own shirt. “Here… here are two holes, for you… back then, you must have thought it was so degrading…”
Lu Xianqing yanked him into his arms, sealing his words with a kiss.
A violent, overwhelming kiss swept over him. Qin Sizheng froze for a few seconds, catching the faint, bitter-cool scent of him. When their tongues met, a sudden salty tang surged up. He pushed with all his strength—but couldn’t move him.
Lu Xianqing clung like a resilient vine, impossible to break free from. Qin Sizheng’s heart writhed uncontrollably; he bit him hard.
Lu Xianqing didn’t loosen. Instead, he pressed deeper, rougher and more forceful, almost tearing him apart.
Qin Sizheng clenched his fists, punching Lu Xianqing’s abdomen with all his strength. Finally, Lu Xianqing let go. His pale face grew even paler, a frown of pain crossing his brow.
Qin Sizheng pushed him away. Salt and iron mixed with the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He staggered, bracing himself against the table, dry heaving.
Lu Xianqing reached out, patting his back. “I’m sorry.”
Qin Sizheng stiffened, stepping back two paces, wiping his lips, eyes full of unmasked rejection.
Lu Xianqing understood. At this point, any explanation was futile.
“So… do you want to break up?”
Qin Sizheng bit his lip. The words “break up” burned as they entered his ear and traced down the sensitive lines to his heart. He opened his mouth. “I… I need to think.”
Lu Xianqing closed his eyes briefly, exhaling softly, almost imperceptibly. The faint resentment he had buried deep within at this subtle request for separation stirred anew.
“I told you—whether you hate me, despise me—I will keep you by my side, even if it’s by force. Remember?”
Qin Sizheng swallowed hard. His throat felt blocked, every ounce of effort needed to get past it.
He clenched his fists, bewildered how things had reached this point. He never imagined he’d actually strike him—but now he raised his hand. “You can’t trap me.”
Lu Xianqing watched quietly. “I know your hands are strong, but there are many ways to trap someone. It’s not just about fighting.”
Qin Sizheng lowered his hands, suddenly letting out a bitter, helpless laugh. “Drug me?”
In that laugh were traces of sorrow and barely concealed humiliation. He pointed at the projector. “You made… a delicate cage for me in your basement? Planning to drug me and trap me there, turning me into your toy for humiliation?”
“Qin Sizheng! Say one more word and you’ll get hit!” Lu Xianqing’s voice cut sharply, forcibly interrupting him.
Qin Sizheng stopped instinctively, turning his head away.
Zhou Changjiang had once advised Lu Xianqing that Qin Sizheng, though appearing obedient, had no bottom line and was stubborn. He should treat him carefully.
Lu Xianqing knew him even better. He understood that Qin Sizheng’s tolerance for such things was near zero. Not striking him then was, in a way, the last tribute to their love.
Clenching his hands, Lu Xianqing restrained the urge to imprison him, wrestling with the dark impulse inside.
If he truly trapped Qin Sizheng, the outcome would be disastrous.
He had once truly considered it—but now he couldn’t bear it. If Qin Sizheng were trapped, lost all light in his eyes, succumbing to his desires, the result would be catastrophic.
The tension in Lu Xianqing’s chest was suffocating. His gaze fell on Qin Sizheng, who looked away, refusing even a single glance.
“I’ll give you Hexing. Once it’s signed, I’ll take responsibility. Lu Xianqing Studio will always favor you.”
“I promised to take you wherever you want… to make you the second Lu…” Lu Xianqing paused, correcting himself. “I’ll make it better than me.”
Qin Sizheng pressed his lips, knowing he had no chance to refuse, and nodded. “Thank you.”
“I told you—I don’t deserve you. I also told you—I’m not as good as you imagined.”
When they brushed past each other, Lu Xianqing grabbed his wrist. His fingers were cool, pressing on the pulse point, making Qin Sizheng stop in his tracks. He struggled, but couldn’t break free.
“Yan… Little Kite.” Lu Xianqing changed the nickname, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Does Fourth Brother not want to say it one more time?”
Qin Sizheng tore his hand away, trying to discreetly wipe his wrist, but the motion still caught Lu Xianqing’s eye.
He didn’t see the hurt that flashed there, and quietly said, “I’m sorry.”
He kept apologizing.
Since Lu Xianqing had come in, he had said “sorry” twice in total—each one met with rejection.
Every word was saying: “Lu Xianqing, I don’t want you anymore.”
Lu Xianqing forced himself to turn away. “Alright, go.”
Better to leave now, before a few more seconds could make him regret it, before his own restraint faltered.
Qin Sizheng hurried down the long corridor to the stairs. On the way down, he saw An Ning cleaning the litter box. She glanced up and blinked at him. “Bao, did Fourth Brother bully you?”
Qin Sizheng wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries. “Sorry, I have something to do. I’ll leave first.”
An Ning noticed something was wrong, froze, and looked upstairs. That morning he had called her, saying he wanted to surprise Lu Xianqing. Lu Xianqing had pushed himself through filming, just to return a few days early for that surprise.
So why had they argued?
She assumed he was worried Lu Xianqing was overexerting himself for the shoot. “Fourth Brother only does this for you. Don’t be too upset with him. It’s because he likes you. I told him too. If you really can’t forgive him, just scold him a bit—he won’t dare talk back.”
Qin Sizheng’s cold laugh curled his lips. The whole crew knew—and he had been kept in the dark.