In the lounge, a hand came down hard and swept an entire table of decorations crashing to the floor.
Fang Qing was twenty-four this year. He had slightly upturned eyelids and deer-like eyes, and his newly dyed golden short hair made his skin look even paler.
It was a very good face—unfortunately, the rage with nowhere to go twisted his expression into something almost distorted. He panted heavily, eyes widening again and again, before finally losing control and kicking the coffee table hard.
Bang—
The light table slid out violently, its edge slamming straight into the assistant who had been standing quietly off to the side like a frightened little sparrow.
The assistant’s legs trembled from the impact. She almost dropped to her knees on the spot. Her face went completely colorless as she clutched her shaking hands, not daring to speak.
“Enough.” The manager rubbed his aching temples. “You’re the one who acted it that badly yourself. Now that the public is criticizing you, who are you going to blame? I told you long ago to improve your acting—you refused to listen.”
“That was three years ago!” Fang Qing shouted, kicking the sofa again in fury. “I had just graduated back then!”
The manager: “……”
He swallowed the words “Ming Qi is one year younger than you” just to avoid setting him off again. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the assistant, head lowered, seemingly silently crying. His headache worsened, and he quickly sent her out of the room.
Once the door closed, he continued, “I already told the company. They’ll take down the trending topics.”
“Take them down and that’s it?” Fang Qing’s voice shot up in disbelief as he slapped the table repeatedly. “That no-name extra Ming Qi stepped on me to climb up, and I just swallow it? I take the hit and he gets the benefit—why?”
Because your role was indeed stolen from someone else. Because your acting is genuinely terrible.
The manager sighed inwardly, wondering what kind of bad luck he had to end up managing Fang Qing.
At first, he had been happy when he learned Fang Qing had a connection with Gao Heng, the young heir of Changfeng Films. Backed by a financier, and not a weak one either—as long as Fang Qing didn’t offend him, resources would not be an issue.
But over these three years, Gao Heng hadn’t abandoned Fang Qing. Instead, Fang Qing had clearly spent all his energy pleasing his backer—his acting never improved at all. Every film and drama resource he received, he failed to carry. And he had graduated from a professional academy too—who would believe that?
Later, the manager thought: if acting doesn’t work, then variety shows might. These days, there were plenty of people who blew up through variety programs.
But Fang Qing had no variety sense either, and worse, he constantly threw his weight around using Gao Heng’s name.
Now, to the manager, Fang Qing was a hot potato—one he couldn’t drop, only endure while continuing to support with disgust.
It was exhausting.
Hearing Fang Qing’s words now, the manager could only say helplessly, “Even so, there’s nothing we can do. This isn’t something Ming Qi did.”
He was referring to the fact that the revelation about Ming Qi’s role being taken away wasn’t orchestrated by Ming Qi himself.
Originally, the manager also suspected Ming Qi might still hold a grudge from three years ago and was using this chance to retaliate against Fang Qing. But after investigating, he found there was absolutely no connection.
The truth came from the night before.
The male lead of Lost—seeing the film’s reputation and box office decline over the past few days and fearing he might lose his performance contract tied to box office targets—had gone drinking with a friend.
After drinking too much, he couldn’t control his mouth, and a waiter secretly recorded his words.
“I really thought the script was good when I took it. I worked very hard on it too—I even lost thirty pounds to fit the character.”
“But it all got ruined because of Fang Qing, that rotten apple spoiling the whole pot! If this role had still been played by Ming Qi, I wouldn’t even be complaining now.”
“It could’ve even gone head-to-head with Death Notice, but now the gap is only getting bigger. I’m really afraid Lost is going to collapse completely.”
Fang Qing had also heard the recording. Furious, he couldn’t help cursing, “What kind of idiot is he? Didn’t he evaluate the risks before signing a box office guarantee contract? Even without me, I don’t think he could’ve won it.”
But despite saying that, he didn’t dare actually confront the male lead.
He had a backer—but so did the other party.
And because of that, the anger he couldn’t vent on the male lead naturally needed another target.
Clearly, Ming Qi was a very convenient one.
Fang Qing pointed at his manager coldly. “Go dig up some dirt on that nobody and leak it. If I’m not doing well, he shouldn’t expect to do well either.”
The manager: “……”
However—
After a long struggle, Fang Qing’s manager still couldn’t find a single piece of dirt on Ming Qi.
He held Ming Qi’s file, listening to the dog reporter he had previously worked with ramble on, his brows furrowing so tightly they could crush a fly.
Auditions, filming, staying at home doing nothing, auditions, filming, staying at home doing nothing.
That was almost the entirety of Ming Qi’s life since entering the industry.
And because he was too obscure, no paparazzi ever bothered to dig into him—so there were no relationship scandals either.
On top of that, after confirming Ming Qi studied at the Beijing Film Academy, the manager even checked the school forums. There were plenty of posts—but they were all either praising his looks or lamenting that he was completely indifferent to romantic confessions.
No messy private life at all.
The manager was going insane.
“How is digging up dirt on an unknown extra harder than managing Fang Qing?” he slammed the table again, his palm turning red from the impact. “If there’s no dirt, then fabricate it!”
He turned sharply toward the paparazzo sitting nearby, leisurely drinking coffee.
“No dirt? Then shoot it now!”
The paparazzo: “Huh?”
He put down his cup and said seriously, “Four years in university and two years in the industry with no scandals—and you think you can just shoot one on the spot?”
“If you don’t try, how do you know? Spitting on the street, not sorting trash, throwing cigarette butts—anything works.” The manager’s face darkened. “If there’s really nothing, just make it up. Do I need to teach you how to do this?”
The paparazzo said, “…I get the logic, but our studio just got a new boss. He says even if we’re the kind of paparazzi everyone hates, we still have to stick to the facts.”
The agent held up a hand. “Five hundred thousand.”
The paparazzo hesitated. “Our boss has a pretty bad temper. What if I get fired…”
The agent gritted his teeth. “One million!”
The paparazzo broke into a grin, downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp, and said cheerfully, “Deal. I’ll send you the contract later. No deposits—full payment upfront.”
Having secured the job, he turned and left in high spirits, leaving the agent behind, fuming at the loss. He thought bitterly that Fang Qing had better keep Gao Heng, that wealthy backer, completely satisfied—so he could at least make that million back, and then some.
…
The temperature dropped sharply over the fifth and sixth days of the new year, so Ming Qi stayed home.
He sat cross-legged on a cushion, slowly sipping fruit tea. At the same time, he studied a book on acting, occasionally twirling a pen and jotting down his thoughts.
This kind of life was quiet, maybe even a little dull—but Ming Qi liked it.
As evening approached, he ordered ingredients online and made hot pot for himself. After snapping a photo of dinner and sending it to Meng She, he got a thumbs-up in reply.
Meng Mom: My kid has really grown up—no matter how chaotic things get online, you’re steady as a rock.
77.: [smug cat.JPG]
Over the past couple of days, the male lead of Lost had accidentally revealed that Fang Qing’s role had been taken over from someone else. Fang Qing’s fans went wild online—arguing with the male lead’s fans one moment, then flooding Ming Qi’s Weibo with vicious insults the next. Unfortunately, Ming Qi didn’t have many die-hard fans, and their fighting power was weak. Their pushback quickly died down.
Fang Qing’s fans grew even more arrogant, their insults getting harsher by the minute. In response, Ming Qi simply logged out of Weibo and stopped looking altogether.
After chatting briefly with Meng She, he ended the conversation.
Taking his time with the movie playing in the background, Ming Qi spent a full two hours on his hot pot dinner. When he finished washing up, he found a new message on his phone—from Yu Qinzhou.
Over the past few days, Ming Qi and Yu Qinzhou hadn’t been in frequent contact, since Yu Qinzhou had gone abroad. This was the first message he had initiated in three days.
Y: Do you really not need me to pick you up tomorrow for the registration?
Seeing the message, Ming Qi suddenly realized—
Tomorrow was already the seventh day.
The Civil Affairs Bureau would be open, and he and Yu Qinzhou were about to become legally married.
He couldn’t quite describe how he felt. There was an inexplicable tension in his chest. Pressing a hand lightly over his heart, he lowered his gaze and replied: No need, I can go by myself. It’s only about half an hour.
Y: Okay.
It looked like the conversation would end there, so Ming Qi scrolled up through their chat history. He noticed that Yu Qinzhou was always the one starting conversations, which made him seem a bit distant.
After a moment’s thought, Ming Qi asked: Have you already returned from abroad, Mr. Yu?
Y: Mm. I brought you a gift.
Ming Qi rubbed his nose. As he said thank you, he couldn’t help thinking that Yu Qinzhou had actually remembered to bring him something. Including the tea from before, this was already the second gift.
Maybe he should get something for Yu Qinzhou too. But what?
After thinking for a long time, Ming Qi pulled out his tablet from under a stack of books and opened several luxury brand websites. Resting his chin on one hand, he scrolled with the other, occasionally pausing to press on the screen and take screenshots of items he liked. By the time his shoulders started to ache, two hours had already passed.
Startled at how late it was, he opened his photo gallery—only to find more than twenty screenshots.
Ming Qi: =.=
After another half hour of careful selection, he was left with eight items.
Ties, cufflinks, glasses, hats… everything looked good. His long-lost indecisiveness flared up again. In the end, he simply used an app to create a spinning wheel and let fate decide.
A few seconds later, the pointer stopped on a pair of sapphire cufflinks.
That’s the one!
Ming Qi remembered that Wen Yulan had bought jewelry from that same luxury brand store recently, so he opened their chat.
77.: A-Lan, do you have the contact info for the staff at the C brand counter in Dongyu Mall?
When Wen Yulan saw the message, he was in the middle of discussing wedding venue options with his family. He paused, gave his mother an apologetic smile, and stepped outside to reply: I do. Are you buying jewelry?
77.: Yeah, I found a pair of sapphire cufflinks I like. The official site delivery feels a bit slow. If the store has them, I’ll just go pick them up in person.
Ming Qi knew that since Yu Qinzhou had mentioned bringing him a gift, he would probably give it to him tomorrow. He wanted to be prepared in advance.
Wen Yulan stared at the message for a long moment before teasing lightly: In such a hurry—buying it for someone?
Ming Qi didn’t think much of it and confirmed.
The smile on Wen Yulan’s face faded slightly, but he still forwarded the staff’s contact information.
Ming Qi was delighted. Thanks, A-Lan. I’ll treat you to a meal next time.
He quickly added the staff member, paid a deposit, checked the time—it was still early, and the mall hadn’t closed yet. Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and headed out.
…
At seven the next morning, Ming Qi was already awake.
He had gone to Dongyu Mall the night before, and the trip had taken quite a bit of time. By the time he got home, it was already late. But lying in bed, all he could think about was registering his marriage with Yu Qinzhou today.
Sleep was impossible.
So he searched online: What should I do if I can’t sleep the night before getting married?
Top comment: Wear yourself out, and you’ll fall asleep.
Ming Qi: “…”
He silently closed his phone. Better to watch one of Yu Qinzhou’s interview videos instead.
As usual, it worked like a charm—he fell asleep quickly. But in his dreams, Yu Qinzhou appeared everywhere… and all of it was rather suggestive.
That scene from before—when his gaze had unconsciously drifted below Yu Qinzhou’s waist—replayed itself in his mind. But this time, Yu Qinzhou didn’t say anything like, “Not today. You just recovered—you can’t handle it.”
Instead, he used one hand to undo the buttons of his shirt, letting it fall open loosely as he leaned down closer to Ming Qi.
They were standing so close back then that Ming Qi could clearly see the small red mole at the corner of the man’s eye reflected in his pupils. His thoughts were completely seized by that single detail—until Yu Qinzhou caught his wrist.
The spot where their skin touched burned hot. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers were guided down toward the man’s waist.
Click.
The belt came undone.
Yu Qinzhou’s eyes curved with something like amusement, his voice low and teasing. “If you’re going to look, then look properly.”
And then—Ming Qi woke up in shock.
Heart racing, he didn’t dare close his eyes again. He lay there staring into the darkness, waiting for dawn. By the time it finally crawled to seven, he couldn’t take it anymore and got up to wash and get dressed.
He swore to himself he would never look up weird questions online again.
After finally calming down, Ming Qi let out a long breath and sat at the table, eating a store-bought custard bun. He had just taken a bite when his phone chimed—Yu Qinzhou had sent a message.
A voice message.
Without thinking, he tapped it open. The man’s low voice sounded just like it had in his dream.
The bun dropped back onto the plate.
Unwanted images flooded his mind again.