(This is the second update. Skipping straight to the latest chapter might cause you to miss the previous one.)
The conference room erupted in an instant.
Fang Juexia frowned, pulled out his phone, logged into Weibo, and searched for [kaleido new album]. Indeed, every real-time discussion was about the leaked tracks. He felt a chill run down his spine, unable to believe it.
Chen Zhengyun’s brows knitted tightly. “When was it discovered? Which platform? Have you contacted them?”
A staff member placed a laptop in front of Chen Zhengyun. “We just checked—we can’t trace the source back to its origin. But we know for certain that at 9:47 AM, a major marketing account released the song in video format. We tracked down the company behind that account and paid for PR. They’ve deleted it now, but many people downloaded the video, and it’s spreading rapidly. Moreover, they claim they weren’t the original source—they reposted it too.”
He Ziyan also found that video. “It’s already on Bilibili, and it’s trending pretty high. Might even hit the homepage.”
Fang Juexia clicked to listen. It was an early second-draft demo with English lyrics—the composer’s original version.
Cheng Qiang found it puzzling. “We maintained strict confidentiality throughout. The collaborating composers are all industry-recognized professionals with strong ethics. How could this leak happen?”
Fang Juexia spoke up, “The leak was an early demo, not the studio version. We’re lucky. We can rule out the recording engineer, composers, and the department managing the recordings. The scope narrows to staff involved in the initial selection and demo revisions.”
Jiang Miao nodded in agreement, “Exactly. Think about it calmly. We just finished recording the final track yesterday. If the leaker had significant access, they could have leaked the full version of our lead single directly, which would have had a much greater impact on us.”
Ling Yi looked troubled. “What do we do now? Although this demo isn’t the final version, its premature release completely disrupts our plans. Fewer people will buy the album to hear the official full tracks now.”
Chen Zhengyun considered the situation before instructing Cheng Qiang, “Call all platforms and urge them to remove the infringing demo immediately. Draft two announcements now—one for the official Kaleido Weibo and another for Xingtu Company’s Weibo—emphasizing the illegality of the leak. Notify major fan clubs and fan sites, urging fans to report and boycott the leak, refusing to become secondary disseminators.”
This was the fastest response they could manage. But the internet was a volatile landscape where information spread at unimaginable speeds. This leak, clearly orchestrated, saw over a dozen marketing accounts simultaneously posting demos. Each carried trending hashtags about Kaleido—delete one, another appeared. Platforms were flooded with them.
Chen Zhengyun pinched his temples, head bowed as he said gravely, “They’re targeting your comeback. This leak is a deliberate preemptive strike to sabotage your music chart performance.”
Pei Tingsong twirled a pen, looking particularly carefree amidst the gloom. “So it leaked. If they’re determined, hiding won’t help. “They might even make it a trending topic soon. No matter how fast we move, we can’t wipe out every cockroach.”
“What he means is, we should turn the tables.” Fang Juexia looked at Chen Zhengyun. “Little Pei’s right. Since they’ve gone so far as to steal our demo from within our company, they’re determined to spread it. They’ll definitely buy trending topics to build hype. We might as well ride this wave and fan the flames ourselves, letting more people know our song is coming.”
He Ziyan shook his head. “But that’s too risky. Following standard procedures, the gap between releasing the audio and the MV shouldn’t exceed five days to maintain momentum. Under current circumstances, by the time we release the teaser and MV in early April, the novelty and peak buzz will have faded. Casual viewers won’t bother watching.”
“You’re right.” Fang Juexia’s expression remained calm, yet his words were startling. “That’s precisely why we must advance our comeback.”
Chen Zhengyun watched Fang Juexia in silence. This young man had declared aloud what Chen himself had been too reluctant to voice. In the internet age, a song’s success hinged not only on its inherent quality but also on meticulous promotion and hype—especially for idol music with a smaller casual fanbase. The first day of promotion marked the beginning of a song’s life. A leak meant its lifespan would rapidly shorten—or even end prematurely.
Many leaked songs ultimately became abandoned tracks.
But they couldn’t give up easily. This song embodied the blood, sweat, and tears of these young artists—their best chance to turn things around. Their only recourse is to overhaul schedules and promotional timelines, desperately trying to salvage the song’s lifespan.
This means compressing a generous two-week window down to a mere three or four days. Caledo must shoot the music video around the clock, with the entire company scrambling to make a comeback before the buzz fades.
“Notify PR to urgently contain the leaked audio—minimize its spread at all costs. Styling team, skip the meeting. Finalize all outfits by 5 PM. MV shoot starts at 8 PM tonight.”
Chen Zhengyun’s gaze swept across the boys seated at the conference table. “It’s 10:35 AM now. By 4 PM, you need to be in the styling room. The hours between now and then are your last chance to rest. I hope everyone gets some sleep, because what awaits you next is a tough battle. Though we’re not some all-powerful mega-corporation, no matter what happens, Star Chart will always be your backing.”
Emerging from the meeting room, everyone’s mood was unsettled. Cheng Qiang felt like cursing himself, but to avoid affecting them, he chose his words carefully, reassuring them in the car that this was essentially free publicity. He dropped the six back at their dormitory before rushing back to the company to handle affairs.
Fang Juexia remained silent throughout the ride. He unlocked his phone and stared at yesterday’s missed call.
The Xiequ members knew their only chance was an early comeback. But returning prematurely meant colliding head-on with Qiyao—a group whose fanbase was undeniably far larger, at least for now. It would be like an egg smashing against a stone; only the stone would benefit.
Astar had probably already drafted a crushing press release.
Considering Liang Ruo’s unusual behavior these past few days, Fang Juexia grew even more certain his judgment was correct. As soon as Cheng Qiang left, he stepped onto the balcony and dialed Liang Ruo’s number.
The other party seemed to have anticipated his call, his tone tinged with a hint of regret. “Juexia, you finally decided to reach out.”
“Cut to the chase. Tell me who did it.”
He chuckled. “Do you regret it? If you’d come to me sooner, things might have been different.”
Those words struck Fang Juexia’s raw nerve. His throat tightened as Liang Ruo recited an address over the line.
“I have evidence that can help you track down that person. Your company may not be huge, but it’s in chaos now—the chances of uncovering it internally are slim. If you still want to find the bad apple, come to me. Oh, and leave your phone behind. I don’t want helping you to get me in trouble.”
After all this, Pei Tingsong couldn’t sleep. He replayed the past few days at the company, trying to pinpoint any suspicious people or events.
But somehow, his mind suddenly drifted to the message Liang Ruo had sent to Fang Juexia’s phone.
When he arrived at Fang Juexia’s room, he only saw Ling Yi preparing for bed. “Where’s Juexia?”
“He just left. Said he was going downstairs to buy something.”
“When did he leave?”
Ling Yi thought for a moment. “A while ago, I think.”
Pei Tingsong’s heart sank. He asked again, “Do you have Liang Ruo’s contact information?”
“Liang Ruo?” Ling Yi frowned. “You mean Liang Ruo from the talent agency?”
“Who else?”
Ling Yi sat up. “I don’t have it, but I can ask around. What do you need it for…” Before he could finish, Pei Tingsong had already left, only tossing back, “Send it to me once you find it.”
Pei Tingsong descended the stairs and indeed found Fang Juexia’s car gone. He started his own vehicle, but just as he ignited the engine, a series of calls from social butterfly Ling Yi came through. He put on his headphones, about to answer, then hesitated. Finally, he switched to Fang Juexia’s number.
The call went unanswered. After driving a short distance, Pei Tingsong tried again. To his surprise, Ling Yi answered: “He didn’t take his phone with him.”
Pei Tingsong didn’t believe Fang Juexia had simply gone downstairs to buy something. He pulled over and considered calling his sister, but changed his mind. Instead, he dialed Liang Ruo’s number. After three rings, she finally picked up.
Liang Ruo was currently in the hotel suite Pei Tingsong had booked for two days, waiting for Fang Juexia. An unfamiliar number kept calling him, and he finally answered. “Hello? Who is this?”
“Pei Tingsong,” the other person stated bluntly, his tone unfriendly. Liang Ruo startled for a moment, then thought about it and felt it wasn’t surprising. “You wanted me?”
“Who the hell needs you? Where’s Fang Juexia? Did you take him away?”
Liang Ruo chuckled. “He’s already spilling the beans to you? He never used to be like this.”
Pei Tingsong loathed hearing Liang Ruo mention the past—a past he’d never been a part of.
“Where are you? Tell me honestly. Don’t force me to send people to track you down.”
“Fine, I’m scared of you. After all, you’re the young master. You could crush me with a flick of your finger.” Liang Ruo casually gave the address. “I should thank you for coming to see me instead of using your impressive capital and connections to crush me like an ant.”
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. Liang Ruo’s voice carried a hint of amusement. “Oh dear, Juexia’s here.”
“You!”
Liang Ruo didn’t hang up. Instead, he slipped the phone into his bathrobe pocket and walked to open the door.
Standing outside was indeed Fang Juexia. His expression was cold, as if he didn’t even want to step inside. “Hand over the item. I won’t tell anyone about you.”
“Come in.” Liang Ruo pulled at him, but Fang Juexia brushed his hand away and walked in on his own.
“I know you won’t tell anyone about me, and I know you definitely don’t have your phone on you right now.” Liang Ruo closed the door. “I know you too well.”
Fang Juexia didn’t want to hear this. His patience was nearly exhausted. “Don’t waste time on useless things.”
“What exactly is useless?” “ Liang Ruo sat down on the sofa. ”Juexia, it’s not just your time that’s precious. Mine is too. Do you have any idea how many paparazzi are stalking me? To get a chance to talk to you properly, I booked this place days in advance and kept trying to reach you. But you? You wouldn’t even bother to reply.”
Fang Juexia looked away, standing silently in place.
Liang Ruo stood up too. “I don’t ask for much. Just stand here and listen to what I have to say, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“Go ahead.”
Liang Ruo seemed to have had a bit to drink, his face flushed. He took a deep breath. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time, ever since we were trainees.”
Seeing Fang Juexia frown, Liang Ruo smiled. “You didn’t know, did you? There’s so much you don’t know. Back then, how much I wanted us to debut together! Every night, I dreamed of us standing on stage together. Yes, I did. Seeing Fang Juexia frown, Liang Ruo smiled. “You didn’t know, did you? There’s so much you don’t know. Back then, I wanted so badly to debut with you. Every night, I dreamed of standing on stage with you. Yeah, I wasn’t talented enough. I couldn’t compare to you, let alone many of the other trainees. Even when you comforted me and encouraged me, I knew deep down I’d never make it.”
“I was so anxious I couldn’t take it anymore. Guess what happened?” He shrugged. “Mr. Kim said he could help me. He told me to go see him. I didn’t know what kind of help he meant. All I cared about was debuting with you, so I went.”
As he spoke, Liang Ruo’s smile turned bitter. “I woke up lying in his bed and finally understood how he was ‘helping’ me.”
Fang Juexia was taken aback. He hadn’t pressed for details back then.
“I was terrified. But Mr. Jin told me I would definitely debut. For that promise, I sold myself. But somehow others found out—you know the rest.” Liang Ruo’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, which he hastily wiped away. “The moment you found out, I thought I was finished. I couldn’t face you, and I never imagined you’d report it to upper management for me, standing up for me.”
Back then, the head of Astar wasn’t surnamed Jin yet. Fang Juexia simply couldn’t bear seeing the higher-ups target trainees. Everyone else turned a blind eye, thinking they could endure it as long as the fire didn’t reach them. But Fang Juexia couldn’t. He knew being too rigid could break you, but he couldn’t abandon himself for the sake of some so-called future.
“When I heard you stood up for me, I went to plead with Mr. Jin. You have no idea what he did to me, but I endured it. He promised that if I obeyed, he’d let you debut smoothly—just not promote you as much.” Liang Ruo’s eyes grew redder. “But I never imagined you’d leave on your own.”
He smiled faintly, his voice trembling slightly. “I tried to find you many times after that, wanting to explain. But you… you didn’t seem to care.”
Fang Juexia was someone who could detach himself from any relationship or emotion with remarkable speed—a skill honed in the darkness of his childhood. To others, however, this made him seem excessively cold.
“Later I realized, without you around, debuting was utterly pointless. Everyone knew I’d climbed the ladder by selling myself. Even with confidentiality agreements, they mocked me behind closed doors. I couldn’t even stay in the dorm anymore. Since everyone assumed that’s how I got here, I decided to stir up trouble. No one was going to have it easy.”
Liang Ruoshu exhaled. “I’ve said too much. It was only a few days ago, when Mr. Jin got drunk, that I learned he planned to blacklist you all. I know telling you this early could ruin me. I hesitated for days, but I still wanted to let you know.”
He pulled a USB drive from his pocket. “There are some recordings here—voice messages I captured from his WeChat while he was asleep. There should have been screenshots too, but sending those to you might really get me killed. The voice messages mention certain people; they should be traceable.”
Fang Juexia held the USB drive he handed over, his emotions tangled. He didn’t know what to say. The events of that year, the minutiae, he’d almost forgotten them all. But he’d never regretted leaving that company. Even after he’d spoken up, no one had stood by him. Even though Liang Ruo seemed to have silently accepted the unspoken rules, all the blame had been heaped upon him. Fang Juexia had gritted his teeth and endured it, offering no explanation. Because he knew that if he explained, Liang Ruo would drag it all out.
This was the limit of his tolerance.
“Alright,” Liang Ruo smiled. “I’ve finally gotten this off my chest. For two years, I couldn’t bring myself to say it, didn’t know how to tell you. Rest assured, confessing this was because I couldn’t bear the pain anymore, but I don’t need any response from you. You’re too good. I’m simply not worthy of you.”
He took a step closer. “I’m no saint, but I’m not as bad as everyone makes me out to be. Juexia, thank you.”
Fang Juexia finally spoke. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You helped me so much. You’re the kindest, most wonderful person in the world. We probably won’t cross paths again,” Liang Ruo reached out. “Can you give me one last hug? Like before.”
Seeing Liang Ruo’s reddened eyes, Fang Juexia ultimately couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He reached out and embraced him briefly.
“Thank you.”
A satisfied smile spread across Liang Ruo’s face. He glanced at the time, walked to the door, and opened it. Fang Juexia felt puzzled. Looking over, he saw Pei Tingsong standing outside, wearing a hat and mask, his expression impassive.
He was taken aback. “Pei Tingsong…”
“I gave him the address.” “ Liang Ruo looked at Pei Tingsong, pulled the still-ringing phone from his bathrobe pocket, and ended the call. ”It’s over. Here’s your one-sixth back.”
Only then did Fang Juexia realize Pei Tingsong had heard their entire conversation. His heart clenched. He hadn’t done anything wrong, yet panic surged through him.
Pei Tingsong didn’t lose his temper. Contrary to his usual self, he seemed unusually calm. He walked over to Fang Juexia, grabbed his wrist, and led him out of the hotel. He didn’t speak a word the entire way, which only made Fang Juexia feel more uneasy.
When they reached the underground parking garage, Fang Juexia tried to pull away from his grip. “My car is over there.”
“Take mine back. Have Xiao Wen come pick yours up later.” With that, he opened the passenger door and motioned for Fang Juexia to get in. He walked around to his side, climbed in, and said coldly, “Buckle up.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Fang Juexia didn’t move, only turned his head to look at him.
Seeing Fang Juexia unresponsive, Pei Tingsong leaned over to fasten his seatbelt himself, then prepared to start the car. But Fang Juexia pulled out the key. “You’re not in the right state of mind. It’s unsafe for you to drive.” He couldn’t understand what was wrong with Pei Tingsong, or what exactly Liang Ruo had said earlier that had upset him. “Why are you angry?”
Pei Tingsong leaned back against the driver’s seat, feeling deeply troubled. He pulled off his mask. “I’m not angry.”
“You are angry.” Fang Juexia’s tone was certain. He couldn’t figure out what was going on. “If there’s something you’re unhappy about, just say it. Even if it’s like before—you can mock me or yell at me.”
Pei Tingsong gave a bitter smile and looked at him. “Fang Juexia, do you really think I can go back to the way things were?”
Fang Juexia froze. Seeing the look in Pei Tingsong’s eyes, his heart twisted in pain.
Pei Tingsong lowered his eyelids, then looked up at him again. “I feel completely off right now. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I’m just so angry, so…” He trailed off, paused, and exhaled sharply. “You came looking for him alone, without even your phone. Aren’t you worried something might happen to you? Do you trust him that much?”
Fang Juexia was speechless. He tried to explain, “No, it’s not like that. I was just…”
“Why didn’t you tell me beforehand? Do you know how hard I worked to find this place? Do you know how scared I was something might happen to you on the way? I almost had to give in to my sister. My hands were shaking the whole time I was driving. Why? Why did you…” Pei Tingsong’s voice trailed off into a bitter laugh. “Am I really that untrustworthy?”
Somehow, those words pierced Fang Juexia’s heart. He felt a deep ache. He was never one to offer explanations, yet now, driven by Pei Tingsong’s distress, he desperately searched his mind for words. “No, Pei Tingsong, listen to me. I’d just finished a meeting and was feeling tense. When I confirmed this matter involved Astar, my first instinct was to handle it. And you know me—that’s just my nature. I…”
He realized every word he uttered felt hollow, so he stopped. He only wanted to spare Pei Tingsong from feeling hurt. As he spoke, Fang Juexia’s own voice began to tremble. “Could you… please not think that way?”
Hearing this, Pei Tingsong suddenly couldn’t muster any anger. He buried his face in the steering wheel, feeling like a shameless madman. He’d completely lost control over his emotions without warning, all because he’d overheard a confession that had nothing to do with him. He never imagined that Liang Ruo actually liked Fang Juexia—and that it was that kind of liking.
How could he possibly like Fang Juexia?
Why was even he allowed to?
He’d just listened silently to his heartfelt confession, to their past, to that final embrace—unable to do anything, like an outsider watching from afar. He’d carefully collected so many beautiful fragments connected to Fang Juexia, piling them higher and higher, as if he could keep them up forever, holding their “friendship” aloft, never letting it fall.
But hearing Liang Ruo’s words, he suddenly realized he was the world’s biggest fool. He’d staged this so-called pure friendship himself, enduring the tiny torments of closeness, not even knowing what he truly wanted.
The beautiful fragments had piled up inside him, accumulating into wound after wound. All these days of his own erratic behavior, the emotional tug-of-war, his heart racing at every word and action from Fang Juexia, the torment of being controlled by desire, the sleepless nights, the shame and anger, the anxiety—everything had been deepening and building up, and now he finally found its source.
Seeing him remain silent, Fang Juexia’s heart hung in suspense. He wondered if Pei Tingsong still misunderstood his relationship with Liang Ruo. “I didn’t expect to hear those things when I came over. I’ve said it before—I don’t care about the past anymore. Even if I heard all the unknown details again today, it wouldn’t change anything.”
As the words left his mouth, Fang Juexia felt utterly mad. He couldn’t even be bothered to explain the rumors about his own past to anyone, yet here he was spouting nonsense to Pei Tingsong, doing things completely contrary to his own logic. Suddenly, he didn’t want to struggle anymore. He just wanted to get out of the car for some air, so he lowered his head to unbuckle his seatbelt.
Click. The strap released. But his hand was caught by Pei Tingsong’s.
“Don’t go,” Pei Tingsong mumbled, head bowed. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t need to explain this to me. It’s my fault. I snapped at you earlier.”
This was the second time he’d heard Pei Tingsong formally apologize to him. This naturally rebellious kid seemed to be constantly apologizing to him.
“You weren’t yelling,” Fang Juexia corrected his choice of words, clasping his hand in return. “You were just sulking.”
“I was seething inside, you just didn’t see it,” Pei Tingsong muttered. “So I still need to say I’m sorry.”
After speaking, Pei Tingsong lifted his head to look at him. “There’s one more thing. You might think I’m crazy or that something triggered me when I say this now. It’s okay, because I only figured it out in the last three minutes. I don’t want to hide it or pretend I didn’t see clearly.”
This was all too absurd. Why did this realization have to hit now? Their group was facing its biggest crisis yet, a tough battle looming. Everyone was on edge—this was a moment when even a straw could break the camel’s back.
But Pei Tingsong had just lifted the boulder weighing on his heart.
Looking into Fang Juexia’s clear eyes, Pei Tingsong cursed under his breath, wiped his face, lifted his head, and addressed him. “Fang Juexia, every word I’m about to say is sincere. You need to believe me—I’m not joking or playing a prank. Okay?”
Fang Juexia didn’t know what he was about to say, but he nodded anyway.
Pei Tingsong spoke earnestly, word by word. “I, Pei Tingsong, have chosen a point on the number line today. It wasn’t arbitrary—it was a very serious decision. I don’t know if it’s rational or irrational, and honestly, I don’t care. But I have an obligation to tell you.”
He raised the hand Fang Juexia was clasping. “This is the point.”
Author’s Note: Thanks to Liang Ruo’s proofreading, little Pei finally got the hint.
But he still has to pursue his wife—and in a super shameless, no-holds-barred way. This might be the only dom I’ve ever written who goes all out chasing and flirting with his wife.
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