Shen Yuan brought along nearly all the assets he currently owned. Each piece was carefully placed into a velvet-lined box, then neatly stacked into combination lock cases. It wasn’t an overwhelming amount, but it wasn’t small either—two full cases, filling two twenty-nine-inch suitcases.
After packing everything up, Shen Yuan stared at the black cases and felt his heart pound in fear. He paced around the house twice, trembling as he muttered, “If this gets lost, I’m completely finished.”
Seeing how adorably money-conscious he was, Qiao Hailou couldn’t help but laugh. “It won’t happen. And even if it does, it’s fine—I’ll just get you more.”
Shen Yuan clapped a hand over his mouth. “Damn it, just because you’re rich you think you can say whatever you want? Don’t jinx it! Nothing’s getting lost! I’ll keep my eyes glued to it!”
Qiao Hailou said indulgently, “Alright, alright. Everything will go smoothly. I’ll stay home and watch the kid while you’re gone, and wait for you to come back. Happy now?”
Shen Yuan brought three assistants he trusted, but he didn’t let them handle the cases. With this much money involved, it was better not to test human nature. The cases were watched over by him and John. John had been working in their household for nearly half a year and was trustworthy—after all, no matter how valuable these things were, they couldn’t be more precious than their little Peanut.
Shen Yuan flew back to the country on Qiao Hailou’s private jet. Lin Zhihui came to pick him up at the airport with several bodyguards.
When Shen Yuan saw her, a smile spread across his face. Though he hadn’t seen Aunt Hui in a long time, they chatted online often and were still very close. She looked just as young as ever, now exuding the aura of a powerful female CEO. She wasn’t wearing a dress, but a women’s suit instead—clean, sharp, and efficient.
Lin Zhihui was also sizing Shen Yuan up. Four years ago, when she first met him, he had been a plainly dressed, somewhat rustic college student who tried to act mature but couldn’t quite shake off his childishness. In the blink of an eye, Shen Yuan had become a fairly well-known jewelry designer. The youthful awkwardness was gone, replaced by composure and maturity. His eyes were bright and clear, filled with confidence and courage, no longer betraying timidity or caution behind a pair of lenses.
Time really did fly.
Shen Yuan greeted her warmly, “Aunt Hui.”
Lin Zhihui smiled back. “Xiao Yuan.”
They talked as they walked. Shen Yuan hadn’t been back in the country for a year, and returning to an environment filled with his native language felt incredibly comfortable. He asked, “Do we eat first, or go shoot first?”
Lin Zhihui asked, “Are you hungry? I won’t stand on ceremony with you—let’s go shoot first. Afterward, once you’ve put everything away, we’ll have a proper meal.”
Shen Yuan agreed readily. “Alright. I ate on the plane anyway, so I’m not hungry.”
And so they headed straight to the filming location.
As a complete newcomer to the entertainment industry, Shen Yuan was seeing a music video shoot for the first time and found everything fascinating, craning his neck and looking around curiously.
He had originally thought they’d go to some kind of luxury mansion, but it turned out to be a set built inside a studio, with nothing more than a king-size bed placed in it.
Shen Yuan sat there guarding the two cases, watching everyone bustle about. Once the setup was more or less finished, He Jing arrived, fully styled. His short hair was dyed a light blond, and his face was covered in heavy makeup. He Jing had been extremely popular lately, his momentum strong. Even without deliberately following entertainment news, Shen Yuan knew who he was. He Jing had sharp, defiant features when expressionless, but in person he was very approachable and polite. From the moment he entered, he smiled and greeted every staff member. He was especially respectful toward Lin Zhihui. When he noticed Shen Yuan, he paused almost imperceptibly, a flicker of amazement leaking into his eyes, and smiled as he asked, “This must be Mr. Shen, right? Hello, I’m He Jing. Thank you for being so generous this time.”
Shen Yuan returned the courtesy. “Hello, hello. Seeing you in person really lives up to your reputation—you’re even more handsome than on television.”
He Jing replied modestly, “You flatter me.”
So many people, so much equipment—all of it just to capture a few seconds of footage for the music video.
He Jing lay down on the bed first and struck a pose. Then Shen Yuan spread the jewelry across the bed.
Watching Shen Yuan, He Jing recalled that he had already heard people talking about him earlier in the makeup room.
He had known of Shen Yuan before. Last year, for a period of time, Shen Yuan’s online popularity metrics had surpassed those of many celebrities in the industry. He was different from typical jewelry designers—more like an idol-type designer, with countless fans and even a global fan support group that updated his news daily.
To put it bluntly, quite a few people in He Jing’s own company weren’t as popular as Shen Yuan—and… weren’t as good-looking either.
When He Jing had previously seen Shen Yuan’s photos online, he’d thought this civilian had an outstanding appearance. Seeing him in person now, he realized that reputation didn’t do him justice. Many people in the industry were carefully packaged creations, but Shen Yuan wasn’t packaged at all. He was naturally beautiful in a way that made it hard to look away. How to describe it? Shen Yuan might not sing or dance, but he had a certain star quality. Toss him into a crowd and he’d stand out like a crane among chickens, drawing attention at first glance.
Someone like that would probably shine no matter what field they were in.
Of course, He Jing also knew about the public rumors regarding Shen Yuan being intersex. That was common knowledge.
Just earlier, the makeup artists had been discussing it.
“Did you see that Shen Yuan?”
“I did, I did. He’s really good-looking. A bit on the delicate side—just a very handsome man. If no one said anything, you really wouldn’t be able to tell he wasn’t male.”
“I’m going to go take a look too.”
It wasn’t disgust, nor exactly mockery—more like people gathering to gawk at some rare and unusual creature.
As He Jing watched Shen Yuan meticulously open the cases, slip on a pair of silk gloves to cover his long, pale fingers, and cradle the jewelry in his hands, he wondered whether Shen Yuan knew how people talked about him behind his back—or if he did know, whether he simply didn’t care.
Each box was labeled so everything could be returned precisely, avoiding wear and damage. Fully focused and extremely careful, Shen Yuan took out each piece and placed it on the bed, treating the person lying there as if he didn’t exist, while handling the jewelry as though he were holding the princess from The Princess and the Pea.
To cover an entire bed required an enormous amount of jewelry, which Shen Yuan didn’t have. So the film crew first spread U.S. dollars across the bed—real bills, not props—to be collected again after filming.
When Shen Yuan squatted down, the movement pulled his pants tight. He Jing noticed the outline of the garter straps beneath the fabric around Shen Yuan’s calves and realized he was wearing men’s suspenders.
It took Shen Yuan half an hour to lay out the jewelry. Filming the actual shot only took about fifteen or twenty minutes. He Jing’s acting was solid and immersive, with very few retakes. Afterward, Shen Yuan carefully packed each piece away again, spending another half hour returning everything to its labeled box one by one.
When the last piece was put away and the cases were closed, cold sweat nearly broke out on Shen Yuan’s forehead. He felt like he should be done for the day.
At last, He Jing was able to move. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he suddenly asked, “Mr. Shen, may I invite you to appear in the music video?”
Shen Yuan froze. “Huh?” This hadn’t been mentioned before. He turned to look at Aunt Hui standing nearby.
He Jing smiled. “It’s true this wasn’t planned before, but I participated in writing the script for the entire MV. I think adding this shot could work well.”
Lin Zhihui remained noncommittal. “Xiao Yuan, it’s entirely up to you.”
Shen Yuan asked, “How would it be shot?” If it wasn’t troublesome, he didn’t mind helping out—it would even let him borrow some of a top star’s traffic.
He Jing explained briefly. It really wasn’t complicated and didn’t require looking at the camera—just a shot of Shen Yuan examining a piece of jewelry in his hands.
Shen Yuan nodded and agreed.
The set was changed: a European-style tall round table, glass bottles, roses.
Shen Yuan didn’t get his makeup or styling done and kept the same outfit. He Jing told him to just act as he normally would, but Shen Yuan had no idea where to put his hands or where to look. He fumbled awkwardly, racking up four or five consecutive retakes, until Lin Zhihui burst out laughing. “Hahaha, maybe we should just forget it.”
Wiping sweat from his brow, Shen Yuan thought about how people online had once said he could enter the entertainment industry as a pretty face just based on his looks. Thank goodness he hadn’t been stupid enough to believe it. With his level of aptitude, he couldn’t even qualify as a vase.
Very seriously, Shen Yuan said, “No, I already agreed. And everyone worked so long to set up this scene—if I back out now, wouldn’t that be wasting everyone’s effort?”
He Jing said, “Mr. Shen, how about this—just imagine you’re introducing this piece of jewelry to us. Let’s shoot it that way.”
Shen Yuan understood. He nodded, took a deep breath, and shot it again. This time, it passed in one take.
The final shot was of shattered rose petals scattered across the floor, with a jeweled necklace draped over them.
At last, it was over.
He Jing hesitated, then said, “…Thank you, Mr. Shen.”
Shen Yuan smiled at him. “No problem.”
Watching Shen Yuan’s departing figure, He Jing actually thought of another scene—Shen Yuan seated on a high chair, his men’s garter socks visible, while He Jing knelt to help him put on a leather shoe. But thinking it over, Shen Yuan probably wouldn’t agree, so he let the idea go.
What a strange man.
The MV was far from finished, but Shen Yuan’s part was complete. Lin Zhihui took him out to eat. Once in the car, Shen Yuan casually said, “Aunt Hui, since I’m back this time, let’s go visit Uncle’s place together.”
Lin Zhihui stiffened, pausing subtly for a few seconds.
Shen Yuan noticed immediately, realizing he might have said something wrong. The car fell silent.
Lin Zhihui smiled and said, “It’s not convenient for me to go now. You go by yourself. Your uncle and I have broken up.”
Shen Yuan had already sensed that Aunt Hui and Uncle’s marriage prospects were unstable. At their age, people usually dated to have companionship in life, yet after more than two years together they still hadn’t discussed marriage—most likely it wasn’t going to happen.
He apologized softly, “I’m sorry…” not daring to ask why.
A bit awkward, Lin Zhihui said, “It’s fine. I didn’t fall out with your uncle—we’re still friends. It was a very friendly, peaceful breakup. Um… your uncle and I just really weren’t like lovers. It felt impossible to get married, so we decided to end it.”
For some reason, Shen Yuan felt a little sad. Back when he first learned of Lin Zhihui’s existence, he’d thought she was going to take away his only support and had been hostile toward her, hoping she wouldn’t marry Uncle. Now that they truly weren’t getting married, he felt regret instead.
He’d grown up without a mother, and had long since come to see the gentle Aunt Hui, who always thought of him, as half a mother figure.
Moreover, the link between him and Aunt Hui had always been Uncle. Now that she and Uncle weren’t marrying, it felt like a thread connecting them had been cut.
Seeing how openly dejected he looked, Lin Zhihui laughed. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d grown up, but seeing you like this, you’re still a kid. Even if I don’t marry your uncle, I’m still your Aunt Hui.”
Shen Yuan murmured, “Mm.”
Lin Zhihui took him to a Chinese restaurant that focused on quality over quantity. She was attentive, remembering the dishes Shen Yuan liked, and ordered half a table.
One of them was drunken shrimp, a favorite of Shen Yuan’s that was hard to find abroad. He ate one, then suddenly felt nauseous, an inexplicable urge to retch.
He paused, pressing a hand to his chest, trying to calm the discomfort.
Lin Zhihui asked, “What’s wrong?”
Shen Yuan said, “Nothing…”
Thinking he’d choked, Lin Zhihui poured him a glass of water. Shen Yuan took a few sips.
Then Lin Zhihui remembered something and asked, “Aren’t you and Qiao Hailou going to have your wedding yet? The child is already running around. Why hasn’t he held a wedding for you?”
Afraid she might misunderstand Qiao Hailou, Shen Yuan hurried to explain, “Uncle Qiao said long ago that we’d have one. Before, I was heavily pregnant—it would’ve looked awful. Then I was busy with school, and later with the studio. Now things have finally settled down, so we can do it. We’re already preparing. In about half a year it should be done.”
Lin Zhihui asked in surprise, “You still call him ‘Uncle Qiao’?”
Only then did Shen Yuan realize he’d let it slip. His face flushed bright red.