Xia Xiqing was utterly exhausted. The moment he entered the dressing room, he pulled out a recliner and collapsed onto it. The makeup artist gently removed his makeup only to find him already fast asleep. She quietly closed the door, letting him rest for a while.
He later woke up from the heat, unsure how long he’d slept. His throat felt dry and scratchy. Rubbing his eyes, he rose from the chair and downed the entire bottle of water sitting on the vanity in one gulp. Somehow, a thin blanket was draped over him.
Probably Xiao Xiao had put it there. Xia Xiqing pulled the blanket off. The room felt stuffy and hot. He gathered the hair at the back of his neck into a small ponytail, pushed open the door, and headed out. The set wasn’t far—just over two hundred meters away.
As soon as he approached, Xia Xiqing heard the production assistant’s shouts. Xiaoxiao spotted him from afar and ran over. “Xiqing, feeling any better? I just got you some candy to boost your energy. Here.”
Xia Xiqing glanced at the raspberry-flavored lollipop in his hand. “Where’d you get that?”
“From Xiao Luo’s van. Their crew van’s mini-fridge is packed with candy. I just grabbed a few.” Xiaoxiao peeled the wrapper off the lollipop and handed it over. Xia Xiqing didn’t refuse, taking it and popping it into his mouth.
“Ziheng and the others are almost done and about to move locations. Are you waiting for him?”
So sweet, so sugary. Xia Xiqing was still a bit groggy from sleep. Only now did she recall how Zhou Ziheng had been clinging to that Song Nian earlier, and a pebble seemed lodged in her heart.
“Why would I wait for him?”
“Huh?” Xiaoxiao looked flustered. Hadn’t they been together every day before? What was going on… She studied Xia Xiqing’s expression. “Then… why don’t you hop in the car first? We can go turn on the AC?”
Before she could finish, Xia Xiqing sneezed again. “Nah, I’m not hot. You go enjoy the AC.” With that, he walked straight over to Director Kun, lollipop in mouth, plopped down on a folding stool beside him, and stared at the monitor.
This scene was a flashback, depicting Gao Kun and Lingling’s first encounter.
On screen, Lingling and Gao Kun sat side by side on grass beside a tunnel. The camera framed their profiles as a car roared past. Lingling held a cigarette between her fingers, took a deep drag, and exhaled a cloud of gray smoke. Her face blurred before the lens, becoming silhouette-like. The camera slowly panned, revealing Gao Kun’s profile in full.
Lingling held her cigarette, tilting her head to smile at Gao Kun. The smile carried a hint of flirtation, her eyes and brows radiating charm.
Xia Xiqing couldn’t help but admire Song Nian’s acting skills. She didn’t look old, but she certainly had a certain flair for the role.
“Want a smoke?”
Gao Kun glanced at Lingling, then nodded belatedly, adding, “Yeah.”
“Here.” Lingling extended her cigarette-clutching hand toward Gao Kun. As he reached out to take it, she pulled her hand back, teasing him with a smile still on her face. His pride stung, and he prepared to snatch it—only for Lingling to press the cigarette directly to his lips. Her fingertips, painted with bright red nail polish, brushed his lip with deliberate carelessness.
Gao Kun reacted sluggishly, taking the cigarette between his lips. His eyes stared blankly at Lingling’s smiling face as smoke slithered like a snake into his lungs. The harsh fumes made him cough violently, and his gaze snapped back hurriedly.
Lingling laughed, her laughter growing louder.
This scene felt increasingly familiar. He couldn’t help but ponder Xu Qichen’s intentions in writing this character.
Xia Xiqing felt a heavy weight in his heart.
“Cut!” Kuncheng removed his earpiece and waved toward the director. “That take was excellent. Old partners really are different—perfect chemistry. Looks like we can wrap up early today.”
The gradually melting lollipop felt like it was corroding the mucous membrane inside his mouth. Xia Xiqing took it out and twirled it in his hand, his tongue licking the side pressed against the candy, the sensation irritating.
Zhou Ziheng and Song Nian approached. Song Nian skipped along like a rabbit, while Zhou Ziheng followed behind with his usual steady pace. For some reason, Xia Xiqing found them quite well-matched.
Truthfully, he’d pondered more than once whether treating Zhou Ziheng the way he’d treated past lovers would be too cruel. After all, Zhou Ziheng was such a good person—there was no reason he should endure Xia’s twisted personality. Though this relationship had begun purely out of Xia’s stubborn refusal to admit defeat, it had run its course. Better to part ways amicably.
Consider it all a dream.
After the dream ends, each lives their own life. No one owes anyone else anything.
“Director Kun, let’s grab dinner tonight. I just heard from the assistant director that tonight’s night shoot was canceled, right?” Song Nian grinned as she crouched before the director. Director Kun nodded. “Right, I almost forgot. There’s an issue with the venue we rented tonight. It won’t be ready until tomorrow.”
“I heard our crew still hasn’t had a team dinner yet. How boring! Let’s grab hot pot, then go sing karaoke?”
“Alright, you and Old Zhou can make the arrangements.”
Xia Xiqing had expected Zhou Ziheng to come over and talk to him, but instead, he just walked over and stood there, hands in his pockets, not even looking at him. Seeing Zhou Ziheng like this, Xia Xiqing remained silent too. He sat quietly on the stool, like a mollusk drained of all energy.
“Great! Then I’ll just make random plans.” Song Nian stood up and grabbed Zhou Ziheng’s arm. “What do you want to eat? I’ll search online for good places nearby, then find a KTV. How about it?” “
This time, Zhou Ziheng didn’t pull away. A smile touched his lips. “Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.” To Xia Xiqing, this willingness to be led felt like pure indulgence.
“I heard Xiqing is from around here,” Song Nian said, smiling down at Xia Xiqing. “Why don’t you take charge? I have no idea where the good places to eat are.”
Only then did Xia Xiqing lift his head, removing the lollipop from his mouth with a gentle smile. “I won’t be joining you. I’m a bit tired today and want to head back to the hotel early.”
“No way!” Song Nian grabbed Xia Xiqing and pulled him up forcefully. “The host can’t leave first! Anyone else can skip out tonight, but not you.” She turned to Zhou Ziheng for backup. “Right, Ziheng?”
Xia Xiqing glanced at Zhou Ziheng. Seeing him nodding in agreement without suggesting rest, he couldn’t help but lick the wrinkled inside of his cheek, still sticky from the candy. When Song Nian turned back, he curved his lips. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”
He had already given Zhou Ziheng his chance.
Finishing early, the six of them—the four leads plus the director and assistant director—headed to a locally renowned restaurant for crayfish. Though everyone was fully covered, Zhou Ziheng’s height made him stand out. The moment they entered, several young girls seated in the lobby recognized him.
“Hey, hey, isn’t that Zhou Ziheng?”
“Holy crap! Zhou Ziheng!?”
“Is Xia Xiqing here?”
“Seems like… wait, no, he’s at the back!”
Contrary to the self-study girls’ expectations, the pair weren’t inseparable—one sat at one end, the other at the other. Though disappointed, these casual fans who’d unexpectedly encountered celebrities still hurriedly snapped videos and posted them on Weibo. Soon, the clips were frantically reposted by the duo’s die-hard fans and the self-study girls themselves.
[Self-Study Girl Celebrates Every Day]: AAAAAAAA FEEDING TIME!!!
[I Love Self-Study]: AAAAA Zhou Ziheng’s profile is so A-level! Xi Qing’s bare face is so fair and gorgeous!
[If You Do Self-Study, We’re Friends]: My little ducks finally learned to avoid suspicion? Hahahaha.
[SweetieQ]: The guy next to Zhou Ziheng is Song Nian, who plays Yun Yi, right? They seem pretty close—they’ve been chatting since they walked in.
[Nian Nian Bu Wang]: Nian Nian looks gorgeous today too! Is this a cast gathering? The director’s here too.
[Lemon Spirit Here]: Suddenly get the CP vibes between Zhou Ziheng and the girl—their height difference is so cute.
Because of this chance encounter video, fans and bystanders started speculating about these people’s private relationships. Most fans were just saying polite things to control the comments, while some toxic haters who are used to fighting with CP fans seized on this video as proof, insisting the “self-study” was just for show and that the two have absolutely nothing going on.
Before long, the small-scale drama began to ferment, and the trending topic [Chance Encounter: Zhou Ziheng & Xia Xiqing] hit the hot search list. Of course, the individuals involved remained completely unaware of everything unfolding online. Zhou Ziheng had just sat down next to Director Kun when Song Nian took the empty seat to his right. Xia Xiqing and Yang Bo, who entered later, found seats along the empty row, landing diagonally across from Zhou Ziheng.
Yang Bo, a genuine Northeasterner, was less accustomed to eating crayfish. By the time he’d managed to peel one, Xia Xiqing had already devoured three. Seeing his struggle, Yang Bo nudged him with his shoulder. Wearing plastic gloves, he grabbed a crayfish and offered, “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He deftly twisted off the head, then pinched the tail between thumb and forefinger. The shell split open along the middle. With a quick pull on both sides, a perfectly intact piece of shrimp meat emerged.
“Got it?” Xia Xiqing turned his head, only to see Yang Bo still struggling. He tutted, tossed the shrimp into Yang Bo’s bowl, and muttered, “You’re so clumsy.”
Yang Bo chuckled softly, popping the peeled shrimp into his mouth. “Delicious.”
Xia Xiqing was both amused and exasperated, unaware that Zhou Ziheng had witnessed the entire scene. At the dinner table, Song Nian’s voice dominated the conversation. Moments ago, she’d been chatting with Director Kun about his hometown in Yunnan, but now she’d shifted gears to spill the beans on Zhou Ziheng.
“Director Kun, you wouldn’t believe it—the first time I met Ziheng, I was terrified of him. He already had this naturally gruff look, and he was playing a hot-tempered middle schooler.” Song Nian’s teeth gleamed in his smile. “I didn’t dare speak to him back then.”
“Then how did you two start talking?”
Song Nian, wearing a tank top, nudged Zhou Ziheng with her shoulder and leaned into him. “You tell it.”
Zhou Ziheng instinctively glanced at Xia Xiqing, then quickly looked away as if nothing had happened. He smiled. “You tell it.”
The assistant director sitting next to Director Kun sweated profusely from eating spicy shrimp. “Stop passing the buck! What’s with the drama? Just tell us already!”
Zhou Ziheng wasn’t deliberately playing hard to get—he genuinely couldn’t recall their first conversation. In fact, even their first collaboration remained hazy in his memory.
“I’d just finished a running scene and was drenched in sweat,” Song Nian began, mimicking Zhou Ziheng’s mature-beyond-his-years demeanor. “He walked over from a distance and said, ‘Your back’s wet. That strap thing is kinda noticeable. Put a jacket on.’” She burst into laughter. “You have no idea how awkward I felt—I am a girl, after all!”
Yang Bo, busy peeling shrimp, chimed in. “That’s exactly when you should’ve taken off your jacket and draped it over her. Classic idol drama move.” He even raised his eyebrows comically for effect.
Suddenly, Zhou Ziheng became the target of teasing at the table. Even Director Kun joked, “This Ziheng clearly hasn’t dated before—way too straightforward.”
The assistant director gasped, “Ziheng is single now? Even Ziheng is single?”
These questions made Zhou Ziheng feel a bit embarrassed. He instinctively shifted his gaze to the person diagonally across from him, but she wasn’t looking at him at all. She was focused on eating shrimp, quietly chatting with Yang Bo. The volume was subtly balanced—not too low for Zhou Ziheng to hear, yet not loud enough for him to make out their words.
“Hey, how about we rewrite the script for you two? Pair you up with Lingling instead, hahaha.” The assistant director immediately added, “Just kidding, just kidding. Rewriting it would make everything chaotic.”
Kun Cheng was easygoing. “The script can’t be changed. What kind of business is it for characters to fall in love on screen? You two can try it off-screen. You’re the right age for it.”
Zhou Ziheng instinctively opened his mouth to protest, but remembering Zhao Ke’s words, he forced himself to swallow his rebuttal. He assumed Song Nian would object too, but to his surprise, she casually picked up the thread: “I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot. The only question is whether Ziheng would even consider me.”
She tossed the hot potato right back at him. Zhou Ziheng had no idea how to handle this.
Just then, another person joined this “forced romance” drama.
“He does,” Xia Xiqing interjected, toning down much of his usual flippancy around Zhou Ziheng, leaving only a trace of gentleness—though still lazing in his tone. “Zhou Ziheng mentioned he once liked a girl in a white dress. Wear a white dress tomorrow, and who knows? This might just work out.”
He never imagined Xia Xiqing would joke about this, making him feel even more uneasy.
Zhou Ziheng naturally possessed a face radiating intense ferocity—high, prominent browbones and deep-set eyes that made his gaze piercingly profound. Xia Xiqing was accustomed to seeing this man greet him with smiles, knowing full well he possessed the gentlest temperament and nature in the world. It was rare to witness him looking so grim now, his eyes fixed on Xia Xiqing with a sharpness that carried the edge of a blade.
Xia Xiqing, however, remained unhurried. He lifted his wine glass, raised it across the table toward Zhou, and offered an apologetic smile. “I’ve already spilled the beans about your first love. Don’t blame me. Your big brother here is just looking out for your best interests.”
Seeing him like this, Zhou Ziheng felt something indescribable—like falling into a thorn bush. No matter how he dodged, he’d end up bloodied and bruised. Might as well end it once and for all. He didn’t want to keep playing this endless game anyway.
In the end, every game must decide a winner and a loser.
“How could that be?” Zhou Ziheng smiled back, the hostility in his eyes fading. “But that wasn’t my first love. It was just someone I liked for many years, one-sidedly. We never actually got together.”
“Oh?” Kun Cheng was also curious. “What kind of girl could make you pine for her all these years?”
“Actually, I only saw her once—back when I first started filming. If you asked me now, I wouldn’t even remember what she looked like. But I was terrified of the camera back then, and I kept crying. I ran out of the studio crying, and that’s when I met her. She comforted me and stayed with me the whole time.” Whenever he spoke of this, Zhou Ziheng’s expression would soften involuntarily.
This unconscious tenderness felt like a barbed hook piercing Xia Xiqing’s palm.
All that talk about not liking her anymore seemed like bullshit. What man could forget the white moonlight, the white rose in his heart?
What you can’t have is always the best.
Song Nian nodded. “So you kept acting all this time because of her?”
“At first, yes. I couldn’t find her, so I thought if I kept acting until everyone knew me, maybe one day she’d see me in a movie, on TV, or online, and remember me as that boy. Like how when people look up at night, the brightest star is the one they remember.”
Zhou Ziheng lowered his head to take another sip of tea. “But I gave up on that idea too. I realized acting is actually a form of expression for me—it holds a deeper meaning.”
After all that, Zhou Ziheng still hadn’t mentioned his change of heart. It wasn’t that confessing would ruin his image as a devoted lover, or that it was too embarrassing to say—he simply wanted to hold onto it, clinging to it for himself and for Xia Xiqing.
Song Nian sighed in admiration. “What a good man.” She’d had a few drinks, and a flush spread across her beautiful face. She draped her arm over Zhou Ziheng’s shoulder and leaned into him.
Zhou Ziheng didn’t push her away. He sensed Song Nian’s repeated advances—any fool could feel it, which was why the director spoke up for her.
The scent of her perfume made him dizzy, and Zhou Ziheng shifted his gaze to Xia Xiqing.
Xia Xiqing had clearly moved past the topic of first love. Clearing his throat a few times, he turned his head to speak to Yang Bo. “You haven’t eaten much. Let me peel it for you.” Yang Bo felt awkward. “No, no, no. You eat, you eat.”
“I’m full. My headache means I can’t eat much.” Xia Xiqing lowered his head, peeling shrimp with focused care. Two thick, long lashes fell over his eyes.
The voices of Song Nian and the directors filled his ears, yet Zhou Ziheng’s eyes were fixed solely on Xia Xiqing’s hands—those slender, knobby fingers that had once sketched him, now peeling shrimp affectionately for another man.
“Headache?” Yang Bo noticed Xia Xiqing had been sneezing earlier. He removed his gloves and pressed the back of his clean hand against Xia Xiqing’s forehead, then touched his own forehead for comparison. “You feel a bit warm. Maybe you have a low-grade fever from a cold?”
Xia Xiqing shook his head, pushing the bowl of shrimp meat toward Yang Bo. He removed his gloves and tossed them aside. “Eat up.”
Yang Bo grinned like a child. “Thanks~ You’re amazing.”
“Of course. I can even eat shrimp without peeling them—just pop them in my mouth and spit out the shells.”
Zhou Ziheng watched the two banter back and forth, grinding his molars until they nearly shattered.
He felt tonight was nothing but a trap he’d set for himself.
Xia Xiqing wouldn’t feel jealous. He simply didn’t care. The only one consumed by jealousy was himself.
The meal dragged on for two hours. When Song Nian started clamoring to go to KTV, Yang Bo piped up from behind, “Xiqing has a slight fever.” But his voice was weak and barely audible. No one heard him. Xia Xiqing gave his arm a tug. “It’s fine. Let’s just go to KTV and chill. Don’t spoil everyone’s fun.”
Truthfully, he’d had a bit too much to drink, compounded by a heavy cold. His mind was foggy, his head heavy and his legs weak. They booked a medium-sized private room, dimly lit inside. As soon as they entered, Zhou Ziheng asked the attendant to turn on more lights. Song Nian, who’d plopped down right next to him, teased, “What, afraid of the dark? Isn’t that huge screen bright enough?”
Zhou Ziheng said nothing, watching as Xia Xiqing followed Yang Bo inside and plopped down in the corner without any apparent discomfort. Song Nian was the life of the party. After warming up the crowd with several upbeat songs, he started pulling others into the mix. Director Kun and the assistant director each sang two songs, and even Yang Bo, who claimed he wasn’t much of a singer, belted out “Single Love Song.”
“Hey, Ziheng, sing one too!” Song Nian nudged his arm, practically pressing herself against him. Zhou Ziheng shifted slightly without showing emotion. “I can’t sing. I’m tone-deaf by nature.”
“Always the same, no fun.” Song Nian craned her neck toward the other side. “Xiqing? You sing one.”
“I’m not much of a singer either.” Xia Xiqing’s voice was slightly hoarse as he spoke. “You guys go ahead.”
But Song Nian was the persistent type. She immediately burrowed up close to Xia Xiqing, coaxing and pleading until he finally relented. She handed him her phone to pick a song. Xia Xiqing felt his face burning hotter than before, his eyes stinging. He swiped through the screen a few times and selected a song at random.
“You said you couldn’t sing, yet here you are singing Faye Wong’s songs,” Song Nian remarked as she moved away from him and returned to Zhou Ziheng’s side, leaving the microphone with Xia Xiqing.
Xia Xiqing felt dizzy and lightheaded. To make matters worse, the song had a hypnotic, dreamlike melody that made him feel as if he were drugged, his mind foggy and unfocused.
It was a Cantonese song, and the original key wasn’t low for a guy. Xia Xiqing only lowered it one key, but the moment he opened his mouth, everyone gasped.
Yang Bo slapped Xia Xiqing’s shoulder. “Holy crap, and you call that not knowing how to sing?!”
Xia Xiqing leaned back on the sofa, eyes fixed on the screen. The kaleidoscopic colors refracted like colored glass across his excessively handsome face. The elegant curve of his slender neck exuded a fragile, exquisite beauty.
Perhaps due to a cold, his voice carried a thick nasal resonance, lending the Cantonese song a peculiar, subtle charm.
“Don’t worship the beauty seeping from sweat glands, don’t pray until you learn how to love the devil.
Memories are for the next life, never swear to others.”
The bass and drums seemed deliberately chasing his heartbeat, each beat hammering heavily against his chest.
The lyrics felt so raw that Zhou Ziheng couldn’t bear to listen from the very first line. Yet Xia Xiqing sang with such finality, such composure—even a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth—as if he stood detached, high above it all.
“Remember this with anyone:
Don’t let him spoil you, don’t lean on him.
Let him sell your feelings if you fancy Judas.
Don’t elevate yourself when confessing love, don’t worship too blatantly.
One word to remember.”
He repeated these lines over and over, his voice husky and mesmerizing, the arrangement seductive yet tinged with metallic coldness. Everyone was immersed in the music, except Zhou Ziheng, whose eyes were fixed on the lyrics displayed on the screen.
Each line stabbed straight into his heart.
Xia Xiqing sang with effortless grace, as if advising lovesick souls from experience. Yet he himself didn’t know for whom these words were meant.
For himself, perhaps.
To sober up.
“For this, for that, we talk of love for the sake of enjoyment,
For you, for me, why endure it for him?”
As the song ended, Xia Xiqing turned off the microphone and placed it on the coffee table. Everyone cheered, especially Kuncheng. “Xiqing, you sang that really well. Why not just sing the theme song too?”
“KTV level. I’d make a fool of myself in a recording studio.” Xia Xiqing chuckled, his temples throbbing. He lazily crossed his legs, propped his chin on his palm, and glanced at Zhou Ziheng. Through the heavy darkness and hazy lights, he curved his lips at him.
“Did you like it?”
I sang it just for you.
Seeing him not respond, not even glance at him, Xia Xiqing felt a surge of satisfaction, like a murderer who’d executed a perfect crime. He stood up. “I’m heading to the restroom. Had a bit too much to drink. You guys carry on.” His legs felt unsteady as he made his way out, leaning against the wall for support.
This KTV belonged to a high-end entertainment venue, expensive and thus sparsely populated. The restroom was large and brightly lit, but empty. Xia Xiqing felt feverish all over. Splashing cold water on his face brought some relief.
His reflection in the mirror looked disheveled. Xia Xiqing grabbed a paper towel and carefully wiped the droplets from his face. After crumpling the towel and tossing it into the trash, he reached the restroom door only to be shoved inside with brute force. He staggered a few steps, nearly falling, Fortunately, the wall was behind him, and his back pressed against the dryer, though it felt uncomfortably hard.
Yet Xia Xiqing quickly put on a confident smile. He knew there was only one person who would do something like this at this moment.
“Why so angry?” Xia Xiqing’s eyes sparkled with teasing. “This doesn’t seem like you.”
Zhou Ziheng’s thin lips pressed into a cold, hard line. They say people with such mouths are often cold-hearted and unfeeling. Apparently, facial features aren’t always reliable indicators—at least not for the two of them.
“What exactly do you mean?”
Xia Xiqing had intended to maintain composure, but Zhou Ziheng’s clearly anger-laced words provoked a bitter laugh. “What do I mean? Are you suggesting I started this? What game are you playing? Do you think I can’t see through it?”
He had no idea who had bewitched Zhou Ziheng into playing along so enthusiastically with Song Nian—who clearly fancied him—putting on this elaborate show just for his benefit. What did Zhou expect to see? Him flipping out over Zhou Ziheng? Feeling pitiable and sorrowful for him? Absolutely insane.
Zhou Ziheng overlooked the most crucial point: his opponent was the battle-hardened Xia Xiqing. Beyond sincerity, no strategy, no trick, held any chance of victory.
Xia Xiqing took two steps closer, slowly drawing near Zhou Ziheng. His palm pressed against Zhou Ziheng’s chest, the gesture dripping with innuendo.
Yet the next instant, that slender, long-fingered hand clamped down on Zhou Ziheng’s clothes. The eyes gazing at him narrowed slightly, like a leopard’s, radiating a dangerous signal.
“Zhou Ziheng, with your level of skill, you think you’re worthy of playing games with me?” His upturned lips brimmed with contempt, the pale skin beneath his ears flushing with an unhealthy crimson.
“Have you forgotten who I am, hmm?”
Author’s Note:
This thin veil of pretense had to be torn away eventually.
Highly recommend listening to Faye Wong’s “Love’s Command” while reading! It’s cool, trippy, and has incredible visuals—my absolute favorite song on my playlist.
P.S.: Judas was one of Jesus’ twelve disciples. He betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, leading to Jesus’ crucifixion. Judas symbolizes betrayal.
The Xia family’s special skill: They can sing~
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