A month and a half flew by in the blink of an eye. The entire crew raced against the clock, finally managing to wrap up the final scenes by mid-August. A heavy downpour earlier had thrown the entire schedule into disarray. The crew first filmed the later scenes where Gao Kun fell gravely ill, for which Zhou Ziheng had emaciated himself to a sickly 120 jin. As wrap-up approached, they had to backtrack and reshoot earlier scenes. Beyond filming daily, Zhou Ziheng was now desperately bulking up and working out.
Xiao Luo pulled steak and boiled eggs from his lunchbox. “Ziheng’s body is practically turning into a balloon.”
Zhou Ziheng felt nauseous at the sight, but he had to push through for the shoot. “Forget it. At least working out now gives me motivation. If I wait until wrap, it’ll be too late—I won’t be able to shoot commercials or anything.”
“You’re good at comforting yourself.” Xia Xiqing plopped down beside Zhou Ziheng with his luxurious boxed meal, happily tucking into his sweet and sour spare ribs and Kung Pao chicken right in front of him.
“Could you please stay away from me while eating?” Zhou Ziheng felt utterly defeated by the aroma wafting from Xia Xiqing’s lunch.
In truth, to portray Jiang Tong, Xia Xiqing had been eating low-fat boxed meals for months. Only as filming neared completion did he get slightly better food. He picked up a piece of sweet and sour pork ribs with his chopsticks and held it to Zhou Ziheng’s mouth. “Sneak a bite. It’s fine.”
“Who said it’s fine?” A commanding female voice boomed from behind. Zhou Ziheng immediately shifted to sit across from him.
Xia Xiqing also put down his chopsticks, popping the meat into his mouth. He ate with a carefree grin. “Sis Jiang Yin, you’re being way too strict. He’s your own little brother-in-law, after all.”
Jiang Yin sat down beside them. “He’s done this before.” She shot Xia Xiqing a glare. “He wouldn’t have pushed it this far if you hadn’t provoked him.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll give him a hard time.” Seeing Zhou Ziheng nodding repeatedly behind Jiang Yin, Xia Xiqing conceded. “But I wrap today. Can’t mess with him anymore.”
No sooner had he spoken than Zhou Ziheng shot him a frown, clearly displeased.
Xiao Xiao poured Jiang Yin a cup of tea. Jiang Yin took it with a thank you, then turned to Xia Xiqing. “Speaking of wrapping up, shouldn’t the crew celebrate for you tonight? It is your first time acting, after all.”
“Forget it.” Xia Xiqing recalled Xihui contacting him the day before yesterday about his grandfather’s serious illness. After wrapping up filming, he’d have to return to the Xi family to handle the estate settlement.
Though Xia Xiqing had no personal interest in the old master Xi’s inheritance, as Xihui had said, he couldn’t let what rightfully belonged to his mother fall into someone else’s hands.
“I have some business in Beijing. I need to head back after wrapping up Qing.”
Zhou Ziheng was so engrossed in watching Xia Xiqing that he forgot to eat. Jiang Yin nudged him with the tip of her high heel, snapping him back to reality. “Alright then. I need to rush back tonight anyway. I’ll have my assistant buy an extra ticket. We can go together.”
Xia Xiqing’s final scene was shot on a corridor bench outside the hospital ward—also the last scene the crew filmed at the rented hospital location. Dressed in his part-time waiter uniform, he sat beside Guo Yang in a suit. After running through their lines one last time, the camera pushed forward, focusing on Xia Xiqing’s face.
“Take 1 of Scene 121, Take 1 of ‘The Stalker’. Action!”
“Have some coffee.” Cheng Qiming handed the paper cup to Jiang Tong and sat down beside him. “Just finished your shift?”
Jiang Tong nodded, taking a small sip of coffee. Its bitterness still made him grimace.
Cheng Qiming noticed a stainless steel thermos by his feet and asked with concern, “For him?”
“I… bought it…” Jiang Tong hadn’t been doing well lately either. His vocal cords, strained from prolonged abnormal vocalization, were hoarse and raspy. Cheng Qiming felt a pang of pity seeing him like this. “Have something warm.”
Ever since Gao Kun was admitted to the ICU, Jiang Tong had quit his convenience store job. Every night, he stayed by Gao Kun’s hospital bedside. On the rare occasions when Gao Kun was lucid, Jiang Tong could tend to him and keep him company for a while.
Cheng Qiming noticed the dark circles under Jiang Tong’s eyes. He turned away, retrieved a folder from his briefcase, and handed it over. “Take a look. This is what I mentioned last time.”
Jiang Tong set his coffee on the floor, took the folder, and opened it. Inside were materials about adult education. He glanced through them briefly before handing the folder back to Cheng Qiming without a word, only lowering his head and pressing his lips together.
“You haven’t looked closely,” Cheng Qiming sighed. “You love painting, don’t you? Once Gao Kun recovers—” The words felt wrong as soon as they left his mouth, and he amended himself. “I mean, once his condition stabilizes, you can start painting classes. I’ve researched these schools. You can apply for scholarships, and I’ll help you. Don’t worry too much about money. And…“ His voice softened. ”Don’t misunderstand. I genuinely feel you resemble my brother. I carry guilt toward him, and seeing you stirs my heart. That’s all.”
Jiang Tong listened, then hastily scribbled a note on a sticky-note and handed it to Cheng Qiming.
[Helping him is helping me. I’m deeply grateful.]
Cheng Qiming felt a surge of irritation. He’d been discussing his own future prospects with Jiang Tong, yet the young man wouldn’t listen. “I’ve already said I’ll help him. But you must understand—this isn’t an ordinary illness. Gao Kun’s condition is practically the worst-case scenario now. Some things money simply can’t fix.”
His tone grew impatient, and he forgot to consider Jiang Tong’s feelings. The words were out before he could take them back, and he immediately regretted them.
Jiang Tong nodded twice, then buried her face in her hands. She curled up, hunched over, looking like a frail little shrimp.
“You… what are you doing? I know you’re friends,” Cheng Qiming searched for the right words, “but you have to think about yourself too.”
After a long while, Jiang Tong lifted her head, her reddened eyes brimming with tears she was holding back.
He rubbed his nose, pulled out a sticky note, and wrote a sentence. His shoulders trembled, his handwriting crooked and uneven, no matter how hard he tried. After holding back for so long, a single tear finally fell, landing on the note.
[He said that after meeting me, he no longer wanted to die. I feel the same way.]
Cheng Qiming took the paper, studied it carefully for a long time, and finally could only nod.
“Alright. We’ll discuss this further once he’s stabilized.” Tucking the sticky note into his suit pocket, Cheng Qiming stood up. “I’ll take my leave now. I’ll have someone send some fruit and nourishing supplements tomorrow.”
Jiang Tong hurriedly stood up and bowed deeply to Cheng Qiming. Only after he had walked away for quite some time did Jiang Tong straighten up. Having worked all morning without eating, his head felt dizzy. He quickly leaned against the wall and sat down, pulling a lollipop from his pocket.
Back when he’d forced Gao Kun to quit smoking, Gao Kun would buy those one-yuan lollipops to suck on instead. Occasionally, he’d even buy some for him too.
Jiang Tong lowered his head, his mind filled with memories of Gao Kun when he was still healthy—full of life, fixing his bicycle, following behind him to see him off to night shifts. Slowly, he peeled back the wrapper and popped the crystal-clear candy ball into his mouth.
Somehow, the tears wouldn’t stop. Jiang Tong glanced at the nurses in the hallway corridor, then raised his hand to quietly wipe them away. But barely had he done so when more tears welled up. He wiped them again with his palm, yet couldn’t control the flow. Mimicking Gao Kun’s manner, he cracked the candy ball into pieces with a crunch. so sweet it tasted bitter.
With his mouth full of sugar crumbs, Jiang Tong sat alone on the bench, crying so hard he couldn’t lift his head.
The camera slowly pulled back, encompassing the entire hospital corridor in one long shot—a tiny world filled with both joy and sorrow.
“That’s a wrap!”
After five or six takes of this crying scene, the final one was so perfect the director spontaneously switched to a long shot.
“Cut! That’s a wrap. Jiang Tong, you did great.” Kuncheng walked over from the monitor, patting Xia Xiqing’s shoulder. “Xiqing, you worked hard. We’re finally done filming.”
Many female crew members on set were moved by Xia Xiqing’s emotional performance, one after another offering him tissues.
“Xiqing is so pitiful. He made me want to cry too.”
“Exactly. I’m too scared to watch the final cut. This is the most heart-wrenching shoot I’ve ever worked on.”
Crying so hard he was gasping for breath, Xia Xiqing took a deep breath. Turning his head, he spotted Zhou Ziheng and startled. Zhou held a large bouquet of red roses, smiling as he approached.
The sight instantly transported him back to the day they’d shot that magazine spread together.
Xia Xiqing froze. “Where did you get these…”
“Congratulations on wrapping up filming.” Zhou Ziheng smiled gently, offering the bouquet. Holding such a large arrangement made Xia Xiqing blush with embarrassment. He immediately handed it to Xiaoxiao beside him, only for the guy to wrap his arms around him. It was wrap day after all—to outsiders, this seemed perfectly normal, especially since the entire crew knew how close they were.
Using the momentum of the hug, Zhou Ziheng leaned close to his ear and whispered.
“Xiqing, your tears broke my heart.”
Here we go again. “You…”
“I want to kiss your eyes.”
Xia Xiqing was utterly helpless, wiping his tears onto Zhou Ziheng’s shoulder.
Besides Zhou Ziheng, several other main cast members from the same group came forward to hug him one by one. Everyone knew Xia Xiqing still had matters to attend to, and the production schedule was tight, so the wrap party had to be canceled. Xia Xiqing paid out of his own pocket, ordering takeout for the entire crew from the most famous local restaurant and buying a large cake before finally leaving.
After the plane landed in Beijing, Xia Xiqing slept soundly. The first thing he did upon waking was give himself a thorough grooming. When not with Zhou Ziheng, Xia Xiqing paid meticulous attention to his appearance. After all, as an art student navigating gay social circles, looks and physique were paramount.
His hair was styled so it finally looked less peculiar—the front was blown up, revealing a small beauty spot on his forehead. Off-center and tilted to the left, it suited Xia Xiqing’s unconventional nature.
Xihui drove to pick him up. Xia Xiqing exchanged a few pleasantries during the ride but said little else. Xihui had remained a lifelong bachelor, never marrying or having children. He had zero interest in art, focusing solely on business. This had long since caused a rift with Old Master Xi. The youngest son was unfilial, and the daughter had passed away early from bipolar disorder. Collateral relatives eyed the couple’s lifetime collection greedily, waiting only for the day they passed to immediately divide it up.
Upon arriving at the Xi residence, Xia Xiqing followed Xi Hui upstairs. Outside the elderly Mr. Xi’s room, several young children stood gathered—likely the offspring of those relatives. Xia Xiqing rarely visited the Xi family; his last visit had been before studying abroad. Few relatives knew him, let alone these children.
Yet he was now a trending figure online. Every child recognized him. They stared at Xia Xiqing in surprise before whispering among themselves.
Xia Xiqing kept his head slightly bowed, adjusting the buttons on his shirt cuffs. He pretended not to hear anything. When the doctor emerged from the room, he walked straight inside.
The elderly Mr. Xi’s bed had become a family hospital ward. His aged face was etched with deep furrows, yet his attire remained impeccable. Even bedridden, with a ventilator mask covering his face, he retained the last vestiges of an old artist’s dignity amidst his disheveled state.
Beside him stood a man in his forties, dressed expensively. He shot Xia Xiqing a sidelong glance and said curtly, “Who’s this intruder now? Butler, show him out.”
Xia Xiqing smiled faintly and turned to look at Xi Hui. Before he could speak, Xi Hui interjected, “This is Dad’s cousin’s son.”
“Cousin?” Xia Xiqing’s gaze drifted over, his tone leisurely. “I thought I’d gained another uncle.”
The remark clearly stung the man, his eyes darting between Xia Xiqing and Xi Hui. Xia Xiqing couldn’t be bothered to give him any face. He pulled a chair over to the window, sat down leisurely, and made herself at home.
The elderly man, bedridden with illness, seemed to hear the commotion. He opened his eyes and saw Xia Xiqing’s face. For a moment, he mistook him for his own daughter.
“Xin’er… Xin’er has come back?” ”
Hearing his grandfather call his mother by her childhood nickname, Xia Xiqing felt a pang of sorrow and reached out to grasp his grandfather’s hand.
Xi Hui watched from the side, then turned to look at his oblivious cousin. “Cousin, if you’re free, go downstairs and have some tea. You’ve been keeping vigil all these days. It must be exhausting.”
“You! You’re all here to scheme for the Xi family’s fortune!”
“Scheme?” Xia Xiqing looked up. “I’m Grandfather’s own grandson.” He turned to look at Xi Hui. “This is Grandfather’s only son. And who might you be?”
Caught off guard by Xia Xiqing’s retort, the man’s face flushed red then drained pale. He stood speechless for a long moment.
Xi Hui called for help, and men arrived to escort these unwelcome, resentful relatives out.
The elderly Mr. Xi’s lawyer had also arrived at the house. While he was still lucid, they inventoried all the art collections, liquid assets, and real estate holdings.
Xia Xiqing understood Xi Hui’s intentions perfectly. “I only want the art collection and the museum. The rest of the funds and real estate are yours.” Seeing his directness, Xi Hui made no further pretense. Until the day Old Master Xi passed away, Xia Xiqing remained by his bedside. He had never spent so much time with an elder before, and never imagined his only opportunity would unfold in such a scene.
On the day the old master passed, he asked Xia Xiqing to push his wheelchair to a room. Inside stood a plaster sculpture: a woman of exquisite beauty cradling a lovely infant.
“This… I made it… when you were born…“ Grandfather coughed several times, gasping for breath as he struggled to continue, ”I should have given it to you long ago…”
Xia Xiqing felt a pang in his nose as his fingers touched the sculpture.
In these brief ten days, he seemed to experience the warmth of family for the first time.
Even if it had come far too late.
After settling all affairs, Xia Xiqing temporarily stored the collection in the Xi family vault, planning to decide its fate once the art gallery opened. On the day of the funeral, as the grandson-in-law, Xia Xiqing stood at the front alongside Xi Hui to carry the coffin for Old Master Xi. Xia Yunkai also made an appearance, but Xia Xiqing ignored him completely, not exchanging a single word.
After returning home, Xia Xiqing holed up in his apartment for days, sketching away. While napping face-down on his studio desk, the sound of WeChat notifications roused him—a message from Zhou Ziheng.
［Moral Compass］: I’ve landed. Where are you?
Xia Xiqing rubbed his eyes. His hands were still numb from sleep, making typing too tedious. He grabbed his phone and sent a voice message instead.
“I’m at home.”
On the other end, Zhou Ziheng had finally made it through the chaotic airport arrivals area and into a car. Only then did he put on his headphones and play the voice message. Xia Xiqing’s voice sounded softer than usual, thick and sleepy like he’d just woken up. It made Zhou Ziheng’s heart melt. He listened to those four words over and over, unable to suppress the smile tugging at his lips.
“Why’s Ziheng so happy?” the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and asked Xiao Luo.
Xiao Luo gave him a knowing look and replied, “Who knows?”
“Where to, Ziheng? Back to the office?”
“Home. To my apartment.”
Late August. Beijing’s summer heat hadn’t fully dissipated, though it wasn’t the oppressive humidity of the south. Having just returned from Wuhan, Zhou Ziheng found himself somewhat unaccustomed to it.
Stepping out of the apartment elevator, Zhou Ziheng headed straight for Xia Xiqing’s door. After ringing the bell repeatedly with no response, he leaned against the wall to send a message before unlocking his own door with his fingerprint.
“Where’d you go…” Zhou Ziheng muttered to himself as he changed his shoes, then walked over to the living room sofa and flopped down.
The room was quiet. Zhou Ziheng sent Xia Xiqing several messages in a row. Hearing the WeChat notification sound, he stood up and searched around, only to find Xia Xiqing’s phone lying on the sofa.
“Where is he?” Zhou Ziheng stood up, calling his name as he went upstairs to look. All the rooms were empty, so he returned to the living room.
“How old are you, playing hide-and-seek?” Zhou Ziheng cautiously approached the floor-to-ceiling window and pulled back the curtains. “Not here…” He took a few steps back, leaning against the pool edge, facing the window. “Come out already. I know you’re here…”
Before he could finish, a wet hand grabbed Zhou Ziheng’s ankle and yanked him downward. Losing his balance, Zhou Ziheng fell backward into the pool.
Xia Xiqing surfaced, wiping water from his face and sweeping his hair back. His palm pressed against Zhou Ziheng’s chest, shoving the dazed man to the pool’s edge before firmly, slyly pinning his shoulders.
Zhou Ziheng watched Xia Xiqing emerge from the water, his upper body bare. The pale, lean skin seemed draped in silk, glistening with droplets. The soft golden sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, coating Xia Xiqing’s sleek shoulders and back inch by inch. Water dripped from his entire body, his skin so thin it seemed almost transparent. Backlit, he was breathtakingly beautiful, needing only a dazzling fishtail to complete the image.
“I nearly died waiting for you,” Xia Xiqing murmured, his hand brushing Zhou Ziheng’s cheek. Their intense gazes locked for a moment before Xia pressed intimately against Zhou’s chest. His lips hovered just short of contact, maintaining a tantalizing distance. His faint, breathy whispers threatened to steal Zhou Ziheng’s very soul. “Give me mouth-to-mouth, quick.”
Zhou Ziheng stretched lazily, then pulled Xia Xiqing into a tight embrace, flipping him over. The situation instantly reversed. Zhou Ziheng pinned Xia Xiqing’s hands against the marble pool deck, leaning in to kiss him.
The moment their soft, wet tongues touched, it was like lightning striking earth—a fire that could sweep across the plains in an instant.
After the kiss ended, Zhou Ziheng pinched Xia Xiqing’s chin and kissed his nose. “Who let you come swimming?”
A pair of pale, long legs dangled in the water, wrapping around Zhou Ziheng’s calf. Xia Xiqing laughed as he wrapped his arms around Zhou Ziheng’s neck, tilting his head.
“Who said I came in to swim?”
Zhou Ziheng let him hold on, then said, “I heard your voice message. I thought you were asleep?”
Xia Xiqing brushed his nose against Zhou Ziheng’s chin, his voice even more velvety than in the voice message, making Zhou Ziheng’s ears tingle.
“I’m actually quite sleepy right now.”
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