After wrapping up filming, Zhou Ziheng dyed his hair black again. With the shooting schedule concluded, he returned to his villa in Xishan to spend a few days with his parents before heading back to P University for the September semester.
Zhao Ke was thrilled to see Zhou Ziheng back on campus, thinking he must be seeing things.
“Hey, you cut your hair short? You look sharp.” He nudged Zhou Ziheng’s shoulder, winking and raising his eyebrows. “What do you think?”
Zhou Ziheng pulled his laptop from his bag and powered it on, adjusting his glasses. Without even glancing at Zhao Ke, he snapped, “You’re the one who started this. You should be thankful I didn’t punch you.”
“Why would you punch me!?” Zhao Ke grabbed Zhou Ziheng’s shoulders. “You… you two broke up? Damn it, no way! I finally got a ship going! You can’t let it fall apart!”
Zhou Ziheng brushed his hands off, turned his head, and gave him a friendly smile. “Thanks to you, it almost did.”
“No way!” Zhao Ke was about to protest when the professor walked in. He wisely kept his mouth shut, instead firing off a long string of messages on WeChat, asking every last detail. Zhou Ziheng pretended not to receive them, focusing intently on the lecture.
After a full morning of lectures, Zhao Ke felt like his bones were falling apart. He dragged Zhou Ziheng to the cafeteria for lunch. It had been ages since they’d been there, and the girls at P University thought they were seeing things. They swarmed around Zhou Ziheng, leaning on him. Soon, the hashtag [Zhou Ziheng Returns to P University for Classes] shot to the top of the trending list. The trending topic annoyed him. Zhou Ziheng sent a WeChat to his sister-in-law, asking her to remove it.
“Going back to the dorm tonight?” Zhao Ke handed Zhou Ziheng a coffee bought from the machine on the lecture hall floor. He took it, sipped, and pulled his cap brim low. “Nope. I’m heading back to the apartment today.” “
“Oh? Someone might think you’re hiding someone in your apartment,” Zhao Ke said, just making it up. To his surprise, Zhou Ziheng sipped his coffee calmly without refuting it. Only then did Zhao Ke realize, “Holy crap? You really are hiding someone?”
Zhou Ziheng cleared his throat, handed the empty cup to Zhao Ke, and called Xiao Luo to pick him up.
[Zhao Ke: Zhou Ziheng and his roommate are living together!]
Since wrapping up filming, aside from previously booked commercials and returning to Escape from Heaven, Zhou Ziheng hadn’t taken on any other projects. His days revolved around commuting between school and home, and two months flew by in the blink of an eye.
The weather gradually turned colder. Beijing’s autumn felt unusually long, creating the illusion that winter was approaching, yet it always seemed to fall just short of that final breath, never quite arriving.
After tossing and turning late into the night, Xia Xiqing was severely sleep-deprived. In the early morning, still half-asleep, he felt the arms wrapped around him release. half-asleep, he felt Zhou Ziheng cup his face and kiss him several times. Finding it clingy, he raised his hand to shield his face with the back of his hand. In a daze, he sensed Zhou Ziheng sit up, so Xia Xiqing stretched his arm to wrap around his waist again, his voice still slightly hoarse when he spoke.
“Where are you going so early in the morning…”
“I have class this morning—Solid State Physics. Zhao Ke said the professor takes attendance.” Hearing Xia Xiqing’s drowsy question, Zhou Ziheng felt a warm glow in his heart. But with class looming, he had no choice but to grab the shirt from the bedside table and pull it on, buttoning each one carefully. When he reached the last button, he took Xia Xiqing’s hand and kissed it. “Good boy, sleep a little longer.”
Xia Xiqing released his arms and rolled over. Hearing Zhou Ziheng put on his sweater and jacket, he covered his face with his hand. “God… I can’t believe I’m dating a college student… one who even takes attendance in the morning.”
Seeing his bare arms exposed, Zhou Ziheng feared he might catch a chill. He tucked the quilt tightly around him, then leaned down to plant two kisses on Xia Xiqing’s cheek. “Isn’t a college student great? Isn’t dating younger guys all the rage lately? He studies hard at school, then comes home to cook for you and warm your bed. Where else would you find such a great college guy?“ Zhou Ziheng shamelessly nibbled his ear. ”Plus, he’s not bad looking either.”
“You should read less fanfiction, big star.” Xia Xiqing rolled over, hugging a big pile of blankets and closing his eyes.
The quilt carried Zhou Ziheng’s crisp, clean scent, like autumn clouds rolling in the wind, gently enveloping this rootless fallen leaf.
“Oh, right. My sister-in-law mentioned yesterday that for movie promotion, we might need to appear on some variety shows. She asked if you’d be willing.”
Xia Xiqing, his eyes still closed, was on the verge of falling asleep. Half-drowsy, he murmured, “Sure…” It tickled Zhou Ziheng’s heart like a cat’s meow, compelling him to walk back to the bedside. He lowered his head, kissing Xia Xiqing’s cheek gently. Half-asleep was Xia Xiqing’s softest, most vulnerable state. With each kiss, Zhou could hear Xia Xiqing’s soft humming—a sticky sound from his nasal passages, like resistance yet also like a playful scolding.
Zhou Ziheng found it difficult to resist indulging in his rare docility.
An absolute, intense possessiveness would always, in the cool dawn hours, transform itself into a pool of autumn waves, submerging his lover’s soft, compliant body.
When he woke again, he had no idea what time it was. Xia Xiqing reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, got up to wash and tidy himself, ate a few of the snacks Zhou Ziheng had bought, then slipped into his studio. Since returning from filming, the two had been alternating sleeping arrangements daily—sometimes at Xia Xiqing’s place, sometimes at Zhou Ziheng’s. Most often, however, Xia Xiqing insisted on using his home’s swimming pool for hot spring soaks.
But Zhou Ziheng had never set foot in this studio. Whenever Zhou Ziheng returned, Xia Xiqing would put his work aside to accompany him, and Zhou Ziheng had never once inquired about Xia Xiqing’s artistic creations.
Wearing a durable brown denim jacket and donning welding goggles, Xia Xiqing began assembling the framework for his small clay model and wireframe. He hadn’t worked on plaster sculptures like this in ages. Back at the Academy of Fine Arts, he often assisted his mentor with such pieces, but this unborn creation was his first proper independent sculptural work.
To make space for sculpting, he’d packed away all the paintings in his studio last month. This room was actually the largest in the apartment besides the living room, yet it was now crammed with rebar and sculpting clay. Sparks from welding the rebar flashed brilliantly against Xia Xiqing’s goggles.
The main frame was just welded together when Xia Xiqing was already exhausted, sitting on the steel materials leaning against the wall to rest. Back in art school, sculptors often hired white models to pose as reference for the framework—height, physique, posture—to ensure accuracy.
This time, however, Xia Xiqing could only rely on his own heart.
A message popped up on his phone. Xia Xiqing set down the water he was drinking and picked up his phone.
[Jiang Yin: The promotional campaign for “The Stalker” is about to start. I’ll need your cooperation again.]
Her tone sounded like a police officer’s, making Xia Xiqing chuckle. He replied with an “okay” emoji, then logged into Weibo during his break. It had been ages since his last visit. Xia Xiqing’s Weibo comments were so numerous the page froze, forcing him to wait a while before it loaded properly.
Habitually, he clicked into the comments section first. The screen was flooded with [Brother Xiqing, we miss you! Give us a selfie!] messages like red hearts bursting through the screen, splattering straight onto Xia Xiqing’s face.
Might as well post a selfie.
Xia Xiqing opened the front camera, noticing he was still wearing his protective goggles. He glanced left and right, deciding the glasses actually looked pretty good, and pressed the shutter.
And just like that, Xia Xiqing uploaded his hastily taken selfie with welding goggles to Weibo, offering a small consolation.
Before long, this half-hearted selfie was being frantically reposted by fans.
[My Beloved Little Artist: Aaaaaaah, fresh Xiqing Brother!]
[Talented Xia Xiqing: Xiqing Brother’s sunglasses are so cool! That anti-counterfeit mole is super cute!]
[Self-Study Girl: These glasses look so high-tech, like a scientist~~ BTW, was this an impromptu shot? Such a fresh selfie.]
They spotted it? Xia Xiqing couldn’t figure it out. This wasn’t a self-study girl—she was clearly a microscope girl.
[New Year’s Self-Study Time: Ahhh it’s true! There’s a clock behind Xiqing—it really was posted right after the shoot!]
Oh, I see. Xia Xiqing glanced back at his workbench. Thank goodness, thank goodness—nothing unspeakable in sight.
She refreshed the homepage again, just in time to see Zhou Ziheng reposting the official Weibo for Stalker. Clicking through, she found promotional materials: two stills from the film shoot.
The first showed Gao Kun’s faintly hallucinatory profile shrouded in swirling smoke. Grayish-white wisps flowed freely, while beyond the tunnel, verdant distant mountains stood out. His deep red short hair blended vividly with the colors, yet the composition and angle conveyed a subtle sense of desolation.
The second image captured a dark alley at midnight, a pale moon hanging high overhead. It cast a wan, grayish light over the crisscrossing illegal wires and the chaotic, sprawling buildings. The deeper one looked, the darker it became. Two figures walked one behind the other. Jiang Tong, the one in front, wore a trace of panic and fear on his face. The face of the person behind had already been swallowed by darkness, though the tattoo on his arm was faintly visible. That vibrant red hair became a blaze of fire in the darkness.
Neither image fully revealed the complete looks of the male leads, their faces blurred beyond recognition. Yet the uniquely bleak, gritty style stood out. Fueled by the pent-up enthusiasm of the CP’s dedicated fanbase, it didn’t take long for this promotional material to rack up over 100,000 shares and 30,000 comments.
As the undisputed lead actor, Zhou Ziheng shared it with just one line.
[@Zhou Ziheng: I dye my hair, smoke, drink, and have tattoos, but I know I’m a good boy.]
Pfft, who wrote this copy?
The next second, Xia Qing thought, this must be Zhou Ziheng’s own words. But by saying this, isn’t he afraid of shattering his image as the entertainment industry’s top Alpha?
He followed suit and reposted a line that seemed playful but was actually flirtatious.
[@Tsing_Summer: Why would a good boy stalk someone? //@ZhouZiheng: I dye my hair, smoke, drink, and have tattoos, but I know I’m a good boy.]
Soon their retweets were pushed to the top trending list by fans. Seeing the pair interact after so long, the Self-Study Girls were overjoyed, celebrating like it was New Year’s.
[Self-Study Girls Go! Go!: Sisters, they’re feeding us candy!!! Come gush with us!]
[You Study, We’re Friends: What else could it be? Because he likes you!]
The moment this comment appeared, it shot to the top of the trending list, flooded with identical replies below.
Because he likes you.
For reasons he couldn’t quite pinpoint, Xia Xiqing’s lips curved upward, his mood soaring. Even the unfinished steel frame she was working on suddenly looked appealing—before the plaster was applied, she felt certain it wouldn’t fail.
Being in love truly gives you that illusion that the whole world is beautiful, especially when you’re sneaking around. Hormones surging, dopamine running wild.
Many of the main cast members gradually reposted the official Weibo for Stalker. Even Yang Bo, who had limited screen time, reposted it. But Xia Xiqing noticed Song Nian wasn’t among them. They’d exchanged Weibo follows during filming. Xia Xiqing clicked through his follow list and saw Song Nian had just posted a selfie.
[@Actor Song Nian: Believe that effort brings reward. Be grateful every day. ❤️ ❤️]
Below is a photo of her sleeping on a lounge chair from another production crew, with a script covered in notes resting on her body.
None of this was unusual—just some inspirational fluff to reinforce her image as a dedicated professional. But Xia Xiqing couldn’t shake the feeling something was off. Everyone else had joined the promotional push for the new film, likely at the studio’s request. Yet Song Nian alone hadn’t reposted anything. Worse, she’d posted photos of herself on another set while everyone else was promoting.
This smacked of setting the tone.
But with Song Nian facing trouble now, wouldn’t she fear Kun City cutting all her scenes before release?
What was she hoping to gain? Unlike Zhou Ziheng, she didn’t have that fearless, privileged background. Among rising stars, her resources weren’t top-tier either. If her scenes got cut, the entire shoot would be for nothing.
This part still didn’t make sense to Xia Xiqing. She could only blame herself for overthinking—after all, she was naturally inclined toward conspiracy theories.
He returned to his Weibo homepage and noticed a follower reply. Clicking through, he saw Zhou Ziheng’s comment under his recent selfie.
[@Zhou Ziheng: Has the wife given up painting to become an electrician?]
Xia Xiqing yanked off his goggles. How did he know I was welding? But his attention quickly shifted elsewhere.
Why is he calling me “wife” again?
Before, he didn’t know what “wifey” meant and just followed the fans in using it. Now that he clearly understood, he was calling him that on purpose—purely to take advantage. Xia Xiqing was already furious enough, and the comments below were practically on fire. Anyone unaware would think someone had stirred up a groundhog’s nest.
[Self-Study Makes Me Happy: Ahhhhhhh, Madam! Calling me Madam is making me faint!]
[I Love Self-Study: Oh my, the idol himself came to the artist Madam’s Weibo to urge him to post fewer selfies and draw more for him, hahaha. — On the Convenience of Dating an Artist.]
[Self-Study World’s Sweetest: AAAAA Zhou Ziheng, you’re too good! Calling him“Madam” so effortlessly makes me wonder what they actually call each other in private.]
Seeing this, Xia Xiqing instantly pictured Zhou Ziheng calling him “Brother Xiqing” and choked on his drink.
[Universe’s Number One Alpha: Hey, isn’t Ziheng’s birthday coming up soon? Has the artist prepared a birthday illustration? Last year there was one!]
[Zixi Fans Unite: Of course he did! This year he’s giving himself as the gift, hahaha!]
[My Ship Must Marry: AAAAAHHHH! I still have last year’s birthday art as my Weibo background! Can’t wait for Xiqing’s wife’s gift this year!]
Since he saw these comments, Zhou Ziheng must have seen them too.
Xia Xiqing resolved to lock this studio door properly from now on.
Logging out of Weibo, he glanced at his phone calendar—it was already October 6th, two weeks before Zhou Ziheng’s birthday. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he searched for Zhou Ziheng’s zodiac sign.
Truth be told, these were precisely the behaviors Xia Xiqing had once despised and looked down upon—recording the birthdays of people he liked, secretly preparing gifts for them, searching descriptions of their zodiac signs. Silly and childish, the sort of thing only teenagers in their first love would do. Yet now, Xia Xiqing had long cast aside those preconceptions, happily browsing zodiac websites.
Even the sharpest minds couldn’t escape love’s spell.
“Refined personality, approachable, a master of romance…” Xia Xiqing found himself reading the words on the screen aloud. Yet the more he looked, the less it seemed to fit. He simply took a screenshot and sent it to Zhou Ziheng.
[Little Rose: You don’t look anything like a Libra man.]
Zhou Ziheng was studying in the library when he opened WeChat to find Xia Xiqing had sent him some horoscope analysis. The last time he’d looked at such things was in elementary school. He’d long been accustomed to people saying he didn’t resemble a Libra man. Back in sixth grade, he’d even gone home specifically to ask his mom if she’d mistaken his birthday.
He nearly got a beating from his mom.
[Moral Exemplar: Zodiac stuff isn’t accurate.]
Soon, Zhou Ziheng sent another message.
[Moral Exemplar: What’s your zodiac sign?]
[Little Rose: Sagittarius.]
[Moral Exemplar: …Alright, I’m eating my words.]
[Moral Champion: Zodiac signs really are accurate.]
After learning his lover’s zodiac sign, Zhou Ziheng couldn’t focus on a single word in the library. He spent the entire night glued to his phone scrolling through horoscope analyses. Especially after seeing the compatibility rating between Sagittarius and Libra, he was so thrilled he lost all desire to study. All he wanted was to pack his bag and go home.
[Moral Exemplar: Our compatibility is 90%—a perfect match!]
Silly. Xia Xiqing set down his phone, meticulously adjusting the easel again and again as he began mixing sculpting clay. Yet his mind was filled with Zhou Ziheng’s smiling face declaring them a perfect match, those crescent-shaped eyes impossible to shake.
He reached out, gently caressing the still rough, simple half-finished piece. A smile more tender than the ginkgo leaves outside the window spread across his face.
What artist doesn’t love their muse?
If any exist, it’s only because they haven’t met theirs yet.
Leave a Reply