“I understand.” Song Nian tucked the contract back into her hand and rose from the sofa. When she looked up again, her face had regained the confident smile befitting an actress. “I wrestled with this decision for a long time before coming here today. But I don’t regret it.”
After Song Nian left, Zhou Ziheng immediately called Jiang Yin.
“Sis-in-law, look into Song Nian’s team for me. I want to know which investors they’re currently in talks with.” Recalling Song Nian’s earlier words, Zhou Ziheng added, “Also, if any media exposés about Xia Xiqing’s private life surface recently, please handle the PR for me.”
Just as he finished speaking, Xia Xiqing pushed open the door. “Why is Xiao Luo standing outside…”
Zhou Ziheng saw him enter and hung up the phone.
“When did you buy all this food?” Xia Xiqing sat down, cut a small piece of cake with his fork, and popped it into his mouth. “I’m actually a bit hungry.”
Zhou Ziheng smiled and sat beside him, saying nothing as he silently took Xia Xiqing’s left hand.
After resting briefly in the lounge, the two prepared to leave the TV station. Xia Xiqing’s phone rang again. He hung up and turned to Zhou Ziheng. “I have something important to handle. You go home first.”
Zhou Ziheng nodded, his mind preoccupied with what Song Nian had mentioned earlier. In his current state, staying with Xia Xiqing would inevitably lead to him noticing something.
“Actually, I need to head to the company too.”
The two parted ways. A large crowd of fans had gathered below the TV station building. They had waited eagerly for their idol to appear, but only Zhou Ziheng emerged.
“Why did Hengheng come down alone?”
“Yeah, where’s Brother Xiqing?”
Zhou Ziheng smiled as he got into the car. “Your Xiqing brother had to leave first.” The car door closed, and he waved inside as a farewell to the fans.
Back at the company, Zhou Ziheng headed straight for Jiang Yin’s office. Jiang Yin, who had just finished a conference call and was returning from the meeting room, saw Zhou Ziheng and immediately understood the gravity of the situation.
“If Song Nian said that, she must have heard something,” Zhou Ziheng organized his thoughts. “She doesn’t have much backing. Her previous film offers weren’t numerous either. That means, at the very least, Song Nian didn’t have a major financial backer before this—or her backer wasn’t very influential.”
He looked at Jiang Yin. “You have contacts at numerous media outlets. Yet even you didn’t catch wind of this explosive story about a popular actress’s sexuality—but Song Nian somehow knew.”
Jiang Yin interlaced her fingers beneath her chin. “What if she’s lying?”
“I considered that when she said it. First, her expression was sincere when she spoke. Second, she simply has no reason to lie.” Zhou Ziheng exhaled. “If she merely wanted to exploit the situation between me and Xia Xiqing to trick me into becoming her contract boyfriend, she could have simply blackmailed me. But that approach is far too risky. If I signed with her and no same-sex news surfaced afterward, her lies would be exposed automatically. Few people would be foolish enough to do something that stupid.”
“So,” Zhou Zi voiced his conjecture, “I believe the only plausible explanation for Song Nian leaking the information is that the instigator of this chaos and the person attempting to keep Song Nian as a kept lover are one and the same. Song Nian likely stumbled upon this information during the dinner gathering or some other occasion and came to tell me.”
Though she knew her younger brother-in-law was sharp, Jiang Yin still found this unexpected. She’d assumed Zhou Ziheng would be blinded by emotion whenever Xia Xiqing was involved—a constant worry of hers. Yet his meticulous reasoning forced her to admit she’d underestimated him.
“I’ll have someone look into it. But if it’s truly as Song Nian said, something will happen within the next couple of days. My investigation might not come in time.”
Zhou Ziheng furrowed his brow in thought, remaining silent for several seconds before speaking. “I have an idea.”
“Go ahead.”
“When something is orchestrated, there’s always a logical motive behind it. If reporters snapped compromising photos of me and Xia Xiqing, they’d release them for profit. Before actually leaking the photos or videos, they’d definitely contact the parties involved. If those parties were willing to pay a hefty sum to buy back the evidence, their goal would be achieved. But no one has contacted you.”
“Which means the media didn’t uncover this story first.” Jiang Yin quickly grasped Zhou Ziheng’s reasoning. “If any media outlet had actually captured something, they’d contact us immediately—not some other investor or backer. So…”
Zhou Ziheng spoke with certainty, “So no media outlet actually captured anything. It’s just someone with inside knowledge stirring the pot.”
The scope narrowed instantly, and Zhou Ziheng was almost certain who the troublemaker was.
“That scumbag Wei Min, unrepentant to the end.” Zhou Ziheng clenched his fists. “I should have beaten him to death back then.”
“Don’t act rashly.” Jiang Yin considered their options. “If things unfold as we’ve analyzed, the media shouldn’t have any concrete evidence of you and Xia Xiqing together. That actually makes this easier to handle. I’ll immediately investigate whether Wei Min has had recent dealings with Song Nian’s team.” With that, Jiang Yin began making call after call.
As he pondered again, Zhou Ziheng felt a twinge of doubt. If Wei Min truly was the mastermind, how could he dare target him?
In an instant, Song Nian’s words resurfaced.
[You’re the second son of the Zhou family—no one dares touch you. But have you considered Xia Xiqing? In the entertainment industry, money alone means nothing. Only those with power have an impenetrable shield.]
Jiang Yin had spent too many years navigating the industry’s treacherous waters, cultivating an extensive network of informants.
“Rest assured. You help me this time, and next time you need anything from me, I, Jiang Yin, will never refuse.” Watching his sister-in-law smile as she hung up, her expression instantly shifting to coldness, Zhou Ziheng understood.
“Wei Min has indeed been trying to keep Song Nian as a mistress lately. She wasn’t lying.”
Upon hearing Jiang Yin’s words, Zhou Ziheng stood up abruptly.
“You absolutely must not go find him now,” Jiang Yin snapped sternly. “If Wei Min dared to target you, he must have been preparing for this. He’s been harboring resentment over that time you beat him up. If he’s planted reporters on his side now and provokes you, you’ll be the one making headlines.”
“I wasn’t planning to see him,” Zhou Ziheng turned away. “I want to see Xia Xiqing.”
Jiang Yin sighed. “Xia Xiqing is a complicated matter. Even though he’s Xia Yunkai’s son, online public opinion isn’t something you can suppress with money alone. Sometimes, even power can’t control it.”
Zhou Ziheng remained silent, his mind racing with countermeasures.
“I’ll contact Wei Min on your behalf and see if he’s open to any compromises.”
The thought of compromising with someone like Wei Min made Zhou Ziheng feel sick. But he was even more unwilling to see Xia Xiqing harmed.
After a long silence, Zhou Ziheng murmured a quiet thank you and left Jiang Yin’s office.
By the time he returned home, it was already 11 PM. He rang the doorbell of the apartment across the hall, but no one answered. Opening his phone, he found a message from Xia Xiqing.
[Little Rose: Something important came up today. Might be late getting back. You should sleep first. Don’t you have a commercial shoot tomorrow? Good night.]
Zhou Ziheng rarely inquired about Xia Xiqing’s work, but lately he seemed busier than usual, often absent from home.
His birthday was approaching. In the past, whenever it wasn’t during a shoot, his parents would call him back to Xishan. But this was his first birthday since being with Xia Xiqing, and Zhou Ziheng wanted to spend it with him no matter what.
He drifted off without realizing it, sinking into a deep dream.
In the dream, Xia Xiqing pushed a huge cake toward him.
He wrapped his arms around Zhou Ziheng’s neck as usual, grinning mischievously before kissing him.
The dream felt almost too real. Immersed in it, Zhou Ziheng could feel the kiss with startling precision—long, wet, carrying Xia Xiqing’s familiar scent.
“Why are you sleeping so soundly…”
Zhou Ziheng frowned, struggling to open his eyes, and saw Xia Xiqing’s beautiful almond-shaped eyes.
“Awake?” Xia Xiqing, perched on top of him, grinned like a triumphant little fox, leaning down to press a firm kiss on his lips. “What kind of dream were you having that you didn’t want to wake up from?”
Zhou Ziheng rubbed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Xia Xiqing’s waist, and buried his face in the crook of his neck. “I dreamed of you.” Xia Xiqing still wore yesterday’s clothes, the perfume’s scent now softened into a warm, lingering base note.
He hadn’t come back all night.
“Why are you acting like a child?” Xia Xiqing ruffled Zhou Ziheng’s hair before rolling over to sleep beside him, letting out a weary sigh. “I’m so tired. Hold me.”
Zhou Ziheng pulled him into his embrace, ruffling Xia Xiqing’s hair. Neither spoke, each tucking their worries into the warm blankets.
Xia Xiqing’s breathing gradually steadied. Zhou Ziheng gently released him, turning to lie on his side and gaze at him silently, as if contemplating his most treasured work of art.
Zhou Ziheng had expected Wei Min to make some kind of move. He’d been restless throughout the commercial shoot, but to his surprise, after waiting all day, not a single ripple appeared online. It was eerily calm. Fan-made behind-the-scenes clips and videos from previous show recordings were circulating wildly online. Coupled with Zhou Ziheng’s approaching birthday, the online buzz surrounding the “Zi-Xi” pairing remained at fever pitch.
After wrapping up the commercial shoot, Zhou Ziheng returned home to find Xia Xiqing still absent. He called him and heard the other end sounded quite busy.
“Alright, I’ll be right over.” Xia Xiqing leaned closer to the receiver. “Ziheng, I might not make it back tonight. You should get some rest.”
“Then…”
Will you be back tomorrow?
On the other end, Xia Xiqing sounded utterly overwhelmed, half-covering the receiver. “Don’t leave it here. Hold on, everyone, just wait a moment.”
In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t want to sound like a child throwing a tantrum.
“You go ahead and work,” Zhou Ziheng said with a smile. “Don’t push yourself too hard. If anything comes up, you have to call me.”
The call ended abruptly, catching Xia Xiqing off guard on the other end.
At midnight, numerous artists and directors he’d worked with posted birthday wishes on Weibo. Zhou Ziheng had no heart to reply, burying his head under the covers to pretend he wasn’t online.
He lay awake all night. Early the next morning, Xiao Luo arrived with his father’s driver to pick him up. Zhou Ziheng couldn’t refuse and got into the car.
“The mistress says she’s prepared a feast for you,” the driver chatted cheerfully as he started the engine. “The young master will be back later too.”
“Isn’t he in the States?” Zhou Ziheng stared out the window, his mind elsewhere.
The flight lands at three, and I’ll be the one to pick you up.
Opening WeChat, Xia Xiqing’s message thread remained silent. Zhou Ziheng pondered his words, typing out a few characters.
[I’m heading back to my dad’s place for my birthday today. You…]
He deleted each character one by one, retyping a new line.
[I might have to go back to my dad’s place today. I won’t be at the apartment and might not return tonight.]
He wanted to add a few more words, but his heart felt heavy, and his fingers grew sluggish.
“What’s with such a big truck?” Xiao Luo rolled down his window. “Is someone moving?”
The driver honked once, prompting Zhou Ziheng to look up too.
“Hey, hurry up and drive already! Don’t block the entrance like that.” The driver rolled down his window and said a few words to the other side. The person bowed repeatedly, “I’m leaving now, I’m leaving now.”
Through the window, Zhou Ziheng glimpsed what looked like numerous picture frames inside the closed container door.
He pressed his face against the glass and made out the faint outline of a man’s face in one of the paintings.
His heart suddenly raced, as if struck by lightning without warning.
Could Xia Xiqing be moving? Had he been busy these past days preparing for a move?
He knew such wild speculation was pointless, yet Zhou Ziheng couldn’t control himself. Entering the tunnel, the heavy shadows that had brewed too long in the narrow passage suddenly fell over his face—dark and oppressive, devoid of light. Every day, he’d been thinking of ways out for Xia Xiqing and himself, yet he’d overlooked one crucial point.
Was Xia Xiqing feeling the same way?
He’d been taking himself too seriously. Xia Xiqing had said it herself—he was merely in a trial period. Love during a trial period could be discarded at any moment. Only he had taken it so seriously.
Emerging from the tunnel, the autumn sun—still lacking its full intensity—reappeared, illuminating every corner of the narrow space. Zhou Ziheng sent the message he’d edited countless times, then his phone shut down automatically, its battery drained.
Fate. Zhou Ziheng pulled his cap brim low, wanting to shut everyone out.
Back home, Zhou Ziheng forced a cheerful expression at the dinner table, smiling politely. His mother kept asking about his filming schedule out of town, but Zhou Ziheng responded distractedly, his mind elsewhere. With troubles weighing on his heart, he simply couldn’t muster any joy. Zhou Jing and Jiang Yin didn’t return until dinner time.
Jiang Yin handed her coat to the maid, exchanged pleasantries with her parents, then approached Zhou Ziheng. Lowering her voice, she said, “Xia Xiqing just mentioned you didn’t answer his calls. My phone was off too when I tried reaching you.”
“I forgot to charge it,” Zhou Ziheng replied, finally plugging his phone in. Hearing Jiang Yin mention Xia Xiqing stirred a faint, flickering hope within him. “What did he say?”
“Nothing much. Just asked me to tell you to call him back when you have time.” Jiang Yin picked a small slice of honeydew melon from the fruit platter on the coffee table and popped it into her mouth. Taking out her own phone, she casually remarked with her head half-lowered, “He seemed pretty busy. He was talking in a muffled voice on the phone.”
Zhou Ziheng hummed in acknowledgment, waiting for his phone to power up.
The screen lit up, but before he could return the call, Jiang Yin beside him suddenly gasped, “Oh no.”
“What’s wrong?” Zhou Ziheng turned his head to see Jiang Yin already standing up. “Red Sister, grab my coat for me.” She looked down at Zhou Ziheng and shook her head. “I thought Wei Min had given up since he hadn’t made a move these past few days. I really… really didn’t expect this.”
Jiang Yin’s words jolted Zhou Ziheng awake. He immediately logged into Weibo. The top trending topic displayed a line of text in bold.
[X-Surnamed Internet Celebrity Young Heartthrob Suspected of Being Gay]
The first post he clicked on was from a marketing account. While the text didn’t name names, every sentence could be directly linked to Xia Xiqing.
[@GossipHeadlines: The hottest male-male CP in the entertainment industry right now—the red-hot rising star actor X and the overnight-fame “artist” are household names, their popularity enviable. But according to insiders, this X-surnamed young heartthrob is actually gay and has had numerous same-sex partners. Wonder what the other male star, who’s been hyping their CP, thinks about this?”
Zhou Ziheng clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I’m heading back to the company immediately. I’ll handle this,” Jiang Yin said as she hurriedly pulled on her coat. “Zhou Ziheng, you’re not going anywhere. Stay home and wait for me.”
Xi Hui arrived by car at the new location of the Pulito Art Museum. Originally a four-story garden villa, it had been purchased by Xia Xiqing, who personally designed its transformation into Pulito’s new venue.
“Why are there so many people?” Though he’d anticipated the opening day fanfare, the overwhelming crowd of reporters outside the car window made Xi Hui suspicious. He instructed the driver, “Go downstairs and find out what’s happening.”
“Yes, sir.”
Once the driver left, Xi Hui tried calling Xia Xiqing, but the line was constantly busy.
Soon the driver returned. “Mr. Xi, it’s all entertainment reporters out there. Seems… seems to be about Young Master Xia’s private life…”
Xi Hui frowned.
“Utterly hopeless,” he sighed, dialing another number. “Bring a team over. I’ll send you the address.”
Xia Xiqing never imagined that barely half an hour into his opening banquet, the venue would be swamped by a horde of reporters. He remained clueless about their presence until his assistant showed him the viral online discussions.
The Weibo post exposing his sexual orientation had already been reposted over twenty thousand times.
As guests murmured in confusion over the commotion outside, Xia Xiqing feigned composure despite his bewilderment. He adjusted his suit and tie, took the microphone from the emcee, and addressed the crowd before the main exhibit in the first-floor hall. “I imagine you’re all wondering why there are so many reporters outside.”
A calm, gentlemanly smile graced Xia Xiqing’s face. “This art gallery reopens after a fifteen-year hiatus. Every detail within its walls was personally overseen by me, including the selection of guests. Therefore, everyone present today is an artistic master or collector in my eyes—people I hold in the highest regard.”
“Art’s allure stems from the freedom of inclusivity and the resonance of emotion. My own creative practice has always upheld these principles. Therefore, I wish to clarify here that, like many prominent figures in the art world, I am also a member of the LGBT community.”
Observing the murmurs among the guests below, Xia Xiqing raised an eyebrow. “I had assumed that one’s sexual orientation would at least be spared harsh judgment within the art world. Is that not the case?”
The room fell suddenly silent. With that bold declaration, no one dared utter another word. Even those who had initially seen the online exposé and come to mock now hesitated, unwilling to risk being labeled “discriminatory” or “oppressive.”
“Thank you all for your understanding and respect. Please continue exploring the museum. Floors one through three are open, while the fourth floor remains under construction. Staff will guide you through. Enjoy yourselves.” Xia Xiqing smiled flawlessly, uttered a simple “enjoy,” and handed the microphone back to the attendant.
“The fourth floor is off-limits. Anyone causing trouble will be escorted out immediately.” Xia Xiqing issued two brief instructions before lifting a glass of champagne and downing it in one gulp.
The situation was still manageable now, but if Zhou Ziheng showed up, it would be over.
Xia Xiqing pulled an undelivered invitation from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, glanced at it, then slipped it back inside.
“Call Zhou Ziheng’s assistant. Make sure he keeps Zhou Ziheng under control. Don’t let him come looking for me.”
As dusk fell, sudden commotion erupted outside. Xia Xiqing looked down from the second-floor floor-to-ceiling windows to see a group of men in security uniforms dispersing reporters at the entrance. In the distance, he spotted Xi Hui’s car.
The meticulously planned opening had been utterly ruined. Xia Xiqing seethed with frustration. His anger surged like a tidal wave that refused to recede. When it finally ebbed, a profound sense of loss enveloped him.
As midnight approached, guests departed one after another, and even the staff clocked out. Xia Xiqing sat alone at the fourth-floor entrance, chain-smoking one cigarette after another.
He wasn’t the least bit concerned about his sexuality being exposed. Given his past behavior, such revelations were inevitable sooner or later. But he refused to drag Zhou Ziheng into this, especially not on a day like today.
He finished the entire pack of cigarettes, glancing down at his watch.
Ten minutes to midnight.
He had never felt such profound desolation.
Step by step, descending the stairs, Xia Xiqing finally understood what it meant to love someone. Not the boundless sweetness when love enveloped him, but the sudden, profound sense of loss when he realized everything he’d done for him had been in vain.
The empty art gallery was filled with priceless, invaluable collections. Yet to his eyes, they were nothing but lifeless objects piled within this opulent building.
He turned, closed the door, and prepared to let his foolishness and stubbornness fade into the closing curtain of this day. But suddenly, a voice came from behind him.
“Xiqing.”
Xia Xiqing turned in disbelief, seeing someone panting heavily after stepping out of a taxi. They wore a hat and mask, covering themselves completely.
“Ziheng? How… how did you get here?” Still shaken, he pulled Zhou Ziheng into the art gallery. Zhou Ziheng removed his mask, revealing a smile as he explained breathlessly, “I… I was locked up at home by my brother. I just found a chance to climb over the wall and sneak out. I went back to the apartment, but you weren’t there. I saw this place on the news and thought I’d try my luck, see if you were here.”
Seeing the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, Xia Xiqing suddenly felt speechless, unable to utter a word. He glanced back at the antique clock hanging in the lobby.
The hands hadn’t yet reached their final position.
Good. There was still time.
Grabbing Zhou Ziheng’s wrist, Xia Xiqing dragged him all the way up to the fourth floor and opened the door. Zhou Ziheng was filled with confusion, but he still noticed the floor littered with cigarette butts.
“Why did you drag me up here?”
Xia Xiqing opened the door to the fourth floor.
“Happy birthday.”
The moment the door swung fully open, Zhou Ziheng froze. The entire floor was covered in countless paintings, large and small—some watercolors, some oil paintings. The only common thread was the subject in each one.
Every single one was of himself.
“I painted these for you—ninety-nine in total. From your childhood to now. Thank goodness you were a child star; otherwise, I truly wouldn’t have been able to capture every version of you over the years.”
Zhou Ziheng couldn’t help but recall that night when Xia Xiqing had taken him to the shooting range. He remembered Xia pointing the gun at his own chest and the flippant remark he’d made in jest.
[Buy all the paintings Xia Xiqing made for me and bury them with me.]
Xia Xiqing walked forward alone, his steps halting before an exhibit taller than himself. A layer of black silk draped over it, shimmering with a delicate glow beneath the dazzling crystal chandelier.
“This was made for you too.” Xia Xiqing raised his hand and gently pulled away the silk.
Before him appeared a pristine white plaster sculpture. It depicted a tall man, his face turned forward as if gazing at something, a smile playing across his sculpted features—as beautiful as a classical Greek statue.
In his hand, he held a single rose, tender yet powerful.
“Happy birthday,” Xia Xiqing approached him. “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday.” He finally stood before Zhou Ziheng, pulling a dark blue invitation from his suit pocket. Its seal bore the image of a rose.
“I stayed up several nights, planning to invite you today and hand this to you personally. I never imagined you wouldn’t be here, and then… all this happened.” Xia Xiqing lowered his eyes, his lashes trembling slightly. “Happy birthday. My surprise was truly awful.”
It turned out he hadn’t forgotten his birthday after all.
“I deliberately chose today for the opening. This art gallery was named after me by my mother. I… I wanted it to be reborn on your birthday.”
In the final second of October 20th, he received the gift he desired most.
Zhou Ziheng opened the belated invitation in a daze. A handwritten letter fell out.
[I give you the core of myself I managed to preserve—a core untouched by words, untangled from dreams, unmoved by time, joy, or adversity.
I give you the memory of a yellow rose seen one evening long before you were born.
I give you the interpretation of your life, the theory of your being, your true and astonishing existence.
I give you my solitude, my darkness, the hunger of my heart.
I try to move you with confusion, danger, failure.]
Author’s Note:
The verses on the handwritten letter are excerpted from Jorge Luis Borges’ “What Can I Do to Keep You?”
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