“Let’s congratulate Qin Sizheng for winning the overall championship in this year’s Boxing King Tournament! This is the first time a Chinese contestant has taken the crown! And he’s broken the age record for a champion! Also, let’s wish…”
The announcer’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers, excitement so raw it was almost tearful.
Cheers and applause poured in endlessly through the headset. The man beside him couldn’t calm down, replaying the moment in his head several times, slapping his thigh, his grin stretching almost to his ears.
Qin Sizheng’s brow bore a scar that ran toward his temple, adding a wild edge to his youthful, sharp features.
He was looking down at his phone when the man leaned over. “Hey, this person has the same name as you. Could it be… a fanfiction your fans wrote about you?”
Qin Sizheng lifted the phone to show him. “Then my fans must be harboring a mortal grudge against me.” The screen showed him dramatically devouring a boxed meal, dying a tragic death. There were less than ten chapters posted.
The situation was bleak and fast-moving; a cannon fodder couldn’t have met a more pitiful end.
It happened to be rush hour, and traffic was jammed. He looked up at the towering concrete jungle and suddenly felt a tremor.
Screams pierced the car windows. Many people abandoned their vehicles and ran forward. The man lowered his window to ask, “What happened?”
“There’s been a car accident ahead. A tanker truck collided with a semi-trailer, causing several smaller cars to pile up. It looks like a child is trapped… I don’t know if it will explode!”
The man’s breath hitched. Just as he tried to turn, the back door was yanked open. Before he could react, Qin Sizheng had already dashed out.
“Sizheng! Come back!”
Traffic was brutal. Qin Sizheng pressed against the car and ran. Oil was dripping from the tanker, a pungent stench filling the air—“tick-tock, tick-tock”—like a countdown to death.
The crowd had gathered but dared not intervene. A child wailed under the vehicle. Qin Sizheng pushed through the people and went in. With no tools at hand, he smashed the car window with his bare hands. The moment he dragged the child out, a tiny spark crackled—“crackle!”
He instinctively tossed the child to safety.
“Catch him!”
“Sizheng!” A soul-rending scream erupted, immediately followed by a massive explosion. Scorching flames surrounded him. Pain gripped him, but no sound escaped his throat. He jolted awake.
Rubbing his nearly-split head, he barely had time to gather himself before the phone rang. Groaning, he answered, “Hello?”
“What do you mean, ‘hello’? You still know how to pick up the phone? I haven’t checked on you for three days, and you’ve already caused a huge news incident! Are you trying to make it to the social news next?”
Qin Sizheng frowned at the unfamiliar voice. “Who is this?”
There was a pause, probably as the caller checked if they’d dialed wrong. A few seconds later, they roared: “Stop pretending to have amnesia! What’s your grudge with Lu Xianqing that you have to act like this?!”
Lu Xianqing?
A sense of foreboding rose in Qin Sizheng’s chest.
He recognized the name—it was from a BL novel he had read recently. The protagonist was morbid, gloomy, obsessive, and borderline insane—someone who required psychological intervention just to function normally—and he was named Lu Xianqing.
Wait… what grudge could he possibly have with Lu Xianqing?
He must have transmigrated.
The original Qin Sizheng was stunningly beautiful, notorious in the entertainment circle for being a “photo killer.”
He had a knack for making anyone look dull in photos, and his official press coverage often emphasized his overwhelming presence. He had offended many fellow entertainers.
On top of that, he had a laundry list of scandals: tossing fans’ gifts, publicly dissing fan communities, and so on—virtually every infamous act imaginable.
Fans stayed up all night to pick him up at the airport, but he ignored them with disgust. When someone dug up the gifts fans had sent him, he casually posted on Weibo: “These things aren’t quality-checked. What if they’re toxic? If your face gets ruined from cosmetics, are you going to compensate me?”
It wasn’t just fans—he treated fellow entertainers the same way. When a host praised a co-actor for looking beautiful, he would casually comment: “Of course, after plastic surgery you’ll look good.”
A certain singer released a new song and everyone online hyped it. He retweeted with: “Sound engineer’s price hike in progress.”
If stupidity had levels, the original Qin Sizheng was textbook-level.
In the novel, he hadn’t even lasted ten thousand words before being savagely slapped down by the actor Lu Xianqing. Driven mad, he ran to the rooftop, knife at his throat, demanding Lu Xianqing meet him.
Lu Xianqing naturally didn’t go. He wasn’t skilled enough at threatening others, and his hand slipped, cutting a major artery.
Dead.
Qin Sizheng reached up to touch his neck—no pain. So far, he hadn’t gone as far as slicing an artery.
Good.
He resignedly switched on the light and got out of bed—only to have his mind nearly explode.
The entire room was plastered with Lu Xianqing posters.
Qin Sizheng jumped up like he’d seen a ghost. The reflection in the mirror showed a handsome face, but he barely registered it before his eyes were drawn to the contents of the cabinet.
Boxes labeled meticulously, filled with auctioned movie props from Lu Xianqing, suits he’d worn… everything had a date.
Trembling, Qin Sizheng opened one box. Inside were a pair of small rings, round but not quite the size of regular rings. He flipped them over.
Are… are these nipple rings?
With a loud snap, he slammed the box shut, burying his face in his hands. Squinting, he carefully lifted his loose shirt.
Two barely-healed wounds on his chest now had a pair of rings dangling from them, trembling as he moved.
Ouch.
He stared silently at the ceiling. What rotten luck—I’m the unlucky one here.
But wait, the “original Qin Sizheng” was supposed to be enemies with Lu Xianqing. How does this make sense? He must be a hopeless obsessive!
Ah, no—it must be that the rings were repurposed props from Lu Xianqing’s movie auctions!
No exaggeration, the room looked like a government anti-pornography inspection zone, everything tightly controlled, even if exposed in the news.
The doorbell rang. Qin Sizheng nearly jumped out of his skin.
He leapt up, tearing down the posters and stuffing them, along with all the labeled boxes, back into the cabinet. Taking a deep breath, he went to answer the door.
His manager, Xu Zhao, stood at the door with a thunderous scowl. The moment he saw him, he erupted.
“Put your pants on!”
Qin Sizheng looked down—his ears instantly burning.
His white shirt barely covered his rear, leaving long, pale legs exposed. Any movement made the situation even more obvious, and a few toys still faintly vibrating on the sofa didn’t help.
Xu Zhao nearly hyperventilated. “You just… play around like this at home?!”
“I… it’s not—” Qin Sizheng felt faint. How could he explain these weren’t his doing? The original had done this—he had nothing to do with it.
…Never mind.
He forced a dry laugh, grabbed one of the toys, and the vibration jolted his hand until his palm tingled, his face crimson with embarrassment.
Xu Zhao turned his head, silently wishing to disappear.
Qin Sizheng rushed back to the bedroom, changed clothes quickly, painfully removed the dangling nipple rings, and wanted to throw them away—but feared someone would find them.
These things were apparently common in the entertainment industry.
He threw the toys and rings into a drawer.
Half an eternity later, Qin Sizheng stepped out of the bedroom.
His face, sculpted by God Himself, looked slightly pale. A small lip piercing added a hint of color, resembling a tiny pink pearl. No matter the angle, it was beautiful—but utterly mortifying.
Xu Zhao stared at him, tense. Qin Sizheng quietly recalled the original story.
This was the only person who’d been kind to him—though disappointed, they’d still handled his posthumous matters.
“Xu-ge, sorry for the trouble.”
Xu Zhao froze, caught off guard by the innocent, slightly aggrieved look and gentle voice. Those doe-like eyes, so pure—they’d tricked him into signing a ten-year contract, vowing to make him famous.
Now he wanted to go back and throttle his past self for being so superficial.
“You even call me ‘ge’? Might as well just stab me,” Xu Zhao muttered, berating him for over ten minutes.
Qin Sizheng roughly pieced together the current situation.
Lu Xianqing had just won an award. Social media exploded with praise, and then suddenly Qin Sizheng trashed a female co-star, Wen Li, calling her “green tea” and “bad at acting,” ruining Lu Xianqing’s pristine reputation.
Wen Li had been working for years and finally had the chance to collaborate with Lu Xianqing, winning her first major award. Fans were ecstatic, then saw Qin Sizheng’s diss and went ballistic.
Old videos of Qin Sizheng acting were dredged up online, making him trend first on Weibo.
Xu Zhao gestured for him to unlock his phone.
Qin Sizheng fumbled, unsure of the password—but thankfully, the original had fingerprint unlock.
He opened Weibo and was stunned by tens of thousands of unread messages—all insults: “Flop, why haven’t you left the industry? Riding on hype will kill you.”
Qin Sizheng checked the timeline. The original had existed only as cannon fodder to make Lu Xianqing’s victory feel satisfying. Few chapters were written before the character was swiftly removed to enhance the main couple’s romance with Jiang Zhen.
In the original, Lu Xianqing was outrageously handsome: eyes like stars, brows painted with ink, a thin double eyelid like a peach blossom petal. Unlike Qin Sizheng’s soft beauty, his beauty was sharp, aggressive, and commanding.
Those brooding, world-weary eyes had captured fans’ hearts—they willingly let him control them, succumbing entirely.
The book says that he won Best Actor at seventeen. That role was so unforgettable that everyone started calling him “Fourth Brother.”
He only filmed one movie a year, but every single one won awards. As long as he was around, the film industry had almost no suspense left.
Unfortunately, the novel had just opened not long ago. It only got as far as Qin Sizheng’s exit before the author abandoned it.
At present, Jiang Zhen still hadn’t crossed paths with Lu Xianqing, but the plot belonging to Qin Sizheng was already halfway through. The next step should be him getting brutally slapped in the face by Lu Xianqing and exiting miserably.
He had only just come back to life—was he going to die again?
Qin Sizheng was already cursing under his breath. He wanted to drag that trash author out and beat him a hundred times, so they’d know the consequences of digging a pit and never filling it.
“Feeling bad?” Xu Zhao saw his ugly expression and forcibly swallowed the scolding that had already reached his throat. “From today on, hand over your phone. No more Weibo!”
Qin Sizheng immediately turned off his phone and gave it to him, as if there were some kind of flood beast hidden inside.
Xu Zhao froze instead.
That obedient?
Xu Zhao took the phone, already mentally prepared for a long lecture about steering Qin Sizheng back onto the right path and stopping him from self-destructing. He hadn’t expected to be cut off the moment he opened his mouth.
The boy slowly raised three fingers toward the sky, serious and sincere.
“I swear, from today on I will stay far away from Lu Xianqing and focus on my career.”
Xu Zhao suspected he’d misheard.
“You’re sure?”
Qin Sizheng repeated with absolute sincerity, “I’m sure.”
The original owner of this body had been so hostile toward Lu Xianqing. If his fans ever found out that he’d been hoarding so many of Lu Xianqing’s things like a stalker—pierced nipples, using all kinds of props while doing things to himself in front of Lu Xianqing’s posters—
He would be dead for real.
Xu Zhao still didn’t quite believe him. Qin Sizheng grabbed a pen and scribbled quickly: Cherish life, stay away from Lu Xianqing.
He held the paper up against his chest. “Come on, Brother Xu, take a photo. Let it motivate me.”
Xu Zhao laughed despite himself. “Alright, you look like a criminal taking a mugshot.” Even so, he really did take a picture.
Qin Sizheng was good-looking. When he curved his eyes and tried to please someone, he was especially disarming.
“You’re only eighteen,” Xu Zhao said. “It’s not too late to realize your mistakes.”
That said, he was already blacklisted to rock bottom.
Using stand-ins in dramas, refusing to follow scripts in reality shows—he had refreshed the lowest possible standards over and over.
Qin Sizheng wanted to kill someone. Did the author really need to write this character to be so hateable?
He himself wanted to strangle “Qin Sizheng.”
“Don’t be too upset. As long as you turn over a new leaf, there’s still a chance,” Xu Zhao said. Seeing his eyes red, like he was about to cry, Xu Zhao softened and patted his shoulder in comfort.
“I’ll help you post a statement later and apologize to Wen Li.”
Qin Sizheng nodded.
No matter what was said, he nodded. He was so well-behaved that it made Xu Zhao uneasy, as if he were about to pull something big.
“I got an invitation for the second season of Traveling with Cute Kids,” Xu Zhao said. “They’re interested in you. I haven’t replied yet. If you want to go, I’ll negotiate for you.”
Xu Zhao was afraid he might hit a child, so he hadn’t dared accept it on his own.
“And you should know they’re only looking for you because of your popularity—they want to stir up topics. The comments won’t be nice. Be mentally prepared, okay? Don’t take it to heart.”
After saying that, Xu Zhao held his breath, waiting for Qin Sizheng to suddenly change his mind and refuse, fully prepared for a huge fight.
“Brother Xu, I’ll take it.”
Xu Zhao burst into tears on the spot. He grabbed Qin Sizheng’s shoulder, old tears streaming down his face. “Then you absolutely cannot throw tantrums on the show, and you can’t gossip about other people! Forget all that gossip! Don’t live like a marketing account—no one’s paying you! If the kids are hard to deal with, endure it! You absolutely cannot hit a child, understand?!”
“Understood.”
The corner of Qin Sizheng’s eye twitched involuntarily.
He remembered that in the original plot, “Qin Sizheng” really did hit a child—and even made it onto the hot searches because of it.
Qin Sizheng lowered his head, looking at these slender, tender hands, so different from the scarred, calloused ones he used to have, and fell silent.
If he, a former boxing champion, moved his hand even once—
This cute-kid variety show would instantly turn into Today’s Legal Report.