“Ugh.”
Qin Sizheng’s head throbbed fiercely. Instinctively, he rubbed it, slowly regaining consciousness. Looking around, he realized he was in Lu Xianqing’s home.
Was he dreaming?
His last memory was of Lu Xianqing’s suicide. Now he was lying here. Had Lu Xianqing attempted it again? Had the story been rewritten once more?
Qin Sizheng threw back the covers and climbed out of bed, forgetting even to put on shoes. Opening the door, he collided headfirst into a solid embrace. When he saw the man’s face clearly, his breath caught completely.
He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, afraid of shattering the illusion.
The man’s face was pale but not weak. Qin Sizheng couldn’t tell the state of the story—had it returned to the time when he didn’t like him? Or had the author rewritten it so he hated him?
What if this time he chose Jiang Zhen, or someone else? What would he do?
Instinctively, Qin Sizheng didn’t want to give him to another, but he also didn’t want Lu Xianqing to suffer again because of his departure. He would rather see him live fully.
He took a cautious step back.
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze, reached out to touch his ear, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “What? Waking up early and throwing yourself into my arms, without even your shoes on?”
Qin Sizheng held his breath, not daring to speak. He was terrified—truly terrified—of Lu Xianqing suffering again.
“Still won’t forgive Fourth Brother after coming back? Hmm, fine. I care for you, so I’ll keep chasing you a little longer.” Lu Xianqing laughed softly, ruffling his hair. “It’s good that you’re back.”
Qin Sizheng’s throat was dry. Swallowing, he could barely speak. “You… you know something?”
“I know my Yan Yan is…” Lu Xianqing took his hand, guiding him to undo a button and reveal the tattoo on his chest.
—Qin Sizheng.
“My beloved.”
Qin Sizheng traced the still-swollen tattoo with his fingertips. All remaining hesitation and unease vanished completely.
Lu Xianqing often said he was the sludge at the bottom of an abyss. But in truth, he was the blazing sun in the sky, sweeping away darkness and fear, clearing the clouds after the rain.
Lu Xianqing lifted him and carried him back to the room to put on shoes. Kneeling briefly by the bedside, he tilted his head, meeting Qin Sizheng’s eyes. “Yan Yan, I’ve done things to you before. Are you still angry?”
Qin Sizheng had felt resentment and hate upon first learning, but knowing that Lu Xianqing had died three times for him, understanding the depth of his devotion and the resulting mental strain, all resentment vanished.
If anyone was truly indebted, it was he.
“Fourth Brother, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For your steadfast heart. For liking me.”
Lu Xianqing helped him slip into his slippers, smiling quietly. He had counted each second since yesterday, yet still succumbed to the world’s resistance and slept.
Waking to find Qin Sizheng beside him, the sheer joy nearly overwhelmed him. He didn’t dare move, watching him for a long time, afraid that even a single motion might make him vanish.
After three long hours, he was finally certain—Qin Sizheng had truly returned. Only then did he slowly extend his hands to hold him close, cherishing him carefully.
His Yan Yan was back.
“Tsk, the wedding’s not even done, but you’ve already put on your shoes.” He Xing came over, calling them to eat, unable to bear watching this scene. She turned her head. “It’s eleven o’clock, ancestors. If you don’t eat breakfast soon, it’ll be lunch.”
Qin Sizheng instinctively withdrew his foot. “Sister He Xing.”
Lu Xianqing pulled him up, turning his back to He Xing. “Not just shoes—you’re changing clothes too. Aren’t you leaving me here as a spectator?”
He Xing slammed the door shut.
Lu Xianqing fetched one of his own shirts from the wardrobe, reaching to help Qin Sizheng with his clothes. When he dodged, his brow arched. “What, not letting me touch you now?”
“I can change myself.”
“Fine.”
Qin Sizheng moved to the buttons. As soon as he undid one, he caught the intensity of Lu Xianqing’s gaze and immediately stopped, cheeks flushed. “Turn away.”
“I’ve done everything already. Now you’re shy?” Lu Xianqing said, suddenly letting out a frustrated “ah,” asking him, “Wait, your memory should be intact, right? Remember hiding a life-sized doll of me for yourself? Let me check—are the holes still there?”
“Not here—don’t touch me, don’t pull me.” Qin Sizheng dodged his hand, wishing more than ever that his memories hadn’t returned.
Lu Xianqing circled him in his arms, lowering his head to lightly nibble him. “Yan Yan, is anything uncomfortable? Is your strength okay? How about your memory? Any gaps?”
Qin Sizheng clenched his fists to test himself. Though his limbs felt a little weak, it was because of the man in front of him, not the previous energy drain.
“All here. My body’s fine. Fourth Brother… am I really back?”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head, pressing his forehead against Qin Sizheng’s and smiling softly. “Want me to help you check?”
Qin Sizheng felt like the scene was a hallucination born of his desperate longing. But as he heard again and again that it was real, that he truly had returned to Lu Xianqing’s side, he started to believe it.
Lu Xianqing opened his arms, pulling him close.
Qin Sizheng felt as if he had fallen into a scorching furnace; every word fanned the flames, burning holes through his consciousness until he could no longer resist the intrusion.
“Yan Yan, can I kiss you?”
Though he could have acted on impulse, he asked first. Qin Sizheng couldn’t tell whether it was hesitation or teasing, but either way, he couldn’t refuse.
He wrapped his arms around Lu Xianqing, slowly closing his eyes, sensing that the other had only lingered at the edges, like a traveler returning home after years away, hesitant to step fully inside.
Lu Xianqing, like a painter with a precious masterpiece, dipped the brush carefully, deliberately, leaving only faint traces, unwilling to go further.
Qin Sizheng spread out the paper, waiting for more ink, but Lu Xianqing refused. Each time a trace appeared, he pulled back, unwilling to color him further.
The exchange of strokes was plentiful, yet Qin Sizheng felt only thirstier, too shy to even notice. He craned his head, chasing the brush that eluded him, but never grasping it.
Lu Xianqing deliberately tilted his head to dodge, watching the boy’s clumsy pursuit fail repeatedly. But as he kept trying, he couldn’t help but smile softly.
“So hungry for it?” Lu Xianqing’s teasing whispered in his ear. Qin Sizheng’s face burned as he buried it in his hands. “You’re doing it on purpose.”
“Angry?”
“No.”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head, no longer dodging, letting the longing that had been suppressed for years break free, seizing the heart he hadn’t seen in so long, pouring out the hidden ache of separation.
Qin Sizheng was overwhelmed by the intensity, his lungs like water balloons, ready to burst under any pressure, yet this was Lu Xianqing—fate had predetermined this outcome.
“Fourth Brother.” Qin Sizheng tried to find a sliver of escape in the chaos.
But Lu Xianqing denied him even that, taking every bit of air first, leaving no room for thought of retreat.
As the haze of near-suffocation enveloped him, Qin Sizheng clung like a drowning man to the only straw available, entrusting all his desire to survive to him.
Lu Xianqing mumbled instructions, “Remember what I taught you at the Mid-Autumn Festival party? The way to hide it without others noticing… let’s see if your homework’s done.”
Qin Sizheng followed like a puppet, obeying every word. The rescuer took over fully, guiding every motion, refining every stroke.
The storm calmed, brushstrokes formed landscapes, and finally were carefully framed—treasured for future admiration.
The faint scent of cold perfume mixed with a hint of wine intoxicated the senses.
It was only now that Qin Sizheng realized he had truly come back to life. The memory, hazy yet clear, burned into his mind: this person before him belonged to him.
“Fourth Brother.”
“Hmm?”
“Have I ever told you I love you?”
Lu Xianqing paused, then smiled. “No. Want to?”
Emotions surged in Qin Sizheng’s chest. He pressed Lu Xianqing’s hand to his heart, lips twitching nervously, but the words wouldn’t come.
Lu Xianqing wasn’t disappointed. He held Qin Sizheng’s heart in his hand, smiling gently. “It’s fine if you can’t say it. I hear it.”
“Huh?”
Lu Xianqing patted his chest. “Yan Yan’s telling me he loves me, over and over, deafeningly loud.”
Qin Sizheng blinked, cheeks red. He had feared Lu Xianqing would be disappointed, but instead, he smiled warmly, understanding fully. He didn’t need the words “I love you.”
“Come on, let’s go downstairs to eat.”
Qin Sizheng allowed himself to be led to the stairs, and seeing Anning and He Xing, he squirmed. “They’re here. Let go first.”
“Shy?”
“…No.”
“No means I won’t let go. You’re not shy anyway. Besides…” Lu Xianqing pinned him gently to the stair railing, lowering his head to nibble his ear playfully. “In this state, even if they’ve never eaten pork, they’ve seen pigs run—little pig.”
He Xing froze, dropping her chopsticks. “I’ve never eaten pork? I’ve been working like a horse, do you think I have time to eat pork? Even wild boars pity me and cry over my suffering. And pigs want to play with me?”
Anning snickered quietly, raising her hand to protest.
Qin Sizheng’s ears burned further. He bent and wriggled from Lu Xianqing’s arms, sitting at the table to accept the milk He Xing handed him, politely thanking her.
Lu Xianqing followed slowly downstairs, insisting on tasting Qin Sizheng’s milk, licking the rim where he had drunk, and returning it. He Xing was too frustrated to even scold him.
“‘Between Good and Evil’ just wrapped filming. Variety shows move fast, don’t take much schedule time. You said you wanted to set up a studio and support the family—can’t just take a year off, right? Director Ming was right—even the production team’s donkeys wouldn’t act so boldly.”
Leaning back in his chair, Lu Xianqing tapped the boy’s shoulder. “Isn’t the studio your golden goose? Shake him—I’ll rely on him from now on.”
“Taking a role for the golden goose? Or doing some variety shows?”
The golden goose lifted his head. Lu Xianqing reached over, wiping the milk smudge from his mouth, and with a curve of his eyes whispered near his ear, “Husband, will you take care of me?”
Qin Sizheng’s ears flushed at the breathy “husband,” and under the scrutinizing gaze of He Xing and Anning, he couldn’t speak, yet couldn’t ignore Lu Xianqing either. He could only nod and mutter a tiny, “Mm.”
Lu Xianqing withdrew his hand, licking off the traces of milk, which made Qin Sizheng even more embarrassed. He buried his face lower, only to have Lu Xianqing lift his chin, teasing, “What are you doing—eating breakfast or plowing fields? Sit up straight!”
Qin Sizheng immediately straightened, biting his bread with a mix of shame and indignation.
He Xing clicked her teeth, exasperated. “So what if you have a partner? Life goes on even without one.”
Lu Xianqing ignored her, seemingly lost in thought. Only when Qin Sizheng handed him a heavily jammed slice of bread did he return to reality, biting into it from Qin Sizheng’s hand.
“You eat it yourself.”
“Feed me a bite, my hand hurts.”
Looking down, Qin Sizheng saw the small injuries on Lu Xianqing’s hand—not from “suicide,” but from variety show filming—and felt pangs of guilt over their past cold war.
How hard must it have been for him back then? He even locked himself in a cage just because Qin Sizheng had said, “I don’t want you,” fearing he might lose control and come looking. He cut off all possibilities to prevent it.
“Sorry.”
Lu Xianqing understood instantly, giving a gentle shake of his head. Qin Sizheng’s guilt and heartache deepened—he didn’t even know what day the timeline had been pulled back to, so he couldn’t speak openly.
Growing impatient, Lu Xianqing exclaimed, “Why aren’t you feeding me yet? Trying to starve me?”
Hastily, Qin Sizheng raised the bread to his mouth. As Lu Xianqing took each deliberate bite, an inexplicable flirtatiousness radiated from him. Qin Sizheng turned away, mentally shouting:
Why can even eating look so… seductive?
Help me.
“Any variety shows you like, or scripts you want to try? I’ll invest in one for you to play with.”
Qin Sizheng hurriedly said, “No, no, I probably don’t need work right now… it’s all fine. Don’t invest, what if it doesn’t make money?”
Lu Xianqing replied, “It’s for you to play with—profit doesn’t matter.”
Flushed and flustered, Qin Sizheng nodded, only to see Lu Xianqing smirk arrogantly. “Me involved, and it loses money? Look at my fan base—if one in ten watches, it will crush any current variety show. Losing money? Ridiculous.”
He Xing couldn’t stand it. “Have some shame.”
Lu Xianqing said, “Starting today, you’re on holiday. Go find your wild boar.”
“Paid leave?”
He glanced at her. “Have some shame.”
He Xing practically wanted to leap across the table to throttle him. Qin Sizheng quietly laughed to himself, occasionally curling his fingers to test if his strength had returned, then letting out a relieved breath.
As he clutched his hand again, someone gripped it—he looked up instinctively and saw Lu Xianqing’s gentle gaze.
“Fourth Brother.”
“Next time you’re uncertain, come grab my hand.”
Qin Sizheng paused, then intertwined his fingers with Lu Xianqing’s under the table, silently responding:
Good.