You Si looked at him curiously: “Really? You used to love this, even said you’d invest in a company with me. But now… you don’t seem interested. Something’s off.”
You Si’s peach-blossom eyes made Qin Sizheng feel a little guilty. “N-No, I’m just a bit tired lately, so I don’t want to play. You keep anything good for me—when I’m interested, I’ll try it. You hang on to it first.”
You Si gave an “oh” and sat down. After a bit, he remembered something, reaching into his pocket to pull out two pieces of paper and handed them over.
“What’s this?” Qin Sizheng took them, eyes lighting up—tickets to the King of Boxing Invitational, ringside seats!
“How do you even have these?”
You Si chewed on a shrimp ball, his words a little fuzzy. “Last time I saw you at home hitting a punching bag, all those gloves, plus your performance on the show—you’ve got fans everywhere. I guessed you liked this. A friend of mine is helping run the venue, so I asked him for two tickets. We can go together.”
Qin Sizheng carefully tucked them away. This was far better than those “gadgets.” His hands trembled with excitement. If only he could get in the ring himself!
Meanwhile, over with Lu Xianqing, Ming Fei really did send someone to pick him up—using his own car.
An Ning knew his respiratory system was weak; smoke would make him cough. Ming Fei’s car was always smoky, so he had arranged for the driver to pick him up in advance. The driver ended up running a pointless trip.
Lu Xianqing was used to it, smiled, gave the address, and left.
By the time Lu Xianqing arrived, it was past eight at night. Opening the door, a mix of smoke and alcohol hit him; he coughed immediately to show respect for the lavish scene.
“Ming, how come you didn’t marinate yourself properly?”
Ming Fei, seeing him, exclaimed, “Ah! Our movie star is here. Everyone give him a drink, marinate him fully! If not done right, it’s not over!”
Lu Xianqing gave him a look of disgust. The room erupted in laughter before Ming Fei realized what he’d said. “No, marinate like the seasoning! What are you thinking? You guys are just filthy, full of nonsense.”
Ming Fei was fine in everything else, but lacking culture, he always embarrassed himself. His award speech years ago still holds the top spot on a parody website, making the organizers furious. Since then, every nominated actor had to memorize their acceptance speech beforehand—a legendary procedure.
Lu Xianqing found a spot to sit. Ming Fei knew he was picky and delicate, like a little princess. He said immediately, “Open the vent, let air circulate, no smoking! Whoever makes our movie star leave angry, I’ll dunk them in wine and castrate them!” Then he came over to Lu Xianqing: “Fair enough, right?”
“Whoever angers me, I’ll castrate them!” Lu Xianqing pushed his arm aside, raising his voice. “Bring a knife. Ming, perform self-castration right here. I’ll put it on the headlines.”
Ming Fei leaned in, proud and flattering: “Bro, just signed a new talent. Got time to show him the ropes? Beautiful kid. Long guy’s heart is taken. Gorgeous, you know my taste. Truly a gem.”
Lu Xianqing was tired of hearing the same line—every single one couldn’t last three months, not even as long as a rose’s bloom.
“No time.” He took the wine Ming Fei handed him, tossing He Xing’s warnings out of his mind. Half a cup burned down his throat, painful yet satisfying.
He hadn’t been drinking during filming; with alcoholism and mental exhaustion, he barely slept. The alcohol brought a sliver of comfort.
“Come on, how can you have no time? You’ve been resting nearly a year, time to join the crew, right?” Ming Fei said, pulling out his phone, unlocking it with his face, bragging: “Seriously, this face is amazing. Good thing I developed facial unlock, otherwise, after retirement, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Lu Xianqing frowned, looking at a photo Ming Fei shoved in front of him: long golden hair, blue eyes, deep, refined features with a hint of Eastern delicacy—probably a mixed-race kid.
Ming Fei beamed: “Pretty, right?”
“Average.”
Ming Fei was offended: “Average? Your eyes probably can’t see beauty. No wonder people say you’re impossible. I even wrote the clarification article—when should I post it?”
Lu Xianqing: “Do you want to test if it works or not?”
“No, can’t handle it.” Ming Fei rubbed his shoulder, forcing the photo closer: “Soon, need to film a drama. Take him along?”
Lu Xianqing kicked him: “I’m filming a costume drama. Where would I take him? Ming, if you’re rich, hire someone to write a script from scratch, assemble a crew just to push him. Can a person conquer the battlefield? Your company can’t even support one!”
Someone snickered. Lu Xianqing turned—Xu Jinhan was there, previously hidden in a dark corner.
His legs weren’t fully healed; he limped over with a cane, smiling at Ming Fei: “Picked him up on the way. Promised to promote him. Couldn’t fall short in front of a new crush, right?”
Lu Xianqing didn’t understand. Xu Jinhan sat in a single chair, smiling: “Fourth Brother, filmed that variety show so long, looks like you’ve lost weight. Hot searches said Qin Sizheng threw you. Both body and mind hurt. Hard work.”
Lu Xianqing nodded: “Yes, hard work. Bow for me.”
Xu Jinhan: ?
Ming Fei laughed, unable to straighten. “You know, I watched this variety show too. Qin Sizheng’s actually fun. That previous dumb look? I kinda liked it. Punching glass barehanded, kicking a stick in half—so cool.”
Lu Xianqing’s eyes darkened, fingers twisting the cup in silence.
Ming Fei continued rambling: “Pretty, violent beauty—good contrast. Too bad his reputation’s bad; hard to redeem. Nowadays, entertainers are like bamboo shoots, audiences can’t be fooled. One wall falls, thousands remain. He’s already fallen to the underworld; climbing back up will be tough.”
Lu Xianqing smirked: “Ming, anything you think is difficult?”
Ming Fei laughed. “Don’t put words in my mouth, okay? You interested in him? Fine. Sign him, and I’ll throw all the company’s best resources his way, personally map out his future plan, make him as clean and flawless as Snow White. How’s that?”
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze, not giving an answer. Ming Fei continued: “But his personality is really an issue—dissing co-artists. You’ll need He Xing to manage him; she’s experienced.”
Lu Xianqing looked up and smiled: “I didn’t grow under your tutelage, so I wouldn’t dare say that.”
“Ungrateful,” Ming Fei grumbled, unable to argue, and turned to leave.
The show Traveling with the Adorable Kid used live streaming, though later edited highlights and individual cuts were released. Qin Sizheng’s segment had the highest viewership, almost rivaling Lu Xianqing.
Following the production team’s request, Qin Sizheng went live once, then cut it short. Jiang Xi watched, laughing: “Top-tier star—it really is top-tier.”
They both marveled at the volatility of streaming platforms. When Qin Sizheng logged back in, the fans’ enthusiasm stunned him—love, hate, all at once—leaving him momentarily dazed.
The team had no strict requirements—just let him chat casually, answer fan questions, and build hype for the next episode.
“Not bad, not too tiring. That horse? Didn’t overthink it, just went on. Haha, yes, thanks to the show for not making me lose money,” Qin Sizheng winked at the camera, melting the hearts of the Little Qin Strings fans.
“The tempered glass probably wasn’t great quality; easy to break. Don’t try it at home—you could get hurt. Kicking the wooden stick? Same. Take it slow; exercises like Tai Chi or Five Animals Qigong are good for fitness. Check the show’s edits for reference.”
【Hahaha, Bao even plugs products. Team, get paid! I practice Five Animals Qigong in the dorm; my roommates think I’m possessed.】
【Getting addicted to mocking? Not enough with Si Qianqiu, now mocking the audience too?】
【Some haters, shut up. Kite warning is for safety. Think you’re cool? Go try it, get hurt, don’t complain later. Moderator, block them to avoid hassle.】
Qin Sizheng didn’t mind; he smiled and moved the whole box of letters in front of the camera: “You all wrote so much, I spent the whole night reading, and my eyes are swollen. Crying? No! Don’t exaggerate—it’s from staying up. Don’t believe me? Look.”
This time he was more relaxed than his first live stream. Having done a prior show, he was used to it, chatting about fan questions and filming anecdotes for over half an hour.
When someone asked about Lu Xianqing, Qin Sizheng quickly said: “Senior Lu is a great mentor, taught me a lot. I respect him—he’s my idol.”
Most fans were gentle; this show won him more supporters. Though he couldn’t instantly change his image, they could see progress, which made Qin Sizheng satisfied.
After the live stream, Jiang Xi sighed in relief: “The comments are gentler now. That photo we took earlier worked well. Maybe post the second one to attract more fans?”
Qin Sizheng remembered that photo—his hand, the butterfly-shaped shoulder blades. That hand had caused a lot of buzz, but was soon removed from the internet. He felt relieved.
In his previous life, he’d taken photos of fists, which made him uncomfortable. But for fans, he’d tolerate it.
Jiang Xi: “Meeting fan wishes is great for engagement. Many celebrities are untouchable; if you’re approachable, the effect is much better.”
Qin Sizheng nodded.
Suppressing a smirk, Jiang Xi reached for his phone: “I’ll edit and post it. Wait… why is it in camera mode?”
Qin Sizheng: “Isn’t this more approachable? Showing me hitting the bag, doesn’t this connect with fans?”
Jiang Xi: “…Sure, very approachable.”
He begrudgingly filmed a short video of Qin Sizheng in a tank top, gloves on, wildly hitting the bag—hormones practically oozing off the screen.
Once posted on Weibo, fans immediately reacted, asking him to post more, and even begged for him to star in a kung fu film—authentic performance.
Jiang Xi wondered silently: Why isn’t he listening to advice anymore? Did he figure something out, or… just coincidence?
Qin Sizheng wiped sweat from his face as his phone rang. He answered: “Elder group? Should be fine, but I need to check my schedule first. If possible, I can go, okay?”
Jiang Xi: “What’s this? Xu Ge wanted you to rest at home, not run around. If photos leak, it could be bad, and you’re in the spotlight. Watch out for extreme haters.”
Qin Sizheng: “Jiangbei TV is holding a Tai Chi competition for elders in Yefu Village. The villagers want me as team leader and sent the director to ask.”
Jiang Xi: “? Not going, right? This isn’t for the public stage. The villagers can’t give you any support—it’s just taking advantage of you.”
Qin Sizheng was already calling Xu Zhan, seemingly intending to go. Jiang Xi frowned. This guy doesn’t match the rumors at all.
Isn’t he supposed to treat fans like nothing? The show’s done, so why go to some remote village? Gaining fans there seems pointless.
What’s he thinking?
Meanwhile, Lu Xianqing’s side—An Ning waited two hours with no sign of him. Just as she went to check upstairs, he appeared, smelling of alcohol, eyes slightly bloodshot.
“Didn’t I tell you no drinking? He Xing would peel me alive. Even if I were Bai Suzhen, I don’t have enough skin to take it all off,” she scolded, helping him into the car, his phone still playing something.
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze at the screen. The boy was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, mouth slightly open, breathing hard, hands pounding the punching bag with sharp, heavy thuds that echoed from the phone, each strike sending Lu Xianqing’s own breath into a deeper rhythm.
An Ning snatched the phone and turned it off. “Rest for a bit. I’ll call you when we get home.”
“Mm.” Lu Xianqing didn’t try to grab the phone back. The image of the boy hitting the bag lingered in his mind—he imagined it striking him, fierce and relentless, breaking every bone in his body.
Hearing his heavy breathing, An Ning glanced back. His eyes were closed; she couldn’t tell if he was asleep. Tentatively, she called out: “Fourth Brother.”
No response. Assuming he’d dozed off, she remained quiet. At home, when she tried again, he suddenly grabbed her wrist, nearly twisting it, eyes bloodshot with a murderous gleam. An Ning shivered. “Fourth Brother, it’s me!”
“…An Ning.” Lu Xianqing released her hand, rubbing his temples. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. We’re home.” An Ning ran ahead to turn on the courtyard lights, then helped him inside. The house had voice-activated lights, turning on at any sound.
Yan Yan leapt from the sofa, landing on Lu Xianqing’s arm and affectionately licking the back of his hand.
“Fourth Brother, rest early. Call me if you need anything,” An Ning said.
“Mm, go on.”
Lu Xianqing carried Yan Yan upstairs. The media room was brightly lit; he sat down, massaging his dull temples, and pulled up the punching video on his phone, projecting it onto the massive screen.
He turned off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, leaving only the sweaty boy on screen, his skin glistening, each breath almost tangible—thump, thump, striking relentlessly.
Lu Xianqing lowered his head, letting desire grow unchecked. In the darkness, only that fragment of color remained. He picked up his phone and sent the other party a message, exposing his longing:
【You look so sexy covered in sweat. Do you know that? Every time I see your hands, I wish they’d hit me hard—treat me like the punching bag. Hit me.】
【So much sweat, your hands are red. You must understand what I want, right?】
【Please bend to me, look upon me, heal me with pity. I admit I’m guilty, I deserve punishment. Every day, as long as I’m awake, they taunt me, never giving me peace.】
He sent it, but it was like casting a stone into the ocean—silence. Probably blocked again.
In the depths of solitude, he died once more.
He threw the phone aside, startling Yan Yan, who screeched and fled the pitch-black media room, leaving only the overlapping sounds of heavy breathing and the pounding video—rapid then drawn-out, echoing through an entire lifetime.
Lu Xianqing looked at the dirt on his fingertips, lifted them slowly, and faintly gripped the fists in the image, smearing them.
Meanwhile, Traveling with the Adorable Kid remained highly popular. Viewers’ interest only increased, surpassing many TV dramas’ ratings.
Wen Li watched as the online reviews flipped—from almost entirely negative at the start to overwhelmingly favorable, as fans rallied around Qin Sizheng. She instinctively clenched her palms.
Qin Sizheng had been blackened to the lowest point, yet still managed to gain fans.
She had instructed the show’s director to give Qin Sizheng no script, let him act freely, and intentionally assign him the worst lodging. Knowing his cleanliness obsession, he’d surely dislike it. Yet he transformed the house into a “mini villa”!
After filming, many fans flew in to visit; even the small swing he made became a viral photo spot. Everything he used—the bowls, the bed, the grape trellis—was stripped bare. He not only gained a huge fanbase but also boosted tourism revenue for Yefu Village.
She had worried that she couldn’t control him, so she sent Si Qianqiu over. That useless person failed utterly and even got beaten by Qin Sizheng into silence. Absolutely worthless!
Her refined features tensed, blue veins appearing on her temples. She dug her beautiful nails into her palm to wake herself up, looking at the crescent-shaped mark in her hand. No, this won’t do!
“What do you mean no?” A middle-aged man approached with a few scripts in hand, set them on the table, pulled out a chair, and kissed her forehead.
Wen Li immediately composed herself, smiling gently. “This flower tea wasn’t great this time—slightly bitter.”
Zhou Changjiang didn’t care for fancy teas; he preferred his Tieguanyin. He handed over the scripts cheerfully. “A few of these are good. Between Good and Evil—I discussed it with Lu Xianqing, and he likes it. But I still haven’t decided on the third male lead.”
Wen Li wondered what role was so hard to cast. Zhou explained: “The character is about 17 or 18, from a slum, using his fists to protect his street. He sees no good or evil, only where his fists strike and who he protects—but in the end, those people betray him for money. Simple to say, yet complex as well.”
Wen Li flipped through the script, and a name floated to her mind, overlapping with the voice in her ears. “I think Qin Sizheng is actually good. Look, his movements are precise; that kick with the wooden stick—so sharp. And when he mounted the horse at the start, those few strikes? You can’t fake that posture and presence—it’s perfect.”
Zhou Changjiang kept praising him. Wen Li frowned tighter and snapped the script shut. “He’s not suitable.”
“What do you mean not suitable?” Zhou asked.
Wen Li chose her words carefully. “First, his reputation’s too bad. If Lu Xianqing played the role, they’re rivals by nature. Working together with unresolved animosity could spark fan backlash.”
Zhou nodded but added: “But watching their interactions on the variety show, it went well. And there’s CPF, even a super topic called Qingshan Has Thoughts—sounds nice. Shouldn’t be an issue.”
Wen Li ground her teeth and muttered a curse under her breath, then continued: “Not long ago he posted a photo—his assistant showed it to me—it was him grabbing the bedsheet like that. That kind of soft, sensual thing, he actually dared to post it. Isn’t that just throwing caution to the wind? What if it tarnishes the film’s image later? That’s a risk.”
Zhou Changjiang asked, “What bedsheet?”
Wen Li showed him the photo. Previously, she had planned to use it to humiliate him, pinning him down where he couldn’t get up—but the internet had blocked it entirely, no stir at all. She’d been so angry her teeth ached for three days, and she hadn’t even deleted the image, so now she showed it to Zhou. He lit up at the sight. “His hands are really nice. You’re saying he’s unsuitable, but not because he criticized your acting on Weibo, right? You’ve won Best Actress and you’re still holding grudges against a kid?”
“Zhou Changjiang!” Wen Li snapped, teeth clenched.
Zhou quickly added, “Haha, I’m joking, joking. True, it’s inappropriate. The image is clean enough, not overtly suggestive, but it does carry some negative influence. And you’re right, his reputation in the industry isn’t great, so using him is risky. So, according to you, is there a suitable actor?”
Wen Li casually replied, “Jiang Zhen, perhaps. He’s pretty good.”
The last time, he had sent her a necklace—quite a tactful newcomer.
Zhou Changjiang had heard of him. He’d mostly appeared in low-budget TV dramas and films, making a face familiar to audiences. Whether he could handle a big production was uncertain, especially with many scenes opposite Lu Xianqing. Zhou hesitated. “Can he do it? I still think Qin Sizheng is good. This role really benefits from a martial arts background—fans can tell if the punches lack strength. Soft punches won’t do.”
He sighed repeatedly. “You’ve started off well, why be so difficult? His starting point isn’t bad. Shengyu is a small company, but occasionally they still get decent big productions for exposure.”
Wen Li was annoyed. “Just use a stunt double. Technology’s advanced now; face replacement is easy. Isn’t it simple to edit? Using Qin Sizheng carries far more risk than a double.”
Zhou agreed. “Alright then, I’ll talk to Jiang Zhen’s team first.”
Since receiving the tickets from You Si, Qin Sizheng had been over the moon, counting down the days to the match, nearly wearing the tickets to tatters. Finally, the day arrived. With a small suitcase, wearing a mask and sunglasses, he met You Si as if they were thieves.
Their economy seats barely had room to stretch. You Si complained, “If you’re worried about being recognized, just buy first class. Cramped here, can’t take off your mask or hat—it’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”
Qin Sizheng didn’t mind at all, too excited to care. “Take off! Take off! Hurry!”
The flight attendant, hearing him, smiled gently: “We still have some time before takeoff. Please fasten your seatbelts and rest a bit.”
“….”
You Si put on an eye mask to sleep, while Qin Sizheng couldn’t calm down. Before the flight, he had downloaded several match videos to watch, so by the time they landed, it was almost afternoon. The hotel was booked by You Si; they followed the navigation to check in.
“A little hungry. Let’s go eat,” You Si stretched his legs, letting Qin Sizheng give him a quick massage, pouting as he complained of fatigue.
Qin Sizheng raised his fists: “Big fist eighty, small fist forty—WeChat or Alipay?”