You Si rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone. “Let’s start with fifty cents first.”
Qin Sizheng stifled a laugh and dragged him out of the chair. No one recognized them abroad, so no need for masks or hats—he could finally breathe. They found a Sichuan restaurant run by Chinese locals and sat down.
You Si loved spicy food, immediately ordering málà xuěwàng. Qin Sizheng didn’t mind, eating anything. The restaurant served two bowls of iced jelly dessert, which they devoured before heading to the boxing arena.
Banners lined the street. Though smaller in scale than the entertainment industry, the familiarity made Qin Sizheng’s blood pump—every cell seemed alive again.
He found his seat, an excellent view. The arena buzzed with excitement. He nervously and eagerly watched the elastic guard in the center. The fighters hadn’t arrived yet, leaving two empty chairs that pulled him back to his previous life.
He remembered sitting in that exact spot, towel, water, gloves—recollecting past injuries and the unparalleled satisfaction and sense of achievement.
You Si fanned himself, muttering, “It’s so hot! Look, my makeup’s probably melting. I’m going to break out tomorrow.”
Qin Sizheng glanced at him, indifferent. “Still looks fine. Heaven and earth, perfect. Here’s some iced water so you’re not uncomfortable.”
You Si pouted, mumbling: “Two people beating each other up, bloody and messy—what’s fun about that? Don’t understand why you’re excited. You didn’t like this before, right?”
Qin Sizheng felt slightly guilty. “People’s hobbies change, you know. Remember that master you were obsessed with last time? He’s lost fans already.”
You Si reached to pinch him: “Don’t mention that trash. Now he’s a disgrace in our toy circle! Next time you see him, give me big fists eighty, bet two hundred first.”
Just as they were talking, the arena fell silent. The fighters took the stage. You Si exclaimed: “Why do their gloves look different from yours? Professional versus amateur?”
Qin Sizheng explained: “No, professional matches require gloves that match the fighter’s weight.”
You Si asked again: “Do they weigh themselves before going on stage?”
Qin Sizheng nodded: “Yes. Boxers are grouped by weight class and number of competitors. Most are divided in 5 kg increments; special cases can cross 10 kg, all according to the rules.”
You Si was surprised at his detailed knowledge. He hadn’t studied this systematically before. So hobbies really do change?
He used to be obsessed with Lu Xianqing, but now focused on business, acting properly on the show. In the past, he might have rushed forward impulsively.
“Here we go!”
Qin Sizheng sat upright, tense enough to rival the fighters themselves. You Si turned to watch the center of the ring: the referee stood within the circular stage, hand raised, glancing toward the timekeeper.
The match officially began. On stage, an Eastern fighter, Chou Zheng, faced a dark-skinned foreigner named Ans. You Si kept drawing in sharp breaths. “Ouch… that looked painful… oh crap, did he hit the brow bone? Is it… gonna crack? I feel like I’m gonna crack…”
He babbled on, and Qin Sizheng, exasperated, tried to explain. “Actually, it’s not like that. Though Ans is aggressive and seems to have the upper hand, Chou Zheng isn’t weak—and he’s extremely durable. Durability matters a lot on this stage.”
You Si frowned, skeptical. “You, an amateur, explaining to me? He’s not weak? Look at his swollen face, all bloody… I can’t, I feel faint.”
Qin Sizheng’s eyes followed Chou Zheng closely. The fighter seemed unfazed by pain, maintaining a defensive posture. Though injured, he wasn’t seriously hurt. He was carefully seeking a single, decisive opening.
“There’s a killing intent in his eyes. I believe he’ll win,” Qin Sizheng said, his gaze almost glued to the ring. It was as if he was Chou Zheng, gloves on, fighting to the death.
You Si didn’t believe it, and neither did the surrounding spectators. Someone laughed, turning to him: “Kids, always so naive. No way there’s some miraculous comeback. Chou Zheng’s done—he’s weaker than Ans. Foreigners are just stronger than Eastern fighters.”
Qin Sizheng smiled but didn’t argue. Chou Zheng’s expression was steadfast; he wasn’t reckless with attacks or counters. His footwork was steady, his defense tight, and every strike precise, every counter beautifully executed.
Boxing wasn’t just about strength or technique—it was about mindset. Once that cracked, even the fittest fighter couldn’t win.
You Si gradually got swept up in the crowd’s cheers, clenching his fists. “Go for it! Ah, why did he step back? Oh… okay, nice!”
He didn’t fully understand, but Qin Sizheng’s certainty was infectious, making him wish he could leap into the ring himself to help pull Ans down.
“He’s starting his attack,” Qin Sizheng said excitedly, voice faster than usual, brimming with certainty. “His moves are incredibly fast. The opponent’s stamina is dropping, and Chou Zheng has already read the angles and timing of each punch.”
“Every point is precious; he never misses an opportunity. His victory relies on both caution and skill.”
The boy continued explaining, perhaps just to vent his own excitement. He longed to be on that stage, feeling that mix of blood, sweat, and satisfaction. Qin Sizheng had to grip his hands tightly to suppress the urge to shout.
You Si glanced at him, noticing his tense, sweating face. For a moment, he seemed like a completely different person—pure, radiant, filled with energy and sincerity. You Si frowned slightly, realizing Qin Sizheng might finally be free, no longer driven crazy by anyone, simply being himself.
Boxing matches weren’t like basketball or other long, drawn-out games; a two-minute round would soon pause for a break. You Si kept staring at Qin Sizheng, noticing the yearning on his face.
“Have you competed before?” You Si asked on impulse.
“Of course…” Qin Sizheng almost let it slip but quickly corrected himself. “I couldn’t have competed in a boxing match. I’ve only recently taken an interest. But if I could fight a professional boxer… that would be amazing!”
He raised his fists in a small, longing strike.
You Si shook his head, saying nothing more.
The match grew even fiercer. Both fighters were visibly wounded; even from afar, You Si felt the pain and quickly lowered his head to scroll on his phone.
Qin Sizheng didn’t miss a single move, watching intently until the referee announced the champion: Chou Zheng. You Si’s head shot up instantly.
The spectators who had doubted Qin Sizheng also turned to look. “Wow, man, you were right!”
Qin Sizheng smiled as they eagerly discussed the match highlights with him. He engaged enthusiastically, explaining points as they walked toward the exit, when suddenly a commotion erupted.
“Looks like fans from both sides are fighting?” someone said.
The man smiled dismissively. “Happens all the time—passions run high. Nobody likes seeing their fighter lose. Arguments often turn physical. Let’s go.”
Qin Sizheng had left through the players’ exit in previous matches, unaware of such fan brawls. He nodded, preparing to leave, when he suddenly saw a man strike an elderly bystander who had tried to intervene.
He handed the water bottle to You Si decisively. “I’ll be right back!”
“Sizheng, don’t get involved!” You Si warned, afraid he’d get blood on himself, and hurried after him.
Qin Sizheng scaled a chair and leaped into the fray, landing between the two men and forcefully separating them.
“Who the hell are you? Let go or you’re next!” one man shouted.
The boy’s face was calm, his frame slight yet astonishingly strong. One hand pinned a man effortlessly, his slender fingers as unyielding as iron. The jump from the chair had been impressive enough to shock everyone.
“Move aside!” Qin Sizheng’s gaze was icy. The two men flinched and released their grip.
He bent to help the elderly man to his feet. The man, in his sixties with gray temples, was dizzy and nauseated.
The crowd instinctively cleared a path. Only after Qin Sizheng reached an empty spectator seat did it fully sink in: this boy seemed to carry an inexplicable authority, compelling people to obey.
The elderly man’s head was buzzing, and his vision blurred with a faint double image. Shaking his head uncomfortably, he soon had two men in black hurry over. “Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” the old man chuckled, brushing it off. “Just got punched while trying to break up a fight. I’m old; can’t take much, haha.”
They helped him to his feet, and he smiled kindly at the young boy who had just saved him. “By the way, little one, what’s your name?”
“Qin Sizheng.”
The old man paused thoughtfully. “Qin Sizheng… tell me, is there anything you want? I’ll make sure they thank you properly.”
Qin Sizheng shook his head quickly. “No, no, it was nothing. You should go to the hospital and get checked. Just make sure you’re okay.”
With that, he dashed off.
You Si scolded him repeatedly, “You jumped down from that high up—are you crazy? You scared me half to death! Don’t do that again. And don’t go sticking your nose in other people’s fights—what if someone tried to frame you?”
Qin Sizheng forced an apologetic smile. “Next time, I promise. Really.”
“Don’t half-ass it!”
He straightened immediately, voice firm. “Next time, I promise!”
“…Fine. Can’t argue with you. Sooner or later, your impulsiveness is going to get you into trouble.”
After two full, exhilarating days of matches, Qin Sizheng felt completely alive again. On the flight back, he eagerly replayed the fight footage while You Si, unable to take it, donned an eye mask and leaned back to sleep.
Seeing some cached videos of Traveling With the Little One, he opened one—the cut featuring Lu Xianqing. Watching it was different from being there in person, like peering through a thin veil, secretly observing without him knowing.
On screen, Lu Xianqing scooped a spoonful of chilled mushroom jam and fed it to him, his gaze deep yet gentle. Qin Sizheng felt an inexplicable tension, instinctively opening his mouth before quickly closing it.
He obediently took the spoon, ate the jam, and quietly asked if he could forget the tonic for vitality, to which Lu Xianqing refused. His ears flushed red.
Qin Sizheng hadn’t realized how easily he blushed. The scene was sweet, but his nervousness was obvious. Compared to him, Lu Xianqing appeared utterly natural, as if born for the camera—never forced, never flattering, every angle perfect, especially when washing his hands—so gentle it almost crossed a line, yet without causing discomfort, only embarrassment.
Blinking, Qin Sizheng skipped to the night of the Sacred Festival. Unlike the others, he hadn’t danced; he stood at the edge of the camera’s frame, watching the central bonfire with longing.
He remembered looking back that night, catching Lu Xianqing’s gaze—it was like staring at a lonely island. The video, paired with its warm yet lively soundtrack, made the loneliness even more palpable.
A dull pain tugged at his chest. With night blindness, he wondered if others’ joy was even visible to him in darkness, and being alone must be far worse.
He tapped the screen, recalling how Lu Xianqing had been stung by bees while protecting him, even taking a hit from Qin Sizheng, yet he never truly apologized. He realized he had received so much care and never once said thank you—and even let him see that “Cherish Life, Stay Away from Lu Xianqing” note. Was he angry?
Now the variety show was over; Lu Xianqing wouldn’t be returning. They probably wouldn’t have any further contact.
A slow breath, a dull ache in his chest—just thinking he might never be connected to him again was painful.
Instinctively, he reached up, gripping his collar. The flight attendant, mistaking his action for discomfort, approached. “Sir, are you feeling unwell?”
“No, I’m fine,” he quickly replied, letting go of the collar and closing the video. He turned to watch the clouds streaked by the plane’s wing, wondering what Lu Xianqing was doing now.
During the variety show, Lu Xianqing had been reading scripts—he should be about to join a set. After all, the show was just a favor for Xu Jinhan; he wouldn’t remain among mortals for long.
Qin Sizheng wanted to apologize but… he didn’t have a way to contact him.
The thought made him sober. Maybe an apology wouldn’t even matter; perhaps Lu Xianqing didn’t want to see him again.
He spent the flight lost in these thoughts, and by the time they landed, he felt listless. You Si assumed it was just fatigue.
At home, he lazed for two days. While checking the next recording schedule, Xu Zhao’s call came through: “Are you home?”
“I’m home,” Qin Sizheng replied, “planning to practice boxing later. What’s up?”
“I’m outside your place. We’ll talk in the car.”
Qin Sizheng changed clothes and went out, spotting a car across the street. Sliding open the door, he got in.
“Why not go inside? Are we going out? Is it work?”
“No need. I have a trip later, but I’m taking you and two juniors to shoot a magazine.”
Qin Sizheng noticed two boys in the car and nodded at them. “Hello.”
“Hello, senior brother,” they said in unison. One dug into his pocket. “Senior brother, can I get your autograph? I loved you in Traveling With the Little One! So cool!”
Qin Sizheng blushed at the praise, quickly downplaying it. Everyone was talented; they all deserved credit.
Xu Zhao interrupted, “Forget signing, I don’t have time. Listen—there’s a big opportunity coming straight at you!”
“What opportunity?”
“A gaming company wants to shoot a promotional video. They’re interested in you, and I’ve already accepted on your behalf. Tomorrow morning, Jiang Xi will accompany you there.”
He looked at Qin Sizheng, still a bit dazed, and thought he might not know what kind of company this was. So he carefully explained again: “This game has a long history, has hosted dozens of tournaments, and every event sells out—tickets are nearly impossible to get. The player base is enormous. Honestly, at our company’s level, we shouldn’t have been able to get this job. They must have seen your performance in Traveling With the Little One and specifically requested you.”
“Specifically requested me? Are you sure it’s not someone with the same name? After all, this name’s pretty common. Qin Erniu is rarer.”
Qin Sizheng wasn’t fully convinced. He knew how bad his reputation outside was. If they chose him, didn’t that mean they were taking a huge risk? Were they so desperate to keep the game alive?
“Yes, it’s you. They even brought photos to confirm. I almost thought they were looking for a long-lost young master. Qin Erniu wouldn’t fit at all.”
Qin Sizheng paused to digest the news, then finally accepted it.
“Indeed, Qin Erniu wouldn’t be suitable.”
On Lu Xianqing’s side, although he had accepted the role, it would still be some time before he joined the set. He Xing felt both happy and worried.
Once he started filming, Lu Xianqing wouldn’t have free time to pester Qin Sizheng—but as soon as he immersed himself in the role, it would take a year to come out of it. It was exhausting just thinking about it. She really feared one day he might “die” in the role.
“I’m not that easy to kill,” Lu Xianqing said.
He Xing felt exasperated and rolled her eyes, saying earnestly, “Just act casually. Why get so invested? It’s not like no one will notice your acting.”
Lu Xianqing smiled. “Are you telling me to fake it for the audience?”
Realizing she’d misspoken, He Xing twisted her words. “I mean… with your acting, even casually performing could win awards. Why go so far, layer five, layer ten? The audience won’t notice.”
“I can see it,” Lu Xianqing replied calmly.
Unable to argue further, she changed the topic. “This morning, we’ll do a test makeup shoot. You don’t need an audition, but we still have to follow the process. In the afternoon, you’ll go to Shen Qing for psychological guidance, okay?”
“Mm.”
He Xing habitually checked Weibo trends late at night, using a small account to follow Qin Sizheng. She happened to see the video and casually mentioned it, testing his reaction.
Lu Xianqing absentmindedly stroked the cat’s back, his voice full of longing: “I want to die with him… or die under his fists. He Xing, you know? I’ve imagined countless times being killed by him.”
He Xing’s scalp nearly went numb. “An Ning! Call Shen Qing! Right now!”
Lu Xianqing lowered his head, watching the cat in his arms. His fingertips brushed lightly against his own neck. Seeing the cat’s glassy eyes, he suddenly thought of that sunflower.
If one day, he held someone’s neck like this… would they still look at him so innocently, and maybe lick his hand lightly?
He tightened his hold slightly. The cat yelped and leapt from his arm. His previously indifferent expression darkened briefly, then immediately softened again.
“Just joking. I haven’t been thinking about dying lately.”
Lu Xianqing got up and headed upstairs. “I’ll change clothes for the test makeup.”
An Ning said, “I’ll have the driver bring the car over.”
The test makeup location was the Yangqu studio—large, with multiple sets. It was convenient for auditions and makeup tests, complete with a recording studio nearby. The only downside: it was quite remote.
As soon as they got out of the car, An Ning suddenly pointed ahead. “Fourth Brother, isn’t that Qin Sizheng?”
The boy wore a red traditional costume. His jet-black hair flowed down his back, looking like a lost young noble.
Qin Sizheng had come that morning to audition for the game endorsement. The machine malfunctioned, and Jiang Xi mentioned there was a nearby ski slope. Unable to resist, he secretly went to ski for a bit.
He hurried to the entrance, bought a ticket, and skillfully strapped on the skis. After a quick test run on the snow, a staff member hesitated. “Do you want to change? This might be inconvenient with the costume.”
“No need,” Qin Sizheng replied with a smile and pushed off with his feet.
After finishing makeup, his already delicate features looked even more striking. In red against the snow, he looked like a little immortal soaring on a sword.
After a few runs, feeling refreshed, he returned carrying his skis—and suddenly saw Lu Xianqing, who seemed to wave at him.
Thinking it was a hallucination, Qin Sizheng rubbed his eyes. Seeing that Lu Xianqing hadn’t disappeared, he realized it was really him.
He jogged over, his nose tip slightly red from the cold, eyes glistening, a strand of wet hair sticking to his face. Paired with his little dimples, he looked irresistibly charming.
“Senior Lu.”
“Mm?”
He corrected himself mid-breath. “Fourth Brother.”
Thinking a moment, he asked, “Are you fully recovered? And… thank you.”
He poured out both apology and gratitude, not caring if Lu Xianqing understood, worried that if he missed this chance, there might never be another.
“Thank me for what?”
Lu Xianqing watched him anxiously and couldn’t help smiling. Qin Sizheng realized his eagerness, pressed his lips, and asked, “Why are you here?”
Lu Xianqing reached out to brush the wet hair from his face and wiped the sweat from his nose, speaking slowly: “Here for a test makeup shoot. What are you doing here? Skiing?”
Qin Sizheng explained the audition machine issue and quickly asked, “Are you here for the Jiang Zhen project?”
“Do you like Jiang Zhen?” Lu Xianqing frowned.
Qin Sizheng hurriedly shook his head, thinking, I wouldn’t dare. “He’s nice, and I’ve heard his acting is good. Should be a good partner.”
Lu Xianqing’s brow furrowed—so that praise… did it mean he liked him?
His gaze turned cold as he gave a curt “Mm,” letting the topic slide, then looked down at the skis in Qin Sizheng’s hands. “You ski?”
Qin Sizheng nodded. Seeing him stare at the skis, he guessed he might want to try. “Want to give it a shot?”
Lu Xianqing paused for a moment. Qin Sizheng cautiously asked, “You don’t know how?”
“Try, then,” Lu Xianqing replied.
Taking the skis, he hesitated, finally unable to hide his embarrassment and asked, “How does this thing work?”
Qin Sizheng burst out laughing, clutching his waist as he nearly doubled over. He had been watching Lu Xianqing so intently earlier, and with such confidence, saying “try, then”—he thought he meant it. Turns out it was more like “try, then perish.”