In a private clinic, a young, handsome man rested his head on one hand, leaning against the chair’s armrest. His eyes were pale, lifeless, as if he could leave this world without a trace at any moment.
“The intervention didn’t work so well this time. Was the role too heavy?”
The man lifted his head slightly. Long eyebrows like ink, eyes like stars, his beauty was almost excessive.
Yet in his gaze there was an undeniable, oppressive gloom, a world‑weary melancholy that made anyone glance once and feel suffocated.
“I committed suicide.”
Psychologist Shen Qing’s brows furrowed, fingers flipping absentmindedly through the patient’s medical record.
Lu Xianqing, the once‑rising Best Actor, filmed only one movie a year—no more. Even the best scripts wouldn’t tempt him.
Capital loved and hated him in equal measure. If he agreed to a project, it would be a blockbuster. Others saw him as arrogant, polarizing fans and critics alike: those who liked him deified him; those who disliked him deified him first, then criticized him for being too proud, claiming he would eventually fade.
Only Shen Qing knew the truth: it wasn’t that he didn’t want to act—he simply couldn’t.
Outsiders thought he glided through life effortlessly, a natural actor, but that talent came at a cost: he traded his sanity for it, living through each character’s life.
After filming each movie, Lu Xianqing needed a long time to recover. For him, the end of a film meant the death of a character—and in a way, his own death as well. The more he acted, the deeper his illness grew, leaving him like a madman, a living corpse wandering the world.
Shen Qing had been his psychologist for seven years, yet the dark, world-weary shadows in Lu Xianqing’s eyes remained untouchable.
“Look at your hands.”
Lu Xianqing extended his hands—hailed by fans as the most beautiful in the entertainment industry—revealing a fresh scar on the back of one hand.
Despite his severe hand fetish, he wouldn’t harm his own hands at a time like this.
Shen Qing frowned. “Can’t you just try dating? Find a little joy in life so you’re not constantly brooding over death. At this rate, you’ll die in your roles.”
Lu Xianqing’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Oh? Think I can’t be cured, or… finally surrendered to my charm?” He paused, the corner of his eye twitching, letting out a tone so ambiguously flirtatious that any fan would scream on the spot. “Annoying.”
Shen Qing clenched his teeth. “Get out!”
Lu Xianqing had been in the industry nine years, debuting at the peak. His name alone was a mountain—no one could surpass it.
No one knew that this so-called “high-mountain flower,” the abstinent Best Actor, was secretly gloomy, world-weary, and extremely controlling—borderline insane, needing psychological intervention just to function normally.
He had no scandals, never reacted to kissing or sex scenes with co-actors, and never needed tape or protection.
Despite rumors of his “impossibilities,” fans adored him, constantly defending him.
“Have you… masturbated recently?”
Lu Xianqing turned, his indifferent eyes fixed for a moment, then shook his head.
Shen Qing frowned. “Not interested in anyone at all? Aren’t you obsessed with hands? Can’t you find someone with nice hands?”
“There’s no hands better than mine.” He paused, extending his hand behind him with a dismissive gesture. “Leaving.”
For anyone else, that sentence would be annoying—but coming from Lu Xianqing, Shen Qing couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
He couldn’t imagine what dating Lu Xianqing would even look like—probably either imprisoning someone until they went mad or getting reported as a lunatic.
Better not risk it. For social stability, he decided: no dating.
Qin Sizheng’s comeback was met with skepticism throughout the entertainment industry—even Shengyu wasn’t optimistic—but Xu Zhao believed he could rise again. Not for anything else, but for the way he looked.
A few marketing accounts that were somewhat friendly had been paid to help sway public opinion.
Despite Qin Sizheng’s decline over the past two years, the small fan site Little Kite_Qin Sizheng never shut down. A girl named Hong Xue Feifei consistently updated it.
Every Weibo post included a note: “Never forget.”
Even at Qin Sizheng’s lowest, Hong Xue Feifei hadn’t given up. Her photos were beautifully edited, her captions heartfelt—it was clear she genuinely liked Qin Sizheng.
He was deeply moved.
Since fate had given him a second chance, allowing him to live “Qin Sizheng” again, he vowed never to disappoint those who had steadfastly supported him.
“Brother Xu, can I delete the previous Weibo posts?”
After understanding the reason, Xu Zhao smiled in relief. “Of course, of course!”
Jiang Xi handed the Weibo account over. Once Qin Sizheng cleared it, his brand-new first post was a retweet of Hong Xue Feifei’s post:
Qin Sizheng: This time, we’ll grow together //@HongXueFeifei: When the starlight fades, Qin Sizheng keeps his promise. Looking forward to the brightest performance on stage!
Hong Xue Feifei cried all night when she saw the retweet. She posted a peach‑shaped eye emoji on her private Weibo. The few remaining “Little Qin Strings” rushed to Qin Sizheng’s Weibo, retweeting: We’ll grow up with you, Baby.
Xu Zhao asked Qin Sizheng to take a few selfies for Hong Xue Feifei to post.
He wasn’t skilled at flattering the camera. Jiang Xi scrolled through tutorials and suddenly had an idea. “Brother, didn’t fans say before that your hands were too good-looking to be wasted?”
Qin Sizheng: “? Wasted for what?”
“Oh, right.” Jiang Xi waved his hand dismissively. “No! I mean you should take a photo gripping the bedsheet, like you can’t handle it, really holding on.”
Qin Sizheng’s face flushed bright red just imagining it. “N-no way…”
Jiang Xi insisted sternly, “Yes, you have to!”
Qin Sizheng: “……”
Jiang Xi spread the bedsheet, deliberately messing it up a little, then had Qin Sizheng place both hands on it. “Hey, bro—use your right hand to grab your left. Make it look like you’re being held down, totally unable to resist, like all you can do is clutch the bedsheet and endure it. Yes, yes, that’s it! Harder—tighten your fingers until the bones show white marks. Damn, this is perfect!”
Jiang Xi guided him through countless hand poses. The photos came out dripping with sex appeal, and Qin Sizheng’s ears burned red.
“This is insane—this is a total road‑killer for casual fans!”
Back when Qin Sizheng boxed, he’d been surrounded by nothing but tough, steel‑hard men. This was his first time dealing with something like this, and he felt awkwardly shy.
Jiang Xi added, “Bro, take another shot of the red mole on your shoulder blade. Save it for the next post.”
Qin Sizheng looked puzzled. “Huh?”
Jiang Xi demonstrated with a gesture. “I saw fans saying they want to see it. Fulfilling fans’ wishes is super good for gaining followers. If you’re shy, you don’t have to take everything off—just slip the shirt halfway down, angle it so only one side of your shoulder blade shows. Half‑hidden is what really kills.”
Qin Sizheng took a deep breath and unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his shoulder.
July sunlight fell on his pale skin like a layer of gold. Jiang Xi reached out and tugged the shirt a bit more. “Okay, don’t move, bro! This really looks like that lazy, just‑woke‑up‑after kind of vibe. Our pervy sisters are definitely going to love this!”
Qin Sizheng was so nervous his legs were shaking. He hadn’t even been this tense during his first boxing match. He swallowed and asked Jiang Xi, “Is it done? Is this enough?”
“Almost, almost—don’t move. This angle is perfect.”
Qin Sizheng had his back to the camera. Years of boxing made him uncomfortable with his back exposed; his forehead felt itchy, and he reached up to rub it.
In that instant, Jiang Xi pressed the shutter.
The moment froze: a long arm loosely draped in the shirt, the nearly transparent fabric coyly covering yet revealing, adding a hint of desire. As the shoulder blade shifted, the red mole looked like a butterfly bleeding tears.
It made you want to lick it.
Jiang Xi couldn’t edit photos, so he sent it straight to Hong Xue Feifei.
She replied instantly, thrilled: “The baby actually knows how to do fan service now—Mom can die happy. I’ll edit it tonight! I promise I’ll retouch it until gods and mortals alike fall!”
She meant it. Her efficiency was insane, and she quickly sent the finished image back to Qin Sizheng to review.
It wasn’t as blatantly erotic as he’d imagined—more like an untouched, inexperienced kind of pure‑yet‑tempting. Qin Sizheng’s ears flushed slightly as he thanked her, saying she’d worked hard.
Hearing that “you’ve worked hard” nearly made Hong Xue Feifei cry again. She finally steadied herself, sniffling as she typed.
【Does the baby think it’s okay? If anything feels off, I can fix it—we’ll aim for perfection. And no matter what happens, I don’t care about anyone else. I’ll always stand behind you, forever and always.】
This was the first piece of such direct kindness Qin Sizheng had encountered since transmigrating into this novel. His eyes turned red with emotion.
【You are my support, and I want to be your mountain too. I’m not afraid of rumors. I want your affection, and I want you to be happy.】
That reply made Hong Xue Feifei cry through another whole night.
What you never forget will always echo back.
He was still that same pure, sincere Qin Sizheng—someone worth protecting for a lifetime.
The Weibo account was on Jiang Xi’s phone. The caption was written by Hong Xue Feifei, and Qin Sizheng liked it, so they used hers.
——I am willing to come from the abyss, to be reborn toward death.
Qin Sizheng was standing in the eye of the storm. Every word and every move of his was being watched.
From having only the fan club and fans reposting at first, his Weibo shot straight onto the trending list in less than half an hour.
【I deeply reflect on myself—I got hard over a pair of hands.】
【Are these hands even possible for a human to have? This is way too horny. I swear I saw an entire porno just from these hands. I reflect.】
【Sis, one day I want to switch to a phone like yours that can see porn. Mine got censored.】
【No matter how good‑looking, hands are still for wiping your ass.】
【Not necessarily. They might also go into a butt.】
【Wuwuwu the baby’s hands are too pretty! Slurp slurp!】
【Grandma, the baby you stan finally learned how to do fan service—you can rest in peace now.】
【Qin Sizheng is really going all out. Didn’t he used to brag about never pandering to fans and never posting stuff like this? Now he’s actually shooting this kind of photo—what’s next, selling his body? Is the fan club crazy, or is his team crazy? Posting this kind of thing.】
【Is he going into sex work? How much a night—if it’s too expensive, never mind.】
【Qin Sizheng scandal dump! Qin Sizheng’s sugar daddy list exposed! Qin Sizheng on drugs, darkened face, chaotic private life!】
【No one’s actually forgetting all the dumb shit he did just because of a hand, right? Qin Sizheng, get out of the entertainment industry! Get out! Get out!】
【Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting. Flop, get lost. Can Qin Sizheng stop polluting the industry? Did his sugar daddy give up? Force‑pushing like this invites divine punishment.】
【Might as well just shoot a porno instead of hands—you could at least make money. After all, his brain‑dead fans are still obsessed, hahahaha.】
【I said it ages ago—Qin Sizheng’s already been played to death, and fans still don’t find it gross.】
【These hands… why do I suddenly feel tempted?】
【Compared to him, mine aren’t even worthy of stewing soybeans.】
“Fourth Brother, what are you looking at?” His manager He Xing knew Lu Xianqing had gone for psychological intervention that morning and came to check on him.
She pushed the door open and saw Lu Xianqing sitting by the floor‑to‑ceiling window, turned sideways, staring blankly at his phone, his fingertip pressed against the screen.
“Fourth Brother?”
She leaned over to look. On the screen was a hand clutching a bedsheet tightly, slender finger bones standing out white, thin skin revealing faint bluish veins beneath.
Long fingers, slightly pink fingertips—every single detail stabbed straight into Lu Xianqing’s fetish. And his own finger was indeed pressed right against the screen’s fingertip.
He Xing’s head buzzed. Something felt very wrong.
“Fourth Brother, Qin Sizheng’s planning a comeback recently. He’s probably just trying to ride a wave of attention again—don’t bother with him. Look at your status versus his. Don’t lower yourself. It’s not worth it.”
“I’m reacting.” Lu Xianqing lifted his head. In his calm, pale eyes flickered a small flame—along with a brief moment of confusion.
He Xing had a bad feeling and asked cautiously, “W‑what… what kind of reaction?”
Lu Xianqing said, “His hands are very beautiful. I will… scoff.”
He Xing practically lunged for his phone, snatching it and shouting at the top of her lungs, “No!!!”
Lu Xianqing looked at her empty hands, lifted his eyelids slightly, and asked, “Why?”
He Xing almost dropped to her knees, adopting a desperate, pleading stance. “Fourth Brother, seriously—if you have nothing else to do, just kill me to vent! Qin Sizheng’s position, your position—you can get anyone you want. Isn’t it worthless to risk your reputation over a pair of hands?!”
“Someone like him… he’s always tried to ride your coattails, claiming he’s your rival. If you had that intention, he would latch on and never let go!”
Lu Xianqing’s gaze lingered on the phone for a moment before pulling back.
He Xing knew he was rational; he wouldn’t throw away his entire life for just a hand. She relaxed slightly. “Your reputation is built bit by bit with your work. Don’t let him destroy it. Qin Sizheng is despised by everyone in this industry—he doesn’t deserve to be associated with you.”
Lu Xianqing swiveled the phone slightly. “I’ve saved it.”
He Xing asked cautiously, “So…?”
Lu Xianqing rubbed the screen with his fingertip over the soft, delicate fingers displayed on it. “Contact Weibo and block this post. I don’t want anyone else getting aroused by this hand, even for a minute.”
He Xing’s eyes went red. “If you really have nothing to do, please go see a psychologist, okay? If you think I’m too alive, just strangle me! Where am I supposed to handle even one minute? Or five?”
Lu Xianqing lowered his gaze, still stroking that hand on the screen with his fingertip. It was as if he could feel the soft palm, tracing the fingertips down to where they tensed.
The bones were beautiful yet delicate. One hand alone couldn’t contain it; he needed both hands to cradle it. The white marks would seep between the fingers, turning those hands intoxicating, almost filthy.
He wanted to cut off that hand, frame it carefully—it would be the most beautiful work in the world.