Qin Sizheng avoided the spray from the faucet, twisting the handle toward hot water. Once the temperature felt right, he stepped under the warm flow, letting it wash over his head, clearing the fog in his mind, reclaiming a thread of clarity.
He didn’t reach for new shower gel, using the one Lu Xianqing usually used. The faint scent of verbena made him involuntarily imagine Lu Xianqing here, showering with this gel.
He quickly stopped the thought, rinsed off the suds, grabbed a towel, and dried himself. In the cabinet Lu Xianqing mentioned, he found clothes neatly folded by color—mostly black, white, and gray.
He grabbed casual pants and a white shirt, rolled up the sleeves, tore open the toothbrush, finished washing, and hung up his own clothes.
Lu Xianqing, hearing the water running, fiddled with his fingers, relieved that Qin Sizheng had eaten. Otherwise, he might have stormed in to snatch him.
The phone rang, pulling him back. Annoyed, he glanced at the screen, then relaxed when he saw the caller ID. Picking up, he said, “Disturbing my dreams at this hour—how are you still getting younger?”
Hu Lian scolded lightly: “Rude.”
Lu Xianqing paused, then obediently said, “Grandfather.”
The old man responded leisurely, “Hmm,” prompting him to speak again. After a cold snort, he let it slide, saying, “It’s your birthday. I’ve prepared a gift. Don’t say no.”
Lu Xianqing snorted. “I don’t want anything from your company. Leave it to whoever wants it. I don’t care.”
“You just want to act. Why push yourself so hard all the time? Winter, ice water; summer, sweating. Anyway…” The old man mumbled, then changed tone: “That Qin Sizheng kid is not bad. Brave, and I like that. His auditions are good. But you promised me something. Don’t go back on it.”
“I won’t. You worry too much.”
Hu Lian had been hospitalized for a checkup. He was otherwise healthy, and while observing him for a possible concussion, he sent someone to investigate Qin Sizheng.
The report: a small fresh face in the entertainment industry, quickly fading, poor discipline, ruined image—any negative news about him wouldn’t be surprising.
Hu Lian was puzzled. The boy who had jumped from the stage to save him, scolding two fighters with a cold glare—could he really fit that description?
The subordinates showed him a video. “He’s been doing fairly well on a popular variety show recently. Opinions are mixed, so some of these reports might be exaggerated, but you could ask your grandson.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Lu has been close to him on the show. He probably knows him a little.”
Hu Lianzhi took the iPad and just happened to see the clip from the variety show: Lu Xianqing holding the injured Qin Sizheng’s hand, gently placing his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
That stubborn temper of Lu Xianqing—could he really be so gentle?
“I wouldn’t protect these hands; I could chop him up for you,” Hu Lianzhi said, falling silent after watching the clip. Although this grandson of his had a difficult personality, he had never spoken like that before.
He called Lu Xianqing to ask about Qin Sizheng, mentioning the time the young man had saved him abroad. Hu Lianzhi, upright and principled, never wanted to owe anyone.
Lu Xianqing thought for a moment. “You have that promotional video coming up, right? The ten-year anniversary one? Why not just let him film it? It’s not valuable anyway, hardly anyone will watch it.”
“Not valuable? Hardly anyone will watch?” Hu Lianzhi questioned.
Lu Xianqing said, “What’s the main focus of the promo? Let me check the script.”
Hu Lianzhi trusted him on this. He briefly explained that it was about promoting a new sect and introducing a new NPC character.
After listening, Lu Xianqing suggested, “This young general is impressive. Forget the older generation; film the kid instead. He could be the lead.”
The photo of Qin Sizheng clutching the bedsheet—who had come up with that idea? He certainly wouldn’t have done it himself. Probably the idiotic team; He Xing was right. The first step in long-term image management is to erase this. The others with solid evidence could be handled later.
Lu Xianqing glanced toward the bathroom, hearing the water stop abruptly—he must be finished.
“In a few days, he’ll start filming. Afterward, he’ll come see you,” Lu Xianqing said.
Hu Lianzhi snorted. “By a few days, you mean six months? You’re not getting any younger. Twenty-five, twenty-six… Why don’t you find me a granddaughter-in-law? Last time, Ming Cong showed off his great-grandson, it drove me mad.”
Lu Xianqing smiled. “Next time, tell him that his little grandson, Ming Fei, is collecting stamps. He’s almost completed the Water Margin set. He can bring all 108 stamps back in six months with no duplicates.”
Hu Lianzhi scolded him, “Stop joking! We’re talking about serious matters!”
Hearing the bathroom door open, a thought flashed in Lu Xianqing’s mind. He casually said, “Fine, maybe take a kid along to play with you next time. Hanging up.”
He ended the call and turned to see the young man just coming out of the bathroom.
Though tall, he was still a bit shorter than Lu Xianqing. The oversized clothes added a relaxed, somewhat alluring look.
If Qin Sizheng just wore his shirt and sat on his lap while being fed… or if he grabbed his hand and kissed him… would he get beaten to death?
Probably. Best not to think about it.
“Tired?”
Qin Sizheng nodded. The lingering effects of alcohol made him a little dizzy. He wanted to get back to his room and lock himself in before doing anything else.
“Okay, then sleep. Follow me.”
Lu Xianqing led him upstairs. “Stay here tonight. An Ning changed the sheets yesterday. There’s essential oil on the table. If you can’t sleep, you can use a little—it helps.”
Qin Sizheng looked around. This room was the opposite of downstairs: warm yellow lighting, hand-painted artwork on the walls, a stark contrast to the cold black-and-white style below.
“If you’re worried, lock the door,” Lu Xianqing said, handing him a key. “Only you have it. I can’t get in.”
Qin Sizheng’s ears flushed, though he wasn’t afraid.
“All right. Good night.”
Holding the key, Qin Sizheng waited until Lu Xianqing left before timidly saying to the empty room, “Good night, Fourth Brother.”
Lu Xianqing hadn’t kept a key. Hearing the door lock, he smiled softly and returned to his room, opening the projector to display the guest room.
He poured himself a glass of wine, greedily watching as the young man walked to the window, opened the curtains, and after a while began doing sit-ups in the room—probably careful not to sweat too much.
The warm yellow light highlighted his skin, making him look like a little sunflower in need of sunlight.
After tiring himself, he knelt at the edge of the bed, applied essential oil, and soon started yawning. He curled up in the blanket, sleeping peacefully and obediently, his side pressed against the pillow.
Lu Xianqing gripped the railing, restraining his impulse to barge in and confess.