Qin Sizheng had been reckless over the past two years, and his black fans were legion.
Among them was a major private marketing account, “Jingshi.” Although called a marketing account, it wrote articles entirely based on its own mood, refused advertisements and PR work, alternated between praising and bashing freely—but it focused on criticizing Qin Sizheng.
Jingshi saw the post of him clutching the bedsheet. Minutes later, after a refresh, it had disappeared. Overnight, Jingshi wrote a long, scathing article, every word piercing, making Qin Sizheng’s black fans ecstatic from beginning to end.
Jingshi’s article hit the trending charts, garnering millions of clicks and over a million shares, forcibly turning the public opinion back, even riding the “clutching the bedsheet” momentum. Jiang Xi was furious.
Hong Xue Feifei, a massive fan of Qin Sizheng, had a loud reputation in the circle. Even at his lowest point, she publicly declared she wouldn’t unfollow him and trusted he was still that sincere youth.
She directly called out Jingshi, challenging him to a battle.
With her leading, the Xiaoqinxian fan club slowly began to unite again. Qin Sizheng’s responses gave them courage to fight back against the black fans.
These few days, Qin Sizheng was adapting to this new world, similar to his original one. Technology was neither advanced nor primitive, so he found it manageable.
He had Jiang Xi buy a punching bag for home.
His boxing skills hadn’t left him, but his new body’s agility was far lower; his reflexes were slow, and he even tripped over the doorway after showering.
He was unfamiliar with this world, and utterly ignorant of the entertainment industry.
Apart from Xu Zhi calling him out, he stayed home to practice boxing. In his previous life, he trained shirtless. But seeing those two red beans pierced through—he shivered and had to throw on a loose T-shirt. Out of sight, out of mind.
He had only trained for half an hour when his phone doorbell rang. Jiang Xi pushed the door in. “Bro, are we going?”
“Wait, I’ll change clothes.” Qin Sizheng wiped sweat from his forehead, the sunlight catching his striking, wild-faced youth.
The private gym Xu Zhi arranged mostly served people from the circle—highly discreet.
Following the staff’s directions, Qin Sizheng entered the changing room. He heard footsteps. Glancing up, he immediately recognized the person—Lu Xianqing.
The original male lead in the novel, the one Qin Sizheng had secretly admired, the man who had pierced so many holes and secretly toyed with him.
The man’s hand rested against the door, casually raising his eyes.
His hair was slightly damp, messy over his forehead, a single earphone in place. Sweat traced the line of his sculpted collarbone without touching the vest. The hand pressing the door was powerful and beautifully textured.
Qin Sizheng froze. What a beautiful body!
Having boxed for years, he’d seen many physiques—but none as symmetrical and perfect as this.
Every muscle in its proper place—neither overdeveloped nor wasted. Simply flawless.
“Qin Sizheng.” The man spoke suddenly.
His eyes held a playful glint. As he spoke, his Adam’s apple moved slightly; his dark gaze contained a faint shadow of gloom and an indescribable emotion.
“Hello,” Qin Sizheng awkwardly replied, caught in the act, stepping back slightly.
Hello?
Lu Xianqing stepped closer, his long eyebrows slightly lowered, eyes scanning Qin Sizheng’s upper body. His fingertip tapped lightly.
“Oh, going big, huh?”
Qin Sizheng followed his gaze. The holes from his previous boxing session were plainly visible.
Lu Xianqing was much taller. His posture seemed to trap Qin Sizheng between the wardrobe and himself. Qin Sizheng’s heightened sensitivity from boxing made every hair on his body stand on end—it felt like staring into a bottomless abyss.
He instinctively clenched his fists, estimating in his mind how many punches it would take to take this man down.
Judging by his build, if he went all out, two punches should be enough, right?
But if he accidentally killed him, that would be a disaster.
Qin Sizheng silently calculated the timing of his strike.
If he dared to lay hands on him, he’d knock him down with one punch—but he had to stay within the line between legitimate self-defense and excessive force. He couldn’t afford to misjudge.
When Lu Xianqing saw his clenched fist, he forced himself to pull his gaze away from those hands, settling instead on the flushed, plump earlobe. “Kid, with this many holes in your body, you really put them to use.”
Qin Sizheng frowned slightly. “That’s none of your business!”
Lu Xianqing raised a brow and reached toward him. Qin Sizheng thought he was about to touch him and reflexively struck out, landing a hit squarely on his brow bone. He froze.
“Uh… are you okay? I didn’t mean to.”
Lu Xianqing’s expression shifted. He frowned and stepped back. Qin Sizheng apologized anxiously, “How about I take you to see a doctor? Or I can compensate you financially—whatever you want.”
Lu Xianqing’s gaze fell on his long, elegant fingers. He said calmly, “Whatever’s fine? Then just rub it for me.”
Qin Sizheng refused without hesitation. “No.”
Lu Xianqing laughed. “No? Then I’ll have to call the police. Qin Sizheng assaults Lu Xianqing for no reason—do you think that kind of headline would trend?”
The threat in his eyes was blatant, and it hit Qin Sizheng right where it hurt. He couldn’t afford to trend again over something like this.
Endure it!
Qin Sizheng gritted his teeth. “Rub it, right? Fine!”
He reached out and pressed hard on Lu Xianqing’s reddened temple. The pain made the man suck in a breath. Qin Sizheng felt much better and pressed even harder. He wanted rubbing—he’d give him rubbing.
Lu Xianqing’s temple throbbed with pain, yet desire surged instead. His eyes darkened as he stared at Qin Sizheng, catching the barely hidden look of revenge in his eyes.
After rubbing three times, Qin Sizheng felt it was enough. He eased his strength and asked, “Still want more?”
The man reached out and pulled his wrist down, seemingly pinching his finger bones in passing. He let go too quickly for Qin Sizheng to notice. The man’s eyes curved in a cool, shallow smile. “I heard my reputation is ruined?”
Qin Sizheng withdrew his hand.
Lu Xianqing rolled his fingers, savoring the lingering softness of those fingertips on his forehead. His gaze rested lightly on Qin Sizheng. “Hm? Where did my reputation go?”
Enemies really did meet on narrow roads. Qin Sizheng felt guilty as hell.
“Aren’t you my fan? I heard you’ve watched every one of my films. Think I didn’t deserve those awards?”
Qin Sizheng denied it immediately. “No.”
Lu Xianqing pinched his chin and lifted his face. “Kid, it’s fine to chase clout, but don’t drag my reputation into it. Got it?”
Qin Sizheng nodded hard, his mind screaming I’m dead. Didn’t Xu Zhao say it wouldn’t be a big problem? That they wouldn’t have any intersection for three to five years?
Then why did he run into him just coming out to lift weights?!
When Qin Sizheng looked up again, Lu Xianqing was already gone.
He let out a long breath, his back sticky and nearly soaked with sweat.
To know his enemy, he had indeed watched all of Lu Xianqing’s films—especially the first one, the debut work that won him Best Actor, Slaughtered Life.
He played a tattoo artist. The gloom and world-weariness in his eyes dragged Qin Sizheng in instantly. He struggled in mud and sin, until one day a beam of light suddenly entered his life.
“Fourth Brother” felt light come to embrace him for the first time. It hurt, but he still learned how to face the sun, wanting to stand in the light together with that person.
His works began to have color, to have life. Occasionally, he even tugged at the corner of his mouth, practicing an unfamiliar smile.
When Qin Sizheng watched him practice smiling in the mirror, his heart clenched painfully.
But reality betrayed expectations. The other man was a liar. All that warmth, all that deliberate closeness, had been planned. Playing obedient, being clever—everything was just to steal his techniques.
“I’m sorry. I never loved you. I don’t want to lie to you anymore.”
In the cold, damp basement, the man lowered his eyes. When his lashes fell, they cast a small shadow. He slowly pulled on a pair of medical gloves—snap.
A delicate, handsome young man was bound to a wooden frame.
“I’ll make you the best work in the world.” Fourth Brother lowered his head, gently stroking his eyes, his voice tender to the extreme. “You’re the best canvas. Let’s finish it together, okay?”
The youth struggled desperately, his pupils filled with terror. “N-no, Fourth Brother, Fourth Brother, don’t!”
“Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you. Be good, be good.” Fourth Brother caressed his face gently, picked up a pen, and began carefully outlining the pattern he’d designed on that delicate skin.
The youth struggled, and the pattern went crooked.
“You’re a madman! A lunatic!”
Fourth Brother’s gaze darkened. He casually picked up a sharp carving knife and pressed it lightly against the collarbone, instantly cutting a shallow line. The trembling youth heard the gentle voice behind him. “Not being good?”
“I won’t move, I won’t—Fourth Brother, don’t…”
Fourth Brother was very satisfied. It took him three full days to complete the piece, every stroke poured with devotion. The colored parts were still bleeding; he lowered his head tenderly and wiped it away.
The youth trembled uncontrollably. That feeling was more terrifying than death. Fear gripped his throat so tightly he couldn’t even make a sound.
He cried, “Fourth Brother… s-spare me, please… I don’t want to die…”
Fourth Brother leaned into the hollow of his neck, his voice saturated with boundless affection and gentleness. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you. Say it again.”
Pain exploded in his neck. The youth struggled desperately as his carotid artery was cut. The agony was unbearable; blood sprayed out, and soon he went into shock—then death.
Fourth Brother traced his face. “You’re so well-behaved now. It’s a pity you can’t touch such a fine canvas. But that’s okay—I’ll sign your name. I said I’d make you the best tattoo artist. I love you.”
He photographed the finished work and uploaded it. Then he sat in the cage he’d built with his own hands, put shackles on himself, and drew a long cut across his wrist, watching indifferently as blood gushed out.
At that moment, sunlight streamed in through the skylight. He lifted his head to look at the murky light, his eyelashes quivering like butterfly wings.
He smiled, a tear slowly slipping from the corner of his eye as he closed them, and the film cut abruptly.
It was this film that canonized him, and because it resonated so deeply, the nickname “Fourth Brother” endured to this day.
Qin Sizheng hadn’t even finished middle school in his previous life before starting boxing. He had no clue about art, yet Lu Xianqing’s acting gripped him utterly. After watching the movie, he felt a strange itch on his face—and wiping it away, he realized it was tears.
If he was like this, the original protagonist would almost certainly like him. There seemed to be no doubt.
But his jaw hurt!
This guy had shown no mercy when pinching him—definitely payback for that punch he’d thrown!
As the cannon fodder of the original story, only meant to last ten thousand words, he wasn’t going to go quietly. Clenching his fists, he gave himself a pep talk: “Cherish life, stay away from Lu Xianqing!”
He repeated it three times for emphasis.
With his mental preparation complete, he strode into the single-person training room arranged by Xu Zhao.
Life was too beautiful—he had no intention of getting involved with Lu Xianqing!
Wasn’t building a career more worthwhile?
Outside, Lu Xianqing paused. “?”
So, life is beautiful if you stay away from me?
Still, this kid’s glassy eyes were full of spirit, showing an indomitable will, punching and chanting “Cherish life, stay away from Lu Xianqing!”
So lively… Lu Xianqing compared him in his mind: like a circus ringmaster, in charge of a bunch of little monkeys just like him.
Qin Sizheng marched up to the trainer, asking, “Can I use all of these?”
After receiving confirmation, he grunted and pushed himself on the weights with unusual vigor, muttering all the while: “Cherish life! Stay away from Lu Xianqing!”
The trainer had intended to teach him how to handle the equipment first, but halfway through explaining, he realized it wasn’t needed at all. Qin Sizheng used it better than he did.
Completely thrown off.
The supposedly weak, frail kid? He turned out to be a foundation-level powerhouse.