After Qin Sizheng officially announced joining Adorable Kids, online discussions erupted. He knew this would be the first step on his path to redemption, so he had to do it well.
He’d been negligent for years. Xu Zhao hired a body-shaping instructor to help him retrain and regain a sense of presence on camera. Xu Zhao noticed that when he spoke, he tended to stare at people blankly.
After some intensive training, he began to learn how to interact with the camera.
Xu Zhao gave him two days off to rest and recover, letting him mentally prepare before shooting began.
His old habits persisted: waking at seven every morning, practicing boxing for two hours, then progressing through squats and bench presses to gradually regain his strength.
As long as those fists remained, he feared nothing.
When Qin Sizheng first arrived in this strange world, he’d been nervous. Though he hadn’t had many friends in his previous life, the aunts had cared for him, and the younger siblings had relied on him.
Here, he knew no one and had to endure hostility that wasn’t even his.
He subtly questioned Jiang Xi to help him piece together prior events and become this world’s “Qin Sizheng,” living in place of the original.
With an unyielding and spirited personality, he resolved to live fully—and maybe one day find a way back.
Wiping the fog from the steamed-up mirror, he revealed a radiant, delicate youthful face. He pressed his lips briefly, then relaxed them.
Momentary insecurity faded, replaced by unstoppable vitality.
“Lu Xianqing? Mere trifles, not to be feared!”
With his mental prep complete, Qin Sizheng dressed and left the bathroom.
Jiang Xi had cut him some fruit before leaving to remind him to eat. He planned to study the variety shows and imitate what others did—surely he couldn’t go wrong copying them.
The doorbell rang. He assumed Jiang Xi had returned.
Opening the door, he found a stranger. Before he could ask, the man waved, “Come help move this stuff, I’m dying here.”
“…?”
Qin Sizheng looked at the two large bags on the floor and a gigantic cardboard box. He reached out to help carry them inside.
You Si flung open his collar, sending a sweet, cloying scent wafting through the air. Self-referencing repeatedly as “I,” Qin Sizheng twitched at the corners of his eyes.
“You Si?” he asked cautiously. In his WeChat, this person was saved under the long note: “Don’t pity me just because I’m delicate.”
You Si was nearly collapsing, pointing at the huge “package.” “The stuff you ordered—transfer the payment later, yeah? Seventy-eight thousand, I’ll give you a discount, eighty thousand flat.”
Qin Sizheng had no idea what the original had ordered, but he nodded.
“Open it! My hands are raw from carrying this for you. Look, they’re all red. You better make it up to me,” You Si urged.
Qin Sizheng carefully cut open the plastic, peeled away layers of cardboard and foam. He guessed what it could be—the packaging was meticulous.
Layer by layer he unwrapped it, nearly cutting himself, dumbfounded.
A doll, nearly identical to Lu Xianqing, appeared. You Si smiled suggestively. “I told you, it talks. I edited in all the lines Fourth Brother says in the movie. Listen.”
He pressed it to his chest. The “inflatable Lu Xianqing” immediately made indescribable sounds. Qin Sizheng nearly died. What kind of crazy person had the original ordered this for?!
He hadn’t ordered it.
He wasn’t the type.
He didn’t.
You Si chuckled, explaining while pulling his hand to test the effect. Qin Sizheng couldn’t listen anymore—who wanted this kind of extreme experience?!
“What is this, a full-blown social death scene?”
“…Uh, can I return this?” Qin Sizheng asked.
You Si looked puzzled. “Why return it? What’s wrong? Want me to fix it?”
Qin Sizheng didn’t dislike it. The craftsmanship was insanely good. But he wasn’t the original’s kind of maniac—who would ever want this?
“Oh, and this.” You Si tossed him another box, heavy this time.
Qin Sizheng took a deep breath, deliberately avoided looking at “Lu Xianqing,” and said seriously, “I don’t like him anymore. I want to focus on my career.”
You Si snorted, “You want to focus on your career? You?”
Qin Sizheng nodded solemnly, his gaze steady and serious enough to make You Si pause. After a moment, he snapped his fingers, “Ah~~ I get it. You want to focus on your career so you can eventually end up near Lu Xianqing, right? Got it.”
He patted Qin Sizheng’s shoulder encouragingly. Internally, Qin Sizheng thought: You don’t get it at all! I really want to stay far away from him.
You Si continued, “But don’t throw it away. Who knows if some obsessive fan or paparazzi is lurking outside your door? If they see it, forget career—you’d better just survive.”
Qin Sizheng thought that made sense. Not just fans—if Lu Xianqing found out, there might not even be a scrap of him left.
He shivered thinking of that day in the gym, still unable to breathe normally from nervousness.
“…Better just put it away.”
He cleared a space in the cabinet, stuffed the “Lu Xianqing” doll inside, covered it with clothes, and buried all the props deep—never to see the light of day again.
“Hungry? Got anything to eat?” You Si asked, heading to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he found plenty of ingredients, including a pack of hotpot base.
They had grown up together. Though You Si had been reckless these past few years, he treated Qin Sizheng well and they shared everything—no secrets between them.
He started cooking, humphing and munching, then suddenly blocked Qin Sizheng’s hand. “Hey, no mango—you’re allergic. Forgot?”
Qin Sizheng froze and put his hand down.
You Si said, “Honestly though… what do you like about Lu Xianqing? He seems temperamental, gloomy, gives you chills down your spine. And that high-and-mighty attitude… I heard his mom is some sort of CEO, and his dad’s basically top of Yusheng Province. Not someone we could ever compete with. Even if you could, his parents alone are a huge barrier.”
Qin Sizheng popped a strawberry into his mouth and said, “Yeah, that’s why I don’t like him anymore.”
You Si didn’t seem convinced, and after a pause asked, “Hey, people say he’s no good in bed… never had a hard-on during filming. I held it in all morning, and it reacted. Is he really… that bad?”
Qin Sizheng choked and coughed violently. You Si handed him a cup of water and added, “If that’s true, even if you were with him, you’d be miserable. You’d end up crying while…”
Qin Sizheng nearly suffocated from laughter and coughing, wishing he could dump the spicy hotpot broth into You Si’s mouth to punish him.
Then his phone buzzed. He picked it up, and his expression went pale.
A message from a zombie-level spam account had arrived:
——Your hands are beautiful.
Qin Sizheng almost threw the phone. Another message followed immediately, even creepier:
——Now my soul pursues you, craving your sweet honey, praying for your favor.
——Don’t send photos like that to anyone else, or I’ll… cut it off.
——Be good.
That last “Be good” sent shivers down his spine. He reflexively clenched his fists. Jiang Xi had explained what obsessed fans were like—it was as if invisible eyes were watching his every move.
You Si saw his expression, peeked, and muttered a curse. “Block him. What a psycho.”
Qin Sizheng added the number to the blacklist, but the words burned themselves into his mind.
In his old boxing world, life was simple: win or lose. Getting messages like this from a stranger made him nauseous and scared. He flipped the phone face-down on the table like it was a deadly flood.
You Si said, “I told you joining the entertainment industry for her isn’t worth it. Someone like that will get their karma. Why choose that path?”
Qin Sizheng didn’t hear him clearly and went to the bathroom: “I’ll wash my hands.”
The following days brought more messages:
——I can’t sleep. Just thinking about your hands makes every nerve in my body dance. Your hands torture them, won’t let me rest. I’m so tired.
——Show me your hands. I want to see your hands.
Qin Sizheng wanted to reply: Come here and I’ll punch you so hard you won’t recognize yourself!
But he feared someone else would use his reply against him and cause trouble with Xu Zhao. So he endured, gradually growing less afraid, though he silently thought: You better not meet me. Or you’ll learn exactly how hard my fists can hit.