“Qin Sizheng! Qin Sizheng!” Fans waved flags and cheered, a sea of red lights swelling. Qin Sizheng, overwhelmed, held the stage with one hand and nimbly leapt onto it.
The crowd’s scream was deafening, hearts melting at his poised stance.
“Good evening, everyone,” Qin Sizheng greeted, bowing beside Xi Ling, flashing a dimpled smile as he blinked at the sea of fans. “If you keep this up, Xi Ling’s going to get jealous.”
Xi Ling played along, hands on his hips: “Call my name, not his! Whose fans are you, really?”
Fans laughed and shouted Qin Sizheng’s name even louder, heating the atmosphere. The duet was next—Xi Ling had composed, arranged, and even written the lyrics himself, filled with raw personal style, fierce and explosive.
The song was extremely difficult.
Its essence told of a person repeatedly knocked down by the world, bloodied but clawing upward with all they had, screaming at the world with their last breath. Xi Ling’s voice carried the first cry from the depths of the earth.
Fans instantly stood, singing along in perfect harmony. Qin Sizheng was fully swept up, clutching the mic as lights flickered and layers of stage illumination brightened like a rushing tunnel of time.
He felt as though he was glimpsing his past self, who had just crossed into this world, striving to adapt, facing relentless negativity online, yet finally seeing a glimmer of light.
The song required little technical skill, leaning instead on raw, heart-wrenching questioning. Qin Sizheng’s performance was unexpectedly powerful. In the latter half, he set down the mic, unbuttoned his jacket with one hand, and executed a dance.
The combination of his commanding vocals and martial movements elevated the stage to its peak. After the song, Xi Ling exclaimed, slightly flustered: “Don’t steal the show! Go down! I invited you as a guest, not to outshine me!”
Qin Sizheng wiped sweat from his forehead, smiling as he rebuttoned his jacket. The pale, elegant bones of his hands gleamed under the lights, the contrast with the black suit adding irresistible charm.
Xu Fei, in the audience, snapped photos furiously, capturing every angle.
Since Qin Sizheng’s retirement announcement, she had been tense. But seeing him now, publicly and confidently, she not only hadn’t lost faith, she finally felt there was someone for her darling to rely on, not a solitary warrior in the treacherous entertainment world.
She cherished every moment Qin Sizheng could go on stage, having specifically arranged to get tickets to Xi Ling’s concert just to record every bit of her darling’s growth.
“Don’t push, don’t push.”
The fans were too excited; she was jostled from side to side but carefully protected her camera. Suddenly, a hand looped around her shoulders from behind, resting lightly.
“Careful.”
Xu Fei turned to see a handsome young man smiling at her. The stage lights flickered across his face, and the hand resting on her shoulder now looked more like an embrace.
She felt slightly uneasy and stepped back.
Shi Jing immediately withdrew his hand. “Sorry, you weren’t squished, right?”
Xu Fei felt he looked familiar but couldn’t recall where she’d seen him. “Have we met before?”
Shi Jing smiled, taking the initiative. “I’m the friend you helped when he fainted.”
Xu Fei nodded, and out of instinct, asked, “Is your friend still dieting?”
“No. If he does it again, I’ll beat him up.” Shi Jing joked, making the normally composed, aloof Xu Fei smile. His chest warmed as the memory resurfaced.
After the recording of Qin Sizheng’s “Mengwa” segment, the fan club organized the airport pickup. He happened to be there and noticed the woman crying most fiercely in the crowd. Resisting losing his composure, he bit his lip and looked away—but her image remained etched in his mind.
He had no feelings for Xiao Qin strings, but this woman left a small, searing mark on his heart.
Xu Fei was engrossed in photographing Qin Sizheng. When he finally stepped off the stage, she began to leave, only to notice someone following. Turning, she saw Shi Jing.
“You’re leaving too?”
Shi Jing had both hands in his pockets, limited edition sneakers scuffed and dirty. Frowning slightly, he said, “My ears hurt, didn’t want to come, but my classmates dragged me here.”
Xu Fei wanted to laugh at his expression.
Tilting his head, he rummaged his pockets—empty. “Doctor—well, can I call you Xu Fei?—have you eaten? I’m a little hungry. Can you treat me to a meal? I lost my phone.”
Seeing his earnest face and that he was just a student, Xu Fei glanced at the crowd. Returning now, he’d probably not find his classmates, and she smiled teasingly. “After we eat, should I send you back to school too?”
Shi Jing nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, yes, thank you, Xu Fei! I’ll cheer for you later—92, 95, 98, all of them. Full boost.”
“Enough cheering, you finally get a day off. Can’t boost anymore,” Xu Fei said with a playful smile.
The two walked toward the parking lot. Xu Fei occasionally brushed back her wind-tossed black hair, down for the first time since the hospital, adding a touch of charm.
Shi Jing smelled the faint perfume—cool, distant, unattainable—and inhaled subtly a few more times.
“You like Qin Sizheng?” he asked.
Xu Fei clicked her seatbelt into place and smiled. “Yes. You don’t need to call me Doctor; just Xu Fei is fine.”
Outside, the arena was still full of heat and excitement, but the streets were quiet. Xu Fei glanced back as she drove off, hoping her darling would always shine so brilliantly.
Qin Sizheng had planned to perform only one song but Xi Ling insisted he stay for an extra number. Reluctantly, he obliged, and only after the fans’ reluctant farewells did he leave the stage.
Shen Changfeng had been waiting, and surprisingly, Han Zhang was there too.
Qin Sizheng was slightly taken aback but quickly understood: Han Zhang was overseeing security for this concert, and Xi Ling being his nephew naturally meant he would watch over him personally. He nodded politely in greeting.
Han Zhang, expressionless, in his crisp suit, added an air of strict formality. A cold glance, and then he withdrew his gaze.
Shen Changfeng handed Qin Sizheng a cup of water, which he drank in one gulp and returned. Whispering, he said, “Let’s go quickly. Fourth Brother should be done with filming soon. If we wait too long, he’ll get angry again.”
Shen Changfeng shot him a look. “You don’t have to spoil him so much.”
Qin Sizheng grinned, sweetly in love. “I like him, so I pamper him. Fourth Brother is like a child; he wants to be indulged. If I make him happy, I’m happy too.”
Shen Changfeng snatched the cup from him, mumbling, “Useless… last time Shi Jianshu touched his abs, and he punished you like that. Don’t spoil him so much.”
Han Zhang, nearby, heard this and slightly frowned. A grown man liking another man—especially Lu Xianqing—was interesting. He had dealt with Lu Xianqing once; temperamental and foul-mannered, with nothing admirable aside from acting skill.
As Qin Sizheng left, he politely said, “Mr. Han, we’ll go ahead. Please let Xi Ling know later.”
Han Zhang nodded, watching Qin Sizheng’s retreating figure with a hint of distraction, then followed.
Although the crowd was mainly there for Xi Ling, many fans of Qin Sizheng were present, and some even rushed to get his autograph. It took a long time before he could leave.
“This sweet burden,” Qin Sizheng mused.
October in Jiangcheng was already chilly. Shen Changfeng draped a coat over him, smiling, “Be grateful. When you went public, people were worried for you. In the past, some would have turned against you, even to extremes… be careful.”
Before Shen Changfeng finished, a man suddenly lunged forward, smashing a small porcelain bottle from his pocket, sharp shards aimed at them.
Qin Sizheng reacted instantly, pulling Shen Changfeng aside and kicking—right onto Han Zhang’s shoulder?
Han Zhang nearly synchronized his attack on the man, but because he was shielding Qin Sizheng, he was accidentally injured. A long gash on his hand bled profusely.
Security rushed over and subdued the man, who screamed, “How can you love someone else! I love you, Little Kite! You like another, you’re dirty! Why not me to dirty you! I love you, I’ll cage you, I’ll hurt you, I’ll love you!”
“You know… I’ve mocked your photos countless times. I loved you so much—why are you with someone else? You’re so cheap! I’ll kill you! You’re pure! I’ll make you pure again!”
The fierce, twisted declaration made Qin Sizheng freeze. Memories suddenly dragged him back to the time when someone had sent him messages just like this—raw desire, obsession, and demand.
It was just like now, the only difference being that one was in the open and the other in secret.
Behind him, the crowd’s screams filled the air; before him, filth and chaos.
The man was restrained, thrashing violently, two men barely managing to hold him down. He was like a wild beast, showing fangs, trying to tear apart whoever was in front of him.
Qin Sizheng’s palms were clammy, a wave of nausea rolling through him. His face turned pale as he stepped back.
“Are you feeling unwell?” Shen Changfeng steadied him, knowing he was terrified, patting his back gently. “It’s alright. Don’t let his words affect you. Some extreme fans are like this… don’t think about it, Sizheng, don’t think.”
“I’m fine,” Qin Sizheng held Shen Changfeng’s hand tightly. “Really, I’m fine.”
Shen Changfeng reassured him repeatedly that the police had been notified. “If needed, we’ll let Fourth Brother handle it.”
“Don’t,” Qin Sizheng pressed his hand against Shen Changfeng’s. “Don’t tell him.”
He didn’t want Lu Xianqing to worry, nor did he want him to know how long those messages had haunted him.
Han Zhang, seeing Qin Sizheng’s pale expression, stepped forward and nodded slightly. “Sorry this happened right under my watch.”
Qin Sizheng looked at Han Zhang’s still-bleeding right hand. Gritting his teeth against the lingering nausea, he shook his head. “It’s okay. You should get that treated first.”
Han Zhang said, “I’ll send someone to take you back.”
Qin Sizheng wanted to refuse, but Han Zhang was unusually insistent, with a hint of silent reprimand in his tone. “You’re without a bodyguard. Going out alone isn’t safe. Don’t be so reckless in the future.”
Qin Sizheng thought, If it weren’t for you, I would have knocked him down myself. But on the surface, he nodded politely. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Han. Your hand was hurt because of me. Let me see you get it bandaged first.”
Han Zhang’s gaze measured him carefully, finally giving one word.
“Good.”
The concert venue had all kinds of emergency measures; the private doctor jumped into action, quickly staunching the wound and carefully dressing it.
Shen Changfeng said, “I’ll drive the car up here. Don’t go outside.”
Qin Sizheng nodded.
Left alone in the room with Han Zhang, the atmosphere grew awkward, especially after the earlier man’s disturbing declaration. Qin Sizheng felt uneasy.
Han Zhang looked at him. “Your parents?”
Qin Sizheng paused, pressing his lips together. “I don’t know. I grew up in an orphanage… they’re probably gone.”
Han Zhang frowned slightly. The long scar on his face twisted slightly with the expression, almost grotesque.
“You like Lu Xianqing a lot?” he asked again.
Caught off guard, Qin Sizheng blushed slightly but admitted frankly, “Yes. I really like him.”
Han Zhang’s eyes softened for a brief moment at the sight of his flushed ears and honest gaze. Thinking back to Qin Sizheng’s earlier words about Lu Xianqing’s playful yet intense control, it was clear how he had been utterly dominated.
He’d seen the incident from a few days ago—the live stream where Lu Xianqing had forced Qin Sizheng to admit his feelings, lips flushed, shyly and obediently responding to a wet kiss, timid yet daring, giving him his tongue.
No one else’s public display had ever been so shocking.
He was only eighteen.
“Raised in an orphanage, lacking security, craving love, habitually caring for others, indulging and pampering people… Lu Xianqing just happens to be someone whose possessiveness is almost uncontrollable, giving you an overwhelming sense of being needed, controlling, disciplining, rewarding, punishing… making you mistake that for love.”
Han Zhang’s cold eyes and sharper-than-knife words pierced Qin Sizheng’s chest. He froze.
“What are you saying?”
“I’ve heard Lu Xianqing has serious psychological issues. He Xiang has been covering for him, but there’s no wall the world can’t see through. What he shows you—is it love? Or merely possession and control?”
Han Zhang’s gaze was like fire, analyzing him as if stripping him bare, reading every detail.
Qin Sizheng frowned in discomfort.
After a moment, Han Zhang added, “Do you love him, or do you love being needed by him? Or is it that thrill they talk about… that crossing of moral boundaries between men?”
Qin Sizheng sprang to his feet. “Mr. Han! You saved me, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult my boyfriend. Watch your words.”
Han Zhang leaned back, eyes still cold. “You’re young—you can’t differentiate feelings…”
Qin Sizheng cut him off sharply, voice cold and precise, like a blade drawn swiftly. “I can tell. I love Lu Xianqing. I don’t need anyone’s judgment! We haven’t crossed any so-called moral lines. This is the first time I’ve allowed you to speak against my boyfriend or our relationship. If it happens again…”
Han Zhang waited for him to finish.
Clenching his fists, Qin Sizheng said coldly, “No matter who you are, I’ll act.”
Han Zhang was surprised. The young man’s devotion to his feelings was so absolute that he even preemptively warned he would act, a declaration of loyalty to his love.
Qin Sizheng bowed. “Thank you for saving me,” he said, then turned and left.
Shen Changfeng had the car stop at the entrance and went to call for help. He happened to see Qin Sizheng emerge from the house, face cold and sharp, glancing briefly inside, where Han Zhang was staring at his own hand.
“What’s wrong? Did you two argue?” Shen Changfeng asked, thinking Qin Sizheng had provoked him. “He saved you with good intentions; he didn’t know you could handle that situation yourself.”
Qin Sizheng swallowed the frustration in his chest and, once in the car, tried to text Lu Xianqing. He typed, then erased, then typed again, finally deleting everything except a dry, simple message: “You finished filming?”
Five minutes passed with no reply. It was already past eleven. Was he still on set?
Qin Sizheng glanced out the window. The city’s neon lights streaked past, fragmented and bizarre in the car’s swift motion, flickering across his hands and vanishing instantly.
His mind kept replaying Han Zhang’s words, countering them silently, then the face of that extreme fan, the crazed longing, the delirium, the horrific and repulsive words.
Your hands are beautiful. I want to lock you up, turn you into my little filthy dog, waiting every day for my love.
I’m in pain, I can’t escape. You won’t let me rest.
The forgotten messages resurfaced, making him uneasy. He tapped his phone aimlessly, waiting for Lu Xianqing’s reply.
Suddenly, he noticed his phone screen—his own photo.
It had been set as his lock screen back on the set and had never been changed.
By the time he got home, Lu Xianqing finally replied. Qin Sizheng didn’t turn on the lights and barely made out his surroundings in the dark room.
The tail of Lu Xianqing’s message carried a teasing lift: “Yan Yan?”
Qin Sizheng mumbled back, “Fourth Brother.”
“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Lu Xianqing immediately picked up the note of grievance and dissatisfaction in his tone, thinking he was upset at the late reply. “I got called over by Zhou Changjiang right after filming. Don’t be upset. I’ll finish this movie and come back to you. Nowhere else.”
Qin Sizheng buried his face in the pillow, voice muffled: “I’m not upset… I just miss you.”
Lu Xianqing’s heart skipped. He wished he could fly back instantly, but he still had a month of intensive filming ahead.
“If you miss me, come visit the set. This time you can stay in my room openly.”
Qin Sizheng buried himself again, stifled for a moment before raising his head and turning on the bedside lamp, whispering, “I’m not staying with you.”
Lu Xianqing raised an eyebrow. “Then who do you want to stay with? Keep Chen Qiu for yourself?”
“You really hold grudges.”
Not to mention staying in the same room… he’d been punished so severely just for letting Shi Jian touch his abs during a magazine shoot. If he stayed with Chen Qiu… wait.
“Fourth Brother?”
“Hmm?” Lu Xianqing lazily replied.
Qin Sizheng guessed boldly, “Chen Qiu said the crew had extra funds and was assigned a single room… You didn’t do that, did you?”
“I did.”
He admitted it so casually that Qin Sizheng was momentarily stunned. No denial?
“I gave him a comfortable and free single room. Not many seniors are as considerate as me. Don’t be too moved. If you really feel indebted, wait until I get back and let me spoil you properly.”
“…You’re just jealous, aren’t you!”
This time Lu Xianqing grinned fully. “Yes. Only I can sleep with you. If I catch anyone else touching you, I’ll break their hands and yours too.”
Qin Sizheng’s ears turned red. His heart raced, tongue burned just talking. “Sleep with me? We’re just sharing a room. He’s not you.”
“And what of it?”
Recalling those gentle moments on set, the patient guidance in acting—it might all have been a cover for taking advantage—Qin Sizheng blushed furiously. “Old scoundrel.”
“Hmm?” Lu Xianqing teased, prompting Qin Sizheng to quickly correct, “Fourth Brother.”
“That title doesn’t soothe me enough. Try another.”
Qin Sizheng considered, then, seeing Ye Xu’s message pop up, whispered with a racing heart: “Gege.”