Since He Xing blocked Qin Sizheng’s “grabbing the sheet” post last time, she had been uneasy, often checking on Lu Xianqing’s mental state.
Whenever something seemed off, she immediately sent him to Shen Qing for psychological intervention.
When she arrived, Lu Xianqing had just woken up. He suffered from severe mental fatigue, rarely slept well. Though handsome, his complexion was pale and unhealthy.
There was a mix-up too: after filming The Death Chronicles, the director realized he had no reaction, and subtly asked her to take Fourth Brother to the hospital.
That year, in the cold artistic winter, Lu Xianqing’s starring role in a gay indie film unexpectedly won an award. Marketing outlets claimed it was a fluke, that he didn’t deserve the Best Actor title, and as a newcomer, many companies tried to suppress him.
It almost triggered a wave of online hate. He Xing was running around like a spinning top and casually said, “He’s seeing a doctor,” referring to his mental fatigue and desire to withdraw. Somehow, it turned into “Fourth Brother can’t handle it.”
They couldn’t make a big fuss to clarify “Fourth Brother is fine.” Plus, he had always been unresponsive on set, making He Xing doubt his abilities.
Until he said he had a reaction to Qin Sizheng’s hand, she felt relieved but still worried—after repressing such desires for so long, he might do something extreme.
“Fourth Brother, how’s your mood today? Are you calm?”
Lu Xianqing lazily glanced at her. “Still up. Why so early?”
He Xing thought: still checking if he’s losing it.
Lu Xianqing clearly knew what she was thinking and said lightly, “You have Anning watching me twenty-four hours a day. When would I have time to commit suicide?”
He Xing gritted her teeth. “You may not have time to kill yourself, but you do have time… hmm? Your face is swollen. Who hit you?”
Lu Xianqing didn’t answer. He projected the phone screen onto the wall, sat down at the dining table, and said, “Draw the curtains, I can’t see clearly.”
He Xing insisted, “First, tell me how you got hurt. Do you know this face is a national treasure? Do you know how much the company insured it for?”
Lu Xianqing said, “Qin Sizheng hit me.”
He Xing almost choked. “When did you two meet? I turn away for one moment and you’re already fighting? Where did he hit you?”
Lu Xianqing recalled that day. “I didn’t hit back.”
“Didn’t hit back and he still did this to you? Did he build an Akina Mountain with his mouth? Fourth Brother…” He Xing’s legs went weak. “Tell me the truth—did it… go in?”
Lu Xianqing glanced at her. “Just rubbed for a while.”
“R—rubbed… for a while?” She could barely breathe at the thought of him forcing Qin Sizheng to half-kneel in front of him, using his hands… no, she had to suffocate.
“I told you to hold back. What if Qin Sizheng filmed it, or took… took your thing to test DNA… how am I supposed to handle that?” He Xing was frantic, pacing the room. “Seriously, if you don’t have anything else to do, go sit in a cell. I’ll eventually…”
“It was the brow bone,” Lu Xianqing said.
He Xing froze, replaying it in her head several times before daring to ask, “Wait… say it again. Where exactly?”
“The brow bone,” he repeated.
She finally relaxed, collapsing onto the sofa, taking a long, steadying breath as Lu Xianqing grabbed the remote to close the curtains and lights.
“Just the brow bone… just the brow bone,” she muttered, still a little shaken. “Keep it mild. This is a law-abiding society—don’t always think about spicy stuff.”
Lu Xianqing ignored her.
On the projection screen, Si Qianqiu and the children were napping, looking like a painting. He Xing lay back on the sofa for a while, then couldn’t help but comment, “Si Qianqiu really knows how to play to the camera. So pretty—red hair is inevitable.”
Lu Xianqing didn’t respond, taking a bite of toast, adding another spoon of jam because it wasn’t sweet enough.
Watching the variety show, He Xing occasionally pointed things out. “Variety shows are actually great. Quick fame, much faster than film or TV. Look at Wen Li—after all these years, she finally got her Best Actress award.”
“Times have changed. People don’t have the patience to focus on one work anymore. In this fast-food era, trending topics can make someone famous overnight. Qin Sizheng is a prime example.”
“Whether or not the script is real, if you play it right, fame is real. Nowadays, popularity is life. Go missing for three months, and no one remembers you.”
Lu Xianqing said, “Si Qianqiu won’t make it big.”
He Xing was surprised. “Why?”
“All the corners of his eyes, nose, and chin have been altered. Modeled after Qin Sizheng. In a couple of years, it’ll sag.”
He Xing laughed. “Who in showbiz hasn’t done cosmetic tweaks? That’s just minor adjustments. You think everyone’s born perfect like you? Most have to be trimmed and polished to get in.”
Lu Xianqing shook his head. “No, he’s sabotaging Qin Sizheng on the show.”
He Xing blinked and glanced at the screen. Si Qianqiu was still sleeping, lashes long and black, peaceful like “Snow White,” fully in line with his cold noble persona.
“Is that necessary? He’s at the peak now, Qin Sizheng’s already faded. Why pick a fight with him?”
“Shadows don’t go away easily. Like a shadow, they linger. When triggered, they strangle you, leaving no room to breathe. Qin Sizheng is his shadow. He’ll never escape it,” Lu Xianqing murmured, lashes lowering, voice tinged with cold gloom.
He Xing disagreed. “No way. Qin Sizheng’s not the type to take a hit quietly. He’d have jumped up and yanked his hair! You’re seeing things.”
Lu Xianqing lifted his head. “What do you think?”
He’d seen too many small tricks in the industry to be mistaken. He Xing fell silent, then asked, “If Qin Sizheng didn’t notice, hardly anyone would. How can you be sure Si Qianqiu won’t last?”
Lu Xianqing grabbed a wet tissue, cleaning his fingers one by one, tossing it into the trash.
After a long moment, he said: “He’s going to hurt Qin Sizheng’s hand.”
He Xing went pale, immediately pressing on the table to stand. “Ancestor, don’t personally target Si Qianqiu! Spare me a few more years after being tortured like your loyal servant all this time!”
Lu Xianqing said: “Mm.”
“Oh, Wen Li said there’s a good script for you. She asked your opinion.” He Xing thought: get to the set quickly, less time for trouble, more years to live.
Lu Xianqing: “I’ll see the script first.”
“In a few days, Wen Li and Director Zhou will celebrate their wedding anniversary. She wants to invite you over,” He Xing pulled a delicately designed card from her bag, gold-embossed with a handwritten invitation.
Lu Xianqing didn’t even glance at it. “Not going.”
His temper was uniquely cold even in showbiz. He Xing noticed a change in his eyes—almost liquid, a brief blink stirring like spring water.
She turned back to the screen. Qin Sizheng was washing fruit, fingers gently massaging each one, slow and meticulous. The water sparkled.
“F-Fourth Brother…”
Lu Xianqing’s Adam’s apple moved. Their eyes met, and before He Xing could say “You don’t need to speak,” his ice-like black eyes closed. His calm, cold voice carried a faint trace of newborn fear and confusion.
“He Xing, I… reacted again.”